#jake lockley x woc!reader

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.” 

“No hay problema.” 

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.” 

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake. 

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude. 

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder. 

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm. 

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.  

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.” 

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.” 

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge. 

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.” 

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are. 

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[campingwiththecharmings]

*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in December, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

Christmas Tree Farm (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Headcanons for Poe with someone shy and quiet - @ivystoryweaver

🔥Santa Baby (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Moon Knight

🔥Somnophilia (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @juneknight

Perks of Being a Wallflower (Jake Lockley x Plus Size!F!Reader) - @soft-girl-musings

Blossoms & Whiskers (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

It's Cold Outside (Steven Grant x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥My Turn (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

🔥Study Buddy (Uni!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

The Old Oak (Jake Lockley x Reader) - @mccn-bcys

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader) - @soft-girl-musings

🔥Divine Nights (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @moonlight-prose

🔥Helpless (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Audible (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @juneknight

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥Always Yours, Never Mine (Yandere Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor (new chapter means it gets rec-ed again 😌)

🔥Scratches and Bites (Miguel O'Hara x Spidergirl!Reader) - @runa-falls

🔥After Dark (Dark!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

Ex Machina

🔥Centerpiece (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Accidental Kiss (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

🔥Kinktober Day 9 (Pegging) (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

🔥(Not) Good Enough (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @midgardian-witch

🔥Sugar & Spice (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Untitled Soft Nathan blurb (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Triple Frontier

🔥Santi & Aftercare (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

Narcos

🔥Tied Together (Javier Peña x Black!F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Mojave

🔥Cruel Intentions (Jack x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Won't Back Down

🔥High Tension (Youth Pastor!Michael Perry x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Inside Llewyn Davis

Untitled Sweet, Fluffy blurb (Llewyn Davis x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[mrs-lockley]

Results of WIP Poll

Thank you to everyone who participated in my WIP poll! Here are the results, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on which character you think it was 🥰 In ranking order!

Tagging: @soft-girl-musings @writefightandflightclub @venting402 @musing-magpie @sleepy-timaeus @marc-spectorr

I was supposed to protect you, not fall in love with you (34.8%)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Platonic) Steven Grant x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Unrequited) Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader Fic Title: Reach for the Moon | Series Masterlist | Part I. The Breaking Summary: To heal your broken heart and move on from your unrequited crush on Marc Spector, your family sends you to help establish your cousin’s bakery in Singapore for two years. You return to New York as a more confident woman, but you find yourself picking up the pieces of your broken heart (again) after meeting Marc as he continues to heal from his divorce. Sensing the pain and heartbreak between you and Marc, Jake steps in to create some distance to protect you, but he was never meant to fall in love with you. No Moon Knight AU.

In another world, I would have loved to do laundry and taxes with you (23.7%)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader Fic Title: Forever the Name on My Lips Summary: Chasing an anomaly through the Spider-Verse, Miguel finds himself stranded in a house that seem so familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time. He expects to find his way out, but what he does not expect is to see you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide as if you have seen a ghost, a wedding ring on your finger, wearing one of his college shirts. In his universe, you and Miguel never made it, but in yours, he was your late husband buried six feet under.

The dragon eats the moon, and I am afraid you will consume me whole (16.3%)

Pairing: Namor of Talokan (K'uk'ulkan) x Filipina (Kapampangan) Sirena Fem!Reader Fic Title: Where the Spirit Meets the Bones | Part 2 (Title TBD) Summary: Part 2 of Where the Spirit Meets the Bones. After reuniting with his Sirena, the King of Talokan returns to Asia’s Pearl of the Orient to see her again, only to learn that his Sirena is not what she seems (aka her human backstory revealed).

I never break a promise, but I broke my promise to you and fell in love with you (14.8%)

Pairing: Marc Spector x WOC!Reader Fic Title: A Thousand Cuts Cornelia Street Summary: Heartbreak is something you and your friend, Marc Spector, are familiar with. After one night of drinking and tears, you and Marc make a promises to each other to never fall in love again, but you soon find yourself breaking that promise. But you’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts

We were never meant to be, but came to be, and only in this way. (10.4%)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader Fic Title: We'll Always Have New York Summary: Wanting to get out of California, you temporarily move to live with your aunt in New York to help take care of her after her fall. Not wanting you to spend your time looking after her, she suggests setting a blind date between you and one of her old coworkers, only for him to stand you up at the restaurant. Mortified and heartbroken, you seek refuge at a nearby coffee shop where you meet a taxicab driver, Jake Lockley. Takes place before the events of Moon Knight.

[artemiseamoon]

The Speakeasy

Spy! f** reader x Jake Lockley

Week 9 of @writer-wednesday

Words: 731

⚠️ warnings: overall the crowd is spies, hit men, trained killers, mentions of sexual activity, no mention of DID but we know it’s very relevant bc Marc has it & Jake is one of his alters.

**biooc, woc readers to the front. Anyone can read though. I’ll give her a nickname eventually, if you want to read as an OC, let’s give her the spy name Cobra 😁 so, options!

An: I wanted to try something new and I love characters we know nothing about yet. So I’m going for a Jake Lockley drabble. Just for fun. No I have not read the comics & won’t pretend I have 😁 this is all new territory for me. I’m just going off what I googled. I liked the whole him getting intel from a “network of informants & spies” thing, so this was born. I did find that on Google so if it’s a lie it’s cool, I’m still sticking with it.

As the smoker passes, you wave the cloud of nicotine away from your face and head south on Canal street. Avoiding a pile of melting snow, you take a wide leap and jump over it.

The bustling nightlife dims as you move further away from it. Turning into the alleyway, your eyes take in everything even though you’ve done this walk a hundred times.

Exposed brick, cigarette butts on the floor, a pair of dumpsters, a greasy-looking puddle. You can hear someone playing music loudly in the building to your left, likely on the second floor with the open window.

Continuing your walk, while staying hyper-aware of your settings, you finally reach it. The black door with red trim. You can hear a cat meowing in the distance, followed by the sound of a siren. Using the secret knock, you wait for the door to open.

Bruno greets you with a small nod. He was a massive man whose facial expression never changed, perfect for the front door. You greet him back and head down the staircase. There was just enough red light to see, but you’ve heard and seen your fair share of liquored-up people trip on these things.

Making your way to the lower level. You greet the next set of guards who grant you entry. The underground speakeasy emerges after one more small hallway. Music plays at a moderate level, it's slightly busier than usual for a Wednesday night.

Your eyes scan the room as you walk in until you spot him, Jake Lockley. He’s in your booth, the small two-seater in the middle of the back wall, with a direct view of the door. He’s dressed up compared to the last time you saw him, and he’s capless with his hair combed back.

There was something about Jake that was hauntingly attractive, he was both mysterious and intimidating, and you were thoroughly intrigued. You knew pretty much nothing about him, except the name he gave you, he drove a cab, and he was sinfuly good in bed.

You met when Jake was looking for some information that led one of your connections to recommend you. You gave him what he was looking for, he paid you handsomely, and less than an hour later, you found yourselves in a hotel room. The sexual attraction was immediate, almost animal.

You’ve had 4 meetings over 7 months and slept together 3 out of 4 times. This has been the longest stretch between meetings. Jake went MIA. Then, this afternoon you got a call from a burner phone. It was him.

His dark eyes follow your every move as you take a seat opposite him. He doesn't smile, barely moves, just watches. Under that gaze it was easy to feel like prey; it made your pulse quicken, it made you sweat.

You were equal parts scared and entranced by him. You didn't scare easy, you couldn't, especially when you dealt in trading information and the fucking over the criminal underworld.

“What a surprise.” You smirk and slip out of your jacket.

“I had business. I’m back now.” He places an envelope on the table and slides it over to you. You take it and tuck it away in your inside jacket pocket.

“You gonna get me a drink or what?”

You see the first tinge of a smile, Jake motions toward his left, where the cocktail waitress is approaching with drinks. “Already on the way.” His eyes fixate on your lips, lingering there for a second.

As the waitress places the drinks down, you thank her before she walks away. “So, Jake,” you pick up the glass, bringing it to your lips, “when do you need this?”

“Thursday night.”

“It’s 11:36pm Wednesday.” You crook a brow.

“I need it fast. If anyone can do it, you can.” He takes a sip of his drink before sitting back.

The conversation goes quiet as you drink and study each other. His eyes are heavy with need, desire, and lust. Jake leans forward, “one round here. The place is around the corner. Get to work in the morning. You’ll have plenty of time.”

You feel his words touch the deepest parts of you. Resisting the urge to shift in your seat, you stay still and admire his face, his bone structure, lips, nose, eyebrows…all of it.

After a moment, you lean forward over the table, getting closer to his face, and whisper, “it's a deal.” ‘

More writer Wednesday

More Oscar

More Moon Knight

If I add to this, and you want to be tagged, ask below or send an ask 💕

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 2 (I've Got You Under My Skin)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,326

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: another night, another guest.

----------

The Paper Moon is open to all walks of life– every culture, creed, and color is welcome through the doors of your lounge. This is usually a happy truth, but these days you’ve been harboring a clockwork headache when that cab driver stops by.

He gives you the base courtesy of sticking to a schedule: around 7pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jake will waltz in on the heels of James Wesley and whatever company he has in tow. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Jake sits at the same back table while Mr. Wesley conducts his business. And every Tuesday and Thursday, you play nice as you check in on your patrons. Including the cabbie.

“Another stellar set, Ms. Songbird,” he lilts as you give a courtesy nod, brushing past his table in the hopes of keeping things brief.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockley.” Your voice is tense as you breeze by. Jake Lockley, you’d learned from the wait staff: the legal name for the thorn in your side.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind his presence as much if he didn’t insist on making it known every evening. You had learned to expect him in the crowd whenever you’d hear a high-pitched whistle ringing above the applause each night. The sound grates at your resolve and forces you to plaster on your stage-ready smile a bit longer every time you make your rounds.

“Hey Songbird,” he calls out after you. “Have a drink with me?”

“A drink at my own bar? How inspired.” You press your lips into a firm line, the rest of your face broadcasting your disinterest to no avail. Every week he asks; every week you say no.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs, always backing down but never taking his eyes off you. It’s one thing to be watched onstage; it’s another to feel his gaze on the ground level. You feel a bit of relief every time you see him walk out with his client, tipping his hat to you at the end of each evening. His smile remains undeterred, no matter how cold a shoulder you offer.

It’d be damn near charming if you trusted it.

----------

Today’s not the day to let your guard down, the unmarked letter in your hand reminds you as you pace around the backstage corridor. It’s the third of its kind you’ve received this month. You worry your lip between your teeth as you pour over its contents, even though you know them by heart.

“To whom it may concern….” “...property acquisition…” “...would be in your best interest…” “...other businesses under our care …”

“‘Our care,’ that’s rich,” you mutter. “Remind me to stop opening the mail during business hours…”

“Uh, okay?” Mauricio agrees hesitantly as he rounds the corner. “Was wondering where our ‘fifteen-minutes-to-curtain’ call was, but I see you've been busy.”

“Oh good golly, is that really the time?” You fumble to put the letter back in its envelope. “Haven't even finished my makeup…” you trail off as you head to your dressing room, your drummer right behind you.

When you open the door, you see a small bundle of flowers sitting on your side table. Oh for crying out loud.

“How many times do I have to–” you're muttering to yourself again as you take the flowers in hand, moving swiftly across the room.

"What are you doing?" Mauricio sputters.

"If that man thinks he can weasel into my good graces with a few pretty flowers-" you huff as you drop the bouquet in a wastebasket. "–he's going to be sorely disappointed."

"Those were– those were mine." Mauricio admits softly.

You freeze, turning to him. "Really?"

He scoops up the bouquet. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I should've left a note," he chuckles.

"Oh, Maurie, thank you." You rush over to bring him into a hug. Sometimes he's too sweet for his own good.

".... This is from Mr. Lockley." Mauricio breaks away to hold out a single white rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

You sigh. "He's a persistent son of a gun, isn't he?"

He nods, dimpled smile growing by the second. “I think he's swell, miss. The boys think so, too.”

You turn the rose over in your hand. “I want you to be careful around him, Maurie. We don't know what he's about.”

“I think he's made it pretty clear,” he laughs.

“Hm. Perhaps.” You raise an eyebrow. "And I suppose you both brought flowers because...?"

Mauricio brims with excitement, taking the rose back and bundling it with the bouquet he'd gifted. "Mr. Lockley sounded real set on gettin’ you something sweet," he starts. He puts the flowers in an empty vase on your vanity.

"I didn't mean to steal his thunder, but I like it when you smile." He wipes his hands on the front of his pants and his expression drops a bit. "You haven't been smilin’ as much these days, Ms. Songbird."

You busy yourself with the fallen petals at your feet. “I smile all the time, what do you mean?”

“I guess I'm saying… there's you onstage, then there's, I dunno, you -you. They smile differently, s'all.”

He's right, as much as you hate to admit it. You look over at the flowers. “Well, thanks for giving me a reason to smile for real, Maurie.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “My mind's a bit out of sorts tonight. So thank you.”

The youth's dark brown eyes fill with concern. “Anything we can help you with?”

You shake your head, moving back to your vanity. “Nothing to worry yourself over, darling. Just make sure the boys are set. We have a show to put on.” 

He nods and leaves your dressing room. As you apply your lipstick, your hand trembles.

----------

Wednesdays have become your favorite part of the week: the day you catch your breath between visits.

In the time before the first half of your set, you make your usual rounds to each table.  Eventually you work your way to the front of the seating area, where you see a familiar silhouette beside the stage. A pair of dark glasses are perched on his nose, which crinkles as he smiles at the sound of your footsteps.

“Mr. Murdock,” you greet him warmly, taking his extended hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, kid.” He squeezes your hand in response, still beaming up at you. Even in the dimmed lounge, Matt Murdock’s smile can light up a room. 

“Come off it,” you huff in mock annoyance. “Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.”

“It sounded urgent, of course I’d be here. Do you have all the paperwork together?”

You eye the empty seat next to him. “I have a whole file waiting for you backstage… I’m sorry, is Franklin not joining you this evening?”

“Not tonight, but I do have another guest coming. Is that drink still on the house for a new plus-one?”

“Any friend of Nelson & Murdock is a friend of mine.” You brush a few stray hairs from his forehead. “Is this a guest for business or pleasure?”

He laughs, waving your hand away. “I suppose that depends.”

“Well, as long as they’re a fan of good music, they’re welcome here anytime,” you hum as you straighten his collar. “I swear, Matty. It wouldn’t kill you to dress to impress.”

“You dote too much. I’ll catch up with you later.” You leave him to his drink, making a mental note to demand his dress shirts for a routine tailoring.

The dinner rush brings the usual crowd, and you eye your friend’s table every so often. The seat beside him is still empty. You wonder if Matt was just pulling your leg and wanted to keep both complimentary drinks for himself.

But you don’t have time to ponder that. Instead, you scribble a few notes down and pass them out to your bandmates.

“Ah gee, boss, changing the setlist again?” Your pianist whines, scanning your notes. He didn’t ask tonight, but last-minute song requests are a longstanding favor to Matt when he has a lady to impress (which is often). For the sake of his mysterious guest, you swapped in some softer, more romantic pieces.

“Jackie, don’t tell me you’re not up to the task?” You eye him sternly. “Half the gig is improv anyway, and these are all songs we’ve done before.”

Jackie’s budding protest is silenced by the bassist via an elbow to the ribs. Arguing with you is never worth it: a lesson everyone learns sooner or later. Some take longer than others. 

Rubbing his side, Jackie concedes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You wink. “That’s a tune I like to hear.” Smiling sweetly, you lead the band's procession to the stage.

“Good evening,” you croon into the microphone, “and welcome to The Paper Moon. I’m Ms. Songbird, this fine-feathered crew beside me are The Jays– let’s have some fun tonight.” You flash a rehearsed smile so dazzling it can be seen from the farthest table in the lounge, and you scan the room with anticipation. The moments before a performance are so precious; even with a setlist, anything can happen the moment that first note is played. Every night, you revel in the possibility. 

A familiar two-toned whistle draws your gaze to Matt’s table right below the stage, where the seat beside him is no longer empty.

Hat resting on the table, chin propped in his hands, you find yourself staring down at the face of none other than that infuriating cab driver bearing a grin so wide you hope it splits his cheeks.

Fighting to keep your smile from turning into a grimace, your eyes snap back to the middle of the room. “This first song goes out to one of our favorite patrons… and his company,” you add, your voice betraying your restraint with a crack. You don’t look down, but you just know that damned cabbie is smiling even harder.

Despite the rocky start, you and your band pull together another unforgettable night of music. You perform with your eyes closed more than usual; you refuse to give Jake Lockley the satisfaction of serenading him with your best love songs.

Once the music portion of the night is through, all the frustration you’d pushed down swiftly rises to the surface as you watch them pal around right under your nose. You rush to the floor level to get this over with.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, glancing between Jake and Matt. Your friend’s eyebrows raise at the outburst.

“Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed into most businesses.”

“No, I mean– it’s not Thursday. You come on Thursdays.”

“Why Ms. Songbird, I didn’t think you cared enough to keep tabs on me.” He leans his head on his hand and stares up at you. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

You want so badly to snap back at him, but instead you look at Matt. “ This is who I changed our set list for?”

“In my defense, I never asked you to,” he grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were so familiar with our lovely hostess here, Murdock. Seems you have more pull with the house than you let on,” Jake muses in surprise.

“A privilege he’s bound to lose if he's not careful,” you say through gritted teeth. Like it or not, Jake is a guest. And you still have an image to uphold. “How’d you have the pleasure of running into this one, Matthew?”

He barely has time to respond before Jake's leaning in farther, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, chin up, doll– can’t say I’m too surprised he’s a friend of yours. Always has a knack for finding the pretty ones, this guy.” He nudges Matt’s side, who’s far too quiet for your liking.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” you huff.

“‘Course, I keep him around for that brain of his, not so much the mug.”

“He's my lawyer,” you say in unison. What makes your brow furrows leads Jake to bark out a laugh, shaking Matt in his grip as he tugs him closer.

“What are the odds of that, eh Murdock?” He beams up at you. Your frown deepens. “He's helped me with the occasional run-in with the law.”

“Oh, so you're not just a smart-mouth but a criminal, to boot?” 

“Nothing but a few civil suits, doll. Got off clean every time.” He winks as you cross your arms, glaring at Matt.

“You have interesting taste in company, Mr. Murdock.” You turn on your heel and head backstage.

“No kidding,” Jake continues to laugh as you walk away. Once you're out of sight, his smile falters. “So when you said you had a friend in show business–”

“Yeah.”

“And when I told you about the dame I've been eyeing at this new lounge–”

“–I knew exactly who you were talking about.”

“So you've been letting me parade around like a putz this whole time? ” A smack upside the head earns Jake a kick to the shin beneath the table.

“That, my friend, was all you. I mean bravo, you were in rare form tonight.” That signature smile returns as Jake pushes a hand through his hair. “I should probably go smooth some feathers. Catch up with you in an hour?”

Jake downs the rest of his drink and stands when Matt does. “You know I love our little talks.” Casting a final glance towards the stage door, he adjusts his jacket and moves from the table.

Matt catches his elbow. “She’ll come around.” He almost sounds convinced of it himself.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got other fish to fry tonight. Promise I’ll save you the big ones.”

Shaking his head, Matt makes his way backstage. “I’m starting to think some of that vitriol isn’t unearned.”

They part ways– Matt heading backstage, Jake to the moonlit streets. 

Bigger fish to fry, indeed: all swimming in the Kingpin’s tank. 

----------

A/N: thank you to everyone who has expressed enthusiasm over this little passion project!! it's been so fun putting it together, and i'm looking forward to sharing more with you. expect to see more of our favorite lawyer in the future (we have fun here)

as always, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 5 (Something's Gotta Give)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, brief mention of past injury, spanish translation at end (courtesy of @queerponcho, thank you beloved)

wc: 3.4k

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: immovable object? the unstoppable force would like a word.

__________

As far as peace offerings go, it’s not the worst.

At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself as you stand outside your neighbor’s apartment, your fist failing to close the distance and knock. In one hand you hold a plate of pastries you’d bought earlier. Hopefully it’s enough.

Before you can raise your hand again, the door whips open. 

Leah Mendoza, ever the force to be reckoned with, stands with arms akimbo and eyebrow raised. “Quit shuffling your feet and come inside, nena.”

You oblige wordlessly. Crossing the threshold, you immediately feel the warmth of her apartment embrace you. Not that she’s escaped the chill that plagues your building; Leah is an artist, and every flat surface serves as either canvas or easel. Most spaces are covered in surreal portraits and near-magical icons, her handiwork displayed as a gorgeously chaotic gallery. Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains to feed sprawling plants and attempts to warm the richly colored rug beneath your feet.

You leave your shoes at the door and hold out the platter, smiling sheepishly. “Hope you still have a sweet tooth.”

“It's been so long, I'm surprised you remember.” Despite her playfully icy tone, Leah’s expression warms as she peeks at the pan de mallorca you hand over.

“...But I suppose going five blocks out of your way for breakfast makes up for it.” She nudges you with her hip before escorting  you to the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in, Caro,” Leah calls out to the seating area as she pours two mugs of coffee. You see your other friend’s smiling eyes light up at the sight of you.

“Ohhh, it’s been ages!” she squeals as she rushes to your side, tackling you with an enthusiastic hug.

Caroline Ngo, the youngest of your trio, has always brought a much-needed energy to your time together. When she and her parents moved in, you and Leah decided to adopt her into your early morning ritual of coffee and gossip. As her rosy cheeks beam up at you, you’re (a bit selfishly) grateful that she’s delayed her college applications by a year. You’re not ready to part with your other baby bird just yet.

Still, you pry yourself from her grasp. “Something tells me you had an early start on the coffee.”

“Maybe,” she drawls as she saunters away. Leah passes you a steaming mug, prepared just the way you like it.

The three of you sit, sipping and smiling as the room grows brighter with the sunrise. Leah regales you with the results of her latest art show; Caroline badgers you for updates about Mauricio, dimpled cheeks flushed as she speaks. For a few moments, everything feels like it used to.

Leah finishes her pastry and turns to you. “So, ‘Ms. Songbird’. How are you?”

You shrug, dismissive. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“No, I don’t know. You haven't been around for us to see your ‘usual’.” Leah's voice is measured, but she’s clearly frustrated. “Can you tell me the last time we've heard more than a ‘good morning’ from you? Or were together for longer than an elevator ride to our floor?”

You chuckle nervously. “Goodness, maybe… August? September?”

“June.” She sips her coffee before setting it down. “Are things really so busy at work that you can't spare a moment for us anymore?”

If only you knew.

“I'm sorry, ladies. Truly. But things have been picking up at the lounge, I've even had to get outside help–”

“Ah yes, the altar boy lawyer.” Leah shakes her head. “I thought you were done with him.”

“‘Done with him?’ Leah, he's my friend.”

“Oh, I recall. So good a friend that he lets you ice his bruises and clean his cuts.” She crosses her arms. “So good, he's even bringing new friends with the same scrapes to your door.”

“The other night was an emergency–”

“How long are you going to run around with that kind of crowd?” Her voice bites. “Believe me, I know my share of the nightlife. But every time you bring home some broken man, a load of trouble seems to follow.”

This is not where you saw the morning going. “I thought we were spending time together, not berating the company I keep.”

“Please don't be upset,” Caroline pleads, taking your hand from her seat on the floor. “We miss you. You haven’t been home in weeks,” she laments. “At least, not for more than a couple of hours.”

You shift in your seat but give her hand a light squeeze. “I've missed you, too.”

“Then do something about it.” Leah gets up, crossing the room to distract herself with more coffee but then doubles back to look you in the eyes.

“You know my gut is never wrong, nena. And I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't speak my mind.”

You brace yourself as she continues. “You can spend your nights hiding behind your Songbird persona and running the lounge, but don't be surprised if the cage you're building around yourself is locked from the inside.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen, leaving you and Caroline in silence.

Slowly, Caroline slides into Leah’s empty seat, her hand still on yours.

“... I always liked your stage name.”

You don’t say anything, instead letting your eyes trail through the patterns on the rug.

She scoots closer. “Leah’s just looking out for you. Like always.”

“I know, Caro.”

You feel her head rest on your shoulder. Tough love has always been Leah’s strong suit; as hard as you are on your boys, it’s bush league compared to your friend.

Caroline’s next words are low, whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “I know that man you were helping.”

You look down at her, dumbfounded. “Really? You know Jake?”

She sits up, eyes wide again. “Well, not technically. I never learned his name. But when he was leaving your apartment, I recognized his face.” Her small smile grows as she speaks. “There were days I’d stay out late after school, and I’d catch a ride from him sometimes. He’s really kind, not like some of the other cab drivers.”

Concern suddenly sweeps across her face. “Is he going to be alright?”

You think back to the morning he left your apartment: his bruises, your stitches, the blood that still stained his coat…

His hand on your hand, your face…

You don’t feel your fingers grazing the apple of your cheek until you hear Caroline giggle. Your hand drops to your lap as your face warms. “He’ll be fine. If he wised up and saw a real doctor, that is.” You shrug, reaching for your coffee.

“You care about him,” she teases.

“Oh, come off it,” you huff, nudging her leg with yours.

“And he obviously cares about you!” She squeals, lowering her voice when Leah turns her head toward the noise. “I saw him leave your apartment, but he stood there for ages, staring at your door.” Her grip on your hand grows unbearably tight. “What happened that night?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same question from the moment he left you standing in a bloodstained gown, your apartment colder without him. Since then, there hasn’t been a moment where you’ve been free from the memory of his face.

“I did him a favor. And… he may have done one for me, too.”

__________

Jake Lockley is man enough to admit when he’s been beaten.

In this case, he's absolutely won over. Head-over-heels, and at your mercy.

Maybe years from now, society adopts stricter rules for how soon you should call on a lady. Even today, some would advise against showing your hand too early. Some men wouldn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate.

But Jake Lockley is not a liar.

If “desperate” is the word for the incessant drumming in his chest each time you come to mind; if it’s what has him cutting corners and driving recklessly, ushering customers along at double the pace so his thoughts can return to you; if it’s why his palms sweat and nerves ache at the memory of your face that night, that morning… then Jake Lockley is desperate.

It’s hardly been a day and a half since he left your apartment, cold and injured. The suit stitched him back together in seconds; the only ache that remained was at the thought of you. You, who scooped him off the pavement and took pity on him. Who stained your hands with his blood to make it stop. You, who set his skin on fire with the smallest touch and had him convinced he would burn with or without it.

Screw the three day rule. He has to see you.

Hot under the collar, Jake now sits at the bar– your bar, long before normal business hours. Next to him is Matt, whose face hasn’t untwisted from the wry grin he’s had from the moment they met up.

“It’s like a jackhammer,” he chuckles into his glass, dodging Jake’s backhand swing.

“Can it, Murdock.” Jake’s hand returns to his own drink. Downing the rest, he raises his glass to the bartender. “Top me off, Mr. Manalo.”

Teddy obliges with shaking hands. He scoops up the bills Jake slides his way before dashing off. The two men had asked for privacy, and he’s determined to stay in their good graces.

Jake knocks back the new drink, swiping the excess from his lip as Matt’s laughter grows louder.

“You really need to calm down.”

“That’s what this was for,” Jake retorts, shaking his glass so the ice clinks against the edge. It’s doing him little good, though; from the moment he snuck in here that stormy night, he knew The Paper Moon as an extension of you. Even with the house lights up and nobody onstage, the lounge makes his heart race as quickly as if you were right beside him.

Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah,” Jake snorts. Matt’s quiet for a suspicious amount of time. “What’s on your mind, Murdock?”

“What’s on yours?” Telltale concern creeps into his voice. “How are things up there lately?”

Jake smirks, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Oh, you know. Loud… and quiet, in all the wrong ways.”

“Seems quieter than before.”

“Yeah?” Jake cocks an eyebrow. His mind doesn’t feel quieter, not the way it should. Khonshu’s been on his ass more often, doubling down when his thoughts dare to drift to anything besides the mission at hand. The god throwing a tantrum has become one of the few guarantees that remain.

“I mean it,” Matt reassures him. “It’s like night and day from when you returned stateside.” 

Jake stirs the ice in his glass, tempted to hop the counter and refill it himself. It takes everything in him to repress the memory of “before,” to not think of the bloody business in El-Alamein. To forget when the occupancy of his mind dropped from three to two.

“Must be the good old American soil.” His sneer drops as he considers his next words. “... or the fool of a pro bono lawyer I managed to snag.”

“Maybe,” Matt says. “Or it could be the little bird that's caught your ear.”

Before Jake can respond, a pair of footsteps cross onto the stage behind them.

He turns to see you and Mauricio, backs to the house, talking in rushed succession as you survey the stage. You’re in a blouse and trousers, your movements easy and unrehearsed despite the growing exasperation in your voice. 

“Maurie, I don't care how Leo feels the lights bounces off his new mustache wax, unless he can't follow my cues he's staying stage left. And–”

“No days off for you, are there?”

When you turn you see Jake, hat in hand and standing a few steps from the bar, as if he’d walked toward you but stopped halfway up the aisle. You can’t place the look on his face, but you're nevertheless pinned under the gaze of his now-healed eyes shining up at you.

“JAKE!” Mauricio startles you when he shouts, leaping off the stage to clasp hands with the older man.

“Hermano,” Jake chuckles, pulling him into a quick hug before letting go. “¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” 

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" Mauricio leans in, examining the pale line running through Jake’s eyebrow with awe.     

“Ah, just a scratch.” Jake shrugs as he brushes past him to approach the stage and offers his hand as you step down. You accept, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grasp.

“Leave the man alone, Maurie,” you chide, nodding your thanks and holding back a laugh. As much as Caroline fawns over you, Mauricio seems to do the same to Jake whenever their paths cross. It helps that he plays along.

As the three of you walk back to the bar, you notice Matt dial in to something and smile– far from his normal reaction. 

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than another drink, I have an appointment with Matthew this afternoon.” You cross over to your friend, whose smile only grows as you draw closer. But you brush it off, still focused on Jake.

“Actually,” he starts, his hand sliding into his pocket, “I was hoping to cut in on your consult time for a moment. That alright with you, doll?”

Matt clears his throat. “Mauricio, can you take me backstage? I should start unpacking this file.”

The drummer perks up. “Sure! But the band’s getting ready to play some poker… you feel like teaming up again? We can split the pot like usual.”

“Even better,” Matt grins. “Lead on.”

He gathers his portfolio and walking stick to follow. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you could see a moment of panic flicker across Jake’s face.

It’s replaced in a flash with his usual smirk. “Sure you want to risk your pocket change, Matty?”

“If all my clients paid like you do, I'd be out of a job.” He collects himself and follows Mauricio’s footsteps, turning to Jake and mouthing “jackhammer” with a hand to his chest when he’s behind you.

Their footfalls fade and it’s just the two of you at the bar. You take a seat, drumming your fingers on the surface to soothe your nerves. Jake sits beside you.

“You look better.” You notice the scar Maurie was talking about: his former head wound is free of your haphazard stitches, instead healed into a light dash through his dark brow. “But I told you that would scar.”

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers past the spot. “I kinda like it. Gives me an edge,” he chuckles. Maybe Khonshu hadn’t healed his face the way he normally would as some sort of lesson. Joke’s on him.

“How did… I mean, you look really good, how did you recover so quickly?” Now that you’re closer, you realize there’s no sign he was hurt just two days ago. If not for his scar, you could pass that night off as some sort of dream.

“You told me to see a doctor, didn’t you? Looks like I’ve got the best one around.” 

You eye him, not sure what to think. “... yeah, alright.”

Your fingers drum the bar again. Maybe that night knocked all of Jake’s suave confidence from his head: when he’s not speaking (something you’re still not used to), he looks like a child about to lose his lunch. For all his urgency a few minutes ago, he’s taking his sweet time getting to the point.

Finally he sits up straight and takes something out of his pocket. “Here. For you, morena.”

A small black box slides toward you, stopping at your restless fingers. You raise an eyebrow quizzically, a familiar warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“A present? Didn’t take you for the ‘holly-jolly’ type.” You pick up the box, feeling its velvet casing and fighting back a smile.

“Nah, not really a Christmas guy myself. But I figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Jake crosses one arm along the bar, propping his chin in his other hand as he watches you open the box.

Inside, you see a delicate gold chain with a charm fastened to its middle: a small bird with its wings spread, intricate designs etched into its surface.

“Oh my…” You look back at Jake, who seems to have been holding his breath as you examine your gift. 

Your slowly unfolding smile is all the reward he could ask for, breathless laughter pushed from his chest with relief. “For the songbird,” he casually declares, relief mixing with pride at your reaction.

You take the necklace out and hold it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” you sigh. You undo the clasp and try to put it on yourself, but your fingers can’t seem to make it fasten.

“Allow me,” he says quickly, standing to move behind you and assist.

You feel his hands take over and drop your own in your lap. His knuckles brush the back of your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. The smell of smoke and spice dances on your senses, pulled away all too soon when he moves to stand in front of you.

“There,” he breathes, eyes going from the pendant draped below your collar to your eyes. “Looks perfect.”

Your fingers grasp the cool metal as you nod. “Looks perfect.” 

Silence falls again. You’ve come to hate the sound of nothing when you’re with him.

Jake’s the first to break it. He sits back down, his next words like a punch to the gut. “You know, now that I’m not driving Wesley around… I won’t have to take up space at your back table anymore.”

“Oh. No, I suppose not.” You toy with the charm around your neck. “So is this… goodbye?”

“That depends,” he says cautiously.  He turns to you, eyes swimming with the same unfamiliar mix of emotions from before. “Do you want it to be?”

Your fingers leave your neck as you meet his gaze. “Don't say you're going all soft on me, cabbie.”

“What if I was?” He leans forward, and for the first time you don't back away.

“Cards on the table: I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

That makes two of us. You bite your tongue to let him continue.

“Morena… would you ever want to get out of here? Just you and me, call it a truce or a… a date.” A smile plays on his lips before his brow creases. “I won't badger you after today, just… one way or another, put me out of my misery.”

The wings of the charm feel heavier with the weight of his confession. Hand to your heart, you feel the bird again, this time with Leah's warning running through your mind.

“I suppose a truce wouldn't hurt.”

When he smiles, wider than ever, you see the charming gap in his teeth. And you smile, too.  You both laugh, the heated stress in your nerves turning to effervescent relief.

You could spend an hour like this. But when you hear shouts of frustration and a bilingual litany of choice words echo from backstage, you know you have to go put out a different fire.

“I should make sure Matthew isn't in trouble,” you sigh, standing to straighten yourself.

“If I know Matt, he's the one causing the trouble.” Jake stands with you, desperate for this moment not to end but anxious for your next answer. “So when can we–”

“Sunday night,” you cut him off, starting to back away toward the stage. “I'll figure out how to slip away, but meet me under the sign at 9.”

You move to rush toward the stage at another outburst, but Jake's hand catches yours yet again.

“You can't keep doing that,” you groan, yet with a smile still on your lips as he tugs you back toward him.

“You're the boss,” he hums, pressing his lips to the back of your hand– the gesture all too routine, but you're ready to admit you've missed it.

He releases your hand and dons his cap, tipping it to you. You laugh again, a rich and easy sound he'd never tire of hearing. You bow slightly and dash backstage, with Jake's voice calling to you as you leave.

“See you Sunday, Songbird."

__________

“¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” - Not getting yourself into any problems, eh?

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" - Seems like you’re the one causing troubles, hey cabbie? Where did that scar come from?

note: in-universe Jake is Guatemalan and Mauricio is Cuban; as a non-spanish speaker, please let me know how i can improve in the future!

A/N: i've missed these two!! this chapter was a doozy but i'm so happy to have gotten back on track. i won't say PPP is on hiatus (we never had a promised release schedule) but after i take a wee break from writing, i'm set on finishing my Moon Knight Bingo prompts before 4/30 + starting on my OI fanzine entries (!!! exciting times). but if inspiration strikes before i finish, i certainly won't complain.

ty for reading!!

tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mercurysjoy, @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 4 (My Funny Valentine)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, mentions of injury/fixing it (stitches), brief songfic portion (c'mon you knew it was coming)

wc: 3.4k

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: patching things up.

__________

“He doesn’t look like he’d be this heavy.”

It’s hard to keep your voice down while hauling a grown man up the narrow stairs of your apartment. Bloodied and fazed, Jake dangles between you and Matt as you prop him on your shoulders. He’d barely registered how you both rushed to his side when you found him moments ago. Collapsing next to your building, of all places… somebody had to be looking out for this guy.

“Dead weight’s funny like that,” Matt huffs, bearing his share of the burden a bit easier but still straining beside you. He feels your body tense up and quickly adds, “Sorry– poor choice of words.”

“No kidding.”

Eventually you make it to your floor. Jake’s conscious, but too weary to hold himself up. Matt helps you keep him upright as you stumble down the hallway like some twisted version of The Wizard of Oz.

As quiet as you’ve tried to be, you’re a cumbersome entourage. So it doesn’t surprise you to hear one door, then another creak open on either side of the hallway.

You can’t help but freeze like a deer in headlights. On one side, you’re pinned by the gaze of Leah Mendoza, bathrobe and silk headscarf broadcasting that you’ve interrupted the highest quality of beauty sleep. Across the hall, Caroline Ngo’s sweet face peers from behind the door of her parents’ apartment. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of you holding up a bloodied stranger.

“Caroline, go back to bed.” Leah is hardly older than you, but a stern word from her is as good as any mother’s. At her command the younger girl obediently ducks back into her apartment, and you feel yourself shrink under your neighbor’s stare. You’re sure you won’t hear the end of this.

But you don’t have time to worry about your inevitable lecture. You keep walking toward your apartment at the end of the hall. You fumble with your keys when you pause outside the door. Jake’s weary head lolls toward you. “Easy, cabbie,” you whisper. Your arms are burning from holding him up, but you can’t help but feel bad for him as his sweat-slicked hair brushes your cheek in his exhaustion.

The three of you tumble into your apartment and move to the couch, laying Jake down as gently as possible. You turn on a couple of lamps and leave Matt to get Jake adjusted as you go to the kitchen.

“Probably has some bruised ribs, from the way he’s breathing.” Matt kneels beside Jake and helps him out of his coat to open his shirt, gingerly running a hand over his torso. He’d clearly been in a fight; the warm swelling of assorted bruises and cuts makes it obvious. He grazes his fingers over Jake’s heated forehead, stopping at the gash above his eye. “He’ll need stitches to hold him over.”

“I’m on it.” 

His vision is still slightly blurred, but after a few minutes Jake watches you approach, apron fitted over your evening gown and carrying a medium-sized box under a steaming bowl of water. You pull a chair over to the couch and sit as Matt gives you space, moving to the window. You watch as he tunes back in to the sounds of the city, listening for any lingering trouble.

You get to work with near-mechanical efficiency. Collecting supplies from the box, you dip your equipment into the water after wringing out the hand towel you had soaking in the bowl. “This might sting.”

“Ah, I can take it,” Jake says hoarsely. He tries to sit up, but winces and stops himself.

You press the cloth to his forehead, urging him back down. The wound above his eye seems to have stopped bleeding, but there’s deep purple swelling surrounding it. Once it’s clean, you pat his face dry. His good eye follows your every movement.

As you prepare to work on his face, you can see Jake’s body relax. “I’m going to stitch you up,” you warn him as you thread the needle. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose this eye… nasty head wound you’ve got here.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Jake strains to touch his temple. “ Well, I’ll be.”

You move his hand. “Be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” He obediently takes a deep breath, eyes screwed shut as you get to work. 

As unpleasant as the procedure feels, his exhaustion trumps the pain. You make quick work of it, your hands and gaze steady. “Do I want to know how you’re so good at this?” he grunts.

You tie off the stitch and sigh. “I used to do the same thing for Matthew.” 

It takes him a moment to process what you’ve said. “You mean–”

“–I’ve spent my fair share of late nights patching him up after God-knows-what happened in some alleyway? Yeah,” you chuckle mirthlessly. “It’s like you boys crave punishment, I’ll never understand it.”

Jake winces as you snip the excess thread. “Didn’t know the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had introduced himself to you, angel.”

“‘Introduced,’ ‘fell onto my fire escape,’ you get the picture.” Before you can stand, Matt is already at your side with a fresh towel and hot water. You offer him a tired smile. “It's how we became friends.”

“Almost more than that for a time,” he smirks. He ducks back to the window when your face heats as you clean Jake’s stitches.

Jake huffs a laugh, glancing between the two of you. “Murdock, you sly dog.”

You lean back, dismissively wiping your hands on your apron. “Oh, can it. Nothing happened.” Standing up, you gather the rags and water and leave the room.

“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, Songbird,” he hoarsely calls after you.

“No, she’s right,” Matt seconds. When the sound of running water floats in from the kitchen, he moves to the couch and leans in, voice low. “She didn’t want to get involved with someone putting their life on the line.”

Jake lets the weight of his confession wash over him. This wasn’t just Matt’s way of saying you were the one that got away.

When you return, you glance between the two of them. “Well, if history is repeating itself… you’ll have to sleep this off here.” You offer a cold shoulder as you collect a spare blanket and throw pillow from the corner.

Matt catches your arm as you pass. “Hey–”

“You should go, you have court in the morning.” Your voice is flat as you brush him off to keep working.

Jake’s head is still throbbing, but he’s grateful for your touch (albeit less than gentle) as you raise his head to place the extra pillow beneath it. You mutter an apology as you drape the blanket over his exposed torso. Given the look on your face, he figures he shouldn’t poke fun at your rushed attention.

He watches you escort Matt to the door. Murdock doesn’t seem too keen to depart.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself tonight,” he urges you. “I can make my way to the courthouse with plenty of time–”

“–Matthew, go, it’ll be fine.” Your tone has warmed a bit, but you maintain the space between you.

He hesitates at the door, no doubt listening to Jake’s ragged breathing on top of every other sound outside your apartment. It’s a wonder he stays sane, you often think.

You cast a glance to your battered houseguest, who pretends not to listen. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For us to spend more time together?” You close the distance to grasp his hand. “Really. Go home.” 

Whatever argument Matt was prepared to make, he chokes down. It’s clear you’re not changing your mind.

“If there’s any trouble–”

“–What, you think I can make him any worse than this? Give me some credit, Matty.” 

“–If there’s any trouble, just say the word.” One hand tenses around the doorframe, the tilt of his head confirming he’s still on high alert. “I’ll come right back.”

Your expression softens. “You always do.” A quick kiss to his cheek and a gentle nudge toward the hallway serves as your goodbye.

Closing the door behind you, you take a breath to steady your nerves. You were joking before, but if Jake Lockley somehow dies on your sofa, you’re not sure you’d have the stomach to stand trial.

The silence of your apartment is only broken by Jake’s groans of discomfort as he adjusts positions. You rush to his side.

“Are you okay?” You try not to sound as panicked as you feel. Without Matt and the rush of adrenaline, your anxiety spikes tenfold.

Jake’s good eye goes wide. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” He settles back into the couch. “Just trying to get comfortable.”

“Let me help you,” you say quickly, desperate to do something with your hands besides wring them. You kneel and adjust the pillows by his head, careful not to jostle him this time.

His entire body is begging to sleep for a week. But despite his headache, he takes in the sight of you as you fuss over him, fixing his blanket more times than necessary.

“Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.” He tries to laugh but this time only manages to cough. Matt was probably right about his ribs.

You remove your hands from the blanket. “Sorry.”

Silence again. You examine his face: it’s like looking at a stranger. The bruises and cuts are one thing, but there’s a profound heaviness in every feature you’ve never seen before. When he’s this quiet, you hardly recognize him.

“You must think I'm an idiot.” 

His gruff voice snaps you back from your thoughts. He’d been staring at you, too, watching your face fall as you’d looked at him.

You shake off the shock of his statement. “No… no, I don't think you're an idiot. Reckless, maybe, but not an idiot.”

His brow raises. “You know, I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve said to me since we met.”

You open your mouth to protest, but stay quiet. Because he’s right.

“...You think I hate you, don't you?”

“Don't you?” He presses. “Sorry to say it, doll, but I’m almost surprised you didn’t leave me out in the cold.”

You get the feeling that he’s joking, but with your track record, it’s not an unearned jab.

“I… feel a lot of things. But not hatred.” You smooth the front of your dress to distract yourself. “Right now, for example, I’m feeling generous.”

Jake cracks a small smile. “Yeah? Is letting me bleed out on your furniture your act of kindness for the year, morena?”

Your brow creases slightly as you lower yourself to sit on the floor. “I'm serious. You can ask me for anything. Within reason, I mean.”

Jake finds himself biting back another line for your sake. You've done so much already; even if you’d stitched up a hundred head wounds before his, he can’t imagine you were unaffected by what you saw tonight. You look about as tired as he feels.

This has been an evening of firsts for you both; it’s not the most high-stakes difference, but the thought crosses both of your minds: it’s the first night you haven’t put on a show for each other.

“Would you sing to me?”

You tilt your head. “Now? Really?”

Jake's smile grows. “What, too unreasonable?”

“No, it's just… you've heard me sing a dozen times.” You shrug. “Sure you want to waste your favor?”

You're not sure how he can look so worn out and still have a glimmer in his eye. But he does, and it brightens as he doubles down. “But I've never missed your grand finale. Seems like I owe you one, too.”

“...alright.” Your voice is soft as you agree. Jake settles into the cushions, eyes closed with a smug half-smile resting on his face.

You adjust yourself and take a deep breath. Trading a spotlight for your living room lamp shouldn’t be so nerve wracking, and yet–

Jake grunts, interrupting your thoughts again as he shifts against the couch. Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm.

“We finished with some ‘Babes in Arms’ tonight,” you preface. “So here’s your finale.” With another breath, you start to sing– just low enough for the two of you to hear. 

“You’re my funny Valentine… sweet, comic Valentine… you make me smile with my heart.”

You can feel Jake relax even further as you continue. “Your looks are laughable… unphotographable… yet you’re my favorite work of art.”

With every line, you’re more grateful that he wasn’t present tonight, cutting up with his usual antics while you were onstage. “Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smart?”

…and yet, looking at him now, wounded and weary, you get the nagging feeling that if last week was your final exchange, you’d miss him. Him, of all people. “But don’t change a hair for me… not if you care for me.”

The gentle rise and fall of his chest lets you know he’s already long gone. With his brow smoothed and that cocky smile melted away, you feel like you’re seeing Jake for the first time. At his worst, maybe, but like he has nothing to hide. 

“Stay, little Valentine, stay…”

Your exhaustion hits you all at once. You prop your head on your hand, leaning onto the bit of cushion Jake doesn’t occupy. You can barely hear yourself as you finish.

“...each day is Valentine’s Day.”

__________

You don’t remember falling asleep.

All you know is that your body aches twice as much as it would have if you’d slept in a real bed. Instead, you realize before you even open your eyes, you dozed off while sitting on the floor, legs and back at an awkward angle.

You move to sit up, but feel some resistance. You’re pinned by a blanket-covered arm draped across your shoulders. Eyes now startled open, you remember whose it is.

Jake’s still asleep, unbothered by your jolt of discovery. His brow is tense, likely because of the angle he himself ended up in, but he’s otherwise the picture of peace.

The sun hasn’t risen and the apartment is cold; it’s just you and him huddled in the lamplit space. Part of you wants to close your eyes and lean back in, but the rest of you screams that if you don’t get any blood flow to your legs, the only lounge you should look forward to this evening is a chaise.

You push yourself off the cushion, careful to move Jake’s arm back by his side. The sudden pressure makes him jump.

“Shit, what the—” he hisses, opening his eyes to see you, still at eye level. “Sorry,” he murmurs, distracted from the pain by the sight of you still at his makeshift bedside.

“No, I’m sorry.” You finish detangling yourself from the blanket and stumble upright. You consider thanking him for keeping you from freezing, but quickly change the subject instead. “I don’t mean to hurry you, but if you want to freshen up, my bathroom’s just through there.”

Jake stifles a groan as he pushes himself up off the couch. “No, I should get going soon. But I’d love to wash off the rest of this–” He almost says “blood,” but given how your face falls, he should move on. “I’d love to freshen up.”

As Jake busies himself in the bathroom, you head to your closet. You don’t feel like changing, although you suspect there’s some unfortunate stains that made their way onto your skirt. Instead, you grab a pair of socks and a buttoned shirt, draping the latter on the bathroom door. You hear Jake humming as you walk back to the couch.

When he opens the door, Jake sees the shirt. He doesn’t have to ask to know it’s one of Matt’s. He swaps his stained shirt for the clean one in the kitchen. Meaning you get an eyeful of just how bruised his torso really is.

You finish putting on your socks (this place is freezing) and stand at the edge of the kitchen. “You look better.”

“I feel better,” Jake chimes, slowly buttoning up his shirt. While you're relieved he looks rested, face and hair glistening from their quick wash, his bruises hurt to look at. You can only imagine how sore he must still be.

“Do you need something to eat?” You move to your cupboard, wincing when you notice how threadbare it is. “I can offer you… black coffee, or what used to be a loaf of bread.”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. “You've done enough, I'm grateful. Think I'll head home and sleep the rest of this off.”

You turn back to him, stepping closer. With the excess blood and dirt washed from his face, you can see his color slowly returning. The skin by his eye remains discolored but less swollen, showing a glimmer of the brown eye still forced closed beneath his stitches. His wet hair reveals its true texture, with dark curls falling onto his face. You brush a hand across his forehead, pushing the damp hair away from his injured eye. You miss how his breath catches as you tut over him.

“It's just like Maurie's, I don't know how you boys handle all this hair…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “You prefer your men coiffed and clean-shaven, then?”

“I didn't say that.” You pull your hand away, but stay just as close. “You're sure you don't need anything else? Do you want help walking home? I can call Matthew.”

"Nah, it's alright. Just gonna pick up my cab and head to my place."

"You should see a doctor, get real stitches so they don’t scar–"

"I'm promise you, I'm–"

"–or you could start bleeding again, I don't want–"

“Hey.” His hand goes to cradle your face, silencing you.

Neither of you speak for a moment, all your attention on where palm meets cheek. Jake clears his throat, not moving his hand. "I'll take care of it. Look, if I'm worse for wear the next time I see you, you can kick my tail to kingdom come." His thumb lightly traces the worry line beneath it. "Deal?"

You nod, finding it hard to swallow your next argument. "...okay." 

Another moment passes. The corners of your mouth threaten to turn up. “So when should we expect to have your table ready?”

“Oh, it’s my table now, is it?” Jake laughs, a labored sound, but he smiles through the discomfort.

You brush his hand away. “Come off it, you know what I meant.”

“I know,” he sighs, still smiling. He steps away, tugging on his coat. “But where's the fun in telling you? Rather let it be a surprise, keep you on your toes.”

You search for something, anything to say in response, but watching him struggle to put his coat on, face still cut and bruised, your usual wit fails you.

Your silence doesn't go unnoticed. Once he’s dressed, Jake steps over to you again, this time holding his hand out to you. “Until next time, morena.”

Slowly, you extend your hand to clasp his. It’s warm, like the way he’s looking at you now. You squeeze it lightly. “Until next time.”

Before you can let go, he bends down, bringing your hand to his lips. They’re dry as they brush against it, but you feel your skin burn all the same. With a signature wink and a smile, he lets go. When the door closes behind him, you’re left with the receding sound of his footsteps, your skin blazing from his touch, and the drum of your own heart racing in your chest.

__________

When Jake reaches the street, he ducks into an alley. By now the sun has almost completely risen, but the faint shape of the moon remains unusually visible over the city.

Jake closes his eyes. In an instant, his clothes transform: the borrowed shirt and bloodstained trousers fade away, replaced with a blindingly white suit. It’s more dapper than anything Jake would wear himself, but Khonshu isn't the type to keep personal tastes in mind.

A white mask rises from the collar of the suit, wrapping around his head and face. Immediately Jake feels the pressure behind his eyes alleviate, and he can think clearly for the first time in hours.

He opens his eyes– now glowing like the moon– and stares at the sky.

We need to talk, you boneheaded bastard.

__________

A/N: holy fuck this was a marathon. but worth it imo! this has the most scenes i wanted from my og concept (a oneshot, if you can believe it); love seeing how things come together within a new story. this has been a blast an a half to work on, for the story but also bc y'all's feedback has been so fun. thank you for your hype and support through all this!!!

shoutout to @mrs-lockley for always being a willing collaborator + hypewoman + reminding me that the superpowered blind character is still fucking BLIND

also ty @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch for your help re: beating that guy up. kisses to u

as always, tysm for reading <3

tag list: @mercurysjoy, @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 3 (My Way Of Life)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, brief description of injury

wc: 1,676

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: old habits die hard.

----------

You've never put much stock in wishes coming true.

Hard work, determination, and a bit of luck are what your faith lies in. Wanting something so badly that it comes to be? Nothing more than a fantasy.

At least, that's what you had believed before tonight.

The back table has been empty for a while– all evening, to be precise. You catch yourself looking toward the door between interactions. No Wesley. No Lockley.

It's Tuesday night.

Before you head backstage, you see a new guest being led to the back table. You rush to intercept, startling the poor waiter.

“Mr. Manalo, a word?” You smile apologetically at the guest and take his escort aside. “What are you doing, Teddy?”

His eyes turn frantic. “I was seating a guest, ma’am. Did I do something wrong?”

You glance at the clock behind the bar: twenty minutes past the hour, with the usual party nowhere in sight. They’re never this late.

“Miss,” Teddy urgently whispers, as the patron has started to get restless. “There’s no reservation tonight. I-I mean, not for this table, but for James Wesley, either.”

You can’t help how your face falls at the news. “I see,” you chirp, forcing yourself to perk up. “Then please make sure this gentleman enjoys his table. With a drink on the house for the inconvenience.” You pat his shoulder and step away.

Weren’t you counting down the days until his smug face stopped haunting your evenings? Didn’t it grate at your nerves to tiptoe around your own lounge twice a week, guarded and on edge? Isn't this a wish come true?

Later you walk onstage with the band and give your usual spiel. The applause rings hollow. As you scan the room, the man at the back table doesn’t even look your way, too engrossed in his dinner. You place a hand on your stomach to ease the knot that forms with every breath, along with the sinking feeling that something isn’t right.

But the show must go on.

----------

There's a cruel duality to Jake's commission.

Protecting the travelers of the night was, in a way, second nature long before his life became what it is now. Whenever he was out, he had his eye on the underdogs, the vulnerable on the outskirts. Most people were his people. It's the other side of the coin, the means to the end that eventually made his oath a burden, turning his cab into a hearse once the sun goes down.

Not all his passengers give him the courtesy of a quiet departure.

That's the case tonight, the throbbing pain above his eye reminds him. James Wesley didn’t go down without a fight. Jake came out on top– he always does– but there was a surprising ferocity behind Wesley’s bespectacled stare as he dealt a gnarly blow to fend off the inevitable. Stumbling through the night, vision spinning and blurring all at once, Jake wonders if the risk in confronting him unarmed was calculated well enough.

This would not have happened if you had used my gifts.

“Of course you wouldn't let me suffer in silence,” Jake mutters. The old bird has never been one for stellar bedside manner.

You have lost focus, my son.

“Oh I'm plenty focused, big guy. Right now I'm focused on not–” he coughs, mouth tasting of pennies and regret as his head wound steadily bleeds, “–not passing out in the street.”

The night air shifts around Jake as he continues to stumble down the pavement. The waning shape of the moon seems to glare down at him, its light as cold as the wind that stings his labored lungs.

The task at hand requires your full attention, and unless you are aided by my gifts–

“Oh yeah, what a gift. Sharp suit and a few tricks, pretty fair tradeoff for being your puppet.”

A sudden gust of wind nearly makes Jake lose his footing. 

Remember your debt, Jake Lockley. I have something your fractured mind wants.

Jake spits, staining the sidewalk red. “Maybe what I want is for you to see you have something to lose, too.” His breath is harder to come by, chest heaving as his temper flares. “Think you've been gettin’ too comfortable with our arrangement.”

You would risk killing yourself to make a point? Look at what your tantrum has cost you.

Jake finally stops walking, turning to catch a glimpse of himself in a shop window. He barely makes out the reflection of a hardened, bloodied man, staring back in resounding silence.

Do you think you would know a moment's peace if they knew a stranger inhabited the body? A murderer?

“You know damn well I’ve always done what I've had to do,” he grunts, slumping against the wall. “Done what you've told me to. They'd hate you more than me.”

Maintain your recklessness, and they’ll never have the opportunity for hatred. You'll bury them with you.

----------

“Sometimes I wish you lived closer to the lounge, this walk is too long.”

The night air nips at your faces as Matt treks dutifully beside you on the way to your apartment. You try not to make a habit of late nights, but over the past few weeks it's been harder to step away after sending everyone home. There's always one more loose end to tie up, another addition to the rehearsal schedule to jot down, some final complaint to resolve with a staff member. You'd all but live in the lounge if Matt didn't make it his mission to take you home every night, keeping you from falling asleep at your vanity if he could help it.

You roll your eyes. “You're welcome to hitch a ride with your favorite cab driver next time, since you're thick as thieves.” You surprise yourself with how bitter you sound; no matter how you feel about the company he keeps, he doesn't deserve your ire. “Sorry. I'm just a bit out of sorts tonight.”

He laughs at your jab, then turns more serious. “Yeah, I could tell. You sounded… distracted when I heard you wrapping up. Everything alright?”

You tighten your coat around yourself as you continue walking. Your shoes click against the pavement, punctuating the silence between you as you search for your words.

“That man, your friend Jake… he wouldn't get you in trouble, would he?”

Matt smirks as he weighs your question. “What's a little trouble now and then? You know I can take it.”

“I'm serious, Matthew.” You link his arm with yours and slow your pace. “I know he's more than your client, but I don't want to see you get hurt.” 

Matt Murdock has been your friend longer than he's been your lawyer. As he walks you home for the thousandth time, that same uneasy feeling from before rises in your stomach. Your thumb traces his sleeve. “I can't afford to lose you.”

His hand finds yours and stills it, pausing for a moment. “You won't. I promise.”

You search his face in the yellowed streetlights. You're typically at a disadvantage when it comes to one of you being able to lie to the other, but right now you believe him. Or at least, that he believes himself.

He pats your hand and resumes walking. “I have to say, Jake's not a bad guy to have in your corner. A bit rough around the edges, but I'm sure he'd be on your team if you'd let him.”

You sigh. “We don't have to keep talking about him. He takes up enough of my time when he deigns to show up and pester me.”

Matt's eyes crinkle behind his glasses. “Level with me: is he really that unbearable?”

“Yes.” You shake your head after a moment, mind racing like it was when you realized his weekly routine was broken. “No… I don't know.” 

The man has been a nuisance, but when you think about it, he's never been more than an annoyance with his cheeky persistence. Jake's like a puppy that continues to get underfoot, staring up at you with big brown eyes whenever you offer a crumb of attention. You may loathe his yapping, but without it, something was missing tonight.

“I know a friend of yours is bound to be decent,” you concede, “but I can't get over the feeling that he's hiding something. And I'm not too fond of anyone who makes me question what they could have up their sleeve.”

Matt nods as you talk, hesitant before responding. “You know, it's not completely fair to push him away because you don't know him… when all he seems to want is the chance to let you.”

You scoff at the thought. “You know full well I don't have time for entanglements, Matty. You've seen the blackmail. There's too much on the line to get distracted.”

“Sometimes distraction is a good thing.”

“That's rich coming from you.”

“Alright, so I'm not the most social guy,” he laughs. “But you should still think about what I'm saying. Jake's alright in my book.”

You remove your arm from his, wrapping it around yourself again. “It doesn't matter, anyway. He didn't show tonight. Bigwig client of his must have found a new rendezvous spot.”

You see Matt's jaw clench at the mention of Mr. Wesley. “You know something.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Don't lie to me, Matty. You know something about that man he's been driving, don't you?” You walk slightly ahead, studying his face as you press on. “And I bet you know where they went tonight.”

Matt stops in his tracks, rigid and alert. You've learned that look, the one that tells you he's latched onto something like a bloodhound and won't rest until he hunts it down.

“Something's wrong.”

He takes off down the sidewalk, barely giving you time to catch up as he rounds the corner. A few more twists and turns in your route and you finally stop.

There, slumped against the brick wall of the apartment complex, bleeds out half of your 7 o’clock reservation.

----------

A/N: besties this is now a 10-chapter project... how did i get here

i am living for the speculation and hype in the tags/rbs, please don't feel shy-- let me know where your head is with all this! of course, if you are shy, no pressure. glad to have you along for the ride either way :)

as always, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedroo, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[soft-girl-musings]

love seeing this picrew cross my dash so uhhh here's Jake and Songbird to prove i haven't forgotten about them

i plan on doing a fancast post once i finish the story + find a faceclaim for our trumpet player Leo, but this is a nice nod to how i see Songbird when i write her 💚

[soft-girl-musings]

WIP Wednesday

gosh, feels like it's been ages since i've done one of these

still trucking away at MK Bingo, still brainstorming for Dieter, still working on some other things. f i n a l l y started on the next chapter of PPP and we're a long way from finishing but we are making progress babey!!

from Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps chapter 5 (Something's Gotta Give):

Maybe years from now, society adopts stricter rules for how soon you should call on a lady. Even today, some would advise against showing your hand too early. Some men wouldn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate. But Jake Lockley is not a liar. If “desperate” is the word for the incessant drumming in his chest each time you come to mind; if it’s what has him cutting corners and driving recklessly, ushering customers along at double the pace so his thoughts can return to you; if it’s why his palms sweat and nerves ache at the memory of your face that night, that morning… then Jake Lockley is desperate. It’s hardly been a day and a half since he left your apartment cold and injured. The suit stitched him back together in seconds; the only ache that remained was at the thought of you. You, who scooped him off the pavement and took pity on him. Who stained your hands with his blood to make it stop. You, who set his skin on fire with the smallest touch and had him convinced he would burn with or without it. Screw the three day rule. He has to see you.

...needless to say, i'm excited.

[soft-girl-musings]

WIP Wednesday

ladies & germs, we have a summary 👀

might try and get chapter 1 posted on friday, but if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. either way, i'm jazzed to share this labor of love v soon 🫶🏽

one last snippet for your troubles:

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often. “...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

[soft-girl-musings]

Writing Patterns

tagged by @nerdieforpedro, loved seeing yours!!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Last Night (chapter 1) (Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader)

You aren't usually this late.

Stranger Danger (Steven Grant x Fem!Reader)

“Oops, careful!”

Perks of Being a Wallflower (Jake Lockley x Plus Size Fem!Reader)

Jake likes to keep his intel hotspots in rotation. 

Cry (Marc Spector x GN!Reader)

The first time came out of nowhere.

Burn (Jake Lockley & GN!Reader)

This stinks.

Comedy of Errors (Steven Grant x GN!Reader)

It's poor etiquette to laugh. Right?

Salt & Pepper (Moon Knight System x GN!Reader)

"Put. It. Down."

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (chapter 1) (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader)

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (chapter 3) (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader)

You've never put much stock in wishes coming true.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (chapter 4) (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader)

“He doesn’t look like he’d be this heavy.”

Conclusion: i'm still in the essay-writing mindset of "grab their attention on the first line" and try to keep things snappy. the first line is obviously the part i spend the least amount of time on lol

NPT: @ivystoryweaver @fandxmslxt69 @virtie333 @campingwiththecharmings (sorry if these are repeats, kisses buddies)

[soft-girl-musings]

the soft girl do be musing huh

(updated 6/15/2024)

I crosspost to ao3

dm or send a message if you'd like to be added to my tag list! we have fun here

Fortress of Solitude (Lucy Chen x Tim Bradford)

Stranger Danger (Steven Grant x Fem!Reader)

part 1 part 2

There's safety in numbers, do you want mine? (too soon?)

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader)

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6

(late 1940s Noir AU) Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

Salt & Pepper (Moon Knight System x GN!Reader)

Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

Comedy of Errors (Steven Grant x GN!Reader)

The course of true love never did run smooth. And neither does the play you watch unfold.

Burn (Jake Lockley & GN!Reader)

What's a few burnt mementos between friends?

Cry (Marc Spector x GN!Reader)

Three times Marc told you it was okay to cry, and one time you returned the favor.

Perks of Being a Wallflower (Jake Lockley x Plus Size Fem!Reader)

For Jake, a night on the town means sticking to the background, listening for signs of trouble. That all changes when he sees you at the dance hall.

Last Night (Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader)

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

You're usually tight-lipped about your frustrations, especially when it comes to Jake. But a drink too many leaves you spilling your thoughts one by one.

An Unexpected Proposition (Kíli x Fem!Reader)

part 1 part 2

An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

Moon Knight Spring Bingo Card (2024)

most of my WIP folder is going toward this, bless

peep my character playlists lol

[soft-girl-musings]

WIP Poll

tagged by @lesuccube, hey babe <3

rules : make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got.

tagging @foxilayde @spacecowboyhotch @boredzillenial @campingwiththecharmings, if you'd like to give it a go!

[mrs-lockley]

WIP Game

Tagged by the lovely @soft-girl-musings!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagging: @v4mpires0ap @writefightandflightclub @wint3r-h3art @starryeyedstories @themarcusmoreno but only if you want to!

List of WIPs and their summaries are under the cut!

Current WIPs:

Reach for the Moon: Sabrina AU Pairing: Romantic Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, Platonic Steven Grant x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, Unrequited/Platonic Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader To heal your broken heart and move on from your unrequited crush on Marc Spector, your family sends you to help establish your cousin's bakery in Singapore for two years. You return to New York as a more confident woman, but you find yourself picking up the pieces of your broken heart (again) after meeting Marc as he continues to heal from his divorce. Sensing the pain and heartbreak between you and Marc, Jake steps in to create some distance to help both of you heal, but things don't go according to plan. No Moon Knight AU.

We'll Always Have New York: Roman Holiday/Casablanca AU Pairing: Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader Wanting to get out of California, you temporarily move to live with your aunt in New York to help take care of her after her fall. Not wanting you to spend your time looking after her, she suggests setting a blind date between you and one of her old coworkers, only for him to stand you up at the restaurant. Mortified and heartbroken, you seek refuge at a nearby coffee shop where you meet a taxicab driver, Jake Lockley. Takes place before the events of Moon Knight.

A Thousand Cuts Pairing: Marc Spector x WOC!Reader Heartbreak is something you and your friend, Marc Spector, are familiar with. After one night of drinking and tears, you and Marc make a promises to each other to never fall in love again, but you soon find yourself breaking that promise. But you'll be alright, it's just a thousand cuts

Your Roots in My Dreamland Pairing: Namor/K'uk'ulkan x Filipina (Kapampangan)Sirena!Fem!Reader Part 2 of Where the Spirit Meets the Bones. After reuniting with his Sirena, the King of Talokan returns to Asia's Pearl of the Orient to see her again, only to learn that his Sirena is not what she seems (aka her human backstory revealed).

As You Wish Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x WOC!Reader The three times Santiago almost tells you he loves you, and the one time you realize he was in love with you. Loosely based on the Princess Bride. Slight Triple Frontier AU where you are Yovanna's best friend and Santiago is her neighbor.

General ideas with no details (yet)

Once Upon a December, Hades & Persphone AU First Order!Poe Dameron Miguel O'Hara x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader

Untitled, Noir AU Jake Lockley x Femme Fatale!Reader

Where There is Love, There Will Be Light, Swan Lake AU Santiago "Pope" Garcia x WOC!Reader

Untitled, Hephaestus & Aphrodite AU Din Djarin x WOC!Reader

[soft-girl-musings]

5 Self-Recs

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

!!! ty @winniethewife and @campingwiththecharmings for the tags (I wanted to wait until I had more than 5 fics written 💀)

Last Night (3 parts) [Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader]

my baby ahhh, this was my first ever completed fanfiction and what convinced me to keep writing. insanely grateful for the positive feedback/encouragement on this one 🙏🏽

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (4/10 chapters) [Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader]

NOIR JAKE MY BELOVED, I am having a blast with this story. written in collaboration with/inspired by thots between me and @mrs-lockley, this is such a passion project + love letter to Jake 💜

Perks of Being a Wallflower (oneshot) [Jake Lockley x Plus Sized Fem!Reader]

one of the fastest fics I've written bc I was so enamored by the thought of @ivystoryweaver's Dance Instructor Jake headcanons, had me blushing/giggling/etc. as a plus sized girlie this is everything I want 🫣

Cry (oneshot) [Marc Spector x GN!Reader]

my first attempt at writing for marc, and it's so precious to me. i want to comfort that man sm 🥺

Salt & Pepper (oneshot) [Moon Knight System x GN!Reader]

i have been waiting MONTHS to write this one and it was worth the wait... can i also take a moment to say THANK YOU bc we're at 332 notes after only 4 days??? glad to know so many of us are weak for that gray haired man 🫠

np tags to @nerdieforpedro @spacecowboyhotch @fandxmslxt69 @mrs-lockley @flowerpotmage (sorry if these are repeat tags i'm sleepy)