Out of the blue, you hear your name spoken in a familiar voice. You turn and see the person that matches the voice pushing his way through the crowd.
You stare. “Dr. Grant?”
Standing in the middle of a dive bar in Michigan is Professor Steven Grant, wearing a black dress shirt and a name tag that’s completely redundant to you, considering you couldn’t forget him if you tried.
“Hiya,” he says, tipping his glass to you.
Or: An unexpected encounter leads to something more.
Rating: 18+ only* / minors: do not read/interact
WC:10k
Tags/warnings:slow burn; mutual pining; idiots to lovers; professor/student relationship (eventually)**; smut (eventually); Reader is a “blank slate” but has a backstory; yearning; kissing/making out; angst
A/N:big big shoutout to @nobodys-baby-now for helping me work out the kinks in this chapter after I realized I had to delete 5k words and panicked. thank you so much, bb!
*This series, and my entire blog, are 18+ only. To follow & interact, you must be 18 or older and have your age in your bio.
**Do as I say, not as I fictionalize. It goes without saying that the plot of this series would be extremely inappropriate IRL. Please don’t fuck your professors.
Over winter break, the campus is quiet and lonely.
You decide to stay in Chicago over the holidays. After all, plane tickets are expensive, you have research to do, and there are no archives back home. Your roommate leaves to visit her family, then your family comes to visit for a week, but after that you have the run of the place.
On one hand, it’s nice, because you get a lot of work done. The library is still open, so you hole up in a study room to slog through the first draft of your thesis and the outline for your conference presentation. With no distractions in the form of friends or disturbingly attractive professors, you’re able to make real headway on both. It’s just you and the handful of tired-looking student librarians who keep the place running, exchanging knowing exhausted looks when you show up for the nth day in a row.
On the other hand, you’re lonely. Without your roommate around—constantly making noise, listening to the weirdest possible playlists on Spotify—the apartment feels very empty. You wander out of your room after a day of writing in search of companionship, and all you find is an empty living room and your dirty dishes still in the sink.
That said, there’s one reason to be grateful for the solitude that winter break brings: it keeps you far away from Professor Grant. After your little revelation following your date with Josh, the last thing you need is to see Dr. Grant in person. You don’t want to be anywhere near him with the knowledge that you got yourself off thinking about his hands and his cute accent. Nope. The universe seems to have your back for now, because Dr. Grant is nowhere to be found in the entire city of Chicago. Hopefully, that means you will be able to kill your ridiculous crush on him by the time that the spring semester rolls around.
Hopefully. Operative word.
The new year begins and finds you right where you were before: hunched over your laptop, typing furiously, and suppressing all thoughts of the handsome professor you haven’t seen in weeks.
☾
After spending most of winter break floating in the fringes of Marc’s consciousness while he fronts, Steven comes back to an overflowing inbox and a lot of missed calls. Near the top of his email inbox is a message he most definitely wasn’t expecting:
Thank you for registering to attend the 2022 Classical and Ancient Studies Conference at the University of Michigan — Ann Arbor!
Steven stares at the screen. He flicks his eyes up to the window across from him and glowers at himself in the glass.
“You did this?” Steven demands.
His reflection shrugs, showing not a shred of regret.
“I’m going to give you the body just to punch you in the face,” Steven threatens. His reflection glitches, leaving him staring back at himself in the dark mirror of the window.
“This is the last thing I need,” Steven grumbles. He moves his mouse to cancel his registration, but right as his cursor hesitates over the button, he hesitates.
He’s done such a good job keeping himself away from her. Marc taking control of their lives for a while helped. With a healthy distance between him and her, Steven thought he would be able to start the spring semester without that additional distraction. Now, it seems that Marc is setting Steven on a collision course with her. Everything cautious and logical inside Steven tells him to make a U-turn as fast as he can, but he can’t quite bring himself to.
Instead of canceling his registration, he books a trip to Michigan, even though he knows he shouldn’t. When this inevitably blows up in his face, he reasons, at least Marc will have to share the blame.
☾
The first conference you ever attended was way back in sophomore year. You tagged along with the professor who ran your archaeology lab and a few students from your research group. While much of the conference was what you were expecting, the first night certainly wasn’t. When you read “Welcome Happy Hour” on the schedule, you were imagining a polite group of academics sipping champagne and discussing the finer points of their research—not full-on intoxicated debates about the most current controversies in the field.
Being only twenty at the time, you couldn’t drink, so instead you leaned up against a high table with a Shirley Temple and felt like a child eavesdropping on the adults in the room. From then onwards, every time you saw an esteemed name on an assigned article in class, all you could picture was said academic tipsy and shouting down a colleague at a conference center in the Midwest.
Admittedly, you hadn’t understood it back then. What’s the appeal of drinking to excess surrounded by colleagues? Now, after a five-hour bus ride from Chicago to Ann Arbor that turned into six and a half due to construction on I-94, you get it. You dump your bags at your hotel, change out of your traveling clothes, and make a beeline to the bar where the welcome happy hour is being held.
At the moment, nothing sounds better than a chance to unwind after being alone on an empty campus for weeks on end and cramped in a Greyhound for almost seven hours. The conference has cashed out to rent the back room of a campus bar, so it’s a short walk in the cold of Michigan winter to get to the venue. When you arrive, the bar is already bustling—it looks to be a popular spot for students and townies alike.
The bar is no different than the dive bars back in Chicago. The familiarity of it is reassuring. As you weave your way through the crowd to the back room, your shoes stick slightly to the floor and the smell of stale beer fills your nose. When you make it to the back room, the door is already propped open. The sound of voices guides you through, and you enter and find a crowd of blazer-ed and nametagged academics milling around, drinks already in hand.
Okay, so a little different than the bars back home. Seriously, who gives out name tags at a casual happy hour?
The familiarity of the bar evaporates as you hesitate at the threshold. You’re stuck, like the sticky linoleum has taken hold of the soles of your shoes and won’t let go. This is your least favorite part of social gatherings: the uncomfortable period between arriving and melting into the crowd, the moment where everyone turns around to see who walked in. Standing in the doorway makes you feel all too visible. Like you’re being sized up; like everyone is trying to decide whether or not you belong here. In a room full of career academics, that feeling is so much more intense. If Imposter Syndrome could be summarized in a single agonizing second, it would be this.
Out of the blue, you hear your name spoken in a familiar voice. You turn and see the person that matches the voice pushing his way through the crowd.
You stare. “Dr. Grant?”
Standing in the middle of a dive bar in Michigan is Professor Steven Grant, wearing a black dress shirt and a name tag that’s completely redundant to you, considering you couldn’t forget him if you tried.
“Hiya,” he says, tipping his glass to you.
He’s holding a sweating glass of some kind of amber liquid. The condensation wicks off the glass and onto his hand.
Hishands.
You drag your eyes back upwards before you can get lost in the memory of that night after your date. The back of your neck starts to feel hot and you wish you had a cold drink to cool off.
“Hi,” you say, still sounding dumbstruck. “Um, I thought you said you weren’t going to be here?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think so either, but here I am. When’d you get in?”
You take a deep breath. This is a normal conversation. Be normal.
“About an hour ago, I think? I checked into the hotel and then walked over here. Just wanted to unwind, you know?”
Dr. Grant nods. He takes a sip of his drink, and then steps out of your way and gestures towards the bar. A crowd of conference attendees—all older than you, all definitely more qualified to be here—are leaning up against the counter.
“By all means, don’t let me get between you and a drink,” he jokes.
Sparing a smile, you push past Dr. Grant and head towards the bar. It’s only when you arrive that you realize you’ve made an error: there’s no menu anywhere. The little plastic sign just says “Well drinks = $5.” What the hell is a well drink? You’re an adult and you should have a go-to order by now, but you don’t. Every time you have to order off-menu, you end up sounding like a teenager trying to buy liquor with a fake ID. It’s really embarrassing.
To your relief, Dr. Grant has followed you over. While the bartender makes a drink for the man beside you, you turn to Dr. Grant.
“What did you get?” you ask, pointing at his drink.
“Me?” Dr. Grant looks down at the glass and grimaces. “Rum and coke.”
You tilt your head. If you had to guess what he was drinking, it wouldn’t be that.
He shrugs. “I panicked. It was the only thing I could think of. Terrible, I know. A disgrace to good liquor.”
“I don’t think you’re in danger of getting good liquor here,” you joke.
Dr. Grant’s mouth quirks up into a smile. You hate how much your stomach flutters when you realize you’ve amused him.
When the bartender comes over, you point to Dr. Grant’s drink. “I’ll have the same,” you say, with false confidence that you hope sounds genuine.
Please don’t card me, you plead silently. Please do not card me in front of a room full of my colleagues.
The bartender doesn’t even blink an eye. He just turns around and begins fixing your drink. You let out a small, relieved sigh.
Beside you, Dr. Grant leans up against the bar and stirs his drink with the thin black straws sticking out of it. The ice clinks gently against the glass. “I know it’s a bit of a British stereotype to like a drink, but I don’t. Dunno what it is. I hate the taste of alcohol. Unless it’s in something sweet, I can’t get it down.”
“Hence the Coke?”
Dr. Grant nods and sips his drink.
The fact that Dr. Grant hates alcohol and has a sweet tooth is incredibly endearing. Every new fact you learn about him just makes him more adorable, which is a very dangerous thought to have while completely sober.
The bartender pushes your drink towards Dr. Grant, who picks it up and hands it to you. For a split second, your fingers brush his, and the coolness of the drink against your palm and the heat of his hand against yours sends shivers rippling up your arm. You haven’t even touched your drink yet, but just that brush of his hand makes you feel buzzed.
Picking up the glass, you tilt towards Dr. Grant. “Cheers,” you say, in your best imitation of his accent. It comes out sounding like Oliver Twist.
He almost spits out his drink laughing. You sip yours to hide your smile.
In any other context, this would be called flirting. That’s what you’re doing, right? The banter, the teasing—this is flirting. The only reason that it’s different is that you’re a student, Dr. Grant is a professor, and you’re in a room full of colleagues. You can’t be seen sitting here and teasing him about his accent where anyone could overhear. The reminder of your surroundings makes the rum in your drink go bitter on your tongue. With every joke you share with Dr. Grant, you can feel yourself inching closer and closer to a line you’re not supposed to cross, and you need to pull back before you make an irreparable mistake.
Not here. Not in front of an audience.
Evenif Dr. Grant is standing so close to you, smelling like cedar wood and some kind of musky cologne. Even if you can feel the heat of his body from twelve inches away. Even ifhis glass is sweating droplets onto his hands and you want to lick it off his fingers.
Woah.You avert your eyes and glare at the dark liquid in your glass. Maybe this drink is a little too strong.
You need to get away from Dr. Grant. Immediately. Casting your gaze around the room, you land on a familiar face—a classmate from your cohort at UC. Perfect.
“Well, it was a nice surprise to see you here,” you say. “But I gotta go say hello to some people, so…”
Dr. Grant looks around bemused, like he forgot you were in a crowded bar. Does he feel that same dangerous electricity crackling between you? Does he also feel like you two exist in a sphere of your own? Or is he just more intoxicated than he’s letting on? You can’t tell if the look on his face is one of tipsy confusion or if it’s the same haze of inappropriate desire currently fogging your brain.
Before he can come up with a response to your statement, you’ve already disappeared into the crowd.
☾
Steven still feels a little drunk when he lays down in bed that night.
He shouldn’t have finished his first drink, and he really shouldn’t have ordered a second. In fairness, he had thought it would distract him from his current dilemma—so he did.
It didn’t, and he regrets it.
Now, as the clock ticks closer to midnight, Steven finds himself lying spread-eagled on a hotel mattress that’s about as hard as a rock, staring at the ceiling as the room spins around him. He locks his eyes on the overhead lighting fixture, as if that will help steady him.
“How does Marc do this?” Steven wonders aloud. Steven has watched from mirrors as his alter downs multiple shots in a row and comes up seemingly sober. “Don’t we have the same body? You’d think we’d have the same metabolism.”
The ceiling doesn’t answer his question.
Groaning, Steven rolls over onto his side. The mattress is no more forgiving in this position. The room still spins, and the alcohol pumping through Steven’s bloodstream is making him feel even more melancholic than usual. The absurdity of this situation finally sets in: he’s drunk and alone in a hotel in Michigan, of all places, at a conference he doesn’t know anything about, because—
Because what?
Steven can’t even admit it to himself. He knows why he booked a flight to Ann Arbor instead of canceling his registration, and it’s the same reason he left the Art Institute miserable all those weeks ago, and it’s the same reason he let a student audit his class for no real reason.
Her.
She’s the reason behind all of this. The brilliant student with pretty eyes and razor-sharp wit. Steven has never properly been in love before, but being around her makes him feel stupid and happy at the same time, and that sounds a lot like people describe love on the television and in books.
Steven rolls over again, this time laying face-down on the mattress. His cheek mushes against the hardtack mattress. Apparently, closing his eyes doesn’t help the whole spinning-room thing, but at least it keeps the ceiling light from glaring into his sensitive pupils. Conveniently, the mattress also muffles the sound of him groaning his misery out of the pit of his stomach.
The thing is, he had been doing so well up to this point. In comparison to his first semesters as a professor—all the late arrivals to his own classes, all the missed appointments and deadlines—the fall semester went well. He only missed a week of classes (thanks, Jake), he turned in all of his grades on time, and he even got a handful of positive course reviews when December rolled around. By all accounts, that’s a good semester. Steven had proved to himself that he could live his own life and live it well. No distractions, no major mistakes.
Except for her.
He hadn’t seen her since that day at the Art Institute, the date with her boyfriend that he accidentally crashed, and he had been doing a good job of staying away from her and letting her live her life without him breathing down her neck. Seeing her at the bar was like a punch to the gut. Still bright and kind as always, she had managed to be sweet to him and tease him in a fifteen-minute span, and his fingers are still tingling from when his knuckles brushed against hers around the cold glass of her drink.
Pathetic, Steven thinks. She’s the first person to be properly kind to him in ages, and he falls head over heels for her, despite the fact that she’s a student. Like, seriously?
He thought a break in his corporeal existence would help him, but it didn’t. Now that he’s back in his body, it’s a hundred times worse. It’s worse because he’s in his body—now he can feel all the ways his traitorous physical form responds to her. When she brushed past him at the bar to go greet her friend, he felt that passing touch like an electric shock. When he thinks about seeing her at the museum with her boyfriend—watching that tall, blond kid wrap his hand around her waist—he feels that strange, sick feeling boiling in his stomach again.
Now he has a name for it: jealousy.
“Pathetic,” he says again, this time out loud. It bounces off the dingy walls and echoes back to him.
He can’t be jealous of her boyfriend. He isn’t allowed to be jealous of her boyfriend. Still, though, the images from that day keep popping up in Steven’s mind. One: when she leaned over to read the label on the statue of Khonshu and looked up at Steven for his approval when she tried to pronounce it. Two: the cute little dress she was wearing, the floral fabric skimming her thighs and cinching in at her waist. Three: that blond bastard wrapping his hand around her hip and pulling her closer to him, even when her face said she didn’t want it.
The jealousy in Steven’s stomach morphs into something like anger at that particular memory. She deserves someone who will pay attention to her. She deserves someone who will touch her only when she wants it, only the way she likes it. She deserves someone who will appreciate her brilliant mind and laugh when she tells those jokes that are so quick you almost don’t even realize they’re jokes. She deserves someone like that, because she’s good.
And you think you can be that for her?
The sarcastic voice in Steven’s head could be Khonshu or Marc or Jake or it could be Steven himself. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. At this point, he’s too tipsy and too tired to care.
What makes you think she would want you to be that for her?
“Shut it,” Steven mumbles, half-muffled in the mattress.
Pathetic.
“I said shut it,” Steven grunts.
He fumbles for the pillow to his right and drags it over his head, hoping in vain that it will muffle out the sounds of a voice coming from inside his mind. Too tired to get undressed, and feeling too nauseous from the alcohol and the revelations of the evening to do anything else, Steven curls up on top of the comforter and falls asleep.
☾
The conference is going great, other than the looming sense of doom as the day of your presentation grows closer and closer. The panels are informative, the presentations engaging, and the networking opportunities excellent. You get a free tote bag and slowly fill it up with business cards and email addresses scribbled onto cocktail napkins—seemingly everyone is curious about your research and wants to chat later, which makes you feel both very appreciated and extremely out of your element. When you’re not spiraling out into panic about your upcoming presentation, you’re thriving.
Throughout all of it, you barely see Dr. Grant. He appears to be on the entirely opposite schedule to you. Over the course of two days, you only see him exiting rooms that you’re entering and walking in the opposite direction as you. It’s so frequent it almost seems intentional. You would be offended, were it not a relief that your schedules are keeping you apart. After the night at the bar, you’re all too happy to keep your feelings towards Dr. Grant at arm’s length while you have more immediate problems at hand.
Focus, you tell yourself. Stop thinking about him.
You jerk your eyes upward. After staring at the abstract pattern of the conference floor carpet for several minutes, the negative of it still stains your vision. Fanciful shapes dance across your eyes as you focus on the presentation in front of you. There’s a grad student standing behind a lectern, presenting a lengthy talk on recent advances in carbon dating technology. Is it really a surprise your mind wandered?
Maybe if you were a proper archaeologist, this would be fascinating. You’re not, though, and you zone out every time someone says the word dendrochronology. Unfortunately, the student is saying that word a lot, so your mind keeps providing unhelpful thoughts about Dr. Grant and his annoyingly perfect hands and annoyingly charming demeanor to keep you occupied. Okay, you might actually be grateful that he has been nowhere to be found for the past two days—you don’t want to look him in the eye after this.
After the presentation is a panel and then a happy hour. You stick around for the panel, fill two pages in your notebook with notes and doodles, and then decide to head back to your room before the happy hour begins. Your presentation is at eleven tomorrow morning, and the last thing you need is to be carousing rather than practicing. Plus, with everyone downstairs, there’s no one on your floor and therefore no one to bother as you pace around your room presenting your PowerPoint over and over like you’re possessed by the ghost of Steve Jobs.
By eight in the evening, you’ve run through your presentation three times. Each time, you record yourself and watch it back, giving yourself notes like a director on a power trip.
At nine, you’re laying upside down on your bed and shuffling through your presentation notes, trying to decide if you need to reformat them to make your transitions clearer.
At ten, you decide to do another run-through. For some reason, this is the one where you trip up. You’re approaching the middle of it—when you really get into the meat of your research—and you stumble on something you’ve never stumbled on before. The words trip out of your mouth, and suddenly every phrase on your outline tumbles out of your head. It sends you scrambling for your notes, where you realize that you unknowingly skipped through an entire section this time around.
What?How did you miss that? How did you just skip over an entire section? What if that happens tomorrow morning? What happens if you stutter and then draw a blank in front of dozens of experts in your field?
You’ll look like an idiot. They’ll all regret giving you their business cards. You’ll get laughed out of the room.
No, no, no.
Pacing around the room, you try to take calming breaths, but they don’t do much to help. All you can think about is the horrible image of you standing at the front of a makeshift lecture hall and completely freezing up in front of a full audience. This is a familiar kind of panic: the deep-rooted fear that you’re not good enough, you’re just pretending to be smart, and someone will eventually find out that you’re not worth your scholarships and grant money. Normally, you would seek out your roommate or your friends to talk you down. But you’re not at home, and they’re not here to help you, and you feel yourself creeping closer and closer to a full-blown doom spiral.
You’re alone in Michigan, but not entirely. There is someone else here who could help you; all you have to do is ask for it. You think it over for about two and a half seconds, but you need someone to talk to so badly that you don’t hesitate.
Hi Dr. Grant,
I’m sorry to bother you so late. I’m working on my presentation—it’s tomorrow at 11 AM—and I would like a second opinion on some elements of it. Do you happen to have some time tonight to review it with me?
I’m on the third floor, room 306.
Thank you.
In the back of your mind, a very sensible voice reminds you that the last time you were in close proximity to Dr. Grant, you ended up dreaming about his fingers in your mouth. If it weren’t late in the evening, and if you weren’t about five minutes from a panic attack, you might have listened to that sensible voice. Now, though, all that practical bullshit feels very far away.
Barely two minutes after you sent the email, your phone buzzes on the bedspread.
You blink. You can’t say you were expecting that response, especially not so quickly. You type back a quick confirmation and then hurry around the room, attempting to make it presentable for a guest. Your suitcase has to go in the closet—you definitely can’t have it open and showing off your bras and panties that you packed for the trip. Then, you have to clean up the printed copies of your notes that are scattered everywhere, even though Dr. Grant is more than used to that kind of mess.
Oh, and you’re not wearing pants. Maybe you should find pants.
Unfortunately, it seems that you didn’t think to pack proper lounge pants—the only options in your suitcase are slacks or business casual dresses. There’s one lone pair of sleep shorts folded into your bag, which will simply have to do. After giving the room a final once-over, you determine that it’s clean enough, so you unlock the door and slide the deadbolt to prop it open.
Dr. Grant arrives almost exactly ten minutes after sending his email. It might be the only time he’s ever been perfectly on time, now that you think about it.
When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of Dr. Grant looking a little worse for wear: his hair is slightly unrulier than usual and the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced. As far as clothing, he’s dressed as casually as you: a long-sleeved, dark sweater that looks two sizes too big and gray sweatpants. Something inside you squeezes at the sight, something you might call yearning.
You lean against the door. “Thank you so much for this. I know it’s late, but I just…I really need someone to look at this presentation and tell me it’s not awful.”
Dr. Grant smiles. “I’m sure it’s not.”
You sigh and look down at your feet. You’re not wearing shoes—only a pair of fuzzy socks. “Yeah, I know. You can come in, by the way.”
Stepping out of the way, you give Dr. Grant space to walk past you and into the room. As he passes by, you catch that particular scent of his. It’s grown familiar over time: cedarwood and musk, familiar and homey. The yearning in your chest twists tighter.
You follow him into the room. “Okay, so, I only want to run through it one more time. Well, maybe two. It depends on how the first one goes. Like, I thought I had it all memorized, but I messed up the last time and now I’m second-guessing myself. Can you listen and just let me know if there are any, like, massive holes in my argument?”
Dr. Grant nods. “Sure, of course.”
He looks around the room in search of somewhere to sit, and you both seem to realize at the same time that the only option is your bed. Your stomach flips. Why does that feel so intimate?
“Er,” Dr. Grant says, looking at the bed.
“Oh, go ahead,” you encourage. “It’s fine.”
As he settles down, the mattress dips under his weight. He rests his hands in his lap and nods for you to take the lead. You gather your papers off the dresser and put your presentation in full-screen mode on your laptop. You take a deep breath, summon your confidence, and start your prepared remarks.
“Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking the time—”
“So sorry,” Steven interrupts. “I can’t see.”
While you wait, your hands awkwardly curled around your notes, Steven fumbles for his glasses. Usually he keeps them tucked into the pocket of his dress shirt, but today he’s sporting a sweater with no pockets, so he ends up fumbling at his chest for nothing. You bite back a smile and point to his hair, where his glasses are perched on the top of his head.
He lets out a chagrined laugh. “Of course. Alright, sorry for the interruption. Go on.”
His laughter breaks the tension. Before, you were nervous about the idea of presenting to Dr. Grant—after all, he is another academic, the kind of austere professional you will be presenting to tomorrow morning. Then again, he’s not. This is Dr. Grant, with his kind eyes and friendly demeanor. His presence puts you at ease. When you look down at your notes, the words that had seemed like alphabet soup just twenty minutes ago organize themselves in perfect order. Glancing back up, you realize Dr. Grant is watching you patiently with his dark eyes focused on your face. It makes your stomach flip again, but it’s from excitement rather than fear. Sharing your hard work with him is exciting, not terrifying.
You clear your throat and start again.
It takes about seventeen minutes total. You barely have to look at your notes, you don’t stumble, and you don’t forget anything this time. At the end of the PowerPoint, you click to the final slide and turn to Dr. Grant. You imagine that he is your real audience: not one professor sitting in your hotel room in his pajamas, but an entire hall full of academics in blazers and pantsuits. You give your most professional smile and give your concluding remarks.
“Thank you for your time. If you have any questions, I am happy to answer them in the next ten minutes.”
Dr. Grant grins and claps. “Wow, that was amazing!”
Your heart leaps. “Really?” Are you sure?”
He nods. Dr. Grant has a very expressive face and he looks genuinely excited for you. “Yeah, no, that was amazing. Really great work. This is what you were worried about?”
Without the pretense of your presentation, you feel a little shy standing in front of him. You rub your arm. “Um, yeah. I don’t know. Is that dumb?”
Dr. Grant shakes his head. “No, not dumb at all. Being nervous is normal. But, I have to say, you don’t have anything to be worried about. I really can’t come up with any critique. Do you think you just needed someone to listen and tell you that it’s okay?”
Ouch. That was perceptive.
You shift your weight between your feet. “Yeah, maybe.”
“‘s nothing to be embarrassed about. I do it too. Why’d you think I always show you my lecture slides when you come by office hours?”
“That’s why? I thought you were just helping me with my research or something.”
Dr. Grant shrugs with a smile. “Yeah, of course, but it also helps to have someone else look at your work and say it’s good. Which it is, of course. Your work is very good. I’m—”
He stops short and closes his mouth in the middle of his sentence. You want to know what he was about to say, but before you can ask, he changes the topic. “How’re you feeling now?”
You glance over at your notes, now sitting on the dresser. “Good. Good, I think. I mean, I still feel like maybe I shouldn’t have skipped happy hour, but… I’m okay.”
Dr. Grant huffs out a laugh. “I might be able to help with that, actually.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Hang on.” He gets up from the bed and adjusts his sweater. The sleeves are too long—they hang over his wrists and cover his hands. “I’ll be right back, yeah?”
Bemused, you nod, and watch Dr. Grant hurry out of the room. As he leaves, it strikes you how odd this situation is. It’s past ten in the evening and there’s a professor in your hotel room in his pajamas. On paper, this is a very weird situation. Somehow, though, it feels natural; it feels like you’re just hanging out with a friend.
This isn’t the first time you’ve wondered what your dynamic with Dr. Grant would be like if he weren’t a professor and you weren’t a student. You like to think that you could actually be friends. Maybe more.
You’re still lost in thought when Dr. Grant returns. He knocks lightly on your door and slips through without waiting for your response. You look down at what he’s brought with him.
“Is that whiskey?” you demand.
“Er, scotch, but close,” Dr. Grant says, looking down at the bottle in his hand.
You stare. “I thought you said you don’t like alcohol.”
He shrugs. “It’s for a friend, actually. I mean, I don’t think he would mind if I told him it was for an emergency.” He looks from the bottle to you. “Does stage fright count as an emergency?”
You tilt your head, contemplating it. “Well, considering I emailed you and begged you for help at eleven in the evening…yeah. I think it’s an emergency.”
“Then we’re in the clear.”
Sure. We’re in the clear, you think.
You settle yourself at the foot of the bed, so Dr. Grant sits at the top, near the headboard. He sets the scotch down on the bedside table. The warm light from the lamp makes the bottle glow rich amber.
Dr. Grant looks around. “D’you have cups, or anything?”
“Um.” You look around the room and land on the plastic-wrapped disposable cups by the coffeemaker. Presumably, they’re meant for your morning coffee, but they’ll suffice. You grab them off the counter and come back to the bed, carefully peeling off the plastic and chucking it in the trash. While you dispose of the plastic, Dr. Grant opens the bottle and pours a pinch of scotch into each cup. He passes a cup to you and then takes a sip from his, winces, and sets it aside.
“Not a fan?” you ask, smiling.
“How can you be?” He nods towards your cup. “Try that and tell me it’s not like drinking paint stripper.”
You sip the scotch and wait for the burn. To your surprise, though, it’s not a scorching burn like bad vodka—no, it’s just warm, spreading heat along your tongue and the back of your throat. “Woah,” you say, looking down at the cup. Honey-colored liquid sloshes around the bottom.
“Youlike it?” Dr. Grant demands. He stares at you incredulously, his eyes wide.
With that boyish look on his face, he doesn’t look like the studious professor you know. He looks ten, fifteen years younger with his curls hanging over his forehead and the pink flush on his cheeks.
“Yeah, I think so,” you say, and then realize your voice is raspy from the alcohol.
Dr. Grant reaches for his cup and gives it a skeptical look. He takes a second sip and pulls a face. “Nope. Still not good. S’all yours, if you want.”
You smile and take another tiny sip of the scotch. Not too much, though—you’re not trying to get drunk. Honestly, when you said you wanted a drink, you just wanted an excuse to spend more time with Dr. Grant. After passing by him like ships in the night for two days straight, you’re happy to just sit and chat.
You set the cup down on the floor and reach for your water bottle. Dr. Grant sits with one leg hanging off the bed and the other crooked in front of him. It strikes you again how different he looks like this: in his soft pajamas, ready for bed, looking sleepy but happy to be here. Yearning pangs deep inside your chest. It’s so easy to imagine what it would have been like if you met him some other way. If you had met for the first time two days ago, just two strangers in a bar, would you still end up here? Would you ever get to see him beyond these stolen moments?
You think so. You like to think that the two of you would be like this in any world, any timeline.
“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” he asks. His voice is raspy from the liquor, too.
You shrug. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I can’t change anything now.”
Dr. Grant studies you, which makes you feel shy. It’s overwhelming to be the subject of his entire focus. “You’ll do great.”
You smile and take a sip of water. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s a brilliant presentation. You know exactly what you’re doing, and you’re doing amazing work. You’re gonna do great.”
The sincerity of Dr. Grant’s words and the earnestness of his gaze are too intense. You look away. He seems to notice he’s made you uncomfortable, so he clears his throat and changes the topic. “What does your boyfriend think of your presentation? Have you shown it to him?”
Your boyfriend? You look up again, brows furrowed in confusion.
At your confusion, Dr. Grant looks equally confused. He gestures awkwardly. “The blond bloke. What was his name?”
Your confusion turns into amusement as you realize his meaning and you practically double over laughing. “Oh my god, he is not my boyfriend.”
Dr. Grant stares.
You sit up and try to catch your breath. “His name is Josh, and he is definitely not my boyfriend. That was a blind date. First andlast.”
“Oh,” Dr. Grant says. He blinks rapidly, trying to process that information.
Meanwhile, you try to decide if you should be offended that Dr. Grant thought you would actually date Josh. Like, really, Josh told you that your thesis was worthless and then spent half an hour explaining cryptocurrency to you after you already said you know what it is. Would you really date a guy like that?
You take another sip of water in the hopes of cooling yourself off after laughing so hard. “So, no, not my boyfriend. Don’t have one of those, actually. What about you? Is there anyone waiting for you back in London?”
Dr. Grant’s amused expression flickers. “No,” he mumbles, looking down at his hands. “No, just a goldfish. Well, I actually brought him here, so…yeah, no one.”
Your heart squeezes in your chest. The universe is cruel that someone like Dr. Grant—someone so funny, handsome, intelligent, kind—has only a goldfish waiting for him at home. You’re lonely, too, but you’re not alone: you have a roommate and friends and family back home. As far as you can tell, Dr. Grant has none of that.
Before you can think better of it, you reach over to take Dr. Grant’s hand and squeeze it tight. He doesn’t reject your touch, but his eyes flicks down to where your hand rests on his, like he’s trying to verify that this is actually happening. He looks up at you and his expression is both lost and vulnerable all at once.
“Dr. Grant,” you murmur.
He squeezes your hand back. “Steven.”
“Steven.” As you say it, his name tastes sweet and forbidden in your mouth. He turns his hand over and lets you interlace your fingers with his.
You meant for this gesture to be comforting, but all it does is crack your heart wide open and let every emotion you tried to hide spill out. Without thinking about it, you close the space between you, and all you can do is hope that he does the same.
He does. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he does. Steven meets you in the middle and your eyes slip shut as his mouth presses against yours. It’s a short, chaste kiss, but it makes your skin prickle and heat creep up your face all the same. When he pulls away—too soon—you don’t open your eyes. You’re not ready for it to be over. You don’t want to see Steven retreat into himself and hear him tell you that you shouldn’t do this. If you could, you would linger in this moment forever, with the memory of his lips on yours and the smell of cedar and malt all around you.
Finally, you force yourself to open your eyes. You’re greeted by the sight of Steven’s sweet, handsome face marred with worry. He almost looks afraid. The concern in his eyes douses the flicker of desire in your chest, and then it’s you who jerks back, too embarrassed to be caught pining for a man who probably wishes you hadn’t just kissed him.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” you say, covering your face in shame. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry.”
Steven wraps a firm hand around your wrist, making you startle. He gently tugs your hand away from your face. “It’s okay,” he says. “Do you… do you want this? Is this something that you want?”
Do you want this?
“This”could mean anything—everything from another kiss to the entire concept of Steven Grant. When you finally allow yourself space to contemplate that question, you find that the answer is yes. Yes to all of it; yes to everything he might mean. Yes to Steven.
You nod, short and sharp.
Steven turns your hand over and laces his fingers with yours. “It’s okay if you don’t. And if you do…I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes.” You nod again, more confident this time. “Yes, I want this.”
“Okay,” he says softly.
His clever mouth tilts up into a smile and you can’t resist any longer. This time, when you lean in, and you don’t have to worry about whether or not Steven will meet you in the middle. He kisses you, and it becomes immediately apparent that neither of you really know what you’re doing, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the feeling of Steven’s hand squeezing yours and the warmth of his lips pressed against your mouth. You tilt your head to kiss his lower lip and reach up to cup the side of his face in your palm. His breath shudders out of his lungs and fans across your face in stops and starts. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded and he leans his face into your touch like a particularly affectionate cat.
Your fingers creep up to his hairline to card through his curls and his eyes slip shut entirely. To see him so affected by the simplest of touches—it throws open the doors to your desire and you fall through headfirst.
When was the last person to touch him like this? How long has it been for him?
Shuffling closer, you cup Steven’s face in both hands and kiss him again. He lets out a weak noise in the back of his throat when he feels your left hand creep back into his hair, and it’s the perfect opportunity to try and deepen the kiss. In response, he reaches towards you clumsily, and you guide his hands to rest on your thighs.
“Steven,” you whisper, against his mouth.
“Yeah, love?”
Oh.
He called you love.
Your hand slips down to his chest, where you feel his heart pounding through his sweater. The fabric is soft over his firm chest and you curl your fingers into the dark material.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you confess.
“Really?”
The incredulity in his tone surprises you. You look up. Steven’s heavy brows are knitted in genuine confusion, like he can’t fathom the concept of you wanting him.
You frown, too. “Of course I have. How can I not?”
Steven shrugs. “I mean, it’s just me, innit?” He’s half-joking, but it doesn’t completely hit the sincere insecurity underpinning that question.
You scoff. “Well, if ‘it’s just me’ means ‘it’s just me, the handsome professor who genuinely cares about me and what I have to say, then, yeah, I guess it is justyou.”
Steven tilts his head. The shadow of a smile plays across his lips. “Handsome?”
“Yes,handsome,” you say, even as your face burns with embarrassment. “I mean, have you ever seenyourself?”
Steven’s little ghost-smile spreads into a broad grin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Even if it’s a joke, your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of Steven thinking about you the way you think about him. You scoot closer and your knee bumps against his. “What, I’m handsome?” you tease.
Steven’s grin slides down his face. “No! I mean, you’re not handsome, but you’re pretty. Very pretty. Really pretty, actually. I mean, beautiful? Both, I guess,” he stumbles.
With every word, Steven’s face turns redder and redder. It’s adorable. Finally showing some mercy, you wrap your hand around the nape of his neck and draw him in. “I think you’re pretty too,” you whisper, and kiss him again.
Steven melts under your touch. His hesitant touch resting on your thighs becomes more insistent, and soon you shuffle forwards and sink into his lap while he leans his head back against the headboard. This new angle is different: like this, Steven has to look up at you, and the sight of his handsome face tilted up in supplication sends a shimmering wave of desire through you. Even with the warm light of the bedside lamp casting amber rays across his face, Steven’s eyes are still dark as night. His pupils are twin black holes, wide and beautiful and endless, and you feel yourself drawn in by their irresistible gravity.
Surging forward, you deepen the kiss and savor the weak noise of desire from the back of his throat. He holds tight to your hips, clutching at your gray sweatshirt like an anchor in a storm. With your eyes shut, you can focus entirely on the feeling of his hands on you. His touch is equal parts greed and hesitation.
Resting your forehead against his, you let out a warm sigh across his face. “Is this your first time doing this?” you murmur.
You open your eyes just in time to see Steve nod. There’s something curious about his expression that makes you pause.
“I meant with a student,” you clarify.
Steven swallows hard. He nods again. “That too.”
As realization dawns, all you can do is lean in and press the sweetest kiss to his lips. Your heart cracks open at the idea of sweet, lonely Steven living his entire life without knowing what it feels like to be touched gently and with affection. You want to be the one to give him that. When you rest your forehead against his again, you cup the nape of his neck and his breath rattles out of his chest.
You twirl one of his curls through your fingers. “It’s okay, Steven,” you murmur.
“I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack,” he confesses. “Is that normal?”
In fairness, you don’t really know what’s normal, either. It’s not like you do this very often, and you’ve certainly never kissed a gentle, handsome professor that you’ve been secretly pining after for months. You let out a soft laugh and run your hands through Steven’s hair.
“I think so.”
He nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Can I touch you?”
You nod, maybe a little too eager, too hungry for him to care. “Yes. Please.”
Something snaps, then. Maybe it was the last thread of your hesitation or perhaps the lingering shadow of Steven’s insecurities. Whatever it was, it’s gone, and you crash together with all the greed of two lonely people aching for connection. When you meet in the middle, you trade hungry kisses that grow less and less hesitant as Steven slowly gains confidence. He allows his hands to skate up your back, cupping the curves of your ribcage and exploring the notches of your spine. Even over your clothing, his touch feels amazing, and you find yourself kissing him harder to stifle the needy noises rising up in your throat.
Having thought about this for so long, you’re shocked to learn it’s even better than you imagined. You never could have imagined the reverence of Steven’s touch or the way he draws back from kissing you to periodically ask if you’re still okay.
“Yes,” you tell him, every time.
With every whispered confirmation, he gains courage, eventually gripping your hips and helping you sink further into his lap. Soon, your kisses migrate from his lips to the sharp line of his jaw and down to his neck. His skin tastes like salt and you fight the urge to suck it between your teeth to leave a mark. His hands fall to your thighs, his fingertips dimpling your soft flesh, and he grips tight as your messy kisses cascade down his neck. His head falls back against the headboard and he swallows hard. With all your attention on his throat, you notice the thin gold chain around his neck and press your lips along the line of it. His entire body shudders from the contact.
He rasps out your name, and soon he pushes off the headboard to return the favor. Copying your motions, he leaves hot, messy kisses across your jaw and under your ear. He doesn’t have technique so much as a desire to have his mouth on as much of you as he can. The humid press of his mouth on your skin feels like something out of your wildest dreams. Every press of his lips makes you burn hotter and hotter. No one has ever touched you like this and you never want anyone else to, either. No one except him.
Somewhere along the way, Steven gets the idea to bite you, and his teeth grazing over the tender skin of your neck strikes you like lightning.
“Steven!” you gasp.
He jerks backwards. “Sorry,” he says, reflexively. “Oh, shit. Did that hurt? I’m so sorry.”
You shake your head and cup the nape of his neck to draw him back in. “N-no, keep doing that. It felt good,” you murmur shakily. “Do it again, please.”
With his hands planted on your hips under your sweater and his curls brushing the underside of your jaw, Steven returns to kissing your throat, alternating each gentle touch with a nip to the sensitive skin of your neck. If it leaves a mark, you don’t care. You want it to leave a mark: you want to wake up tomorrow morning with evidence of Steven on your skin.
That’s the thought that finally makes you moan aloud. It’s a high-pitched, girlish sound, one you’ve never made in front of another person.
Steven freezes. He looks up at you, his face the picture of innocent surprise.
“Did you— did you like that?” you ask.
He nods dumbly. “Yeah. Yeah, I liked that a lot.”
“Okay,” you murmur.
Steven hitches you forward in his lap, which makes you yelp in surprise. “Can you make more of those pretty noises for me?” he rasps.
With your chest pressed against his, you barely have time to register that he feels unexpectedly broad and firm before his hot mouth returns to your neck. Reaching up, he tugs at your collar with his thick finger, exposing the hollow of your throat and your clavicle to his hungry mouth. His tongue laves over your collarbone like he wants to devour you and you find yourself wondering what else he might be able to do with that smart mouth.
Following the instincts of your body, you let your head tilt backwards and arch your body into Steven’s. Without every thinking about it, you press yourself down into his lap, pushing your hips needily against his and—
Oh.
If you weren’t paying attention before, you certainly are now. The bulge in Steven’s pants is unmistakable: he’s hard for you, because of you, and you clench so suddenly that you’re sure he can feel it. You freeze in place, the hard length of him pressed against your clothed sex, and suddenly you’re imagining a whole new array of images: being under Steven, his arms caging you in, his hips thrusting into you while he kisses every bare inch of your skin.
Your chin tilts forward and you look down at the place your thighs are spread around him. You roll your hips again, slowly, but Steven’s hand flies out to stop you. His grip is iron on your hip. He looks up at you, his expression guilty as sin.
“Steven,” you murmur, his name slurred with need.
He’s frozen in place, his gaze distant and focused on something over your shoulder. You look behind you, but there’s nothing there—just your closed laptop and presentation notes scattered over the dresser.
“Steven?” you ask. Where your hands grip his shoulders, you knead gently, trying to work out some of the tension there.
He shakes his head. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
You frown. “What?”
He hides his face in his hands, pressing the heels to his forehead. The movement jostles you and you practically fall out of his lap and onto your rear on the mattress.
“Steven, it’s okay. It’s normal, it’s just how your body reacts. I’m not bothered—”
“Stop,”Steven pleads. He’s not looking at you, his face still hidden in his hands. His ears are bright red where they peek out from under his curls. “Just— stop. Please. I should— I should go.”
“Steven.” You rest your hand on his knee. He flinches, and you draw back like you were burned. “Steven, please look at me.”
He drops his hands and looks at you. His dark eyes look haunted, replacing the richness of desire that was just there a few moments ago. “You don’t understand.”
“What? What do you mean, I don’t understand?”
“I can’t. I shouldn’t have come here. You have a presentation tomorrow, it’s late, I should go.”
He’s rambling. You recognize an anxious episode when you see one, and Steven is spiraling out. You wish you knew how to comfort him, but he doesn’t want you to touch him—he doesn’t even want you to look at him. What can you do?
You watch, lost and bereft, as Steven awkwardly climbs off the bed and tugs the wrinkles out of his sweater. He’s retreating back into himself, hiding in plain sight the way he does when he’s around strangers. No, you want to say. Come back. Don’t hide. Not from me.
“I should go,” he repeats. He’s a broken record.
“Okay,” you say. “Yeah, okay.”
“I shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have,” he says, his voice broken.
“Yeah,okay,” you snap. You feel a headache starting—your punishment for letting your desire lead you into this place you don’t belong. “I get it. We made a mistake.”
When you look up, he doesn’t look so scared. He looks apologetic, more than anything. “I’m gonna go now,” he says softly.
“Okay.”
He starts to walk towards the door and you follow him from a few feet behind. When he reaches the door, he pauses.
You fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater, falling over your hands. “Will you still come tomorrow? To my presentation?”
He doesn’t say anything. You start to feel betrayed—angry, almost—but you don’t know if you’re allowed to feel that. Are you allowed to be mad that the person you shouldn’t have kissed tells you that you shouldn’t have kissed him? Isn’t he just telling the truth?
He doesn’t answer your question.
“Goodnight,” he says. There’s a hollow quality to his voice and it hits you like a gut punch.
“Goodnight,” you echo.
He opens the door, steps through, and he’s gone. The sound of the door clicking shut rattles you like a tornado passing through. He’s gone, but you can still feel the ghost of his curls through your fingers and the tingle of his lips on yours. You feel dazed, hollowed-out, stunned.
What did you just do?
☾
Steven needs to get out.
He needs to breathe. He needs to crack open a window, fill his lungs with the cold air of the Michigan winter, suck down the ice-cold breeze until it clears the panic rapidly clouding his brain. He sucks in a deep breath and wets his lips and immediately regrets it, because he can still taste her on his tongue.
This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. Was he really so naive that he thought he could be alone with her and just talk? He should have known better. He knows he can’t resist her, and right now—so far from home, so distant from the roles they play back in Chicago—it was all too easy to give in.
The lines had blurred. Steven doesn’t do well with blurred lines. He needs clarity to keep him on the right path. He needs barriers and boundaries to keep from his life from descending into chaos. Chaos, it turns out, is kissing a student in a hotel room when he can still taste the liquor on her lips. How can he know she really wanted to kiss him anyway? He’s a professor, she had been drinking—it’s all wrong. He feels bile rise up in his throat and wishes there were somewhere he could retch out all the guilt burning inside him.
Just as he was about to lose himself in her, Marc had appeared in the mirror over her shoulder. Steven waited for his rebuke, but it didn’t come—the mere sight of him was enough to remind Steven of all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. He’s a broken man, fractured into pieces, every part of him chained to a vengeful deity that holds his soul in a withered hand. After all, there’s a reason the three of them only have each other.
He isn’t right for her, not with her gentle heart and trusting ways. She wants to be closer to him, but she doesn’t know that getting too close will just mean that she gets cut on Steven’s broken edges.
He needs to go. He never should have come in the first place. The only thing left for him to do is leave before he makes it any worse.
Summary: Steven takes you out, Marc continues to be in denial about his feelings.
This is the squeal to Moon Struck in which Steven asks you out, and Marc falls in love.
Pairing:Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader
Word Count: ~8.3k
Warnings: mostly fluff, pining, angst mostly from Marc because he’s just like that
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please, please, please let me know what you think!
“You look bloody gorgeous!” Steven exclaims when he opens the flat’s door to find you in a dress on the other side. “Divine really, love.”
He reaches out for your hand and tugs you across the threshold as you giggle and accept the compliment. “Thank you, Steven,” you say and his heart soars.
He’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name.
You grip his hand a bit tighter for balance and bend down to tug off one heel at a time. Steven can only stare at you, at the curve of your hips, the neckline of your dress that shows off more cleavage than you would usually.
You simply glow, your skin radiant in the warm light of the apartment.
“She looks beautiful,” Marc says, so softly that Steven almost misses it.
When you straighten and let go of Steven’s hand to smooth the fabric of your dress, Steven takes the opportunity to glance at the fishtank. He finds Marc’s reflection staring at you with a softness that he reserves only for you.
It’s a softness that he tries to hide from Steven, even though Steven is the one constantly telling Marc to get a grip and do something about his feelings for you already.
Summary: Jake Lockley has gotten a video that you’ve been kidnapped by the cult of Ahipop. He knows he can’t do it by himself and he’s hesitant to call a certain person he hates but Matt Murdocks helps Jake save you while uncovering the plot of the cult.
“I promise, no matter where you are. I will find you, I will continue to find you over and over again.”
—JAKE DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE TO CALL MATT MURDOCK BUT WHAT CHOICE DID HE HAVE? The cult of Apophis was what brought him to you in the first place. The whole mission that started the partnership was because of the cult. But he thought he killed all of them months ago but he was wrong. Matt Murdock helped on the case because they were terrorizing and harming the people of New York, he helped destroy them with you and Jake but they were back. And they kidnapped you.
Jake told Matt to meet him at the old location where they use to meet up. He wasn’t fond of the devil of Hell’s Kitchen for many reasons. There were too many reasons why he hated Matt. The goody-two-shoes hero had a rule of not killing people and that everyone deserved a second chance, redemption. Jake never believed in redemption, he would see through the eyes of Marc how Marc desperately wanted to believe that his mother could change and love him. But not Jake, he knew that she would never change and knew that until her dying breath, she stayed the same.
She had the choice of a second chance after blaming Marc for his brother’s death but she kept going. She kept harming them. Why do people deserve a second chance? Jake wasn’t going to give people the satisfaction of continuing their horrendous actions, he didn’t care if they deserved a second chance.
Another reason he despises Matt Murdock was because of the history Matt had with you. There was too much history there that made Jake’s skin crawl. That burning sensation flooded through his veins every time he thought about it. He knew Matt was still and always will be in love with you.
Jake shook his head at the idea. His fingers curled around the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turned white as his hands shook from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “Matt Murdock? The man from the photos?” Steven questioned from the reflection tilting his head.
“Isn’t he blind?” Marc questioned from the other side of the window shield, quirking an eyebrow at Jake.
“Yeah but he’s the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Some consider him a hero. Others consider him a terrorizer for how he handles situations.” Jake spoke as he turned on the ignition to the limo and wiped away the crumbled-up tablet off his lap.
summary:steven is confused and hurt why you’ve gotten sharp with him, which finally pushes him to let you know he’d always notice when it came to you.
pairing: steven grant x reader, marc is here BUT reader is unaware that it was him and he is an asshole!
tags: a little bit of angst, reader being mad at ‘steven’, steven then being confused why they’re mad at him, fluffy at the end and a bit of a make out at work action!
word count:4.5k
notes: this is part two to “Please Notice”, which you can find here! thank you all for the support on the last few fics I’ve posted! But as always, please let me know if my writing is ever harmful in any way, it is never my intention to do so. now, please enjoy and leave any comments you have!
As much as you had wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole, you knew there was no chance of it happening. You knew Steven didn’t want you here by his posture and by how tight he had his jaw clenched as you continued to get closer to him. And you know you should leave, leave and give him his time and space but you know you can’t.
You wanted answers, not only about his feelings now, no, now you needed answers on why the hell he showed up covered in blood after dodging all 14 of your calls. But, by the way he had quickly walked past you and your stretched hands reaching towards him, the hope for answers had seemed to dwindle as he grew further away. The sight of his back retreating from you without a single word being passed to you made your eyebrows pinch in frustration.
“Steven?” It came out as a softer whisper than you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were growing frustrated, but your worry had overpowered that. And before you could begin rapid questioning him, Steven whipped around, meeting your eyes with his colder, harsh ones. You’d never seen Steven look at you, or anyone, like that before. You reeled back in shock as he spit out words.
“Just forget about all of this. It’s none of your business.”
Even though the voice did not match the sweet Steven you knew, you couldn’t help but get mad. “Hey! Steven what the hell? One, what’s with the accent? Two, you leave for 2 bloody days and then show up covered in blood and expect me to just shrug it off? Yeah, no.” You had let out a sarcastic laugh at the end of your words.
“Why are you even here? It’s not like we’re dating. We work together and you think thisis okay? You just showed up here?” At his harsh words and the glare he was giving you, you shut your mouth and felt yourself retreating back into yourself. He had a point, you knew that. You guys weren’t dating, you had no reason to even be worried or for trying to find him but hearing him say that made all your previous thoughts of something ever happening between the two of you vanish, leaving you with a fractured heart and an anger burning in your chest.
“Oh? Yeah, okay we work together and maybe I was worried about you since half the time you come stumbling in like you don’t even know your own name! And who do you look for when you’re all twisted up and confused, huh? Steven? Who, who do you go to? Not Donna, or J.B and there’s absolutely no way you can go to Dylannow.” It was a bit of a low blow, but he clearly wasn’t distraught about missing the date in order to do God-knows what.
At the mention of Dylan, Steven straightens his back up, giving you a glance over before rolling his eyes and throwing a quick, “I don’t have time for this.” Seeing the way he quickly brushed off your comment like it had no effect on him when what he said had sent a reeling pain through your chest hurt even more. ‘Had you really imagined it all?’
And before you could call him to turn himself back to you, to make time for this, he quickly rushed into his apartment, slamming the door in your face. Before you could even think of rushing in after him, you heard the sound of the locks turning and the chain being slid over, leaving you staring at the bold-golden numbers with the build up of tears sitting in your water-line, waiting to finally fall onto your cheeks. Just as the first tear fell you quickly shook your head, wiping the tear from your face and made your way back to the dodgy elevator.
You couldn’t believe how quick your hopes had been stomped by the same guy who you had bought in pastries and a coffee that helped you get through the long day full of middle school tours and the bitchy boss that was Donna. At the thought of work you also couldn’t believe that you had let this be the reason for Dylan covering for you.
But you knew that the rest of the day wouldn’t have gone well if you had gone back to work, the constant thinking of Steven’s harsh glare and venomous words sitting heaving in your heart and mind. Which is why you went home, grabbing a new pint of ice cream since you had finished the original one the past weekend, and began to rewatch those same romcoms, wrapped in a blanket and all the lights turned off.
You didn’t even want to think about how tomorrow would go, seeing Steven walking in knowing it wouldn’t be the same as it was.
You hated how much sleep you lost over yesterday and Steven’s words. You hated it especially right now as you were leaning your head against the countertop, resting your eyes before your first tour came in. You were tired and you were going to use these fleeting 12 minutes to your advantage and try to prepare yourself for the 20 plus middle school students to come in, eagerly pointing and asking questions like most do, the thought making you face scrunch up in annoyance. You were already getting a headache from the thought of the loud children surrounding you and asking who one of the Statue of Pharaohs were and why they would have people shut them inside ‘those stupid cages.’
And just as you were raising your head and glancing near the door, expecting to see a teacher leading the kids to you, but instead you saw Steven making his way in, looking more sleep deprived than you. ‘Good, let him lose sleep over it.’ Was all you could think of as a small scowl passed onto your face as you watched him hurry past, throwing a small wave and smiling your way. ‘What the hell?’ Did you see that right?
Before you could linger on the thought of it any longer, you heard the door open and the museum suddenly became engrossed in loud chatter from all the children, causing you to shut your eyes with a deep sigh coming out of you. With a deep breath in, you quickly turned around and let a fake smile onto your face, “Hi, welcome to the Museum of all things Egyptian! I’ll be your tour guide today and please feel free to ask any questions you may have!”
As you began the tour, you knew you would have to take the children to the gift shop, the one place you didn’t want to go today. You had no desire to talk to Steven today, or any other day for that matter. Partially because you were still angry with him but also because you were embarrassed at how right he was. You had no right to show up unannounced, you weren’t dating and he held no feelings for you. You were worried for him, yes, but you shouldn’t have shown up to his house like that after multiple responses, it was invasive and you knew the relationship from here on out would be awkward if there was one.
You obviously had gone with good intentions, check in on him and find out how he felt, but he didn’t see it like that, clearly. To you, Steven had probably seen it as overstepping and weird. What co-worker, friends nonetheless, shows up at your door randomly simply because they hadn’t seen or heard from them in two days?
Just as you were walking past the glass case that held one of the statues of an old sarcophagus, one of the kids in the front had pointed at the doors of the gift shop screaming out, “Oh tour-guide lady! Can we go in there? Pretty please!” At the mention of the gift-shop, all the kids joined in on the begging, and the sound of 20+ children screaming at you to take them to the gift shop had started stressing you out so you quickly announced, “Of course! Let’s make our way now!” As they had all started following after you, seeming to grow more excited, nearly jumping up and down, you grew more anxious. Every step you took towards the door, the image of Steven got clearer, slouched shoulder, tan jacket hugging his figure nice, and a small scowl downturned, seeming to mutter to himself. ‘Probably about how gummies have nothing to do with Egypt.’
As you had reached the door, you pulled it towards you and allowed the children to gather inside. Before they could all spread out you quickly shouted, “Be careful with the glass items!” At the sound of your voice, Steven was quick to glance up at you, smiling at the back of your head waiting for you to turn to him and make your way to him as you always did when you had tours.
As you turned around, eyes skimming over Steven and seeing his beaming smile directed towards you, you were shocked, but it also made you tighten your jaw and quickly turn on your heel and walk towards a group of kids who were about to drop one of the mugs in the back. “Oh sweethearts, why don’t we look at a few of the stuffed plushies instead?” At the mention of the plushies, a girl quickly handed the mug over and let you place it down before you walked the group towards the Taweret merchandise.
But as you were doing this, you hadn’t noticed the way Steven’s smile dropped as he looked after you. First, he had apparently lost all his chances with Dylan and now you were clenching your jaw and turning away from him? Steven had felt his heart start beating harder against his chest at the thought of hurting or doing something wrong to you in the two days he had lost. Had he? Has he hurt you? Or maybe said something to you? At the thought of doing something that would cause this reaction, he felt his stomach turn in knots and his face grew hot. He had almost started to go over in your general direction, asking to speak to you privately when he noticed a few of the kids were at the counter, asking for some sweets. Steven had let a smile on his face, glancing back at you before focusing on the children.
“Oh yeah sure, what kind would you like?” The child began pointing at a few of the ones behind him and on the counter in trays in front of him, his eyes going back and forth between the candies and you. Were you okay? Were you just overwhelmed by all the kids like before? Did you need him? Steven tried to stay focused on the child asking for different types of gummies and a few lollies, but he couldn’t help but worry about you. Just as he had finished grabbing the last of the jelly candies from behind him, he turned around and saw you had come up to the counter to check on the kids that were standing there, asking if everyone had gotten something. At the sight of you, he had accidentally dropped the gummies on the counter harder than he had expected, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stared back at him. Although his attention quickly fell back to the child as he heard the boy snicker. “Sor- Sorry, Uh is that all for you?”
At the boy’s nod, he bagan ringing the candies up as he kept glancing back at you as you had started walking away, trailing behind one of the girls who was pulling you towards the paperweights on the shelf.
After he had managed to ring all the kids up and take their payments, he was standing in front of you trying to find the words to say. Seeing you sigh and begin to walk away Steven quickly grabbed your hand and turned you back to him, “Are you okay? You seemed to be a bit upset in there and was wondering if the kids were gettin’ to be too much again, not that you’d need my help..” He had trailed off as he watched your eyes narrow, brows furrowed in confusion. “What I’m trying to say is; I’m worried about you.”
You let out a small scoff, shaking your head softly at him. “Oh now you’re worriedabout me? You have timefor me now?” You had let your anger get the best of you as you had snapped at him, watching as his eyes grew wide in confusion and hurt. You hated that you felt your heart tug in guilt at the thought of hurting him the same way he had done to you, but you hadn’t regretted what you said. He didn’t get to pick and choose when to talk to you and when someone could worry about someone, it wasn’t fair that he was acting as if last night hadn’t happened when it was all you could think about.
“What? I don’t know what you mean, I always have time for you.. Did I do something wrong here?” Steven was very clearly confused on what you were talking about, seeming to not even understand what you were referencing. “Not last night you didn’t. Came to check up on you and you seemed to have no ‘time for this’. Ringing any bells?” As you watched as his eyes grew even more sunken, more confused and dazed, your anger seemed to dissipate and confusion of your own was growing.
“What… What are you talking about darling, You never came over to my flat, trust me I woulda’ remembered that. I’ve lost these two days and I don’t know why or, or what’s happening.” His accent was thick, but voice was still soft as he was trying to rack his brain for any memory of you coming over, but there was none. How had he completely missed you when you had come over? And why would he treat you like that, when he knew all he wanted when he realized he missed the date was to be with you? It didn’t make sense to him and it was present in his facial expression.
“You really don’t remember do you?” Your voice had gone back to its usual soft spoken tone it was with him, something that seemed to cause the anxiety that was steadily rising slowly making its way back down. You weren’t as mad at him now, he could tell by the way your voice changed and your body slowly got closer to him, your eyes full of worry. “Steven, do you remember anything that you had done those two days?”
“No, I remember going to sleep and waking up and it was already nearing 7 and I had to meet Dylan and then I got there and it turns out it’s Sunday! I missed the date but I don’t really care,” He had started to get more confused as he thought it all out, glancing between your eyes and the ground below him, “because I’m confused and worried about what I said and did to you. So what did I do? Did I hurt you, oh god what’s wrong with me?” At the thought of him hurting you, Steven had started pacing a little as he muttered to himself in frustration.
“No, no you didn’t exactly hurt me. You just said some rude things but it’s fine.” At the sight of Steven’s glossy brown eyes looking into yours, full of regret you had quickly reassured him, “Look, I have to guide the tour out but then I’ll come back here and we can talk it all out, okay? Nothing’s wrong and we can figure it all out, just give me 3 minutes tops.” After seeing Steven nod his head, his hands slowly playing with the hem of his jacket, you quickly went to release the children back to the teachers and wish them farewell, a smile plastered on your face as if nothing was wrong, like your mind wasn’t jumbled from the conversation with Steven.
But as you had made your way back to Steven, you noticed he had moved behind the counter, against the inventory door, anxiously glanding around the room while also absentmindedly playing with his hands and as he was looking around, he seemed to have caught your eyes. At the connection, he stilled and kept his eyes focused solely on your figure making your way to him, his breathing slowing and his hands dropping to his sides as he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked. Your hand had been tousled with how many times you ran your fingers through it, and your shirt had a coffee stain near the bottom of it, mascara smudged under your eyes but all he could see was you. The real you.
The person who would drop everything going on in their own life in order to comfort their friend, the person who could smile at you and make your heart start beating faster, the person who cared for and loved so deeply that when someone hurt you, you told them it was okay in fear of losing them completely, the person who heloved so deeply he couldn’t fathom the idea of hurting you, losing you forever. And as you had made your way up to him, he couldn’t help but latch his hands on your own, dragging you into the inventory room, quickly shutting the door behind him.
“I’m sorry for whatever it is that I said o- or did, I don’t care but please believe me when I say I’d never want to hurt you, my dove please.” Steven was breathless as he had managed to get it out, fearing that if he hadn’t, you’d walk away from him. Steven knew he sounded desperate, pleading for you to understand, for you to stay with him but he didn’t care. God, he would get on his knees in this stupid gift shop in order to keep you with him, even if it was as a close friend and not as someone he could holdandloveas he so desperately wanted to.
“Steven, I’m not mad at you, I swear. Confused? Beyond belief, but I’m not mad, not anymore anyways.” You had begun rubbing small shapes onto the hands that were holding your own so tightly within his own, hoping to bring him some peace-of-mind. “Last night… You did say something that hurt but you also weren’t wrong, and I see that you do feel guilty about it so it’s fine. We’re fine.” You emphasized, wanting him to truly understand that it was okay.
“Well, what was it? What did I say to you?” At that question, you froze, the movement on Steven’s hand freezing and your eyes staring into his own, your heart started beating faster as you felt your stomach get twisted in knots.
“Um.. you just said that I had no reason for checking on you, that we weren’t dating and that I had no right to show up to your apartment and you were right. I overstepped and I’m sorry.” You had said it so fast, not giving him a chance to stop you; knowing that if he had then you wouldn’t be able to finish it. You hadn’t expected for him to quickly begin moving his own hands, up your lower arms, past your upper arms and grab your face with his hands, forcing you to keep your eyes connected with his own. The eye contact was sending flutters in your stomach and tugs to your heart, you could feel heat was beginning to move up your neck to your cheeks, your throat closing in anticipation.
“You don’t need a reason to come to me, darling. If you need me or want to check up on me you come. You can come by whenever you want. I don’t care if we aren’t dating.” Steven was firm, but still so soft with each passing sentence, trying to make sure you understood that you were welcomed anytime. Your eyes had watered at the words, he was showing this side of him you hadn’t seen before, a side you never thought you’d get to see after last night.
“Last night, the reason I was there… I wanted to ask if you had noticed me.” Your chest had been going up and down, nervous for what he would say. But at the statement, Steven furrowed his brow. Had he noticed you? God, when had he not been looking?
“Notice you? Love..” As Steven had trailed off, thinking about all the things he had noticed, you were thinking he was trying to break it to you gently. You figured he was trying to tell you that he had never seen you, that there was no possible way for him to notice the small things Donna had mentioned previously.
“It was a stupid question, I shouldn’t have even tried ask really. I mean, it’s weird right? We can just forget about it, yeah? Go back to how it was-” You were cut off as Steven had pulled your face closer to his, his hands still being planted on your face, leaned his forehead against your own and brushed his nose down towards yours with his eyes closed. Steven was breathing harder than before, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he lightly shook his head.
“It’s not stupid, I’ve noticed everything about you. From the way you let out sighs when you’re sad, how you clench your jaw when you’re mad and how your eyes sparkle when you get happy,” Steven had let out a small laugh, his breath fanning your face as you watched him in disbelief as he continued, “how you tend to talk more with your hands when you’re passionate about something, how you like your coffee and which pastries you don’t like.” You hadn’t realized that you had tears in your eyes, some of them slowly falling out as he finished answering you, finally opening his eyes, the hues of browns and dark greens staring into your own. “Or how, how you always check on me, whether it be in person or a text, no matter what you make me feel like I matter. How could I not notice? I always notice.”
“Steven..” It came out breathless, your nose nudging his own, lips ghosting over each other, but never connecting. “Why.. why did you never say anything?” As the question slipped past your lips, fanning onto his own, he let out a small laugh as he answered, “Cause’ I’m a right nob. I always watched, never thinking I would be enough for you.” Tears welled in both of your eyes now, Steven’s brown eyes never leaving your (E/C) ones as you shook your head at him, noses rubbing together at the movement.
“You are exactlywhat I’ve wanted. It’s always been you my love, always you.” It was a soft whisper, meant for him and him only. The words seemed to have settled into his ears as he had let a wide smile grace his lips as he quickly whispered, “Then you’ll have no problem with this.”
At that, Steven had finally dipped his head and connected his slightly dry chapped lips to your eager ones. It wasn’t slow and timely, it was quick and desperate, both of you trying to show how deeply you loved each other with one kiss. Steven’s hands had stayed firm on your face as yours had moved to grip his wrists in order to ground yourself, to realize that it was real.
Steven had slowly backed you up against the door, one of his hands slowly moving down to your waist, tightly having a hold on you. You let out small, breathy moans as he started to slowly trail his lips down your neck, nipping every now and then, his hand continued to caress the back of your head, giving it a resting place instead of against a hard door.
If there was one thing you knew now, it was that Steven was a good kisser, but he was also eager to please. The way he always had a hand pressed against your skin, with enough pressure to keep you aware of what was happening where his hands were, but also soft enough for you to get lost in the feeling, slowly leaning into it. Always wanting more, never having enough of him. And Steven was loving it. Steven would get on his knees right now, doing whatever it is you requested of him, as long as you kept looking at him like that with his hands on you.
As Steven had finally pulled away, he had noticed the way your breaths grew deeper, the way your chest was falling with small gasps escaping your lips. He always noticed. And the thought that he was the reason for that, for the breathlessness, the small moans that had escaped you and the small forming bruises on your neck and at the top of your collarbones made him ecstatic.
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t mind that.” It was another breathy chuckle, a large smile pointed up at him as he had smiled down at you. At the statement, Steven let out his own laugh, his hands still gripping your waist as he muttered down to you, “I didn’t move too fast, did I? You know the whole door thing and the neck…” He had a blush forming on his face as he had asked you, you shaking your head as you knew you had thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
“Let me take you out, not to some stupid-bloody steak house. Anywhere you want, it’s yours… please.” Steven’s hands had made their way back to holding your face, his face leaning closer to yours as he had practically begged you, not knowing that if he had asked you to jump for him you’d simply ask “How high would you like love?”
“Yeah, I wondered what the hell you were doing going on a date to a steakhouse.” At the retort, Steven let out a laugh as he leaned down and pecked you on your lips giving a small, “I was wondering what the hell I was doing asking anyone but you.”
You giggled at that as you slightly pushed him away, checked the time on your watch and told him your next tour was coming up in the next few minutes. And as you slowly opened the door, pressing a light kiss onto Steven’s lips and walked away with a small blush on your cheeks, he noticed.
Steven noticed the way his heart had finally felt like it was whole again, noticed how you had glanced around before fixing your collar and tapping your heated cheeks.
When it came to you, he’d always notice
Hellooo! I hope you enjoyed this, there has been quite a few people who asked to be tagged so without further ado; thank you!
summary: reader thinks she has no chance of Steven liking her after hearing about his date, without realizing all of the things he seems to notice about her, until she gets the help from donna of all people.
pairing: steven grant x reader
tags: not a lot of steven and reader, more so mutual pining, there is a little bit of self-deprecating thoughts from reader, (in my eyes; a bad ending)
word count: 4k (most I’ve written yet!)
notes: this is loosely based on ‘Please Notice’ by Christian Leave, I say loosely because there’s only a few things related to it, and although there aren’t any mentions of the Steven/Marc dynamic, please let me know if I ever write DID wrong! the last thing I would want it to hurt anyone from my writing! Leave any suggestions or comments, but alas enjoy!
You never wanted to fall for Steven Grant, the dorky gift shop-ist.
You never wanted to fall for him and yet here you were, leaning the top part of your body on the cool granite counter the museum had recently installed, your eyes trailing after the man. He had arrived late, again, and he threw a quick smile and wave at you as he made his way back to the gift shop. And it made your heart race as you gave a flushed smile and a small wave of your hand. You were hopeless.
‘Bet he’s trying to steer clear of Donna’s wrath.’
Listen, you guys were friends, the closest friend you guys had actually. You had taken some sight-seeing trips, and had a few movie nights here and there, but what you hadn’t expected was for you to grow a massive, school-like crush on one of your best mates. It was a cliche and you hated it! You hated how long it had taken for you to fall for him, for you to realize how much you liked him, especially since you would now have to watch him pursue one of your work-friends Dylan.
summary: Steven Grant hated coffee, but he loved the way it tasted on you when he kissed you. Marc Spector loves coffee, longing to taste it on your mouth.
pairing: steven grant x reader
tags: fluffy, steven is literally so soft for reader, this whole thing is really just making out (with a bit of grinding and lowkey alludes to smut) reader is aware of Marc and the business with Khonshu!
word count: 2.3k (small thing while i get a master list out!)
notes: hello, I hope you all enjoy this! It’s a short little thing while I try to figure out and get a master list all sorted out! As always, please let me know if I have made any form of mistakes with writing DID, it is never my intentions to hurt or misinform someone with my writing! But alas, please enjoy!
Stevenhatedthe taste of coffee, loathed the smell of it even more. But when you come home from work, begging for a cup and for him to hold you, it all goes right out the window.
He doesn’t care that the smell wafting around his loft is nauseating, nor does he care about the fact that you had spilt a small drop of the caramel brown liquid onto one of the random pages he had scattered around the desk. No, all he cares about is the weight of you sitting down against him, the smell of your coconut and honeydew shampoo wafting in his nose, immediately relieving the knots in his stomach, caused by the smell of coffee, as you let out a deep sigh, finally being able to relax.
Summary: Marc never stays with you after he fucks you. You are better left in the hands of Steven. This time, he doesn’t leave you.
Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader)
Word Count: ~4k
Warnings: smut, some references to rough sex, angst (with a happy ending) - don’t let me fool you this is just touch starved marc struggling with being loved
A/N: im fine im just really out here with nothing else to do but think about moon knight
Marc was an intense person.
He was like the patter of rain against the roof, against an open window pane. He was like the shock and flash of lightning during a storm.
The grim set of his mouth and shoulders, the unending weight of the world that made his brows dip into that hard line. Marc felt more than he let on, was affected by things people said and did, let the blows rain like ash against his skin and said nothing.
You had learned long ago that Marc did not welcome comfort, that he felt it was something he did not deserve to receive. Soft, shaded mornings were for his alter. Everything squishy and warm, hazed in the breathy glow of a sunrise, was for you and Steven, not him.
— STEVEN GRANT FINALLY HAD TO ADMIT TO HIMSELF THAT HE NEEDED HELP. Professional help that is, it took a while for him to understand that he was at his limit for a mental breakdown. He knew he needed to talk to someone other than the statue man on the street. Someone who would actually respond to when he ranted and well, he searched around for a therapist and found you.
Steven was quite nervous to start therapy, any person was really. To share your vulnerability was scary and Steven only ever been vulnerable with the lively statue by the fountain. His heart pounded in his chest as he shifted on his feet staring at the door with a frosted plane window with your last name on it. Steven was muttering underneath his breath trying to convince himself to go in.
“Don’t be mental, you need this Steven. You just need help.” Steven whispered to himself, staring at the plane, he saw the reflection shift a bit but he didn’t move. He brought the back of his clenched fist to his eyes and rubbed them furiously. “I definitely gone mental.”
With his series of muttering gradually becoming louder, suddenly, the door opened causing him to jump in his spot, taking a step back. Your head peeked out the door with furrowed brows and parted lips. Steven felt his breath caught in his throat staring at you with wide eyes. You were simply breathtaking. The way your [color] eyes stared at him in curiosity but with such softness that made him drown in those hues, losing himself all over again.
The way your hair fell over your face and your plump lips quirking into a soft smile. “Oh! You must be Steven Grant!” You beamed happily, opening the door more and stepping by the door frame. “I heard noises out here and I thought one of my neighbors was disturbing you.”
Summary:The Avengers, your team of superheroes, has been called in to handle an invasion in New York, and you’re bringing your superhero boyfriend, Moon Knight, with you.
Pairings:Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader
Warnings and A/N: I did my best to accurately represent DID, I put very little effort into creating a plot and a lot of effort into writing dialogue
–
It was only you, Marc, and the agent - whose name you had never learned and didn’t care to learn - on the quinjet. You held Marc’s hand the entire time. There was no denying the anxious fluttering in your stomach as your two lives continued converging. Each second brought Marc closer to the Avengers, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t scare the shit out of you.
You read through the briefing notes, getting occasional comments from the agent now piloting the quinjet. Rogue artificial intelligence, not Ultron level, but dangerous nonetheless. SWORD suspected some alien involvement, but that wasn’t the concern right now. The immediate issue was an army of robots hidden underground waiting to be activated.
At some point you started to fall asleep against Marc’s shoulder. He gingerly shifted you into a laying position resting your head on his thigh in a familiar comfortable position. His hand settles in your hair and strokes the curves of your face, soothing you into sleep. You hardly sleep for an hour before Marc shakes you awake.
“Something’s happening.”
“We need to drop you in,” the agent called back. “The activation happened earlier than our intelligence suggested. Most of the team is already on the ground. Everyone else is on their way. Don’t forget your comm links.”
You sit up and rifle through your bag, pulling out a familiar costume and stripping off your clothes. Marc blinks at you a few times like he’s surprised at your lack of modesty. He knows you well enough that he really shouldn’t be.
“We can’t all summon our suits,” you tease and toss him an ear piece, even as his eyes begin to glow with white moonlight.
“Tell her she looks amazing!” Steven gushes.
“Keep it in your pants,” Jake snaps back.
You reach for a parachute, but Marc’s white gloved hand stops you.
“I can fly you in,” he offers through the mask.
“You told me no flying last month!” You protest.
“I didn’t know you were an Avenger last month.”
“Bad call, mate.”
“Oh, so you thought I was fragile before?” You tease, not really mad at the man.
His mask peels away so he can tilt his head and shoot you an amused glare.
“You’re in range!” The agent calls back.
You turn and plant a kiss on Marc’s lips, then punch a button. The door opens slowly with a cold rush of air. You wrap your arms around his strong body, take a deep breath, and together you jump from the plane into free fall. His cape catches like a parachute part way down, guiding you through the clouds lower and lower until the skyline is in view.
Smoke rises from burning buildings, the wreckage of a city that has again become a battle ground.
“Shit,” Marc whispers. “We’re gonna have to stop having technology free dates.”
“Yeah,” you reply, only half paying attention, too busy scanning the ground for your fellow Avengers. It’s pure chaos on the ground, a complete and utter disaster, but then, through the smoke… “There!”
You point Marc in the direction of a bright flash of blue and white, and he angles you toward the ground. The comm link in your ear begins to crackle and finally beeps a connection. You were right.
“-end up here? We’re supposed to be on vacation!” The voice of Bucky Barnes fills your ear at the same moment the bright red, white, and blue wings of Sam Wilson reappear. “Sam, what the fuck is in the sky?”
That would be Marc.
“Good morning, Captain America,” you smile down at the small figures of your friends on the ground.
“Oh thank god,” Sam replies. “Buck and I are a-” he grunts, “A bit outnumbered. We have to hold this street, or it will interfere with the wizards’ spell.”
You’re streaking toward the fight below, finally able to see the action for real. They are more than a bit outnumbered, the two men surrounded by humanoid robots armed to the teeth with every bit of weapons technology available. You drop to the ground at Bucky’s side, Marc landing next to you.
“You’re late,” Bucky calls. “Who’s the mummy?”
Marc shoots him a glare.
“Marc, don’t glare at Bucky Barnes! That’s-”
“I know who Bucky Barnes is Steven,” he answers silently.
Yeah, he knew Bucky Barnes. Well, Steven knew. At some point in their childhood, Steven realized he shared part of a name with Steven Grant Rogers and harbored a small fascination with the former Captain America ever since.
“That’s Moon Knight!” Sam’s wing decapitates a robot as he turns to look Marc up and down. “Read your briefing packets, Buck.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and returns to the fight. You draw two long knives, gifts from King T’Challa, and make short work of any robot that approaches. Marc hurls crescent darts, each finding their target. But he doesn’t let Steven front. Not yet at least.
Occasionally, he glances back at you, checking to make sure you’re alright. You are doing the same to him. You have never fought at his side before, but already you know that you would do it again and again.
“The sorcerers - not wizards, Sam- are working some spell in that building,” Bucky gestures vaguely behind him. “They can shut the whole AI down, but we have to keep these things out.”
“Androids!” Sam shouts as he jumps over one and buries his shield in it’s neck. “Androids controlled by aliens who can be stopped by wizards. The big three!”
“The big three?” Marc turns to Captain America.
“Don’t ask!” You and Bucky shout at the same time.
The four of you stand no chance of holding this street. Of course this couldn’t be a time-efficient spell, and the robots just keep coming, an endless supply of mindless soldiers puppeteered by some unknown force. A piece of shrapnel slashes your face, distracting you from the fight for a split second. It’s enough for a blow to land at your midsection, knocking the breath from you.
You pull the gun from your waist, SWORD issue with some advanced technology you don’t care to understand, and shoot. It’s not your preferred weapon, but it is necessary. Marc is by your side in an instant. He grabs you around the waist and wraps you in the white fabric of his cape.
It’s just the two of you in this little cocoon. The rest of the world is forgotten as his mask falls away for a moment. The expression on his face is pure horror, lips pressed in a tight line, eyes murderous. His gaze is focused on the blood dripping down your cheek.
“I’m fine,” you insist and run your fingers across his nose and brow that is furrowed deeply, trying to soothe away those worry lines.
“I need Jake,” he breathes, a confession he rarely makes. “We need Jake.”
Jake will do anything to protect Marc and Steven and anything to protect you. It’s probably why you had never actually seen Jake suited up for a fight. He is the ‘whatever it takes’ part of the system, and all three of them are still afraid to show you that side.
“Okay,” you grip his upper arms. “It’s okay.”
His eyes flicker for a second, then his suit shifts, darkens to a midnight black that is more like tactical armor than Marc’s mummy wrappings. A bright white crescent moon shines on his chest; it matches the bright white of his cape. He tilts his head with a little smirk, and just like that Jake Lockley has joined the fray.
“Cap? Cap?” Someone is shouting through coms. “We’re coming to you. Do you copy?”
The voice is crackly, so you can’t make out exactly who it is.
You turn back to the fight, watching with bit of admiration and a lot of attraction as Jake expertly dispatches android after android.
“Did he change outfits mid fight?” Bucky punches a robot beside you.
“Sort of.”
You kick a robot across the head, stabbing one of your vibranium knives into it’s chest and immediately lashing out toward another. You glance up, and the world seems to slow around you. The battle is forgotten as you can only stare at Jake. He is fighting desperately, holding his own except…
Except behind him. A metallic arm is raising a heavy blade for a killing blow, metal arching toward his neck. You’re trying to scream his name. You are screaming his name, but it’s too late. You stab the android in front of you, but you will never make it. Jake’s suit will protect him from a lot, heal just about anything, but not decapitation.
Red flashes across your view, a bright flash hurtling through the air. A stick strikes the robot through the forehead, and the metal being collapses in a dead heap. Jake whips his head around as he realizes what almost happened. A figure in dark red drops from a nearby fire escape, grabs the stick from the robots sparking brain, and nods to you. He jumps into the fight at Jake’s side, the two men working together with an impressive synchrony for two strangers.
“How did you see that?” Jake shouts.
“I heard it,” Matt Murdock replies as he dispatches another android.
A few more minutes and the fighting finally stops. Another wave of robots is undoubtedly assembling nearby, but for now the team has a moment to breathe.
Jake’s mask falls away as he studies Daredevil. His eyes linger on the upper half of Matt’s face, noticing how his eyes are completely obscured by the dark red of his mask. You sprint to Jake’s side, wanting to reach for his hand, hold him, kiss him, feel that he is alive, but you restrain yourself. Your relationship is a secret, and for now you want to keep it that way.
“So this is the boyfriend?” Matt asks.
Your relationship is not a secret.
“How-” you start to question how Matt could possibly know that you had a boyfriend, let alone that this was him.
“You started smelling different a few months ago,” he explains. “It’s him. His scent is all over you.”
“Is there a better way to say that then ‘his scent is all over you’? Tone down the creepy… vibes? Vibes? Is that the word?”
“Give up on the modern slang, Buck,” Sam makes a face and pats his partners’ shoulder mockingly.
You plant a kiss to Jake’s cheek, and he brushes his hand across your fingers to tell you that he is okay. You watch him and Daredevil with interest, hoping Jake might find a friend in the hero who protected his city with the same ferocity and passion as Jake protected Steven, Marc, and you.
“What’s up with the little horns, el diablo?” Jake asks. “What are you the hero of? Hell?”
“Hell’s Kitchen, and it’s Daredevil actually.”
Jake shoots you a glance then shifts his gaze back to Matt. A smile fills his features, a genuine one, and a second later the same expression appears on Matt’s face. You let out a heavy sigh of relief as they slip into easy conversation and you turn back to Sam and Bucky.
“You and Moon Knight, huh?” Sam frowns. “Guess Spidey was right.”
As if summoned by his name, the mysterious masked hero drops from the sky.
“Hey you guys! There’s another group heading our way.”
He starts to turn to Cap, notices Jake and does a double take to stare at the white costumed man, everyone else forgotten. Jake looks at him completely unimpressed.
“Oh my god, you’re Moon Knight!” Spider-Man’s voice has a youthfulness that always surprises you. “I love you! I wanted a cape because of you, but I gave up the idea pretty quick. I mean not in New York right? Handsy people. It would never have lasted. Wow! Mr. Knight, you are so cool.”
“Mr. Knight,” Steven tries out the name “I like that.”
“I hate it,” Marc replies.
“Well that seems like your problem don’t it? I’m keeping it. You can be Moon Knight. I’ll be Mr. Knight.”
“Marc, right?” Spidey asks, and you can practically see the mischief forming in the boys’ mind at his well-meaning mistake.
“I’m Jake.”
“Sorry! Jake-”
Jake’s expression changes, the suit shifting with him.
“Oops, Steven now,” Steven grins.
“O-Okay, Steven,” Spider-Man tries to keep up.
The suit changes as Marc fronts.
“Marc again,” he teases, messing with the young hero.
“Oh,” that catches Spidey off guard. “Nice to meet you, Marc.”
“Actually, Jake now.”
“Leave him alone, you three,” you glower at Jake but have to fight back a laugh.
You thanked any god you could think of that Spider-Man had been there with his goofy remarks and joking attitude to make it easier for Marc, Steven, and Jake to show off this particular skill set.
“Sorry, love.”
That’s Steven.
He adjusts his white suit jacket and grins at Spider-Man, ““You know, the cape is actually really overrated, kid.”
“I’m Spider-Man,” he lowers his voice and puts extra emphasis on the ‘man.’
“More like Spider-Kid,” Jake mutters.
Steven ignores his alter and nods conspiratorially to Spider-Man. He gives him a thumbs up like they just shared a secret.
“Figure out how to really punch criminals yet?” Daredevil snarks, tossing an arm across Spider-Man’s shoulders affectionately.
“I’m not beating the shit out of people,” he protests.
“It’s more efficient.”
“Whatever you say ‘really good lawyer.’”
You observe their interaction with some interest. Had Matt defended whoever was in the Spider-Man suit? No time for that now though, you realize as a mechanical whirring fills the air. You take a defensive stance at Steven’s side, Bucky to your right. Cap and Spidey leap into the air. Matt stands beside Steven.
Sam looks down at his makeshift team then out at the approaching mechanical army. They’re not much, but they’ll do.
“Avengers…”
–
A/N:I left this open for a part 3. Not sure if I’ll write it, but I do think a 3rd part to wrap it all up and let the system meet some other Avengers would be fun! Let me know if you want added to my general Moon Knight tag list!
The Co-Worker Rule (Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley x Reader)
Summary:With the Avengers’ ranks depleted in the aftermath of the blip, your team needs heroes. Your mission is to recruit the Moon Knight. What you didn’t expect was to fall for him.
Fluff, Adventure
Pairings: Mainly Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader
Warnings: I did my best to accurately represent DID but please tell me if there are errors, canon typical violence, some blood, broken bones, super-powered reader, not really edited yet, I cannot write a fic where I don’t talk about Oscar’s nose and hair
A/N:Based on this request: I absolutely LOVED secret identities!!! Do you think you can do another avengers!xreader and marc/Steven/jake story!! Mange the reader is sent to recruit moonknight and then end up falling for each other?
This is not the Secret Identities sequel (my other Avengers!reader fic). The sequel is coming soon!
—
Marc Spector. Steven Grant. Jake Lockley. Three men, two superheroes, one body, and exactly who the Avengers needed. Well, to be fair the Avengers needed anyone with superpowers.
That’s how you found yourself in London watching Steven Grant sit on a park bench, eat a sandwich, and stare into the sunset. The crowds were gone by the time dusk fell, and it was just you and Steven. You wouldn’t risk civilian casualties if he turned out to be a lose cannon, so you’d waited.
You approached carefully and sat on the bench beside Steven who stared silently into the distance. He’s really very handsome with his curly hair and dark eyes, and the silhouette of his nose and jaw in the setting sun has you swallowing hard. Without so much as a glance, he holds out a foil wrapped panini from the stand he stopped at earlier, offering it to you like you were an old friend.
“Probably cold now,” he finally says in a thick British accent. “Saw you following me when I left work. Thought you might be hungry too. S’not poisoned or nothing’.”
“What do you mean it’s not poisoned?” Jake hisses. “I told you to drug them.”
“Jake, we don’t have access to anything to drug someone,” Marc is confused. “Do we?”
You can’t help but smile a little bit at Steven Grant and take the food he’s offering. You are hungry, and though the hours old food would sit badly in a normal human’s stomach, you’re unconcerned. And if it’s poisoned, well, poison didn’t really work on you.
“So what do you want then?” Steven finally looks at you.
You have a mouthful of food, and all you can do is freeze as the full weight of Steven Grant’s gaze settles on you.
“Ever heard of the Avengers?” you opt to cut right to the chase.
“What? Are we stupid?” Marc hisses.
“Hasn’t everyone?” Steven filters Marc’s snide remark.
“I’m an Avenger.”
“Bullshit. Give me the body!”
“We know about,” you debate the best way to sound non-threatening and end up gesturing vaguely to his whole body. “you and are interested-”
The man hears nothing else that you say, just Jake’s voice.
“Steven, give me the body,” his alter says with deadly calm.
Steven doesn’t, just keeps staring at you. Sadness fills his deep brown eyes.
“Don’t try to take me in,” he mutters. “It won’t end well for you.”
“No, no,” you put a hand on his knee. “I’m not here to arrest you or anything like that.”
Steven glances down at your hand, and you draw it back quickly, apologetically.
“We want to recruit you for the initiative,” you explain, rubbing your hands together as you talk. “After Cairo, Moon Knight is a bit of a hero amongst us Avengers.”
Steven looks at you with slightly parted lips. The sun catches in his dark curls, and as you’re staring at him thinking that he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen he’s staring back thinking the same thing.
“Keep it together, buddy,” Marc says. “I don’t disagree with you, but-”
“This is dangerous. Someone knows about us! Mierda! Do the Avengers know about all of us?”
You look him up and down. God, you want to touch those curls. Stop. Focus. You have got to focus. You cross your arms, leaning forward onto your knees and pulling your gaze away from Steven to look into the distance.
“After the blip, the battle, we lost so much. The team scattered, but our enemies didn’t. I’m not asking you to live in a tower or at the new compound. We just need heroes willing to defend those who can’t defend themselves,” you let the sadness tinge your voice, sadness for your lost team. “Heroes who will answer the call when it’s time.”
“I’m not a hero.”
The accent is gone. You glance over at Marc Spector, his brows furrowed deeply as he studies you. He thinks he believes you, even though Jake is still suspicious. It’s the tragic honesty of your plea that makes him comfortable enough to front. And it’s the perfect opportunity to see just how much you know.
“Nice to meet you, Marc.”
“Looks like the answer is everything,” Jake hisses.“Everything!”
Reluctantly, Marc allows Jake to front. You can tell instantly by how his mouth sets in a tight line that you’re looking at the third alter. Jake clearly sees you as a threat. All you know from the file is that he is “the most violent of the three,” which is an assessment you think is unfair. It seemed to you that Jake only fronted when the system was in real danger, only took lives when absolutely necessary, did anything to protect Marc and Steven. You admired him for it, respected him.
But if he saw you as a threat, then you were in trouble. Shit.
You jump to your feet, taking a defensive stance as Jake stands too, looking at you with a slightly tilted head and menacing eyes.
“You want us to be an Avenger?” He growls. “What if I don’t believe you?”
He steps closer, closer.
“Jake, I think she’s telling the truth,” Steven interrupts.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says aloud then lunges for you.
You side step him, raising your hands and blocking his punch easily. He spins and kicks. You slide back to avoid it, totally on the defensive, not having any desire to really fight Jake. That is, until he finds your ribs with a hard kick. Something cracks. Instinct takes over then. You kick him right in the chest, sending Jake staggering backward.
“Not bad,” he grins like this is some sort of game.
You glance around, making sure the park is still empty. You don’t want the cops called on an Avenger fighting a vigilante. There’s no one. You leap at Jake, tossing punch after punch that he blocks easily. Just as you intended. He’s distracted and doesn’t notice you step in to sweep out his leg, knocking him flat on his butt.
He kicks your ankle hard, and you fall forward to your knees. By the time you realize what’s happening, he’s back on his feet in a low crouch. You use your momentum to roll forward, back on your feet in an instant only inches from Jake. He strikes forward; you catch his arm, locking out his wrist and elbow and spinning him around. You raise a knee to strike his face, and he grabs your thigh.
Add some degree of super strength to Moon Knight’s list of powers. He hooks an arm under your leg and flips you onto your back, shaking your grip free as the air whooshes from your lungs. Pain shoots through your side. Jake’s body collapses heavily on yours, pinning you beneath him. He straddles your waist, leaning forward over you.
You bring an elbow across his face and blood sprays from his nose.
“Alright, I’m definitely buying the Avengers thing,” Marc says.
Jake wasn’t quite convinced. He draws back a hand and you jerk your head to the side to avoid the punch. He hits the ground instead. You use his shifted weight to get your legs around his waist, and flip him to the side so you’re on top with him pinned beneath you.
“That was hot.”
“Steven, you are just one giant intrusive thought right now,” Jake replies silently as he stares up you.
For a moment, you think you’ve reached a truce and relax your body ever so slightly. That’s exactly what Jake wanted. He reaches for your neck. You bat his hand away. He tries again. You block again, and he grabs your wrist instead, yanking you closer so he can wrap his strong arms around your back and flip you back over.
“That was hot,” it’s Marc’s turn to admire you.
A flash of gold then a cold blade is pressed to your neck, pricking the skin.
“Easy, Jake,” Steven warns.
Blood from Jake’s face drips across yours as he glowers down at you.
Power flares in your hands, but you will it back to sleep. He’s not really going to hurt you. He was pulling his punches. This is a test, some sort of strange initiation to see if you’re trustworthy enough for Jake Lockley. You meet his gaze with a measured look of complete calm. He tilts his head.
“Hmm, te creo,” he sheathes the crescent shaped blade. “I believe you.”
He sits back and offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. You feel the tiny mark on your neck that’s bleeding a surprising amount. Jake touches his nose tenderly. It’s definitely broken. And so are your ribs you realize as you struggle to take a deep breath.
“Here,” you reach for him first, letting your powers flow through you as you trace his busted nose with a feather light touch.
When his nose snaps back into place, he doesn’t so much as flinch. But he is staring at you with raised eyebrows. You run a hand over your neck, healing the tiny cut, then press your palm to your side. It hurts like it always does as your bones click back together.
“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, trying and failing to bite back a pained moan.
“Now that was hot,” Jake says silently
“Imagine hearing that sound because of us,” Marc adds, the image of you squirming underneath them flashing through their minds courtesy of Marc.
“We arehearing that sound because of us,” Steven snaps. “Someone - Jake - broke their ribs!”
“Lay off Steven. I was assessing a threat.”
“Whatever you say, mate. Threat assessed.”
“So the Avengers?” Marc asks, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.
“I take it I passed,” You remark wryly, not even blinking at the appearance of Marc.
It was the weirdest recruiting mission you had ever been on, but if beating the shit out of each other for a few minutes convinced Jake, Steven, and Marc that you were genuine, then that’s what you’d do.
Marc stepped close to you and raised his hand to your face, touching the spattering of blood there. His face changes, softens. Steven’s palm flattens over your cheek, and without realizing it you lean into the warmth.
“My flat’s a few blocks away,” he offers. “You can clean up there, talk to all of us about the Avengers.”
His eyes are wide as his gaze roves your face, a little smile quirking his lips up. You’re equally as enraptured by him, by all of them really.
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Jake remarks.
In the end, Steven walks you back to his flat, listening to you talk about the new Avengers Initiative all the while. Marc and Jake jump into the conversation here and there, and in the fifteen minutes it takes to reach Steven’s door, your mission is complete. Moon Knight is an Avenger.
You could go. Right then, you could turn around, wish Steven - and Marc and Jake - the best, tell them you’ll see them later, and go back to the compound. You should go, but there is something magnetic about the three men that makes you follow Steven Grant into his flat.
He sits you on the edge of his bed and cleans the blood from your face with a damp cloth, kneeling between your legs the whole time in a way that makes you feel… things. Damn it. When you were recruited to the team, you made a personal rule that a romance, however brief, would never be an option with a fellow Avenger. Steven is by all rights an Avenger now. The co-workers rule had always kept you out of trouble before. So yes you could admire how handsome this man was, but no, there could be no romance, no sex, nothing.
When your face and neck are clean, Steven absentmindedly puts a hand on your thigh, high on your thigh, and sits back on his knees. There is fire where he’s touching you. Damn it, you curse to yourself. Remember the rule.
Trying to distract yourself, you take the cloth from him and dab at his face that is still bloody from the broken nose. It forces you to lean closer as you hold his head still with one hand and wipe blood away with the other. His face is soft with just a hint of afternoon stubble on his cheek and jaw. This was not a good choice for a distraction.
He’s looking up at you with those big dark eyes, and when he makes eye contact, he hold you still with just his gaze.
“Come on, Steven!” Marc cheers him on.
Steven doesn’t think. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you like a dying man taking his last breath. He leans you back, pressing you flat to the bed and moving to hover over you, kissing you all the while.
“I-is this alright?” Steven asks, pulling back so your noses are barely brushing.
No. It’s breaking the rule. That’s what you should say. But your hands are pressed to the smooth muscles of his chest, moving almost of their own accord to feel him through his shirt.
“Yes,” you decide right then to take a leap of faith.
The smile that lights up Steven’s face is contagious. You would break every rule in the world just to see him smile. You’re grinning back at him as he shifts his body atop yours. Fighting Jake had been - dare you say it - fun, but this was better. Steven is warm and gentle in all the right ways, and you think that if you ever get the chance you’d find that Marc and Jake would be rough in all the right ways. But for now, this is enough. More than enough.
Steven’s hands roam your face like he’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You’re raising goosebumps along his side as you slip your hands under the soft fabric of his shirt.
And just as you are about to tear this beautiful man’s clothes off, your phone vibrates loudly in your pocket. The moment is broken. You fumble for the device, brushing the back of your hand awkwardly across Steven’s… oh shit. He huffs softly.
“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling how hard he is with that quick touch.
He moves his eyes up, averting his gaze from you with a slightly embarrassed half-grin, half-grimace.
“Hello,” you answer, calming your breathing.
You’re still laying under Steven who is braced on his elbows with hands hovering awkwardly around your head.
“Any updates?”
Why did it have to be Sam Wilson calling you right now? It felt like your older brother had just walked in on you having sex. It wasn’t sex… yet, and Sam wasn’t your older brother… biologically, but that might has well have been the situation.
“Yeah, it uh… went well. He’s on board.”
You glance at Steven who is watching you curiously, actively running a hand through your hair now.
“Good. So we’ll see you back here early morning then?” Sam asks.
“I um… I missed my flight,” that is technically true.
“Missed flight?” You hear Bucky shout and pull the phone from your ear as his voice gets louder. “They’re fucking. I knew it! I saw those pictures of him, and I knew this was the end of your stupid co-worker rule!”
“We’re not-” you start, then stop; lying to Bucky and Sam has never been your best skill. “We-”
Marc grabs the phone from your hand; you don’t know when the change occurred. He could definitely hear Bucky’s yelling.
“We’re trying to,” he speaks into the phone.
You can hear Bucky’s happy shouting on the other line, Sam trying to calm him down. Then Marc hangs up and tosses your phone aside.
“Now where were we?” Marc’s voice shifts to Steven’s British accent mid-sentence.
You bury your fingers in his soft curly hair, dragging Steven’s face down to yours and pressing your lips to his soft ones. You’d followed your co-worker rule for years, but not anymore. Steven moans quietly, a deep throaty sound that shoots heat through your body.
It was like Stark had always said, rules are made to be broken.
–
Tag List: @love-on-the-murder-scene@bookfrog242 (Let me know if you want added to my Moon Knight list or if I missed you. I’m really bad at maintaining these.)
Summary: Marc’s journey shifts to Cairo, but Lune wouldn’t just leave Steven. The pieces start to align as the grant picture is revealed and Lune gets to know Marc, the little American man living in Steven’s body.
TW: canon typically violence
Lune was confused. The guy over there fighting did not seem like either Steven or Marc. Earlier Marc was pulling his punches and Steven would never be this violent. The guy over there was having no problem second thoughts about murder. Marc, or whoever was in charge right now, now looked at the knife in shock. Lune was too far away to hear what he was saying, but that wasn’t important. He was speaking to his reflection just like Steven did back in London. Was that their way of communicating? Lune had seen enough and approached him, still cloaked in her illusion, but then Khonshu appeared. Lune still stepped closer.
The kid was surprisingly still breathing and cowering on the ground, trying to get away from Marc as he stepped closer.
“Where is Harrow?” Marc’s voice was dark and demanding.
“Take him to the ledge,” Khonshu said and Marc hesitated.
“He’s just a kid.”
“He’ll talk.”
Marc complied and pushed the boy to the edge of the cliff holding him by his jacket. Lune felt her skin crawl. No kid was gonna get murdered on her watch.
“Where is Harrow!? Where is Harrow!” Marc shouted, now only holding the boy by his red scarf and the kid, lost in ideologies that have been fed to him, pulled a knife.
“Praise Ammit!”
“No, kid…,” Marc’s eyes widened in realization. The boy cut the scarf.
“Hmm, I thought he’d talk,” Khonshu said unfazed as the body crashed onto the ground below. Marc was swallowing hard and paced then turned around to the reflective backside of a street sign. He was riddled with guilt about what just happened.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Steven?” He said.
Me? You’re the one going on a killing spree!
“You can’t seriously blame Steven for what you just would have done?” Lune spoke up, kneeling before the boy just a few meters away from Marc. The boy was unconscious, but unharmed. “I let the illusion play on… wanted to see if you’d feel remorse,” Lune shrugged.
She didn’t blame Marc for what he did next. He charged at her, pinning her to the ground with a knife at her throat. Lune wasn’t fighting.
“Who the fuck are you?” Marc shouted.
Marc, are you mental!? If you hurt her… god help me…
Lune could see his eyes fall onto the blade’s reflection. “Can you talk to your other alters through reflections?” Her eyebrows pulled up, earning Marc to grab her shirt and press her harder into the ground. The look on his face wasn’t aggression, just pure confusion and Lune understood that he had every right to be confused.
“I’m not gonna ask again,” his voice darkened.
“Kill her. I don’t like her energy!” Khonshu said. “Just another witch thinking she has power.”
Lune let out a big laugh, then her head moved to the side looking directly at Khonshu. Lune’s face fell into a serious gaze and Marc felt his senses sharpen seeing her eyes get darker. “You wanna talk about power, pigeon?”
Lune met Marc’s eyes for a moment, the frown on his face vanished in realization, then Lune kicked him off. All air was knocked from his lungs as he cowered on the ground, looking up at Lune and Khonshu. She straightened up, standing strong and tall as the moon God approached doominly. Marc was in disbelief.
“Who are you?” Khonshu demanded to know.
“Between you and me, I am, in fact, the better moon deity,” she sneered. Khonshu raised his staff and brought it down towards Lune. The movement was so quick.
Marc jumped up, shouting, but stopped immediately again when he realized she was never hit. Lune caught the staff mid air, a silver glow flaring from her palm as she pushed back. Khonshu was grunting as he still tried to bring it down on her.
“Don’t make me angry, Khonshu. We both know the only real damage you can do is through him,” Lune pointed her other hand at Marc. “I’m just here to help Steven. I’m not your friend, but not your enemy, either.”
“The worm!?” Khonshu exclaimed and let off, stepping back. “You are a God and care for that incapable worm!?”
“You are?” Marc asked bewildered. He has met one God and that guy was nothing but awful, how could she be one too?
Lune turned, offering him a tight smile. “I am the Norse Goddess of the Moon. Among other things,” Lune turned her gaze, looking at the kid who was still unconscious. “Protector of children. Goddess of the subconscious and illusions… so on… there’s a lot to it.”
Marc sighed heavily, following her look, “I did not mean to…”
“I know.”
Marc wanted to call bullshit on all of this but there was already one moon god in his life may as well be another. Her illusions and the glow, that she could see Khonshu at all. The way she looked, that strange captivating beauty. She was not lying, Marc would be ignoring the obvious.
Of course she is not lying. Look at her… she is a Goddess. It makes so much sense. Oh my days. I should have realised.
Marc scoffed, “shut up, Steven.” Steven should feel at least a bit betrayed. Lune had been lying to them– to Steven the whole time.
“What are you doing on Earth then?” He asked, watching how Lune shifted from one leg to the other. “Aren’t you from eh wherever Thor is from then?”
It’s called Asgard, mate. This is embarrassing.
“I’m hiding. Like Khonshu, I’m not welcome amongst my peers.”
“Why?” Marc raised an eyebrow. Now it was getting interesting. How should he even trust her. What if she banished for some real evil stuff?
She is not evil!
Lune clapped her hands together, “wouldn’t you like to know. Maybe when I get to know you better, I’ll tell you.” She winked then her eyes narrowed. “Could I talk to Steven?” She already knew the answer was no but still tried.
“Sorry, he’s… he is busy,” Marc nodded, grimacing.
Lune shook her head, knowing full well that was a lie, too, but accepted it. She walked back to the boy, squatting down. “Let’s find out where that creepy cult leader guy is, shall we?”
“Harrow?”
“So that’s his name!” Lune nodded and touched the boy’s temples.
“You just let her in on this, Marc?” Khonshu said. “We can handle this ourselves as long as you keep the worm in check! Make her go away.”
“What do you want me to do?” Marc said, raising his hands in a grand gesture.
“Tell her to leave, send her away!”
“He doesn’t want to,” Lune mumbled, focusing most of her attention on whatever she was doing. Her fingertips were lighting up in the same silver glow while her eyes were closed. Marc watched her closely then he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was a risk, perhaps her presence was comforting– to Steven anyway… but to Marc it was just a risk. Nothing more.
“No, I’d love for you to get back to London. This is dangerous shit. I don’t need your help,” Marc said. “But I don’t think you’d listen to that, huh?”
“That hurts my feelings and absolutely,” Lune pouted then got up. “He doesn’t know where Harrow is, sorry.”
“Great. So I would have killed him for nothing,” Marc shot a glance at Khonshu. “If we can’t find Harrow’s digging crew we have to find him another way.”
“Question. What about the other Egyptian Gods? Do they just not care?” Lune crossed her arms as she walked to Marc’s side, her gaze switching between Marc and Khonshu. “Like… they imprisoned her for a reason, right? How can they be oblivious to what’s happening?”
“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu said.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Marc looked up at the god expectedly.
“Anger them enough… and they will imprison me in stone.”
Lune’s eyes widened and she nodded her head. “That’s tough.” When Heimdall or Thor or Odin would catch her, the worst she would face was lifelong imprisonment. Being cast into stone was an entirely different thing. She wouldn’t switch.
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Marc paced, getting more and more nervous. He couldn’t think of a solution and he hated that. He needed to find Harrow. He needed to stop Ammit. He wanted his life back.
“See how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor,” Lune and Marc could hear the smugness in Khonshu’s voice. Neither of them liked it.
They could do it. Together. Somehow. But Lune realized it was not the time to advocate for that.
“All right, so what?” Marc’s arms raised then clashed down beside him. “You got any good ideas?”
Khonshu stopped for a moment, looking up at thr sky. “No… I have a bad one.” The god vanished leaving Marc and Lune on the cliff.
Marc’s eyes met Lune’s for a second, annoyance ridden in his gaze. “Khonshu?” He called out.
“What did he–” Lune began to speak, but closed her mouth again, looking up at the sky. “Oh.” She could feel it coming, before it even started.
Marc followed her gaze into the sun, watching as the moon pushed in front her slowly, making everything go dark. “What are you doing?"
"Sending the Gods a signal they cannot ignore. Cmon now.”
Marc and Lune made their way into the city hurriedly. Marc didn’t really know what Khonshu’s plan was. He despised that Khonshu did not let him in on it. Communication wasn’t the bird’s strongest skill and Marc hated to go into things blind. Besides all of that, he felt a little uneasy at Lune’s silence. He previously perceived her as rather chatty.
Tell her I’m glad she’s here.
Marc caught a glimpse of Steven in a window and no. He shouldn’t be glad, worst-case and Marc is the reason she gets killed. His gaze lingered again, she was deep in thoughts like she was flipping through a book inside of her head, searching for an answer she knew was there somewhere.
“Lune?” Marc called.
Her eyes shot up, “yes? Sorry. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What?
"Why does Harrow want to release Ammit so badly? Why now? He is already doing wonderful cult leader work out there by himself… why would he willingly become number 2?” Lune said. “What is his gain?”
Marc shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess he believes in the vision? The whole heaven on earth thing.”
“Like what heaven on earth? The Christian heaven on earth? That makes no sense. How does he even define heaven on earth? It’s different for everyone.”
Marc’s brows furrowed tightly, but his eyes stayed soft as he looked at her. “You think too much. Harrow wants to kill innocent people… he is evil type crazy. That is his reason.” In the corner of his eyes he could see Khonshu, leading the way down an alleyway. “That was a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
“Hurry! They are gathering their Avatars now.”
“Aren’t they scattered across the world or something?” Lune raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, but for a meeting of the Ennead a Portal presents itself anywhere in the world,” Khonshu explained and just a moment later an archway opened where none was before.
“You shouldn’t come, however. It would be quite disrespectful,” Khonshu said, then turned around and walked off. “The last time I have spoken to the Gods… they banished me. Our case against Harrow must be indisputable.”
“What about you?” Marc called after him.
“Oh… I’ll be there.”
Marc took a deep breath. Khonshu could have walked this through with him, now he was going in completely blind. He did not know how to act and what to say, who he was meeting at all. He turned around to Lune, hoping to find encouragement, but she wasn’t there. A finger brushed against his hand ever so slightly even though nobody was around. The touch was small, insignificant and just to gesture she was still around only invisible, but it gave Marc the courage to step into the doorway.
“You think it will work on them?” He whispered. He wasn’t gonna stop.
“It worked on Khonshu.”
Fair. The two of them walked along a dark corridor. Marc’s face was ever so slightly illuminated by warm light coming from a big chamber. He looked concerned.
“I bet Steven is freaking out right now,” Lune said below a breath.
And Steven was. Marc saw him in the reflective surface of the golden wall, marveling at what was before him. He was beyond stoked, eyes sparkling like that of a child. Marc couldn’t relate remotely. The huge stone figures felt daunting to him, the elevated chairs made him feel trapped and the sheer size of the chamber with everything leading to one point above was crushing. Marc walked down a set of stairs and now found himself in the middle of the court.
“Khonshu’s theatrics are unparalleled,” a woman approached. Lune was starstruck at her divine beauty, it was simply in the way she moved. Her long red dress and golden jewelry just highlighted it. “You must be his Avatar.”
“Hi. And who are you?” Marc was just overwhelmed by all of this of this and not in the mood for small talk.
“I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor.”
“Okay?”
“Goddess of music and love?"
"Cool.”
Lune wished she could take over and do the talking.
“Surely Khonshu mentioned her?” Yatzil said. Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her gaze.
“No… sorry,” Marc shook his head. “The God’s aren’t really his favorite topic.”
Yatzil laughed softly, “not even when they are old friends? Hathor says it wasn’t that long ago Khonshu enjoyed her melodies.”
“As far as I know the only melody Khonshu enjoys is the sound of pain.”
Before she could answer a man called her name. Lune watched how Yatzil escorted Marc further toward the seats, Marc’s eyes stopped at every stature. Lune herself took a look around, noticing a sort of shrine with little figurines. She realized they must be Gods cast in stone.
“Has Khonshu told you how this works?” Yatzil asked Marc and Lune focused her attention back to them.
“Not really,” Marc said. He wished that damn bird did.
“Do not fight it,” she said and walked to her throne. Marc did not know what that even meant, but he soon would feel it.
Lune sensed the energy in the room tip over, the Gods were now in attendance. All the Avatars’ eyes glowed briefly then Yatzil… or well Hathor, began to speak.
She called out every God’s name then looked upon Marc, “we are here to hear the account of Khonshu.”
Lune’s throat tightened up as the same thing happened to Marc; eyes glowing for just a moment then she was looking at a face that was dancing on the verge between confusion and fear. His body tensed up, his eyes searched for something and his forehead pulled into a pained frown. Lune let go of a breath. She wished she could help him see this through.
“You have been banished once for nearly exposing us Khonshu. And you know we despise your garishness, your showy masks and weapons. But manipulate the sky again and we will imprison you in stone,” Osiris said.
Lune felt a shiver run over her skin. She knew that tone, the look in Osiris’ eyes too well. They all made up their minds about Khonshu, they have judged him once and never stopped to see if there was more. Lune made one mistake, misguided and betrayed and in Odin’s eyes it made her the villain til the end of time. But this wasn’t about her, Lune took a shaky breath. She realized this trial was a mistake for the scale of justice was already tipped against Khonshu.
“Spare me your self-righteous threats! I was banished for not abandoning humanity like the rest of you,” the voice coming out of Marc was simply eerie. It was his voice, but not entirely. Khonshu did not need to yell in such a volume either.
“Avatars aren’t enough! We need the might of Gods! Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm!” Marc was trying to breathe but it seemed hard.
Osiris explained that they have decided to stay out of humanity’s business and are here to merely observe. Lune did not know what to think of that. On one hand, humanity evolved and doesn’t need the old Gods anymore but on the other these Gods still held responsibilities.
The trial finally moved to its intended purpose: Arthur Harrow. With a woosh another door opened and the accused stepped into the chamber. He was holding composure, something Khonshu was lacking entirely and that did not make him look believable. Lune’s stomach fluttered in dread, she could sense the disaster coming.
“Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb!” Khonshu exclaimed. Marc was barely able to hold on and it just got worse.
Harrow proceeded to deflect, “Khonshu has been searching for Ammit’s tomb since before he ensnared me to his service.”
Oh? Lune narrowed her eyes. Harrow continued but Khonshu was not having it.
“He is a deceiver!” He yelled. Marc bent forward, his shoulder rose and fell heavily and his eyes were gleaming with exhaustion.
“Do not trust the words of a shamed god! No, Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell.”
Lune’s expression shifted. Where a second before was curiosity, now only disgust and hatred took hold.
“How do you mean?” Hathor said.
An intense stare was shared between Harrow and Marc… or Khonshu, Lune couldn’t tell.
Her heart started to pound doominly. Harrow was the last person on this earth to judge Steven… Marc.
“This is a man who literally does not know his own name.”
Marc cleared his throat and shifted from one leg to the other.
Harrow began to list things, his tone was patronizing and the dry laughs between his words hurtful. Lune thought about just putting a knife through his throat right then and there or better… crawl into his subconscious and bring out the worst. He had no right to judge upon Marc, not Harrow.
“This man is clearly insane!"
Lune’s hands stiffened with the urge to do something, but Marc or well Khonshu did instead, which wasn’t helping Khonshu’s case.
Osiris stopped him only lifting one hand, forcing Marc’s body on his knees. "We will not tolerate violence in this chamber!”
Marc looked up and uttered a shaky yeah.
“It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man,” Harrow continued.
Lune felt helpless. If she stepped in she risked making this whole situation worse but it was all coming undone. This wasn’t about Marc, who wasn’t insane and who wasn’t troubled. Marc was unwell and he needed help, he needed empathy and understanding. His condition did not diminish his character. Lune took a deep breath, letting her anger subside as she stepped closer to Marc. He was breathing forcefully, droplets of sweat running over his entire face.
“Khonshu is taking advantage of him, abusing him the same way he abused me and is aspiring to abuse this court.” Lune couldn’t help but notice that Harrow’s voice had changed, it was more shaky… more truthful perhaps.
“Let us speak to Marc Spector.” They released him and Marc fell to the ground, strained mentally just as much as physically. He tried to catch his breath and needed a moment to find his voice.
“Are you unwell?” One of the Gods asked.
Marc looked up, eyes wide and pained. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, then nodded ever so slightly.
“I am. I am unwell,” his voice came out choked, defeated. His eyes wandered across the room, staying with Hathor a moment longer. “I need help. But this doesn’t change the fact that this man…–” Marc pointed at Harrow but he was at a loss for words. He collapsed and his fist came down upon the stone.
Lune’s heart was aching, expanding in her chest and making it heart to breathe. She only met Marc today, it was irrational to care so much. Yet there was this unspoken pull tethering her to him just like Steven. It fekt similar, not entirely the same but similar. She knew she could only feel a fraction of his pain, his and Steven’s pain, and it was enough to make a tear escape her eyes.
“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu,” Hathor meant to help.
“This isn’t about me! I’m not the one on trial here. He is!” Marc raised his voice. Sadly he was mistaken, the second he walked in… it was the Gods against Khonshu. “This is about how dangerous he is if you’d just listen for a second!”
“He has committed no offense. This matter is concluded,” Osiris said. Lune wasn’t surprised… After all they were Gods. She put a hand on Marc’s shoulder. There was no use to say another word. Marc stayed on his knees and leaned into Lune, his head pressing into her leg as a pained breath left his body. Lune’s hand moved to the back of his head but her eyes were following Harrow. The thought about tagged along with him occurred, but she couldn’t leave Marc like this.
“Get up… Yatzil is still here,” Lune’s voice spoke softly in the depth of his mind. “I think she wants to help.”
Marc pushed through and raised to his feet meeting Yatzil’s eyes.
“Marc? There is another way. You must listen closely,” she said with urgency. Marc trusted that Lune was listening… his head was jumbled. “Ammit was buried in secret, the location was even hidden from the Gods. There was one man. A medjay named Senfu. He was tasked with recording the tomb’s location. Find his sarcophagus and you find the location of the tomb.”
“And how do I do that?” Marc asked, still trying to catch his breath.
“I suggest you start on the Black Market. Good luck,” she nodded then left as well, leaving the big chamber through a doorway.
Lune wrapped her arm around Marc’s waist and supported him as they walked through their portal, finding themselves in some back street of Kairo again. The sun was starting to set and the air was slowly beginning to cool down. It was quiet.
Marc slid down a wall, hands on his face as he banged his head back against the wall. “How could I fail like this,” he uttered.
Lune sat down in front of him and shook her head, “no. The second Khonshu walked in there the case was lost. They did not want to listen and Khonshu set himself up for failure. It was not your fault."
Marc looked up, head leaning against the cool stone. "You should have followed Harrow,” his voice was soft.
“I know,” you offered him a small smile. “But I wasn’t just leaving you alone after this.”
“Thank you,” it came out just above a whisper but was genuine.
“Can I ask you something?"
He agreed.
"Have you ever been to a therapist? Is this something you’ve been dealing with for some time?” Lune’s voice was somber. Marc understood that Lune just meant to understand, no judgment or treating him like he wasn’t a whole person and some freak.
“I had it under control until very recently,” he admitted.
“What happened?” Lune leaned onto her arm watching how Marc’s body reacted with withdrawal, he shifted and avoided her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” his voice came out pitched.
“Okay, okay,” Lune whispered and nodded, her hand reaching for his but she stopped herself. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.
“How do you cloak yourself?” Marc asked instead. Lune realized he just wanted to deflect from talking about himself but humored him.
“Oh, I don’t cloak myself. I just manipulate everyone’s perception of me,” Lune explained. “Like, in the moonlight things are never what they seem, there’s illusion, there’s confusion and you have to trust your intuition more than your senses. There’s always something hidden we don’t see, the dark side of the moon… the subconscious. I can tap into that.”
“Okay. So that’s why you can speak in– in my subconscious?”
You reached out a finger and touched the center of his forehead. “Yes and no. I can because you allowed me in–”
“When did I do that?”
“Subconsciously, you have,” Lune raised her eyebrows.
“Ah,” Marc shook his hand in an apologizing gesture.
“I do not have the full might of my powers so I can really only dive in superficially, when I’m in close proximity and if the person is not fighting me. The cloaking and proper illusions are rather easy.”
Marc nodded again as he thought it over. He couldn’t believe she was a god… Lune was so close… so in reach. She showed more compassion to him in one day than people have his whole life. And for what? What was her motive? It scared him. If Lune was so compassionate to him for no other sake than just Marc, she would soon find out he didn’t deserve any of it. Marc saw himself as nothing but rotten.
“I might know where we can find the sarcophagus actually,” she got up and reached her hand out.
Marc took it and hoisted himself up, he held her hand for a moment too long before dropping it. Her skin on his felt right. He couldn’t explain. One part of him knew she was a liability, Goddess or not, but the other and Marc realized it wasn’t just Steven, wanted her around… wanted her to be close.
“Is Khonshu brooding now?” Lune looked around as they started to make their way through the alleyways. The God was nowhere to be seen.
“Probably.”
“You didn’t get the joke did you? Steven would have loved it. Y'know, brooding hen… he’s looking like a bird.”
Marc sighed and couldn’t help but grin softly, “good you’re not the God of mischief or whatever.”
“Lowkey.”
Marc rolled his eyes and his head fell back. Lune chuckled.
“He’s the guy who tore up New York, right?”
“Yes. Also my ex.”
Marc looked at Lune in shock then composed himself quickly. “Are you banished because of him? Helped him do evil things? Something like that?”
“Nah. I mean, he didn’t stick up for me when I needed his support… so you could argue he was a factor.”
What a twit!
“Love that,” Marc said, ignoring Steven.
“I’m capable of doing evil by myself… don’t need him for that,” Lune mumbled and if Marc wouldn’t have focused his entire attention on her he would have missed it.
Marc and Lune agreed to get to his hotel room to assess. That was a mistake. Marc remembered too late in what state he had left it in, raging and hurting. He opened the door and let Lune walk in, rubbing the back of his neck. There needed to be no words exchanged about this.
Lune sat down and opened her laptop. The setting sun was graciously coating her in a gold sheen and Marc’s eyes were soft as he watched her, noticing the red on her cheeks that was very likely sunburn, but also the tiny scar on her temple. Her face was pulled into a concentrated frown and her leg was bouncing up and down. Marc couldn’t figure if it was because of focus or anxiety.
Why are you looking at her so intensely, mate?
Marc glanced sideways to the mirror. Steven was not too pleased. Could he blame Marc?
She typed for a while then leaned back and sighed heavily.
“What?” Marc asked.
She got up and walked to the bathroom, coming back with the first aid kid and a wet towel. She sat down on the bed in front of him.
“I am not very font about where we have to go,” she grinned unamused and non-verbally asked Marc if she could care for the wound on his face. He nodded ever so slightly.
Lune wiped away the dried and still fresh blood from Marc’s face while her other hand held his jaw. She tilted her head when she realized there was no wound.
“Ah! So even if you don’t have the suit on you still have healing powers?” Lune asked and threw the wet towel over to the desk.
“Hm,” Marc shrugged and watched how Lune laid down.
“Where are we going?” Marc did too, their eyes being the same level. He could feel his heartbeat pick up.
“He is uh… not an old friend,” Lune grimaced. “He grew up around magic but himself does not possess any. He wants it so bad. He dedicated his life to collecting objects that have a certain kind ot mythical aura sticking to them.”
“How have you met him?” Marc didn’t know why that was important, yet he still asked.
“Before I worked for museums, I worked against them,” Lune said. “Stole stuff and raided.”
“I see. Can’t we just slip in under an illusion?”
“The problem for me here is that he has protective runes up all around his estate,” Lune explained. “It completely cancels out my little remaining magic. The magic I kept is nowhere as powerful therefore it abides by the rules. I’ll be useless.”
“Defenseless,” Marc said, correcting.
“Hardly. I can still fight. And besides, if everything goes smoothly, there won’t be a fight,” Lune shrugged and laid on her back. Marc did the same. He knew he needed her in this but everything was already twisting in him. She can’t get hurt.
“What happened to the rest of your powers?”
“I locked them away.”
“Why?” Marc moved his head to look at Lune.
“I wanted to live a human experience.” He could tell it was a joke, but played along.
“And? How’d you rate it?”
“7 outta 10. Better than being a God. I just could do without capitalism and Homophobia, and racism and sexism–”
“All the isms and phobias, basically,” Marc nodded.
“Yeah,” Lune smiled but then got serious. “I unlock my powers,” her hand fell onto her chest and the shift in her voice made Marc swallow. “I will probably be immediately sapped to Asgard and face lifelong imprisonment. I would do it, though,” her eyes found Marc’s and he felt sick understanding. She would for them. Not just for Steven but also for him. “But it’s more like a last resort,” her voice became light and carefree again. She got up and checked the laptop, leaning on the table. Marc didn’t even catch the notification.
“They will meet us. We should get going.” When Lune looked up Marc was standing right beside her. She could feel the warmth coming from his body wash over her, his gaze intense and cradling.
“Don’t, okay?” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Just don't…” he trailed off, shaking his head barely. His words got lost. The thought of Lune sacrificing herself for him? It made him feel sick to the bone. He wasn’t worthy of it.
Lune just nodded, knowing what he was getting at but did not change her mind. It was not his decision to make. Steven… and yes Marc too, was worth saving.
Hey people! Just letting you know Lunar Love is now on Ao3.
I recommend reading it there (it is proof read lmao!) as it is mich easier for me to post and also you to read! Part 2 will be up either today or tomorrow. I first want to watch the new episode to decide on my next move yknow
Lunar Love (Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Norse Moon Goddess!Oc) (Part 1)
TW: canon typical violence, mention of suicide, follows ep 2 very closely
Summary: Lune and Steven have been acquaintances for quite some time now. They both held back on getting closer to each other, but when Steven gets fired and goes through a rough time, Lune wanted to be there for him. She couldn’t know Steven would be the gateway into a world of mystery and Gods… A world Lune was familiar with.
Note pls read:This is the most on the nose fanfiction plot for Moon Knight. But it’s fun and I like fun.
There is no Moon Goddess in Norse mythology. Lune is a mix of Artemis and what the moon card in tarot stands for. Asgard also does not exist canonly anymore, but it will for this fanfiction. Posting it here is kind of my test run because I’m not entirely sure about it yet It is also sadly not formatted the way I’d like because I’m posting from mobile.
Why could nobody see the damn jackal? A bloody jackal! It was there. Steven saw it, and was attacked by it for God’s sake. He did not make that up. He was sure… so sure.
A sense of heaviness filled him as he left the supervisor’s office not quite understanding yet what just happened. He loved to work at the museum. Even if he wasn’t able to actually share his passion and spread his knowledge, he was at least surrounded by ancient Egypt and that was enough for him. First the date, then Gus and now this. Steven was going mental.
But the worst part? That man… that walked out of the toilets? That was not Steven. Steven had no recollection of how he got home. But worse, the way that man looked at the camera, the anger in his eyes… It was a reflection of himself Steven could not recognize. It terrified him. Was that Marc? But who even was Marc?
“Steven!” A familiar voice called out, making Steven turn around on the marble stairs. Lune hurried toward him, meeting Steven halfway. Her forehead was in a tight frown and her pale eyes gleamed with concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Lune was an archivist, working in a whole different department than Steven and actually touching and seeing ancient texts and documents. It was a real job… not selling candy to kids. Steven was quite jealous yet loved when Lune talked about her work.
Lune was perhaps the closest thing to a friend Steven had. Their commute to work was roughly the same and overtime they acknowledged each other, then made small talk, then, well, meaningful talk. Steven tried to not be weird and that was hard. He really did not want Lune to think he was creepy. He was just fascinated by her and loved every second of conversing with her. On the other hand Steven feared Lune was only nice to him out of pity, it was quite a conflicting bunch of emotions and holding him back from actually getting close to her.
“Yeah… uh. I got sacked. Haven’t quite registered that yet to be honest…. but– but at least they won’t press charges, eh?” Steven shrugged. He was feeling like a lost child. What was he gonna do now? His life was a pile of shit. All in a few days. How did any of this happen?
Steven met Lune’s eyes for a moment, seeing how they widened with realization and Steven quivered away from her gaze.
“That wasn’t– that was you?! The restroom?” She said in shock.
Steven’s face was burning hot and his throat tightened up, “I uh… yeah… I uhm–” God, he felt so much shame. Lune was never gonna talk to him again.
Lune’s hand moved to Steven’s arm and squeezed ever so gently, making his eyes shot back up. He was met with a soft and understanding gaze, no judgment or scrutiny.
“If you need to talk… or anything… Call me, okay? You don’t have to deal with everything on your own. You have my number.” Lune’s voice was sweet, almost soothing. Steven took a relieved breath and his tensed body relaxed momentarily.
But wait.
“Do I?” He asked. He had no memory of ever getting Lune’s number. He wanted to ask but did not want to be weird about it which was again the issue because he is weird. He settled for the ride to work and home, grabbing dinner together sometimes. That alone was giving him so much joy.
“Yes?” Lune squinted at him and tilted her head, some of her dark hair fell from behind her ear.
"I’m sorry. It’s been a lot,“ Steven masked up, letting out a small chuckle. "I appreciate it… thank you… really.”
“What will you do now?”
“There are some things I have to uncover, really,” Steven shook his hands. “There has to be an explanation.”
“Uncover?”
“Yeah… I found things hidden in my flat and if I can find that storage locker,” he pulled out a key from his jacket, “I can perhaps explain what’s been happening to me. I will tell you all about it. If I don’t get killed that is,” Steven laughed and was already heading down the remaining stairs disappearing into the busy streets.
“Laters Gators?” Lune mumbled to herself.
Steven was special. There was no doubt about that. It was just not a negative thing. Steven was unbelievably kind and observant. He remembered the smallest details about the people around him even though no one gave the same energy back. It was infuriating. He was scarily knowledgeable about Ancient Egypt with so much passion to back it up yet no one gave him credit for it. Lune thought Steven was the most interesting human she had met in centuries. He didn’t get recognition, he was lonely and longing for connection and everyone treated him like he was invisible or an inconvenience, but there was not an ounce of bitterness in him. How?
However, the last few days have been tough for him and now this… something was seriously wrong and Lune wasn’t gonna sit back and watch. Whatever Steven was going through, she could help. She wanted to help.
》》》》
It was almost like he unintentionally made himself invisible and the only clue Lune had was the logo on the keychain Steven showed her earlier. She had been to three branches of the company already, just so missing Steven at each. Fourth times a charm or something like that, right?
Lune came out of the underground station seeing the big red U across the street. She sat one foot on the street when an eerie feeling washed over her, making her skin feel prickly and her senses sharpen, stopping dead in her tracks. She knew that energy, that power. It matched her own.
A car was honking violently, tearing Lune from her thoughts and throwing her back into the present. Steven had tripped and was cowering on the ground just a few meters away from Lune. A car almost hit him and people started to gather around yet no one helped him.
Steven didn’t know what was happening. He was terrified… so bloody terrified. Why him? Why did all of this happen to him? His heart was pumping up his throat and his lungs were closing up.
“Steven! Get up!” Lune’s voice felt like an anchor back to the here and now. Steven could feel her hands on his shoulder, taking a hold of his jacket and pulling him up. He complied and like an inner force guided him grabbed the bag. Steven’s eyes met hers and a second of silence enclosed him, a moment of peace, a chance to take a breath, then Lune started to run, dragging Steven along. They hurried down the stairs of the underground station, catching a tube just before the doors closed.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Lune put her hands on Steven’s face, searching for answers in his eyes.
Steven felt like he would explode right then and there, forgetting the horrors he was just exposed to. Her skin felt right on his. Lune was breathtaking in her own peculiar way. She looked like someone straight out of a classic literature piece. Captivating. She was tall and strong and carried herself with so much confidence it was hard to not see her yet she did not want to be seen, elusive like she was running from something. She was out of this world. Her pale eyes still held so much warmth in them and her dark hair had this silver sheen Steven would only notice at night when the moon was shining strong. It was almost like a magical glow. Steven never understood where it was coming from just like he never understood why Lune cared about him.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was timid, just above a whisper.
Her face relaxed, “making sure you don’t do anything stupid, I guess?”
“It’s too late for that, innit?” He chuckled dryly.
“Are you hurt?"
"No… no, I… I’m just losing it. Tis all,” Steven sat down. His hands were still shaking and he rubbed them together to hide the fact.
Lune sat down too. “Did someone come for you? Follow you? What happened in there?”
And immediately Steven’s fear set back in as the events replayed. He grabbed the duffle bag tightly and sank in his seat, looking around with alertness. His heartbeat picked up again as he remembered that thing. Khonshu?
“Just get me to my flat, please… I’ll tell you everything,” he stammered, his eyes big. “Just get me home.”
It took the two of them not long until they reached Steven’s apartment complex, the remaining way was spent in complete silence and only when Steven unlocked his door he found his voice again.
“Thank you,” he uttered and Lune just met it with a smile, distracted by Steven’s flat. There were books everywhere, it was a mess but Lune could tell for Steven it had structure. The fish tank was the center of the place really, a goldfish swimming about in it.
Lune approached the tank, “this is Gus then?”
“Sort of,” Steven said, putting the duffle bag on a table. It wasn’t Gus. He froze up when he saw Marc in the fishtank’s reflection looking at Lune like she was a bother.
“You can’t trust her,” Marc said. “Don’t tell her anything.”
“I just want my life back.”
Lune straightened up and looked at Steven with a frown. “Sorry?”
“No no! I was… I was talking to myself.”
Lune blinked but dismissed it, moving from the fishtank to the desk by the window. “Can you actually read hieroglyphics?”
“Oh well. It’s not that impressive really. It’s not like it’s a whole language… It is more of an alphabet. You still need to know ancient Egyptian though.” Lune loved when Steven would throw around the knowledge he possessed. It made him at ease. “You can read runes right? It is quite different from that.”
She nodded, “I see.” Her finger traced some of the open books then she leaned against the table crossing her arms. The look on her face was pressing and Steven could see she was trying to lay her words out carefully, hitting a nerve in Steven that made his stomach crunch.
“Oh god, you think I’m totally bonkers, don’t you?”
“No! I don’t, Steven. No, I just– I think you have a hard time and might need some help navigating through it. And that is absolutely fine and nothing to be ashamed of. Mental health is just as–”
“No… no… it’s not that. Not all of it at least. I think? I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening… I don’t expect you to believe me. I-I I honestly don’t know if I believe myself,” Steven was stammering. The tone of his voice was sober and he was speaking truthfully. Lune watched how he walked over to the gym bag. She was willing to listen and also believe him.
Marc was ringing in Steven’s ears. Steven, stop. Steven, you’re making a mistake.
“All I can do is… all I can do is try to show you what I’ve found.” Steven… listen to me! “I found this bag in a storage locker, right?” Steven! Stop! “And inside of it are all sorts of things.” Steven, get away from the bag! Don’t show… don’t show her what’s in the bag! “But most interestingly–” You will get her killed! Steven stopped shuffling inside the gym bag, limbs going numb for a moment. Kill Lune? No.
If you show her that scarab… you are responsible when they come after her. Do you hear me?
“Most interestingly, what?” Lune asked.
Steven met her eyes. He would never want her to be in danger. He would never want her to get hurt. That was an awful thought.
“Nothing,” he said and closed the bag. “It’s nothing.”
“No… what’s in the bag?” Lune said with authority. She took a step toward the desk and Steven wouldn’t even have known how to stop her. Her shoulders drooped and she took the gun out, finding Steven’s eyes. “Suicide is not, it is not the answer, Steven,” her voice was calm, projecting no judgment. “Believe me. I know.”
“What? No… it’s– it’s not like that,” Steven whispered.
Lune put the gun down then took the scarab out next. Her brows were furrowed as she marveled at the golden ornament, her head tilting just a little as her eyes examined the scarab carefully. Her fingertips touched the inscriptions slowly as she seemed to take in every detail. She peered up at Steven, wonder and confusion in her eyes.
“It’s a scarab?” Steven felt the need to fill the silence. “That thing is ruining my life and I have no idea why I even bloody have it.”
Lune took another look into the bag and now got the passport out. Steven’s hands got sweaty. The scarab was one thing, but this… how would he explain this. There’s a strange angry man living inside of me. He said my body is an avatar to the moon god Khonshu.
Lune opened the passport and her eyebrows pulled together. “Marc Spector?” Her eyes met Steven’s and softened ever so slightly but before she could say something there was a banging on the door.
“Steven Grant, can we have a word?” A woman said.
Steven’s gaze widened in fear. “Oh, god, they’ve come for me.”
“I thought they wouldn’t press charges?” Lune whispered.
The knocking continued. Lune shook her head but Steven already moved to the door.
“Yeah! Just a minute!” He called out. Lune dropped the passport and moved away from the door. It was too late to stop Steven.
He opened the door just a gap, peaking out at a woman and a man holding up their badges.
“Steven Grant?” The officer asked.
“I think so, yes. I mean, yep, yes. That’s me. A 100% Steven Grant.”
Lune went to hide behind a bookshelf, hearing Steven do a terrible job at not being suspicious.
The “officers” forced their way in immediately scanning the place.
Lune was quick to realize they were here for the scarab. That damn scarab. It radiated an awful, world ending type of energy. Lune had never felt something like it before.
“Anyone here with you?” The woman asked and Steven was quick to respond this time.
“No! Just me and my fish.”
The woman walked to the bed, looking at the cuff attached to a pole then moved by the book shelf Lune was hiding.
The illusion Lune casted onto herself was easy yet fool proof. The woman had no idea Lune was there. She proceeded to go to the bathroom, ripping the sliding door open expecting to find something or someone.
“You are in possession of a stolen item,” the man said and Steven made the rooky mistake of letting his gaze fall to the duffle bag.
“Oh. Yeah… No. I don’t have it! I don’t. It’s not here.”
The man went through the bag and found the passport. In hindsight Lune realized she should have grabbed that entire bag. It’s too late now.
“Marc Spector?”
“That’s not mine,” Steven answered truthfully.
“Funny that. Fella looks just like you.”
For the “officers” it was enough to take Steven with them and he wouldn’t fight it. Lune thought of stepping in right there, but something told her it was better to see this play out. Right now, Steven couldn’t make sense of any of this and Lune needed more information to truly be of help. The puzzle started to come together for her, but big chunks were still missing. What was apparent so far was that Steven is not just Steven. His sleeping disorder never was one. Marc was just in control and Steven would have no recollection of it whatsoever. It made sense with how he was acting and all that has happened, the passport sealed the deal. Just what in the world did Marc get into? The scarab was filled with old magic. You don’t just run into something like this randomly.
Lune followed the three of them, staying cloaked in her illusion. She was tense and felt trapped in her smidgen of magic. If she could use the full extent to her powers she could simply travel in the shadows or use Steven as an emotional anchor to teleport. It could be so easy. Instead she placed every single step as carefully as possible staying right behind the officers, invisible. When they reached the car Lune had to make a decision, slip in with them somehow or well… the roof? Both of these things were not ideal. Lune looked around, assessing the situation, could she steal a bike or motorcycle? Nothing was close. For a split second she bargained with herself. Should she travel in the shadows? No. She can’t risk being seen by Heimdall, not even for Steven. Lune put a foot on the back bumper and hoisted herself up on the roof as quickly and quietly as she could. It was an awful idea, but she wouldn’t risk losing them either.
The ride wasn’t long luckily and eventually they arrived in a neighborhood that seemed isolated. The two “officers” got out of the car but left Steven inside. Lune could sense his panic and confusion, but anger as well. Revealing herself to Steven would serve no purpose other than his comfort and Lune still did not know what was going on.
A man approached. He looked exhausted, that kind of exhaustion you felt all the way in your bones, eating away at your soul. Lune felt uneasy in his presence, knowing his calm and collected exterior was only a facade and that underneath a ruthless individual was hiding whose hands were tainted in blood. Lune’s intuition is never off. That was part of the job.
He was holding a walkie-talkie where Steven’s voice echoed through.
“No. No! I’ll never give you control again! Ever. Do you hear me?!” Steven said with determination. You figured he was talking to Marc.
“I hear you loud and clear Steven Grant of the giftshop,” the man replied then the officer opened the door to the car and Steven fell onto the streets.
“Sorry for the wait. We just needed a moment to better understand your situation.” He freed Steven from the cuffs and helped him up. What situation, Lune bit her lip while listening as closely as possible.
“It must be very difficult balancing all these voices inside your head. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu.”
Khonshu? Lune felt a cold rush run over her then her eyes landed on Steven. If Steven was a God she would sense it, she would have sensed it a long time ago. Ironically, she knew that name because of Steven.
They had gotten dinner after work, sitting at a park, and started to talk about mythology. Lune said her favorite Goddesses were always those associated with the moon. Artemis, Abuk, Selene, Chang'e. Steven then told her about the moon god Khonshu.
“I don’t know, Steven. Personally, it just feels wrong when a lunar deity isn’t depicted as a woman,” Lune said lightheartedly. “You can’t really assign our concept of gender to Gods, obviously, but she is for the ladies,” she pointed up at her.
Steven had nodded and chuckled softly, “fair.”
Lune needed to suppress a laugh. Of course the first guy she actually had an interest in in centuries somehow was connected to a lunar deity. It was comical. It was dangerous.
“I’m curious, do you think Khonshu chose you as an avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”
Lune’s chest started to feel tight as anger flooded her blood. Her hands were in tight fists and for a moment she thought about hitting, but Steven handled the situation.
“No, I’m not broken. I just need some help maybe.”
You tell him, Lune thought.
“That’s right. That’s why I’m here, to help."
Cmon.
Steven was suddenly struggling for air, eyes wide and body trembling, then Lune felt him too.
She did not know if her illusion protected her from Khonshu. On Odin it worked, Frigga most of the time, Thor anyway, but Khonshu was like her a God of the Moon and perhaps different rules applied. If Khonshu wouldn’t be so angry, Lune was sure he would have at least sensed her.
"Is he here? Do you see him?” The man asked as the wind started to howl in the alley. “That’s a privilege I no longer have.”
Oh? So how does this work then?
“What’s he saying? Is he telling you to kill me?”
Steven nodded.
“Just remember, you don’t have to do everything he says. So before you get excited and put on the cape, I’d love to use this opportunity to show you around.”
Steven exclaimed as the winds picked up even more.
“Don’t worry. That’s all he can do without your help.”
Lune was starting to have a general idea. Steven was like Khonshu’s physical realization into this world, Khonshu could only act through Steven. She sympathized that that must not be a nice feeling. A God with no real power, not quite like herself, but close.
The man started to show Steven around the place. They were a community, providing for themselves and dedicating their lives to learning or something like that. It would have been quite nice if it was not a literal cult with a creepy leader. Lune felt nauseated with how pretentious it all was too.
The man led Steven into a hall, it seemed to function as the community center. It had exposed brick walls and almost looked like the naked remains of a church. There was a section that had plants growing, the other was for entertainment and then a big dining area. A lot of people were around. He invited Steven to eat, still monologing on.
“I know being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience.”
“You have no conscience!” The bird looking God sneered from a ledge.
“He throws temper tantrums like a four year old. None of the gods respect him… maybe that’s why he’s banished.”
Lune swallowed. She could relate to the banished part. She didn’t know how she was gonna explain that to Steven really, seeing that with how events were unfolding… she will have to at some point.
“Can you hear him?” Steven asked, enjoying the lentil soup that was in front of him.
“Not anymore. Before you, I was his avatar. I was his fist of vengeance.”
“I’m not the fist of anything. That is the little American man living inside of me,” Steven explained, seeming to be a lot more at ease now.
“Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path. His retribution comes too late. By the time his fist of vengeance arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears evil up from the root, casting her judgment before any evil is done. That’s why we must resurrect her.”
A cold shiver ran over Lune’s skin. That was just wrong, wrong on so many levels. How could Ammit make that judgment at all? Things are never as they seem, never as bad and never as good. Nothing is that clear cut. There is always more.
“Right… but isn’t that a bit dodgy? Trusting the judgment of a weird crocodile lady?” Steven’s voice wasn’t shaky anymore and Lune could almost hear a challenging tone.
“You don’t need to doubt her judgment. Ammit will light the path to good by irradiating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”
Suddenly everyone in the big hall got up and formed a circle around Steven and the man. The mood shifted drastically, creating tension that was building up to snap.
“So, the scarab?”
Lune reached into the pocket of her jacket, feeling the cold metal with her thumb. She looked around, knowing it wasn’t long now till she had to get Steven out of this.
“Oh I don’t have it. Really I don’t have it,” Steven’s voice picked up haste again.
“Well, you know someone who does? Maybe Marc?” The man was still calm, but Lune knew he was slipping up on his calm and collected manners.
“No, I don’t.”
“May I speak with Marc?”
“Uh… um.”
“Marc, what has Khonshu promised you? That this will be your last mission? And then you’ll be free? Trust me when I tell you… Khonshu is a liar. There is always one last thing ”
Lune bit her tongue. A lunar deity being a liar? Yes. Of course. That made sense.
“Sorry,” Steven’s voice had taken on a different color once again. Now it was strong and argumentative. Lune raised an eyebrow and listened closely.
“If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like, before the fact, isn’t she judging an innocent person? I mean, a thought can’t be evil, can it? I think about killing my boss all the time but I wouldn’t actually do it.”
Justifiably.
“Steven…” No, Steven wouldn’t let himself be interrupted right now and continued.
“Like, what about a child? Would she kill a child for something they might do in 30 years?”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. Sometimes the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison is sometimes only dosage. Consider a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque… is necessary for the larger health.”
Lune had to admit that this analogy made absolutely no sense to her. If anything it was vile.
“But a child is not a diseased limb? I’m sorry… is that what… you’re all into that?” Steven turned to the others, disgust lacing his tone. “Killing children and that? Maybe that’s just me but I kinda draw a line there at child murder.”
The man picked up his cane and Lune could sense the potent magic within it. Everyone started to back away and Lune moved closer to Steven. She had picked one of the ledges and was ready.
“I need to know… where is the scarab?”
“No.”
Lune wouldn’t be surprised if Steven would give her up. She knew it wouldn’t be an act of betrayal, Steven just doesn’t know how these things work. He however did not.
“Where is the scarab!”
“I don’t have it… really."
Lune took a deep breath, then her voice echoed in the hall even though she was not speaking.
"You looking for this?” A perfect illusion of herself was standing on a ledge holding the scarab into the air. A rushing surfed through the crowd. She had everyone’s attention.
“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you are holding. Give it to me, I’ll keep it safe,” there was not panic in the man’s manners, but anticipation.
“You can have it!”
“There is no deal in this Marc. Fix this! Fix this!” The bird’s voice echoed, the God being the one displaying panic.
Lune’s illusioned self threw the scarab and everyone in the hall started to run to catch it.
The real Lune grabbed Steven by the wrist and started running up a flight of stairs.
“Weren’t you just up there?” Steven said, uncertain of what just happened. When he looked at Lune he saw the tiniest smile tugging on her lips, almost like she enjoyed the action.
Dimitri cut them off, blocking the way. Lune let go of Steven and picked up speed, charging for him. She dodged his punch then landed her own before kicking the man into a construction platform. It all was so fast.
“That was awesome?” Steven remarked, then followed Lune into a room where they barricaded.
“Oh my god. I’m gonna die in an evil magician’s man cave,” Steven panicked.
“No,” Lune said, then found the time to hug Steven quickly. Their eyes met as she pulled away. “Your critical thinking skill in there was really sexy, Steven.”
“What?” He blinked.
Lune took the scarab from her jacket and gave it to Steven.
“But you threw that?” Nothing was making sense to Steven right now.
“From what I’ve gathered, you can draw on Khonshu’s powers and summon a suit or armor of some sort. That would be extremely helpful right now, Steven,” Lune cupped his face and Steven could see the urgency in her eyes. “You can do it.”
Let me in, Steven!
“No! No! I can’t! Please stop! Please, both of you!” It was all too much. It was so overwhelming. Lune’s voice, Marc’s, there was banging on the door, making the situation even worse.
Lune looked at the mirrors behind her. Both of you. Could Marc and Steven talk? That was a thought for later.
“Steven, listen to me. You are the Avatar to an Egyptian god. I have no idea how it works, but you do! This is your thing!”
Steven, let me in! I can get us out of here!
“Please stop! Both of you, leave me alone!” Steven cried out in helplessness and Lune saw what she was doing. She couldn’t force this on him, he has already dealt with so much today already.
She hugged Steven again, “it’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” Her voice was soft but with an edge. The door would give in any second now. “The latter. Stay behind me–” The door slammed open, but Lune did not see anything.
“Jackal!” Steven shouted on the other hand. “Jackal! Jackal! Jackal!”
Lune couldn’t see it but it charged at Steven and catapulted him through the window. Lune shouted his name, almost summoning her powers to save him… but he was fine?
“That should have been much worse?” Steven said as he got up, feeling his body to make sure. He just fell a few stories.
Oy… Steven… what the hell are we wearing? Marc said with annoyance. Steven was wearing a white tuxedo, gloves, and a mask. It was a suit.
“I don’t know. Lune said I needed a suit?” Steven looked at Marc in the reflection of a glass door.
Yeah… the ceremonial armor from Khonshu’s temple, not psycho Colonel Sanders.
“I don’t know how any of this shit works, man… I– I think I do look sharp though.”
“You look snazzy!” Lune arrived in the alley. A little smile was on her face as she took in the white suit. “Not what I imagined though.”
When you two are done with fashion advice. Where is the scarab?
“The scarab… yes. What are these poles for? Pretty cool actually."
"Those are weapons, for sure,” Lune said then Steven was suddenly hurled through the air once again. Why couldn’t she see whatever did it? She ran toward Steven.
“No! Stay away!” He shouted as he was lifted into the air and thrown against a parked car.
Lune closed her eyes, with a deep breath she opened herself up and could finally see it. That was some hefty cloaking magic. The thing was ugly… really really ugly. Lune searched the ground and found a big enough stone, hurling it at the creature.
It let go of Steven and fixated Lune with its gaze.
“Regrettably,” Lune mumbled and ran, but the four legged thing was quicker so Lune sailed through the air, crashing across the street this time.
Give me control, Steven. You can’t handle this.
“I think I do,” Steven got up. His heart was pumping and courage started to spread in every cell of his body. “Get away from her, you! Yeah, I see you, you plug ugly coyote. You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now!"
The jackal turned to Steven again, growling lowly. Steven ripped his suit jacket off and pulled up his sleeve. He was balling his fists and hopping around. Lune caught her breath as she watched, amused and concerned at the same time. She loved his confidence but the jackal was closing in, jumping any second now.
"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name’s Steven with a V. Come on, now!” And for everyone’s surprise Steven landed a precise and hard punch. The jackal flew to the ground, squealing like a hurt puppy.
“I did it! You got planted! Lune! Did you see that?!” Steven was absolutely stoked but the jackal was on his feet quick again and once more Steven sailed through the air landing on a more busy street now. Lune rushed over but Steven somehow caught the jackal’s advance and they both crashed into a car. The jackal was now given a taste of flying across the street while Steven just stayed down.
“That was awesome,” Lune repeated his words and helped Steven up. He supported himself against a bus, looking at his reflection.
That was a hell of a punch back there. Look around. Someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help.
“All right. Do it. Take control for now!” Steven said.
Lune felt her stomach tighten up at those words. Marc seemed… different from Steven. She held her breath as she watched Steven change. His eyes lit up and the snazzy suit was replaced by something looking a lot more the part.
Marc? acknowledged Lune, looking at her for a moment then disappearing into the night, leading the jackal away.
Lune was left in what now felt like awful silence. Her heart was pumping and her hands were tingling. She loved the action, admittedly, but seeing Steven get attacked was not enjoyable. There was so much information Lune had to make sense of. And now that Marc was in charge, would he give control back to Steven? How did that work at all?
She looked around and her heart sank. Every notion of thrill and excitement vanished, being replaced by dread. She saw that man in the alleyway, picking up that damn scarab.
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)
Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.
Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interlude… idek)
You’re naked in your boyfriend’s bed—the very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now he’s staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.
It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears.
The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are. Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest don’t look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?
He clears his throat and you realise with a start that you’ve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. He’s never looked at you like that before; you weren’t even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.
You don’t know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Don’t know what to do with yourself either. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest.
His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.
Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it won’t stop, you need to leave.
But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldn’t do to alarm him.
“Is… um… is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. I… really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know.” You’re babbling nervously, can’t seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him.
“I’ll… um… Just let me–” you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if he’s still standing there watching you. “I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”
You don’t look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.
Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.
Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness.
You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride home—ETA: 6 mins. It’s followed immediately by relief.
You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. It’s ridiculous really, this isn’t a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can.
Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully.
You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks than… than… What is it that you’re worried about anyway?
Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. You’re being ridiculous.
It’s just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except it’snot.
He hasn’t really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation.
He was just so oddly still. Loose and almost… relaxed in a way you’re not used to from Steven.
Maybe that’s it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat. People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)
Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?
The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally. But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.
He’s dressed now as well in the well-fitted t-shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that it’s a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because you’re too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before. Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isn’t just your imagination.
Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here.
Now.
“I’ll just… um… wait downstairs, shall I?”
He says nothing, and you’re glad, even though that’s wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time you’re just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.
You’re uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it?
Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, “see you around.” You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.
What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?
It doesn’t help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish you’d asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man you’ve just left behind in his flat.
You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. You’re staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor it’s on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confront… Steven.
He’s right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising you’ve backed into the door of the lift.
God, what is wrong with you tonight!?
It’s just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But it’s not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hairiswrong.)
And you don’t know what you expect (theworst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isn’t for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness.
Harmless… right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Except…
He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. He’s still too still, too… much to be your Steven, but…
There’s something about the way he’s giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. He’s not trying to make himself smaller—not the way Steven always does—but he’s holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and it’s enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.
There’s a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, ‘that’s right. You’re okay.’ And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it.
He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrong… almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.
It’s then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers.
Oh. Oh God. You’ve made a right idiot of yourself, haven’t you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think you’re a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch.
Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and there’s something—the slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higher—that turns the expression cruel, like he’s having a laugh at your expense.
The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. You’re not even sure anymore if it’s nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront.
Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.
“Thanks,” you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apart—of course it does—leaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze.
What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.
Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift.
The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement. Once you’re far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.
Still, it’s not until you’re safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.
What in the bloody hell was that!?
Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.
The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Steven’s flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreacting—practically having kittens over your boyfriend… what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle or the night?
Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: It’s not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyone’s best hour.
But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you werenothing to him…
No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven.
And that’s a giant fucking red flag if you’ve ever seen one. One you don’t know if you can get past.
You don’t get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. There’s spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.
The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks it’s already too late.
Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does.
Except, it’s notSteven.
Instead it’s an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven.
Hello, unwanted dick pic #13.
God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isn’t it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.
You don’t want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcher’s store.
But most of all you don’t want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven.
YoulikeSteven.
You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm. You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work day— random photos of cute dogs on the Tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you.
You like all of it.
You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in lo– (No. No, you’re not going there. Not right now.)
But last night was… not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasn’t it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared and… and… small. And you don’t know how to deal with that from someone you’re supposed to be able to trust.
Don’t know if you even want to try.
God, you’re a mess.
You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but it’s still not half five.
You’ve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you.
It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over.
You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.
Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you don’t even know what it will be like when you see him again?
When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that there’s some kind of commotion taking place at reception.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?” The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office building
Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, “If you don’t give me a name right now, you’re going to have to leave. This isn’t a bus stop, alright?”
“Sorry, Sorry.”
Oh God. You recognise that voice.
“I’m not loitering or anything dodgy like that. I’m just waiting for my… girl–uh… lady… um… friend.“
Rounding the corner, you see him.
Puppydog Steven has returned. He’s wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, he’s standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield.
“Steven?”
At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like he’s bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell he’s nervous and unhappy in a way you haven’t seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief.
“This one yours then, love?” Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.
“Yeah, he’s um… Yeah. Thanks, Susan,” you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.
“Steven, what’s wrong? Why are you—,” but you don’t even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.
“I’m sorry. Oh God,this is why I don’t— Sorry, sorry. I–” The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly some sort of garbled apology. “Look, if I– If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, I’m– Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. You’re acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly.
“Susan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?”
She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think she’ll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting.
“Room 10, pet.”
“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.
“C’mon.” You grab the cuff of Steven’s shirt and tug gently.
Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.
Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he starts again as soon as you’re facing him.
“Steven,Steven. It’s alright,” you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserable—every inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is coming—and you can’t bear for him to look like that.
But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity that’s startlingly reminiscent of the night before.
“I just– Look, I— You’re the best bloody thing I’ve had in my life in a long time—maybe ever—and… and last night was amazing. Better—way better—than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”
He’s so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.
“Last night was perfect,” he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. “At least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And I’m afraid I’ve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good ol’ Steven, can’t pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because it’s you, and…”
And he’s still talking, but you’re stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.
He said… he said that he woke up and you were gone. But that’s not right. You know that’s not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does he… not remember?
You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you don’t dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.
Instead you interrupt Steven’s rambling to probe gently, “I was gone when you woke up?”
Steven nods.
“Yeah, this morning. Must’ve worn me out ‘cause I slept straight through.” He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you don’t return it. “Was nearly late for work.”
You’re still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesn’t remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isn’t so far-fetched after all?)But Steven doesn’t give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.
“I don’t blame you for leaving, of course, but I can’t help thinking that I must’ve–” he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he can’t bear to look at you. “Look, you… you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I don’t remember. I do things that I don’t remember. And I can’t bear–”
He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that there’s no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.
“I can’t help thinking that I must’ve done something, and I’m– I’m sorry if I– Sorry. I– Just please.” His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and there’s something else there too as he continues, “Please tell me that I didn’t do anything to hurt or upset you.”
Fear. It’s fear you’re seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.
“Steven… ” You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.
“Oh. I– Oh.I did, didn’t I?” He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m– Oh God,what did I do? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever– Or would I? Guess I did, didn’t I? God I’m– I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why I would…”
This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this way—it’s painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.
“Steven—Steven!” You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesn’t even pause. You don’t know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.
Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. It’s a little awkward—Steven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightly—but it does shut him up rather handily.
His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and he’s wearing an expression like he’s forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing.
“It’s alright, Steven,” you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. You’re not sure what’s going on exactly, but you know you lo– that you care about Steven a lot and don’t want to lose him to… whatever it is that happened last night.
He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as he’s coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes.
“So, I didn’t… do anything to hurt you?” Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes.
You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you can’t help the swell of affection in your chest.
And it’s true.
Hedidn’t do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and you’ve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.
“So we’re… um…” he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, “We’re good then, yeah?”
You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“You’re… You’re sure?” he presses. He’s still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh.
You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.
Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then he’s licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm.
Steven’s kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like he’s seeking salvation from your lips; like you’re water when he’s dying of thirst, and he’s determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.
You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure they’ll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him.
Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes. Fuck, he’s so damned gorgeous.
And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but you’re certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all.
You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock above—6pm, after office hours.
There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.
Grasping Steven’s collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room.
He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. He’s like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and it’s adorable.
You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and you’ve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case.
He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.
The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt.
You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.
“Wait, wait. What are you–? There’s people outside. We can’t do this here, can we?” He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.
“It’s fine,” you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room.
“We shou—oh fuck, that feels so…—Shouldn’t be doing this though, should we?”
For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.
You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him.
“Steven. Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. “I-I– Don’t stop. Keep… um… keep going, please. If you want to.”
“Good.” You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach.
“Then sit down.” You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully it’s like you’ve tackled him.
He’s so distracted—eyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on you—that he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you.
You blink in disbelief.
"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me just…” Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. “Oh god, I’m so sorry."
Giddy relief fills your chest, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? It’s practically a comedy of errors.
Still, if there was any doubt before, it’s definitely gone now. This man—the man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweet—is your Steven.
You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Steven’s horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles.
“Stay,” you order with a fond smile. “Don’t move. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.”
While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.
You drop to your knees again and lean forward until you’re caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.
On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you weren’t privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome that’s beading at the blunt tip.
Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. It’s really not fair.
This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.
So sensitive, your Steven.
You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. It’s a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, you’d think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing.
You do it again, just to see if he’ll make the same noise.
He does.
Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.
“Shall I continue then?” you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.
“Yes, please. God yes.” His voice is breathless, desperate, and you can’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.
“Shit. Oh bloody–Shit.” His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.
Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like you’re holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe.
His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; it’s all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself.
It’s tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue.
"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. You’re so–oh fuck–so good at this… I mean why wouldn’t you be? I mean… oh God.” He’s babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. “Pleasedon'tstop.”
It is, possibly, the world’s worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that it’s impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.
When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, he’ll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide him deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until they’re just short of painful.
And all the while he’s watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though he’s afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe you’re real.
That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to.
One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where it’s stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as he’s writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine.
Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can.
“God, look at you. You’re so pretty. I can’t believe you’re actually–” He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what he’s saying, “Your mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can you— Can you take me deeper?” Then when you hum an assent around his cock, “Oh God, oh please…”
The words coming out of him aren’t even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same.
Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you are—dripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing.
“Oh. You’re–? Fuck. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.
“God, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he can’t help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to “Touch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.”
Hah. As though you weren’t already enjoying yourself thoroughly.
Still, it’s no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone.
God, and he says you’re the pretty one?
You can’t help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.
Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign he’s feeling insecure.
Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you don’t get much out of it, but you’ve certainly captured Steven’s attention.
He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.
You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. There’s an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers.
The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, you’re already so wet, and you can’t help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.
“Oh my days,” Steven breathes, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.
And, well, that just won’t do.
When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again.
Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. He’s all instincts and hunger now, and you’re reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake.
His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and it’s almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking.
You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, butfuck, you barely care. Can’t help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds he’s making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.
You’re overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps it’s the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat.
It’s too much and just the right amount because suddenly you’re there, right on the edge. Don’t realise that you’re moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and that’s all it takes.
You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Steven’s cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him.
Dimly you hear Steven’s shocked “Oh Lord, are you—? Oh my God!” and then a broken, breathy litany of “Oh God oh God oh God,” but it hardly registers.
You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and you’ve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm.
Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.
“Oh God, oh God, don’t stop.” The head of Steven’s slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, “Pleasepleaseplease– I need– Fuck. Please don’t stop.”
His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if it’s drooling, glistening under the ceiling light.
You can’t help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight.
If your goal was to make a mess of him you’ve certainly succeeded.
To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.
Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. It’s a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.
And you love it. You love it all.
The sounds he’s making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but there’s a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.
There shouldn’t be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.
“Steven,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, “I need you to keep quiet for me.”
You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can’t help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you.
You know you’re being mean. He’s so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you can’t resist as you continue to tease him.
“You don’t want me to have to stop, now do you?”
He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, you’d scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, “I—I’ll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please don’t stop.”
“Good,” you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth.
His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.
Your previous established rhythm falls apart.
His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure.
God, he’s fucking beautiful like this. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him.
From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, “Close. I—I’m close.”
You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like you’ve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.
You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm.
“Do you want to come in my mouth, Steven?”
He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you aren’t sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough, “Fuck. You can’t just– God.Yeah.Yes. Fuck. Please,” that has the tip of your ears tingling.
God, he sounds ruined.
He also soundsloud, and he isn’t stopping.
“Steven.” Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. “Shut it.”
A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises he’s making are even louder than when he was babbling.
In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat.
His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter.
It’s quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more.
You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You don’t let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and you’re sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.
Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. He’s staring down at you like you’ve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one.
All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while you’re still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue.
You don’t know what to say or do next, but it doesn’t matter.
Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come.
You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that you’ve come to associate with his touch.
It’s sweet; it’s depraved; it’s ravenous.
It’s all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, it’s something you’re not sure you can live without anymore.
Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And then…
“God, I love you.” He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.
You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Steven’s face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesn’t he?
The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Steven’s brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.
“Sorry. Should I… um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course it’s not. Confessing after you– you–” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Well, after that.” He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, “God, I sound like a right bloody wanker, don’t I?”
He’s right.
This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.
Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you.
“Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn’t I?” He drops his gaze, as though he thinks he’s committed some grievous wrong to offend you. “I’m sorry, we can pretend I never said it if that’s what you want.” It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. “I don’t– I don’t want to lose you.”
That’s the thing with Steven.
He’s all in.
Whatever else he has going on, Steven’s never been half-hearted about this, about you.
He doesn’t time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, you can’t tell, but he’s always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. They’ve always been right there on his sleeve.
And right now it’s clear to see that he’s en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer.
You’ve known for a while that you likedSteven, had feelings for him, and now there’s not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.
“I love you too.”
He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock that’s shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like he’s too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or you’re playing a practical joke on him.
“Yeah?” he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.
You don’t answer him with words.
Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remain—for both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out.
It’s you and Steven, red flags be damned.
Dedication and Credits
To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? I’m doing it anyway. I’m finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.
@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. You’ve kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because you’re in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.
@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, that’s my promise to you.
@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore
@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.
@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly
This series is explicit as fuck. Please heed the warnings in each chapter.
Part 1:Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face. | 9.2k words
Part 2: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever. | 9.2k words
Steven had never felt himself be this tired before, even though he spent endless night being awake, he knew the moment he stepped into his apartment that all he wanted to do was sleep, however, that stopped when he checked the time and suddenly remembered your date.
With a sudden burst of excitement, Steven began to get ready, taking out the clothes he picked for the date days prior, combing his hair and making sure his curls are tamed, almost bathing himself in cologne even though he had a shower and did a whole get ready routine.
As he combed his hair, he noticed his reflection not looking as excited as he was. Dismissing it as being too tired, he ignored it and was on his merry way.
He showed up to the steak place waiting for your arrival. He waited and waited and waited.
Hours had passed and he was still sat there watching the entrance of the place eager for you to come.
“We’re going to be closing soon sir, are you still waiting for someone?” The waiter asked Steven sympathetically.
“Uh, no. I-I don’t think so.” He looked at the table for a moment, thinking about what to do, “I’ll actually have one of those steaks.” He stated slightly slumping in his seat.
The waiter gave him a sad smile and took the menu away to get his order.
Unbeknownst to Steven his reflection in the glass of water was watching him, feeling every bit of emotion he was.
He took his phone out and decided to call you to make sure nothing happened to you to cause you to miss the date.
“Hi y/n, how are you-“
“You have the audacity to call me days after standing me up?” You said bitterly.
“I- sorry what do you mean?” Steven was more than confused at your words.
“If you didn’t want to go on the date you shouldn’t have to ask me out in the first place.” You said softly, feeling hurt at the fact that he was the one to ask you out and then stand you up.
“What’re you talking about? I’m here at the steak place waiting for you.” He said looking at his watch.
“We were supposed to meet there two days ago Steven, on Friday. Please don’t take me for a fool. I thought you were a genuine man, clearly, you’re not.” You felt yourself getting angry and cut the call before you said something you would regret.
Steven stared at his phone in disbelieve.
What were you on about? Two days ago?
That’s when he saw the date and day on his phone. Not believing what he was seeing, he looked to the waiter who came to deliver his steak to him.
“Mate, what’s the day today?” Steven asked almost frantically.
“Todays Sunday, sir.” The waiter stated walking away.
His eyes widened, there’s no way he lost two day of his life and had no knowledge about it.
The next day he was hoping to see you on his way to work. You worked in the bakery not too far from him and would often run into him on your way to work or home.
He searched the crowd near the bakery and caught sight of you in the window. Your usual smile seemed to be sheltered and you didn’t have that spark in your eye.
Steven felt himself feeling responsible for your condition, and so he went to work with a mission in his head for after work.
“I’m going to make it up to her, I have to make it up to her.” Steven said moving around his apartment, making sure that he has everything he needs.
With flowers in his hand and the heart shaped box of chocolates, he makes his way out of the apartment and outside.
He got off work early, with an earful from his boss, just so that he could plan things accordingly and be sure to catch you before you left to go home.
“Y/n, hey-…. Please wait up. Just hear me out.” He plead as you began to walk in the opposite direction at the sight of him.
You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him.
“Steven look, I get it. You didn’t want to go on the date. I-I’m over it. We can just move on from this and go back to not knowing the other existed-“
Your words drowned out in his mind as he felt panicked in that moment, he didn’t want to forget you. You were the first person to approach him and become his friend. The others weren’t as friendly to him as you were.
“Kiss her.”
A voice echoed in his mind.
“What?”
“Kiss her dammit, before she leaves.”
Steven realised you were once again going to turn around and walk away.
He stepped forward, grasped your hand and squeezed his eyes shut as his lips met yours. His hands moved to your jaw, holding you there gently as he kissed you, and as you kissed him back.
After a short moment, you pulled back to look at him.
“I don’t know why I did that. Oh no, you’re going to hate me even more now.” He began to ramble.
“Hey look at me…” You grasped his head between your hands making him look at you, “I don’t hate you.” You clarify to him.
“I’m just hurt.”
“Y/n, these passed few days. I have no idea what has been happening. Yesterday I came home thinking it was Friday and immediately started getting ready for our date and only after hours of being at the restaurant did I realise that it was Sunday and not Friday. I’m so sorry, I got you flowers and chocolate. I really like you y/n.” He said looking stressed as ever.
“You sound absolutely insane… but I believe you. I’ve no idea what’s got you feeling like this but we’re going to figure it out, okay? You look exhausted, how about we start by getting you home and ready for bed. Have you had anything to eat?” You ask taking your hand in his and holding the flowers in the other.
“I haven’t had dinner yet; I’d like it if you had dinner with me. Like a redo of yesterday- I mean Friday.” He said with a nervous chuckle.
“We can have that date once you’re well rested and taken care of.” You smile at him as the two of you walk in the direction of his apartment.
Sweet and short, Steven ponders the implications of being in love with someone who looks just like himself, while feeling very jealous of those who can interact with Marc.
CW - implied/referenced child abuse, canonical character death
The thing is, he can’t protect Marc from everything, and after Steven comes along Marc begins to recognise the feeling of someone else pushing to the front, that slightly odd pressure on the inside of their head and he resists any of Jake’s attempts to take over whenever their mother comes in.
He takes over in the aftermath, however, when Marc is too tired to resist him, and he finds the bruise cream, the Band-Aids, the painkillers that he’s technically too young to take. Maybe, maybe, if Marc doesn’t feel the effects so much, he won’t remember how bad it was.
Sometimes, he looks in the mirror and sees Randall’s face.
At night, the ones when Marc actually sleeps, he slips out of their bed – no longer the warm and comforting place it once was – and into their back yard. He wasn’t strong enough before to protect them, knew the moves but didn’t have the muscle, so he builds that muscle up. Press ups. Sit ups. Throwing punches, first into empty air and then at tree trunks. Running and running and running. Stretches. Jumps. Until he can mimic fight scenes from his favourite movies, until he can lift and move the kitchen table without straining.
He will protect them.
They send Marc back to school – send all three of them, now – about three weeks after what his teachers tactfully refer to as ‘the incident’. Never in front of him, he hears them, sees it in the way they pause conversations when he approaches. No one in school comments on his sudden love of long-sleeved, high-collared shirts or the fact that he comes in every few days without lunch.
Jake wants to hurt them. He wants to take them by the front of their perfectly creased blouses and scream in their faces, ask why they don’t care about him. Why doesn’t anyone want to help? Marc cries about it sometimes, late at night, thinking of the way he had been dizzy with hunger in the afternoon, or the bruise that had poked out from his sleeve, and the way that the teachers brushed over it. Ignored him.
Still, school was better than being at home. At least people left him alone at school.
Or, they mostly did. Two days into being back, a girl approaches the corner of the playground that Marc (or maybe Jake) had claimed for their own. They can see everyone else and watch her walk up with no small amount of trepidation.
“I heard about your brother.” She says, and Jake pushes Marc back, away.
“Everyone has.” He replies.
She shrugs and sits down next to him. “My mom died last year.”
Everyone knew about that as well. A battle with a terrible illness. Marc’s mom had sobbed at her funeral.
“It’s not really the same thing.” Jake tells her, moving away obviously enough that she gets the hint.
Her face, previously open and hopeful, twists up into something angry and hurt. “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it.” And then she’s gone.
Marc blinks at the empty space she was standing in and then looks around until he finds her. She’s gone back to her skipping game. Wasn’t she just in front of him? No. That’s impossible, people don’t teleport, he must have imagined it.
Rain starts falling and he shudders, feeling the bone-deep coldness he had felt dragging Randall out of the cave.
It’s Jake that picks them up when the teachers start yelling and bring them inside.
It’s amazing how quickly time seems to fly by. Almost immediately a year has passed and Jake walks them back to the cave.
Steven is kept down, unaware. He didn’t even know Randall existed and Jake is happy to let Marc keep it that way. Some days he wishes that he was Steven, he was the one Marc created to give them a normal life, not the one who carries the weight of the truth. But there is no point wishing, it doesn’t change a thing.
Like Marc’s dad says, “If wishes were horses…” Jake can never remember the second part of that phrase. Something about gifts and mouths maybe.
He keeps Marc down as well, asleep through the entire day. He doesn’t need that pain; Jake is the one who takes the pain.
It’s been boarded over, very poorly, and the wood used is already rotting. If Jake pulled at it, he could probably climb in and find the rock that Randall’s blood surely must still be staining. He doesn’t. It’s a death sentence in there, even if it isn’t really the thing that killed Randall.
“Your fault!” Wendy’s voice screamed, echoing in his head. Marc was having nightmare. Or maybe that was just his own memories haunting him, the way that he had failed them.
Someone coughs behind him and he whirls around. It’s the neck tattoo again that makes his heart jump in his chest. The same man. Boy, really – now that it isn’t raining, now that his mind isn’t clouded with fear, he can see him for who he truly is. Probably no older than twenty, probably got the tattoo while he was still underage, the ink is blurred slightly into the lines of his skin and noticeably faded.
Jake wants to laugh.
“You a coward, huh?” The boy says, approaching him slowly, cracking his knuckles. “I ain’t had the police on my doorstep, so you ain’t told them the truth.”
Jake doesn’t back away. The boy has a heavy Chicago accent, unusual in the area they live, and not something he remembers from their previous interaction, even if there wasn’t much talking.
His own Chicago-heavy voice sticks in his throat, the syllables refusing to form.
“I’m you.” He whispers. “I’m just… you.”
“Speak up,” the boy mocks, “Marc Spector.”
Jake tenses. Of course, the boy knows his name, their family was in all the local newspapers after the tragic ‘accident’. It doesn’t make Marc’s name any easier to deal with, spilling out of that mouth.
“What do you want?” He demands.
The boy shrugs. “Just to let you know, I know you’re a coward.” He pauses, a careful smile spreading across his face. “I know everything about you.”
Marc comes to, nearly a block away from his house, with bruised knuckles, a sore nose, and no memory of anything after getting into bed the previous night.
Steven.
It had to be Steven. He was so clumsy as well, probably tripped and hurt himself.
He sneaks in the backdoor and borrows the Band-Aids from the kitchen, sticking one across his nose horizontally and one on the small cut on his wrist. Steven would assume that his mother did it. She loves him, after all.
“Do you even know what the date is?” His mom screams from somewhere else in the house. Probably at his dad, but it makes him feel that he has forgotten something. Marc reaches for the calendar on his desk.
Jake frowns at it, the innocuous, unmarked date, and shoves the calendar under a stack of books that must belong to Steven, just because of the subject material. Marc doesn’t need to remember, doesn’t need that pain.
He’d take as much pain from Marc as he could, even killing someone in his place. The boy with the neck tattoo flashes up in his memory, the shocked face once he realises Jake could actually fight back. He would kill him if Marc needed it.
CW - implied/referenced child abuse, antisemitism, canonical character death.
Marc Spector believed that there were only two of them, himself and Steven Grant. He also believed that he was the one in possession of all the ‘correct’ memories.
Neither of these were true.
He lived with these beliefs because it was easier for Jake. Easier for Jake to protect him and Steven if Marc wasn’t aware of his existence – Marc being aware of his existence would bring up a lot of unhelpful questions that were not at all conductive to his being protected. So, Jake sat in the back and watched the other two live their lives, protecting the memories that would hurt them and twisting others into things they could deal with.
In truth, the first time Marc had split was with Randall’s death.
It had been raining. Jake remembered that with a painful clarity. It had been lightly raining when they set off – with instructions from mom to keep Randall safe – and was almost a downpour by the time they reached the entrance to the cave. Marc didn’t remember this. In Marc’s version, the rain had stayed at a consistent level.
It’s hard to say which of them made the choices because Jake hadn’t split off yet, but if Jake was the only one who remembered the true version, surely, they were his choices? Surely, they were his actions?
One of them – Marc or Jake – had remembered the instructions, remembered that they weren’t to go in the cave when it was raining.
“Mom said not to go in when it’s raining.”
Had he told Randall that? Or had Randall said it himself? Jake could see both versions and they muddled together sometimes. Did it matter who had said it? Probably not, either way they hadn’t entered the cave.
Sometimes he remembered himself (or was it Marc?) telling Randall that they should head back, other times he thought he maybe just grabbed his arm and tugged him away. It didn’t really matter, though, because the next part was always the same.
The shadowed figures of men, keeping out of the rain and under a nearby tree, large enough that they were at least mostly sheltered. Randall whining about being cold and wet, wanting to wait until the rain had died down a little to walk back.
The part of Marc that had not yet been Jake had hesitated, seen the men watching them, but Randall was already going, already moving towards the tree and he couldn’t do anything but follow.
“There are people out there who hate us.” Dad had told him once, when Marc had asked about the scars on his back. “You know this. You know about the war.”
“But we won,” Marc had said, “we won, the people that hate us are dead.”
Elias had smiled at that, bittersweet and miserable. “No, Marc. They could never all be killed in the same way that we could never all be killed. It’s an idea. A belief. And you cannot destroy an idea.”
Jake kept that memory for himself as well. Marc wasn’t stupid, he knew that there were people out there with anti-Semitic ideas, and he didn’t need the memory of his father telling him about the time he had nearly died, the time he had been beaten half to death. It would trigger the memory of Randall’s death, Jake told himself, he needed to keep it for Marc’s safety.
“Where you boys from?” One of the men had asked. He had a neck tattoo that was peeking out from his upturned collar. Maybe something harmless. Maybe not.
Randall had told him. Too young to realise that they could be dangerous, and Marc (or was it Jake?) hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t spoken over him or lied to these men. Their faces had changed with his answer, older men lightly mocking some younger boys to something harder. They recognised the area. Recognised it as the ‘Jewish Sector’ of the city.
“Oh?” the same man had continued, cracking his knuckles slowly.
Jake placed a hand on Randall’s shoulder and tried to pull him back, but another man had moved behind him and they were surrounded.
The violence that had followed was one that Jake kept locked as far from Marc (and later Steven) as possible. He didn’t look at it very often, and when he did, it was flashes of moments, of noise, and Randall screaming his name.
They’d escaped at one point. Or maybe the men had let them, had wanted to chase them down, and Marc (Jake) had pulled a limping Randall, running faster than either of them could handle in their beaten states back to the cave. What had been his plan there? To drown the two of them instead?
Randall’s death, however, remained bright and colourful, every detail easy to recall, down to the crunch of his skull against the rock when the men caught them. They hadn’t even been running, just jogging lightly after them and laughing. One of them grabbed Randall’s collar and slammed him against the wall.
All of them watched his tiny body crumple, saw the way his skin seemed to sink on the left side of his head.
“Shit, Dave.” One of his companions had whispered. “Shit, is he dead?”
Marc (Jake), previously knocked aside, scrambled up onto his hands and knees, over to the unnaturally still body of his brother. “Randall?”
He was yanked away, pressed much more gently against the rock. “You listen to me, alright?” The man grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze away from Randall. “He drowned, yeah? You did this. He drowned!”
And then it was Jake. It was Jake who grabbed those words and pushed them back, towards the scared, shivering part that was Marc. It was Jake who brought his knee up into the man’s groin. It was Jake who pulled on all the action and fight movies Marc had ever watched to throw punches, kicks, whatever. It was Jake who was knocked out because his mind might know the moves, but his body had never done them before.
It was Marc who woke up, soaking wet, to see water spilling out of the cave mouth, where Randall lay, still so still, with bruises everywhere and a caved in skull. It was Marc who pieced together the memories Jake hadn’t been able to hold back and conclude that Randall drowned. It was Marc they found, hunched over the body and sobbing wildly, hands pressing a useless pattern into Randall’s chest.
But it was Jake who watched from the back. It was Jake who collected the broken pieces and made a barrier. It was Jake who swore that Marc would never remember the truth, would never know that he was even there.
summary: Sundays were always the best days of the week for Marc, especially the ones where he got to spend it with you.
pairing: marc spector x reader
tags: there are some slight nsfw mentions but not any actual smut (I’m trying to work my way up to it), marc spector being soft and vulnerable.
word count: 2k
notes: I hit 300 followers so thank you so much! Now, there are a few mentions of Steven so if I have any incorrect wording or way of writing a DID relationship then please let me know, I never intend to do any harm to anyone with my writing! If anyone would like to be added to my taglist please let me know and enjoy!
Marc Spector would nevercall himself a saint, quite the opposite in fact.
Marc knew he was anything but a saint, but when he got to spend the quiet Sundays with you, he felt like that very thing. Sunday was his favorite day of the week because he had an agreement with Steven; Marc stayed fronted the entire day, giving him a whole day to be with you, no interruptions allowed. Seven always respected that, he knew Marc wasn’t one for the romantic dates and the love confessions so giving him a whole day to do and say as he pleased always seemed like a fair trade for allowing him to continue to work for the museum. Steven got what he wanted, now it was Marc’s turn.
Which led to where Marc was now, laying back against Stevens’ headboard, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, keeping your body close against him, your hair slowly beginning to stick to his chest as he started lightly sweating from the body heat. Marc didn’t necessarily care either, this was how he tried to show you that no matter how many ‘I love you’s and romantic date nights he misses, he cared for you as much as Steven did. The thought of you thinking such absurd things caused Marc to tighten his hold on you, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked down to you, seeing your eyes already locked on him.
“Marc… you have that look on your face again. What the hell are you thinking in that head of yours?” You had said it softly, knowing Marc wasn’t one for the invasive type questions. You had begun running your fingers up and down on his chest, waiting patiently to see how he would answer, or if he would at all.
“You know I love you right? I don’t say it the way Steven does, don’t show it that much either but I do.” Marc had kept his eyes on you, his eyes slightly mitsy at the confession. It wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from him. It was actually quite surprising to himself too; he wasn’t the one to openly express his feelings but the growing softness and urge to reassure you and himself got the best of him.
“Marc, of course I know that. You don’t have to say it or make these grand gestures and take me out to show me.” You had pushed yourself up, leaning on your elbow as you maintained eye contact with the emotional man in front of you. “I feel it every time you hold me, every time you ask me if I’m okay, anytime you kiss me I feel it. I feel it every day I spend with you.” It had made Marc’s eyes squint as he showed the special smile he saved for you, the sight of it had made you lean closer into him, running your nose against his.
“You know it’s a miracle these Sunday’s always work for us, right? Steven must really care about us to not interrupt a heartfelt moment like that.” It had earned a laugh from you, the noise ringing out in the quiet apartment, Marc watching and listening with a keen softness on his face. The sight of your eyes crinkled shut, your smile brightly directed towards him made his chest grow tight, his own eyes growing those small crinkles at the corner of them, his face itching closer to yours. Marc let his hands snake tighter around your body, pulling you flush against him as he raised a hand to your cheek, pulling your face closer to his own.
“God, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” At the words Marc had whispered against your skin, you had felt the heat rise against your neck and cheeks as you nuzzled your nose against his shoulder. “Well look at you hotshot. First an ‘I love you’ now a compliment. What’s next? You’re gonna take me to one of those dinner dates?” It had been a joke, something you knewwould make Marc roll his eyes and lean his face away from yours, which is why it was surprising to see Marc staring deeply into your own eyes, his lips quirked up in a small smirk.
“Do you want that? It’s our Sunday. We can do whatever you want.” At the offer, you slowly slid on top of Marc, sitting up to sit on his lap with a raised eyebrow. Marc’s hands had run up along the back of your thighs as he sat up fully against the headboard. “Marc, I don’t want you to do something you never do just because I enjoy it every once in a while. This is our day, not just mine.”
Marc kept his eyes locked onto yours as he pulled you down against him, his hands finding their way into your hair as he pushed his lips against your own. You leaned further into his arms as you let his lips entrap you in the feeling of his hands slowly lowering down to your hips, slowly moving them against his own. A small moan slipped out of your mouth as you placed your hand in his hair, slowly tugging on the messy curls. As you pulled away from Marc, you felt him let out a deep breath against your lips as he whispered, “You make it really hard to stay focused you know that baby?”
You let out a giggle as you pulled further away, slowly raising yourself from his lap and off the bed. “Get up, Spector, we’re getting brunch then going to the store for a movie night.”
Letting out a deep groan while throwing his feet off the side of his bed, Marc quickly got up, following you into the bathroom. “Yes ma’am.”
“I still don’t understand why they keep the bread all the way in the back, I mean it’s such a common item that people get Marc, it just doesn’t make sense.” You were making your way back into the apartment as you both had bags in your hand, continuing the conversation from the car.
“Baby I promise if I knew I would tell you.” Marc had felt completely content with himself and how the day was going as he watched you stand by the table, slowly unpacking the groceries. This was the reason why Sunday was his favorite day of the week, every Sunday, he gets to see you standing in his apartment, unpacking groceries, sometimes even standing in one of his shirts. It made him realize the gravity of his own feelings, every time he saw you like this; completely comfortable with him, his home and in his presence, he truly realized that he was in love with you.
Marc walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face in your neck as he placed light kisses along your neck. Your hands had made their way to his own as you leaned back against his chest, letting out a content hum. “What’s this for? You trying to get in my pants, Spector?” At the small quip, Marc let out a small laugh against your skin as he trailed kisses along your neck up to your ear to whisper, “Trust me sweetheart, if I wanted in your pants I’d use my hands and mouth for something much more productive than this.” Marc had trailed his hands up your body, slowly rubbing circles against your hips, effectively pushing you against his own hips. You let out a small sigh as you rolled your head back against Marc’s shoulder as you groaned out, “Yeah, you always were pretty productive with those.”
Marc had let his hands drop further down your hips, slowly letting his fingers dance around the band of your pants, slipping the button out of its loop. “You think you’re so slick, huh Spector?” Your hand had trailed down to his, interlocking your fingers as you turned around to him, pressing your interlocked hands against his chest. “The ice cream will melt if your hand gets any lower, hotshot.” Marc had brought your locked hands up to his lips, pressing chaste kisses on your knuckles with his eyes closed. “I don’t really care about the ice cream right now baby.” You let out a laugh as you pulled your body away from Marc, turning back towards the bags of groceries as Marc let out a sigh and pressed a kiss on the back of your head and headed to the bags of canned goods.
“Alright, let’s get the ice cream and groceries up then we can have the rest of the evening available to do whatever we want.”
You had rolled off of Marc as the two of you let out deep sighs. “Alright… now what?” It had been at least two hours since the two of you had finished putting away the groceries, the two of you being entangled with each other since the pantry door closed.
“You always know how to use your hips huh sweetheart.” You had let out a giggle as you turned to lay your head on his chest, his arms quickly wrapping his own arm around you as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. You knew this side of Marc was something he didn’t show often and you didn’t want him to go back to the fleeting kisses, quick ‘Are you okay?’s, and the many nights where he’d bury his anger and sadness deep inside of you. You would never try and bring it up, knowing he’d feel even worse and quickly draw away from you and Steven both, something you would never want for any of the members in the relationship you were in. Even though you always promised to never ask about the certain days where one of you were acting different but you had to know.
“Marc, how come you’ve been acting differently today?” You were hesitant to further develop the question as you whispered against his skin, which had tensed up at the question, causing you to quickly reassure him. “You know it’s usually smaller, quick actions to show your love, not declarations and the soft touches and whispers… I love it, don’t get me wrong but what’s different about today?” You felt the man slowly untense his body as you had slowly rubbed small shapes and patterns against his skin.
“You deserve the declarations and the softness that Steven shows you. I don’t want you to realize that I’m this…broken mess of a man that’s just waiting for you to realize it and leave me.” At his words, you were quick to turn onto your stomach, your elbows against the sheet as you stared at him, seeing his eyes closed. “Marc, please look at me.” You watched as Marc clenched his jaw as he opened his eyes to stare back down at you with tears littered against his lash line.
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you spoke clearly, “You are notbroken Marc. You are an amazing man who protects the people he cares about. I mean, you make me feel safe and secure every time you’re around me.” You had raised your hand to Marc’s cheek, wiping the tear that fell from his eye. “I wish you could see yourself in the same light that I did. You would realize how amazingandcompassionate you really were.” Marc had leaned into your hand as he let out a shaky breath. “I wish I could see myself that way too, I really do.” You nodded your head as you pulled him down to you, laying kisses along his forehead as he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his head in the crook of your neck as you ran your hands through his hair.
You knew It would take more than one talk after a good day for him to see himself in the same light you did, but you were ready to spend all of the Sundays performing a miracle that was making Marc Spector feel loved.
welcome to my masterlist! as of right now I am only writing for moon knight, but I can definitely see that changing in the future!
please remember that I am a new writer and am not an expert on DID, if any of my writing does hurt or impact anyone, please let me know! my asks are open!
ღ - fluff!
⍟ - angst
♗ - smut (or mentions smut)
♢- slow-burn
gift shop accidents ღ - In which Steven Grant of the gift shop realizes sometimes accidents are exactly what he needs in order to score a date with someone he’s only dreamed of being with. (OC x Steven Grant)
time at the museum ღ ⍟ - you thought you were having a good time with your boyfriend Steven until he starts acting like a completely different person.
stressful discussions ღ⍟ - the reader is surprised when she finds her boyfriend, the person’s calls she’s been ignoring in order to decide whether or not she should discuss her discovery of Marc, waiting at her door one day after work. Commence the Stressful Discussions. (part two to time at the museum)
please notice ღ ⍟ - reader thinks she has no chance of Steven liking her after hearing about his date, without realizing all of the things he seems to notice about her, until she gets the help from donna of all people.
i always notice ღ - Steven is confused and hurt why you’ve gotten sharp with him, which finally pushes him to let you know he’d always notice when it came to you. (part two to please notice)
a neighbor and the cult man ♢ - you never expected to be in a fight with an invisible jackal after escaping a crazy cult, all with your friend Steven Grant and his supposed ex-wife Layla.
coffee and kisses ღ - Steven Grant hated coffee, but he loved the way it tasted against your mouth. Marc Spector loves coffee, longing to taste it on your mouth.
coffee and kisses ღ - Steven Grant hated coffee, but he loved the way it tasted against your mouth. Marc Spector loves coffee, longing to taste it on your mouth.
summary: Steven Grant hated coffee, but he loved the way it tasted on you when he kissed you. Marc Spector loves coffee, longing to taste it on your mouth.
pairing: steven grant x reader
tags: fluffy, steven is literally so soft for reader, this whole thing is really just making out (with a bit of grinding and lowkey alludes to smut) reader is aware of Marc and the business with Khonshu!
word count: 2.3k (small thing while i get a master list out!)
notes: hello, I hope you all enjoy this! It’s a short little thing while I try to figure out and get a master list all sorted out! As always, please let me know if I have made any form of mistakes with writing DID, it is never my intentions to hurt or misinform someone with my writing! But alas, please enjoy!
Stevenhatedthe taste of coffee, loathed the smell of it even more. But when you come home from work, begging for a cup and for him to hold you, it all goes right out the window.
He doesn’t care that the smell wafting around his loft is nauseating, nor does he care about the fact that you had spilt a small drop of the caramel brown liquid onto one of the random pages he had scattered around the desk. No, all he cares about is the weight of you sitting down against him, the smell of your coconut and honeydew shampoo wafting in his nose, immediately relieving the knots in his stomach, caused by the smell of coffee, as you let out a deep sigh, finally being able to relax.
“Hello, my love…” Steven had been quick to wrap his arms around the front of you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, littering soft kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could feel, his hand beginning to softly rub your stomach and waist, your body falling against his own as you shut your eyes.
“Mhmm… This is all I’ve wanted all day, just to be here, wrapped up in your arms.” At your words, Steven let out a hum, running his nose up along the side of your neck, ghosting his mouth over it as he whispered back to you, “I always want this… always want you. In any way you’ll have me.” His accent was thick, but the words were coming out in a soft whisper against your skin. A giggle had slipped past your lips as you had reached out in front of you, putting the cup of coffee on the table before turning around in Steven’s lap. You stared down into his eyes, the ones who always made you feel safe, comfortable and loved.
At the new position, you had moved your hands up to his face, slightly caressing the full cheeks as you lowered your lips onto his, Steven eagerly moving his hands to your hips, grasping at them as he lowered your body against his own, letting out a small sigh at the contact.
Stevenhatedcoffee, but with the way you were kissing him, slowly moving your hips on top of his own, he didn’t care about the bitter taste transferring onto his own tongue, not when all he could focus on was you. Steven let his hands run further down your body, his hands slowly grasping your ass into his hands and causing your hips to roll against him. A soft moan slipped past your lips at the feeling of him underneath you, circling your hips against the semi-hard on you kept feeling brush against you.
As you slowly pulled away, keeping your foreheads touching, you heard Steven let out a dejected whimper, quickly chasing your lips to press his lips back on yours. His hands were still gripping your ass but as you sat up fully, looking down at him, they fell to the back of your thighs, where he continued to slowly rub.
“Anyway I’d have you eh? I like the sound of that.” As you had playfully quipped back at him, he let out a soft laugh as he threw his head back, a dazzling smile and pink tint on his face. “Yeah, whatever way you want, darling. I’m all yours, always will be.” At that, Steven grasped your thighs tighter and quickly lifted the both of you out of the seat, making his way to the bed. As you both plopped down, he turned to you, raising his hand and brushing your hair away from your face, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.
“Now, tell me about your day. Why’d you wanna come home so bad?” At the question, you let out a sigh, wrapping your arms around his middle, nestling your head on his chest as one of his hands slowly started dragging up and down along your back, while the other found solace in your hand, slowly rubbing circles on the back of it.
“Just my boss keeps trying to make me get him coffee and his lunch. I’m not his bloody servant, hell I’m not even his secretary and he still likes making me run around for him. I swear it’s an ego thing.” You hated thinking back on it, the image of your stereotypical looking boss’s smug face as he would watch you run around for him. You especially hated that the image in your mind had been quick to ruin your entire mood, forcing the soft smile back into a deep scowl.
Steven watched as your face contorted into a look of anger or annoyance, his hands slowly raising up to your face as he pressed the thumb of his hand into the crease between your eyebrows. “I’m sorry love… Maybe I could send a strongly worded letter, not that you can’t handle it!” Steven was quick to stumble out the rushed words as he worried you would take offense. “I know you can, probably better than I can but… I want to help you darling, just don’t know how exactly. Maybe we can ask Marc.” At his rushed words and clearly frazzled hand movements, you let out a laugh, leaning closer into him.
“Steven, I know you would if I asked you to, so thank you but I can handle it. I’m probably just gonna have to deal with it, without you or Marc interfering..” As you had leaned closer onto Steven’s chest, his hand had started rubbing the small shapes and patterns onto your back, your muscles relaxing into him completely.
As Steven had continued working out the knots in your upper shoulder blades, you had let out content sighs at the feeling of his hands on you, working away the stress and anger you had built up during the long day. Your eyes were closed, your hands closing around the gray shirt he wore to bed, your mouth parting slightly as you let out a raspy breath at the feeling of a particular knot coming undone.
“The way you use your hands on me will never not amaze me…” At your words Steven froze, looking at you as you had continued your words, “You’re getting every knot out and you’ve barely even done anything.”
Steven had gulped at the words, his doe eyes staring down at your face as you relaxed further into his hold. Steven never understood why you wanted him; he was awkward, and he wasn’t exactly confidentin bed, and he was definitely not the most handsome man who’d asked you out. Steven never understood but God did he know he was lucky. Luck was all he could say it was, luck is what helped allow him to be here now, kneading his hands on your slowly-relaxing shoulder, soft sighs slipping out of your mouth. When he realized he hadn’t said anything he cleared his throat and managed to spit out, “Well, whatever you need I’m there, yeah?”
You nodded your head at his words, you knew he’d always be willing to help you in any way he could. That was one of the things about Steven, he was always eager to please. Whether it be making you a cup of coffee after a long day despite hating it or even when he insists on laying on his stomach; legs cramping from the awkward angle, tongue and fingers deep inside you, bringing that burning white pleasure you couldn’t seem to reach yourself. Steven was eager and you loved it.
“I know you are darling, you’re always there.” You had turned to look at him, meeting the soft brown doe eyes. You smiled up at him as you reached your own hand up to run through his hair, moving your body to reach up and connect your lips with his own. Steven, eager as ever, had been quick to drop his hands to your hips, molding your bodies together. Steven had dropped his head into the crook of his neck, his lips leisurely pressing kisses to the skin as you reeled your head back to give him more access. You had kept your hands in his hair as they had slowly made small tugs as you had slowly started circling your hips on his, making Steven groan against your neck, softly nipping at the skin below your jaw.
“Steven…” At the sound of his name falling from your lips, he was quick to rut up against you, letting out a desperate whimper at the contact, pulling away from your neck and looking up at you, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry… I know you had a bad day. I’m sorry we don’t have to-”
“Shh no Steven. Don’t apologize, I want this too… but you just got back from some stupid Khonshu mission, and you haven’t fully healed up. I don’t want you to over do it.” At your words, Steven let out a sigh as he threw his head back against his pillows. “I know lovey, god I can still feel the broken rib healing.” At his words guilt started eating up in your chest, clearly visible to Steven as he gently grabbed your face, pressing a kiss against your forehead as he whispered to you. “I haven’t done anything I couldn’t handle my love. You’ve done nothing wrong, I swear.”
“You’re alright, right? You didn’t hurt yourself when you picked me up or anything? I can mo-” You cut yourself off as you watched as Steven’s shoulders grew tense, his eyes closing tightly, his head jutting up, neck constricting as his veins became prominent. You knew what was happening, you had seen it many times before so the urge to ask ‘Steven’ if he was okay had dwindled as you realized Marc had fronted.
“Marc.” At your voice, Marc’s eyes snapped open as he looked up at you, a small smirk falling onto his face. “Well, I certainly like this position baby.” At his words you rolled your eyes playfully as you slid off of his lap and laid beside him. “How’s the rib feeling for you?” As you had asked the question, you watched and saw Marc tighten his jaw and turn his head away from you. You hadn’t expected anything much of an answer, Marc was never one to show or discuss his pain. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust you, it was just how he was.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to worry about him. Our body has been through worse, believe me.” At his gruff words you looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” At the question a small smile graced his features, something you hadn’t expected from him, being sure to smile back at him, causing him to look away from you.
“I promise, Steven is okay.” At the use of ‘Steven’ you let the smile on your face drop. ‘Does he think I only care about Steven?’ “Marc…” At your tone, Marc had kept his gaze turned to the chipped paint of the door, refusing to meet your eyes. “Please just look at me.” Without thinking about it, he whipped his eyes towards your own, seeing the confusion embedded deep in your irises. “I don’t just worry about Steven. You’re important to me too.” At your words, Marc had tried to look away, but your hand on his face had stopped him. “I never want you to get hurt, you know that, right?”
At your question, Marc had continued staring into your eyes, only giving a small nod of his head towards you. You knew it was all you were getting, and you were okay with it. “I know you think that I’m only ever asking about Steven… But I hope you realize that I care about you too Marc.” At your words, Marc had looked down at the hand that had been placed on his chest, making quick work to grab ahold of it and bring it to his lips to press soft kisses along your knuckles.
“I know, baby. You always make sure I’m okay.” At the confident words, you let out a small laugh as you nodded your head, playfully flicking his covered thigh. “Yeah, don’t forget it, hotshot.” Marc had watched as you had walked over to your forgotten coffee cup and how you were taking the last remaining sip of the cold drink.
“That coffee? Steven hates coffee.” At the question, you let out a humorous hum with a nod of your head. “Oh yeah he does, but he seemed to be understanding of the fact that I needed it after today.” You had made your way to the sink, quickly washing your mug and laying it on the drying rack. “Today? What happened?” Marc had risen from the bed and made his way over to the makeshift kitchen, standing against the wall with his arms crossed. “Was it that boss again?” At the last question, you let out a small ‘“Ah!”, pointing at him, nodding your head.
“Right on the head with that guess, Spector. Just the same old stuff he’d do.” Marc had nodded his head, tightening his jaw as he spoke confidently, “The offer for me to knock his ass out still stands.” At the suggestion, you had let out a bright laugh as he had watched you with a content smile of his own.
As he watched you quickly clean up the small mess of books and scattered pages, Marc couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He wanted those sweet coffee-tasting kisses and soft touches on his face. To feel loved fully by you, in a way only Steven knew.
But for now, he’d be content with the questions on his well-being and the feeling of your hand being wrapped in his own, always longing for the coffee kisses.
as always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list you can let me know by responding on here or even sending me a message or ask!
summary: You never expected to be in a fight with an invisible jackal after escaping a crazy cult, all with your friend Steven Grant and his supposed ex-wife Layla.
pairing: slight! steven grant x reader, slow burn so not a lot in this part!
tags: this is more so a slow burn, I do plan on making at least a part two, this was pretty much the start of it, friends to lovers’ trope! the reader is a bit snappy (only with steven once) let me know if I missed anything!
word count: 6.2k (most I’ve written!)
notes: I hit 100 followers! Which is so insane and I love all of you so I tried to make this on a bit longer! I’m not too sure if I like this so please let me know what you think! This is a slow burn fic! please always let me know if I ever hurt anybody with my writing, and please enjoy and leave any comments/concerns, a few people have asked about being added to my tag list so if you’d like that, please comment and let me know! without further ado, please enjoy!
You never meant to end up in the fight.
You didn’t even have any business being here really. You should have been at home laying down with your cat while watching the last showing of ‘Mamma Mia’, but instead you were standing beside a beautiful woman, small cuts and bruises littering your skin as you watched your neighbor fight an invisible jackal.
While wearing a masked suit.
Now, none of this would even be happening if you had just minded your business and left it all alone. But when were you the type to shy-away and keep your nose out of someone else’s business?
“Yeah, that’s right, kick the invisible monster’s ass Steven!” You had been cheering him on, throwing your closed fist up in celebration as you watched Steven land a hard punch, you were able to tell he landed it by the way the car a few feet away from you had suddenly become dented. As Steven had let out a victory cheer of his own, a laugh passed your lips as you watched on.
Now, how the hell did you get here? Well…
“No mom, I don’t want you to send me any chocolates or flowers. That’s even more embarrassing than having no one give me any.” You were trying to talk your mother down from sending you even more comfort food. Why was she sending you comfort food exactly? You had caught your boyfriend of two years cheating on you, with one of your best mates.
‘Well darling I know you like your comfort foods when you’re upset! Oh! I could make my famous peanut brittle and drop it off!” At the thought of the deliciously sweet and salty mixture you let out a hum.
“Okay well that and no more! Look, I’ve got to take this trash out or I never will. It’s been sitting here for the past week,” Yeah, you had taken the breakup/discovery pretty hard. “Probably smells a bit better than me though.” You had muttered the last bit as a passing thought as you quickly hung up the phone and grabbed the bag while slipping a pair of crocs on your feet.
As you had made your way out of the apartment, you met the frantic eyes of Steven Grant, your awkward but very friendly neighbor and long-term friend, taking a glance at the women behind him. “You alright?” It was a question that had managed to slip out without you even processing it.
“Yeah, fine, but um if you happen to see a dodgy little cult looking man be sure to let me know yeah? Cheers.” At that, he tugged the duffle bag closer to his chest, grabbing the women’s hand and hastily made his way into his apartment leaving you standing there, staring at the spot he used to be in with your mouth hung slightly open. ‘Was he getting laid? Wait- Cult looking man?’
“What does a cult looking man even look like…?” Was all you had muttered to yourself as you made your way down to the garbage chute. Your mind had started conjuring up images you could potentially look out for, ‘he said little, so he’s clearly a short fellow.’ But as you had gotten back up to the fifth floor of the building, you couldn’t help yourself in making your way to his door and knocking on it.
“Steven? Hey, it’s me, you know the neighbor slash friend, well you probably got that, but I’ve been wondering about that cult man you asked me about and I need more information on it mate. I mean, what color hair? Does he have any like burns or like a little stache’ or even sideburns,” You had shuddered at the thought of a shorter man with a creepy mustache and sideburns following people around, “God I hate sideburns.”
The door was quickly opened, and you felt a hand pulling you into the apartment, the smell of old books and, weirdly, sand had met your nostrils as you had looked around his apartment. You found shelves full of books and little Egyptian based figurines, even a pyramid paperweight. You were shocked at how much stuff he managed to fit into the smaller apartment, but as you continued to sweep your eyes around the apartment your eyes found a ring of sand and an ankle restraint around his bed, the woman standing beside it looking at you questioningly.
You had never fully been in the apartment, always either your place or out in town, getting lunch or brunch or dinner, never fully in here. You were starting to understand why too, who the hell has a ring of sand around their bed? The restraint was a bit better, more understandable, maybe he was just kinky, you didn’t judge!
“Did you see the man?” Was the last thing you expected for Steven to ask you. “Um no, I was gonna ask if you could give me more specifics, so I know what to keep my eye out for… I’m sorry but I have to ask, what’s with the sand… and the ankle restraint?” You had torn your eyes away from the miniature aquarium holding an abundant number of postcards and the one-fined goldfish, Gus, you remembered him telling you about him, to meet his eyes, quickly looking between the girl and him. ‘Was he a kinky little shit?’
They were wide and frantic as ever, clearly frazzled about whatever cult-man he was talking about, but as he realized the meaning behind your glances, his eyes widened for a different reason. “Oh no… no uh,” the brown eyes had looked away from yours and down to the bed and sand, quickly walking over to it and pushing the ankle restraint under the mattress, “I have a sleeping disorder…” At his words you didn’t know what to say or do so you simply nodded your head and muttered a small “Right yeah, think my cousin has something similar.” It was a lie. You didn’t even have a cousin, or at least one you actually talked to. As it had gotten silent, you realized you hadn’t said anything to the taller woman.
“Hello, I’m Y/N, Steven’s neighbor but you probably already gathered that.” God, it felt like you were introducing yourself to your class at a new school, but that awkwardness quickly dispersed as she gave a small smile and told you “I’m Layla, Marc’s wife.” Your eyebrows scrunched together at that.
“Oh, that’s great yeah… but who’s Marc?” Now it was Layla’s turn to give you a confused look. Layla had raised her hand and pointed at Steven, who kept frantically glancing between the two of you.
“Stevens Marc? Wait, you have a fake name? And you’re married! God! Steven, I’ve known you for over two years now. How could you not tell me this!” As you had thrown the questions at him, he was shaking his head as he tried to speak over you. “No. No, I don’t have a fake name and I’m not married!” You had given him an obvious ‘What-the-hell-are-you-talking-about’ look as you glanced back at Layla, gesturing to her with your hand, her tilting her head with a smile on her face.
“Look, I don’t understand what’s happening, but I swear, I’m not Marc and my name really is Steven and I’m sure you’re a lovely woman, but I did not marry you, hell I didn’t even know you existed until I found this bloody key and phone up in my ceiling yesterday!” Steven’s chest was heaving up and down as he had reached the end of his slight rant, you quickly side-eyed Layla to see her reaction to what he had said, quickly noticing how she had shaken her head, clearly not believing him.
There was a brief silence, but as you had tried to change the subject back to the ‘cult-man’ he warned you about, Steven had quickly delved into smaller details he could remember about the ‘cult-man’ and explained his encounters with him in his ‘dreams’ and how he showed up at work. It all sounded crazy to you; I mean a man from his dreams coming after him? But even though you were skeptical, you stayed. You knew what it was like to feel alone during hard and confusing times, and you didn’t want your friend to face it alone, and yes, he technically wouldn’t be alone, but he said he just met her, so you had been quick to offer him your company, asking if he would like for you to stay a little bit longer.
“You… You’d do that for me? I’m just your neighbor, a bit of a friend too but… a bad one at that, always stumbling about, missing our friend dates. Can be a bit annoying, right?” At his questions you let out a small laugh and shook your head. “No, not annoying. And yes, I’d do it for you, my very friendly neighbor because I know if it was me in your shoes you’d do the same thing,” Steven had watched as you ran a hand through your hair, glancing around his comfort space, “And honestly… I could use some company too and who’s better than you and a very pretty girl I met today!” At that, he nodded his head and offered a quick, but soft thank you while Layla let out a small laugh at your words.
The calm, serene mood of the room had quickly drifted as Layla had walked over to the duffle bag, you watching as Steven made his way after her, quickly talking about how he found it, how it would prove he wasn’t this ‘Marc’ person, digging his hands into the duffle bag to pull something out before completely freezing, his eyes glancing and staring off into space. It seems you weren’t the only one who noticed this as Layla had quickly questioned him.
“Show me what?” At her question, Steven looked down at the bag and started shifting around with his hands. “Nothing.” It was a soft whisper.
Layla didn’t like that answer as she had forcefully grabbed the bag from Steven’s hand, shoving him away. You were quick to grab Steven as she was digging through the bag, “Jesus, are you alright? Layla! What the hell was that?” Even though you had asked, Layla was more focused on the golden scarab that she pulled out of Steven’s bag. “Is that realgold?”
“The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for.” Steven was quick to shake his head as he gave a soft “No…” As Layla continued, you watched on in shock and disbelief. Steven had clearly seen the betrayal present on Layla’s face as he told her to take it, that he had no desire for it.
Before you could ask what itwas, you heard a pounding knock on his door, Steven glancing between the two of you as he harshly whispered, “They’ve come for me!” You had widened your eyes as Layla and Steven were frantically whispering between each other before you saw Layla head to the window, “Uh.. where ya goin’?”
“We need to hide, there’s a ledge out here, c’mon.” As she had stepped onto the ledge you peeked out there, wildly shaking your head at the tight squeeze. “Uh uh. No way, I’m hiding in his bathroom!” Forcing her grip off of your arm, you quickly bolted away from the window.
You had quickly maneuvered your way to the white door, passing the ring of sand and glancing back at Steven as you had shut the door, leaving a small crack to listen to what the people at the door would say.
“Steven Grant?”
“Yeah, that’s me.. Oh no um now isn’t really a good time for.. Okay.” You had heard movement coming from the main room, trying to listen to where the footsteps were heading. As you continued listening, the footsteps had gotten closer to the door as you heard a woman’s voice ask, “Anyone here with you?” Steven had been quick to deny having any company over.
As you realized she would open the door you quickly pulled walked near the sink, acting as if you had used the loo and were simply washing your hands. As you had turned the water on, the door slammed open and you glanced towards the door, meeting the dark eyes of the female ‘officer’.
“Ever heard of knocking? I could have been naked, Jesus.” At your discovery, the woman grabbed your arm and led you out near Steven, seeing him talking to a ginger. “Thought you said you had no company?”
“Well technically I’m not really ‘company’. I live across from him and my water was out, and I needed to use the loo. Is being neighborly a new crime or are you just hasslin’ him to do it?” Steven was staring at you wide-eyed as he heard you speak to the officer like that, but you didn’t see anything wrong with it. “And by the way, where’s your warrant? You can’t be in here searching and taking shit without one and any realofficers would know of that, right?” You felt the woman’s grip on your arm tighten, meeting your eyes as a small glare popped up on her face. You had seen right throughthem.
But it didn’t matter as the man had pulled out a passport from the bag he had tried hiding from Layla and yourself earlier, “Fake passport for a…Marc Spector?” At the name you quickly moved your gaze onto Steven, gazes instantly meeting as you looked at him shocked. ‘Had he lied? Was Layla telling the truth?’
“So, a liar and a thief, it seems like you’re gonna have to come down to the station with us, answer a few questions, yeah?” You let out a loud scoff, ripping your arm out of her grip as you quickly asked, “What’d he steal? And that passport proves nothing, maybe he has a twin brother who’s staying with him. You have no real cause for taking him in, do you?”
The woman had taken a step closer to you, letting out a deep whisper, “You are reallystarting to complicate things.” A small smirk had graced your lips as you took a step closer to her and whispered back, “Who doesn’t love a complicated story officer?” Steven had simply stared in awe at how well you were handing this, ‘how the bloody hell is she not freaking out?!’
“Load them both up in the car, I have a feeling he’s gonna wanna talk to her.”
As you had been loaded into the car, muttering back to Steven that he desperately owed you for this, but you knew it had been on you. You had insisted on staying, you had run your mouth and you had decided to push the ‘officers’ buttons. It was all on you.
“Were the cuffs really necessary? Pretty sure we’re not even going to the bloody police department.” At your comment Steven looked up wide-eyed. “What do you mean? They’re cops.. Of course we’re going to the police department.” You looked over to him at that.
“Steven. They are notreal cops.” It seemed that the two upfront were choosing to ignore the quiet chatter from the two of you as they had interrupted your small explanation on how there was maybeatwo percent chance of them being real cops.
“Wow. Lookie, lookie. Guess what we’ve got here, Billy. We’ve got ourselves a full-blown, international fugitive.” At the word fugitive, you glanced between the pair and back to Steven. They had to be lying. This was Steven, the sweet, shy Steven Grant who could barely look at someone threatening, let alone be some form of killer.
“It’s not.. It’s a mistake. It’s not me.” Desperation was clearly leaking from his voice as he tried to convince the two that he was being framed or something was happening, that he didn’t understand what was going on.
“Marc Spector was part of a team of mercenaries that hit a dig site in Egypt. Here’s what they did to the archeologists.” The women had taken a glance back at Steven, a look of disbelief and disguston her face. “Zip-tied and shot in the back of the head, execution style.” At the new information Steven had seemed to be deep in thought as you had tried to convince yourself that it couldn’t be real, that he wasn’t Marc Spector, the mercenary who could so easily take the life of innocent by-standers.
“That’s dark, man.” ‘Billy’ had directed it towards Steven before his eyes fell on you. “And you can sit there and feel comfortable enough to use his loo, mental.” As he had directed the comment towards you, you rolled your eyes as you quickly retorted, “Yeah says the one who’s pretending to be some cop in order to kidnap two people. You don’t get to pick and choose what type of evil is acceptable, asshole.” As you had noticed they drove past the turn towards the station, you raised your eyebrows and asked them, “Now where the hellare you taking us?”
The silence after showed they were refusing to answer you, but you soon found out as they pulled into a dodgy alleyway, small streetlights being the only source of light.
“I thought we were going to the police station?” Steven had finally realized you were right. At the question you let out a groan as you looked at him. “I literally told you they were fake cops, man.”
“Now, why would you think that?” As he had adjusted the mirror you had seen the tattoos that Steven had mentioned on the cult-man. Your eyes widened as you nudged Steven with your arm, tipping your head in the direction of the tattoo. “That doesn’t happen to be the cult-man tattoo, would it?” At Steven’s widened, fear-stricken eyes, you took that as your answer as you nodded your head and looked down. “Yeah… that’s great.”
The two cult members left the car, leaving you and Steven in a tense silence. Before you had a chance to ask what to do, you heard a ball come in contact with the window, both Steven and you slightly jumping at the sound. “Hello. Hello! Excuse me, could you help us?” He had been knocking his head on the window to gain the girls attention, “Help, please. we’ve been kidnapped…” As he had trailed off you looked over his shoulder to see the scales tattoo staring you in the face.
“No… God what is up with the freaky tattoos! She’s like 16 at best, why the hell does she have a tattoo?” You were trying to maneuver yourself against the door in hopes of opening it up as you had muttered to yourself.
“That’s what you’re worried about? Newsflash, we’ve been kidnapped!” As Steven had raised his voice at you, you stared at him with your eyebrows raised. “Yeah? And newsflash, I’m the one who’s trying to get us out of here as you sit there staring after the fake cops!” Before Steven had a chance to respond, he had gasped and seemed to have folded into himself before whipping his head up again, your sarcasm tone quickly being replaced with worry.
“Steven? You alright?” Steven had either ignored you, or been too focused on the window behind you, seeming to be entranced by it. You whipped your head around to see what he was looking at, fearing the cult-man would pop up. “No. No, I saw what you did to those people.” At that you had looked back at him with a raised brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am never giving you control again.” His eyes had transferred to the mirror in front of the two of you, you glance up at it, confusion showing on your face. “Ever. Do you hear me?” And just as you were about to say his name again, you heard a radio click and a creepy voice raise out in the car. Cult-man.
“I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The door had swung open on Steven’s side, him falling out of it. “Wha- Steven!”
The door was slammed shut before you could make your way out of it, slamming your foot on it in anger. What the hell do you do now? Were they going to be doing blood rituals? Animal and human sacrifices? The thought of an animal being used like that made you queasy. God, you hated cults. You looked out to see a man walking with a cane, long greasy hair pushed back, walking towards Steven. “Cult-man!” At the sound of your yell, the man and female ‘officer’ glanced over at you. You saw the man whisper something to the girl as she nodded her head and walked over to the car, not fully getting in but seeming to stand guard against your door.
`Great, you try to do something nice for a neighbor and get kidnapped by a cult, mom’s not gonna believe that shit.’
You watched as Steven and the seemingly ‘cult leader’ walked away from the car, Steven frequently glancing back towards the car, meeting your gaze. As they had managed to disappear from your eyesight you were left with your thoughts. ‘Was Layla still on the ledge of the building? Was she on her way to you guys? Were you going to die?’ As you continued thinking of the possibilities of where this was heading, you were disappointed in yourself. Who the hell just sits there and lets it happen? Get out of this car and get your ass out of here! Put up a fight at least, but don’t sit here waiting for some stupid cult to murder you!
You had started banging your hand on the glass, “Hey! Lady, look I need to wee really bad! Please, I don’t even know where the hell I am to run! And you guys clearly out number me.” The officer had merely glanced at you through the window, shaking her head. At the sight of her turning her head away from you, you gasped. “Hey c’mon now! I really gotta go! And my bladder is weak! I swear I’ll piss in this car and leave it for you and detective ginger to clean it up.” At that, she quickly turned to your door and opened it up, getting close to your face as she threatened, “You try anything, and I won’t hesitate to knock you on your ass.” You simply smiled at her as you got out of the car, “As long as my bladders been emptied, do what you want.”
Grabbing your arm and keeping the cuffs on, she had started to lead you to some form of mess hall. There were people everywhere, some laughing and cooking, some simply working, children playing. Before you had made it inside, you felt the wind pick up, tarps flying and bushes rustling, quickly rushing inside to be greeted with an unexpected sight. There were large pillars, with gleaming lights on them, tables filled with plates of food, sections of people watching a movie, they all seemed at peace, you were in awe of it all. ‘This is a cult?’
“I’m taking the cuffs off, but any wrong move, I knock you over the head with a pot and you’re out.” At her words you let out a small sarcastic laugh, “How charming…”
You glanced around the room, catching Steven’s eye, he was sitting down at one of the tables, eating soup. You were here, making a plan for escape and the bloke is sitting down eating soup? With the cult-man? “Sorry, I know this isn’t how you’re supposed to start friendships, but I lied back there and now that I’m out how bout we head over to my friend Steven, yeah?”
The woman sighed as she pulled you over to the table, unlocking the cuffs as you stood staring at Steven. “So… I get to sit outside wondering what the autopsy report will say and you get to be in here eating soup?” At your voice both the creepy cult-man and Steven turn their heads toward you.
“Oh, you must be Steven’s friend. I was just about to get someone to bring you to us.” As he was talking, he stood up, quickly grabbing a wooden tray and asking the women to grab you some of the lentil soup. “We were just talking about Steven and Marc being the avatar of Khonshu.”
“The avatar… Like the anime? And who the hell is Khonshu?” The cane wielding man had let out a small laugh, “I see you and Steven are more alike than we all originally thought.” You let out a weak laugh, glancing at Steven. “Well, as much as I am dying to try the…lentil soup, I think we better be going now, yeah, Steven? Got your fill?” As you had grabbed Steven to try and leave, the leader of said cult started speaking.
“That scarab functions as a kind of compass, leading us to Ammit’s tomb.” As the man had continued, both Steven and you noticed how all of his followers had seemed to be growing closer to you, circling you. “She’s out there, waiting, longing to be freed. While the cruel masses deserve to face her judgment… And in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated.” He was speaking so breathlessly, making your heartbeat harder against your chest as the group of people got closer to you. “So, the scarab.”
“Oh, I don’t have it.” At the quick response, the leader had tightened his eyes in suspicion. “No?”
“Honestly, we don’t have it.” It wasn’t what the man had wanted to hear, but nonetheless, he pressed the location of the scarab even further.
“Well, maybe you know someone who does? Maybe Marc?” You let out a sigh as you watched Steven glance over to the metal bowl of bread. “Look, we don’t have it, and we don’t know who has it. Can we please leave and just forget about all of this?” You were praying that he wouldn’t be able to tell you had lied, he can’t know about Layla.
It seemed as if the man had ignored you as he solely turned his attention onto Steven. “May I speak with Marc?” As Steven had stuttered, not giving a proper answer as the leader continued, “Marc, what has Khonshu promised you? That this is your last mission? Then you’ll be free? Trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar. There’s always one last thing.” It grew tense after his words, nobody moving or saying anything,
“Sorry. If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like, before the fact, then isn’t she judging an innocent person? I mean, a thought can’t be evil, can it?” As Steven continued to talk about the thought of killing his boss, which is understandable, you noticed movement from one of the balconies. ‘What the hell’s going on up there?’
“Sorry, is that… Is that what… you’re all into that, like, killing children and that? Maybe it’s just me, but that’s… I kind of draw a line there at child murder.”
“Yeah… child murder is definitely a red flag for me, ya know… too evil…” You had trailed off as the older man gestured to his cane. “Do you know what this is?” You let a small smile fall on your face as Steven answered, “Yep. It’s a cane, yeah.” The man had gotten out of his seat, grabbing the cane as he went. “This is… Ammit’s gift to her first avatar. It contains in it… A tiny sliver of her power.” Steven had taken notice to the group of people slowly backing away, quickly pulling you up to follow suit. “I don’t wanna use it.”
“Yeah, well then don’t… No need for it really.” You had gotten scared, your usual confident and snarky comments turning more shaky, hesitant. “I can’t.. We can’t help you.” The threatening man had been in denial as he quickly retorted back, “Yes, you can. I need to know, where is the scarab?” As we stood in the middle of the group, Steven staring straight at the man, You couldn’t help but continue glancing around at the congregation of people, slowly becoming more high alert.
After asking the question a few more times, staring directly at Steven, you heard Layla’s voice as she announced, “I have it.” You quickly darted your head in her direction, seeing her standing there, holding the golden scarab in the air, slowly emerging from the people.
“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe.” You quickly shook your head at Layla, praying she wouldn’t hand over the scarab. “Summon the suit.” It was directed towards Steven, him growing confused as he asked her, “Sorry, what?” “Summon the suit.” It was more urgent this time, Layla grabbing Steven’s jacket as she tried to get him to understand. As they continued to discuss what she meant, you noticed that the group of people were slowly closing in. “Uh guys.. Not to break up whatever marital problems you’re having, but they look pretty mad.”
At the sight of someone getting too close to you, you quickly threw a punch towards their face, landing it against their nose. “Okay, suit or no suit we are running that way!” You had pushed Layla as she had grabbed ahold of Steven’s sleeve, all three of you rushing towards the staircase leading to a balcony. Layla had been grabbed, the man slightly pulling her towards him, at the sight of it you quickly kicked the man in the balls, threw a loud, “Next time ask for permission!”, before continuing your way towards the staircase.
At the top you had noticed Layla was beating some dude’s ass while Steven stared at her, shock clearly on his face while you had let out a happy giggle and screamed in joy. “Yes Layla! That’s what I’m talking about darling!” Steven glanced back at you in disbelief, “Are you seriously cheering her on?” At his look you shrugged your shoulders and pointed at the group of people making their way up the stairs. “We need to go now.” But as you had glanced back at the group of people, you saw the cult leader on his knees, the cane on the ground which was emitting a purple glow, chanting as the floor started sinking. “What the f-” You had been pulled into the room before you could stare any longer.
“Am I crazy or was the ground literally glowingandsinkinginto itself?!” As you had started looking around the room you heard Layla mention some suit again, telling Steven to summon it. Steven was clearly panicking as he shook his head, claiming he’d die in the magician’s man cave. As you watched the scene take place, the door rattling and Steven growing more panicked, you started breathing heavier. Layla wasn’t helping the situation as he had dropped to his knees, clutching his head, so you had tried to get closer to Steven.
“Steven, breathe. I know you don’t understand what’s happening, hell I don’t either but we have to get out of here and if Layla says you can do this, you can do this. Just breathe.”
“No.. No I can’t. I’m sorry.” You nodded your head as you quickly stepped back, trying to find another way out. Before you could say anything else, the door slammed open, but you were met with nothing but fog. “What the hell.. Where’d the people go?”
Steven seemed to have seen it though as he had quickly pointed out and screamed, “Jackal! Jackal! Jackal!” You and Layla made eye contact, both wondering what jackal he was talking about. As you continued watching Steven back up, you were shocked as you saw him fall out of the window. “Steven! Oh my god what the hell?!” You had scrambled after him, glancing out of the broken window. You watched as he fell, screaming out “Suit! Suit!” Before landing, now wearing a bright white, tailored suit with a mask over his face. “Layla.. He did it! He got the suit you were talking about!”
“C’mon we gotta get down there.” You had followed her, holding your breath as you had to climb down the fire escape. God you wanted to go home.
Just as you and Layla had made it to the ground, you let out a deep breath. “Never doing that again. Now where’s Steven?” Layla looked over at you for a short moment, “You fought pretty well back there. Where’d you learn it?” At her question you glanced back at her. You shook your head with a shrug of your shoulders but before you could fully answer her, Steven came barreling through the wooden fence, both of you gasping at him.
“You look.. different.” You let out an awkward cough as they seemed to stare at each other, quickly being interrupted as Steven’s body started being moved by the invisible jackal. You slapped your hand on your mouth as you realized he wasn’t lying about it. “Oh my god the jackals real!”
As you had started getting closer with Layla, Steven quickly yelled out “Stay away from me!” In her confused state Layla asked “Away from what?” Before she was pushed back while the jackal slammed Steven into the hood of a car. You saw a metal rod on the edge of the road and quickly grabbed it, calling out “Batters up!” before swinging the metal rod over the invisible object’s body. It clearly worked as Steven slumped against the car, but you now realized it was focused on you. “Shit.. No it’s fine, I’ve got this, just keep swinging everywhere.” You were frantically waving the metal rod around you, feeling it hit the jackal a few times.
Steven had gotten up from his spot on the floor as he quickly called out, “To your left!” You made a hard swing with the rod, feeling it hit directly on. Before you could hit it again, you felt something tighten around your throat, lifting you in the air.
“Get away from her! Yeah I see you, you plug-ugly coyote.” At the noise of his voice, the jackal dropped you hard onto the concrete as you gasped to get the air back into your lungs, watching as Steven stripped himself of the suit jacket. “You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” As you continued to watch him egg it on, you made your way back to Layla, “Are you alright?”
“Me? You just got choked by that thing!” Before you responded, you got sidetracked by the way the car in front of you had dented on the hood, clearly where the jackal was standing as Steven continued to taunt it.
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name’s Steven with a V.” As he finished the jingle for himself, you watched as he pulled his arm back before launching it, making contact with the Jackal as it landed on the car again. You let out a loud cheer, raising your arms up in celebration, quickly adding onto his excited cheer of “Wagwan!”
““Yeah, that’s right, kick the invisible monster’s ass Steven!” You were laughing as you grabbed onto Layla’s arm, slightly jumping up and down.
“I did it! You got planted! Guys, Guys! Did you see that?” Just as you were about to answer, you watched as he quickly got kicked away, rolling in front of a car, horns beeping at him. You watched as he continued to flail his arms around, fighting with the jackal before he got hit with a car, sending him a few feet forward. “Steven!”
You ran towards him, moving towards the car, putting your hand out as you leaned down to him. “Jesus what the hell was that man? You had it going so well too…” You heard him let out a groan, “Not helping love.” A grimace fell on your face as he slowly started getting up, leaning his body against the bus as you tried to keep him stable. You watched as he seemed to have a conversation with his reflection, glancing back to the street filled with people and stopped cars, before his eyes fell on you. Steven stared into your eyes as he nodded his head and grabbed your hand, giving it a firm squeeze in appreciation. “You alright?” Steven let out a dejected sigh, giving a nod to the bus reflection as he said, “All right. Do it. Take control. For now.”
You watched as his body jolted up right, the white suit slowly being replaced as wisps of graying cloth started covering himself, a small golden crescent in the middle of his chest, his eyes glowing white until he had a mask and hood covering him. “Steven…” You watched as his demeanor changed, growing tense as he looked at you before shouldering past you, walking in the opposite direction.
That wasn’t Steven, you knew it wasn’t. Your mind was reeling as you watched him get further away, closer towards the supposed jackal. You didn’t understand how it happened, but for one thing you did know, you had just witnessed Marc Spector for the first time.
as always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list you can let me know by responding on here or sending me a message!
summary:steven is confused and hurt why you’ve gotten sharp with him, which finally pushes him to let you know he’d always notice when it came to you.
pairing: steven grant x reader, marc is here BUT reader is unaware that it was him and he is an asshole!
tags: a little bit of angst, reader being mad at ‘steven’, steven then being confused why they’re mad at him, fluffy at the end and a bit of a make out at work action!
word count:4.5k
notes: this is part two to “Please Notice”, which you can find here! thank you all for the support on the last few fics I’ve posted! But as always, please let me know if my writing is ever harmful in any way, it is never my intention to do so. now, please enjoy and leave any comments you have!
As much as you had wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole, you knew there was no chance of it happening. You knew Steven didn’t want you here by his posture and by how tight he had his jaw clenched as you continued to get closer to him. And you know you should leave, leave and give him his time and space but you know you can’t.
You wanted answers, not only about his feelings now, no, now you needed answers on why the hell he showed up covered in blood after dodging all 14 of your calls. But, by the way he had quickly walked past you and your stretched hands reaching towards him, the hope for answers had seemed to dwindle as he grew further away. The sight of his back retreating from you without a single word being passed to you made your eyebrows pinch in frustration.
“Steven?” It came out as a softer whisper than you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were growing frustrated, but your worry had overpowered that. And before you could begin rapid questioning him, Steven whipped around, meeting your eyes with his colder, harsh ones. You’d never seen Steven look at you, or anyone, like that before. You reeled back in shock as he spit out words.
“Just forget about all of this. It’s none of your business.”
Even though the voice did not match the sweet Steven you knew, you couldn’t help but get mad. “Hey! Steven what the hell? One, what’s with the accent? Two, you leave for 2 bloody days and then show up covered in blood and expect me to just shrug it off? Yeah, no.” You had let out a sarcastic laugh at the end of your words.
“Why are you even here? It’s not like we’re dating. We work together and you think thisis okay? You just showed up here?” At his harsh words and the glare he was giving you, you shut your mouth and felt yourself retreating back into yourself. He had a point, you knew that. You guys weren’t dating, you had no reason to even be worried or for trying to find him but hearing him say that made all your previous thoughts of something ever happening between the two of you vanish, leaving you with a fractured heart and an anger burning in your chest.
“Oh? Yeah, okay we work together and maybe I was worried about you since half the time you come stumbling in like you don’t even know your own name! And who do you look for when you’re all twisted up and confused, huh? Steven? Who, who do you go to? Not Donna, or J.B and there’s absolutely no way you can go to Dylannow.” It was a bit of a low blow, but he clearly wasn’t distraught about missing the date in order to do God-knows what.
At the mention of Dylan, Steven straightens his back up, giving you a glance over before rolling his eyes and throwing a quick, “I don’t have time for this.” Seeing the way he quickly brushed off your comment like it had no effect on him when what he said had sent a reeling pain through your chest hurt even more. ‘Had you really imagined it all?’
And before you could call him to turn himself back to you, to make time for this, he quickly rushed into his apartment, slamming the door in your face. Before you could even think of rushing in after him, you heard the sound of the locks turning and the chain being slid over, leaving you staring at the bold-golden numbers with the build up of tears sitting in your water-line, waiting to finally fall onto your cheeks. Just as the first tear fell you quickly shook your head, wiping the tear from your face and made your way back to the dodgy elevator.
You couldn’t believe how quick your hopes had been stomped by the same guy who you had bought in pastries and a coffee that helped you get through the long day full of middle school tours and the bitchy boss that was Donna. At the thought of work you also couldn’t believe that you had let this be the reason for Dylan covering for you.
But you knew that the rest of the day wouldn’t have gone well if you had gone back to work, the constant thinking of Steven’s harsh glare and venomous words sitting heaving in your heart and mind. Which is why you went home, grabbing a new pint of ice cream since you had finished the original one the past weekend, and began to rewatch those same romcoms, wrapped in a blanket and all the lights turned off.
You didn’t even want to think about how tomorrow would go, seeing Steven walking in knowing it wouldn’t be the same as it was.
You hated how much sleep you lost over yesterday and Steven’s words. You hated it especially right now as you were leaning your head against the countertop, resting your eyes before your first tour came in. You were tired and you were going to use these fleeting 12 minutes to your advantage and try to prepare yourself for the 20 plus middle school students to come in, eagerly pointing and asking questions like most do, the thought making you face scrunch up in annoyance. You were already getting a headache from the thought of the loud children surrounding you and asking who one of the Statue of Pharaohs were and why they would have people shut them inside ‘those stupid cages.’
And just as you were raising your head and glancing near the door, expecting to see a teacher leading the kids to you, but instead you saw Steven making his way in, looking more sleep deprived than you. ‘Good, let him lose sleep over it.’ Was all you could think of as a small scowl passed onto your face as you watched him hurry past, throwing a small wave and smiling your way. ‘What the hell?’ Did you see that right?
Before you could linger on the thought of it any longer, you heard the door open and the museum suddenly became engrossed in loud chatter from all the children, causing you to shut your eyes with a deep sigh coming out of you. With a deep breath in, you quickly turned around and let a fake smile onto your face, “Hi, welcome to the Museum of all things Egyptian! I’ll be your tour guide today and please feel free to ask any questions you may have!”
As you began the tour, you knew you would have to take the children to the gift shop, the one place you didn’t want to go today. You had no desire to talk to Steven today, or any other day for that matter. Partially because you were still angry with him but also because you were embarrassed at how right he was. You had no right to show up unannounced, you weren’t dating and he held no feelings for you. You were worried for him, yes, but you shouldn’t have shown up to his house like that after multiple responses, it was invasive and you knew the relationship from here on out would be awkward if there was one.
You obviously had gone with good intentions, check in on him and find out how he felt, but he didn’t see it like that, clearly. To you, Steven had probably seen it as overstepping and weird. What co-worker, friends nonetheless, shows up at your door randomly simply because they hadn’t seen or heard from them in two days?
Just as you were walking past the glass case that held one of the statues of an old sarcophagus, one of the kids in the front had pointed at the doors of the gift shop screaming out, “Oh tour-guide lady! Can we go in there? Pretty please!” At the mention of the gift-shop, all the kids joined in on the begging, and the sound of 20+ children screaming at you to take them to the gift shop had started stressing you out so you quickly announced, “Of course! Let’s make our way now!” As they had all started following after you, seeming to grow more excited, nearly jumping up and down, you grew more anxious. Every step you took towards the door, the image of Steven got clearer, slouched shoulder, tan jacket hugging his figure nice, and a small scowl downturned, seeming to mutter to himself. ‘Probably about how gummies have nothing to do with Egypt.’
As you had reached the door, you pulled it towards you and allowed the children to gather inside. Before they could all spread out you quickly shouted, “Be careful with the glass items!” At the sound of your voice, Steven was quick to glance up at you, smiling at the back of your head waiting for you to turn to him and make your way to him as you always did when you had tours.
As you turned around, eyes skimming over Steven and seeing his beaming smile directed towards you, you were shocked, but it also made you tighten your jaw and quickly turn on your heel and walk towards a group of kids who were about to drop one of the mugs in the back. “Oh sweethearts, why don’t we look at a few of the stuffed plushies instead?” At the mention of the plushies, a girl quickly handed the mug over and let you place it down before you walked the group towards the Taweret merchandise.
But as you were doing this, you hadn’t noticed the way Steven’s smile dropped as he looked after you. First, he had apparently lost all his chances with Dylan and now you were clenching your jaw and turning away from him? Steven had felt his heart start beating harder against his chest at the thought of hurting or doing something wrong to you in the two days he had lost. Had he? Has he hurt you? Or maybe said something to you? At the thought of doing something that would cause this reaction, he felt his stomach turn in knots and his face grew hot. He had almost started to go over in your general direction, asking to speak to you privately when he noticed a few of the kids were at the counter, asking for some sweets. Steven had let a smile on his face, glancing back at you before focusing on the children.
“Oh yeah sure, what kind would you like?” The child began pointing at a few of the ones behind him and on the counter in trays in front of him, his eyes going back and forth between the candies and you. Were you okay? Were you just overwhelmed by all the kids like before? Did you need him? Steven tried to stay focused on the child asking for different types of gummies and a few lollies, but he couldn’t help but worry about you. Just as he had finished grabbing the last of the jelly candies from behind him, he turned around and saw you had come up to the counter to check on the kids that were standing there, asking if everyone had gotten something. At the sight of you, he had accidentally dropped the gummies on the counter harder than he had expected, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stared back at him. Although his attention quickly fell back to the child as he heard the boy snicker. “Sor- Sorry, Uh is that all for you?”
At the boy’s nod, he bagan ringing the candies up as he kept glancing back at you as you had started walking away, trailing behind one of the girls who was pulling you towards the paperweights on the shelf.
After he had managed to ring all the kids up and take their payments, he was standing in front of you trying to find the words to say. Seeing you sigh and begin to walk away Steven quickly grabbed your hand and turned you back to him, “Are you okay? You seemed to be a bit upset in there and was wondering if the kids were gettin’ to be too much again, not that you’d need my help..” He had trailed off as he watched your eyes narrow, brows furrowed in confusion. “What I’m trying to say is; I’m worried about you.”
You let out a small scoff, shaking your head softly at him. “Oh now you’re worriedabout me? You have timefor me now?” You had let your anger get the best of you as you had snapped at him, watching as his eyes grew wide in confusion and hurt. You hated that you felt your heart tug in guilt at the thought of hurting him the same way he had done to you, but you hadn’t regretted what you said. He didn’t get to pick and choose when to talk to you and when someone could worry about someone, it wasn’t fair that he was acting as if last night hadn’t happened when it was all you could think about.
“What? I don’t know what you mean, I always have time for you.. Did I do something wrong here?” Steven was very clearly confused on what you were talking about, seeming to not even understand what you were referencing. “Not last night you didn’t. Came to check up on you and you seemed to have no ‘time for this’. Ringing any bells?” As you watched as his eyes grew even more sunken, more confused and dazed, your anger seemed to dissipate and confusion of your own was growing.
“What… What are you talking about darling, You never came over to my flat, trust me I woulda’ remembered that. I’ve lost these two days and I don’t know why or, or what’s happening.” His accent was thick, but voice was still soft as he was trying to rack his brain for any memory of you coming over, but there was none. How had he completely missed you when you had come over? And why would he treat you like that, when he knew all he wanted when he realized he missed the date was to be with you? It didn’t make sense to him and it was present in his facial expression.
“You really don’t remember do you?” Your voice had gone back to its usual soft spoken tone it was with him, something that seemed to cause the anxiety that was steadily rising slowly making its way back down. You weren’t as mad at him now, he could tell by the way your voice changed and your body slowly got closer to him, your eyes full of worry. “Steven, do you remember anything that you had done those two days?”
“No, I remember going to sleep and waking up and it was already nearing 7 and I had to meet Dylan and then I got there and it turns out it’s Sunday! I missed the date but I don’t really care,” He had started to get more confused as he thought it all out, glancing between your eyes and the ground below him, “because I’m confused and worried about what I said and did to you. So what did I do? Did I hurt you, oh god what’s wrong with me?” At the thought of him hurting you, Steven had started pacing a little as he muttered to himself in frustration.
“No, no you didn’t exactly hurt me. You just said some rude things but it’s fine.” At the sight of Steven’s glossy brown eyes looking into yours, full of regret you had quickly reassured him, “Look, I have to guide the tour out but then I’ll come back here and we can talk it all out, okay? Nothing’s wrong and we can figure it all out, just give me 3 minutes tops.” After seeing Steven nod his head, his hands slowly playing with the hem of his jacket, you quickly went to release the children back to the teachers and wish them farewell, a smile plastered on your face as if nothing was wrong, like your mind wasn’t jumbled from the conversation with Steven.
But as you had made your way back to Steven, you noticed he had moved behind the counter, against the inventory door, anxiously glanding around the room while also absentmindedly playing with his hands and as he was looking around, he seemed to have caught your eyes. At the connection, he stilled and kept his eyes focused solely on your figure making your way to him, his breathing slowing and his hands dropping to his sides as he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked. Your hand had been tousled with how many times you ran your fingers through it, and your shirt had a coffee stain near the bottom of it, mascara smudged under your eyes but all he could see was you. The real you.
The person who would drop everything going on in their own life in order to comfort their friend, the person who could smile at you and make your heart start beating faster, the person who cared for and loved so deeply that when someone hurt you, you told them it was okay in fear of losing them completely, the person who heloved so deeply he couldn’t fathom the idea of hurting you, losing you forever. And as you had made your way up to him, he couldn’t help but latch his hands on your own, dragging you into the inventory room, quickly shutting the door behind him.
“I’m sorry for whatever it is that I said o- or did, I don’t care but please believe me when I say I’d never want to hurt you, my dove please.” Steven was breathless as he had managed to get it out, fearing that if he hadn’t, you’d walk away from him. Steven knew he sounded desperate, pleading for you to understand, for you to stay with him but he didn’t care. God, he would get on his knees in this stupid gift shop in order to keep you with him, even if it was as a close friend and not as someone he could holdandloveas he so desperately wanted to.
“Steven, I’m not mad at you, I swear. Confused? Beyond belief, but I’m not mad, not anymore anyways.” You had begun rubbing small shapes onto the hands that were holding your own so tightly within his own, hoping to bring him some peace-of-mind. “Last night… You did say something that hurt but you also weren’t wrong, and I see that you do feel guilty about it so it’s fine. We’re fine.” You emphasized, wanting him to truly understand that it was okay.
“Well, what was it? What did I say to you?” At that question, you froze, the movement on Steven’s hand freezing and your eyes staring into his own, your heart started beating faster as you felt your stomach get twisted in knots.
“Um.. you just said that I had no reason for checking on you, that we weren’t dating and that I had no right to show up to your apartment and you were right. I overstepped and I’m sorry.” You had said it so fast, not giving him a chance to stop you; knowing that if he had then you wouldn’t be able to finish it. You hadn’t expected for him to quickly begin moving his own hands, up your lower arms, past your upper arms and grab your face with his hands, forcing you to keep your eyes connected with his own. The eye contact was sending flutters in your stomach and tugs to your heart, you could feel heat was beginning to move up your neck to your cheeks, your throat closing in anticipation.
“You don’t need a reason to come to me, darling. If you need me or want to check up on me you come. You can come by whenever you want. I don’t care if we aren’t dating.” Steven was firm, but still so soft with each passing sentence, trying to make sure you understood that you were welcomed anytime. Your eyes had watered at the words, he was showing this side of him you hadn’t seen before, a side you never thought you’d get to see after last night.
“Last night, the reason I was there… I wanted to ask if you had noticed me.” Your chest had been going up and down, nervous for what he would say. But at the statement, Steven furrowed his brow. Had he noticed you? God, when had he not been looking?
“Notice you? Love..” As Steven had trailed off, thinking about all the things he had noticed, you were thinking he was trying to break it to you gently. You figured he was trying to tell you that he had never seen you, that there was no possible way for him to notice the small things Donna had mentioned previously.
“It was a stupid question, I shouldn’t have even tried ask really. I mean, it’s weird right? We can just forget about it, yeah? Go back to how it was-” You were cut off as Steven had pulled your face closer to his, his hands still being planted on your face, leaned his forehead against your own and brushed his nose down towards yours with his eyes closed. Steven was breathing harder than before, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he lightly shook his head.
“It’s not stupid, I’ve noticed everything about you. From the way you let out sighs when you’re sad, how you clench your jaw when you’re mad and how your eyes sparkle when you get happy,” Steven had let out a small laugh, his breath fanning your face as you watched him in disbelief as he continued, “how you tend to talk more with your hands when you’re passionate about something, how you like your coffee and which pastries you don’t like.” You hadn’t realized that you had tears in your eyes, some of them slowly falling out as he finished answering you, finally opening his eyes, the hues of browns and dark greens staring into your own. “Or how, how you always check on me, whether it be in person or a text, no matter what you make me feel like I matter. How could I not notice? I always notice.”
“Steven..” It came out breathless, your nose nudging his own, lips ghosting over each other, but never connecting. “Why.. why did you never say anything?” As the question slipped past your lips, fanning onto his own, he let out a small laugh as he answered, “Cause’ I’m a right nob. I always watched, never thinking I would be enough for you.” Tears welled in both of your eyes now, Steven’s brown eyes never leaving your (E/C) ones as you shook your head at him, noses rubbing together at the movement.
“You are exactlywhat I’ve wanted. It’s always been you my love, always you.” It was a soft whisper, meant for him and him only. The words seemed to have settled into his ears as he had let a wide smile grace his lips as he quickly whispered, “Then you’ll have no problem with this.”
At that, Steven had finally dipped his head and connected his slightly dry chapped lips to your eager ones. It wasn’t slow and timely, it was quick and desperate, both of you trying to show how deeply you loved each other with one kiss. Steven’s hands had stayed firm on your face as yours had moved to grip his wrists in order to ground yourself, to realize that it was real.
Steven had slowly backed you up against the door, one of his hands slowly moving down to your waist, tightly having a hold on you. You let out small, breathy moans as he started to slowly trail his lips down your neck, nipping every now and then, his hand continued to caress the back of your head, giving it a resting place instead of against a hard door.
If there was one thing you knew now, it was that Steven was a good kisser, but he was also eager to please. The way he always had a hand pressed against your skin, with enough pressure to keep you aware of what was happening where his hands were, but also soft enough for you to get lost in the feeling, slowly leaning into it. Always wanting more, never having enough of him. And Steven was loving it. Steven would get on his knees right now, doing whatever it is you requested of him, as long as you kept looking at him like that with his hands on you.
As Steven had finally pulled away, he had noticed the way your breaths grew deeper, the way your chest was falling with small gasps escaping your lips. He always noticed. And the thought that he was the reason for that, for the breathlessness, the small moans that had escaped you and the small forming bruises on your neck and at the top of your collarbones made him ecstatic.
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t mind that.” It was another breathy chuckle, a large smile pointed up at him as he had smiled down at you. At the statement, Steven let out his own laugh, his hands still gripping your waist as he muttered down to you, “I didn’t move too fast, did I? You know the whole door thing and the neck…” He had a blush forming on his face as he had asked you, you shaking your head as you knew you had thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
“Let me take you out, not to some stupid-bloody steak house. Anywhere you want, it’s yours… please.” Steven’s hands had made their way back to holding your face, his face leaning closer to yours as he had practically begged you, not knowing that if he had asked you to jump for him you’d simply ask “How high would you like love?”
“Yeah, I wondered what the hell you were doing going on a date to a steakhouse.” At the retort, Steven let out a laugh as he leaned down and pecked you on your lips giving a small, “I was wondering what the hell I was doing asking anyone but you.”
You giggled at that as you slightly pushed him away, checked the time on your watch and told him your next tour was coming up in the next few minutes. And as you slowly opened the door, pressing a light kiss onto Steven’s lips and walked away with a small blush on your cheeks, he noticed.
Steven noticed the way his heart had finally felt like it was whole again, noticed how you had glanced around before fixing your collar and tapping your heated cheeks.
When it came to you, he’d always notice
Hellooo! I hope you enjoyed this, there has been quite a few people who asked to be tagged so without further ado; thank you!
summary: reader thinks she has no chance of Steven liking her after hearing about his date, without realizing all of the things he seems to notice about her, until she gets the help from donna of all people.
pairing: steven grant x reader
tags: not a lot of steven and reader, more so mutual pining, there is a little bit of self-deprecating thoughts from reader, (in my eyes; a bad ending)
word count: 4k (most I’ve written yet!)
notes: this is loosely based on ‘Please Notice’ by Christian Leave, I say loosely because there’s only a few things related to it, and although there aren’t any mentions of the Steven/Marc dynamic, please let me know if I ever write DID wrong! the last thing I would want it to hurt anyone from my writing! Leave any suggestions or comments, but alas enjoy!
You never wanted to fall for Steven Grant, the dorky gift shop-ist.
You never wanted to fall for him and yet here you were, leaning the top part of your body on the cool granite counter the museum had recently installed, your eyes trailing after the man. He had arrived late, again, and he threw a quick smile and wave at you as he made his way back to the gift shop. And it made your heart race as you gave a flushed smile and a small wave of your hand. You were hopeless.
‘Bet he’s trying to steer clear of Donna’s wrath.’
Listen, you guys were friends, the closest friend you guys had actually. You had taken some sight-seeing trips, and had a few movie nights here and there, but what you hadn’t expected was for you to grow a massive, school-like crush on one of your best mates. It was a cliche and you hated it! You hated how long it had taken for you to fall for him, for you to realize how much you liked him, especially since you would now have to watch him pursue one of your work-friends Dylan.
You always tried to tell yourself that it was just a stupid work-crush, someone that you found cute, someone you could easily learn to love. But you knew you already loved all the parts you knew and saw now, but you didn’t want to face that fact yet because then it became real. You didn’t want to face the truth that you were more than likely hopelessly in love with Steven Grant because you knew he didn’t feel the same. How did you know this exactly? Well, you saw him ask the beautiful and smart tour guide on a date to a steakhouse of all places.
‘Why would a vegan ask to go to a steakhouse?’ It didn’t make sense when he did ask, but as you were standing there listening to him ask, you couldn’t help but be shocked at the way he sounded much more confident than he ever had with you.
“Best steak in town, yeah?” Why the hell would he mention steak? He doesn’t even eat meat!
But even though you were quite confused, your heart sunk to your stomach, a feeling of jealousy washed over you. Even though you were jealous, you could see why he had asked Dylan, she was beautiful, smart, a tour-guide actually, and she was funny. A real catch.
“Y/N, I need you to help me take these boxes to the gift shop.” You let out an exasperated sigh while closing your eyes. “It’s not like you’re doing anything useful, just standin’ there all ditsy. Let’s go.” She had already placed the three boxes down on the counter, walking with a few of her own.
You quickly grabbed the boxes she left and followed after her, trying not to trip on your own feet. As you got closer to the gift shop you could see Steven slowly placing out the baskets of jelly candies and the Taweret plushies, looking down and shaking his head at the merchandise. A small smile graced your face as you watched as he mumbled to himself about the items not making much sense, and you had to agree with him.
“Stevie, you were late, again.” At the sound of Donna’s nasally voice, Steven whipped towards the two of you and let out a grimace. “I know, I’m sorry. The bus came in early ag-” He grumbled out, clearly frustrated with Donna mentioning his tardiness again, but she had cut him off. “Why’re you just standing there? Help grab the box from Y/N.” At the mention of your name Steven quickly turned his attention onto you, noticing how the boxes were nearly to your eye level. A panicked look took over his face as he rushed over to you, taking the boxes out of your hands.
“Oh god, so sorry, I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.” Steven was frantically apologizing as you were shaking your head at him. “It’s fine, no trouble.” As he turned back to look at you, you had been making your way over to the other side of the counter, slowly helping Donna unpack some of the boxes while also being unaware of the way Steven was looking at you, keeping his eyes trained on you as you walked.
Donna kept her eye on him though, watching as his eyes followed your every move. If he had known, he would have quickly glanced away and started working to help with unpacking. As he was finally able to tear his eyes away from you, he saw Donna looking at him with her eyebrows raised, glancing between him and your silhouette. His eyes widened in shock and rapidly shook his head, which caused a smirk to fall on her face. “Start stocking Stevie.”
As Donna had made her way out and Steven had taken place behind the counter, he glanced at you and saw you were still helping him. “Oh no, you don’t- don’t have to do that. I can take over, yeah?” He was clearly flustered at your close proximity, his cheeks having a small pink tint to them and a shy smile on his face.
“Oh please, it’s fine, I don’t have any tours until 1, Dylan has the morning ones today…” You had trailed off on your sentence after mentioning Dylan. ‘Would he say anything about the date?’ “Oh yeah? Well, that’s great. I mean it’s great that you have some downtime, not that you could stay and help me. You don’t have to actually; you know I could um I could handle it all… by myself.”
A small laugh slipped past your lips as you quickly stopped his worrying. “I don’t mind helping. It gives me something to do and someone to talk to. Might sound surprising but J.B isn’t that good of a conversationalist.” It was obvious you were trying to make him feel better and the sight of your small smile that was pointed towards himmade his heart start racing.
Before he could make a quip back about J.B’s lack of communication skills, he watched as you glanced up towards the entrance way, the smile quickly dropping as you averted your eyes back to the merchandise. At the sight of a crestfallen look on your face, Steven grew confused and worried. Did he do something wrong? Just as he was about to ask if you were alright he heard someone clear their throat, causing Steven to whip his head around. It was Dylan and Steven had figured she had come to grab you, a schedule mix up. At the thought of your time being cut short a small frown fell on his face.
“Hello” Steven had continued to keep his eyes on the jellies he was restocking until he heard Dylan call his name, then realizing that both you and Dylan were looking at him, One confused and one worried.
“Oh sorry, hello” Steven had murmured out, glancing between the two of you. At the realization that Dylan was looking towards you expectantly, you widened your eyes and grabbed a box and muttered out a small excuse to be further from the two. As you were walking away Steven had kept his eyes on you, confused why you would leave so abruptly.
“How’s the sugar trade going?” It was an innocent question really, but you felt your hands get tighter on one of the small statues of Osiris, clenching your jaw tight. You liked Dylan, the two of you have even gone out for lunch quite a few times! But the fact that you did like her is why the anger from such a stupid simple question frustrated you.
“I don’t know what this has to do with Egypt really. They didn’t have that back then, did they? No, they liked figs and dates and..” Dylan had cut him off as she let him know her tour was about to start and simply was over to say;
“Just checking, we still on for 7:00 tomorrow?” As she had asked, you slowly made it look like you were stocking the statues as you made a quick glance towards Steven to see his reaction. He looked downright shocked, speechless.
“‘7:00 tomorrow?’” It was a question, he seemed to have forgotten about the date, which was odd considering he made it yesterday.
“‘Best steak in town’?” Dylan was trying to jog his memory, but he seemed to have grown more confused.Steak?
“Oh right, yeah yeah yeah.” He had let out a small chuckle with it, trying to keep himself composed. And as Dylan had started to walk away he quickly looked between you and her and called out, “Sorry, but.. are you asking me on a date?”
At that, you seemed to get confused. What is he talking about?
Dylan seemed to have the same confusion as she let out a small laugh and simply told him he was funny as she walked towards the people in line for her tour. Steven seemed to have realized that you were still there as he glanced towards the direction where you were supposed to be to find the spot empty. As he looked around, where he saw you had taken the empty box, set it in the back of the shop and was making your way out of the gift shop.
“Y/N? Hey.. where you goin’?” At his urgent call of your name you let out a small sigh, one he took notice of and glanced back at him with a small, almost sad smile on your face. “Sorry, forgot I had to help Donna.. But enjoy your date, you seemed excited about it.” And just like that, you turned on your heels and walked away leaving Steven feeling like he had done something wrong.
You were stupid for ever thinking he would like you, or even notice you in the same way he did Dylan. She had absolutely everything a guy could possibly want and you were just you, plain and boring you. You hated that this one guy, one stupid cute and shy guy could make you feel this pitiful about yourself but alas here you were, making your way down the steps of the museum leaving to head towards your flat where you had planned on wallowing in your own self-pity with a half eaten pint of ice cream.
Just as you were making it about halfway you noticed Steven talking to a yellow-painted man, seeming to look like a statue. At the sight of him you let out a pathetic sigh, could you not escape this man? And just as you were about to turn your body fully, walking the complete opposite way in order to steer clear of him, you heard him say your name.
“Yeah and you know I have that date, one I can’t believe I have, I mean I don’t even remember asking her, it’s mental really. But.. it’s weird, my friend Y/N she seemed upset and I’m supposed to be excited about the date but I’m not, more worried about her actually.” At his words you felt guilty for how you reacted earlier. You hadn’t meant to be brash and rude or cause him to worry but if you had stayed there any longer the tears that bubbled in your throat would have escaped. And to be fair, you’d rather give some stupid excuse for needing to leave than why you had started crying. As the guilt continued to eat away at your stomach and heart, you continued to walk in your normal direction, praying he wouldn’t call out to you but knowing Steven, it was unlikely.
“Y/N?, oh hey! I was just tellin’ my mate here how I was worried about you. You left quite promptly today, right?” You gave him a small smile and nodded and tried to come up with a quick lie. “Oh hey Steven.. Yeah no, I forgot Donna had asked me for some help with hanging one of the banners.” It sounded believable, okay great now wish him luck on his date and get to your couch and ice cream.
“Oh okay yeah I was worried I had done something, you know? You let out one of those sighs you do when something bothers you and I was scared it was cause’ I had let you unbox one of my boxes, thank.. Thank you for that by the way.” He picked up on the sigh? Great, now you felt even worse about your actions.
“Oh no, just the thought of having to deal with Donna ya know? But um, good luck with Dylan I better start heading home.” At the thought of the date you had accidentally clenched your fist tighter around the handle of your tote bag, which Steven quickly picked up on. “You., you sure? I mean you can talk to me if you need. Not that you don’t have someone, yeah no like I’ll listen to you, not that I don’t always listen but you know…” At his quick rambling you had let out a small giggle, Steven’s eyes focusing in on your bright smile, a dopey smile appearing on his own.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking but if I’m ever not I know who to go to.” It was a reassurance to Steven; he wasn’t the cause of the small disappointed, almost sad sighs and the clenched fist, you knew to go to him if you ever needed him. “Right.. Yeah always available for you, yeah” You directed a small appreciative smile his way, slowly walking backwards towards the street. “I’ll see you later Steven, good luck for tomorrow.”
“Laters, gators.” A small giggle was heard as you turned fully, walking away as Steven stared after you.
“Yeah, mate that was Y/N, bit of luck I ran into her huh? Alright, well cheers, oh oh can’t forget the tip!”
It had been over a long day and all you had wanted was to get home, change into your sweats and watch the shitty romcom reruns that play until the early hours of the morning. You knew if you did do that, your brain would still find ways to go back to Steven, it’d always go back to Steven. You knew he would be sneaking into your dreams and the fake reality you’d conjure up to lure yourself to sleep, imagining yourself on the date Dylan had the honor of going on.
As you had finally walked up to your apartment door, you felt the tense muscles in your shoulders slowly start to slack as you felt the heat of your apartment quickly warm your hands and the red tip of your nose. You knew you weren’t going to eat anything besides the ice cream, so you quickly changed and pulled the pint out, grabbing the remote on the console table.
It had been a little under two days since you had last seen Steven and you were more than concerned. When you had Dylan coming to you talking about how Steven had stood her up you were confused. Even if he was nervous or didn’t quite like Dylan he would have shot a text, or shown up regardless. You had tried to explain to Dylan about how Steven had gotten the days mixed up before but she wasn’t hearing it, quickly telling you that he was a knob and didn’t deserve her time. You couldn’t even be mad at her, she was stood up by the person who had originally asked her out, after she got dressed and did her hair and makeup just to leave the restaurant with a bruised ego and an anger in her chest for Steven Grant.
At the sight of the scowl on Dylan’s face, you grabbed your phone and made your way to the inventory room in order to have some form of privacy. As you had made your way into the room, you were scrolling through all your contacts to reach ‘Steven!’ that had a picture of the two of you under the tower bridge. Clicking ‘dial’ as you raised the phone to your ear as you felt your heart hammering against your chest. You knew you had told Dylan that he had gotten his days mixed sometimes and you knew he sometimes had trouble sleeping but you also knew that anytime you had called him, he answered. It didn’t matter what time or day it was, Steven would answer and he would immediately ask if you were alright, so when you heard it go straight to voicemail you didn’t know what to think.
“Hey Steven, it’s Y/N, you probably already knew that, but I was just checking in, give me a call back.” It was awkward, her voice sounding extremely confused and worried. But even if he had answered, what would she have said? ‘Hey Steven, why’d you stand up Dylan?’ As she continued to worry about the missing shop-ist, Donna had walked into the room, backpedaling as she came to see you in the room. “What’re you doin’ in here?”
“Sorry, I had to make a phone call and it’s pretty loud out there.” She gave a nod and hum of agreement, “Right you are, seems like the tours have multiplied this past month alone!” You gave a fake smile and nod of your head as she continued her tangent about the banners having affected the number of visitors, which you hardly doubted was the reason. But as she continued, you still couldn’t seem to get your mind off of Steven and whether or not he was alright. Donna seemed to pick up on you spacing out as she questioned; “What’s goin’ on in that thick head of yours?”
“What? Sorry Donna, I’m just worried about someone.” You didn’t really have any reason to lie, especially when your brain couldn’t seem to think anything quick enough to seem believable.
“It’s Stevie, isn’t it? I caught onto the looks he was throwin’ you the other day and figured somethin’ was happenin’ between you two, well until I heard he asked Dylan out for steak, a bloody vegan asking about steak! Ha!” You hadn’t focused on the last part of the sentence, simply how she had caught the ‘looks’ he was throwing at you.
“I’m sorry? Pardon? What looks?” You had interjected before she could continue going on about how ‘worthless’ the vegan was.
“What, like you don’t know the bloody fool’s been eyeing you for months now? Every day comes in lookin’ like a right knob until he sees you at that desk of yours.” As she had said this, your heart had sped up, palms growing sweaty as you listened to her list the instances she had noticed the looks Steven sent your way. “What, you think he noticed how you took your coffee just for the hell of it? Or how about the body language he picks up on? The loon has asked me so many times what was wrong with you when you seemed perfectly fine to everyone else. A bit weird if you ask me.” Body language. That night by the ‘statue’ he had noted the way you clenched your first and how you had previously let out a small sigh, days prior to this asked why you seemed tense when you had finished a tour that had a man that would not stop making suggestive comments, he always noticed when it came to you.
“Hey Donna, can I get a sick pass for the rest of the day? I only have one tour left and Dylan still owes me one for last month.” For a tense moment you thought she’d say no, and then you’d have to wait until tonight to try and find some answers about the whereabouts of Steven, until she let out a deep sigh and gave you a nod of her head. A small smile graced your lips, a real one this time, as you threw a cheerful ‘thank you!’ back to her and rushed past all the smaller groups looking at the encased Egyptian artifacts and out the door, grabbing your phone to try Steven again.
Still no answer. God, this was going to be much harder than you had thought it would have been. As you had tried to think of a plan, you remembered how he had told you to stop by his flat if you needed anything and well, you needed answers and a weight lifted off your chest.
As you started to make way to the bus you couldn’t help but grow nervous, so what he noticed smaller details than most. Maybe he did it to everyone, maybe he did it as an absentminded thing, maybe this wasn’t the reason you should seek answers about his feelings. But as each thought passed through your brain, it had a response for everyone.
As the bus had started making its way, you had thought back to the small things you had noticed about him. How Steven liked when someone gave him a smaller, encouraging smile, rather than an actual vocal praise, how he had seemed to clench his jaw in anger every time Donna or J.B got his name wrong, how anytime he was rejected to being a tour guide his shoulders would fall, and his voice would stay low for the rest of the day. These small things you would notice is what kept you from getting off the bus and running home, locking yourself in your apartment hiding away from your own feelings. Your thoughts were abruptly stopped as you realized Steven’s usual stop was about to be passed as you quickly pulled the lever to show you needed to be let off.
“Sorry.. Minds not focused..” You gave out a pitiful excuse as the driver gave a roll of his eye and closed the doors again, speeding away from the street and leaving you standing there staring down at where his door sat.
As you had finally gathered enough willpower to move your feet, you slowly made it to the buzzer, quickly hitting ‘502’ as the door opened up and you made your way to the elevator shaft. ‘Okay breathe, it’ll be fine.’ It was all you could tell yourself in hopes of calming down, keeping your heart from beating out of your chest and your lunch being spewed out everywhere.
As the door came to a stop on floor 5, you walked hastily toward the door with the gold ‘502’ staring you down in the face, waiting for you to raise your fist and knock on the door. ‘Just knock, dumbass!’ With a dramatic deep breath, you banged your hand on the door four times before stopping, waiting to hear if you heard any movement. ‘Was he home?’
“Steven… Hey it’s Y/N, I just wanted to check on you, see how you were doin’ after the date… Dylan told me you flaked.” You were nervous, what if he didn’t want to see you, or anyone for that matter. As you waited to hear for any sign of movement in the loft, your hopes started to lessen as you realized he was probably out. And just as you had turned around, you were face to face with Steven walking out of the elevator, bloody and a bag tossed over his shoulder.
At the sight of the deep-red color seeping through his shirt and the pink tint on his hands, your mouth dropped as you rushed towards him. “Oh my god, Steven! What the hell happened to you!” At the sound of the name, his head whipped up, your eyes connecting as you watched as he gave a deep aggravated sigh and a roll of his eyes. Your chest constricted at that, he clearly did not want you here but you couldn’t just shrug off the fact that he shows up after 2 days, bloody and having a sketchy duffle bag.
You had come for answers about his feelings, but it seemed as if you’d have to stay for something you didn’t bargain for, but if it was Steven, you’d stay for however long it’d take.
summary: the reader is surprised when she finds her boyfriend, the person’s calls she’s been ignoring in order to decide whether or not she should discuss her discovery of Marc, waiting at her door one day after work. Commence the Stressful Discussions. (This is Part Two of ‘Time at The Museum’) Which you can find here!
pairing: Steven Grant x reader, slight hint of Mac x reader
tags: steven is panicking quite a bit in this one! There’s a panic attack and reader helps him calm down, but it is also pretty soft but also angsty?? I don’t really know how to describe it.
word count:3.3.k
notes: the last part of this got a lot more attention than I was expecting so wow! thank you all for the love, as always; please let me know if I ever write anything incorrect or harmful about DID and remember I am not an expert! Other than that, please enjoy
You were tired, eyes drooping closed every few seconds tired. And yes, it’s normal to be tired at work but this, this was something different.
You hadn’t gotten any sleep last night due to your mind racing, wondering what to do about the ‘Marc Situation’ as you had labeled it inside your own head. You pondered over what to do and say when you finally managed to grow up and just face it. You had been ignoring all of Steven’s calls, letting each one of them ring out to get your voicemail, which Steven was sure to leave every time he called.
Which was a lot.
While you were tired at work, thoughts still being plagued by the conversation from last night, Steven was standing outside your apartment door, having called out sick, pacing as he continued to dial the memorized number. Now, he didn’t have a need to memorize it, but he had done so due to the past few times he had woken up, stranded somewhere with no recollection of where he was, and no phone on him. Steven had only your number memorized and after quickly asking to borrow a kind older man’s phone, was quick to insert the familiar digits.
“Hello?” You had sounded deeply confused, who would be calling you at 7 A.M?
“Hello lovely, uh I see- wait did I wake you up? Oh no I’m sorry, I can figure something ou-”
“Steven, where are you? Are you alright?” What shocked Steven was how there was not a single ounce of annoyance or anger in your tone. There was only the reminisce of sleep and worry, something he wasn’t quite used to feeling just yet.
Steven was bought out of the small memory as he heard your cheery voice begin your voicemail. A soft sigh was let out from Steven, running a shaky hand through his tousled hair. Why weren’t you picking up? Yeah, you were at work, but you always managed to pick up since you had your own office and only did smaller data entry things for the company you worked at.
‘Did I do something yesterday? I know I blacked out but what happened? What did I do wrong?’
Steven continued to let his mind continue running wild with these types of thoughts as he lowered himself down onto the floor in front of your door, his hands fiddling with the large woven yarn placemat you had. Steven would wait for you to come home, he neededto wait for you to come home or else he wouldn’t be able to calm down, not knowing what happened to or with you was worrying the absolute hell out of him.
As you finally managed to finish imputing the stupid amount of money some hot-shot CEO was willing to spend on a singular project for another up-and-coming directive manager and their new building plans. At the thought of the project’s budget, your eyes involuntarily rolled and your mouth parted as a scoff made its way out.
As you got on the bus you pulled out your phone, seeing the missed calls from Steven. The sight made your chest tighten, your heart starting to pound harder than it has before. You hated it, you hated that you were a coward that couldn’t just call him, ask him to meet you and talk about it, assure him that it didn’t change how you felt and how they would get through this. As the bus continued its bumpy ride your thoughts continued to think about how you would approach the topic, how does one go about this? You didn’t want him to end up having a panic attack, or him to dissociate and be left with Marc again, who you knew would wear a smug grin, finding that he was right.
As you thought back to Marc and all the times Steven was confused on where he was, lost days at a time, the guilt that would eat away at him for not being there for you when you wanted him, all of it. All of it was enough to make the decision that had been weighing over you since you left the comfort of Stevens apartment last night. You had to tell Steven, he deserved to know that he’s not crazy, that the guilt he always has when he misses the date isn’t needed, that he has no control over it, that you weren’t upset at him.
As the bus pulled to your stop, you made your way out, slowly making your way to your apartment. You were going to go in there, call Steven back asking him to come over to talk, change and then await his arrival. You knew it would be something hard to discuss, something he would need time to fully process but he needed to know that it was okay, that you were there for him. Just as you were pulling the keys out to your key, you heard a deep, relieved sigh being released from down the hall.
You whipped your head up, watching as Steven raised himself to his feet, quickly making his way over to you, a smile on his face. Your face held one of shock as Steven came barreling into you, feeling him wrap his arms around your waist, one hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. You didn’t realize how much you missed him until this moment. A sigh was let out of your chest as you quickly wrapped your own arms around him, nuzzling your head further into him.
“Darlin’, thank god,” He sounded so relieved, the feeling of your hands wrapping around him making him feel as if nothing was wrong, that you hadn’t decided to ignore all his calls. “I was so worried, you weren’t answering and I don’t know what happened last night but I don’t remember the museum and you weren’t there when I woke up and I tried calling an-” You could feel his chest moving rapidly up and down, you knew if he continued he’d end up having a panic attack. Which is why you quickly put your hands to his face, shushing him and shaking your head, leaning your head up and forcing your foreheads together.
“No no no, shh Steven, you did nothing wrong. I promise you sweetheart.” You were speaking so softly, eyes filled with love and concern. Steven let out a breath of relief, his eyes staying connected with your own as he gave you a soft smile. God, he was so relieved to know that you hadn’t left, that he hadn’t scared you away. And as much as you’d like to stay there, wrapped up in his arms, you were in the hall of your apartment, so you slowly pulled away dropping your hands from his face and interlocking your hand with his own, leading him towards your door. “You didn’t do anything wrong but we do have to talk about something from yesterday.”
The worry and anxiety that had dwindled had slowly raised back up in his chest, what did you need to talk about? Were you finally done with him? Had you finally realized you deserved a man who didn’t forget dates, who didn’t have to chained up at night, who could love you without being fearful of when he’d lose you to whatever was pulling at his body and mind? All these thoughts caused Steven to tighten his hold on your hand even tighter than before, trying to force his mind to always remember the way your skin felt intertwined with his own, how it felt to be softly touched, to be loved by you.
You could feel how tense he was getting; you knew from the way he was glancing around the room that he was nervous, that he was slowly beginning to panic inside his own head. At this, you quickly tighten your hold on his hand and quickly bring the two of you to sit on the couch in the middle of your flat. “Steven I promise you, nothing is going to change between u-” Steven seemed to have been too far in his own head to hear this as he started panicking.
“No, no no please, I don’t know what happened but I can fix it. Don’t leave me, I know I can be a handful and I flake out on dates and I’m not the most handsome bloke you could have but pl-” Steven hadn’t taken notice of the way you were frantically shaking your head, loosening your grip on his hands to raise them to his face, forcing his eyes to meet your own. “Steven no, I’m not leaving you, no one is leaving. I promise lovely, I promise.”
As you said this, maintaining eye contact, Steven seemed to have calmed a small bit, slowly feeling the worry and heartbreak vanish as you continued to look him in the eyes, rubbing small circles onto his cheeks. You weren’t leaving him.
“We’re just gonna talk about yesterday, why you don’t remember what happened during and after the museum.” At that, Steven seemed to grow confused. What the hell is going on?
“You know how you have all those blank spaces in between your days and how you miss appointments or work or even our dates? Well it’s not you, it’s not you Steven. It’s someone inside of you, Marc,” As you were talking, Steven seemed to have grown more confused, slowly leaning away from you shaking his head in denial. “He takes control and he does who knows what and sometimes he’ll be gone for days at a time- Steven? Hey, are you alright?” Steven had started speaking in an almost whisper, “No.. no that doesn’t make sense. What are you talking about Y/N?”
At the look on his face you knew the discussion was only going to get more stressful, tense even. You didn’t want him to panic or feel like he was crazy but you could tell that’s exactly what he felt right now. “I know it sounds insane okay, but trust me this is why! And it’s fine, we can work with it and it won’t have to change anything. I just wanted you to realize that none of it was your fault, you deserve to kno-” Stevens’ demeanor had changed, he was shaking as he had slowly crumbled into himself, his breathing became erratic as he continued to mutter small no’s. At the sight you felt your heart break and fall deep into your stomach, this wasn’t what you wanted. Thankfully, you had been to therapy before, something that you usually hated thinking about but now you had a technique that had been taught to you on how to stop things like this, how to ground someone.
“No, no hey it’s okay Steven. Look, can you hear me? Can I get behind you and hold you?” At your soft voice, Steven quickly nodded his head, making you quickly maneuver yourself to having him lean back into your chest, your arms making quick work to wrap your arms around him and draw small shapes on the exposed skin of his lower stomach while the other seemed to have found his hands that were held tightly to his chest, intertwining them as you spoke small soft coos.
“It’s okay, can you tell me the first five things you can see right now? Take your time and breath Steven, it’s okay.” The sound of your soft whisper made him breath shakily, gripping your hand tighter. And through shaky breaths and small pauses between every few words he listed the five things; “Your purse on the table.. The bookshelf you bought for the books I left here.. The plants in the window.. Your easel on the counter.. And the magnet I got from the gift shop.” After each item you gave a small hug and a nod of your head, the remnant of the scuff he recently shaved scratching at your cheek, even though you knew it was beginning to irritate your skin, you refused to lean away from him.
“Okay now tell me the four things you can hear? Can you do that?” Steven gave a small nod and tried to control his breathing and match it with the rise and fall of your chest on his back. He wasn’t used to this, to the soft touches, to the tender and patient way you had loved him. “Your heart beats.. The cars outside.. The washer hitting the wall.. Your breathing.” As you continued throughout the rest of the senses you felt Steven fall deeper into your hold, moving his head deeper into your chest as you let him turn against you, putting himself deep into your hold, his arms wrapping around your waist.
“You’ve done so good, just tell me what’s one thing you can touch?” It was so quiet you were surprised when Steven had made a quick response, “You.’
As he fully closed his eyes, basking in your warmth and softness, your hands had found their way tangled into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, a serene and peaceful atmosphere surrounding you. This wasn’t where you wanted it to head, but you always knew it was a possibility, that Steven would have trouble wrapping his head around himself having a second person in his body. One who would sometimes leave for days on end, coming back and leaving Steven more confused and tired then the day before. You knew he needed to just be held, to be showered in love, that he was used to being brushed aside, his own name being messed up by his boss and coworkers. That’s why you continued to hold him, softly scratching his head even as your wrist started hurting from the weird angle they were bending at, even as your legs started to burn as his weight had been fully placed on it and during this, you didn’t see how the reflection of the window Steven was facing was looking at the two of you.
Marc had been shocked, you had calmed Steven down, gotten him to listen to you. You hadn’t gotten mad or frustrated at the denial and how quick Steven had broken down. Marc marveled at the patience and kindness you had shown for someone you had only been dating for a few months. Without realizing, and meaning to, Marc had slowly started taking control.
You felt the way Steven had gotten tense. Scared that he had started to panic again, you quickly lifted your head to look him in the eye. “Stev-” You were cut off as you realized his neck was strained out, the veins bulging out of it as his eyes started rolling in the back of his head. As soon as you realized what was happening, you had let your hands fall down by your side, your wrist finally resting normally on your stomach. “Marc..?” Your voice was hesitant, still soft and kind, but hesitant.
“How did you calm him down? Get him to listen?” It was definitely Marc, his shoulders grew larger, his eyes darker than the soft ones Steven always had and you couldn’t forget about that damn accent. “A therapist taught me a while ago.. Why are you here? Can I have Steven back? Please?” You just wanted your sweet Steven to come back and have him shower so you could lay in your bed for the rest of the night.
“I need you to trust me, I appreciate you taking care of him but I’ll handle the rest of it from here. There’s a lot more that you don’t know about.” Marc had chosen to ignore your request for your boyfriend back which made you scrunch your eyes at him. “Trust you? How the hell am I supposed to trust you if I don’t even know your full name and you are continuously making Steven feel crazy!” You had tried to keep your voice leveled, you knew that there were things about this situation you didn’t have a single clue about but you were mad. Who the hell did he think he was to ask you to trust you when he couldn’t even trust Steven with the secret of himself?
There was a long, tense silence after you had spoken, you were waiting for him to say something, hell even do something! You were just tired of the way he had stared at you, you felt like his eyes were judging every aspect of who you were and you loathed it.
“Spector. My name is Marc Spector.” Was probably the last thing you expected him to say after the long moment of silence. “I know you can’t trust me right now but I need you to try. I would never hurt Steven, I promise you I will explain everything.” You hated the way he had stepped closer, how he bore his eyes into your eyes, making the promise you for some reason knew he would keep.
“Let me see Steven, give him control for the rest of tonight and I promise I will try to trust you. Just give me tonight to be with him.” You had taken a step closer to him, keeping your eyes connected with us, feeling them slightly water at the thought of him leaving with Steven trapped in his own mind. “Please.” You knew you sounded desperate but you didn’t care, you just wanted Steven to wake up and know that he had some control of his life, that he didn’t have to chain himself up and solve puzzles to keep himself awake.
You watched as Marc glanced between your eyes and your lips, and before you could let another plea fall from your lips you watched as his eyes softened, his shoulders hunching back into himself, his smile, small as he felt the wave of exhaustion fall on him, brightened as he stood face to face with you.
“Can we take a bath and lay down for a bit? That sounds nice, yeah? Ooh, and maybe tomorrow we can have a redo on the brunch?” You smiled back at him, nodding your head, quickly making your way next to him, and grabbing his face and making him lean down towards you. You rested your forehead on his before reaching up and connecting your lips together. It wasn’t fast and needy, it was slow and passionate, something you knew Steven loved. As you pulled apart you rub your thumbs in small circles on his cheeks as you saw he was looking down, clearly having something on his mind. “What? What is it lovely?”
“I’m sorry I freaked out, that you had to do that all today. I know you can do better, that you don’t have to be with someone who needs help like I do.” His voice had cracked, clearly growing emotional over the thoughts running in his head. But you were there to quiet them, lifting his head up to meet your gaze, you told him one thing he’d always remind himself of when he needed your help.
“Who do you think I go to when I feel like everything’s too much? It’s not my mom, or my boss. No Steven, it’s you. You could smile at me, and I would feel better, some days I might need more but I know you’ll be there like I was there today.” You were smiling so wide at him while he was listening to every word, his eyes tracing every aspect of your face, his eyes wide.
“It’s okay to need help Steven. Now, what’s that I hear about a bath?” You watched as his eyes got glossy as he nodded his head and pressed another lasting kiss to your lips, and you led him to the bath.
You knew today was filled with nothing but stressful discussions and a bit of crying, but you would have to finish the day off with your boyfriend in your bed and a growing trust to Marc Spector to keep his promise.
And to the two who asked to be tagged, here you are! I’m sorry if it did not live up to expectations.
Dont hate me on this, but I really was on the verge of leaving the mcu fandom. Back then, i was really excited because of the neverending connections between the movies and the plot building to one character/movie for the next phase, but then i became really overwhelmed with all of the new marvel series. (hawkeye, falcon and the winter soldier, etc. im not hating on the series tho)
Then i heard about The Moon Knight, it was very refreshing to see it as a standalone series, It’s like a relief. it didn’t show any cameos/connections from any other past characters of mcu (except that one thing about it being related to the black panther).
If they will continue season 2 and build a connection there to the other characters of mcu or continue it as a standalone series; either of the two, i will still watch it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
So we all agree Ammit was Khonshu’s ex right? Maybe it was just physical for Khonshu but she was planning their wedding until whoopsie! Khonshu reveals he’s in love with Hathor! (But he never makes a move because love would interfere with his mission) so now Ammit’s ticked off and decides that she should punish everyone who will ever do evil even if they haven’t done anything yet. Because her bird brained boyfriend never cheated on her but he was thinking about it!
Jake is not the “evil alter”. In fact when he fronts the body after Egypt and sees Khonshu he’s like, “oh those idiots didn’t include me on the deal…Khonshu you son of a…”. “Oh you know you enjoy it. Come on. Suit up. We’ve got work to do.” And Jake goes along with it because Khonshu is all he has. He doesn’t feel good enough for Layla and he wants to protect Steven and Marc and let’s them live a normal life.
So if we get a season 2 and after Marc and Steven find out about Jake I want a scene where they meet back in “Dr. Harrow”s office. (With special guest star Ethan Hawke!) they’re confused but then the camera pans over and there’s Jake, arms folded and annoyed. And Dr. Harrow says they’re there for group therapy. They start arguing and accusing Jake of being a psycho when Jake asks…
“Who paid the electric bill?”
What?” Steven asked.
Jake looks at them, “when is the water bill due?”
“What are you talking about?” Marc asked.
Jake sits up, “I’m talking about paying the bills. Doing the laundry. Buying groceries. Do you know how hard it it to buy vegan AND kosher!? And yeah. Sometimes I want a nice steak. But that’s a treat I save for myself so that you two can eat your kosher vegan meals and never bother to ask where the food comes from. And do you really think our money comes from our merc days? You spent most of it on booze and whatever charity you could donate to ease your guilty conscience. We sure don’t get the money from Steven’s paycheck at the museum. No I took some of the merc money and bought my own cab. Now we own a third of the cabs in London and we provide limo services. We have a townhouse in freaking Chelsea!
“We do?” Steven asks.
“Yeah! We do. And a penthouse in New York. And our own helicopter! And we send Dad a check every month.”
“We do?” Marc asked.
“Im always cleaning up your messes. I take care of things. That’s my job. If I have to make a deal with the Devil to protect you both I will. And I have.” Jake finished.
Everyone is silent a minute.
Dr harrow says, “thank you Jake. Well what I’m hearing is Jake is feeling under appreciated.”
“Damn right…” Jake mutters.
“Also it sounds like Jake feels isolated. I mean you two have each other. And Layla. And all he has…is Khonshu.” Dr. Harrow pointed out.
Marc and Steven nod. Thinking.
“Was it you that set up that date with me and Dylan?” Steven asks.
“Did you bozos keep me locked up in that third sarcophagus in the Duat?”
“We were trying to avoid relationships to keep them away from Khonshu. Why would you ask Dylan out?” Marc asked.
“Because I was horny and Steven is a freaking virgin alright?” Jake answered.
So my heart just broke upon learning Marc’s story. Not even with Loki did I want to reach into a TV screen and hug a character. This episode made me fall in love with Marc as much as Steven. (BRING HIM BACK MARVEL!!! ) And until episode 6 comes out, I need this catharsis to tide me over. Hints of Steven x reader and Jake x reader, but mostly Marc x reader. Enjoy!
Waking up in the middle of the night was to be expected when dating a superhero that worked mostly at night. What you could never expect was the same experience each time. Because your boyfriend was actually three people in one body thanks to their Dissociative Identity Disorder.
Steven would try to be quiet when he came in. He really did. But his natural clumsy nature would often bump into something with a hushed curse along the lines of “Oh Bollocks!”
Or sometimes you’d open your eyes to see him sitting up and reading in bed. Still unable to sleep sometimes. Squinting through his glasses in the moonlight. He’d always notice you had awakened, and apologize,
“Sorry Love. Did I wake you?”
Then you would curl up on his chest as he read to you, his London accent soothing you back to sleep.
Jake didn’t bother being quiet. He knew you were a light sleeper. He did try to avoid you seeing the blood on him before he stripped to take a shower. Other times you would wake up to find Jake lavish his attentions on you. Giving you a sly wink on his way down.
Marc almost never woke you up. Maybe you’d wake up when he come home, but he’d always whisper in his Chicago cadence,
“Just me. Go back to sleep Baby.”
And with a gentle kiss to your forehead you would, only briefly becoming aware when he’d join you under the covers. He never tried to wake you up again.
So imagine your surprise one night when you awoke to the sound of whimpering. Jake would never and the lack of Steven’s accent told you it was Marc. You turned over to see Marc practically in the fetal position, eyes clenched closed.
He was muttering softly in his sleep,
“No…please Ma…Mom please…please stop…stop…I didn’t mean it…please…Mommy please…”
You sat up, unsure. You wouldn’t dare with Jake. Steven you wouldn’t hesitate. But how would Marc react? Though you couldn’t see or hear Khonshu, you knew he had his way to make himself known.
“Should I wake him?” You whispered to the dark. A gentle breeze that came from nowhere ruffled the curtains.
“I hope that’s a yes.” You muttered to yourself. You turned to Marc and started to shake his bare shoulder.
“Marc? Marc? Marc Honey wake up.” You called gently.
He jolted awake, sitting up trying to catch his breath. His eyes, watery and red from unshed tears took in his surroundings before landing on you.
“Bad dream?”
He nodded, swallowing,
“Bad memories.”
He sighed rubbing his hands down his face.
“Come on. Lie down.” You nodded plumping up the pillows. Unsure, Marc waited until you laid down and made grabby hands at him. He gave a small upturn of his lips before he complied. Adjusting himself so that he was using you as a pillow. His head nestled between your boobs. He sighed in content as your fingers started to comb through his curls.
Still he had to ask,
“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” You replied.
You waited. He didn’t say anything. But you could hear the gears turning in his head.
“Not really.” He finally replied. “But you need to know.”
So he told you. About his little brother. About the accident in the cave. About his mother. You felt your nightshirt growing damp with his tears. You felt your own tears threaten to fall. You knew from your research with DID that some kind of childhood trauma caused it. But suddenly it all made sense. Steven’s innocence. Jake’s intensity. Marc’s protectiveness. All combined by a sweet gentleness that took your breath away.
When he was finished, you sniffed,
“Oh Baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have helped you.”
“You do though. Every time you touch me with love. Every time you comfort me. And Steven. And Jake. All those times you do something for us to make us feel loved. That helps.” He told you.
What else could you say?
“I love you. All of you.”
“I love you too. Steven and Jake say Ditto.” Marc told you with a glance at the mirror. You only saw his reflection of course, but you knew in his minds eye that Steven and Jake were there. Steven smiling softly with adoration. Jake smirking with pride.
With a giggle you put a hand on his chiseled jawline and drew Marc up to meet your lips. He shifted up on his knees to deepen the kiss. You wouldn’t mind it if this was how Marc would wake you up.
A Marc Spector/female reader fic! Hint of Steven Grant/Reader and Jake Lockley/reader; apologies if I get anything wrong about DID, but I’m basing this purely on the world Marvel built here. Quick summary: the reader notices something about Marc that he’s quick to deny.
Dating a superhero was one thing. You never thought it’d happen to you. But it did. Sure there was the expected difficulties. The late nights. The bruises and cuts and sometimes broken bones weren’t fun. Even if the suit did heal them by morning. You’d even been kidnapped a few times to use as bait.
But dating a superhero that happened to have Dissociative Identity Disorder? That sweet, shy Steven Grant shared a body with ex mercenary Marc Specter? That there was an even a third alter named Jake Lockley? That they each had their own quirks, habits, hang ups and preferences? That had taken some getting used to.
But it was so worth it. You quickly found yourself falling for all three. Steven was easy to love. He was open and honest and a hopeless romantic. Jake surprised you. Sure he was a bit more hedonistic than his alters, but he was also very thoughtful. You’d come home finding the dishes done, the laundry in the wash and that leak in your kitchen sink fixed. Apparently Jake was used to doing the “boring stuff grown ups do” since Steven got easily distracted and Marc got too focused on ‘the mission’.
“I’m always cleaning up their messes Babe.” Jake had winked. Before giving your butt a firm smack.
Marc on the other hand was a different story.
It had taken him longer to return your affections. Though Steven swore Marc had been smitten with you from the start. But he was slow to trust. Especially after they opened up to you about their past. And why Steven and Jake came to be in the first place.
So you took it slow with Marc. You started by learning his favorite foods and trying to make them. One fire later and Jake telling you to stick with take out as he pulled out the fire extinguisher stopped that. Poor Steven tried to assure you by trying to eat some of the babka. He chipped a tooth.
It was your touch that made Marc come around. Holding his hand at first. Then once while you were hugging Steven, they switched so Marc was fronting. You could tell by the way Marc stiffened a little. Jake would always try to cop a feel.
You had stood there a moment, just staying still, when he seemed to melt in your embrace. After that you found that he was even more cuddly than Steven was. He practically purred when you would run your fingers through his inky black curls. And after the first time you made love while he fronted, you were walking funny for a week.
So now that you were completely in love with the three of them (and still trying to figure out how you were going to explain this relationship to your mother) you began to notice something about Marc since he had finally let his guard down around you.
Steven was the bookworm and had little interest in watching movies and tv shows with you. (Though you had made him a fan of Abbott and Costello meet the Mummy.) Jake was the sports nut but Marc? You often found yourself wrapped in his arms watching cheesy old B movies and tv shows. You introduced him to Doctor Who and delighted at the childlike smile on his face as he watched the Doctor outwit his enemies.
That’s when you noticed some Captain America comics mixed in with Steven’s books. And when you went shopping, sometimes you found Marc looking through the toy aisle, gazing wistfully at the Avengers action figures and the Funko pops.
And your suspicions were confirmed when he showed you the Tomb-buster movies. How he went into near obsessive detail about the lore. It definitely reminded you of Steven’s many lectures about ancient Egypt.
Not wanting to embarrass him, you asked Jake about it. After making sure Marc wasn’t listening.
“Oh yeah Babe. Marc tries to act like me, but let’s face it. Steven ain’t the only nerd in the system.”
Then one day, you noticed something else. Steven and you had been sitting quietly and reading, when suddenly Marc switched to the front. And he instantly took off Steven’s glasses.
But seeing him turn back to the chapter he had been reading, squinting at the print, you asked him,
“Why don’t you wear the glasses?”
“They’re Steven’s.”
“But it’s the same body. And Steven needs reading glasses.”
“Glasses just aren’t for me.” Marc shook his head.
“Afraid I’ll figure out your secret?” You began to tease him.
He furrowed his brow, confused,
“What are you talking about?”
“About how you’re secretly a nerd.”
“Steven’s the nerd. Not me.”
“But Steven is a part of you. And you literally based him on the character of a Indiana Jones knock off.” You countered.
“Hey Dr. Grant is nothing like Indiana Jones okay? He doesn’t seek fortune and glory but lives for the thrill of discovery.” Marc argued. Then he stopped seeing your smirk. Dammit. He had proven your point.
A calming touch of your hand relaxed him,
“Seeing you enjoy something only makes me love you more you know? Besides…”.
You stood and climbed in his lap, putting the glasses on his face.
“Secret nerds are hot..” you purred before pulling him into a searing kiss. Priding yourself on steaming up his glasses.
And months later on their birthday when you got Marc a Dr. Steven Grant Funko pop? He definitely showed you how hot his nerdy side was.
You met on an excavation site – Marc hung around on excavation sites, but you were never sure exactly what his job was. However, he wound up sticking with you the majority of the time, practically your excavation partner. You began to fall for each other simply because you spent so much time together. He also always asked if you’re okay after a slight misstep on site: he sees you start to slip out of the corner of his eye and immediately turns to grab hold of your wrist, which you respond to by reaching your other hand out for him; he helps keep you from falling (even though it wouldn’t have been that bad of a fall, more like a trip). “Whoa, you okay?” he asks, still holding on, looking you in the eyes. / “Y-yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you say, slightly embarrassed that you tripped and slightly blushing at the way he was holding you since you practically fell into him, “thanks, thank you, sorry- I’m fine.” / “It’s okay,” he smiles reassuringly, not condescendingly, “good, that’s good that you’re good.” You both share a laugh, not sure who should let go first thankfully someone calls your name, causing you to naturally part.
Falls in love fast — even though he’s not the one to say "I love you” first, he’s definitely the one who fell in love first. He goes head over heels for you pretty quickly after getting to know you, he just keeps it to himself because he’s a smidge insecure that you might not feel the same, he worries he’d be too much for you, and he’s just trying to protect himself until he’s sure. // It was one night after a long day out on a site, Marc was walking you back to your hotel room, through the beautiful street market full of sparkling lights. “Hey, listen, um I want to tell you something,” you say staring at the group, squeezing your hands together out of nervousness. / “Oh no,” Marc chuckles, “what did I do?” / You laugh, loving his sense of humour, “everything actually,” you tease back in a semi-sassy, semi-serious tone. / “Wait,” Marc stops walking, turning to face you, “are you- are you serious?” / “Yeah,” you admit, nodding, heart racing, “cause everything you did made me fall in love you…I love you, Marc.” / He’s stunned for a moment, shifting through the emotions of having expected something bad at first to unbelief that he actually managed to get someone like you to love him. “You’re still serious?” Marc double checks, but can’t stop the smile spreading across his lips, when you nod happily with a smile of your own, he has to take a second to soak it in.
Surprise trips — he surprises you with trips a lot, usually to places where Khonshu was sending him anyway, but then he just wanted you to be along. He knew he could keep you safe, and he knew he’d need your company for his mental state. Sometimes it’s around Egypt, other times its to other ancient sites and locations. Naturally you’re ecstatic when he tells you about it. When you ask, he’ll either give you the truth or he’ll say that it was just because. He makes a judgement call on how dangerous the mission is and if it would scare you more than comfort you to know. Usually by the end of the trip you figure it out, which can lead to a little bit of a clash, but at the same time you understand that he didn’t want to scare you. The trip usually ends with an “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” as you cradle him in your arms, him hugging tightly around your waist, head on your stomach.
Learning about the suit — when you first learned that he had the ability to summon the suit, you were getting a little too close to a mission Khonshu had sent him on. He was supposed to be meeting some fairly dangerous individuals for information, but Khoshu tipped him off that he had a follower. Thinking it was someone there to kill him, he immediately summoned the suit, and you saw it all while hiding behind a pillar. When he suddenly appeared behind you, you startled. He took you by the arms, removing the mask, and hushing you. / “What on earth are you doing here?” he whispers aggressively. / “How did you-” / “What are you doing here?” He asks agains, a very serious distress in his tone. / “I got curious when I saw you leave, I’m sorry, I-” / “Please go back to the hotel, please, I will beg you if I have to,” Marc pleaded to your shock, you’d never seen him so worried. / “Okay,” you nod, easing his stress, pressing your forehead against his, “okay, I will, I’m sorry.” / Marc says thank you under his breath, before letting you go. / “Marc, can I just say one thing?” you call out, before he’s too far away, he waits patiently, “this whole suit? The glowing eyes?” you give him two thumbs up, “that’s hot shit right there.” Shaking his head, nearly breaking into a chuckle himself, he winks, summoning the hood back on.
Overprotective — Marc is a very overprotective individual by nature, so it’s no surprise that he is with you. When someone both of you don’t know gets a little too close to you for his liking, he’ll literally step in front of you, pretty subtly, or he’ll slightly reach his arm out as a way of silently asking you to get behind him. In some situations it makes you feel extremely protected and safe. Othertimes it’s just funny, like when you show up to a site and see an old friend Marc hasn’t met yet. / “My goodness, you are a sight for sore eyes,” your old friend comments coming up to you with open arms. / “Hey, whoa, hey pal,” Marc says firmly, but friendly enough to not sound too aggressive as he places himself in front of you, outstretching an arm to keep this stranger at arms length. / Laughing and shaking your head, you touch Marc’s shoulder lovingly, before peeking around him, “this is my husband, Marc, I was telling you about,” you nearly laugh as Marc realises you know this person. Clearing his throat, Marc backs down, still keeping a few defences up. You wrap your arms around his, lacing your fingers through his as you’re given a tour of the site, “down boy, he’s just a friend,” you whisper through a smile. / “I just wanted to be sure, these archeologists gotta learn not everything’s free to touch and feel up,” Marc tries to act tough, only making you laugh and lean into him.
Very physical oriented — by nature Marc is a very touch driven individual. He definitely likes to be near you and to have a hand on you when / if he can. However, Marc is NOT the person who will make other people uncomfortable with PDA. He knows times and place and has the perfect sense of how much is acceptable in different situations. Nevertheless, you have to admit, you’ve gotten quite used to his touch almost always being on you. In public he either holds your hand or has an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close. Sometimes you take the initiative by wrapping your hands around his arm, or simply reaching around his torso, indicating that you want him closer. In hotels and at home it’s all fair game, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling up against you as close as he wants, as much as he can. He’ll also tap your ass when you’re walking by or if he’s walking by you, it often gets your attention and leads to even more physical contact, but he just loves seeing your reaction.
Absolutely encouraging — no matter what your job is, he’s extremely encouraging fo ryou to chase your dreams in it. He’s like your own personal hype person. Marc definitely doesn’t stand for any self hate towards yoruself, “nah-uh, none of that, you’re gonna kick its ass, okay? You got this, you’re the most qualified person I know for this. Don’t sell yourself short,” Marc tells you when you express any doubt of whether or not you can actually do something. / If you come home complaining about someone or a boss Marc’s instantly on it, “do I need to go talk to someone,” he perks an eyebrow not so subtly, “you know maybe scare them a little and put in a good word for you?” / He’s the best at pep talks before you go into a meeting or go in to request permission to a specific site. “Listen to me,” he says, taking your hands in his, “you can do this, you will get what you ask for, because you are enough and worthy of this.” / You tilt you head to the side and avoid eye contact, “hey, hey,” he softly shakes your hands, getting yout attention, “repeat that after me?” he nods encouragingly, saying it again, slower, waiting for your response, “c’mon, I can’t hear you, I think I can even hear Khoshu repeating it, but I’m not hearing you.” / “Marc, that is not funny,” you say, wishing he wouldn’t make his own pain humorous, but you can’t help break a smile as he continues trying his best to get you to repeat it, once you do he send you off with a kiss and soft smack to the ass. / “We really need to talk about your dark sense of humour and coping mehanisms,” you say looking over your shoulder.
Khonshu — when you find out about his situation with Khonshu you begin to get curious an ask a few questions. Naturally Marc handles them all with tact, knowing that telling you would only make you curious, but it’s the random odd questions that take him off guard. // When you were patting dry your hair at a hotel, you squinted your eyes and turned to Marc on the bed, “Does he like me?” You ask out of the blue. / “Sorry, who?” Marc sweetly asks as if he’d missed something. / “Khonshu,” you shrug, saying the name easily, immediately catching Marc’s attention, “If he’s always around you, somewhere,” you gesture around, “and he can see things that you do, does he see me, can he hear me? Does he like me?” Pausing, but not long enough to let Marc speak, you gasp, “does that mean he’s seen me-“ / “Okay, I get it,” Marc stops you right there, feeling mildly anxious at the thought he could finish on his own, “I…haven’t asked him about you,” Marc decides on, trying to be casual, “so, I don’t really know what he thinks, and I’m not sure I care to know his thoughts, you’re not his business.” / You smile at his protectiveness kicking in, leaning over to kiss him before leaving the room, Marc watching your steps. / “She is quite a catch,” Khoshu chimes in. / “Stay out of it,” Marc snaps.
Disappears sometimes — the number one thing that puts a stress on your relationship is that he does disappear from time to time without notice. You almost always assume it’s because of Khonshu, but it scares you that you don’t even know where to start looking for him if something happened. He doesn’t want to worry you, but he doesn’t want to scar eyou either, because he always claims he can handle it. At first you thought it was a trust issue, but you began to realise there was more at play with Marc’s personal mental state. He’d forget things sometimes, uncertain if he did them or not, he’d lose track of the days a lot easier and slip into deep depressions. That’s when you realise Marc has a lot going on, mentally and physically, things take a toll on him, but nevertheless he always pushes through it. You’re his one point of security, his reason to stay alive, and his light out of the tunnel half the time. You ask how you can best be there for him, sometimes you’re given an anser, other times he just wraps you in his arms and claims he’s fine. It’s hard to get close when he’s gotten so used to surviving on his own, and you can’t blame him after everything he’s been through. So through it all, you’re there for him whatever that looks like.
Me: OMG yes honey! I love you! Let me give you a hug. Aww my precious baby! I love you so much. You deserve the world. Such a cinnamon roll. I will kill everyone that dares to hurt you.
