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.
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.
Requested by anonymous: ‘I saw that you were looking for moon knight requests. So I had this idea for established relationships between Marc x reader and Steven x reader. Where marc/Steven are out doing recon for a potential big bad at this club. Where the reader also happens to be. They see her dancing with another guy, who is just a friend, and both of their reactions to jealousy/how they deal with the situation’
Characters:Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader
Meanings:(Y/N)=Your name
Warnings:Jealousy, possessiveness, swearing, some fluff
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“I feel so old right now.” Steven whined as they entered the club, the unrecognisable, blaring music made him wince, and the sight of huge crowds of people made him feel anxious.
“Well, we’re not here for a good time. Keep an eye out for this guy, Konshu really isn’t happy with him.” Marc replied, already looking around the place.
Konshu had them on another mission, they were after someone who cheated people out of their money through a made up religion, one loosely based on the Egyptian gods. This man told people that if they wanted to be safe from all the new demons and aliens entering our world, they could trust him to ease their sorrows. He might as well have flipped Konshu off right in his face.
Marc leaned againd the bar as he ordered a drink, facing the people whilst he still looked for their guy. However, someone else caught his attention. He sighed, causing Steven to panic.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Our girlfriend is here.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. I know she said she was going out tonight, but it just had to be this club, didn’t it?”
There you were, in all your glory having a great time with your friends. You hadn’t been out for so long, having to miss nights out because of work being so hectic recently. Now you really had a chance to let done your hair and party with a good drink in your hand.
Marc and Steven were in awe of you, they always were but you looked so gorgeous in your new dress. It was fitting to your body that they loved so much, a beautiful colour on you, and it was quite short. Though Marc had gently voiced his concerns about the length of the dress before you left, he couldn’t help but think of ravishing you in it.
“Should we go over?”
“No, not until this is dealt with.”
Marc and Steven couldn’t help but be distracted by you as they tried to track down this bad guy. Although they were being thorough with their search, their gaze would always flick back to you. They loved watching you dance, they loved seeing you happy. They just wished they could be down there with you.
“I don’t think our sources were being entirely truthful, Marc.” Steven sighed. They had gone around this club dozens of times.
“No, I think you’re right buddy. But, I don’t think we should leave just yet.”
“(Y/N)?”
“Yep, might as well enjoy the rest of the night.”
Marc had a small smile on his face as he made his way towards you, luckily having spotted you within a few minutes. He was making his way through the crowd, avoiding flying limbs and hair being whipped around, when he saw you dancing with someone else, another man.
“Who’s this guy?”
Marc’s smile had now vanished, a deep frown on his face as he stormed towards you. You were so in your element that you never noticed him until he bumped into you.
“Hey!” you complained before seeing Marc.“Babe, you’re here!”
He let you throw your arms around him in glee, glaring at the man you had been dancing with.
“What are you doing here? This is a nice surprise.”
“Work.” he bluntly replied.
“Oh, well, are you finished with that?”
“Yeah. Hey, who’s your friend?”
“This is Max. We work together.”
“Do you now?”
Marc had been staring at Max the whole time. Max was uncomfortable, trying to carry on dancing with their other friends.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
“Nothing.”
“There is. Babe, are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Not physically.”
“Why don’t you join us? It will be nice to let loose for a bit.”
“No, I think I’d rather go home.”
“Right, well, I’m not going to enjoy myself anymore. I can’t stay here with a guilty conscious knowing something is wrong. Just wait a minute.”
You started saying goodbye to your friends, briefly explaining why you were leaving. You ignored their pleas for you to stay, knowing that they thought your boyfriend was being controlling (they hadn’t been formally introduced, it was something you and the boys were trying to figure out. Who would you introduce in the first place?). But Marc or Steven could be seriously hurt, or Konshu could have said something to rile them up. It wasn’t worth staying out for a few more hours when you would just be worrying about them.
Though mad, Marc still took your hand, easily getting you two out of the crowds and the club.
“Steve buddy, you’re going to have to take over for a while.” Marc suddenly said.
Steven had no time to protest as they switched. Once in control of the body, he looked down at you, how confused you looked.
“What’s going on Steven?”
“We’ll talk back at the flat, yeah?”
You wanted to talk about it now, you were impatient. The mix of booze and euphoria from the good amount of hours dancing had given you a slight confidence boost, and you were going to speak up until you noticed Steven’s expression; he looked hurt, like someone had said something horrible to him. It clicked that back in the club Marc had asked who you were dancing with, but his name didn’t matter, it was another man at the end of the day. You decided to wait until you were home to talk, the guilt already eating away at you.
Steven hadn’t held your hand like he usually did, didn’t let you walk into the flat first either. He wasn’t intentionally being rude (you hoped), his mind was elswhere. It was easy to see that Steven didn’t know what to do or where to stand, so you started the ocnversation.
“I think I know why you’re both upset.”
No reply.
“You saw me dancing with Max and thought it was a random guy. I’m sorry that you thought we were…flirting, I guess, but I would never do that to either of you!”
“We know but…it still hurt (Y/N). And you were so nonchalant about it too. As if it didn’t matter that you, our girlfriend, was dancing with another man.”
“But we’re friends!”
“He might like you!”
“He doesn’t! He has a girlfriend too.”
“Some people aren’t faithful.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No, not you, I meant Max.”
“He’s a good friend of mine. And even if he did make advances towards me I would immediately push him away! I love you two, I could never love anyone else.”
Steven was startignt to believe you. You were sincere, you weren’t causing a screaming match. Yes, your tone was stern but because you were trying to make your point.
“It’s just…well, I’m not exactly the manliest man, Marc’s better at that than me. So sometimes when other men look at you, I feel like you would want someone who can hold their own a bit better than me. Someone more confident. And sometimes I wonder if you’re better off with just Marc.”
Even Marc felt a pang in his chest. You stood up, walking over to your boyfriend.
You spoke softly.“Do you hear yourself right now? Steven, how much have you gone through and overcome? You discovered someone else living in your own body, you became a superhero! You’re so smart, and you constantly make me laugh with your cheesy jokes. Not to mention the sweetest man I have ever met, who I know I can go to for anything, whether it be a problem or just someone to talk to about a new TV show. I’m so in love with you, and I’m in love with you because of those things. You’re you Steven, and you’re amazing. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel any other way sometimes, I won’t do it again.”
Steven glanced towards the mirror.
“I accept her apology.”
Marc groaned.“Don’t give in so easily! This isn’t fair on us.”
“(Y/N) has apologised and explained herself. Perhaps if you have a problem, you should speak to her.”
Marc was stubborn, but he also wanted to prove a point to Steven. She shouldn’t have been dancing with Max in the first place. They switched again, Steven sitting back and watching the car crash that was about to take place.
“Marc, I really don’t want a screaming match.”
“You can’t expect me to be OK with all of this.”
“Were you not listening to what I said to Steven? You two, my boyfriends who I love and adore equally, have nothing to worry about. How many times have I laid awake with you when you can’t sleep? How many-”
“Don’t try to guilt trip me. It might work on Steven, but not on me.”
“Hey!”
“What?! I’m not! I’m trying to explain to you that Max is nothing but a friend and co-worker who I happened to be dancing with the moment you spotted me. I have danced with everyone else tonight. Neither of us are disloyal to our partners, and it actually offends me that you think I would even cheat on you in the first place.”
“I worry for your safety. So many men look at you-”
“And so many women look at you! It doesn’t matter whether it’s Marc or Steven. You’re incredibly handsome. Do you know how many times I’ve caught women and men staring at you? I’m not trying to turn this on you Marc. I’m sorry to you too, I know what your first thought must have been. But you have to trust me, I would never betray you like that. I love you with all my being.”
Marc knew that he was just riled up and pissed off. He needed to let off some steam (especially since he had wasted a night on a mission that got no where), and unfortunately you were in the firing line. He let out a big sigh.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too. I just love you too much to lose you.”
“I know it’s out of love and not spite babe. Are we friends again?”
He smiled, pulling you into himself.“Best friends.”
“You can be so cute sometimes. I think you’re turning into Steven a little bit.”
Requested by anonymous:‘Imagine Reader meeting Steve at the museum and both are super shy but since then they come across each other everyday and it’s really cute ’
Characters:Steven Grant x Reader
Meanings:(Y/N)=Your name
Warnings:Just fluff
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
(Y/N) beamed as she stepped into the museum. She hadn’t visited since she was little, it had changed so much, but that only meant she had more exhibits to see. She didn’t care that she was by herself, no one was there to distract her. She could really focus on the history on display.
Her whole day was spent there, and a day we’ll spent in (Y/N)’s opinion. She knew there were others around her that also appreciated the displays and information set out, though there were also a lot of children either fascinated or bored during their trip. Just like when she was a little girl, she ended the trip with a visit to the gift shop.
Steve was obviously bored, repricing items that were headed for clearance, the stupid and inaccurate toys mocked him almost. As he carelessly stuck new price stickers on the items, he noticed a woman waltz in, staring a little too long. He couldn’t help it, she was beautiful. Steven assumed she would walk through to the exit, it was always kids and their parents who stayed to buy something. He was surprised when she saw her jaw drop at the sight of something.
(Y/N) rushed over to the Egyptian section, spotting the newest book by her favourite author. It was another installment from the author who studied all aspects of Egyptian life, and it was exclusively released to the museum first. She picked up one from the pile, seeing that she had grabbed one of the signed copies. With a big grin on her face, she made her way to the till, already wanting to flick through the papers.
Steven clumsily fumbled with the sticker machine, almost dropping it on the floor as he scurried over. He tried to play it off by laughing when he got there, greeting the woman with blushing cheeks.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” she smiled back.
“You seemed excited to pick this one up.”
“Yeah, well, I have all the other books in the collection so far. And I realised literally as I walked in here that the new one is being sold here so of course I have to get it.”
Steven was in awe. There were hardly any customers that would know of this author, let alone want to buy a book from the museum in the first place.
“I have all the books too!” Steven exclaimed.“Volume one is always my favourite though.”
“Egyptian gods? Yeah, that’s a good one. You’re so lucky to work in a place like this.”
“The gift shop? Nah, it’s not as good as being on the floor, you know, like a tour guide.”
“That does sound fun.”
“The shop or the tours?”
She laughed.“Sorry, I have to go with the tours.”
He let out a short chuckle as he scanned the book, grabbing a gift bag as she got out her card.
“Oh, I have one of those member cards to scan!” she quickly whipped it out.
“Oh cool, so you’ve got yearly access to the museum.” he took it from her to scan.
“Yep, it was a present from my parents. I’ve just moved to London because of my new job, but they knew I would want to come here all the time. I was so excited when they gave it to me, it was even better than the new TV they helped me buy.” (Y/N) froze before she could talk any further.“Sorry, I talk a lot when I get excited.”
This shop assistant was so cute, and here she was embarrassing herself. She saw his name was Steven from the name tag, noting that it was with a 'V’ and not a 'ph’. As he returned her card, he dropped it on the counter, both of them fumbling to pick it up, cringing as their hands brushed multiple times.
“So, that’s thirteen pounds and fifty pence please.” Steven said when they recovered.
She tapped her phone on the card machine, thanking him as he put the receipt in the bag and slid it over.
“Will you be visiting again soon?” Steven dared to ask.
“Yeah, I think I most definitely will be.”
They shared a smile before she walked away, shoulders tensing up from how giddy she was.
“My name is Steven by the way!” he called after her.
(Y/N) turned around.“I know. Because of the name tag! I’m not a stalker!”
He nodded as they laughed again, (Y/N) about to walk away when she remembered she hadn’t told him her name.
“Oh, I’m (Y/N) by the way. It was really nice to meet you.”
They were both bashful as their conversation ended. Steven had a bit more spring in his step for the rest of the day, hoping (Y/N) would become a regular visitor who he would be seeing more often. (Y/N) now had another reason to come to the museum, maybe she would grow the confidence to speak to him for more than five minutes.
The week passed, Steven being nagged by Donna and (Y/N) was settling into her new workplace. But it was now Saturday, the weekend, it was time for (Y/N) to head to the museum again. She got up extra early this time, hoping to catch Steven before the rush. Although she had been in high spirits the whole way there, she halted outside the doors, wondering if Steven was even working. Of course (Y/N) would still enjoy her time there, though she had wanted to talk to Steven again.
(Y/N) felt silly as she walked in, scanning her membership card. She had dressed up more, made an effort. It was still a casual look, she just wanted to give off a good impression to Steven. Who was she kidding? She had never even been asked on a date, how was she going to speak with this guy?
Although she tried to walk around the exhibits, take down her own notes of anything interesting, she couldn’t keep her mind off of Steven. He was just so handsome, and cute, and so adorable when he spoke. It was clear he was shy too, though that made him more attractive. They also shared a big interest, something they were both passionate about. (Y/N) really hoped he was working today.
Steven had dashed through the museum, running late for work again. He prayed Donna wouldn’t catch him, hopefully she hadn’t noticed his absence yet. Luckily there weren’t many visitors yet, so he got away with running through the halls. But he spotted someone familiar, only for a second, but it still made him stop, almost skidding across the room on the polished floors. It was her, and she looked beautiful.
“(Y/N)?” he cautiously said as he approached her.
“Steven!”
The way she said his name gave him butterflies.
“Long time no see.” he joked.
“I did say I would be a regular.”
“That’s great, not many people devote their time to the museum.”
“I love it, I always have.”
There was a short silence before an idea popped into his head.“Um …I was actually wondering…My lunch break is at one, did you, like, want to have lunch together or something?”
(Y/N) felt herself blushing, heart racing. Would this be a date?
“Yeah, I’d love that!”
Too enthusiastic (Y/N).
“Great! I’ll meet you by the Egyptian section?” Steven hoped it wasn’t too on the nose.
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Steven nodded, mumbling out 'bye’ before he really had to make sure he got to the shop before Donna. (Y/N) was relieved that she had made an effort into her outfit, though she knew Steven ultimately wouldn’t have minded what she wore.
One o'clock took it’s time to get to. Both Steven and (Y/N) had glanced at the clock or phone too many times. Steven had to deal with customers bribing their bratty children with toys, whilst (Y/N) couldn’t concentrate on any of the information she read. Her eyes would skim over the words but nothing would register. When it was five to one, (Y/N) made her way to the meeting point, trying to look around for Steven ut not making it too obvious.
Steven had his lunchbox and flask in his hands, quickly making his way to the Egyptian area. He was excited, could this be a date? Oh, what if it was? He kicked himself for not asking her out properly, they could have at least gone to a nice cafe nearby. It was too late now anyway, as he had spotted her.
“Hi.” Steven grinned.
She turned around at the sound of his voice.“Hi. Oh you were smart bringing a packed lunch. I had to go buy mine.”
“Oh, I would have bought it for you! I was the one who suggested lunch in the first place.”
“It’s OK, I really don’t mind.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
She nodded.“So, where shall we sit?”
“I’ve got just the place.”
He guided her through the halls of artifacts, finding a bench pressed against a wall. Opposite was a huge tapestry, it was faded but you could still clearly make out what was weaved on it; there were pictures of God’s and humans, (Y/N) knew what it was instantly.
“Journey to the afterlife.” she muttered.
“Yeah, I just thought, lunch with a view.” Steven nervously said.
“A very good view indeed.”
They tucked into their lunches, speaking when they weren’t chewing about the piece in front of them. Steve knew he didn’t have a lot of time for his break, but there was so much he wanted to know about her.
“Can I ask, what got you so interested in all this?”
“Egyptians?”
He nodded.
“I dunno, I think… Well for starters, I love all history, I could talk about anything in the past, you know, Tudors, Romans, Aztecs, Victorians. But, something just drew me to this, I found it all so beautiful and fascinating. I wish I had persued it in uni or something, and not just as a hobby.”
“Why didnt you?”
“My parents have always been supportive, but we weren’t very well off. I think they were worried that I would end up with little money if I went down that route, they encouraged me to do something other than history. And I do like my job, I’ve got good colleagues and I’m able to afford rent in the capital! It’s not the greatest flat in the world I’ll admit but it’s still a place I’m paying for.”
“Good for you. That’s really admirable.”
“Thanks Steven, that’s a very sweet thing to say.”
He mentally high fived himself, he was doing a good job here.
“What about you? Why aren’t you a tour guide?”
“Same sort of story really. I would love to be one. It just feels good telling people all this information you know, and then seeing their eyes light up at things they never knew about. The kids faces are funny when they hear about how mummies were actually made.”
“I can imagine. At least we can still enjoy the exhibits I suppose.”
“Yeah.” Steven glanced at his watch, he only had ten minutes left, and he had to be back at the shop sharp.“Hey, um, I was thinking…Maybe we make this a regular thing? And perhaps we could also go out for dinner sometime?”
(Y/N) tried not to giggle in glee, feeling herself turn red.“Like, a date?”
“Yeah, only if you want it to be. I would like that.”
“Yes. I would gladly go out with you. On a date.”
“Perfect!”
They were smiling widely at one another, not sure of the next move to make.
“I have to get back to work, but will I see you on your way out?”
“Of course. I really liked having lunch together.”
“Me too. Discuss details of our 'date’ later?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”
“Laters gators.”
Steven turned quickly before he could regret what he said. Why? Why did he have to end it like that? At least he could be happy knowing he had a date with a girl he really fancied. And he was also looking forward to her finishing her visit, he had to think of somewhere to go now.
(Y/N)’s cheeks were aching from how much she was smiling. She had a date! It was her first date! What was she going to wear? Should she bring a bottle of wine? But they were surely going out so why would she do that? (Y/N) had to remind herself that they hadn’t even said what they were doing, that would be discussed later. Just like before, (Y/N) couldn’t concentrate on anything in front of her, daydreaming about her date with Steven. She was going to have a shorter trip today, just so she could see Steven sooner, she thought. What a great reason to visit the museum every week.
Summary: After a hard day, all (Y/N) wants to do us rant to her boyfriends. But Marc ends up making things worse, and becomes jealous of Steven who seems to solve everything.
Characters: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader
Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name
Warnings: Swearing, arguing, fluff
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
(Y/N) was frustrated, and that was putting it lightly. She had the worst morning at work, despite only being in for half a day, then when she went to her friend’s birthday lunch, all two of the girls could do was argue with each other; turns out, one of them had been sleeping with the other girl’s boyfriend, so the argument was justified, except for when they began to get physical with one another. In fact, the whole week had been going downhill for her.
She could crashed on the sofa as soon as she got in the flat. Dragging her feet along the floor, she mumbled a hello to the two fish, before throwing herself back onto the sofa. As she kicked off her shoes, she heard the bathroom door open, Marc walking out. She knew who was present now, but it was incredibly confusing a few months ago.
“Woah, what happened to you?” Marc asked as he approached her.
She didn’t like how he worded that.“You could just say hello and ask how I am.”
“I just did.”
“No, Marc, no.” Steven could already see this going bad.
(Y/N) huffed, rubbing her eyes.“I’ve had the shittiest day. So my manager had a go at me because I was working a half day, she called me selfish and not a team player, even though she was happy to book it off for me all those weeks ago. Then I was relieved to go meet up with the girls, thinking we would have a lovely meal together. But nope. Turns out Lisa has been sleeping with Erika’s boyfriend, and it may as well have been WWE in that restaurant. And just this whole week really. Everyone has been negative, nothing is getting done. Urgh, it’s just been a lot.”
“Well, it’s done now.”
Marc didn’t mean to sound blunt, he was genuinely having a normal conversation. However, (Y/N) took it the wrong way.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened whilst I was out?”
“What? No? Why would you ask?”
“Your tone, it’s just very sharp right now.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“Babe, you didn’t even say hello when I came in.”
“Neither did you.”
She huffed.“Whatever.”
“What have I done wrong?”
“Are you listening to yourself Marc?”
“Nothing. Look, I’m just upset about the day I’ve had.”
“Then leave it at the door, it’s done now.”
“Maybe I should take over-”
“Marc! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Marc was genuinely confused, growing angry over something so little.“What I meant was just forget about it! It’s happened, you’re home, there’s nothing else you can do.”
“You don’t have to sound so cruel about it! I just wanted to rant to you, get all my feelings out. Instead you’ve just pissed me off even more.”
She stood from the sofa, throwing her handbag to the floor as she made her way over to the bed. Stripping herself of her coat, (Y/N) said nothing as she laid down, curling up into a ball facing away from Marc.
“Look what you’ve done.”
“Me?!” Marc harshly whispered, whipping around to face a mirror where Steven was glaring back.“What the hell just happened? I don’t know what I’ve done!”
“Let me take over, it will be better if I handle it.”
“No, I’m going to deal with this, I don’t need your help.”
Before Steven could argue back, Marc approached (Y/N), sitting on the edge of the bed. Although he was determined to sort this, he didn’t know where to start.
“Do…do you want a hug?”
(Y/N) rolled over to look at him in disbelief. He had no clue what he had done or how to comfort someone.
“Marc, you’re going to make this worse if you keep talking.”
“What’s with the attitude?”
“I’m not your teenage daughter Marc, speak to me like an adult, like your girlfriend.”
“I’ll speak to you like an adult when you act like one.”
“Mate.”
Now Marc knew he had fucked up. (Y/N) shook her head, he saw the tears begin to fall. She rolled back over, her voice snappy as she spoke.
“Go away Marc.”
That didn’t mean for Marc to physically leave the flat. That meant she wanted him gone and Steven to be with her instead. He hated when she did this. It made him feel invalid. She never told Steven to go away. But he was angry, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the situation.
Steven quickly took over, quicker than expecting, gasping a little when he had the control. He had to pick up the pieces, something that annoyed him. Marc had to learn.
“(Y/N)?” he softly said, he was so different to Marc.“Love, do you want to talk?”
When she didn’t move, Steven cautiously moved closer, slowly lying down behind her, spooning her as he wrapped one arm around her. He kissed her bare shoulder, feeling her body shake as she started crying.
“(Y/N), what’s wrong?, has something besides today happened?”
“No, it’s a mix of things.” (Y/N) cried, gripping onto the arm wrapped around her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“He’ll be listening.”
“Who? Marc?”
“It’s just…it’s not just him, for starters. Yes, this week has been hell. Honestly, coming home to you two is always great, it’s been such a relief. But Marc just has to ruin it. I can’t say anything without a remark, or if something annoys me he has to quip back. I get you’re two different people, but after days like these I just want to get my feelings out of my system and cuddle. Marc doesn’t get that.”
Marc was listening to everything she said. He felt like a dick. He understood why (Y/N) always wanted Steven when she was upset. It was true that he was better at handling it. It hurt that he was the reason she was crying though.
“You know he cares about you right? He might not be as soft as I am, but he does.”
“I know, and I feel bad for saying stuff like this. It’s how I feel though.”
“Dont feel bad, you’re expressing your feelings.”
“I can’t help it. Especially after all you guys do, you don’t exactly want to come back from a fight to listen to your girlfriend complain about her normal life.”
“Yeah, sometimes the bad guys are easier.”
She let out a little giggle. Steven smiled at the sound.
“He’s so mad at me, I can feel it.” (Y/N) sniffled.
“No, he’s never mad at you.”
“Yes he is, Steven.”
“I would use the word annoyed.”
“I guess that’s a little better. Do you see him when he gets angry? He looks like he wants to shout and scream at me.”
“I do?”
“I’m not scared of him, I know he’s not going to hurt me.”
“I would never.”
“I hate arguing with either of you. You’re just easier to resolve with.”
“I think you two should talk.”
“Not yet, please. I need a moment.”
Steven agreed, letting them lie in silence together. He always wanted (Y/N) to be happy, it hurt him so much to see her cry. However, Marc had to step up and take responsibility for these arguments; Steven feared that Marc would push (Y/N) away if he didn’t change.
“I need to speak to her.”
“Not yet.” Steven mumbled back.
“Hm?” (Y/N) perked up.“Is that Marc?”
“Yeah. He wants to talk.”
“That makes a change.” she winced at her tone.“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.”
“Maybe you should talk now. He’s really regretting what he said.”
(Y/N) thought for a moment. She was nervous to speak to him. Although she knew they would make up and put it behind them, she wasn’t in the mood to start crying again. Slipping out of Steven’s hold, she sat up, bringing her knees up to her chest. Wiping at her wet cheeks, (Y/N) sighed.
“OK, let me speak to him.”
Her gaze was elsewhere as they switched. The bed shifted beside her, Marc now present and looking unsure.
“I’m sorry for my tone earlier. I don’t realise how much I sound like a douchebag at times. And you know Steven is the total opposite of me, you two have never argued.”
“I understand that’s how you speak sometimes. But I had a hard day and it really wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”
Marc cautiously inched closer.“I know. I’ll work on that, I promise. Steven is just so much better at being sympathetic. I never want to see you in a state like this, it pains me. I’m…I’m just crap at consoling people. Which I then get annoyed about because I can’t do anything to help.”
“I appreciate you trying though Marc.”
“You know I love you, more than anything else in this world.”
“I know. And I love you just as much. I’m also sorry.”
“For what?”
“For always dumping my negativity on you. I could come back a bit happier and also make sure you’ve had a good day before letting it all out of my system.”
“That’s what we’re here for though. Each of us support each other. And how many times have I come back to you bloodied and bruised up?”
“More times than I would like.”
He placed a gentle kiss to her cheek.“Are we friends again?”
She looked at him with a smile.“Friends.”
They kissed, and it was so sweet. (Y/N) got up onto her knees, hugging him close. They needed to speak about this.
“Can we lie down together now?” Marc mumbled into her shoulder.
Without saying anything, (Y/N) fell onto her back, pulling Marc down with her. They laughed as they adjusted into a more comfortable position, both content. Steven was smiling to himself, Marc could be a softie sometimes.
Summary:Unbeknownst to Marc, Steven has a girlfriend. This girlfriend also doesn’t know that Marc exists, as well as Steven’s odd sleeping rituals.
Characters:Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader
Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name
Warnings: Just fluff and it’s long
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Did you really have to be that harsh on those guys?” Steven moaned as he sat up in bed, his body aching.
“Oh, I’m sorry, would you have preferred to be beaten to a pulp back there?” Marc snapped back.
“Alright, alright, I get it. I thought the suit was supposed to be all healing, why am I aching?”
“You slept in a weird position last night.”
Steven just shook his head, slowly walking towards the cupboard with cereal in it. As he poured himself a bowl, he heard his phone ding, smiling when he saw who’s name popped up.
“(Y/N)? Who’s that? And why are you smiling so much?”
Steven ignored him, unlocking the phone and instantly tapping on the notification. He had two messages from her, both sweet, just like her.
‘Good morning hope you’re OK after what Donna said to you. That sounds terrible! Sometimes I wish I worked at that museum with you just so I could give her a piece of my mind! I can’t wait to see you this weekend, I’ve really missed you xx’
Marc was really confused as he read the text. How did he not know about this woman? And how did Steven manage to even talk to a girl?
'Hi, are you OK? I tried to face time earlier but you didn’t answer. Obviously it’s fine if you’re busy, but I’m guessing your sleep is messed up again. Maybe we can go to a doctor together about it? If you want that is, no pressure my love. Anyway, I hope you’re sleeping well, I’ll message you in the morning as usual. Sweet dreams xx’
“Steven, do you have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I do, actually. Why do you sound surprised?”
“What does she look like?”
“None of your business! Besides, it’s all messed up now, innit? Now you’re in the picture, and how would she react to that? This relationship is still new, I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You’ve got to tell her at some point.”
“I know but-”
Steven was interrupted when someone knocked on the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone or anything to be delivered today. Maybe it was the postman that had a parcel for his neighbours who weren’t in. Steven took the blue strip off the door, hiding his body behind the door, he was still in his pyjamas after all. However, his mouth dropped open when his girlfriend stood there.
“Holy shit, Steven.”
“(Y/N), h-hi, what are you doing here?” he fully opened the door, forgetting how he looked.
“Sorry, I know I should have called or text before coming over. I just…I was starting to worry about you.”
“You have to tell me how you picked up this girl.”
“Worry? Why would you worry?”
“It’s four in the afternoon. I was supposed to text you this morning and during work like I usually do but I was late today, and then I had to basically cover everyone else so I didn’t have time. I’ve felt so bad.”
“No, no sweetheart, why would you feel bad? I’m the one who’s been sleeping all day.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not at work today.”
“You remembered my schedule?”
“You sent me a copy of your rota, just in case sleep gets the better of you.”
“Steven, she’s way out of your league.”
Steven was slightly offended by Marc’s words, but he knew it was true. He too had been shocked when (Y/N) started a conversation with him. She was gorgeous, and one of the best things about her was how caring she was. (Y/N) never asked too many questions about his sleep trouble, she just made sure she was able to help in some way. Even if that meant giving Steven his space and not staying over at each others places.
(Y/N) admitted (just to herself) it hurt that she couldn’t lay in bed with Steven. They couldn’t watch a film snuggled up on the sofa for fear Steven may fall asleep. Although it wasn’t the most important thing, (Y/N) did want to sleep with Steven, as in, make love with one another. Not because she was horny, but because she loved him and she felt that sex was another layer of connection between a couple. However, (Y/N) wasn’t going to risk pushing Steven away over sex, he meant so much to her.
“Can I come in?”
She had been at his before for dinner, multiple times, but that’s when Steven cleared away the sand and hid his leg shackle under the bed. He totally forgot about that as he invited her in, eyes popping out of his head when he turned around after closing the door. It was too late, she had already seen it.
“Steven, what’s this?” she asked, not sure how to take it.
“It’s…it’s for the sleep, I swear! I used to get up in the middle of the night, end up hurting myself. And, and the sand is to see if I have stepped out of bed. Oh, and this,” he held up the crumpled blue tape in his hand,“I put this on the door so I can figure out if I’ve left the flat.”
“You do all this because of your sleep habits?”
Shit, shit, shit, this was it. (Y/N) was going to think he was a freak, she didn’t see how crazy he was. He could envision it now. She was going to rapidly pick up her things and scurry out of there, deleting his number and him out of her life forever. He couldn’t lose her, she was the best thing in his life right now.
Steven was wary as she slowly approached him, he had no idea what she was going to do or what her reaction would be. (Y/N) looked upset, and he didn’t know what that meant. She snaked her arms around his waist, cuddling him close as she rested her head on his chest.
“I’m so sorry Steven. You should have told me about this, I could have helped…somehow.”
Steven was so relieved, instantly hugging her back. He didn’t realise how much he needed a hug right now. (Y/N) rubbed circles on his back, soothing the tension away. How had he found someone so perfect?
“What? She’s not running away? Steven, you’ve literally found the ideal woman. Either that or she’s as crazy as you and me.”
“So, you’re not running away?” Steven squeaked out.
She squeezed him.“No you donut. I’m staying, and I’m going to help. In future, just let me know when you need help, OK?”
“I will.”
“So, I was thinking, since I’m here, maybe I could stay over?”
(Y/N) had just come out with it, she had been so nervous about asking. It was a sensitive subject, but she knew she had to just ask, otherwise it would never happen. The wait felt far too long as she saw Steven thinking about it. No, don’t banc down now, see what he says!
“You’re taking too long to answer buddy.”
“Yeah, yeah why not? As long as you’re OK with my…sleep habits.”
(Y/N) grinned as soon as he agreed, and Steven couldn’t ignore that. There was guilt creeping up. It was normal for couples to stay with one another, he kept avoiding that. He just hoped that Marc would take a break this evening and actually let him sleep. Now all he was worrying about was (Y/N) actually being here.
“Uh, I’m afraid the place is a bit messy, I haven’t had much time to clean up. And I don’t have any food for us.”
“Oh, I mean, I can stay another night-”
“No, I didn’t mean for you to go away! I, I was just, um, trying to cover myself, like, just explain why my life is such a mess.”
She giggled.“So dramatic. Why don’t we just order a takeaway, and if you want we can tidy up the place whilst we wait?”
He nodded, surprised when he quickly pecked him on the lips. (Y/N) went to grab her phone, looking up where was best to order from. Steven quietly excused himself to the bathroom, letting out a breath as he locked the door. He had to calm down, he was going to have a heart attack otherwise.
“Steven.”
Marc startled him, making Steven whip around to look in the mirror. Marc didn’t look impressed.
“Would you stop stressing, you’re going to start sweating.”
“How can I not stress? You’re here with me, (Y/N) has shown up, and we’ve never spent the night together.”
“Never?”
“No!”
“She seems sweet, she’s gorgeous too.”
“Oi, don’t look at her, alright? What if I do something wrong?”
“If she’s stuck around after seeing the leg shackle, I think you can’t do anymore wrong.”
“Babe, you want the usual?” (Y/N) called.
“Yeah love, yeah that would be great. Thank you.”
“Right, you’re going to go out there and have a nice evening, simple as. I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”
“Because I love her!”
Steven started to smirk.“You haven’t told each other yet, have you?”
“No, didn’t want to scare her away.”
“Again, I think she would have run after the restraints.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve faced monsters and bad guys, this will be a piece of cake.”
Marc politely nodded, not wanting to crush Steven’s tiny bit of confidence. Steven was smiling to him, straightening out his top and tidying up his hair. He missed Marc shaking his head as Steven left the bathroom, seeing (Y/N) already starting the dishes he had left.
“You didn’t have to do those.” He said as he stood next to her.
“You look like you need some help babe. No offence.”
Steven was hesitant, but he wrapped one arm around her waist, hesitantly kissing the side of her head. She knew he was still new to PDA, so this was very sweet of him. Leaning into his embrace, she almost squealed when he rested his head on top of hers. When he suggested drying up, (Y/N) told him to leave it, drying her own hands before guiding him to the sofa.
“Can I ask about the shackle? Like, how did you decide to use one?”
“I don’t know really.” they sat opposite each other, but their legs were tangled up, holding hands still.“It just got really bad at one point, I was a danger to myself.”
“That’s terrible. So you’ve been going through this by yourself?”
He nodded.
“Well, I’m here now. I’m going to help you. Everyone deserves a good night sleep.”
“Oh, sweetheart you don’t have any of your things with you!”
(Y/N) glanced down at her clothes, almost smacking her hand over her face in stupidity.“Ah, yeah, well, I wasn’t really expecting to stay.”
“You can borrow my stuff if you like.”
“Is that OK?”
“Yeah. I’m sure I’ve got a spare toothbrush too, don’t really fancy using the same one do you?”
“No, not really. Thank you babe.” she leaned over to kiss him.“Do you mind if I get changed into something comfier now?”
“Yeah, yeah. Uh, let me, let me find something for you.”
Although he had offered his clothes, he had no idea what to give to her. A t-shirt was fine, maybe a jumper to throw over if she was cold, but what about the bottom half? He only had a spare pair of jogging bottoms, and though they would be huge in her, it was the best he could do. He couldn’t deny he was excited to see her in his things, she was going to look so cute.
And once she emerged from the bathroom, he couldn’t help but shyly smile at her.“You look adorable.”
(Y/N) flet herself blushing, he was too cute.“If you say so babe. I’m glad you think that anyway.”
Marc kept quiet as the couple spent time together, observing Steven’s behaviour. He was still dorky and shy, but it was as if they had been together for years. Steven sometimes made bold moves, kissing her randomly, pulling her back into hugs, playing with her hair, they even fed each other; he hadn’t seen him this confident before.
Steven did the washing up this time, glancing back at (Y/N) on the sofa, who had now picked up a book to flip through. He caught Marc staring at him in a nearby mirror.
“So, things are going well.”
Steven didn’t reply, not wanting to look crazy in front of his girlfriend.
“OK, I know you’re not going to speak to me but I can feel your heart beating and it doesn’t sound healthy. You’re just sleeping beside each other, it’s not like she’s expecting you to have sex.”
Steven fumbled with the plate he was holding, quickly recovering before throwing a smile at (Y/N).
“You’ve got a good one here, Steven. She’s in love with you.”
It felt weird to hear Marc being sentimental. Why was he being so supportive? Wouldn’t he want (Y/N) out of the picture to make it easier for him? But that word, love, Steven wasn’t sure if it was the right time. Especially after the things she had seen in his flat.
Steven heard her yawn, looking over his shoulder to see (Y/N) snuggling deeper into the oversized jumper. He remembered she had been at work all day, she hadn’t had a day off yet. He wasn’t tired, seeing as he slept all day, but he would pretend to be to let her sleep sooner.
“Tired?”
She lazily nodded as she rubbed her eyes.“Sorry, long day.”
“Don’t apologise. We can get snuggled up if you want.”
“Snuggled up? Really?”
“Aren’t you wide awake?”
“Nah, I can nap. Or I could read for a bit whilst you sleep. I’ve got a night light I can use.”
(Y/N) stood up, stretching as she spoke.“Steven Grant, you are the most adorable and sweetest thing I have ever seen.”
He blushed, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. (Y/N) kissed him again before going to brush her teeth, the pair sharing a shy smile before closing the door. Steven rushed to the bed, wondering how on Earth he was going to get rid of all the sand in more or less two minutes. He tried to scoop some up into a cereal bowl but there was too much. He froze when he heard the door open.
“What are you doing?”
“Um, I’m trying to get rid of the sand. For you.”
Did this man have any faults? (Y/N) walked over, resting a hand on his back.“You don’t have to do that. If it helps you then we’ll leave it.”
“You sure? What if you forget and step in it?”
“It’s just sand babe, I can brush it off.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
They settled into bed, both a bit sheepish about the ordeal. Why were they stressing? They were adults, two adults who were dating and simply sharing a bed. Nothing was going to happen. Well, Steven hoped nothing would happen, he didn’t want to freak (Y/N) out.
He couldn’t help but watch as she sat up in bed to take off the jumper, the t-shirt underneath riding up below her bra line. His head whipped away from her once she had taken it off, trying to think of something else. (Y/N) laid down, pulling the duvet up as she buried herself in it. Steven was also under the covers, but had picked up a book from the bedside table, as well as his glasses.
“I love your glasses. You should wear them more often.”
Steven chuckled softly.“I think I look a bit like a nerd.”
“And that’s a bad thing? It’s cute, yet sophisticated and handsome at the same time.”
“Thanks. Perhaps I will wear them more.”
“You sure about staying up? I can stay awake for a bit.”
“You’re shattered love. I don’t mind. This is how I spend my evenings anyway.”
(Y/N) hesitated before speaking, looking up at Steven with her big eyes.“Could we maybe cuddle up whilst you read? You can always push me off if you want.”
“And why would I do that?”
(Y/N) shimmied up to him as Steven lowered himself. She rested her head on his chest, one arm draped over his stomach. Steven had an arm around her back, the other holding his book.
“Comfy?” he asked.
“Yeah. I might have to request sleeping like this every night.”
“Would you want to stay over again?”
“Are you asking me to?”
“I think so.”
“Don’t feel forced Steven. I mean, I would love to spend more nights with you.”
“Then that’s settled then, innit?” he placed a kiss on her forehead, mbefore reaching down and kissing her lips.“Goodnight love.”
“Goodnight. Don’t stay up too late.”
Steven had been reading for a while, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on her back. She was asleep in minutes. He had to pause his reading a few times to check she was actually breathing she was so quiet. Like always, he didn’t feel tired at all, giving up on reading and instead stroking back (Y/N)’s hair.
He wanted to continue this relationship. He really did love her, he had to admit it. However, he didn’t want to say it out loud in case he jinxed it. This whole situation with Marc was so complicated and crazy, he didn’t know how to go about it.
“Relax, for one night.”
Marc was right. He had to at least enjoy this night with her. Leaning over to the lamp, he turned it off, cautiously lying down with (Y/N). She stirred but didn’t wake. She held him tighter, wrapping one leg over his. And he didn’t panic, Steven embraced it, holding her close.
Steven felt like he had blinked and woken up, though he was used to feeling tired all the time. A smile instantly appeared on his face as (Y/N) woke. Her hair was messy, eyes puffy, yet she was still the most beautiful thing Steven had ever seen.
“Good morning.” Steven whispered.
She propped herself up to properly see him.“Morning. How did you sleep?”
She had just woken up and her first thought was him.
“Better, still not great though.”
“That’s still good though babe, better than having a terrible night sleep. And you didn’t use the shackle.”
“Oh, I totally forgot about that.”
“See? There’s some progress already.”
She slid off him so they were laying side by side, facing each other.
“You’re amazing, do you know that?” Steven gushed.
“What? Why?”
“Because, you just are. Someone else might have ran away when they saw what state I was in. But you stayed.”
“Yeah, well that’s because I-” (Y/N) stopped herself, she was easily going to say it. Oh well, might as well come out with it.“Because I love you.”
Steven’s breath got caught in his throat. She said it. She just said it. She loved him. (Y/N) loved him. Marc could have laughed at Steven’s expression, almost wanting to nudge him to say something back before she thought he didn’t feel the same.
“I love you.” Steven replied, taken back when she dove forward to kiss him.
Their kiss was passionate and long, though Steven kept his hands in a respectable place, and (Y/N) decided against straddling him, no matter how tempting it was. They were breathing heavier when they finally parted, lips feeling puffy, bodies feeling hot.
“I love you.” Steven said again.
“I love you.”
“It feels good to say that.”
“Have you been wanting to say that for a while?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Me too.”
They giggled together. They felt like teenagers.
(Y/N) gave him a peck on the lips before sitting up.“Mind if I go have a shower?”
“Course.”
As she stood, Steven’s eyes widened. In the night she had taken off the joggers, leaving her in just his t-shirt, which had also somehow ridden up over her bum, showcasing the thong she had on. (Y/N) knew it had happened, she just didn’t feel the need to fix it; and Steven didn’t care if it was on purpose or an accident.
“If you don’t join her in the shower, then I will.”
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE send in your requests for Moonknight! I absolutely loved this show from the start, and who can resist Oscar Isaac anyway? I do have some of my own ideas already that I will be posting but I would love to hear from you all!
C’mon, Steven. You’re gonna blame it on us? It’s been obvious for months that you like her. All you needed was a nudge to go for it.
Steven laughs and it sounds more like a cough—dry and rough and tortured. Marc talks about his desire for her like it’s a schoolboy crush, not a career-ruining mistake. A life-ruining mistake, actually.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Steven snaps. “You saw how that went.”
I saw you kiss a girl who wanted to be kissed, Marc says.
Rating: 18+ only* / minors: do not read/interact
WC: 5.1k words
Tags/warnings: slow burn; mutual pining; idiots to lovers; professor/student relationship**; smut (eventually); Reader is a “blank slate” but has a backstory; angst & misunderstandings; making out & making up
A/N:please forgive the mini-hiatus between chapters 3 and 4—real life got in the way.
also, this is a reminder that the depiction of DID and the Moon Knight system in this fic is closer to the show’s dramatized/fictionalized depiction than real life. I’ve tried my best to avoid harmful misconceptions about DID, but please keep in mind that this is not a 100% accurate depiction of living with DID.
*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. Please don’t fuck your professors.
Abstract: He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
Words: 2.1K
Content: fluff, meet-cute, please don’t get off the train with strangers
A/N:pictures are not meant to depict the aspect of the reader, i tried to keep it as neutral as possible - june 16th, the day jesse and celine met, could i really pass on the opportunity to write a little au with our beloved steven grant? yes i am aware of the utter irony of ethan hawke playing the male lead, no i absolutely do not care - i wrote this in a rush and it is not edited
It is so incredibly difficult to focus on the book in your hands when the couple sitting across the aisle from you keeps arguing.
They’re speaking German, you’re sure, and he keeps waving his newspaper around to emphasise his words - until she smacks it right out of his hands, the sound so loud it rings in your ears and convinces you to get up at last, recovering your bag and quickly walking away from them.
Row after row you look around until you manage to spot an empty seat across from a man with curly dark hair, his gaze cast down towards the book on his lap. You put down the bag, quickly glancing at the man that returns your gaze - a quick nod of acknowledgement, both of her and of the absurdity of the situation, before returning his attention to his book, allowing you to try and resume your own reading.
It ends in failure once more, as the wife gets up with an angry noise and more muttering and mumbling in German, the man following her shortly to continue their argument across the entirety of the train.
You follow them with your eyes, and notice the man doing the same, eyebrows arched and lips slightly parted - after the couple passes you, he makes another quick eye contact with you, mouth moving in a silent uh-oh at the woman closing the door of the car in her husband’s face. You snort quietly, shaking your head before looking down at last to the page you’d lost your sign.
“Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?” his voice is low, with a strong British accent, and you train your eyes up towards him, temporarily dazed. You see his eyes widen a bit, just a hint of panic in his gaze before he clears his throat, stuttering a bit. “Do you speak English?”
“Yeah,” you reassure quickly, leaning towards him. And then, “no, I’m sorry - my German is not very good,” you confess, and he sighs, nodding slightly before leaning back, his gaze turning towards the window and the scenery outside. You smile to yourself, arm resting on the empty seat at your side. “Have you heard that as couples get older they lose their ability to hear each other?”
He blinks in your direction, fazed, lips parting again.
“No,” he muses, finding a smile starting to bloom on his face. “Really?”
“Supposedly, men lose their ability to hear high-pitched sounds,” you explain, the fact sprouting from your memory out of nowhere. “And women eventually lose hearing on the low end. I guess they sort of nullify each other, don’t they?”
“Must be nature’s way of allowing couples to grow old together and not kill each other, I guess,” he notices you grinning at the corner of his eyes as he takes in the information, and mentally slaps himself for his own words. So he clears his throat, awkwardly shuffling in his seat to face you before tipping his chin up. “What are you reading?” he’s noticed your eyes falling down towards the book, but cannot help himself attempting to salvage this half-conversation, possibly keep it going. There’s something enthralling about you, and he’s spent so long on that train that he just cannot let the opportunity for good company slip past him.
You hold up your book, an old battered copy of a French novel. He nods, humming, and you smile again.
“How about you?” he picks up his book - a textbook, really, the Ennead in gold foil blinking back at you. Your eyebrows arch in curiosity, but you do not comment on his reading choice.
Still, your lips part, and you’re about to ask a question when the door of the car slides open again and the couple comes back, still arguing, still loud. You both cringe at the sound, following their return to their seats with your eyes before once more looking at each other.
“Listen, I was thinking of going to the lounge car sometime soon,” he offers, eyeing the couple. “You wanna go?”
“Yes, please,” you exhale in relief, immediately standing up and stuffing the book in your bag. Then you pause, frowning to yourself before clearing your throat. “Uh, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand in his direction while he’s still getting up, and it takes him a moment to catch on.
“Steven,” he blurts out, holding your hand for a few instants. “Sorry - I’m Steven, nice to meet you, too.”
—
Steven is absolutely mesmerised.
He’s looking at you sitting in front of him and cannot seem to think straight. There’s something in your mannerism, in the way you speak, that has him eating out of the palm of your hand.
And surprisingly enough, he doesn’t feel the need to measure every word he says, to turn the words over and over in his head before actually saying them - he can just talk, and you’re sitting there with your glass of water and empty plate sitting askew on the table listeningto him.
“So, where are you headed?” you ask all of a sudden, and that bright smile of yours leaves him dumbfounded for a moment.
“Ah, back to London - I’m starting working on Monday, so I’ll get a flight from Paris,” he outright beams. “Been visiting a friend in Italy for a few days, borrowed a few books for my lessons, then decided to take the long way home - do some sightseeing from the window.”
“You’re a teacher?” there’s genuine curiosity in your words, head resting on your closed fist. He nods, and you eye the book poking out of his backpack. “Egyptology?”
“Yeah - I used to want to be an archaeologist,” he confesses, and your eyes light up with newfound curiosity. “I’ll have to admit, I’m not made for field work,” he gives a sheepish smile, which you return quickly. “What about you?”
“I just got my PhD and decided it was time to allow myself to travel across Europe for the first time,” you shrug lightly. “I’m not really thinking about work these months - not until I go back home, anyway. Next stop is Vienna.”
“And what do you want to do, then?” he asks, and your eyebrows arch carefully, attempting to not let your smile take over. He mutters something under his breath, quickly shaking his head. “Right - sorry, sorry. No work, got it,” you grin at him, nose scrunching up with the motion. “So why allow yourself? How come you never travelled around Europe before?”
“I just -” you pause, sighing as you drop both hands on the table. “I felt this constant pressure of just doing good, you know? Like -” you pause again, clearing your throat a little as the confession builds up - it’s been so easy to talk to Steven in the past few hours. “My parents have never really spoken of the possibility of my falling in love or getting married or having children. Even when I was young, they wanted me to think about a future career, to focus on what I wanted to do.”
“Did they expect a lot of you?” he frowns lightly, a slight sense of guilt building up in his chest.
“I mean, you did get a PhD,” he points out, his head tilting ever so slightly, causing a curl to fall across his forehead. It makes you want to reach across the table and sweep it back, so you move your hands back and onto your lap. “Andyou’re visiting Europe - isn’t that something someone great would do?”
“No, that’s the thing - it wasn’t demanding, they just assumed I’d be someone great,” you chew on your bottom lip absent-mindedly. “I’d say to my dad I wanted to be a writer and he’d say journalist. I’d say I wanted to have a refuge for stray cats and he’d say veterinarian. I’d say I wanted to be an actor and he’d say TV newscaster. It was this constant conversion of my fanciful ambitions into practical money-making ventures - it was a subtle pressure they probably didn’t even realise was there.”
The laughter leaves you before you can fully register it - he seems to have this ability of making you feel at ease that feels so rare, so difficult to find in such a short time.
“I suppose,” you muse, nodding slightly before taking a slow, deep breath.
“Maybe the problem is that if you have parents that never fully contradict anything you want to do and are basically nice and supportive, it makes it harder to officially complain. Even if they are wrong,” he offers, and you nod again, the smile starting to make your cheeks ache in the most welcomed way.
“Europe is my way out of thinking I owe them - or anybody else, for the matter - anything,” you declare at last, and watch him straighten a little, as if absorbing the pride in your statement. “It’s a slow process, but luckily it’s a big continent,” he grins at your statement, and almost goes in to reply when the train starts to slow down.
“Oh,” he slouches down again, smile faltering. “I think this is Vienna.”
“Yeah, it is,” you rest back on your seat, sighing quietly. “I wish I’d met you earlier - I really like talking to you,” you murmur, and his eyes widen a little as if in surprise.
“It was really nice talking to you, too,” he confesses, voice lower.
“God - I hardly talked to anybody in weeks,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The perks of travelling solo,” you click your tongue then, and reach over to grab your bag resting on the empty surface of the table between the two of you.
It hits Steven like a flash: he doesn’t want it to end. Not like this. Not right now.
His hand shoots out on its own accord, and he’s resting it over yours over your bag, quickly looking up at you just as you open your mouth to speak again, and for a moment you just stare at each other.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but doesn’t move his hand.
“I have an admittedly insane thought,” you retort instead, face flushing at the mere idea - because you don’t want it to end, either. “And I know it might come off as absurd, but it’s one of those things that will haunt me forever if I don’t ask you.”
“What?” he’s somewhere between perplexed and concerned, his hand shifting so his palm rests under yours, fingers curling gently around your own.
“I really want to keep talking to you,” you admit, and his quick smile caught him off guard as well. “I mean, I have no idea what your situation is, but I do feel a sort of… connection.”
“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, and you find yourself exhaling in relief.
“Good,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Because I really want to hear about your job, and that book, and how Italy was and -” you shake your head to clear it from the rambling ready to fall from your tongue. “Why don’t you get off here in Vienna with me?”
“What?” he smiles at the thought, but there’s some hesitancy in his expression.
“It’s Thursday, right? You don’t start until Monday, and we can just see the city today and you get the next train for Paris tomorrow,” you explain, shifting a little on the seat as people start to unboard. “You’ll still make it in time for your flight, and we’ll have some extra hours.”
He thinks about it - reallythinks about it.
On one hand it’s outright insane to even consider it: getting off a train with a stranger in a city he doesn’t know, with no plan as to what to do or where to go.
On the other he can’t bear the thought of letting this - you - slip through his fingers, of watching the train leave the platform with you walking away, your back on him, bag slumped over your shoulder.
He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
You’re still looking at him, eyes wide and expectant, a newfound giddiness as you eye the window and the people still leaving, nibbling at your bottom lip, waiting, waiting.
Steven smiles, his chest lighter, his head clearer.
Pairing: Steven Grant x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.5k T/W: angst ? then fluff ☁️ A/N: I kind of just went with this, it was a scene I had in my head, might not be the best, but oh well!
Steven misses a date with you; understanding and thinking that you’ll never want to see to him again, he apologises and leaves…
