Summary:Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.
Fluff?, angst, hurt/comfort
Pairing:Jake Lockley x f!reader, hint of Marc Spector x f!reader x Steven Grant
Warnings:Mentions of abusive relationships, reader was in an abusive relationship, allusions to sex, hurt/comfort, maybe a little OOC??, as always I did my best to accurately represent DID, is this fic a little problematic? maybe
–
The problem with dating Steven and Marc was not balancing Steven and Marc. The problem was Jake Lockley.
You lay sprawled on Marc’s chest, stickiness between your thighs, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin and his as you drew deep breaths. A cloud of post-orgasmic bliss hovered around you both as you tilted your head up to kiss his jaw. You were relishing these last moments with Marc, knowing that Steven had the long weekend off which meant you’d be living with Jake for a few days.
The rise and fall of Marc’s chest as he breathed deep and murmured soft praises lulled you into an easy sleep. And sure enough, a few hours later you were awakened by the man beneath you shifting you off him so he could turn on his side and put his back to you. Jake hated cuddling. Jake hated the little notes you left for him, Steven, and Marc. Jake hated when you cooked for him. Jake hated you.
warnings: implied smut, angst, mentions of stalking, everyone just being a mess, especially marc, obsessive behavior
summary: Your relationship with Steven is constantly strained by the presence of Marc’s disdain for you.
author’s note: I tried to be careful to be conscious of the presence of DID on this property, but if I wrote anything that is offensive or ignorant, please please please let me know.
The restaurant’s staff did a poor job at masking that they were sending you looks of pity every so often. Much like you, they were wondering when you were going to give up and shamefully admit that you had been stood up. You twiddled with your freshly polished fingers and checked your phone often as you nibbled on cold appetizers. It kept you busy since you had already tried calling thirteen times. Yet, it took the tenth couple eyeing you with concern on their way out for the embarrassment to finally make a bed under your skin. You ordered the first thing you could pronounce, and afterward, left the restaurant gripping your to-go plate as you looked at your phone one last time.
This experience wasn’t new, but you were already tired of having to find a restaurant that hadn’t seen what you looked like when you were in denial. It’s not like Steven didn’t want to come. It was the fact that he and Marc’s schedule clashed, and you were always at the receiving end of Marc’s negligence—you considered it forgetfulness to give him the benefit of the doubt.
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work*
——-
Steven was putting out more decorative sarcophagi when he happened to turn, just as the breeze of a person walking by tickled the back of his neck.
You were on a mission, searching through the plushie toys of Egyptian gods with a kind of focus he’d never seen before. Did you know what you were looking for? Their names?
“Oh god,” Marc complains in the reflection of the anti-theft mirror. “No, Steven, listen to me.”
“What?” Steven whispers. “What you complainin’ ‘bout now?”
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work*
——-
Steven was putting out more decorative sarcophagi when he happened to turn, just as the breeze of a person walking by tickled the back of his neck.
You were on a mission, searching through the plushie toys of Egyptian gods with a kind of focus he’d never seen before. Did you know what you were looking for? Their names?
“Oh god,” Marc complains in the reflection of the anti-theft mirror. “No, Steven, listen to me.”
“What?” Steven whispers. “What you complainin’ ‘bout now?”
“Don’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Approach her.”
“I was just looking.”
Marc raises an eyebrow, “Sure, bud. Think I don’t know how our face looks when we like someone?”
“Why can’t I approach her?” Steven looks back at you as you manage to find the last Anubis with a triumphant little 'ha!’. “She seems nice.”
“She’s picking out a toy. Likely she has a kid.”
“So? Kids are fun? I quite like kids,” Steven looks in the mirror at Marc’s unamused face. “What’s so wrong with that?”
“Our life isn’t compatible with kids.”
“Your life,” Steven points out. “Now shut up. Let me at least try. You told me once I deserved a chance at happiness.”
“Fine. You’ll just mess it up anyway,” Marc folds his arms.
“Oh thank you. Thank you very much,” Steven tries to hide his hurt feelings. “Ye of little faith.”
So he goes to the counter to help you.
“Hi!” You’re a little breathless, patting the little jackal doll. “I must be the luckiest person in the world to get the last one. My nephew would kill me if I came back empty handed. He’s just working his way through the old Egyptology books I had as a kid. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, no that’s quite alright,” Steven finds himself smiling. “Anubis is his favourite, yeah?”
“He’s got this thing about the gods of the underworld and death at the moment. You should’ve seen his Hades phase.”
“Bet you were buying little stuffed Cerberus’s,” Steven scans the barcode.
“So many of them,” you laugh and lean forward a little on the counter so your necklace drops out of the collar of your t-shirt.
“Oh my god, is that a cartouche?” He forgets himself for a moment and stares at the little symbols on it.
“Oh? Yeah,” you touch it and hold it closer so he can read the hieroglyphs. “Got it in Egypt but they made a mistake. They put the symbol for 'SH’ here which is completely wrong and not how my name is spelled but I kinda like it anyway, even though it’s a little wide of the mark.”
At the word 'mark’, Steven glances at the reflective strip of the register to see Marc shaking his head. He ignored him though. He was having too much fun at meeting someone with his interest.
“I quite like it as well. Very unique. Always wanted to go to Egypt but I’d probably freak out some tour guide by asking too many questions,” he bags up the Anubis plushie.
“I was like that. The Cairo museum tour guide actually took a break and let me run the tour for a bit. Think it was nice for him not to have to say the same lines every day,” you grin fondly at the memory.
“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re amaz…uh…sorry,” Steven stammers.
“No, you’re right. I am amazing. Aunt of the year,” you take the bag and shake it to make your point. “Well, thanks for this. I hope you make it to Egypt sometime.”
“Thank you and maybe when your nephew goes through his Norse phase they’ll do an exhibition at the same time.”
“That’d be nice,” you turn to leave.
“See?” Marc speaks to him in the register reflection. “Completely pointless interaction.”
“Shut up. You’re so miserable,” Steven whispers.
You’d stopped though, looking in the bag and then you turned back to him.
“Sorry but I’m missing something,” you approach the counter.
“Oh? Did I not give you a receipt or…” Steven racks his brains, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.
“Your number, actually.”
His mind stops. Did you really just say what he thought you said?
For a moment you hold your composure until you physically wince, “I’m sorry that was a terrible line.”
“I’m just…I’m surprised is all,” Steven stutters. “I would love to, give you my number that is.”
“Oh good! For a moment I thought I’d completely ruined that,” you take the slip of paper he’s scribbled his number on. “I’ll text you when I’m free and maybe we can go out for something to eat?”
“Just to warn you, I am vegan. I know people find that a little hard to, uh, accommodate,” Steven wrings his fingers.
“I know a few places we could go,” you give him a smile before walking out of the gift shop.
“Holy shit, did you just actually get a date?!” Marc looks incredulous in the reflection.
“I’ve got moves,” Steven finally looks at him. “A lovely girl who’s into Ancient Egypt. That’s my wheelhouse, Marc.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure we don’t do anything on the day of your date but be prepared that Khonshu doesn’t always listen to reason when it’s not about vengeance.”
“Don’t you mess this up for me. Please. I really like her.”
“I won’t, pal, you know I won’t. Not on purpose.”
But Steven clung onto the hope that maybe something in his life would go right for once.
*
You’d seen the god behind the man, the skeletal bird that hovered just out of sight for most people but your own god was in your ear to point them out
“Why did you do that?” Artemis folds her arms as you get in your car.
“I do genuinely like Egypt, you know. Just because I stumbled across you in Greece-”
“-if you think you will swap one moon deity for another-”
“-have you just considered that maybe, maybe just once I’d like to try and have a normal existence? I am still allowed to try and find human connections, yes?” You watch the dark eyebrows knit together as you fish out the slip of paper to read the name. “And…Steven was nice.”
“He is also the avatar of a god.”
“Then maybe he’ll understand what I go through every day. Being at a god’s beck and call.”
“You do noble work for me,” Artemis bristles. “Do not decry it but if you must couple with someone, I suppose he is acceptable.”
“Couple with? I was just going to go for dinner!”
“You would not present yourself so openly if you weren’t amenable to lying under the man.”
“Maybe I wanna be on top of the man,” you start driving.
Artemis gives a rare laugh, “Then you have my full blessing for that. Go, my avatar. Go tame your Steven of the museum.”
less jake lockley fics where he’s simply a dominant, ruthless killer with no regard for human life. more jake lockley fics where he drives the reader to and from her local farmers market every saturday and every saturday without fail she gifts him a flower she purchased until one day she asks if he wants to come to the market with her and they have a cute little saturday outing and he buys her a bouq-
Pairing:Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector x F!Reader, a third pairing ;) Wordcount:4.2K Warnings:Explicit AF. Rough smut. Gore. Oral. Mental Health Strugs. Choking. Summary:They’re on the run. It’s kind of a vacation. A/N:potential spoilers for Moon Knight and future episodes if my guess is correct.
Steven’s on the run.
He should have known that it was going to lead to this. His life is in tatters. It has erupted quite spectacularly. He’s wanted for multiple murders that he didn’t commit.
Pairing:Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector x F!Reader Wordcount:7.2K Warnings:Explicit AF. Rough smut. Serious GORE. Oral. Anal. Pain Kink. Semi-public sex. naughty vibes in cathedrals. Mental health strugs. Face-sitting. Choking. Summary:It’s not alright. You will never be alright again and how are you supposed to tell him that? That you had died and were then reborn and it had marked you in a way that felt permanent. Marc understood. Marc remembered and that’s why Marc is who he is for you. Your shared trauma circulates between you like a throbbing vein that redirects to a single heart. Steven is outside of it. A/N:I don’t know any spoilers for future episodes so all of this is just my imagination. Title from Grimes’s Violence.
There’s a darkness in you.
So. Fucking. What.
You’re on the wrong side of the law most days. You’re stealing, looting, killing the people you’re told to - forcedto (even if they deserve it, which they do). It’s not on you. It’s on them.
Bastet is your companion. She isyour Goddess. She also shares Khonshu’s sense of Old Testament justice and that kind of violence can make anyone crack eventually.
summary: Harrow’s efforts are thwarted when an unsuspecting hero takes control.
pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader
word count: 4.1k
warnings: angst, violence, spoilers for episode 6.
quick links: masterlist // “part 1” resolutions—can be read as a stand alone but… why not read both :)
He hated when the moon slipped its ugly crescent between the curtains.
It made him feel as though death followed him everywhere; that he was indeed a killer when it was the last thing he ever wanted to think about.
And the sheets felt like they were suffocating him because of it.
Gripping, grabbing, grappling with what they could to choke the life from him and the memories of the evening not some three hours before begging to be heard and voiced—but they fell to deaf ears. How could he just lay there? Still… silent in the darkness of a desolate apartment in Chicago, comforted by the wounds of survival and the promise of another day.
His tired eyes hated that moon.
It’s silver sliver breaking the pane of glass into two—one for each of him that he knew; building up the reflection casting to the floor, to the bed’s edge, and to the white sheets stained with his sweat. Eventually the moon met him. Shining on his bare arms and cascading across this chest as he laid motionless, empty.
Marc Spector was a man of many things, but not known to kindness.
The emptiness inside of him fulfilled by nothing sans a void of darkness that broke open for Konshu, allowing for his deeds to be done from the bloody hands of one who claims to be broken, lost, and hopeless yet was chosen by a God. He’d never truly understand, Marc, how Konshu chose his victims.
And by victims he meant avatar’s, not the people finding judgement at Marc’s fists.
The task bestowed upon him became a mask. An opportunity to hide the man he truly is for one who isn’t scared of himself, of his past, or the memories that plagued him in the deepest hours of the night where the moon crept into his most sacred of spaces.
At some point, Marc’s mind had decided the reminder was enough.
The bed frame creaked—shifting under Marc’s weight and releasing to its supports and reverberating into the wood below. His bare feet wavered the nearly-warped floor, hastily making way to the curtains and feeling the textured fabric between his finger tips as he grasped each edge.
Rough. The texture was rough, like sand. Not kind, or forgiving, or pleasant. The moon stared at him closer through the glass; the curtains open for him to stand in between and holding them tightly, Marc closed his eyes.
‘One night. One night.’ He thought to himself. ‘Just let me have this one night.’ Throwing the curtains closed, the moon disappeared.
The light in the room was gone. He was no longer basking in its white light—but standing in the silent night to peace. He needn’t escape to protection when the world was silent.
“Marc?”
The world was never truly silent, however.
“When did you get in?”
The bed was so far away in that moment. As though a camera was pulling far from its subject, Marc felt the calls going unanswered—but not listening to his mind to speak.
“Marc?”
The voice was tired at first. The kind where a deep sleep is disrupted suddenly and there is nothing but words that come tumbling out for the sake of a better alternative. And then it grew more concerned. He could hear it. Growing in confidence and volume, the second time was the most alert of the calls.
“…Marc?” The third was uncertain. Was it him? Was it your eyes playing tricks on you or did you judge the man terribly upon your first meeting years ago. 20/20 never did anyone good.
It was hindsight, after all.
There was no call of his name the fourth time. Just the distinct sound of a lamp switching on and a golden glow emitting from beside the right side of the bed.
Marc’s feet were frozen to the ground—in some kind of way.
For one night, Konshu was not whispering in his ear. How did he know? The moment the moon went away and his silent pleas had been manifested, a disgruntled voice called out:
‘Fine.’ One night. Not a commitment to be dealt with pain; a sweet symphony of peace had washed over him and Marc Spector—alien to that feeling—was not sure what to do.
“Marc, what’s wrong?”
The ex-mercenary shook his head, unable to form words to describe the feeling. A weight lifted from his shoulder; pulling him to the surface for air while it’s impending return hangs tightly on his leg, but a brief moment of reprieve is enough.
“I just…” Marc trailed off, remaining stuck in a realm of uncertainty. Something was itching, scratching beyond Konshu’s presence and asking to be said.
The quietness took over and his mind repeated one name: Layla; all reiterated with a guilty conscious.
In the still of the night, a golden lamplight illuminating the room, Marc saw your tired face. The last few years had been hectic—his own travels, Konshu, and what set it all off, half of the world gone—you included. That’s where he found Layla and when things returned to a relative normal, he found himself unable to admit the double life he had been living—both physically and in some terms, mentally, but he thought he had everything under control.
Until he had returned from Konshu’s bidding that evening. You believed his lies. That he had taken up odd jobs for old military buddies that lived in the area and it was not always guaranteed to be a classic 9 to 5.
Some days, Marc would see the way you looked at him and think you had figured it out—that he was with someone else and not the man you had known. However, you never said anything. You always gave a smile and when he asked “what?” You’d respond “nothing, just looking at you.”
It broke his heart to know how devoted you were.
With that same unwavering stare, you held your hand out to him from the bed.
“Come back?” You never demanded. How could he refuse?
Marc’s bare feet padded against the wooden floor—still creaking with every step but eventually his knees hit the mattress; taking your hand in his, you helped him settle in bed before switching off the light once more.
“Thank you.” Marc whispered as time slowly ticked past. His lips ghosted your forehead as you laid with your head on his shoulder.
“For what?” You responded so quietly he thought you had already returned to sleep.
“For understanding.” He needed the quiet to decide. He never got to decide for himself.
You didn’t know exactly what he meant.
But when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.
The next time you saw him was his mothers shiva and then he had left for good. The news was the one thing that brought you back.
As Arthur Harrow descended deeper into the pyramid, the hotter it became.
You had never been to Egypt before; it’s sights not unfamiliar but the land itself was. Seeing things, like a ancient structure cracked open by the purple light emanating from the man’s staff, questioned what you knew.
The world had nearly gone crazy from the time you were a kid until now. Everything was woven with mythology or other-worldly beings and it was hard to believe—until you saw it.
You stood amongst his followers with your hands bound. Feeling like a piece of meat for sacrifice, the nerves of what Harrow wanted were building. How did he know of you? You thought you acquainted what was an “average person” but here, beside the great structures of the past, Harrow had deemed you important to be there.
A part of you already knew it had something to do with Marc, you just hadn’t seen him yet.
After the purple glow had faded, the stones were parted enough to pass and a rough hand shoved your shoulder.
“Move.” You didn’t know his name. He was a henchmen of Harrow who sold his life away for the purpose of what? You could barely comprehend what was happening in front of you that, understanding their purpose was another pill that wouldn’t be easy to swallow.
“Come on.” He shoved again when your feet didn’t move.
The glaring sun met your eyes as you turned and looked over your shoulder at him. His face made you believe he was born angry. A heavy brow, critical eyes, and hands ready to be balled into fists. Men like him were convinced that their purpose was to save when it was really to kill.
“I said MOVE!” He shouted in your face, ready to pounce when a hand came in between your body and his, sticking out in protection, blocking you from his wrath.
“I got it from here. Go on.” The voice was feminine, stern and demanding. The man looked at her uncertain but said nothing as he huffed away, following after Harrow and the others.
The woman who intervened had a cloth covering her face, her hood over her hair. Her eyes were curious, yet filled with a frenzy that the others didn’t have. She waited until all others past before following with you, her hand on your elbow.
“Not going to yell at me to walk faster?” You didn’t know what made you speak out. The halls were suffocating, dark but growing hot; the heat from the sun beating down on the structure and making beads form on your hairline. The woman shook her head, the curls on her forehead bouncing with every step.
“No, just keep quiet.” She wasn’t angry; that was different from the rest of them.
“You have a name at least?”
The person walking in front of you turned, shushing you before continuing on with the convoy. The woman gripped your arm a little tighter, pulling her face closer to yours and whispering:
“Why does Harrow have you?”
“What?” You mumbled back with a furrowed brow. Her question was beyond what you believed she would ask. None of these people cared, why should she?
“Who are you to him? A sacrifice?”
“No!” You shook your head, fearing that your thoughts and her words could come true as everyone slowly descended further into darkness. “He just…” You trailed off, not sure if she would believe Harrow knocked you out and the next thing you knew you were in Egypt. “I was just looking for someone and he got to me before I could.”
The woman’s eyes behind her mask narrowed, confused, in a sense.
“He was on the news. Some security guard at a museum leaked a video of him acting strange and it went viral… I didn’t know where he was.”
“Marc?”
“You know him?”
She nodded her head before looking away to the group in front of the both of you. Everyone had stopped walking as Harrow lifted his staff and the purple glow emitted from it again. It rumbled the rocks before you, shooting cracks through them until they broke apart and the inside of the pyramid, the chamber, was revealed.
The woman pushed you to follow beside her as the group descended the steps and into the chamber–defenders already assembling in their forms to protect the structure they served, but you did not know that.
As Harrow prepared to engage in a fight, the woman turned to you in a rushed panic.
“You want to help Marc? Then come with me.”
She ran as fast as she could to the hall that broke away from the chamber on the left. You needn’t look back at Arthur Harrow killing innocent people to know that you needed to follow her.
She walked fast.
Her feet taking her speeding through the halls as fast as she could and in her consciousness, her head continued to look back for both the reality that Harrow’s followers would soon indeed follow, and that you were with her.
You made her curious. A single prisoner bound to Harrow’s crew without a reason and someone who knew her Marc.
Her mind could only think of a number of scenarios that would bring you here—not wanting to believe the one that came to mind first.
But that would have to wait. The wall of Gods cast in stone was quickly approaching. The woman pulled her mask down, turning to you once more.
“I don’t know how you know Marc, but this is the only way we can help him. Khonshu has been cast away and we have to set him free. What ever you do, do not let him choose you as his avatar.”
“His what!?”
“Marc will die if not for Khonshu, don’t limit those chances.”
“He’s dying!?” Your eyes went wide, not able to understand her completely. Egyptian Gods, avatars… the only avatar you knew of was Aang, and he was a cartoon.
“Just…” she huffed, frustrated. “Follow my lead. Don’t say anything.”
That you could do.
She turned and scaled the wall with her eyes for this so-called ‘Khonshu.’ A God, supposedly. Nothing should surprise you, however. You were blipped away by the snap of one man’s fingers and stranger things have happened in the world. But because it had to do with Marc, it’s surprised you. It put you near the center and you hated it.
The woman stopped when she found the statue and grasped it tightly.
“Remember, don’t let him choose you.”
“I remember.” You told her.
She walked further to a gap in the wall between a pillar and the end of it. Placing the statue on the ground, she stepped on it, crushing it to pieces as smoke began to fill the area around her. Suddenly, a massive being with the structure of a bird made solely out of bones appeared before the both of you.
“I do not sense Marc Spector in this world.” The tone was deep and unsettling. You meekly shrunk behind the woman as the God spoke. Without eyes to see, it looked at her and in extension, you.
“He died fighting, no doubt.”
“Marc’sdead.” You whispered beside her in disbelief.
“Fighting your war.” The woman responded in anger, ignoring you.
“And it’s far from over. If Marc is truly gone, I am in need of an avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night…”
The God did not finish. The woman, Layla, spat at him.
“Are you joking!? You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”
Khonshu was unimpressed. So it played dirty, as many Gods did.
“Then what of you, Y/n L/n, will you protect the travelers of the night as Marc did? It is far more fitting for the woman he trusted most to follow him in service.”
Layla was hurt.
But you knew the response.
You knew there was only one answer. Layla told you so, she knew what she was doing. The answer was no.
“Even if Marc is dead,” your voice felt more powerful than you thought—it wavered with sadness, however. “No tragedy could convince me this is what he would have wanted.”
“You won’t win against Harrow and Ammit alone.”
“We’ll take our chances.” Layla told him, defying the bird’s expectations.
“Marc was in crisis over you both… is lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little bugs… what I offer…”
“I don’t care what you can offer! Neither of us do!” Layla responded again. “Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. She doesn’t trust you. We’ll work together without either of us enslaving ourselves to you.”
The God needed no convincing. Layla was not giving her or your body to Khonshu to do his bidding, those hands belonged to someone else.
“We must rebind Ammit.”
“How?” You asked from behind her and making your stance in the situation heard. If Harrow brought you for a purpose, then you would pave that path.
“Only an avatar can do it.” Of course.
“I said no.” Layla reaffirmed and in an instant Khonshu was gone. He wasn’t going to win here, and certainly not by going back and forth with two women who did not want to be an avatar of him.
“Where did he go?” You asked, looking over your shoulder as if he would reappear again.
“To Harrow. Come on,” she set off once more. “They’ll know we did this.”
“Where are we supposed to go? It’s a pyramid!”
“There are a million paths. But we need to get out of here.”
“Wait!” You called after her, trying to catch her arm as she tried to avoid a silence. “Wait, Layla, please!” You cried out.
“We don’t have time to sit around and chat, alright?” Layla called out behind her.
“I don’t need a chat… how do you know Marc?” You asked her, keeping up with her speed and following in step beside her. She laughed and you furrowed your brows.
“I’m his wife.”
Wife.
Layla was Marc’s wife.
YourMarc.
Has a wife.
“I assume you didn’t know.” She said after the fact.
“Of course not.”
“Well I didn’t know he had a… girlfriend either.”
You were the girlfriend… you could have cried.
“I didn’t know he had a wife.”
Layla stopped her movements and you stuttered to a halt. She looked at you, truly, for the first time in that moment.
How different you and her were.
The faces, the hair, the eyes, nose, and lips. From the few minutes she had in your presence she knew you were nothing like her, but that didn’t make you a bad person.
It’s not your fault Marc has his secrets.
“How did you meet him?” She asked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath.
“We grew up together. Went to the same school.”
She nodded her head, beginning to feel as though she was the ‘other woman’ yet she was the one he swore fidelity to.
“Do you live in London with him?” That made it seem like there could be more.
“No… I live in Chicago… I work there too.”
“And where were you six years ago?”
“I wasn’t…” you shook your head, trying to ease her pain as yours grew too. It was complicated, beyond means. And somehow, you were both choosing to understand rather than hate. “I wasn’t.”
“Oh.” She understood—that snap.
“I don’t know what’s going on, really. I just went looking for him because he disappeared two months ago and I’m scared for him.”
“Do you know about Steven?”
The difference between Layla and you was that she didn’t know about his DID. He had confided in you, found solace in it, but never let you see it. For a long while, Marc could control it well. He knew himself and the situations he put himself into but his mothers Shiva was too much and they began to merge—his alters.
There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but Marc wasn’t willing to risk the thought of his alters hating you or being something you disliked about him.
It was self preservation.
It was protection.
And you understood it.
“To an extent.” You replied and she nodded her head.
“We’re, um,” she cleared her throat. “Separated… Marc has demons he needed to deal with and we just never got around to signing the papers.”
“Oh.” Was all you could say now.
“It’s not our fault, hisdecisions. Marc’s a good guy and I’ll do what I can, as I know you will too, but it’s dangerous out there. Harrow is… a killer. A born one and there is no mercy from him nor Ammit. I need you to know that.”
“I could gather that.”
Above you, the ceilings shook with a fury and sand came filtering out of its cracks.
“There are good Gods. If it comes to it, go back to that hall—where those statues are, and find the one with the crescent headdress. They imprisoned him for a reason, but he’s good. If the Gods need avatars, we need good ones.”
“Me? An avatar of a God?” You laughed, not willing to accept her logic. “I am just a regular person, Layla… my life is not meant to be bound to a God.
“If we are chosen to lead, then we do.”
“But I am not meant to! I have a life! I have people who depend on me everyday—“
“—then you know exactly what it’s like to be called to lead. If not for yourself, then do it for Marc. Harrow brought you here to pawn you. Take that and make it his end, for Marc.”
In the heated halls of the great pyramid, Layla stared at you with pleading eyes. She loved Marc even though they were not on the best terms, she forgave you without blame because the one who brought you together was faulted. She needed you to be a hero—a trait you must have experience before but never self-admitted it because pride is often vain.
You needed to be a hero.
For Layla and Marc.
“Fine.” You agreed. “I’ll do it.”
It did not take long for Layla to send you back.
In the chamber of the Gods, the avatars of those still lingering to life laid nearly still. A man tried to crawl to safety and as Layla helped him, he detailed the ways to defeat Ammit but again, avatars were the only answer.
“What do we do?” You asked her, the man falling to the floor dead and you tried not look at him.
“We need more avatars.” She looked to the ceiling as though she was looking to the heavens. “Go to the wall but don’t go into the chamber. If Harrow sees you, there is no telling what he’d do.”
You nodded your head, but your feet stayed planted. She sensed the fear, she could see it in your eyes.
“Go…” she whispered, grasping your arm. “For Marc, right?”
The thought of Marc watching from whatever land laid beyond made you want to crumble and cry but you knew there was only one way. If Layla was going to do the same, you had to too.
So you sprinted off down the hall and moved as quickly as you could behind the pillars and crumbling stone.
Not a minute into your trek, Layla’s name screeched through the hair in a high pitched tone. It had to have been heard by Harrow because immediately, the entire structure began to shake. The walls getting thinner, the pyramid collapsing within itself.
“Keep going…” you mumbled to yourself. “Keep going.”
A stone fell from the ceiling as you turned a tight corner, halting your movement with the fright that you’d be crushed. But you kept going.
Within seconds, you could see the amber glow of the candles where the journey began. Each statue shaking from the pyramid’s movement, the flames behind them wavering too.
The one with the crescent headdress.
The one with the crescent headdress.
You searched row by row until your trembling fingers came upon a figure in the headdress Layla had told you and held a pen-like object in its hand.
“Please don’t be bad.” You whispered. “Please please please.”
Pulling it from its resting place, you placed it gingerly on the ground.
“And don’t be fucking scary.”
You stepped on it and the statue crumbled to pieces, emitting a green and yellow glow along the fog.
Like Khonshu had, a figure with the head of an Ibis, rose tall before you.
“To whom do I owe my gratitude for setting me free?”
The voice was masculine, deep. The head turned and looked down at you with eyes blinking green.
“A woman.”
“Y-yes.” You stuttered, beyond your element in that moment. “Yes. I am Y/n, the one who… released you.”
“It has been many years since I’ve seen these walls.” The God felt the crumbling stone with delicate finger tips. The talons scraping the walls with a deafening scrawl. “Do you know who I am?”
“Would it be wrong to admit no?” You felt silly talking to a God. Who were you to do so?
“No, no it would not.” Like a wind, the creature moved from the small space it had been given and around to the entryway of the small hall. “A wise decision for a mortal to make.”
It circled you like prey.
“I am Thoth, God of wisdom, magic, and judgement. And what hath your judgement be?”
“I do not wish to be judged.”
“Do you need wisdom?”
“No.” You rolled your shoulders back as the crumbling stopped around you. “But I am something you need.”
“And I need you for what?”
“An avatar.”
Note: as always, likes and reblogs, as well as thoughts, are always appreciated. :)
The eyes he looked into were glassy–the kind that did not want to cry but ones that also could not help that they would. He was hurting. He couldn’t stay.
So, he swallowed his pride, admitting he wasn’t sure.
The eyes he looked into were glassy–the kind that did not want to cry but ones that also could not help that they would. He was hurting. He couldn’t stay.
So, he swallowed his pride, admitting he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know.” His own voice betrayed him. Here, in this two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan he had been in one thousand times, he finally shattered and nearly gave up on himself.
But it was this street. It was the memories tethered to it that made life unbearable and the admission that he needed to get away was difficult, but true. And you knew that… you had to.
“Is it selfish to say what about me?” You laughed, tears leaving your eyes in delicate drops he wanted to wipe away–his hands frozen in his lap. Marc shook his head, looking out the window where the cars were parked and the tree outside of your building was beginning to lose its leaves for the fall.
“You’ll be ok…” To you, it sounded as though he was trying to convince himself that without him here, in New York, that your life would be fine. You would move on, graduate from college, get a job, build a family with someone who wasn't… broken. Maybe if he convinced himself, you could have the dream of 2.5 kids and a white picket fence.
“You’ll be ok…” To you, it sounded as though he was trying to convince himself that without him here, in New York, that your life would be fine. You would move on, graduate from college, get a job, build a family with someone who wasn't… broken. Maybe if he convinced himself, you could have the dream of 2.5 kids and a white picket fence.
“And you?” Marc could never get used to the kindness you gathered in pain.
“What about you, Marc?” His name caught in your throat as you sucked in a breath. “Are you going to be ok?”
Transitioning from the window to the comforter of your bed, the pale blue flowers he could see in his dreams danced beneath his fingertips. Tracing for memories beyond this block, beyond this city, and somewhere he could go without the people of his past knowing every inch of his trauma. Marc could not answer with words because a part of him already knew a ‘yes’ would have been a lie. So, he shrugged.
“Will I ever be able to contact you? Is this it?” Steven.
The memory was becoming convoluted. It was no longer two people inside of a bedroom, but three and then four; a voice calling out to mute the memories words.
Steven let’s go.
“No…” Marc’s reply went flat as he responded to the girl. Steven’s arm received a sharp tug, but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the sight. Marc, so broken and vulnerable, and a girl he had no memory of.
“Steven!” The Marc he was familiar with cut in front of the scene before him. His eyes pained, stressed, panicked. Steven lifted a finger, pointing beyond Marc’s shoulder was.
“That’s not Layla.”
“No, it’s not… let’s go now.” Marc’s threatening tone did not frighten him as it used to. The scale was not balanced. So much of Marc’s life was a mystery and he begged to remain that way, but Steven wanted to live, as did Marc–which had surprised him. However, each memory that progressed through Marc’s life made it increasingly difficult to reach that balance.
“Marc!” Steven’s own voice was frantic, not understanding Marc’s motivations. “We are never going to be able to go back if you don’t tell me what has happened.”
“This is a good memory… There are very few good memories.”
“Good!? This is what you consider to be good?” Steven asked, astonished at the ex-mercenary’s behavior.
“It doesn’t matter.” Marc pulled on his arm, turning Steven around and back out the door from whence he came. “It’s irrelevant to what we need to do. She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“I think seeing a girl as broken as the mirrors you like to smash is indeed important.” Steven wiggled, breaking his arm free of Marc’s grip, and facing the man as the apartment got further and further away and the hallway returned to the psych ward. “Who is she?”
Marc sighed, looking at Steven as if he was a walking parasite. Steven held his ground, not searching for the next door nor wanting to return to the memory.
“Who is she, Marc?”
“She’s not important.”
“She’s not Layla.”
“No.”
“But Layla is your wife.”
“No…yes, but we are separated.”
“Then who is she?”
“Why? You want to find her after we get out of this mess and ask her on a date? We all know how the last one went!” Marc got defensive again, storming off down the hall with a grudge and heavy footsteps. Steven followed, feet pattering along the tile floor as the doors remained without memories behind them.
“That is not what I said!” The English man laughed, unnerved by the attitude. “Could she help us?”
Marc stopped, whipping around, and pointing at Steven. “She has no part in this, do you understand?”
“No, no I don’t.” Steven swatted Marc’s hand down. “We need to balance the scale. I do not want to be frozen in sand because you can’t handle your own memories.” Steven did not know what he was asking of Marc.
“She is not part of this life.”
“What life? This one–” He pointed to facility around them. “Like Khonsu and your… jobs.”
“Yes, that one.”
“Alright then, so before all of this… how long ago did you last see her? When was this?”
“This was…” He coughed, scratching the back of his head and racking his memories for a date. “Two days before I left the city… joined the military and never really looked back.”
“Never really? So, you have not seen her since?”
Marc was unwilling once more to answer that question. Steven tried not to think the worst, but there were two ways the 'worst scenario’ could go. One, where he never saw that girl, you, again because of an accident or disease or something worse; or two, he did see you again and he cannot admit it because of Layla.
“Marc…”
“Why don’t we move on, huh?” Marc motioned carelessly at the door across from him. “I’m sure all of my life is here for your amusement so why don’t we see what these shitty gods have cooked up for us, yeah?”
“Marc, come on…”
Before Steven could receive a reply, Marc opened the door and another memory opened. Slowly, the tales of Marc’s life became known to Steven.
Trauma, resolution, trauma, death, trauma, and the people that perpetrated it. Steven was an empathetic soul–but he hated to see the man he had known as strong, resilient, and fearless, break.
The next time he had seen you, their mother had just passed.
Marc had missed the burial–intentionally so. The shiva began at the house that he had been berated in, beat in, lost, and loved in, and he could see the mourners gather inside.
Steven could not see the shiva. His arrival brought him at the end of the street and all he could see was a drunk, distraught Marc unable to face his father because he hated his mother and missed his brother at the same time. The pain of the past often found no resolution, but the people those in pain can lean on can lessen the torment–if even for a moment.
A figure appeared in the window of the townhouse. Dad, it had to be. Although Steven had no memory of this, he could sense the familiarity behind the stone. Steven observed Marc shake his head, take a shot from the flask, and stumble away, mumbling to himself as the emotions overtook him.
Halfway to him, Marc stumbled, sobbing to the ground.
Down the block, the townhouse door opened and the girl, you, older now, looked across the street and back down to where Marc was kneeling–making haste toward him. Neither could see Steven.
The closer you got to Marc, the louder your steps became, and Marc looked over his shoulder, shaking his head at you.
“Just go back… please.” He croaked, tears flowing freer than before, and Marc pulled the yarmulke from his head.
“You know I can’t do that.” Your voice was soft, comforting. He clutched the yarmulke on the ground and felt the woven yarn become strangled underneath his fingers–it was not the same feeling as the blue, flowered comforter of the past.
You knelt beside him–not caring if the black tights became ripped or the shoes scraped the cobblestone street. Resting a light hand on Marc’s shoulder, he leaned into the touch.
Steven felt he knew the answer of his scenario. Love was a complicated thing, even if he was unfamiliar of it himself.
“I’m here…” You whispered to him, letting him cry and not telling him the classic lines of 'you’ll be ok’ or 'you don’t have to be sorry.’ “I’m here…”
Laylawasn’t. And that said something to Steven.
Wrapping your arm around his shoulder, you laid a kiss on his dark curls and held him as he sobbed harder and harder, breaking away when he pounded the yarmulke into the ground before cradling to his chest.
“We don’t have to go in.” We.
How much did you know? Did Steven knowyou?
There was a strange familiarity to the moment. The dress, the hair, the face. He had seen you before.
“We can leave.” To where?
Steven thought for a moment Marc was going to reply but instead, he turned to the side, his eyes rolling backwards, and you pulled back. Your face was confused, alerted, concerned but then suddenly it became sullen–as if you knew it would happen.
In a second, Steven was looking at himself, not Marc.
That is where he had seen you before.
“What?” Steven said aloud and glanced at you, startled at your presence but you did not flinch.
“Oh! I am so sorry!” His accent felt so loud in that moment. “Do I know you?”
Marc had warned you of this moment. One day it would come.
You shook your head, pointing to the taxi at the corner. “No, no… I thought you needed help, but I am just on my way… are you alright?”
“Fine, fine. I–actually… I seem to be a bit lost.”
Your smile was strained, eyes hurt, and deflated.
“You’re on Milwaukee Avenue, just make a call and I’m sure someone can help you.”
“Thank you, Miss. I’ll just be on my way then.”
Steven got up, calling up 'mom’ on his cell phone and Steven, still knelt on the ground, felt defeated–for himself but mostly Marc. It was then that the man reappeared to him as Steven went about on the phone.
“This is it.” Marc said, reliving the memory against his will. “Mom’s death and Shiva two months ago. This was the moment our lives started bleeding into each other.”
Steven looked to Marc as the man stayed staring as you remained knelt on the ground, missing the taxi you claimed was yours.
“I just couldn't… I just couldn’t face that again. All the things I had done…”
“Marc…” Steven spoke honestly, “all those horrible things that she said to you, she was wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”
Marc’s eyes became red, his willingness to share pain now here. “I shouldn’t have brought him in the cave.”
“You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault.”
Marc nodded, not genuinely believing but somewhere in-between. And then he looked down again, watching you sit there with a sadness he had seen too many times before.
“This was, though.”
Steven looked too. You picked at the underside of your nails, the sound rhythmic and distracting.
“She does that when she’s upset.” Marc said, chuckling and running a hand through his hair. After one resolution, another break occurs, and another mend must be made.
“She’s the only person who could have handled the switch that way. She’s the only one who knew.”
“But I don’t know her.”
“I was gone a lot…” Marc admitted, not giving every detail. “I’ve lived in a lot of places, seen too much.”
“Does she know about Layla? Does Layla know about her?”
That side-eye that Steven had been accustomed to was chilling but filled with so much truth. No. The answer was no.
“Maybe if they did, they could help us.”
“Layla chose this life, Y/n didn’t. I won’t put her in danger to save me.” Y/n. Name. Me, not us.
“Do you love her, Layla?” Steven asked Marc, narrowing his eyes to balance the scale. One more truth, just one.
“Steven…”
“If it’s true it shouldn’t be hard! DO you love her? She put her life on the line for us and all I am asking is do you LOVE her, Marc?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Why not? WHY NOT!?” Steven pushed, the time ticking, the end was so close.
“BECAUSE I LOVE HER TOO! I have my own goddamn life!” Marc yelled back, pushing Steven’s chest as the buildings began to rumble. Steven shook his head in both disgust and disbelief. Steven only knew of Layla, maybe he would think differently if he met you too.
The ground beneath them shook.
“Did you feel that? It feels like we just stopped.”
As they ran, Steven looked to Marc one last time and said:
“Maybe the truth has set you free.”
London was rainy—as you expected it to be. Having never visited, your beliefs had been based in fiction. Did Love, Actually really represent English values or was it fiction? You wanted to explore the answer but a higher purpose was calling.
Marc.
You had seen him on the news, global news. An attack at the British Museum had left you to consider your future for the better—sit waiting for Marc to (maybe) return or go looking yourself.
So, you stopped sitting around and booked a plane ticket with no return flight and the first place you stopped was the museum.
It had reopened a week ago with signs blocking the Egypt wing. The vast halls didn’t surprise you, nor did the collection of surely stolen artifacts gleaming from the projected lights. In one particular exhibit, Roman vases had caught your eye and distracted your attention.
“Have a fondness for early Roman pottery?” A man, American man asked. You looked through the glass at the reflection of a man with longer hair, a black cane, and boho-chic look aced.
“Not particularly.” You responded, looking to move away from the case to give him space but he lingered—setting off the alarms in your mind immediately.
“American? Where from?” He smiled with a kind face but his eyes recalled a different story. He moved with you to the next exhibit.
“Midwest.”Vague. He caught on.
“I’ve been meeting many Americans lately. They all seem to be coming from the same place…” he trailed off, looking at the pottery in the case you settled at. You went to move away but quickly realized this man wasn’t alone.
The room was filled with people watching, waiting. They were so close and inching toward you at a slow and steady pace.
“It is amazing what a little research can lead to, isn’t it Y/n?” He said your name; the blood inside of you ran cold.
“Tell me, are you looking for someone?”
“I think you have the wrong person, I’m sorry.” You tried to get around him but his cane shot out and pushed you back. The people kept getting closer.
“I think we are both looking for something…” he talked slow and low. His eyes traced every inch of your face—trying to memorize it in case something went awry. “We are off for Egypt tonight and I think you may find what you are looking for there… he always seems to follow me.” Taunting.
This man didn’t give you a choice.
“On second thought, you are coming with.” He pointed to the followers behind him and your world went dark.
The next thing you knew, you were in Egypt, sitting in a car watching as a scarab compass found a tomb.
You truly doubted love would find you here. No resolution could be made.
request:I have a steven grant request! Can you do like some hurt/comfort where they get into this massive argument and marc kind of coaches him into what Steven should do?
author’s note: okay to be fair it was so hard to come up with a solid reason for y/n and steven to have a fight. because he’s such a sweetheart! and yes, he’s late to work, and yes, he loses days off his life, but that’s not intentional, and not his fault. we know what he’s gone through. so i don’t know what steven could have ever done to make y/n upset… i’ll come up with the best possible scenario that i can lol, but it’s gonna be hard. happy (?) reading!
warnings:angst, but they make up :) so eventual fluff
gif credit to owner!! (my beautiful boy☹️)
exhausted from her job, ready to have a nice cuddle session with your beloved, you practically fall through the door of your shared apartment. since he asked you to move in with him a short while ago, albeit while he’s still working on his sleeping disorder, his apartment has now become your shared apartment. and that comes with responsibilities to stick to on both sides.
it doesn’t surprise you that he’s not home yet—he had a free day and could use it for his desires—it just saddens you. because all you want to do is crash into his arms and have him hold you as you try to rest. with pouting lips, you flip the light switch on the left from the entrance door, so the kitchen light would illuminate the rest of the apartment. and what that reveals to you is not only shocking, but disappointing, as well.
plants on the tables and windowsills are clearly dying faster than usual—they haven’t been watered. there’s dirty dishes in the sink, on the counter, on the coffee table, and even an unwashed pot on the stove. a pile of clothes on the sofa, the laundry basket completely filled to the brim by the bathroom door. and, when you open the fridge in your already disappointed and gutted state, you discover it’s practically empty. no new groceries.
steven knows how busy these two work weeks are for you, this one and the following, and so you both had a deal that for these two weeks, on his spare time, he would look after the apartment. do all the little errands, buy groceries and over-all work on the apartment not becoming a big mess. you don’t mind his mess of books, dvds and notebooks on his study table—that doesn’t bother you. but you’re over-worked, steven’s nowhere to be seen, and the apartment is a mess. do you have to do all of this that steven promised he would do, now, tired beyond measure and quite literally unable to move a single muscle?
to top it all off, your cat sphynx is running towards you from the bedroom part of the apartment, meowing, calling for you. you begin to shed tears as you squat down to her level and begin petting her, and your eyes wander over to her trays of food and water. the wet food plate is empty, her water’s dirty and her cookie bowl could hardly qualify as one, as there are no cookies in it. you huff deeply and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping it will stop the tears. but it does the exact opposite.
it doesn’t help that sphynx is purring and meowing and pushing closer to you, and that you can hear the hunger and desperation in her voice. it doesn’t help that your manager at work has been a complete wanker, it doesn’t help that you’ve still got piles of work to do even when you’re home. all for that damn project you signed on for just for that bit of extra money, so that you and steven might go on a little trip in the summer.
to Egypt, his favourite place on earth. and yours now, too. you’d planned a whole trip that includes the historic sites, and some bit of art in places, too. plus the breath-taking nature of the country.
is it all worth it? for steven who can’t fulfil his promises. and this isn’t the first time it’s happened. there have been many instances before, but because you love him and had time to do all the errands yourself, you batted an eye and did all those things for him. because you love him. and because he’s not perfect, and neither are you.
but this time, it’s much different. you made a hard bargain that he’d do all the little things this flat requires, and you know that he knows how much you’re working these two weeks. you’re just out of your depth this time. and you need to talk to him about this, tell him that he’s really upset you this time. voice your feelings, because you can’t keep them inside anymore. not this time.
so where is he? he should be home. it’s already half past eight, where could he be? as far as you know, as steven has told you, he doesn’t have much going on except for his job, as sad as he is about it. no social clubs, no sports activities, no friends to meet. so where could he be?
you’re in the middle of feeding sphynx when the apartment door finally opens and closes, and steven locks it behind him. you push yourself up straight on your feet with a heavy sigh and turn to face steven. “hiya, love,” he muses in the most loving voice he has that usually has you swooning for him, and there’s a smile on the man’s face. you nearly tear up more at how happy he looks. you don’t want to ruin that, you don’t want to make him feel bad. but you’re just so tired. steven puts his bag and a boquet of flowers on your kitchen table, and he turns to you again, clearly happy to see you. his smile falls at the sight of you, your glassy eyes and red cheeks from crying, “oh, no, what’s wrong?” steven inquires and steps closer to you.
but your body acts on its own instincts, and you pull back from him. “where have you been?” you ask him, your lip quivering and voice low, shaky. if you’d talk any louder, you’d start to really cry. and you don’t want that, because it’d be a distraction for steven. he gulps and gathers himself, standing in front of you now very reserved. you don’t want him to touch you, he can see that.
“donna needed some things from me down at work, i got coffee on the way and then i… got you some flowers.” steven says with an attempted smile on his lips. “is everything alr—”
“were you at work the whole day?” you clarify what you want from him, your voice now verging on angry as much as you don’t want it to. yes, you are upset with him, but you don’t want him to feel bad. you just want him to know what he’s done wrong.
“no, i was… i was here,” steven answers, “i slept in, did my reading. donna called me an hour or so ago.”
your head shakes. “did your reading…” you echo and lean yourself against the kitchen counter, holding your face in your hands, still trying to avoid crying at your best ability, wanting to most certainly hide that from steven. he’s very confused, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown on his face. “you were here, home, the wholeday,” you begin to say as you pull your hands away from your face, “and you couldn’t feed sphynx? you couldn’t do the laundry or—or take out the rubbish? or buy groceries, or do the dishes?” you ask him, and your voice can’t stay away from breaking and shaking anymore. you’re crying now, and you can’t stop it. you watch steven’s face for any kind of response, and the one you get is realisation. and remembering. “i don’t want to be bossy, and i hope i haven’t been bossy ever, but… steven, you—”
he shakes his head and takes another two steps towards you. whether you’re too tired to move or don’t actually want to move away from him for some other reason, you stay right where you are. though emotions are bubbling up right inside you, making you feel like anything could tick off that explosion and take steven with it. and you don’t exactly want that.
“i’m so sorry, love,” he tells you in a quiet voice, “completely went out of my head, i—”
you look at him sharply after a shake of your head, complete disbelief on your face. “went out of your head? you didn’t see any of this?” you gesture around the flat, and steven’s eyes follow what you mean, with your precisely pointed hand to pieces of the mess. “we made a deal.” you say quieter, and the tears in your eyes shake because of the state of your voice, blurring your vision of steven in front of you. “we made a deal because of my work schedule.” you whisper and wipe away the tears that have fallen. you realise you’re still wearing your outdoor jacket, and you sigh deeply, looking away from steven. “i can hardly move myself, i can’t… i can’t do all this.”
now, steven doesn’t know what to do. you have never had a fight between the two of you before, not even a little disagreement, and so this is strange territory for him. he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t have any excuse or reason for not filling his end of the bargain, he doesn’t know what to say. all he knows is that he’s sorry, and that he wants everything to be okay.
you see his silence, and you hear it in its entire volume. it’s loud. it says much more than any of his words ever could. you don’t want to hurt him, you didn’t want to hurt him, or make him feel bad. you hate to see those feelings on him, as he’s always riddled with anxiety, anyway, and you hate that he is. but this is… something else.
you shake your head and shrug off your jacket. “i’m tired,” you tell him, “if you don’t… i mean, i don’t know.” you put your face in your hands again. what do you say, what do you tell him now? how do you end this? “i’m going to bed.” you say finally, not having any other solution for the situation right now. you wipe your tears again and walk past steven, trying not to let his lonely, confused stance hurt you. you don’t want to tell him what to do, you don’t want to have to tell him what to do. it’s not your place anymore, and there’s nothing more you can do or say right now for either of your benefit.
steven watches you walk through the flat, into the partial privacy of the bedroom part of the flat, and he stands still. a frown on his lips. heavy breaths rupturing his lungs. “now what have you done?” that long-awaited voice at the back of his head finally speaks up, and though steven is very irritated by it, he sighs in relief when it comes. marc is a twat most of the time, but sometimes he has handy advice. especially in lady things.
not that steven needed marc’s advice or help to start being with you, initiate that first conversation that landed him a date, which landed him a lot more. he watches as you enter the bathroom and close the door behind you. your sobs aren’t inaudible to him, though, even through the door. “you’re one to talk, marc,” steven whispers under his breath and then turns his back to the rest of the flat, facing the sink full of hisundone dishes and gripping the counter. he hears marc’s chuckle, “how you treat women is beyond me.”
marc chuckles again, “don’t turn this on me, steven,” he says, “i know you need my help.” he states, and steven can see marc’s smirk in the silver metal reflection of the sink. steven sighs, shaking his head. but marc is right, and the bastard knows it. he gives steven a few moments before he breaks, though, he knows he needs them.
“alright, fine!” steven caves in, and hears the door of the bathroom open and close again. you’re really heading to bed now. but he hears the sound of you taking something heavy out of your bag and only then plop down on the plump bed. “we’ve never had a fight before, and i’ve messed up terribly, mate, i don’t even know how to start doing anything or if i should do anything. i know i should, because it’s truly my fault, but what?!”
“first of all, breathe,” marc says with a slight chuckle, “second of all, do everything that was in your deal or whatever.”
“don’t make fun of it! it’s important to me.” steven corrects him quickly. marc shakes his head.
“then you wouldn’t have screwed it up, stevie,” marc argues back. that is also true, “do everything one by one. put music on in your headphones while you do it—whatever. the silence between you is awkward enough for me, and she won’t want to talk to you, anyway.”
“then what?” steven asks, as that was already on his mind to do.
“then…” marc sighs, thinking this is really a hopeless case, “talk to her. just apologise, really apologise, like you mean it. because you will. you love her, you want her to be okay, you want her to feel… appreciated.” he lists off in a bored voice. “she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, man, make an effort.” steven groans.
“i want to, but i have no clue, mate!” he says. “stop condescending…”
“i’m not, man, i’m just telling you—”
“on me,” steven gets frustrated, “she means the world to me, and i’ve screwed up terribly, i wish i could just… get a time machine or something.”
marc laughs sinisterly. “oh, no, you don’t.”
steven pauses. “don’t tell me we’ve been in a time machine, too.” he says with a shake of his head.
“that’s not the point now,” marc says, “if you hadn’t screwed up, you wouldn’t have that chance now to show her how sorry you are for screwing up, to show her how much you appreciate her, and that you will keep your promises. from now on, at least,” steven lets that last nasty remark fly by because marc is helping. steven understands what he means, “just do your best, steven, really. i’ll be here for anything, you know that.”
“how could i not,” steven replies and turns away from the sink and marc’s reflection in it. he glances at you past one of his shelves, just far enough so you won’t notice him staring but he’ll have a good look at you. you’re laying in the bed in one of your long-sleeved pyjama shirts, a pair of shorts and socks on your legs that stretch out before you, a laptop on your tummy and the bedside lamp turned on. your eyes are fixed on the screen, not even looking anywhere else than a single point in it.
steven pulls back, his hand over his chest. he has to get on with it, because he wants to make you feel better the sooner the possible. so he sticks headphones into his ears, like marc suggested, and gets to work, his first thing to do is get the dishes out of the way. while he does all the things, one by one, including the groceries—a late trip down to the nearest shop—, he thinks about what to say to you.
apologise, excuse himself—no, that won’t do. apologise, explain himself—that’s better. apologise, explain himself, (which will be hard cause he honestly doesn’t have a reason for not doing anything, he just didn’t) promise to do better, and actually do better, fulfil his promise. he honest to god doesn’t know he’s left some things around before, you haven’t told him because those little things weren’t that much of a bother. and you don’t want him to feel guilty, and you don’t want him to feel that heavy feeling that this has been weighing you down or something, because it hasn’t. he worries about everything all the time, anyway, and you don’t wish for him to worry about something else because of you.
the reason you’re hurt so much from this, so disappointed by this, is because you love him. and he’s let you down. if he had been any other person, anyone who you don’t love so dearly, so intimately, it wouldn’t burn into your heart as painfully.
so after all is said and done, you’ve watched him get about the house and even leave and then fill the fridge with groceries, all of that making you tear up more, you put your laptop down on the floor beside the bed and turn off the light. you turn to lay on your side, and you see steven coming towards you out of the corner of your eye. you don’t want to let him know that you’re watching him, but you’re curious. and you want to look at him, you want to watch him, to see him.
steven sits down on the bed, right by the ends of your feet, and sighs quietly. he wouldn’t want you to think doing all of that burdened him or was hard to do. but you don’t think that. you know his capabilities, and you know him, most of all. of course it took a lot of effort, because he did his best, but it didn’t drain him. but you don’t bat an eye, don’t turn your head to steven, don’t look at him, as he now sits with you. the idea to pretend you’re sleeping even crosses your mind, but you know that he knows you’re not asleep.
and you need to talk about this. you have to give him another chance to say something, or at least try to say something. “i hope…” you say quietly, and then sigh as tears fall from your eyes again, over your nose, onto the pillow and your hair below now. steven’s head turns to look at you, “i hope you didn’t do it all just because i’m upset.” you finally say.
steven huffs, feels his hands nervously sitting in his lap. “no,” he says, “i did it because we made a deal,” he tells you in full seriousness, though his voice remains as shaky and nervous as ever. that admittance, though, means everything to you.
“put your hand on her thigh, steven,” marc speaks to him, and steven nearly cusses him out of the conversation, “come on, don’t be scared, do it. she won’t pull away.” he assures his alter, and steven huffs quietly as he does what he’s told. he moves his hand towards your bare thigh, and he feels slight goosebumps on your skin upon the first touch. but he has learned to not take it as offense or denial, it’s just a physical reaction to a touch. he rests his whole, warm palm on your thigh, and you don’t protest against it in any way. “do little circles on her skin, you know she likes it when you do. it always calms her.”
so steven does that, as well. he looks at your face, and sees you’ve still got tears in your eyes, but now they’re joined by a sad smile on your plump lips. “i really am sorry, love,” steven tells you, “none of it was intentional. i honestly… don’t have an excuse or explanation for it. the most natural thing is just that i forgot. i saw, for example, the dishes on the coffee table, and told myself that i’ll do them. but as soon as i get a chance to, i’ve forgotten again.” steven shakes his head and looks away from you. you can tell that he’s not lying. by his voice, mostly, it always grows huskier and quieter when he’s telling you something honest, something he’s maybe never said before. and now he’s explaining how his mind works, and you can tell that it’s true. and it’s fascinating, as well, how differently his mind works from yours. you smile more shyly now. “should just do them right away, but i don’t know why i don’t,” he explains further, “i’m really sorry. i know how tired you are from work now, and i’m proud of everything you do.” he looks down at you, and discovers that now you have turned to partly lay on your back, and are looking at him. finally. you’re listening, as well. “this won’t happen again. you know what i’ll do, love? i’ll make a list of all the little flat errands, just small reminders, and stick them all around the place so that i never forget.” he tells you, and you nod in response, more tears of gratefulness filling your eyes. you believe him. “maybe i’ll grow out of my habit and start doing them on the spot, who knows?” steven says and even laughs.
you can’t help but chuckle quietly, too, and you wipe your eyes clean of tears and sit up now. steven’s hand draws away from your skin, to which you both nearly pout. but with the plan you have in mind, you know that’s not gone long. “can you just… come here?” you ask him and steven nods without a second’s hesitance. he shuffles across the bed to be closer to you, until he’s sitting right in front of you, inches away from you. you lay one of his hands on your thigh again, and you give him a look. steven smiles at that gesture, smiles quite cheekily and adoringly, and your heart melts at the sight. marc was right, you really do love steven caressing soft figures into your skin.
“you’re not mad at me anymore?” steven asks, that in-love smile still on his features. your hand rests on his shoulder as you look into his eyes, look across his slightly dishevelled hair and his ever-so-beautiful brown eyes.
“well, i still am a little bit,” you tell him and his smile fades a little, “but you’ve made up for it.” you say with an assuring nod, and steven’s smile returns, now being one of relief, barring some of his crazily-neat teeth to you in the process. you adore those kind-of smiles on him. “and i know i can trust your promises now,” you say, and now steven nods at you. inch by inch, you scoot your nose and lips closer to his, melting into the soft caresses of his thumb on the skin of your thigh, not being able to hold off anymore, until your lips are actually touching and you both connect in a loving kiss.
“i love you,” steven mumbles against your lips as he carefully circles his arm around your waist, “and i’m still sorry. i mean that, and i will say that until you’re not mad at me anymore.”
you chuckle lowly, carding a hand into steven’s hair, wanting to tease him as you know how much he loves it when you do that. “i’m always mad at you, silly,” you tell him in return, now pulling away after one last kiss that you lay on his lips, and now you caress his cheek with your hand, “for the best of reasons.” you assure and softly bump your forehead with his. you close your eyes as you do so, but steven keeps his open to just look at you. “i love you, steven, i really do,” you tell him, “hope you don’t doubt that for a second. i wouldn’t be so mad if i didn’t love you. and i definitely love you more than this… argument or whatever.”
steven nods against you. “i know,” he says, “i know you do. and i know i’m a mess.”
“hey, no—” you already start to shake your head, and you even move a hand down to his chest, where you lay it sprawled out across the button-up covered flesh.
“no, it’s true, i am a mess,” steven sticks to his own, “we both know it, and, well… it stupid that it gets in the way of our relationship. i’ll do everything i can to prevent that. i’m gonna try really hard, love.”
you smile. “steven, i’m not perfect, either,” you say and lift your head up to look at him, “we’re a team, remember?” you look straight into his eyes, and see him agreeing, nodding his head. “thank you. for trying, for everything.” you tell him, and he nods again. before he can lean in to give your lips another kiss, sphynx unexpectedly jumps onto the bed with a sound that she uses to announce her presence, startling you both. but you chuckle at her arrival and pet her back as she circles between you both, purring and making all kinds of pleasant noises.
“hello there, little lady,” steven says sweetly to her and scratches just below her chin, knowing the cat’s sweet spots as well as yours. you chuckle and wipe your tears away again, “get up to any trouble while your parents are talking?” he asks, leaning down close to sphynx. you lean back in the bed, your back against the headboard, as you just watch steven with sphynx. “i think it’s bed time, little lady.” steven whispers to her and then sends a wink your way before getting up from the bed to take his clothes off.
after a quick trip to the bathroom and changing into his pyjamas, steven’s in bed with you again and snuggling close to you, his arms around you, his nose and lips in your hair, pulling you closer, closer, closer. but sphynx wants to always get the last word, always wants to be in the middle of everything. and when she starts pushing herself to lay between the both of you, making your postures quite uncomfortable, you both just burst out laughing.
“guess we know the real master of the house now,” steven concludes, and makes you laugh with those words. you just tug sphynx in a more comfortable position for the three of you, close your eyes and rest your head against steven’s chest. you’re still so thankful for him showing initiative and making up for wrong doings, that you fall asleep with a smile on your face.
sleepyendymion‘s request:i heard you were asking for steven grant requests so i am here! could you do steven x reader and they’re on a date? steven is talking rambling about egyptology and the reader is just watching him talk with absolute heart eyes. at one point steven stops talking and asks if his nonstop rambling is annoying and the reader tells him that she absolutely loves watching him talk about something he’s so passionate about.
author’s note: hello :))) first steven request that i’m writing heheheheh. since i’ve been on reader’s end a few times in my life before (not romantically, tho :d), i know how to write this. and i’ve been on steven’s end of the situation, too. i’m so much like him, it’s unreal. so happy reading!!! <3
disclaimer:short, 1.5k words, sort of a blurb :) reader has she/her pronouns
it was unexpected to find such a kind soul as steven in a museum. you liked him already at first glance, and then even more at your first shared conversation. he was charming, and he was gorgeous, and ever so kind and polite, with more manners than all of england men have combined. it was hard for you to take the first step and ask him on a date, since you’d never done that before. men being as they are, always asked you out on their own.
but you could tell that it was harder for steven to do it, to get the courage to do it, than it was for you. he was nervous, but it was clear he wanted to say something, ask something, and you, being good at guessing, knew what it was. it was clear he was attracted to you, and you’d have to be blind or an alien to not be attracted to him. so you took the first step, even though it was terrifying. mostly because you feared rejection, and that everything you’d assumed about him was completely wrong.
“would you want to grab dinner sometime?” you’d asked in a quieter voice, stepping closer to the cash register he was behind in his gift shop. the conversation was pretty private and not meant for other customers or staff to hear.
steven’s face and mind had completely blanked at that offer, because it was exactly what he’d wanted. and so, as he tried to find something to say in return, his lips parting and closing all the time in his confusion and flabberghasted state, you waited for the answer with a smile on your lips, realizing all that you’d thought about his intentions was actually true. “sure, yes! absolutely,” steven finally said and made a nervous laugh. he looked into your beautiful eyes and waited for you to say something more. or was it his turn again? perhaps a suggestion of where to go? “i’m… free whichever day after seven pm.” he offered.
and so on the evening of the following day, you are now sitting in a small, cute restaurant with prices, admittedly, a little outside your budget, across from steven. the date you both had so hoped for, thought it dream-material as you are, each other, unbelievably attractive and totally out of each other’s league, is happening, and you’re both happy and excited for whatever it may bring.
“look, a black cat!” you suddenly point out at seeing the small, dark figure moving across the street. steven’s head whips in the direction of it, and he nods. “oh, no, now that’s bad luck.”
he tilts his head slightly to the side, mouth half-full of the side-bread for his salad. while it’s usually seen as an impolite gesture—stuffing your mouth full and even talking with it that way—you do it, too, and so you find the gesture quite normal and even endearing, when it comes to steven. “it’s… actually not,” he corrects you, “that’s just bogus belief.”
“really?” you ask, surprised as you’ve found every other person in your life saying the exact opposite. you poke around at your food. “does it have any meaning at all, then—seeing a black cat cross the street?” you inquire.
steven shrugs. “well, not really,” he says, “it’s just a cat of a certain colour crossing a street. did you know that, actually cats were pretty special in ancient egypt?”
your interest is picked even more. “yeah, i’ve heard that here and there.” you say, nodding. steven makes a smile at himself, knowing that he can talk more about it, since you’re clearly interested.
“well, the egyptians actually believed that cats were magical creatures,” he begins, “they protected the pharaoh from poisonous snakes, and so they were treasured in egyptian households, always. they even put, um,” steven makes a chuckle, “they even put jewellery on them and treated them like gods, or at least, like the masters of the house.” you nod, eager to hear more. especially when steven talks about the topic in such a passionate way. “many deities had cat heads, there were so many cat sculptures and, of course, the sphynx – a cat figure with a human head that gives you riddles, because it is the cleverest creature in the world.” steven says kind of matter-of-factly, to which you chuckle. “the first ever diety with a cat head was mafdet. she was the protector of the pharaoh’s chambers against poisonous snakes and such, evil over-all. but bastet is much more fascinating to me. of course, they’re all fascinating, but bastet…” steven talks about the goddess bastet, and you listen to him intently.
and you watch him, too, as he talks, you notice the way his eyes shine in their beautiful brown colour. they even gain a warmer undertone when steven makes a smile or a short laugh—an interesting feature. and it’s clear, that with everything that he says, that he knows much more than he tells you. and all the egyptian mythology he does talk about is already huge, so inclusive and just shows how knowledgeable he is about ancient egypt.
you admire him without a second doubt. he knows so much about that time, about the history and culture, and all the jokes, too. and it’s clear that it’s something he loves very much, and loves every opportunity to talk about it. you’re also sure that you’ll melt away any second as you look at him. your food has undoubtedly gone cold, but you’ve forgotten all about it as you watch this absolute beaming sunshine of a person, your cheek rested in the palm of your hand as you’ve leaned forwards and to the side a bit all the while you’re still listening to him and trying to remember everything that he says.
you don’t even notice that he’s stopped talking, and is now giving you awkward glances, perhaps signalling that you should look away. but you don’t, you keep looking at him with complete mesmerisation in your eyes. oh, steven, you’ve done it again. he can’t see what’s in your eyes, he doesn’t see the adoration, and so he thinks you’re about to fall asleep any minute now, and that he’s bored you with his rambles. “sorry for rambling,” he tells you, “it must be annoying. i should let you talk, too.”
that brings you out of your trance immediately. perhaps not completely, but half-way, at least. enough to assure him he’s thought wrong, and perhaps you shouldn’t have looked at him like that. but you couldn’t help it. “it’s not annoying at all, no,” you tell him, “and you’re not rambling.” your hand inches closer to his on your small, shared table. “you’re talking about something you’re really passionate about. and i love it.”
steven’s mind blanks again, and his eyebrows raise in slight surprise. really? she does? he blinks a couple times, and only then notices your hand so close to his own. there’s an urge to reach closer and envelop your delicate hand in his in a warm hold. would that be too much for a first date? “really? oh, well—” he makes another nervous chuckle, “thank you.” his shy eyes meet yours in fleeting glances as he once again feels nervous.
he’s so used to being told to shut up or people just not listening to him that this is a very pleasant surprise. one that nearly brings him to tears, but he’s too nervous and self-conscious to admit that. even to himself. he blinks his beautiful brown eyes a couple more times, and then feels a hand coming over his own. a comforting hand. it sparks the feeling of safety into him.
“you’re kind of the first person to ever say that to me,” steven admits and looks to your intertwined hands. you frown.
“that’s awfully disappointing,” you say, caressing your thumb over his palm, “who wouldn’t love to hear you talk about ancient egypt? it seems you know everything about it! that’s incredible.” a smile adorns your features, and steven can’t deny its contagiousness, smiling himself now, too. his cheeks blush with a pink tint that looks beautiful on his warm olive skin. you can’t believe the man you’re having a date with. he’s just too good to be true. “tell me more,” you whisper, “tell me about the pharaohs and their lives.”
“oh, uh… hasn’t your food gone cold?” he asks, suddenly feeling too on-the-spot to continue talking about his interests in such an out-there manner. after you’ve complimented him, and said such nice things about him, he feels ever so flustered.
“it’s fine, they can heat it up,” you say and lean closer on the table again, your hand still on steven’s, as you wait in anticipation for more egypt stories. steven’s a little taken aback – you’re willing to let your food go cold to listen to his ramblings. what an unbelievable occurrence!
“alright. well… their lives were mostly filled with royal duties, and so many plottings and betrayals that, i think,” steven begins as he makes himself more comfortable in the chair across you. those adoring eyes return to your face as you still watch him, “their deaths and after-lives were much more interesting…”
author’s note: hello! something on steven i’ve yearned to write for a while now, very much based on me myself and i and my work experience and all that. took me around 40 minutes, and i love this little piece. happy reading :)
word count: idk, round 1k??
warnings:none!
a/n:my little scrunglo :( you mean the world to me
“oh, bugger!” you hear a distressed hiss as you come up the stairs to your apartment. the very last landing in the building, with only two flats on it, so it can be no one other than your cross-the-hall neighbour steven grant. gift-shopist, traveller, history buff, especially on ancient egypt. kind of the best neighbour there could be.
a tired smile, its specificity very well showcasing your current state of well-being, stretches your lips as you come up the very last stairs to the landing. steve is bending down in front of his door, his bag open and items nearly starting to spill from them, his cup of whatever beverage also tipping over in between his arm and side… he looks a sad, tired sight. just like you.
“good god above…” steven mutters in exhasperation just before you come over. his keys have fallen to the floor, and he’s picked them up, but now his phone’s fallen out of his hold, too. and his wallet. steven shakes his head just as you lean against his door frame and come into his line of sight. usually that kind of sudden appearance would startle the man, properly scare him, but perhaps because he’s just tired, he only makes a slight jump and doesn’t scream like usual. you like that about steven. his raw emotions, “oh! hello there.” he says and gives you a tiny wave with his nearly-free hand before he bends down to get his phone and wallet from the floor. “almost gave me a scare.” he makes a nervous chuckle, fumbling with his things.
you smile again, your eyes nearly closing. “hi, steven,” you tell him in return and then offer your hand to him, nearing it to his keys. he gives you a glance of obliviousness, “need a hand?” you offer, looking down to the keys in question. and steven already starts to shake his head, his natural politeness and humble habits taking hold.
“oh, no, it’s nothing—“
“gimme here,” you simply say and take the keys from his hold. you note how hot his hands are on the brief moment you’re touching them, but then turn the cold keys to the apartment door at once, “i know a bad day and a stressed person when i see one, yeah? don’t pretend you’re fine,” like every time i ask you a question, you say. you grin to yourself slightly as steven adjusts his bag and realises it’s still open and his stuff might have been spilling out any next second if he hadn’t noticed. you unlock the door and push it open to reveal the dark, moony roof flat of steven grant.
you’ve seen it before, and have been a visitor also, and yet the flat is the coolest one you’ve seen. you wish you had that mansard ceiling, but your flat doesn’t have that luxury. you’ve loved mansard ceilings since you’ve been little, and have always wanted one. thought an attic flat might just come with that sort by default, but turned out that assumption was wrong. yet you took the flat across steven, anyway, because it’s not expensive and exactly what you need.
you step inside first and wait for steven to follow. he does so hesitantly, ever the nervous gentleman. you adore that about him, and have the chance to smile to yourself about it as you close the door with your back to steven. you turn around and see steven putting all his stuff into place. “you can tell me about it over a cuppa, alright?” you call to him, your own bag and jacket still on your shoulders, as you venture into his open kitchen.
his eyes widen. “oh, i can make us both some tea, don’t worry about it—“ he begins to say as he makes his way over to you, but the sure yet soft glance you give him, the kettle already in hand, is an answer enough.
“just sit down, steven,” you tell him, having learned how to approach his mannerisms, “it’s no bother.” just let me do something actually useful, you think to yourself but don’t say out loud. steven nods, gives you a gentle and nervous smile, and takes a seat in his own sofa near-by.
few minutes later, two cups of green tea in your hands, you make your way over to the couch and the very tired and still nervous steven. it’s a little sad, really, you often worry if there are times steven spends not feeling anxious about anything in the world. you certainly hope there are. you hand him his cup, knowing he likes sugar and having added a teaspoon of it into the cup, and steven takes it gladly, with an honestly thankful smile on his face. he sits with his back against the backrest while you slouch down at the other end of the sofa with your back on the armrest, your legs lazily and without attention stretched before you. nearly touching steven’s legs, but you don’t want to make him more nervous.
“so. bad day,” you state to him after you’ve both had a sip. steven gives you a hesitant glance, one that says you’ve cracked him, but nods, “you can talk to me about it all.” you assure him.
steven makes a sad smile. “thanks, that’s—that’s nice that you care and want to listen,” steven says, and the words break your heart. you’ve often wondered how it’s possible that he’s got no one else in his life. he does contact his mum, but you don’t know if the contact is one-sided or not. she does send him postcards, so there must be some response, “it’s just the usual, really,” steven says with his head half-turned to you. again, that attitude of not wanting to burden you with his problems, not wanting to make them seem like a big deal. you tilt your head in a way that lets steven know what you’re thinking, “not to say it’s good that it’s usual. that’s even worse,” he chuckles nervously again, “my manager, my boss—donna, she’s always the same, really.” steven shrugs. “calling me stevie instead of my name, scolding me for being late—which i always apologise for and don’t mean to be on purpose,” steven raises his eyebrows for convincing effect, “and today she called me useless when i corrected her for the hundredth time.” he sighs deeply.
you frown and lean over your legs to get a little closer to him, “that’s very rude of her,” you tell him, “and that’s an understatement. that’s actually… emotional violence, you know.” steven gives you a look as he’s turned his head to you now. “i hope you don’t believe her, at least, steven.”
he looks away. he does believe her. “well… i don’t know, y/n, what use am i working in a gift shop and selling jelly candies that have nothing to do with ancient egypt or its mythology?” he shrugs. “it’s not like they invented jellies.” he says, and his eyes stare emptily ahead of him. you make a smile.
“well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” you grin wider as you reach a hand over the backrest of the sofa. steven looks at you again. “you know everything about ancient egypt there is to know. it’s sad she’s got you working in the gift shop when you should be a tour guide or—or a lecturer or something,” you shrug.
steven makes a snort, turning away again, “yeah, well, on that offer she threatened to stuff me into a sarcophagus,” he admits and takes a sip of his tea. in return, you nearly spit yours out.
“she what?” you ask in shock, and steven turns his head to you to look at you and nod his head. “steven, that’s wrong on so many levels. i realise why you won’t quit, you love the museum, but you desperately need a new boss.” you tell him and drink your tea calmer. steven nods.
“you could come and take her place,” he suggests, and makes a cheeky smile at you. you laugh, and steven loves to see that sight. it’s like medicine, like remedy, for the day he’s had.
“i would love to, if i knew anything about museum management,” you say and make a sigh, but giggle afterwards. steven working for you would be quite the adventure.
“i see you’re tired, as well,” steven tells you, and your head is raised immediately by that observation. you look into his eyes—kind, well-meaning, caring, and so serious, too. but there is still a smile in both his eyes and on his lips, “any terrible costumer stories from today?” he asks.
you smile. steven knows where you work, just as you know where he works. “not really,” you shake your head, “it’s my boss, too.” a sigh leaves your lips again. “stressed me out to the point of a panic attack today.” it’s like you can taste the hot tears in your mouth still. “you know, she’s all fun and we even have a few laughs when we’re both at work, face to face, yeah,” you begin to explain, still feeling steven’s caring eyes on your form as you stare into your green tea, “but on the mobile she’s so sharp and rude all of a sudden, like she’s had a complete personality change…” you shake your head, still in disbelief as you recall the texts she sent you, “she acts on her assumptions rather than expanding her mind, maybe, and asking me for the truth. and today, she kept at me about a product i hadn’t thrown out, she just kept at it like her life depended on it.”
steven’s lips turn into a slight frown, too, “i’m sorry,” he says, “she must really have it in for you.”
you nod. “i guess,” you say, “though i haven’t given her any reason to dislike me, i think. i should like to say that i’m a good worker.” you say and look at steven, your eyes nearly tearful. especially when you see the supportive smile on his face.
“you are, y/n,” he tells you, “you may not like the environment you work in, but you do everything in your job description.” he says. “i should know.” steven sends you a playful wink and makes an airy chuckle afterwards. he’s feeling pretty nervous about doing that gesture suddenly. you smile.
“yeah, you do know,” you say, knowing that he’s talking about the times he’s waited up for you at the end of your night shifts to walk you home. just for safety. and your company, too, maybe, “well, i don’t know. i do do everything, but i still feel so under-appreciated by her… and also today, she sends me, like, all the pieces of clothing i should usually have on at work, and says if one thing is missing, she’ll take it off my work hours.” you breathe deeply, and steven gasps, his face shocked. “yeah! mental, innit? and then i tell her i don’t feel comfortable in the work shirts we’ve been assigned cause they’re much too small for me or for anyone, really, and she tells me that i’m not working in a gucci store or anything and finishes the text with ‘no proper outfit = no employee’, which practically means she threatened to fire me if i didn’t have, i don’t know… black shoes instead of white ones.”
“god! the nerve of her,” steven says and shakes his head.
“i know!” you respond, your voice starting to get shaky again. “the thing is, she didn’t have a problem with how i dressed—which is always formally and in the required colours, minus the assigned shirt—for, like, half a year until now. now she’s suddenly got a problem with it.” you shake your head. steven nods, understanding the unfairness. you feel nervous, having talked about your problems so vastly while steven only said a few words about his. “i don’t know who’s worse—your boss or mine.”
steven makes a smile, and then looks at you again. straight in the eyes, and you appreciate the contact. “we’ll not be comparing them,” he tells you with a shake of his head, “they’re both bad, and shouldn’t be managers at all.”
“precisely,” you agree. and steven gets an idea from the way you lift your half-empty cup of tea in the air. he stifles a laugh and only makes a grin that reaches his very ears. he brings his cup of tea in front of him, between the two of you, and looks at you. you wonder what he’s got under his skin.
“to very bad, bully managers,” he says as he lifts the cup of tea up in the air, still smiling nearly insanely, like a mad scientist, and you laugh. it’s good that steven laughs with you, or he might have thought you were laughing at him. you raise your cup of tea, too, crossing your forearm with steven’s.
“to very bad, bully managers,” you repeat and you both drink your tea mugs empty, your arms encircled with each other. you put your empty one on the coffee table and pull your legs closer to yourself and then you look at steven, “i feel like that should have been something a lot stronger,” you admit, referencing many toasts made in movies and tv shows.
steven laughs. “agreed, but, unfortunately, i have work tomorrow,” he tells you and takes both your empty cups in his hands, walking over to the kitchen then. you watch after him, and tuck your chin nearly over your shoulder to continue doing it, “another?” steven raises the cup in the air, asking for a tea refill, and you nod with that tired smile of yours.
your managers may suck, but at the end of the day, you’ve both got each other. either across the hall, passing by or in your couch. the other is always there.
a/n: hello! sorry to have been gone so long. i have so much to do, so little time to sit down for writing. and i think i have writer’s block… but i was battling it tonight!!! and i like to think i won :D but ofc, that’s for you to decide. happy reading!
my darling boy…. gif credit goes to owner / maker!
both your feet and knees nearly touching and criss-crossing on the floor, the growing intimacy between you two suddenly settles onto the silence you share. you become aware of it, too, and any restraint that kept you from reaching your hand out to steven’s face and tracing it drops. you don’t know if it’s your genuine yearning to do that, or your genuine yearning amplified by your still slightly-(or very much)drunken state. but you’re not sure you care, either.
you shuffle your butt further, closer to steven, over his wooden floor, and now your feet are directly laying by his thighs, close as ever. you look into his eyes, but you don’t fully acknowledge the anxious look in them. you look past that, and you see the desire, see the lust, the yearning, too. and so you know that your hand threading across his clothes or skin won’t be anything scary or intruding to him. he clearly wants this as much as you do.
as you move your hand gently down his clothed thigh, feeling already steven’s reaction to that—not having to see it to know it—, you tilt your head and rest it on your knees. your eyes, wide and wondering, gently look up into steven’s, low-lidded for once but on edge, yet still loving, and you give him a gentle smile of your lips. your hand traces higher, up steven’s arm on which goosebumps have no doubt broken out on. you don’t see it, because he’s wearing a jacket and one of his lovely sweaters underneath that. “you know what else i’ve wanted for a long time?” you ask in a soft whisper, your hand now at the cusp of steven’s neck.
you can feel him gulp, and you ponder if that’s out of fear. but you doubt it. he’s just nervous, stressed about what’s to come, as he almost usually is, and no doubt nervous about being turned on, too. perhaps he thinks he shouldn’t be. “love,” steven starts to say in a cautious, quiet voice, “before you finish that sentence, you need to be really sure.” so he knows what’s on your mind, and what your fingers are yearning to say for you, what they’re yearning to do. “you’re drunk, my darling, and i don’t wanna…”
you raise your head before he can say another word and lean even closer to him, nearly nose-to-nose with him now. your eyes search his, your hand cording through his hair at the back of his head. those beautiful silk curls. “i’m not black-out drunk, steven,” you assure him, “i’m… filtering things.” you say with a nod and an awkward smile. an exact replica grows on steven’s lips, his cheeks heating up with a rose blush. your legs rest on the floor sideways as you lean more forwardly towards steven, nearly on your hands and knees before him. your other hand rests on his chest, soothing very slowly and cautiously up and down. “god, i want you so much, steven. and i know you want me, too.” you state, and at that steven’s eyes nearly explode out of their sockets. you smile at them widening, and at his blush intensifying. you lean your forehead against his, your back arching and hips coming off the floor now with that motion, and you close your eyes halfway as you get close to him. “say it. please,” you urge him as you hear a deep huff leave his lips.
it takes him a few moments, but he does break. who is he to deny you? you clearly are filtering things, you’re conscious of your choices. only difference in your behaviour now from your usual sober one is that you’re talking a little more. just a little. and you’ve got that wide smile on your face, and the drunk look in your eyes. plus, you wouldn’t be the one taking the lead in this situation if you didn’t want any of this. so he’s convinced you want him like he wants you. “i want you, my love,” he finally says, voicing what you were already sure of, and leans his head back. just to see you, look at the beauty and miracle of you. the unbelievable you. a smile stretches his lips again as his fall half-lidded, those captivating chocolate eyes, and his curls press around his face more as the back of his hair flattens against the kitchen table leg.
you can’t help but make a smile at that awaited confession, your heart fluttering in your chest. your drunk smile is what makes steven chuckle, because oh, if it doesn’t make you more endearing to him… his hands slowly come up to your waist, holding onto its covered form on both sides, making your breaths turn heavy. you’re at his mercy immediately, your hazy eyes half-lidded from lust and the over-all enticing feeling of his touch. you’ve missed it so much, and you’re dying to tell him that.
your back arches when steven’s hands go lower, caressing over the skin of your thighs with out-splayed fingers, palm flat but rounding all your plump edges. you’re practically riding him already with how your hips are moving downwards and chest is arching towards his. “oh, my days, love,” steven muses, not knowing he’d have or generally has this immediate of an effect on you. he tightens his hands on your thighs just to test out the waters, and your reaction makes his eyebrows raise, and his eyelids flutter. he was sure you were an angel the first time he met you, but now this is just absolute proof that one cannot object.
how your head tilts slightly back, your chin up in the air, lips parted because soft sighs—and a whimper—are leaving them, your eyes nearly nearly closing. the muscles he sees in your neck are moving, the ones around your collarbone and the roots of your shoulders are mesmerising to watch as well. and the curves and forms of yours he feels underneath his hands… gods, you’re beautiful. he’s sure you’re the pure form of hathor’s rebirth. you cannot be a regular woman, or then he thinks—that’s where the beauty of it is, that you’re just as earthly as anyone else, yet you’re… heavenly. “steven… i missed you so much,” you whine as you try to grind more into his touches.
steven thinks that’s a very meaningful sensual confession to make. certainly one that means a lot to him—he thought you’d wanted nothing to do with him for the rest of your life. but here you are, telling him that you missed him while you two were apart. “i—i missed you, too, my darling,” he admits, though the words might sound forced and unsure, but they’re sure as all hell. steven’s just flustered, “you’ve no idea.”
you make a smile at that add-on, and even a chuckle. then you take steven’s hand in yours and lead it slowly up the side of your body. you make sure he watches as you do, and he does. with hungry eyes. with loving eyes. with everything that you love him for in those beautiful chocolate eyes. “i missed you everywhere,” you say in a hushed voice as you guide his hand now across the bare top of your chest, across your collarbones and onto your neck. without having to ask you or have you guide him, steven runs that hand to the back of your head, where he cradles your skull in the roots of your hair as the both of your eyes connect, “every day,” you whisper to him, now feeling his thumb on your cheek. you turn slightly to the side to kiss that finger of his with your lips, and once again you watch him as you do so.
steven gulps and feels his pants grow tighter, nearly causing friction between his skin and the fabric of his trousers. he grows nervous, breaks out a sweat, and you feel him doing so. he realises that you two haven’t even kissed yet tonight. your lips curl up into a grin and you lean into his hand. your own hand strokes his cheek and runs into his hair as your hips still roll down onto his. “wanna make up for it,” steven tells you, “let me touch you, darling girl.” he pleads to you, his chin tilting upwards while he does. you smile at him sweetly and move your index finger affectionately down his attractive nose and boop the very tip of it. steven smiles wide, too, but closes his eyes for just a moment while he pulls you even closer to him. his lips yearn for yours, and you know you have an offer to answer.
“on one condition,” you tell him, watching his eyes for reaction. steven nods, following in on his promise to do whatever he can, “i get to kiss you.” you simply say with a gentle shrug, and it makes steven laugh and shake his head, the curls coming out of their tucked-back positions here and there. you run your hands deep into them and in result lean his head back so you’d see steven’s face.
“anything, my darling,” steven tells you and pushes his own face as close as possible to yours, “i thought you’d never ask.” he says before pulling your lips down to his and finally kissing you like you’ve wanted him to for the whole of tonight, for the whole of your separation period. you instantly moan into the kiss and your hands nearly ravage his skull and roots as their touch intensifies. “i love you,” steven mumbles into your mouth as he nearly devours it, your tongues and teeth hitting each other as suddenly everything you both do has gained speed and impatience.
steven pushes a hand up underneath your dress and into your underwear, grabbing the devil by his horns first without hesitance. you can only guess how hungry the man is, and you don’t blame him. though steven wasn’t this head-on sexually your first time together. but you guess he’s gained some courage and confidence because he’s seen how you react to him. so your ‘i love you’ back turns into a gasp of surprise which, in turn, immediately melts into a moan as steven’s first touch upon you feels ecstatic.
and though he had some trouble the first time, he now expertly ‘most immediately finds your most sensitive nub and adds pressure to it with two of his fingers. your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders, where you’re weakly gripping the material of his jacket. his getting straight to the point is a give-away that he needs you coming soon, needs to be inside of you soon, as well. he’s impatient, he’s quick, but oh does he make it worth your while. and he makes up for everything so much so that you’re forgetting everything that you talked about or that happened between you before he hooked that hand under your dress.
your hips buck into his hand in some sporadic rhythm, “fuck, steven,” you whine right into his ear, and hear a groan in response. one that sounded as if he was mad, but you’re sure his not. his actions beg to differ, and now that he’s pushing his ring finger inside you, you’re sure he’s far from being mad at you. your hands are fisting his jacket out of the intensity of everything, and you feel embarrassed at how close to coming you already feel now, “right there, oh my god…” your eyes are rolling into the back of your head and you’re positively nearly fainting.
steven watches your face, and then lays kiss after kiss after that territory his hand already treaded on—the skin above your chest, around your collarbones, on your neck—until his lips are right by your ear and he’s uttering all the words you and your cunt wanted so bad to hear. “want you to come on my fingers, darling girl,” he says, very well knowing that this one is your favourite pet name for yourself that steven uses. it’s the way he says it, and now his voice has an effect on the sound and on you, too, “need you to come for me, love, come on.”
tears are biting your eyes and now some dropping onto your heated cheeks, steven’s pressured stimulation on your clit and folds and inside you driving you over the edge already. you’re crying out his name, moaning it, chanting it in whispers, painting the illusion of a witch in his hands. steven already has a plan, and he enjoys the very first pleasurable part of it now—pleasuring you—and now he sees you come for him in all glory of the spectacle. beads of sweat on your forehead, tears pushing past your eyelids squeezed shut, your lips parted and nose bunched up in that cute way. he smiles as he finds another miracle in you, and he holds your head up with his hand so that you wouldn’t hurt your neck.
“that’s it,” is the first thing you hear once you feel yourself sort-of down from your orgasm haze, and you blink your wet eyes open finally. steven’s looking up at you with languid, head-over-heels eyes. but there’s some mischief behind them, and you can feel him ruffling about with something around your thighs, which you can barely feel, by the way.
“‘m sorry,” you blurt out in your flushed state, feeling ashamed at how quick you reached your peak, “that was… too fast.” but steven shakes his head immediately at that statement.
“no, my love,” he tells you, “that was perfect, don’t worry about it.” steven assures and lays a kiss just beneath your collarbone. your eyes flutter as you feel the gesture, sure that by now that exposed skin of yours must be littered in hickeys. “guess we’re both a little impatient, innit?” steven asks you with a wink and you feel him spread your thighs apart. you glance down, where his hand is once again wedging in-between those plump pillows of yours, and he’s bringing his hard self out of his trousers, and you look up at steven again.
“i don’t know if i can,” you tell him with a gentle shake of your head. steven raises his eyebrows.
“what, this?” steven asks as he lines himself up with your tight entrance and pushes inside, making you still around him before you instinctively relax, feeling every inch of him stretching you, “you’re taking me so well, my darling girl, there’s nothing to worry about.” steven assures as he sinks deeper and deeper into your warm, wet walls, pulling your body flush against his, and turning your lips into a perfect oval shape. he grins at that sight, and kisses your cheek. “you feel just heavenly around me.” steven confesses, staring into your barely-filtering eyes as a smile curves his perfect lips. “i love being inside you,” he says and you swear this is the voice of nervous, flustered, submissive steven again. he uttered that confession like something he shouldn’t really have said, in that usual way of his. that steven in combination with this more confident one is honestly a mix you quite want to get behind.
you steady your hands on steven’s shoulders once more, this time promising you’ll stick to this balance, and feel some of your strength returning. though there is a delicious burn in your cunt, your warm walls, from such soon contact again after that quick but intense release. it’s almost painful, but not completely. and it makes you weak in the knees again, so you leave the rhythm setting to steven while you steady yourself on him and get really close to his face. and suddenly it’s like you discover it for the first time again, and his lips have never looked more appealing to you.
your blushed pilgrims push against his, and you immediately moan against them again. steven’s one arm around your waist and the other sprawled across your hip both work at moving you up and down his thick length at a heavenly quick pace. you know he’s eager to finish as well, so perhaps it’s his body acting over his mind this time. he’d take his time, as he did the previous—first—time, if it was any other situation. but it’s not really, is it?
steven has missed you terribly, has felt guilty and ashamed for whatever he’d done. and you’d missed him, too, like a flower misses the sun, yearning for him every day. and you still feel that both-sided yearning now—in his thrusts, in his hands on your body, in his lips against yours, in his moans and grunts for you and because of you. and no doubt he can hear that in your cries, your whimpers, your moans for him, in the way you push your lips desperately against his and grip his shoulders. you’re both going through some of the most erotic moments and feelings you’ve ever felt, but you’re also going through an emotional storm, in which you’re afraid to let each other go. so you cling to one another like your lives depend on it, like the other might slip away at any next moment.
you’re not ready to lose steven again. not after you’ve made up in the most beautiful way that works well with your heart, too. and he’s not about to lose you, either, the best thing in his life that he fought pretty hard, if he might say so himself, to get back. when it’s over, and you’ve both come down from your highs—quite mind-blowing ones—you don’t want to pull apart yet. you don’t want the connection to end quite so soon.
so you sit there in steven’s arms, his pulsating length still inside you, and just watch him. and you run your hand across his features, whichever way your hand wants to, whichever feature feels more captivating in each moment. steven smiles at it, and occasionally even chuckles at your gestures and their character. “you’re treating me like quite the porcelain,” he tells you finally, after you’ve both not spoken since your orgasms. since you cried and grunted each other’s names like it was a name that would save your lives. who knows? maybe some day it would.
you smile at his comment, and keep on tracing his jawline, his nose, the shell of his ear with your fingers. “you’re porcelain to me,” you tell him, “but not in a bad way.” you say before his anxious brain can assume otherwise.
“hm,” steven hums, “never been compared to that before,” he admits, and you stop your hand movements, “i-it feels nice, to be honest.” steven adds on, and your smile grows bigger, cheekier. “you think my fragility is a good part of me?” he asks then, in a quieter voice.
you give him a nod. “it might be the very best part,” you say and hold his cheek in your hand. steven smiles, and you feel the curve of that expression push into the palm of your hand. you sit in silence for a while, just acknowledging and appreciating each other’s presence and hold while this moment still lasts. both of you are deep in thought, of course.
“was it good for you, love?” steven asks suddenly, quietly, in the silence between you. “i didn’t hurt you, did i?” he asks now, searching your eyes for any answers. and you shake your head assuringly, the smile on your face helping your case, too.
“it was more than good for me,” you tell him, “steven, i couldn’t form coherent words, and that should tell you something.” you say with a wide smile on your face. both your smile and your words make the two of you laugh, steven making an absolutely heavenly sound as he laughs.
“that—that’s great to hear,” he says after the laughter’s sort-of died down, but is still creeping in between words and syllables, “you know, at one point, during our… time apart, i even thought i was so bad… at sex that you decided to completely disappear and never contact me again. and make it so that i could never contact you again.” now this confession gets a really loud laugh from you, one that you can’t stop for some time. “i thought well, that happens nowadays, doesn’t it? some few centuries ago, and maybe not even more than one, women sadly had to put up with their husbands being bad at sex, they couldn’t go anywhere.” steven continues, and only works to add to your laughter. “but nowadays women do that a lot, don’t they? if it doesn’t work in the bedroom, it won’t work at all, ever. and so they leave, but don’t want to give an insulting explanation.”
you still laugh, but you also take steven’s face between your hands and pull it close to yours again, “while you’re very correctly observing of women and our behaviour, you do not have a thing to worry about,” you assure him, “you’re great at sex, steven grant. and if you’re sometimes unsure of that, practice always makes perfect. especially when you have a girlfriend who’s so willing to help.” you smile and chuckle again.
the title girlfriend stalls steven’s mechanisms again, but he gets back on track soon enough again. he tries to think of a way to play the fact that you two are really together again as nonchalantly as possible. “well,” steven says and lays a kiss on your hand, “would my girlfriend like a shower before bed?” he proposes, and you nod without hesitation.
you couldn’t wish for anyone else but steven grant in the world. even if he broke your heart, you know you’d still go on loving him. and that incident proved it.
a/n:okay i feel like i kinda went ooc for steven here, but… idk maybe i didn’t. anywhos, hope you enjoyed this :) another part, the very last one, coming, actually, lemme just write it :D
please just dear god please don’t sexualise this gif. steven was scared for his life here. how does that make you have sexual thoughts.
because of handcuffs? please. weite all the handcuff steven fics you want to, just don’t use this gif. and if this gif turns you on??? steven being scared and confused for his life and handcuffed for the first time, possibly arrested for something he feels incredibly guilty and confused about (because ut wasn’t him who demolished the bathroom) ??? get a grip. get yourself checked. sick. sick.
synopsis: after your argument with marc, you enjoy your days with steven but when you come home to marc waiting for you, you don’t know what to say..
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you and steven had a good run. it was a three day vacation from marc, although you could bet that marc was still bothering steven in the back of his mind.
you had just gotten back from the cafe near the flat, a coffee in your hand and a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream for steven, you fumbled with the keys before throwing the door open.
without even taking a step in, the air in the flat was different, the warmth that steven had projected into the flat was now suddenly replaced with the essence of marc.
you loved marc. to the core, marc was the love of your life. but he had made life so cold since he became a fugitive. hardly did he treat you the way he did before, he radiated anger and anxiety so much so that it was suffocating to be near him.
you set the drinks down on the table and set your keys down as well, pulling your bag off and setting in on the chair.
“took you long enough.” a voice deadpanned, and you turned to find marc sitting perched on the kitchen counter behind you.
you rolled your eyes, “coffee or hot chocolate?” you knew the answer and you hand shifted for the chocolate. you strode over to the bed, kicking your shoes off and lying down on the bed, closing your eyes to relax a little bit.
“really?” marc spoke and you opened your eyes, upset that he had disrupted the quiet you had forced in.
“hmm?” you pretended like you didn’t know what he was trying to start. another argument.
marc rolled off the counter and snatched the coffee cup, going to stand at the edge of the bed.
“you’re mad.” was all marc said and you raised your eyebrows, “of course i am. are you surprised?” marc shook his head, “god..you’re one petty bitch.”
you opened your hands with fake gratitude, “my last name is spector. might as well play the part.”
marc set the coffee down on his nightstand and began to pace the space at the edge of the bed, “you want a divorce? is that what you want?”
you sat up at that, speechless that he would even offer that.
“wha-“
marc blew up on you after that.
“i can fucking divorce you, leave you in the streets to starve and no one to save you! is that what you want-“
“marc-“ you held a hand up but marc kept going, and tears welled in your eyes.
“-to be alone? like the bitch you are? i cant protect you if you are alone!” he screamed.
you flinched back at that, and marc suddenly stopped.
your soft sobs echoed through the flat.
“im sorry..” you whispered in between sobs, air refusing to stay in your lungs as you cried.
marc felt guilt wash over him, stepping up to the bed, he crawled towards you, holding a hand out.
you opened your eyes, looking to find marc staring at you with softness. for a moment, you could’ve sworn steven was in his eyes.
“no.” he hushed you, embracing you, “im sorry. im sorry. im so sorry.” he whispered, holding you closely to him.
you buried your face in his chest as you continued to cry. frustrated at what had become of your marriage.
“don’t do that to me again.” you looked up at marc and he nodded.
you slept in marc’s arms that night for the first time in months.
you had slipped out of the bed around four am. the clock on your phone has proven it, and you glanced over at marc who was sleeping peacefully, hands still reaching out to your space.
you sighed, angry at yourself and at marc but welcoming at the newfound understanding.
you went to the bathroom and when you returned, marc was wide awake, twirling a rubix cube in his hands, throwing it up and down as he waited for you.
“y/n.” marc called out at your figure standing in the bathroom doorway, gazing at him on the bed.
you padded back to bed, tearing your hoodie off and sat on the edge of the bed, head down as you thought of what to say.
“i don’t want to divorce you, marc.” you spoke.
marc stopped playing with the cube, “i didn’t mean that. i don’t either.”
you shrugged, “are you sure? because it seems like you do.”
marc shook his head. god, how he would love to just pour his anxieties out, tell you how khonshu would choose you to take his place as his new avatar but marc wouldn’t let him, not as long as he served khonshu would you suffer marc’s fate. marc couldn’t protect you forever, even as a mercenary, he kept you out of that life, and you knew it was dangerous but never to the full extent.
hug her.
marc heard steven talk in his head, and marc scooted next to you on your side of the bed, grabbing you at your side and bringing you close to him.
“i would die for you. i-“ have before, he wanted to say, but he quieted himself and said instead, “i just don’t want to lose you. im sorry for not being there. for not, loving you the way i vowed i would.”
you sniffled, turning around to hug marc. you kissed marc, and marc found his hands at your neck, holding you for a deeper kiss.
you relished in his affection, his touch.
“i love you.” you whispered.
marc caressed your cheek as he gazed at you, “i love you to the moon and back.”
I don’t like Mondays: Steven Grant x fem! Reader blurb
Summary:after Steven’s awful Sunday he was convinced was a Friday, can you make his Monday just a little better?
Genre:fluff, meet cute, hints of romance.
Author’s note: I had ZERO (0) intention of writing for Steven Grant, yet after the week he’s had I simply wanted him to have a happy moment. Maybe I’ll never write him again -this was a very quick one- but here he is! Let me know what you think! (Obviously I don’t have lots of characterisation to lean on yet, but considering I wrote 15k for Dieter before seeing the canon… this isn’t the silliest thing I’ve attempted )
Warnings: LIGHT EP 1 SPOILERS. Follows on from his on-screen Sunday, but otherwise not canon-heavy on the Moon Knight side (more so on the gift shop side ). Allusions to canon-specific mental health (time skips, DID, sleeplessness, distress, questioning reality) but not the major theme. Donna is rude (shocker!). Swearing. Coupla digs at museums, soz.
Rating: teen, but my blog is 18+ please and thank you!
You march up to the counter in the gift shop, approaching the sad sack (affectionate) man behind the sales desk. He looks like an amalgamation of every moody indie Brit-pop frontman you had a crush on as a teenager - and you enjoy that about his aesthetic. His appearance is oddly comforting to you. Nostalgic.
He looks like he hasn’t slept since Jarvis Cocker was last in the charts either, judging by the heavy bags beneath his eyes, a few shades darker than his lightly-lined tan-brown skin.
Even as you approach the desk he looks as though he is struggling to stay awake; though he does perk up marginally as you sidle up and plant you palms flat on the counter.
“Hello! Are you in charge here?” you ask brightly, your tone full of enough energy that it seems to affront him, in his tired haze. Still, he does offer you an adorable half-arsed wave, which makes your heart involuntarily melt - especially as the motion jiggles the curls waffling delightfully across his forehead.
“Hiya. No. Chance would be a fine thing. That would be Donna.” His voice is softer than you would have expected. You quite enjoy that. It’s a gentle thing. Unobtrusive. Perfectly suited for a museum or a library, in fact. Ideal for intimate cafe conversations over text books and coffee.
His accent is different to what you may have conjured in your head too. A few degrees left of local. An unusual -though not unpleasant- twang which you can’t quite place.
“Great. Can I speak to her, please? To Donna?”
“Well. I wouldn’t recommend it.” His face crumples, brow and mouth collapsing with a weight, even as he attempts a soft breathy laugh. His manner is a little awkward, you note, -like he’s not entirely comfortable in his own skin- but endearingly so. Endearing enough that you glance down to his name tag, wishing to put a name to this new face.
steven grant x reader | fluff, no pronouns, no spoilers!
a small oneshot in celebration of moon knight premiere. you can expect more fics for steven after more episodes are released <3
“Is this— is this seat taken?” an exhausted voice asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” you said with a smile. The man sat down, immediately sighing in relief. Your first thought was about how he looked kind of cute, but you internally scolded yourself.
You haven’t even met him for five seconds, get a grip.
Warnings : Fluff, mild angst, mention of blood, mention of canon style violence, mention of food, some innuendos and spice
Summary : You offer to help Marc and Steven relax a little after a long night
Prompts - “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” + “Your back is so tense. Would you like a massage?”
Gif by salome-c
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The night drags out in the winter, long and dark as you toss and turn in a cold empty bed. It’s not the first night you’ve been alone, and you know it won’t be the last, but every night they are gone ends this way — restless and sleepless. You know eventually the sun will rise, the moon will disappear again for another night, and you hope that then, they will come home to you.
Sitting up, you run your hands over your face, the movement stirring up the lingering familiar scent of them from their sweater. You’d thrown it on as the wind had rattled the window panes, the cold breeze sneaking through the gaps to bite at your skin. The smell brings a soft familiar warmth to you, as though you could imagine them here, their arms wrapped around you.
Technically it’s Marc’s sweater, a point Steven likes to make continually since he hates it, preferring his patterned shirts to Marc’s usual wardrobe of darker colours, but it’s still a comfort that reminds you of them both.
Swinging your legs out of bed, you let the cold wood floor ground you for a moment, pulling you from dark and depressing thoughts. They always came home to you, there’s no reason tonight should be any different, and yet the restlessness won’t cease.
This was so beautifully warm and soft and fluffy and it made me yearn in the best way possible. They deserve someone taking care of them so much
I love how you wrote them being perfectly at peace with sharing a body now and the way how they kept trying to convince the reader that they should be the one taking care of them felt just so very much in character. Also, Marc being convinced that he still doesn’t deserve it, my heart
Thank you so much for sharing
Aw thank you! They really do deserve someone who can look after them! Even if Marc would take a lot of convincing on that point, bless him!
Thank you for the lovely comment and taking time out to reblog
