summary: Steven Grant hated coffee, but he loved the way it tasted on you when he kissed you. Marc Spector loves coffee, longing to taste it on your mouth.
pairing: steven grant x reader
tags: fluffy, steven is literally so soft for reader, this whole thing is really just making out (with a bit of grinding and lowkey alludes to smut) reader is aware of Marc and the business with Khonshu!
word count: 2.3k (small thing while i get a master list out!)
notes: hello, I hope you all enjoy this! It’s a short little thing while I try to figure out and get a master list all sorted out! As always, please let me know if I have made any form of mistakes with writing DID, it is never my intentions to hurt or misinform someone with my writing! But alas, please enjoy!
Stevenhatedthe taste of coffee, loathed the smell of it even more. But when you come home from work, begging for a cup and for him to hold you, it all goes right out the window.
He doesn’t care that the smell wafting around his loft is nauseating, nor does he care about the fact that you had spilt a small drop of the caramel brown liquid onto one of the random pages he had scattered around the desk. No, all he cares about is the weight of you sitting down against him, the smell of your coconut and honeydew shampoo wafting in his nose, immediately relieving the knots in his stomach, caused by the smell of coffee, as you let out a deep sigh, finally being able to relax.
— STEVEN GRANT FINALLY HAD TO ADMIT TO HIMSELF THAT HE NEEDED HELP. Professional help that is, it took a while for him to understand that he was at his limit for a mental breakdown. He knew he needed to talk to someone other than the statue man on the street. Someone who would actually respond to when he ranted and well, he searched around for a therapist and found you.
Steven was quite nervous to start therapy, any person was really. To share your vulnerability was scary and Steven only ever been vulnerable with the lively statue by the fountain. His heart pounded in his chest as he shifted on his feet staring at the door with a frosted plane window with your last name on it. Steven was muttering underneath his breath trying to convince himself to go in.
“Don’t be mental, you need this Steven. You just need help.” Steven whispered to himself, staring at the plane, he saw the reflection shift a bit but he didn’t move. He brought the back of his clenched fist to his eyes and rubbed them furiously. “I definitely gone mental.”
With his series of muttering gradually becoming louder, suddenly, the door opened causing him to jump in his spot, taking a step back. Your head peeked out the door with furrowed brows and parted lips. Steven felt his breath caught in his throat staring at you with wide eyes. You were simply breathtaking. The way your [color] eyes stared at him in curiosity but with such softness that made him drown in those hues, losing himself all over again.
The way your hair fell over your face and your plump lips quirking into a soft smile. “Oh! You must be Steven Grant!” You beamed happily, opening the door more and stepping by the door frame. “I heard noises out here and I thought one of my neighbors was disturbing you.”
summary: steven often wonders why you chose to love him, you remind him why you do
pairing: steven grant x reader, marc spectro x reader, jake lockely x reader
word count: 3286
(been listening to pov by ariana grande for a while and this has become an inspiration)
*
*
*
days with you have never been dull,
especially since Marc and Jake exist as well with him, it has never been a bore with you, although yes, they tend to be so fond of interrupting his moments with you,
there are always moments he shares with you that makes him fall for you all over again, that feeling brings him back just like how he sees you for the very first time,
you step into the museum hall, eyes wide and mouth agape as you observe the decorated walls and ceilings, the artefacts and other collections that makes your inner child scream. your friend, Kia giggles besides you as she stares at your expression, gently nudging your waist with her elbow,
“I told you it’s pretty”, she comments, guiding your hand as your expression remains the same, “the best one in town”
you shake your head, blinking your eyes rapidly as you set your sight on her before giving a smile, “should’ve never doubted you. I wish the U.S actually had one of these, guess they don’t really give a shit about history unless it’s about white people, like honestly? People of Color have far more interesting cultures and history ”
Kia scoffs as the two of you walk around the place, “speak your facts bestie. bet you’re glad you moved out of New York, huh?”
Shrugging, you walk over to the tiny collection of three pyramids being displayed. “I’m 50/50 on that, just glad that i got Brandon off my fucking back, he’s such a dick”
with a loud laugh, Kia nods her head remembering the times where you chucked your ex’s phone out before punching him in the nose for cheating on you. “oh yeah i remember why” she says,
“the details on these cute things” you breathe out, mesmerised as you bend over slightly to take a better look. “they captured the design of the Great Sphinx so accurately, how the hell did they do that?” you tell yourself,
“well you go ahead and have fun with your nerdy self, i’m just gonna go and check if there are any cafeterias here. I haven’t eaten anything yet” Kia sighs, walking off and letting you do your thing,
as you pay your attention to every single collection, you’re clueless over the fact that there’s a curly dark haired man watching you, captivated by your beauty and how adorable you look, concentrating on everything that surrounds you. as if you had just found heaven.
you’re being a creep man, just go over and say hi
he startles a bit by the sound of Marc, interrupting his thoughts. hushing him off, “not a chance, mate. I think she prefers to be left alone.”
Marc could only roll his eyes as his figure reflected on the mirror that’s seated on the desk, putting his hands on his hips, giving Steven his infamous smirk,
dude, she’s hot as fuck. you’ve never been on a date over the last ten years, your last girlfriend was when you were, what, 20? You’re a man now, stop being a pussy and just start a conversation,
Now Jake begins to speak his mind as well,
‘If not now then when Steven? A beautiful woman, happens to exist in the same room as you are–which does not happen quite often– plus i think she’d look even better in bed, don’t you wanna fuck her?’
Steven can only shakes his head, cursing at Jake for making everything so sexual yet he refuses to avert his eyes, you’re so gorgeous how could he ever look away,
“I wouldn’t even know where to start. What if she doesn’t like me?”
“I doubt that, Steven. you’re a smart man and not to mention, charming. She’s gonna like you.”
he nods his head slightly as he fixes his hair and shirt before slowly walking over to you who seems to be unfamiliar with a male presence near you,
“Hi” he nervously greets you,
you crane your neck towards the direction, seeing a man–a cute one that is–standing next to you with his hands on his pockets with a small smile, possibly nervous, as you return one in response,
“Hi there” you give him a toothy smile,
Steven feels his heart beating faster because bloody hell,
you look far more gorgeous up close, and even marc agrees.
“your first time being here, yeah?”
you let out a soft giggle and nod. “Is it that obvious?”
he laughs a little, “a bit yeah. are you … a fan of Egyptian history?’
you quickly nod your head, “big time. I even got a tattoo of my favorite Egyptian Goddess on my body.”
holyshit, she has a tattoo?
‘she’s not even in my bed yet but i love her already, hermano’
“you wanna see?” you offer, fingers ready to grab the hem of your white top, always feel excited that you can show of your tattoo,
Steven somehow blushes, shaking his head vigorously, hands coming to stop you. “N-no, there’s no need for that-”
but its too late, you already lifts your shirt high enough to show him the tattoo on your ribcage, a beautiful Goddess tattoo with wings that’s large enough to cover your under boob all the way to he back of your half rib cage,
a shock is written all over his face as he studies the ink on your skin, it is indeed beautiful. The details and everything are so good, it is enough to make steven weaken his knees,
okay that girl is officially the sexiest woman i’ve ever seen
‘Steven please… for the sake of us take her home and fuck her on-’
“Is that the Isis Goddess?” Steven can’t help but ask–also because he does not want to hear Jake finish that sentence. “Oh wow”
nodding excitedly, you give him a large grin. “Yup! She has always been my favourite, a badass she is, huh? So powerful that she rules over death and rebirth. I’d kill to have it. She believed to be the most crucial part of Egyptian beliefs, there are many elements of her story that made me choose her as my favorite”
a beautiful woman who shares the same interest, sounds like you won this time, Steven
he stares in disbelief at you. not pure out of disgust or anything but just… in love…?
not everyday he gets to see a woman who is invested in Egyptian history, a beautiful one he may add. your eyes glow when you talk about it, that’s one thing he notices right away, filled with adoration. the same expression that Steven would give everytime he sees a relic beautiful enough.
“that is pretty gorgeous… wow, i’m sorry i just… hope not being a creep but she looks… stunning” his eyes set on yours as he speaks the last word, he has no idea where he gets the confidence from but he feels glad that he does it,
you look up to see him staring at you, smiling and biting your lip. “yeah? Well, she’s not just my favorite Goddess but Athena? The Greek Goddess? Happens to be my favorite as well. Although i don’t fully support the other Greek Gods because of what they did to Medusa. Absolutely fucked up if you ask me.”
now my dick is hard
“you love Greek Gods as well?” he asks, loving how this conversation going
how are you so perfect?
“absolutely. I went to Greece a couple years ago. It made me fall in love instantly when I studied the full history of the Gods and witnessed the Acropolis of Athens. It was so… magical” you breathe out a laugh, putting your shirt back on as you speak,
steven nods, chuckling a bit. “well i never actually studied about tha’ ,perhaps i should get into it then, yeah?” he scratches the back of his head,
“you definitely should… you’ll fall in love just as quickly as you did with the Egyptian history”
“how did you know i love it?”
shrugging, you tilt your head to the side, eyes never leaving his as you can see him visibly gulp. “your eyes… they don’t lie.”
steven feels himself freezes, he looks at your eyes as the two of you stare in complete silence for a while but it does not feel awkward for the both of you. he just met you today but he has a good feeling that you’re going to be the death of him,
chuckling, you look down before looking back up and regain your posture, gesturing your hand out and introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N”
he carefully takes your hand, “Steven. Steven Grant… that’s Steven with a V” he mentally facepalms himself as he said that, he just hopes you don’t think he’s a freak.
you can’t help but giggle, this man is the most adorable man you’ve ever met. “Nice to meet you Steven with a V.”
now’s the chance to ask her out, don’t blow this man
clearing his throat, he points towards the end of the hall. “you wanna see the tomb of Pharaoh ? it’s the people interests and it would be a shame if you came all the way and didn’t see it”
‘atta boy!’
still smiling, you look at his beautiful brown eyes and nod softly. “show me the way Steven with a V”
he reminisces the day where you first stole his heart and somehow, he stole yours too. he still can’t believe it happened,
though yes, Steven had his doubts and those doubts still exist on his mind. he doesn’t think that he’s capable of being loved and appreciated because his boss clouded his mind. telling him how his worth is less than others and how no woman will ever look at him with love, and for a long period of time he believed her,
he’s aware of how wanted you are by men. throughout your 6 months of dating, he has been getting looks and side-eyes from strangers, possibly thinking ‘how did a knob like him manage to get a girl like you?’
one time when he and you went to a small gathering, one of your guy friends–that you completely hate because he’s a fucking jerk– was there and he managed to get into his head,
‘lets face it man, she’s out of your league. she needs a real man not a weird fucking gift-shopist’
that completely broke him. he had to hold Jake and Marc off from taking over his body and kill the guy, which thankfully they calmed down. telling him how you’re crazy about the three of you and that you would never leave them, which is absolutely correct
still, he still gets scared every now and then, he doesn’t want to lose you, neither does Marc and Jake,
“baked you a vegan cookie, baby” you say coming up from behind him and kisses his cheek, arms coming to wrap his front chest. “I poured a glass of oatmilk too if you want, warm… just how you like it”
steven closes the book he’s reading and turn around to face you and flushes when he sees you standing in his sweater and pink panties, the one that he loves so much on you,
‘our girl is a dime, huh? look at how she’s in love with you, man’
and you still think, she has the hots for that asshole
‘there’s literally nothing for you to be afraid of, stop being so insecure and vulnerable’
I mean sure that guy is handsome and makes more money and-
“the two of you, knock it off” he mutters,
you chuckle, grabbing a seat next to him as you reach out for your book and a few cookie bites. “what were they saying?”
shaking his head, he squeezes your hand, “nothing, love” he shoots you a smile but it does not reaches towards his eyes, and you feel there’s something he’s not telling you,
frowning, you put the book down and put all of the attention on him. “baby, what is it?”
“what is what?”
“you have been feeling off for a week now, don’t think i haven’t noticed. didn’t even want me to suck you off in the bathroom and i’m sure that you’re making Jake and Marc suffer for days without my mouth” you respond, crossing your arms as you lean back against the chair,
she’s right, you know? We’re dying over here, we miss fucking her!
“there’s nothing wrong, love. really , i just… need to finish this chapter” he gives out a lame excuse,
‘oh come on!’
raising your eyebrow, you scoff, “love that book so much that you neglect me wanting to wrap my mouth around your cock?” you question, dying to get him to be honest. “there’s something wrong, I know it, baby talk to me please. you’ve been like this ever since we met my friends” reaching out to grab his hands and getting him to look at you, “please tell me?”
for the first time, it feels difficult for him to look up at your gorgeous eyes because he feels embarrassed. Embarrassed because he does not want you to see him vulnerable and emotional, embarrassed because he does not want you to know about the insecurities that has been eating him alive,
he shakes his head, looking down and finally closes the book “It’s stupid.” God, he could feel himself crying
Just tell her man, you know she’d understand,
your eyes soften even more, pulling your chair closer to him. “It’s not stupid if it makes you this upset, Steven. I love you. I’m here okay?”
Steven nods a little, biting his lower lip as he stills, he could feel himself blinking back a few tears and tries to subtly wipe them off,
“that night when we went to the restaurant with your friends, one of them said something to me.” he begins, slowly looking up to see you frowning,
“who? What did they say?”
he stays quiet for a while before continuing,”um… told me that uh” he lets out a sad sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i don’t deserve you and that you need a real man instead of… me”
he sees how your expression goes from sad to shock and angry,
“what the fuck? Who said that?” you ask once again, feeling angry at the fact that someone from her circle of friends talked bad about your man infrontof him
“Damian”
you suck a deep breath, closing your eyes as you try not to picture your hand on the back of his head, slamming it against the wall. “My love, why didn’t you tell me?”
he shrugs, eyes now looking at the table, playing with his fingers. “I didn’t want you to think i’m weak or exaggerating because it’s a very dumb thing for me to be upset about”
“you are not exaggerating” you sternly say, “it is not dumb to feel that way, don’t invalidate your feelings like this Steven.” you assure him,
he smiles a little at your comfort, seeing how you care so much for him brings an ease to his heart but the weight hasn’t completely been taken off his chest,
you chuckle humorlessly, “i am going to slam his head on a fucking brick wall”
‘now that’s my girl!’
“maybe he’s right… you know?”
you freeze, slowly turning to look at him, “what?”
dude, what the fuck?! why would you say that,
“maybe, he’s not entirely wrong…? I am just as confused as he is, love. Why me? Why did you choose me? There are other men who are far more good looking and have real jobs that are dying to be with you.” he says in a matter of factly, “look at me! who wants someone that can barely sleep, has ankle restraints, has two alters living inside of him, works at a gift shop for a living and is a complete knob?”
“you could’ve done so much better than me” he whispers, not being able to hold back his tears as he cries in front of you,
you look at your beautiful man. sitting there as tears spill from his eyes and you can’t help but get a bit teary eyed as well. Is this how he feels for the past few months? How could you not notice that?
oh man… don’t cry Steve
‘Hey amigo, calm down now’
“Steven? Baby, look at me” you reach out to hold both side of his face and force him to look at you. “If you think that you’re not better, you are wrong. You hear me?” you look at his teary eyes which causes you to hold back a sob because this is breaking you too. how he looks down on himself, is breaking your heart into millions of pieces.
“I have been longing for someone who i can stay close to and give me peace of mind, a temporary break from reality… to be madly in love but also healthy in love and sanely I love with the person I know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.” you softly speak, tracing his cheek bone with your thumb as his eyes stares at you, as if he’s looking for reassurance,
with a small smile, you say, “and i found him. I found you. You’re it. I don’t know why you can’t see how precious you are to me or why you think i’m too good for you. I don’t want you to worry about any other men because my heart only belongs to you… and Jake and Marc. i am not leaving the three of you.”
you can feel Steven coming out of his shell as he leans against the palm of your hand with a smile that you absolutely adore,
“I will love you when the sun rises and love you again when it sets”
his eyes filled with love and pure adoration as you speak, your beautiful words consumed his mind as he can’t help but think how lucky he is to have you as his girlfriend. you always make him feel better, not just by words but you show him. you show that you love him, you adore him, and how you are fond of him. he never gets to experience a beautiful love and he is so happy that gets to experience it with you,
see? I told you, our girl understands and she loves us, Steven. There’s no need to worry about her leaving our asses,
‘she’s crazy about us amigo, not to be an arrogant son of a bitch but she is.’
“I love you.” he speaks, hands coming to grab yours as he gives them a gentle squeeze and a soft kiss, a sign to let you know that he appreciates you being there for him and be his. “I am so sorry for being so emotional.”
you shake your head, “nothing to be sorry for, my love. I’m glad you told me.” shooting him a small smile before slowly getting up and sit yourself down on his lap, “my men saved the world and you steven, is crazy smart. How could i find someone better than that?” with that you lean down and give him a kiss on the lips which he gladly kisses you back,
hands coming down to rub his broad shoulders, hoping to release some tension in him. you softly sink your teeth into his lower lip and give him a small which causing him to blush,
pulling away with a giggle, you wrap your arms around his neck. “now, i’m going to the showers… care to join me, my three handsome and sexy men?”
•
personally i love this. i think we tend to forget that men experience insecurities too and be ignored. they never expected to be emotional and vulnerable because society doesn’t teach us to have compassion towards men. boys need love too
Internally and externally screaming at the wholesomeness of this they deserve all the love and then some
Summary:The Avengers, your team of superheroes, has been called in to handle an invasion in New York, and you’re bringing your superhero boyfriend, Moon Knight, with you.
Pairings:Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader
Warnings and A/N: I did my best to accurately represent DID, I put very little effort into creating a plot and a lot of effort into writing dialogue
–
It was only you, Marc, and the agent - whose name you had never learned and didn’t care to learn - on the quinjet. You held Marc’s hand the entire time. There was no denying the anxious fluttering in your stomach as your two lives continued converging. Each second brought Marc closer to the Avengers, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t scare the shit out of you.
You read through the briefing notes, getting occasional comments from the agent now piloting the quinjet. Rogue artificial intelligence, not Ultron level, but dangerous nonetheless. SWORD suspected some alien involvement, but that wasn’t the concern right now. The immediate issue was an army of robots hidden underground waiting to be activated.
At some point you started to fall asleep against Marc’s shoulder. He gingerly shifted you into a laying position resting your head on his thigh in a familiar comfortable position. His hand settles in your hair and strokes the curves of your face, soothing you into sleep. You hardly sleep for an hour before Marc shakes you awake.
“Something’s happening.”
“We need to drop you in,” the agent called back. “The activation happened earlier than our intelligence suggested. Most of the team is already on the ground. Everyone else is on their way. Don’t forget your comm links.”
You sit up and rifle through your bag, pulling out a familiar costume and stripping off your clothes. Marc blinks at you a few times like he’s surprised at your lack of modesty. He knows you well enough that he really shouldn’t be.
“We can’t all summon our suits,” you tease and toss him an ear piece, even as his eyes begin to glow with white moonlight.
“Tell her she looks amazing!” Steven gushes.
“Keep it in your pants,” Jake snaps back.
You reach for a parachute, but Marc’s white gloved hand stops you.
“I can fly you in,” he offers through the mask.
“You told me no flying last month!” You protest.
“I didn’t know you were an Avenger last month.”
“Bad call, mate.”
“Oh, so you thought I was fragile before?” You tease, not really mad at the man.
His mask peels away so he can tilt his head and shoot you an amused glare.
“You’re in range!” The agent calls back.
You turn and plant a kiss on Marc’s lips, then punch a button. The door opens slowly with a cold rush of air. You wrap your arms around his strong body, take a deep breath, and together you jump from the plane into free fall. His cape catches like a parachute part way down, guiding you through the clouds lower and lower until the skyline is in view.
Smoke rises from burning buildings, the wreckage of a city that has again become a battle ground.
“Shit,” Marc whispers. “We’re gonna have to stop having technology free dates.”
“Yeah,” you reply, only half paying attention, too busy scanning the ground for your fellow Avengers. It’s pure chaos on the ground, a complete and utter disaster, but then, through the smoke… “There!”
You point Marc in the direction of a bright flash of blue and white, and he angles you toward the ground. The comm link in your ear begins to crackle and finally beeps a connection. You were right.
“-end up here? We’re supposed to be on vacation!” The voice of Bucky Barnes fills your ear at the same moment the bright red, white, and blue wings of Sam Wilson reappear. “Sam, what the fuck is in the sky?”
That would be Marc.
“Good morning, Captain America,” you smile down at the small figures of your friends on the ground.
“Oh thank god,” Sam replies. “Buck and I are a-” he grunts, “A bit outnumbered. We have to hold this street, or it will interfere with the wizards’ spell.”
You’re streaking toward the fight below, finally able to see the action for real. They are more than a bit outnumbered, the two men surrounded by humanoid robots armed to the teeth with every bit of weapons technology available. You drop to the ground at Bucky’s side, Marc landing next to you.
“You’re late,” Bucky calls. “Who’s the mummy?”
Marc shoots him a glare.
“Marc, don’t glare at Bucky Barnes! That’s-”
“I know who Bucky Barnes is Steven,” he answers silently.
Yeah, he knew Bucky Barnes. Well, Steven knew. At some point in their childhood, Steven realized he shared part of a name with Steven Grant Rogers and harbored a small fascination with the former Captain America ever since.
“That’s Moon Knight!” Sam’s wing decapitates a robot as he turns to look Marc up and down. “Read your briefing packets, Buck.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and returns to the fight. You draw two long knives, gifts from King T’Challa, and make short work of any robot that approaches. Marc hurls crescent darts, each finding their target. But he doesn’t let Steven front. Not yet at least.
Occasionally, he glances back at you, checking to make sure you’re alright. You are doing the same to him. You have never fought at his side before, but already you know that you would do it again and again.
“The sorcerers - not wizards, Sam- are working some spell in that building,” Bucky gestures vaguely behind him. “They can shut the whole AI down, but we have to keep these things out.”
“Androids!” Sam shouts as he jumps over one and buries his shield in it’s neck. “Androids controlled by aliens who can be stopped by wizards. The big three!”
“The big three?” Marc turns to Captain America.
“Don’t ask!” You and Bucky shout at the same time.
The four of you stand no chance of holding this street. Of course this couldn’t be a time-efficient spell, and the robots just keep coming, an endless supply of mindless soldiers puppeteered by some unknown force. A piece of shrapnel slashes your face, distracting you from the fight for a split second. It’s enough for a blow to land at your midsection, knocking the breath from you.
You pull the gun from your waist, SWORD issue with some advanced technology you don’t care to understand, and shoot. It’s not your preferred weapon, but it is necessary. Marc is by your side in an instant. He grabs you around the waist and wraps you in the white fabric of his cape.
It’s just the two of you in this little cocoon. The rest of the world is forgotten as his mask falls away for a moment. The expression on his face is pure horror, lips pressed in a tight line, eyes murderous. His gaze is focused on the blood dripping down your cheek.
“I’m fine,” you insist and run your fingers across his nose and brow that is furrowed deeply, trying to soothe away those worry lines.
“I need Jake,” he breathes, a confession he rarely makes. “We need Jake.”
Jake will do anything to protect Marc and Steven and anything to protect you. It’s probably why you had never actually seen Jake suited up for a fight. He is the ‘whatever it takes’ part of the system, and all three of them are still afraid to show you that side.
“Okay,” you grip his upper arms. “It’s okay.”
His eyes flicker for a second, then his suit shifts, darkens to a midnight black that is more like tactical armor than Marc’s mummy wrappings. A bright white crescent moon shines on his chest; it matches the bright white of his cape. He tilts his head with a little smirk, and just like that Jake Lockley has joined the fray.
“Cap? Cap?” Someone is shouting through coms. “We’re coming to you. Do you copy?”
The voice is crackly, so you can’t make out exactly who it is.
You turn back to the fight, watching with bit of admiration and a lot of attraction as Jake expertly dispatches android after android.
“Did he change outfits mid fight?” Bucky punches a robot beside you.
“Sort of.”
You kick a robot across the head, stabbing one of your vibranium knives into it’s chest and immediately lashing out toward another. You glance up, and the world seems to slow around you. The battle is forgotten as you can only stare at Jake. He is fighting desperately, holding his own except…
Except behind him. A metallic arm is raising a heavy blade for a killing blow, metal arching toward his neck. You’re trying to scream his name. You are screaming his name, but it’s too late. You stab the android in front of you, but you will never make it. Jake’s suit will protect him from a lot, heal just about anything, but not decapitation.
Red flashes across your view, a bright flash hurtling through the air. A stick strikes the robot through the forehead, and the metal being collapses in a dead heap. Jake whips his head around as he realizes what almost happened. A figure in dark red drops from a nearby fire escape, grabs the stick from the robots sparking brain, and nods to you. He jumps into the fight at Jake’s side, the two men working together with an impressive synchrony for two strangers.
“How did you see that?” Jake shouts.
“I heard it,” Matt Murdock replies as he dispatches another android.
A few more minutes and the fighting finally stops. Another wave of robots is undoubtedly assembling nearby, but for now the team has a moment to breathe.
Jake’s mask falls away as he studies Daredevil. His eyes linger on the upper half of Matt’s face, noticing how his eyes are completely obscured by the dark red of his mask. You sprint to Jake’s side, wanting to reach for his hand, hold him, kiss him, feel that he is alive, but you restrain yourself. Your relationship is a secret, and for now you want to keep it that way.
“So this is the boyfriend?” Matt asks.
Your relationship is not a secret.
“How-” you start to question how Matt could possibly know that you had a boyfriend, let alone that this was him.
“You started smelling different a few months ago,” he explains. “It’s him. His scent is all over you.”
“Is there a better way to say that then ‘his scent is all over you’? Tone down the creepy… vibes? Vibes? Is that the word?”
“Give up on the modern slang, Buck,” Sam makes a face and pats his partners’ shoulder mockingly.
You plant a kiss to Jake’s cheek, and he brushes his hand across your fingers to tell you that he is okay. You watch him and Daredevil with interest, hoping Jake might find a friend in the hero who protected his city with the same ferocity and passion as Jake protected Steven, Marc, and you.
“What’s up with the little horns, el diablo?” Jake asks. “What are you the hero of? Hell?”
“Hell’s Kitchen, and it’s Daredevil actually.”
Jake shoots you a glance then shifts his gaze back to Matt. A smile fills his features, a genuine one, and a second later the same expression appears on Matt’s face. You let out a heavy sigh of relief as they slip into easy conversation and you turn back to Sam and Bucky.
“You and Moon Knight, huh?” Sam frowns. “Guess Spidey was right.”
As if summoned by his name, the mysterious masked hero drops from the sky.
“Hey you guys! There’s another group heading our way.”
He starts to turn to Cap, notices Jake and does a double take to stare at the white costumed man, everyone else forgotten. Jake looks at him completely unimpressed.
“Oh my god, you’re Moon Knight!” Spider-Man’s voice has a youthfulness that always surprises you. “I love you! I wanted a cape because of you, but I gave up the idea pretty quick. I mean not in New York right? Handsy people. It would never have lasted. Wow! Mr. Knight, you are so cool.”
“Mr. Knight,” Steven tries out the name “I like that.”
“I hate it,” Marc replies.
“Well that seems like your problem don’t it? I’m keeping it. You can be Moon Knight. I’ll be Mr. Knight.”
“Marc, right?” Spidey asks, and you can practically see the mischief forming in the boys’ mind at his well-meaning mistake.
“I’m Jake.”
“Sorry! Jake-”
Jake’s expression changes, the suit shifting with him.
“Oops, Steven now,” Steven grins.
“O-Okay, Steven,” Spider-Man tries to keep up.
The suit changes as Marc fronts.
“Marc again,” he teases, messing with the young hero.
“Oh,” that catches Spidey off guard. “Nice to meet you, Marc.”
“Actually, Jake now.”
“Leave him alone, you three,” you glower at Jake but have to fight back a laugh.
You thanked any god you could think of that Spider-Man had been there with his goofy remarks and joking attitude to make it easier for Marc, Steven, and Jake to show off this particular skill set.
“Sorry, love.”
That’s Steven.
He adjusts his white suit jacket and grins at Spider-Man, ““You know, the cape is actually really overrated, kid.”
“I’m Spider-Man,” he lowers his voice and puts extra emphasis on the ‘man.’
“More like Spider-Kid,” Jake mutters.
Steven ignores his alter and nods conspiratorially to Spider-Man. He gives him a thumbs up like they just shared a secret.
“Figure out how to really punch criminals yet?” Daredevil snarks, tossing an arm across Spider-Man’s shoulders affectionately.
“I’m not beating the shit out of people,” he protests.
“It’s more efficient.”
“Whatever you say ‘really good lawyer.’”
You observe their interaction with some interest. Had Matt defended whoever was in the Spider-Man suit? No time for that now though, you realize as a mechanical whirring fills the air. You take a defensive stance at Steven’s side, Bucky to your right. Cap and Spidey leap into the air. Matt stands beside Steven.
Sam looks down at his makeshift team then out at the approaching mechanical army. They’re not much, but they’ll do.
“Avengers…”
–
A/N:I left this open for a part 3. Not sure if I’ll write it, but I do think a 3rd part to wrap it all up and let the system meet some other Avengers would be fun! Let me know if you want added to my general Moon Knight tag list!
The Co-Worker Rule (Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley x Reader)
Summary:With the Avengers’ ranks depleted in the aftermath of the blip, your team needs heroes. Your mission is to recruit the Moon Knight. What you didn’t expect was to fall for him.
Fluff, Adventure
Pairings: Mainly Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader
Warnings: I did my best to accurately represent DID but please tell me if there are errors, canon typical violence, some blood, broken bones, super-powered reader, not really edited yet, I cannot write a fic where I don’t talk about Oscar’s nose and hair
A/N:Based on this request: I absolutely LOVED secret identities!!! Do you think you can do another avengers!xreader and marc/Steven/jake story!! Mange the reader is sent to recruit moonknight and then end up falling for each other?
This is not the Secret Identities sequel (my other Avengers!reader fic). The sequel is coming soon!
—
Marc Spector. Steven Grant. Jake Lockley. Three men, two superheroes, one body, and exactly who the Avengers needed. Well, to be fair the Avengers needed anyone with superpowers.
That’s how you found yourself in London watching Steven Grant sit on a park bench, eat a sandwich, and stare into the sunset. The crowds were gone by the time dusk fell, and it was just you and Steven. You wouldn’t risk civilian casualties if he turned out to be a lose cannon, so you’d waited.
You approached carefully and sat on the bench beside Steven who stared silently into the distance. He’s really very handsome with his curly hair and dark eyes, and the silhouette of his nose and jaw in the setting sun has you swallowing hard. Without so much as a glance, he holds out a foil wrapped panini from the stand he stopped at earlier, offering it to you like you were an old friend.
“Probably cold now,” he finally says in a thick British accent. “Saw you following me when I left work. Thought you might be hungry too. S’not poisoned or nothing’.”
“What do you mean it’s not poisoned?” Jake hisses. “I told you to drug them.”
“Jake, we don’t have access to anything to drug someone,” Marc is confused. “Do we?”
You can’t help but smile a little bit at Steven Grant and take the food he’s offering. You are hungry, and though the hours old food would sit badly in a normal human’s stomach, you’re unconcerned. And if it’s poisoned, well, poison didn’t really work on you.
“So what do you want then?” Steven finally looks at you.
You have a mouthful of food, and all you can do is freeze as the full weight of Steven Grant’s gaze settles on you.
“Ever heard of the Avengers?” you opt to cut right to the chase.
“What? Are we stupid?” Marc hisses.
“Hasn’t everyone?” Steven filters Marc’s snide remark.
“I’m an Avenger.”
“Bullshit. Give me the body!”
“We know about,” you debate the best way to sound non-threatening and end up gesturing vaguely to his whole body. “you and are interested-”
The man hears nothing else that you say, just Jake’s voice.
“Steven, give me the body,” his alter says with deadly calm.
Steven doesn’t, just keeps staring at you. Sadness fills his deep brown eyes.
“Don’t try to take me in,” he mutters. “It won’t end well for you.”
“No, no,” you put a hand on his knee. “I’m not here to arrest you or anything like that.”
Steven glances down at your hand, and you draw it back quickly, apologetically.
“We want to recruit you for the initiative,” you explain, rubbing your hands together as you talk. “After Cairo, Moon Knight is a bit of a hero amongst us Avengers.”
Steven looks at you with slightly parted lips. The sun catches in his dark curls, and as you’re staring at him thinking that he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen he’s staring back thinking the same thing.
“Keep it together, buddy,” Marc says. “I don’t disagree with you, but-”
“This is dangerous. Someone knows about us! Mierda! Do the Avengers know about all of us?”
You look him up and down. God, you want to touch those curls. Stop. Focus. You have got to focus. You cross your arms, leaning forward onto your knees and pulling your gaze away from Steven to look into the distance.
“After the blip, the battle, we lost so much. The team scattered, but our enemies didn’t. I’m not asking you to live in a tower or at the new compound. We just need heroes willing to defend those who can’t defend themselves,” you let the sadness tinge your voice, sadness for your lost team. “Heroes who will answer the call when it’s time.”
“I’m not a hero.”
The accent is gone. You glance over at Marc Spector, his brows furrowed deeply as he studies you. He thinks he believes you, even though Jake is still suspicious. It’s the tragic honesty of your plea that makes him comfortable enough to front. And it’s the perfect opportunity to see just how much you know.
“Nice to meet you, Marc.”
“Looks like the answer is everything,” Jake hisses.“Everything!”
Reluctantly, Marc allows Jake to front. You can tell instantly by how his mouth sets in a tight line that you’re looking at the third alter. Jake clearly sees you as a threat. All you know from the file is that he is “the most violent of the three,” which is an assessment you think is unfair. It seemed to you that Jake only fronted when the system was in real danger, only took lives when absolutely necessary, did anything to protect Marc and Steven. You admired him for it, respected him.
But if he saw you as a threat, then you were in trouble. Shit.
You jump to your feet, taking a defensive stance as Jake stands too, looking at you with a slightly tilted head and menacing eyes.
“You want us to be an Avenger?” He growls. “What if I don’t believe you?”
He steps closer, closer.
“Jake, I think she’s telling the truth,” Steven interrupts.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says aloud then lunges for you.
You side step him, raising your hands and blocking his punch easily. He spins and kicks. You slide back to avoid it, totally on the defensive, not having any desire to really fight Jake. That is, until he finds your ribs with a hard kick. Something cracks. Instinct takes over then. You kick him right in the chest, sending Jake staggering backward.
“Not bad,” he grins like this is some sort of game.
You glance around, making sure the park is still empty. You don’t want the cops called on an Avenger fighting a vigilante. There’s no one. You leap at Jake, tossing punch after punch that he blocks easily. Just as you intended. He’s distracted and doesn’t notice you step in to sweep out his leg, knocking him flat on his butt.
He kicks your ankle hard, and you fall forward to your knees. By the time you realize what’s happening, he’s back on his feet in a low crouch. You use your momentum to roll forward, back on your feet in an instant only inches from Jake. He strikes forward; you catch his arm, locking out his wrist and elbow and spinning him around. You raise a knee to strike his face, and he grabs your thigh.
Add some degree of super strength to Moon Knight’s list of powers. He hooks an arm under your leg and flips you onto your back, shaking your grip free as the air whooshes from your lungs. Pain shoots through your side. Jake’s body collapses heavily on yours, pinning you beneath him. He straddles your waist, leaning forward over you.
You bring an elbow across his face and blood sprays from his nose.
“Alright, I’m definitely buying the Avengers thing,” Marc says.
Jake wasn’t quite convinced. He draws back a hand and you jerk your head to the side to avoid the punch. He hits the ground instead. You use his shifted weight to get your legs around his waist, and flip him to the side so you’re on top with him pinned beneath you.
“That was hot.”
“Steven, you are just one giant intrusive thought right now,” Jake replies silently as he stares up you.
For a moment, you think you’ve reached a truce and relax your body ever so slightly. That’s exactly what Jake wanted. He reaches for your neck. You bat his hand away. He tries again. You block again, and he grabs your wrist instead, yanking you closer so he can wrap his strong arms around your back and flip you back over.
“That was hot,” it’s Marc’s turn to admire you.
A flash of gold then a cold blade is pressed to your neck, pricking the skin.
“Easy, Jake,” Steven warns.
Blood from Jake’s face drips across yours as he glowers down at you.
Power flares in your hands, but you will it back to sleep. He’s not really going to hurt you. He was pulling his punches. This is a test, some sort of strange initiation to see if you’re trustworthy enough for Jake Lockley. You meet his gaze with a measured look of complete calm. He tilts his head.
“Hmm, te creo,” he sheathes the crescent shaped blade. “I believe you.”
He sits back and offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. You feel the tiny mark on your neck that’s bleeding a surprising amount. Jake touches his nose tenderly. It’s definitely broken. And so are your ribs you realize as you struggle to take a deep breath.
“Here,” you reach for him first, letting your powers flow through you as you trace his busted nose with a feather light touch.
When his nose snaps back into place, he doesn’t so much as flinch. But he is staring at you with raised eyebrows. You run a hand over your neck, healing the tiny cut, then press your palm to your side. It hurts like it always does as your bones click back together.
“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, trying and failing to bite back a pained moan.
“Now that was hot,” Jake says silently
“Imagine hearing that sound because of us,” Marc adds, the image of you squirming underneath them flashing through their minds courtesy of Marc.
“We arehearing that sound because of us,” Steven snaps. “Someone - Jake - broke their ribs!”
“Lay off Steven. I was assessing a threat.”
“Whatever you say, mate. Threat assessed.”
“So the Avengers?” Marc asks, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.
“I take it I passed,” You remark wryly, not even blinking at the appearance of Marc.
It was the weirdest recruiting mission you had ever been on, but if beating the shit out of each other for a few minutes convinced Jake, Steven, and Marc that you were genuine, then that’s what you’d do.
Marc stepped close to you and raised his hand to your face, touching the spattering of blood there. His face changes, softens. Steven’s palm flattens over your cheek, and without realizing it you lean into the warmth.
“My flat’s a few blocks away,” he offers. “You can clean up there, talk to all of us about the Avengers.”
His eyes are wide as his gaze roves your face, a little smile quirking his lips up. You’re equally as enraptured by him, by all of them really.
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Jake remarks.
In the end, Steven walks you back to his flat, listening to you talk about the new Avengers Initiative all the while. Marc and Jake jump into the conversation here and there, and in the fifteen minutes it takes to reach Steven’s door, your mission is complete. Moon Knight is an Avenger.
You could go. Right then, you could turn around, wish Steven - and Marc and Jake - the best, tell them you’ll see them later, and go back to the compound. You should go, but there is something magnetic about the three men that makes you follow Steven Grant into his flat.
He sits you on the edge of his bed and cleans the blood from your face with a damp cloth, kneeling between your legs the whole time in a way that makes you feel… things. Damn it. When you were recruited to the team, you made a personal rule that a romance, however brief, would never be an option with a fellow Avenger. Steven is by all rights an Avenger now. The co-workers rule had always kept you out of trouble before. So yes you could admire how handsome this man was, but no, there could be no romance, no sex, nothing.
When your face and neck are clean, Steven absentmindedly puts a hand on your thigh, high on your thigh, and sits back on his knees. There is fire where he’s touching you. Damn it, you curse to yourself. Remember the rule.
Trying to distract yourself, you take the cloth from him and dab at his face that is still bloody from the broken nose. It forces you to lean closer as you hold his head still with one hand and wipe blood away with the other. His face is soft with just a hint of afternoon stubble on his cheek and jaw. This was not a good choice for a distraction.
He’s looking up at you with those big dark eyes, and when he makes eye contact, he hold you still with just his gaze.
“Come on, Steven!” Marc cheers him on.
Steven doesn’t think. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you like a dying man taking his last breath. He leans you back, pressing you flat to the bed and moving to hover over you, kissing you all the while.
“I-is this alright?” Steven asks, pulling back so your noses are barely brushing.
No. It’s breaking the rule. That’s what you should say. But your hands are pressed to the smooth muscles of his chest, moving almost of their own accord to feel him through his shirt.
“Yes,” you decide right then to take a leap of faith.
The smile that lights up Steven’s face is contagious. You would break every rule in the world just to see him smile. You’re grinning back at him as he shifts his body atop yours. Fighting Jake had been - dare you say it - fun, but this was better. Steven is warm and gentle in all the right ways, and you think that if you ever get the chance you’d find that Marc and Jake would be rough in all the right ways. But for now, this is enough. More than enough.
Steven’s hands roam your face like he’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You’re raising goosebumps along his side as you slip your hands under the soft fabric of his shirt.
And just as you are about to tear this beautiful man’s clothes off, your phone vibrates loudly in your pocket. The moment is broken. You fumble for the device, brushing the back of your hand awkwardly across Steven’s… oh shit. He huffs softly.
“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling how hard he is with that quick touch.
He moves his eyes up, averting his gaze from you with a slightly embarrassed half-grin, half-grimace.
“Hello,” you answer, calming your breathing.
You’re still laying under Steven who is braced on his elbows with hands hovering awkwardly around your head.
“Any updates?”
Why did it have to be Sam Wilson calling you right now? It felt like your older brother had just walked in on you having sex. It wasn’t sex… yet, and Sam wasn’t your older brother… biologically, but that might has well have been the situation.
“Yeah, it uh… went well. He’s on board.”
You glance at Steven who is watching you curiously, actively running a hand through your hair now.
“Good. So we’ll see you back here early morning then?” Sam asks.
“I um… I missed my flight,” that is technically true.
“Missed flight?” You hear Bucky shout and pull the phone from your ear as his voice gets louder. “They’re fucking. I knew it! I saw those pictures of him, and I knew this was the end of your stupid co-worker rule!”
“We’re not-” you start, then stop; lying to Bucky and Sam has never been your best skill. “We-”
Marc grabs the phone from your hand; you don’t know when the change occurred. He could definitely hear Bucky’s yelling.
“We’re trying to,” he speaks into the phone.
You can hear Bucky’s happy shouting on the other line, Sam trying to calm him down. Then Marc hangs up and tosses your phone aside.
“Now where were we?” Marc’s voice shifts to Steven’s British accent mid-sentence.
You bury your fingers in his soft curly hair, dragging Steven’s face down to yours and pressing your lips to his soft ones. You’d followed your co-worker rule for years, but not anymore. Steven moans quietly, a deep throaty sound that shoots heat through your body.
It was like Stark had always said, rules are made to be broken.
–
Tag List: @love-on-the-murder-scene@bookfrog242 (Let me know if you want added to my Moon Knight list or if I missed you. I’m really bad at maintaining these.)
Summary: Marc’s journey shifts to Cairo, but Lune wouldn’t just leave Steven. The pieces start to align as the grant picture is revealed and Lune gets to know Marc, the little American man living in Steven’s body.
TW: canon typically violence
Lune was confused. The guy over there fighting did not seem like either Steven or Marc. Earlier Marc was pulling his punches and Steven would never be this violent. The guy over there was having no problem second thoughts about murder. Marc, or whoever was in charge right now, now looked at the knife in shock. Lune was too far away to hear what he was saying, but that wasn’t important. He was speaking to his reflection just like Steven did back in London. Was that their way of communicating? Lune had seen enough and approached him, still cloaked in her illusion, but then Khonshu appeared. Lune still stepped closer.
The kid was surprisingly still breathing and cowering on the ground, trying to get away from Marc as he stepped closer.
“Where is Harrow?” Marc’s voice was dark and demanding.
“Take him to the ledge,” Khonshu said and Marc hesitated.
“He’s just a kid.”
“He’ll talk.”
Marc complied and pushed the boy to the edge of the cliff holding him by his jacket. Lune felt her skin crawl. No kid was gonna get murdered on her watch.
“Where is Harrow!? Where is Harrow!” Marc shouted, now only holding the boy by his red scarf and the kid, lost in ideologies that have been fed to him, pulled a knife.
“Praise Ammit!”
“No, kid…,” Marc’s eyes widened in realization. The boy cut the scarf.
“Hmm, I thought he’d talk,” Khonshu said unfazed as the body crashed onto the ground below. Marc was swallowing hard and paced then turned around to the reflective backside of a street sign. He was riddled with guilt about what just happened.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Steven?” He said.
Me? You’re the one going on a killing spree!
“You can’t seriously blame Steven for what you just would have done?” Lune spoke up, kneeling before the boy just a few meters away from Marc. The boy was unconscious, but unharmed. “I let the illusion play on… wanted to see if you’d feel remorse,” Lune shrugged.
She didn’t blame Marc for what he did next. He charged at her, pinning her to the ground with a knife at her throat. Lune wasn’t fighting.
“Who the fuck are you?” Marc shouted.
Marc, are you mental!? If you hurt her… god help me…
Lune could see his eyes fall onto the blade’s reflection. “Can you talk to your other alters through reflections?” Her eyebrows pulled up, earning Marc to grab her shirt and press her harder into the ground. The look on his face wasn’t aggression, just pure confusion and Lune understood that he had every right to be confused.
“I’m not gonna ask again,” his voice darkened.
“Kill her. I don’t like her energy!” Khonshu said. “Just another witch thinking she has power.”
Lune let out a big laugh, then her head moved to the side looking directly at Khonshu. Lune’s face fell into a serious gaze and Marc felt his senses sharpen seeing her eyes get darker. “You wanna talk about power, pigeon?”
Lune met Marc’s eyes for a moment, the frown on his face vanished in realization, then Lune kicked him off. All air was knocked from his lungs as he cowered on the ground, looking up at Lune and Khonshu. She straightened up, standing strong and tall as the moon God approached doominly. Marc was in disbelief.
“Who are you?” Khonshu demanded to know.
“Between you and me, I am, in fact, the better moon deity,” she sneered. Khonshu raised his staff and brought it down towards Lune. The movement was so quick.
Marc jumped up, shouting, but stopped immediately again when he realized she was never hit. Lune caught the staff mid air, a silver glow flaring from her palm as she pushed back. Khonshu was grunting as he still tried to bring it down on her.
“Don’t make me angry, Khonshu. We both know the only real damage you can do is through him,” Lune pointed her other hand at Marc. “I’m just here to help Steven. I’m not your friend, but not your enemy, either.”
“The worm!?” Khonshu exclaimed and let off, stepping back. “You are a God and care for that incapable worm!?”
“You are?” Marc asked bewildered. He has met one God and that guy was nothing but awful, how could she be one too?
Lune turned, offering him a tight smile. “I am the Norse Goddess of the Moon. Among other things,” Lune turned her gaze, looking at the kid who was still unconscious. “Protector of children. Goddess of the subconscious and illusions… so on… there’s a lot to it.”
Marc sighed heavily, following her look, “I did not mean to…”
“I know.”
Marc wanted to call bullshit on all of this but there was already one moon god in his life may as well be another. Her illusions and the glow, that she could see Khonshu at all. The way she looked, that strange captivating beauty. She was not lying, Marc would be ignoring the obvious.
Of course she is not lying. Look at her… she is a Goddess. It makes so much sense. Oh my days. I should have realised.
Marc scoffed, “shut up, Steven.” Steven should feel at least a bit betrayed. Lune had been lying to them– to Steven the whole time.
“What are you doing on Earth then?” He asked, watching how Lune shifted from one leg to the other. “Aren’t you from eh wherever Thor is from then?”
It’s called Asgard, mate. This is embarrassing.
“I’m hiding. Like Khonshu, I’m not welcome amongst my peers.”
“Why?” Marc raised an eyebrow. Now it was getting interesting. How should he even trust her. What if she banished for some real evil stuff?
She is not evil!
Lune clapped her hands together, “wouldn’t you like to know. Maybe when I get to know you better, I’ll tell you.” She winked then her eyes narrowed. “Could I talk to Steven?” She already knew the answer was no but still tried.
“Sorry, he’s… he is busy,” Marc nodded, grimacing.
Lune shook her head, knowing full well that was a lie, too, but accepted it. She walked back to the boy, squatting down. “Let’s find out where that creepy cult leader guy is, shall we?”
“Harrow?”
“So that’s his name!” Lune nodded and touched the boy’s temples.
“You just let her in on this, Marc?” Khonshu said. “We can handle this ourselves as long as you keep the worm in check! Make her go away.”
“What do you want me to do?” Marc said, raising his hands in a grand gesture.
“Tell her to leave, send her away!”
“He doesn’t want to,” Lune mumbled, focusing most of her attention on whatever she was doing. Her fingertips were lighting up in the same silver glow while her eyes were closed. Marc watched her closely then he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was a risk, perhaps her presence was comforting– to Steven anyway… but to Marc it was just a risk. Nothing more.
“No, I’d love for you to get back to London. This is dangerous shit. I don’t need your help,” Marc said. “But I don’t think you’d listen to that, huh?”
“That hurts my feelings and absolutely,” Lune pouted then got up. “He doesn’t know where Harrow is, sorry.”
“Great. So I would have killed him for nothing,” Marc shot a glance at Khonshu. “If we can’t find Harrow’s digging crew we have to find him another way.”
“Question. What about the other Egyptian Gods? Do they just not care?” Lune crossed her arms as she walked to Marc’s side, her gaze switching between Marc and Khonshu. “Like… they imprisoned her for a reason, right? How can they be oblivious to what’s happening?”
“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu said.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Marc looked up at the god expectedly.
“Anger them enough… and they will imprison me in stone.”
Lune’s eyes widened and she nodded her head. “That’s tough.” When Heimdall or Thor or Odin would catch her, the worst she would face was lifelong imprisonment. Being cast into stone was an entirely different thing. She wouldn’t switch.
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Marc paced, getting more and more nervous. He couldn’t think of a solution and he hated that. He needed to find Harrow. He needed to stop Ammit. He wanted his life back.
“See how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor,” Lune and Marc could hear the smugness in Khonshu’s voice. Neither of them liked it.
They could do it. Together. Somehow. But Lune realized it was not the time to advocate for that.
“All right, so what?” Marc’s arms raised then clashed down beside him. “You got any good ideas?”
Khonshu stopped for a moment, looking up at thr sky. “No… I have a bad one.” The god vanished leaving Marc and Lune on the cliff.
Marc’s eyes met Lune’s for a second, annoyance ridden in his gaze. “Khonshu?” He called out.
“What did he–” Lune began to speak, but closed her mouth again, looking up at the sky. “Oh.” She could feel it coming, before it even started.
Marc followed her gaze into the sun, watching as the moon pushed in front her slowly, making everything go dark. “What are you doing?"
"Sending the Gods a signal they cannot ignore. Cmon now.”
Marc and Lune made their way into the city hurriedly. Marc didn’t really know what Khonshu’s plan was. He despised that Khonshu did not let him in on it. Communication wasn’t the bird’s strongest skill and Marc hated to go into things blind. Besides all of that, he felt a little uneasy at Lune’s silence. He previously perceived her as rather chatty.
Tell her I’m glad she’s here.
Marc caught a glimpse of Steven in a window and no. He shouldn’t be glad, worst-case and Marc is the reason she gets killed. His gaze lingered again, she was deep in thoughts like she was flipping through a book inside of her head, searching for an answer she knew was there somewhere.
“Lune?” Marc called.
Her eyes shot up, “yes? Sorry. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What?
"Why does Harrow want to release Ammit so badly? Why now? He is already doing wonderful cult leader work out there by himself… why would he willingly become number 2?” Lune said. “What is his gain?”
Marc shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess he believes in the vision? The whole heaven on earth thing.”
“Like what heaven on earth? The Christian heaven on earth? That makes no sense. How does he even define heaven on earth? It’s different for everyone.”
Marc’s brows furrowed tightly, but his eyes stayed soft as he looked at her. “You think too much. Harrow wants to kill innocent people… he is evil type crazy. That is his reason.” In the corner of his eyes he could see Khonshu, leading the way down an alleyway. “That was a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
“Hurry! They are gathering their Avatars now.”
“Aren’t they scattered across the world or something?” Lune raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, but for a meeting of the Ennead a Portal presents itself anywhere in the world,” Khonshu explained and just a moment later an archway opened where none was before.
“You shouldn’t come, however. It would be quite disrespectful,” Khonshu said, then turned around and walked off. “The last time I have spoken to the Gods… they banished me. Our case against Harrow must be indisputable.”
“What about you?” Marc called after him.
“Oh… I’ll be there.”
Marc took a deep breath. Khonshu could have walked this through with him, now he was going in completely blind. He did not know how to act and what to say, who he was meeting at all. He turned around to Lune, hoping to find encouragement, but she wasn’t there. A finger brushed against his hand ever so slightly even though nobody was around. The touch was small, insignificant and just to gesture she was still around only invisible, but it gave Marc the courage to step into the doorway.
“You think it will work on them?” He whispered. He wasn’t gonna stop.
“It worked on Khonshu.”
Fair. The two of them walked along a dark corridor. Marc’s face was ever so slightly illuminated by warm light coming from a big chamber. He looked concerned.
“I bet Steven is freaking out right now,” Lune said below a breath.
And Steven was. Marc saw him in the reflective surface of the golden wall, marveling at what was before him. He was beyond stoked, eyes sparkling like that of a child. Marc couldn’t relate remotely. The huge stone figures felt daunting to him, the elevated chairs made him feel trapped and the sheer size of the chamber with everything leading to one point above was crushing. Marc walked down a set of stairs and now found himself in the middle of the court.
“Khonshu’s theatrics are unparalleled,” a woman approached. Lune was starstruck at her divine beauty, it was simply in the way she moved. Her long red dress and golden jewelry just highlighted it. “You must be his Avatar.”
“Hi. And who are you?” Marc was just overwhelmed by all of this of this and not in the mood for small talk.
“I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor.”
“Okay?”
“Goddess of music and love?"
"Cool.”
Lune wished she could take over and do the talking.
“Surely Khonshu mentioned her?” Yatzil said. Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her gaze.
“No… sorry,” Marc shook his head. “The God’s aren’t really his favorite topic.”
Yatzil laughed softly, “not even when they are old friends? Hathor says it wasn’t that long ago Khonshu enjoyed her melodies.”
“As far as I know the only melody Khonshu enjoys is the sound of pain.”
Before she could answer a man called her name. Lune watched how Yatzil escorted Marc further toward the seats, Marc’s eyes stopped at every stature. Lune herself took a look around, noticing a sort of shrine with little figurines. She realized they must be Gods cast in stone.
“Has Khonshu told you how this works?” Yatzil asked Marc and Lune focused her attention back to them.
“Not really,” Marc said. He wished that damn bird did.
“Do not fight it,” she said and walked to her throne. Marc did not know what that even meant, but he soon would feel it.
Lune sensed the energy in the room tip over, the Gods were now in attendance. All the Avatars’ eyes glowed briefly then Yatzil… or well Hathor, began to speak.
She called out every God’s name then looked upon Marc, “we are here to hear the account of Khonshu.”
Lune’s throat tightened up as the same thing happened to Marc; eyes glowing for just a moment then she was looking at a face that was dancing on the verge between confusion and fear. His body tensed up, his eyes searched for something and his forehead pulled into a pained frown. Lune let go of a breath. She wished she could help him see this through.
“You have been banished once for nearly exposing us Khonshu. And you know we despise your garishness, your showy masks and weapons. But manipulate the sky again and we will imprison you in stone,” Osiris said.
Lune felt a shiver run over her skin. She knew that tone, the look in Osiris’ eyes too well. They all made up their minds about Khonshu, they have judged him once and never stopped to see if there was more. Lune made one mistake, misguided and betrayed and in Odin’s eyes it made her the villain til the end of time. But this wasn’t about her, Lune took a shaky breath. She realized this trial was a mistake for the scale of justice was already tipped against Khonshu.
“Spare me your self-righteous threats! I was banished for not abandoning humanity like the rest of you,” the voice coming out of Marc was simply eerie. It was his voice, but not entirely. Khonshu did not need to yell in such a volume either.
“Avatars aren’t enough! We need the might of Gods! Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm!” Marc was trying to breathe but it seemed hard.
Osiris explained that they have decided to stay out of humanity’s business and are here to merely observe. Lune did not know what to think of that. On one hand, humanity evolved and doesn’t need the old Gods anymore but on the other these Gods still held responsibilities.
The trial finally moved to its intended purpose: Arthur Harrow. With a woosh another door opened and the accused stepped into the chamber. He was holding composure, something Khonshu was lacking entirely and that did not make him look believable. Lune’s stomach fluttered in dread, she could sense the disaster coming.
“Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb!” Khonshu exclaimed. Marc was barely able to hold on and it just got worse.
Harrow proceeded to deflect, “Khonshu has been searching for Ammit’s tomb since before he ensnared me to his service.”
Oh? Lune narrowed her eyes. Harrow continued but Khonshu was not having it.
“He is a deceiver!” He yelled. Marc bent forward, his shoulder rose and fell heavily and his eyes were gleaming with exhaustion.
“Do not trust the words of a shamed god! No, Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell.”
Lune’s expression shifted. Where a second before was curiosity, now only disgust and hatred took hold.
“How do you mean?” Hathor said.
An intense stare was shared between Harrow and Marc… or Khonshu, Lune couldn’t tell.
Her heart started to pound doominly. Harrow was the last person on this earth to judge Steven… Marc.
“This is a man who literally does not know his own name.”
Marc cleared his throat and shifted from one leg to the other.
Harrow began to list things, his tone was patronizing and the dry laughs between his words hurtful. Lune thought about just putting a knife through his throat right then and there or better… crawl into his subconscious and bring out the worst. He had no right to judge upon Marc, not Harrow.
“This man is clearly insane!"
Lune’s hands stiffened with the urge to do something, but Marc or well Khonshu did instead, which wasn’t helping Khonshu’s case.
Osiris stopped him only lifting one hand, forcing Marc’s body on his knees. "We will not tolerate violence in this chamber!”
Marc looked up and uttered a shaky yeah.
“It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man,” Harrow continued.
Lune felt helpless. If she stepped in she risked making this whole situation worse but it was all coming undone. This wasn’t about Marc, who wasn’t insane and who wasn’t troubled. Marc was unwell and he needed help, he needed empathy and understanding. His condition did not diminish his character. Lune took a deep breath, letting her anger subside as she stepped closer to Marc. He was breathing forcefully, droplets of sweat running over his entire face.
“Khonshu is taking advantage of him, abusing him the same way he abused me and is aspiring to abuse this court.” Lune couldn’t help but notice that Harrow’s voice had changed, it was more shaky… more truthful perhaps.
“Let us speak to Marc Spector.” They released him and Marc fell to the ground, strained mentally just as much as physically. He tried to catch his breath and needed a moment to find his voice.
“Are you unwell?” One of the Gods asked.
Marc looked up, eyes wide and pained. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, then nodded ever so slightly.
“I am. I am unwell,” his voice came out choked, defeated. His eyes wandered across the room, staying with Hathor a moment longer. “I need help. But this doesn’t change the fact that this man…–” Marc pointed at Harrow but he was at a loss for words. He collapsed and his fist came down upon the stone.
Lune’s heart was aching, expanding in her chest and making it heart to breathe. She only met Marc today, it was irrational to care so much. Yet there was this unspoken pull tethering her to him just like Steven. It fekt similar, not entirely the same but similar. She knew she could only feel a fraction of his pain, his and Steven’s pain, and it was enough to make a tear escape her eyes.
“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu,” Hathor meant to help.
“This isn’t about me! I’m not the one on trial here. He is!” Marc raised his voice. Sadly he was mistaken, the second he walked in… it was the Gods against Khonshu. “This is about how dangerous he is if you’d just listen for a second!”
“He has committed no offense. This matter is concluded,” Osiris said. Lune wasn’t surprised… After all they were Gods. She put a hand on Marc’s shoulder. There was no use to say another word. Marc stayed on his knees and leaned into Lune, his head pressing into her leg as a pained breath left his body. Lune’s hand moved to the back of his head but her eyes were following Harrow. The thought about tagged along with him occurred, but she couldn’t leave Marc like this.
“Get up… Yatzil is still here,” Lune’s voice spoke softly in the depth of his mind. “I think she wants to help.”
Marc pushed through and raised to his feet meeting Yatzil’s eyes.
“Marc? There is another way. You must listen closely,” she said with urgency. Marc trusted that Lune was listening… his head was jumbled. “Ammit was buried in secret, the location was even hidden from the Gods. There was one man. A medjay named Senfu. He was tasked with recording the tomb’s location. Find his sarcophagus and you find the location of the tomb.”
“And how do I do that?” Marc asked, still trying to catch his breath.
“I suggest you start on the Black Market. Good luck,” she nodded then left as well, leaving the big chamber through a doorway.
Lune wrapped her arm around Marc’s waist and supported him as they walked through their portal, finding themselves in some back street of Kairo again. The sun was starting to set and the air was slowly beginning to cool down. It was quiet.
Marc slid down a wall, hands on his face as he banged his head back against the wall. “How could I fail like this,” he uttered.
Lune sat down in front of him and shook her head, “no. The second Khonshu walked in there the case was lost. They did not want to listen and Khonshu set himself up for failure. It was not your fault."
Marc looked up, head leaning against the cool stone. "You should have followed Harrow,” his voice was soft.
“I know,” you offered him a small smile. “But I wasn’t just leaving you alone after this.”
“Thank you,” it came out just above a whisper but was genuine.
“Can I ask you something?"
He agreed.
"Have you ever been to a therapist? Is this something you’ve been dealing with for some time?” Lune’s voice was somber. Marc understood that Lune just meant to understand, no judgment or treating him like he wasn’t a whole person and some freak.
“I had it under control until very recently,” he admitted.
“What happened?” Lune leaned onto her arm watching how Marc’s body reacted with withdrawal, he shifted and avoided her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” his voice came out pitched.
“Okay, okay,” Lune whispered and nodded, her hand reaching for his but she stopped herself. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.
“How do you cloak yourself?” Marc asked instead. Lune realized he just wanted to deflect from talking about himself but humored him.
“Oh, I don’t cloak myself. I just manipulate everyone’s perception of me,” Lune explained. “Like, in the moonlight things are never what they seem, there’s illusion, there’s confusion and you have to trust your intuition more than your senses. There’s always something hidden we don’t see, the dark side of the moon… the subconscious. I can tap into that.”
“Okay. So that’s why you can speak in– in my subconscious?”
You reached out a finger and touched the center of his forehead. “Yes and no. I can because you allowed me in–”
“When did I do that?”
“Subconsciously, you have,” Lune raised her eyebrows.
“Ah,” Marc shook his hand in an apologizing gesture.
“I do not have the full might of my powers so I can really only dive in superficially, when I’m in close proximity and if the person is not fighting me. The cloaking and proper illusions are rather easy.”
Marc nodded again as he thought it over. He couldn’t believe she was a god… Lune was so close… so in reach. She showed more compassion to him in one day than people have his whole life. And for what? What was her motive? It scared him. If Lune was so compassionate to him for no other sake than just Marc, she would soon find out he didn’t deserve any of it. Marc saw himself as nothing but rotten.
“I might know where we can find the sarcophagus actually,” she got up and reached her hand out.
Marc took it and hoisted himself up, he held her hand for a moment too long before dropping it. Her skin on his felt right. He couldn’t explain. One part of him knew she was a liability, Goddess or not, but the other and Marc realized it wasn’t just Steven, wanted her around… wanted her to be close.
“Is Khonshu brooding now?” Lune looked around as they started to make their way through the alleyways. The God was nowhere to be seen.
“Probably.”
“You didn’t get the joke did you? Steven would have loved it. Y'know, brooding hen… he’s looking like a bird.”
Marc sighed and couldn’t help but grin softly, “good you’re not the God of mischief or whatever.”
“Lowkey.”
Marc rolled his eyes and his head fell back. Lune chuckled.
“He’s the guy who tore up New York, right?”
“Yes. Also my ex.”
Marc looked at Lune in shock then composed himself quickly. “Are you banished because of him? Helped him do evil things? Something like that?”
“Nah. I mean, he didn’t stick up for me when I needed his support… so you could argue he was a factor.”
What a twit!
“Love that,” Marc said, ignoring Steven.
“I’m capable of doing evil by myself… don’t need him for that,” Lune mumbled and if Marc wouldn’t have focused his entire attention on her he would have missed it.
Marc and Lune agreed to get to his hotel room to assess. That was a mistake. Marc remembered too late in what state he had left it in, raging and hurting. He opened the door and let Lune walk in, rubbing the back of his neck. There needed to be no words exchanged about this.
Lune sat down and opened her laptop. The setting sun was graciously coating her in a gold sheen and Marc’s eyes were soft as he watched her, noticing the red on her cheeks that was very likely sunburn, but also the tiny scar on her temple. Her face was pulled into a concentrated frown and her leg was bouncing up and down. Marc couldn’t figure if it was because of focus or anxiety.
Why are you looking at her so intensely, mate?
Marc glanced sideways to the mirror. Steven was not too pleased. Could he blame Marc?
She typed for a while then leaned back and sighed heavily.
“What?” Marc asked.
She got up and walked to the bathroom, coming back with the first aid kid and a wet towel. She sat down on the bed in front of him.
“I am not very font about where we have to go,” she grinned unamused and non-verbally asked Marc if she could care for the wound on his face. He nodded ever so slightly.
Lune wiped away the dried and still fresh blood from Marc’s face while her other hand held his jaw. She tilted her head when she realized there was no wound.
“Ah! So even if you don’t have the suit on you still have healing powers?” Lune asked and threw the wet towel over to the desk.
“Hm,” Marc shrugged and watched how Lune laid down.
“Where are we going?” Marc did too, their eyes being the same level. He could feel his heartbeat pick up.
“He is uh… not an old friend,” Lune grimaced. “He grew up around magic but himself does not possess any. He wants it so bad. He dedicated his life to collecting objects that have a certain kind ot mythical aura sticking to them.”
“How have you met him?” Marc didn’t know why that was important, yet he still asked.
“Before I worked for museums, I worked against them,” Lune said. “Stole stuff and raided.”
“I see. Can’t we just slip in under an illusion?”
“The problem for me here is that he has protective runes up all around his estate,” Lune explained. “It completely cancels out my little remaining magic. The magic I kept is nowhere as powerful therefore it abides by the rules. I’ll be useless.”
“Defenseless,” Marc said, correcting.
“Hardly. I can still fight. And besides, if everything goes smoothly, there won’t be a fight,” Lune shrugged and laid on her back. Marc did the same. He knew he needed her in this but everything was already twisting in him. She can’t get hurt.
“What happened to the rest of your powers?”
“I locked them away.”
“Why?” Marc moved his head to look at Lune.
“I wanted to live a human experience.” He could tell it was a joke, but played along.
“And? How’d you rate it?”
“7 outta 10. Better than being a God. I just could do without capitalism and Homophobia, and racism and sexism–”
“All the isms and phobias, basically,” Marc nodded.
“Yeah,” Lune smiled but then got serious. “I unlock my powers,” her hand fell onto her chest and the shift in her voice made Marc swallow. “I will probably be immediately sapped to Asgard and face lifelong imprisonment. I would do it, though,” her eyes found Marc’s and he felt sick understanding. She would for them. Not just for Steven but also for him. “But it’s more like a last resort,” her voice became light and carefree again. She got up and checked the laptop, leaning on the table. Marc didn’t even catch the notification.
“They will meet us. We should get going.” When Lune looked up Marc was standing right beside her. She could feel the warmth coming from his body wash over her, his gaze intense and cradling.
“Don’t, okay?” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Just don't…” he trailed off, shaking his head barely. His words got lost. The thought of Lune sacrificing herself for him? It made him feel sick to the bone. He wasn’t worthy of it.
Lune just nodded, knowing what he was getting at but did not change her mind. It was not his decision to make. Steven… and yes Marc too, was worth saving.
Lunar Love (Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Norse Moon Goddess!Oc) (Part 1)
TW: canon typical violence, mention of suicide, follows ep 2 very closely
Summary: Lune and Steven have been acquaintances for quite some time now. They both held back on getting closer to each other, but when Steven gets fired and goes through a rough time, Lune wanted to be there for him. She couldn’t know Steven would be the gateway into a world of mystery and Gods… A world Lune was familiar with.
Note pls read:This is the most on the nose fanfiction plot for Moon Knight. But it’s fun and I like fun.
There is no Moon Goddess in Norse mythology. Lune is a mix of Artemis and what the moon card in tarot stands for. Asgard also does not exist canonly anymore, but it will for this fanfiction. Posting it here is kind of my test run because I’m not entirely sure about it yet It is also sadly not formatted the way I’d like because I’m posting from mobile.
Why could nobody see the damn jackal? A bloody jackal! It was there. Steven saw it, and was attacked by it for God’s sake. He did not make that up. He was sure… so sure.
A sense of heaviness filled him as he left the supervisor’s office not quite understanding yet what just happened. He loved to work at the museum. Even if he wasn’t able to actually share his passion and spread his knowledge, he was at least surrounded by ancient Egypt and that was enough for him. First the date, then Gus and now this. Steven was going mental.
But the worst part? That man… that walked out of the toilets? That was not Steven. Steven had no recollection of how he got home. But worse, the way that man looked at the camera, the anger in his eyes… It was a reflection of himself Steven could not recognize. It terrified him. Was that Marc? But who even was Marc?
“Steven!” A familiar voice called out, making Steven turn around on the marble stairs. Lune hurried toward him, meeting Steven halfway. Her forehead was in a tight frown and her pale eyes gleamed with concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Lune was an archivist, working in a whole different department than Steven and actually touching and seeing ancient texts and documents. It was a real job… not selling candy to kids. Steven was quite jealous yet loved when Lune talked about her work.
Lune was perhaps the closest thing to a friend Steven had. Their commute to work was roughly the same and overtime they acknowledged each other, then made small talk, then, well, meaningful talk. Steven tried to not be weird and that was hard. He really did not want Lune to think he was creepy. He was just fascinated by her and loved every second of conversing with her. On the other hand Steven feared Lune was only nice to him out of pity, it was quite a conflicting bunch of emotions and holding him back from actually getting close to her.
“Yeah… uh. I got sacked. Haven’t quite registered that yet to be honest…. but– but at least they won’t press charges, eh?” Steven shrugged. He was feeling like a lost child. What was he gonna do now? His life was a pile of shit. All in a few days. How did any of this happen?
Steven met Lune’s eyes for a moment, seeing how they widened with realization and Steven quivered away from her gaze.
“That wasn’t– that was you?! The restroom?” She said in shock.
Steven’s face was burning hot and his throat tightened up, “I uh… yeah… I uhm–” God, he felt so much shame. Lune was never gonna talk to him again.
Lune’s hand moved to Steven’s arm and squeezed ever so gently, making his eyes shot back up. He was met with a soft and understanding gaze, no judgment or scrutiny.
“If you need to talk… or anything… Call me, okay? You don’t have to deal with everything on your own. You have my number.” Lune’s voice was sweet, almost soothing. Steven took a relieved breath and his tensed body relaxed momentarily.
But wait.
“Do I?” He asked. He had no memory of ever getting Lune’s number. He wanted to ask but did not want to be weird about it which was again the issue because he is weird. He settled for the ride to work and home, grabbing dinner together sometimes. That alone was giving him so much joy.
“Yes?” Lune squinted at him and tilted her head, some of her dark hair fell from behind her ear.
"I’m sorry. It’s been a lot,“ Steven masked up, letting out a small chuckle. "I appreciate it… thank you… really.”
“What will you do now?”
“There are some things I have to uncover, really,” Steven shook his hands. “There has to be an explanation.”
“Uncover?”
“Yeah… I found things hidden in my flat and if I can find that storage locker,” he pulled out a key from his jacket, “I can perhaps explain what’s been happening to me. I will tell you all about it. If I don’t get killed that is,” Steven laughed and was already heading down the remaining stairs disappearing into the busy streets.
“Laters Gators?” Lune mumbled to herself.
Steven was special. There was no doubt about that. It was just not a negative thing. Steven was unbelievably kind and observant. He remembered the smallest details about the people around him even though no one gave the same energy back. It was infuriating. He was scarily knowledgeable about Ancient Egypt with so much passion to back it up yet no one gave him credit for it. Lune thought Steven was the most interesting human she had met in centuries. He didn’t get recognition, he was lonely and longing for connection and everyone treated him like he was invisible or an inconvenience, but there was not an ounce of bitterness in him. How?
However, the last few days have been tough for him and now this… something was seriously wrong and Lune wasn’t gonna sit back and watch. Whatever Steven was going through, she could help. She wanted to help.
》》》》
It was almost like he unintentionally made himself invisible and the only clue Lune had was the logo on the keychain Steven showed her earlier. She had been to three branches of the company already, just so missing Steven at each. Fourth times a charm or something like that, right?
Lune came out of the underground station seeing the big red U across the street. She sat one foot on the street when an eerie feeling washed over her, making her skin feel prickly and her senses sharpen, stopping dead in her tracks. She knew that energy, that power. It matched her own.
A car was honking violently, tearing Lune from her thoughts and throwing her back into the present. Steven had tripped and was cowering on the ground just a few meters away from Lune. A car almost hit him and people started to gather around yet no one helped him.
Steven didn’t know what was happening. He was terrified… so bloody terrified. Why him? Why did all of this happen to him? His heart was pumping up his throat and his lungs were closing up.
“Steven! Get up!” Lune’s voice felt like an anchor back to the here and now. Steven could feel her hands on his shoulder, taking a hold of his jacket and pulling him up. He complied and like an inner force guided him grabbed the bag. Steven’s eyes met hers and a second of silence enclosed him, a moment of peace, a chance to take a breath, then Lune started to run, dragging Steven along. They hurried down the stairs of the underground station, catching a tube just before the doors closed.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Lune put her hands on Steven’s face, searching for answers in his eyes.
Steven felt like he would explode right then and there, forgetting the horrors he was just exposed to. Her skin felt right on his. Lune was breathtaking in her own peculiar way. She looked like someone straight out of a classic literature piece. Captivating. She was tall and strong and carried herself with so much confidence it was hard to not see her yet she did not want to be seen, elusive like she was running from something. She was out of this world. Her pale eyes still held so much warmth in them and her dark hair had this silver sheen Steven would only notice at night when the moon was shining strong. It was almost like a magical glow. Steven never understood where it was coming from just like he never understood why Lune cared about him.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was timid, just above a whisper.
Her face relaxed, “making sure you don’t do anything stupid, I guess?”
“It’s too late for that, innit?” He chuckled dryly.
“Are you hurt?"
"No… no, I… I’m just losing it. Tis all,” Steven sat down. His hands were still shaking and he rubbed them together to hide the fact.
Lune sat down too. “Did someone come for you? Follow you? What happened in there?”
And immediately Steven’s fear set back in as the events replayed. He grabbed the duffle bag tightly and sank in his seat, looking around with alertness. His heartbeat picked up again as he remembered that thing. Khonshu?
“Just get me to my flat, please… I’ll tell you everything,” he stammered, his eyes big. “Just get me home.”
It took the two of them not long until they reached Steven’s apartment complex, the remaining way was spent in complete silence and only when Steven unlocked his door he found his voice again.
“Thank you,” he uttered and Lune just met it with a smile, distracted by Steven’s flat. There were books everywhere, it was a mess but Lune could tell for Steven it had structure. The fish tank was the center of the place really, a goldfish swimming about in it.
Lune approached the tank, “this is Gus then?”
“Sort of,” Steven said, putting the duffle bag on a table. It wasn’t Gus. He froze up when he saw Marc in the fishtank’s reflection looking at Lune like she was a bother.
“You can’t trust her,” Marc said. “Don’t tell her anything.”
“I just want my life back.”
Lune straightened up and looked at Steven with a frown. “Sorry?”
“No no! I was… I was talking to myself.”
Lune blinked but dismissed it, moving from the fishtank to the desk by the window. “Can you actually read hieroglyphics?”
“Oh well. It’s not that impressive really. It’s not like it’s a whole language… It is more of an alphabet. You still need to know ancient Egyptian though.” Lune loved when Steven would throw around the knowledge he possessed. It made him at ease. “You can read runes right? It is quite different from that.”
She nodded, “I see.” Her finger traced some of the open books then she leaned against the table crossing her arms. The look on her face was pressing and Steven could see she was trying to lay her words out carefully, hitting a nerve in Steven that made his stomach crunch.
“Oh god, you think I’m totally bonkers, don’t you?”
“No! I don’t, Steven. No, I just– I think you have a hard time and might need some help navigating through it. And that is absolutely fine and nothing to be ashamed of. Mental health is just as–”
“No… no… it’s not that. Not all of it at least. I think? I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening… I don’t expect you to believe me. I-I I honestly don’t know if I believe myself,” Steven was stammering. The tone of his voice was sober and he was speaking truthfully. Lune watched how he walked over to the gym bag. She was willing to listen and also believe him.
Marc was ringing in Steven’s ears. Steven, stop. Steven, you’re making a mistake.
“All I can do is… all I can do is try to show you what I’ve found.” Steven… listen to me! “I found this bag in a storage locker, right?” Steven! Stop! “And inside of it are all sorts of things.” Steven, get away from the bag! Don’t show… don’t show her what’s in the bag! “But most interestingly–” You will get her killed! Steven stopped shuffling inside the gym bag, limbs going numb for a moment. Kill Lune? No.
If you show her that scarab… you are responsible when they come after her. Do you hear me?
“Most interestingly, what?” Lune asked.
Steven met her eyes. He would never want her to be in danger. He would never want her to get hurt. That was an awful thought.
“Nothing,” he said and closed the bag. “It’s nothing.”
“No… what’s in the bag?” Lune said with authority. She took a step toward the desk and Steven wouldn’t even have known how to stop her. Her shoulders drooped and she took the gun out, finding Steven’s eyes. “Suicide is not, it is not the answer, Steven,” her voice was calm, projecting no judgment. “Believe me. I know.”
“What? No… it’s– it’s not like that,” Steven whispered.
Lune put the gun down then took the scarab out next. Her brows were furrowed as she marveled at the golden ornament, her head tilting just a little as her eyes examined the scarab carefully. Her fingertips touched the inscriptions slowly as she seemed to take in every detail. She peered up at Steven, wonder and confusion in her eyes.
“It’s a scarab?” Steven felt the need to fill the silence. “That thing is ruining my life and I have no idea why I even bloody have it.”
Lune took another look into the bag and now got the passport out. Steven’s hands got sweaty. The scarab was one thing, but this… how would he explain this. There’s a strange angry man living inside of me. He said my body is an avatar to the moon god Khonshu.
Lune opened the passport and her eyebrows pulled together. “Marc Spector?” Her eyes met Steven’s and softened ever so slightly but before she could say something there was a banging on the door.
“Steven Grant, can we have a word?” A woman said.
Steven’s gaze widened in fear. “Oh, god, they’ve come for me.”
“I thought they wouldn’t press charges?” Lune whispered.
The knocking continued. Lune shook her head but Steven already moved to the door.
“Yeah! Just a minute!” He called out. Lune dropped the passport and moved away from the door. It was too late to stop Steven.
He opened the door just a gap, peaking out at a woman and a man holding up their badges.
“Steven Grant?” The officer asked.
“I think so, yes. I mean, yep, yes. That’s me. A 100% Steven Grant.”
Lune went to hide behind a bookshelf, hearing Steven do a terrible job at not being suspicious.
The “officers” forced their way in immediately scanning the place.
Lune was quick to realize they were here for the scarab. That damn scarab. It radiated an awful, world ending type of energy. Lune had never felt something like it before.
“Anyone here with you?” The woman asked and Steven was quick to respond this time.
“No! Just me and my fish.”
The woman walked to the bed, looking at the cuff attached to a pole then moved by the book shelf Lune was hiding.
The illusion Lune casted onto herself was easy yet fool proof. The woman had no idea Lune was there. She proceeded to go to the bathroom, ripping the sliding door open expecting to find something or someone.
“You are in possession of a stolen item,” the man said and Steven made the rooky mistake of letting his gaze fall to the duffle bag.
“Oh. Yeah… No. I don’t have it! I don’t. It’s not here.”
The man went through the bag and found the passport. In hindsight Lune realized she should have grabbed that entire bag. It’s too late now.
“Marc Spector?”
“That’s not mine,” Steven answered truthfully.
“Funny that. Fella looks just like you.”
For the “officers” it was enough to take Steven with them and he wouldn’t fight it. Lune thought of stepping in right there, but something told her it was better to see this play out. Right now, Steven couldn’t make sense of any of this and Lune needed more information to truly be of help. The puzzle started to come together for her, but big chunks were still missing. What was apparent so far was that Steven is not just Steven. His sleeping disorder never was one. Marc was just in control and Steven would have no recollection of it whatsoever. It made sense with how he was acting and all that has happened, the passport sealed the deal. Just what in the world did Marc get into? The scarab was filled with old magic. You don’t just run into something like this randomly.
Lune followed the three of them, staying cloaked in her illusion. She was tense and felt trapped in her smidgen of magic. If she could use the full extent to her powers she could simply travel in the shadows or use Steven as an emotional anchor to teleport. It could be so easy. Instead she placed every single step as carefully as possible staying right behind the officers, invisible. When they reached the car Lune had to make a decision, slip in with them somehow or well… the roof? Both of these things were not ideal. Lune looked around, assessing the situation, could she steal a bike or motorcycle? Nothing was close. For a split second she bargained with herself. Should she travel in the shadows? No. She can’t risk being seen by Heimdall, not even for Steven. Lune put a foot on the back bumper and hoisted herself up on the roof as quickly and quietly as she could. It was an awful idea, but she wouldn’t risk losing them either.
The ride wasn’t long luckily and eventually they arrived in a neighborhood that seemed isolated. The two “officers” got out of the car but left Steven inside. Lune could sense his panic and confusion, but anger as well. Revealing herself to Steven would serve no purpose other than his comfort and Lune still did not know what was going on.
A man approached. He looked exhausted, that kind of exhaustion you felt all the way in your bones, eating away at your soul. Lune felt uneasy in his presence, knowing his calm and collected exterior was only a facade and that underneath a ruthless individual was hiding whose hands were tainted in blood. Lune’s intuition is never off. That was part of the job.
He was holding a walkie-talkie where Steven’s voice echoed through.
“No. No! I’ll never give you control again! Ever. Do you hear me?!” Steven said with determination. You figured he was talking to Marc.
“I hear you loud and clear Steven Grant of the giftshop,” the man replied then the officer opened the door to the car and Steven fell onto the streets.
“Sorry for the wait. We just needed a moment to better understand your situation.” He freed Steven from the cuffs and helped him up. What situation, Lune bit her lip while listening as closely as possible.
“It must be very difficult balancing all these voices inside your head. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu.”
Khonshu? Lune felt a cold rush run over her then her eyes landed on Steven. If Steven was a God she would sense it, she would have sensed it a long time ago. Ironically, she knew that name because of Steven.
They had gotten dinner after work, sitting at a park, and started to talk about mythology. Lune said her favorite Goddesses were always those associated with the moon. Artemis, Abuk, Selene, Chang'e. Steven then told her about the moon god Khonshu.
“I don’t know, Steven. Personally, it just feels wrong when a lunar deity isn’t depicted as a woman,” Lune said lightheartedly. “You can’t really assign our concept of gender to Gods, obviously, but she is for the ladies,” she pointed up at her.
Steven had nodded and chuckled softly, “fair.”
Lune needed to suppress a laugh. Of course the first guy she actually had an interest in in centuries somehow was connected to a lunar deity. It was comical. It was dangerous.
“I’m curious, do you think Khonshu chose you as an avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”
Lune’s chest started to feel tight as anger flooded her blood. Her hands were in tight fists and for a moment she thought about hitting, but Steven handled the situation.
“No, I’m not broken. I just need some help maybe.”
You tell him, Lune thought.
“That’s right. That’s why I’m here, to help."
Cmon.
Steven was suddenly struggling for air, eyes wide and body trembling, then Lune felt him too.
She did not know if her illusion protected her from Khonshu. On Odin it worked, Frigga most of the time, Thor anyway, but Khonshu was like her a God of the Moon and perhaps different rules applied. If Khonshu wouldn’t be so angry, Lune was sure he would have at least sensed her.
"Is he here? Do you see him?” The man asked as the wind started to howl in the alley. “That’s a privilege I no longer have.”
Oh? So how does this work then?
“What’s he saying? Is he telling you to kill me?”
Steven nodded.
“Just remember, you don’t have to do everything he says. So before you get excited and put on the cape, I’d love to use this opportunity to show you around.”
Steven exclaimed as the winds picked up even more.
“Don’t worry. That’s all he can do without your help.”
Lune was starting to have a general idea. Steven was like Khonshu’s physical realization into this world, Khonshu could only act through Steven. She sympathized that that must not be a nice feeling. A God with no real power, not quite like herself, but close.
The man started to show Steven around the place. They were a community, providing for themselves and dedicating their lives to learning or something like that. It would have been quite nice if it was not a literal cult with a creepy leader. Lune felt nauseated with how pretentious it all was too.
The man led Steven into a hall, it seemed to function as the community center. It had exposed brick walls and almost looked like the naked remains of a church. There was a section that had plants growing, the other was for entertainment and then a big dining area. A lot of people were around. He invited Steven to eat, still monologing on.
“I know being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience.”
“You have no conscience!” The bird looking God sneered from a ledge.
“He throws temper tantrums like a four year old. None of the gods respect him… maybe that’s why he’s banished.”
Lune swallowed. She could relate to the banished part. She didn’t know how she was gonna explain that to Steven really, seeing that with how events were unfolding… she will have to at some point.
“Can you hear him?” Steven asked, enjoying the lentil soup that was in front of him.
“Not anymore. Before you, I was his avatar. I was his fist of vengeance.”
“I’m not the fist of anything. That is the little American man living inside of me,” Steven explained, seeming to be a lot more at ease now.
“Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path. His retribution comes too late. By the time his fist of vengeance arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears evil up from the root, casting her judgment before any evil is done. That’s why we must resurrect her.”
A cold shiver ran over Lune’s skin. That was just wrong, wrong on so many levels. How could Ammit make that judgment at all? Things are never as they seem, never as bad and never as good. Nothing is that clear cut. There is always more.
“Right… but isn’t that a bit dodgy? Trusting the judgment of a weird crocodile lady?” Steven’s voice wasn’t shaky anymore and Lune could almost hear a challenging tone.
“You don’t need to doubt her judgment. Ammit will light the path to good by irradiating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”
Suddenly everyone in the big hall got up and formed a circle around Steven and the man. The mood shifted drastically, creating tension that was building up to snap.
“So, the scarab?”
Lune reached into the pocket of her jacket, feeling the cold metal with her thumb. She looked around, knowing it wasn’t long now till she had to get Steven out of this.
“Oh I don’t have it. Really I don’t have it,” Steven’s voice picked up haste again.
“Well, you know someone who does? Maybe Marc?” The man was still calm, but Lune knew he was slipping up on his calm and collected manners.
“No, I don’t.”
“May I speak with Marc?”
“Uh… um.”
“Marc, what has Khonshu promised you? That this will be your last mission? And then you’ll be free? Trust me when I tell you… Khonshu is a liar. There is always one last thing ”
Lune bit her tongue. A lunar deity being a liar? Yes. Of course. That made sense.
“Sorry,” Steven’s voice had taken on a different color once again. Now it was strong and argumentative. Lune raised an eyebrow and listened closely.
“If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like, before the fact, isn’t she judging an innocent person? I mean, a thought can’t be evil, can it? I think about killing my boss all the time but I wouldn’t actually do it.”
Justifiably.
“Steven…” No, Steven wouldn’t let himself be interrupted right now and continued.
“Like, what about a child? Would she kill a child for something they might do in 30 years?”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. Sometimes the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison is sometimes only dosage. Consider a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque… is necessary for the larger health.”
Lune had to admit that this analogy made absolutely no sense to her. If anything it was vile.
“But a child is not a diseased limb? I’m sorry… is that what… you’re all into that?” Steven turned to the others, disgust lacing his tone. “Killing children and that? Maybe that’s just me but I kinda draw a line there at child murder.”
The man picked up his cane and Lune could sense the potent magic within it. Everyone started to back away and Lune moved closer to Steven. She had picked one of the ledges and was ready.
“I need to know… where is the scarab?”
“No.”
Lune wouldn’t be surprised if Steven would give her up. She knew it wouldn’t be an act of betrayal, Steven just doesn’t know how these things work. He however did not.
“Where is the scarab!”
“I don’t have it… really."
Lune took a deep breath, then her voice echoed in the hall even though she was not speaking.
"You looking for this?” A perfect illusion of herself was standing on a ledge holding the scarab into the air. A rushing surfed through the crowd. She had everyone’s attention.
“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you are holding. Give it to me, I’ll keep it safe,” there was not panic in the man’s manners, but anticipation.
“You can have it!”
“There is no deal in this Marc. Fix this! Fix this!” The bird’s voice echoed, the God being the one displaying panic.
Lune’s illusioned self threw the scarab and everyone in the hall started to run to catch it.
The real Lune grabbed Steven by the wrist and started running up a flight of stairs.
“Weren’t you just up there?” Steven said, uncertain of what just happened. When he looked at Lune he saw the tiniest smile tugging on her lips, almost like she enjoyed the action.
Dimitri cut them off, blocking the way. Lune let go of Steven and picked up speed, charging for him. She dodged his punch then landed her own before kicking the man into a construction platform. It all was so fast.
“That was awesome?” Steven remarked, then followed Lune into a room where they barricaded.
“Oh my god. I’m gonna die in an evil magician’s man cave,” Steven panicked.
“No,” Lune said, then found the time to hug Steven quickly. Their eyes met as she pulled away. “Your critical thinking skill in there was really sexy, Steven.”
“What?” He blinked.
Lune took the scarab from her jacket and gave it to Steven.
“But you threw that?” Nothing was making sense to Steven right now.
“From what I’ve gathered, you can draw on Khonshu’s powers and summon a suit or armor of some sort. That would be extremely helpful right now, Steven,” Lune cupped his face and Steven could see the urgency in her eyes. “You can do it.”
Let me in, Steven!
“No! No! I can’t! Please stop! Please, both of you!” It was all too much. It was so overwhelming. Lune’s voice, Marc’s, there was banging on the door, making the situation even worse.
Lune looked at the mirrors behind her. Both of you. Could Marc and Steven talk? That was a thought for later.
“Steven, listen to me. You are the Avatar to an Egyptian god. I have no idea how it works, but you do! This is your thing!”
Steven, let me in! I can get us out of here!
“Please stop! Both of you, leave me alone!” Steven cried out in helplessness and Lune saw what she was doing. She couldn’t force this on him, he has already dealt with so much today already.
She hugged Steven again, “it’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” Her voice was soft but with an edge. The door would give in any second now. “The latter. Stay behind me–” The door slammed open, but Lune did not see anything.
“Jackal!” Steven shouted on the other hand. “Jackal! Jackal! Jackal!”
Lune couldn’t see it but it charged at Steven and catapulted him through the window. Lune shouted his name, almost summoning her powers to save him… but he was fine?
“That should have been much worse?” Steven said as he got up, feeling his body to make sure. He just fell a few stories.
Oy… Steven… what the hell are we wearing? Marc said with annoyance. Steven was wearing a white tuxedo, gloves, and a mask. It was a suit.
“I don’t know. Lune said I needed a suit?” Steven looked at Marc in the reflection of a glass door.
Yeah… the ceremonial armor from Khonshu’s temple, not psycho Colonel Sanders.
“I don’t know how any of this shit works, man… I– I think I do look sharp though.”
“You look snazzy!” Lune arrived in the alley. A little smile was on her face as she took in the white suit. “Not what I imagined though.”
When you two are done with fashion advice. Where is the scarab?
“The scarab… yes. What are these poles for? Pretty cool actually."
"Those are weapons, for sure,” Lune said then Steven was suddenly hurled through the air once again. Why couldn’t she see whatever did it? She ran toward Steven.
“No! Stay away!” He shouted as he was lifted into the air and thrown against a parked car.
Lune closed her eyes, with a deep breath she opened herself up and could finally see it. That was some hefty cloaking magic. The thing was ugly… really really ugly. Lune searched the ground and found a big enough stone, hurling it at the creature.
It let go of Steven and fixated Lune with its gaze.
“Regrettably,” Lune mumbled and ran, but the four legged thing was quicker so Lune sailed through the air, crashing across the street this time.
Give me control, Steven. You can’t handle this.
“I think I do,” Steven got up. His heart was pumping and courage started to spread in every cell of his body. “Get away from her, you! Yeah, I see you, you plug ugly coyote. You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now!"
The jackal turned to Steven again, growling lowly. Steven ripped his suit jacket off and pulled up his sleeve. He was balling his fists and hopping around. Lune caught her breath as she watched, amused and concerned at the same time. She loved his confidence but the jackal was closing in, jumping any second now.
"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name’s Steven with a V. Come on, now!” And for everyone’s surprise Steven landed a precise and hard punch. The jackal flew to the ground, squealing like a hurt puppy.
“I did it! You got planted! Lune! Did you see that?!” Steven was absolutely stoked but the jackal was on his feet quick again and once more Steven sailed through the air landing on a more busy street now. Lune rushed over but Steven somehow caught the jackal’s advance and they both crashed into a car. The jackal was now given a taste of flying across the street while Steven just stayed down.
“That was awesome,” Lune repeated his words and helped Steven up. He supported himself against a bus, looking at his reflection.
That was a hell of a punch back there. Look around. Someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help.
“All right. Do it. Take control for now!” Steven said.
Lune felt her stomach tighten up at those words. Marc seemed… different from Steven. She held her breath as she watched Steven change. His eyes lit up and the snazzy suit was replaced by something looking a lot more the part.
Marc? acknowledged Lune, looking at her for a moment then disappearing into the night, leading the jackal away.
Lune was left in what now felt like awful silence. Her heart was pumping and her hands were tingling. She loved the action, admittedly, but seeing Steven get attacked was not enjoyable. There was so much information Lune had to make sense of. And now that Marc was in charge, would he give control back to Steven? How did that work at all?
She looked around and her heart sank. Every notion of thrill and excitement vanished, being replaced by dread. She saw that man in the alleyway, picking up that damn scarab.
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)
Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.
Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interlude… idek)
You’re naked in your boyfriend’s bed—the very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now he’s staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.
It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears.
The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are. Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest don’t look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?
He clears his throat and you realise with a start that you’ve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. He’s never looked at you like that before; you weren’t even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.
You don’t know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Don’t know what to do with yourself either. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest.
His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.
Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it won’t stop, you need to leave.
But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldn’t do to alarm him.
“Is… um… is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. I… really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know.” You’re babbling nervously, can’t seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him.
“I’ll… um… Just let me–” you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if he’s still standing there watching you. “I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”
You don’t look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.
Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.
Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness.
You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride home—ETA: 6 mins. It’s followed immediately by relief.
You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. It’s ridiculous really, this isn’t a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can.
Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully.
You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks than… than… What is it that you’re worried about anyway?
Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. You’re being ridiculous.
It’s just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except it’snot.
He hasn’t really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation.
He was just so oddly still. Loose and almost… relaxed in a way you’re not used to from Steven.
Maybe that’s it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat. People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)
Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?
The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally. But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.
He’s dressed now as well in the well-fitted t-shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that it’s a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because you’re too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before. Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isn’t just your imagination.
Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here.
Now.
“I’ll just… um… wait downstairs, shall I?”
He says nothing, and you’re glad, even though that’s wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time you’re just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.
You’re uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it?
Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, “see you around.” You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.
What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?
It doesn’t help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish you’d asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man you’ve just left behind in his flat.
You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. You’re staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor it’s on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confront… Steven.
He’s right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising you’ve backed into the door of the lift.
God, what is wrong with you tonight!?
It’s just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But it’s not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hairiswrong.)
And you don’t know what you expect (theworst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isn’t for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness.
Harmless… right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Except…
He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. He’s still too still, too… much to be your Steven, but…
There’s something about the way he’s giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. He’s not trying to make himself smaller—not the way Steven always does—but he’s holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and it’s enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.
There’s a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, ‘that’s right. You’re okay.’ And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it.
He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrong… almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.
It’s then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers.
Oh. Oh God. You’ve made a right idiot of yourself, haven’t you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think you’re a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch.
Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and there’s something—the slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higher—that turns the expression cruel, like he’s having a laugh at your expense.
The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. You’re not even sure anymore if it’s nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront.
Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.
“Thanks,” you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apart—of course it does—leaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze.
What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.
Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift.
The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement. Once you’re far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.
Still, it’s not until you’re safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.
What in the bloody hell was that!?
Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.
The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Steven’s flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreacting—practically having kittens over your boyfriend… what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle or the night?
Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: It’s not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyone’s best hour.
But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you werenothing to him…
No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven.
And that’s a giant fucking red flag if you’ve ever seen one. One you don’t know if you can get past.
You don’t get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. There’s spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.
The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks it’s already too late.
Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does.
Except, it’s notSteven.
Instead it’s an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven.
Hello, unwanted dick pic #13.
God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isn’t it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.
You don’t want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcher’s store.
But most of all you don’t want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven.
YoulikeSteven.
You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm. You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work day— random photos of cute dogs on the Tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you.
You like all of it.
You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in lo– (No. No, you’re not going there. Not right now.)
But last night was… not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasn’t it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared and… and… small. And you don’t know how to deal with that from someone you’re supposed to be able to trust.
Don’t know if you even want to try.
God, you’re a mess.
You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but it’s still not half five.
You’ve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you.
It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over.
You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.
Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you don’t even know what it will be like when you see him again?
When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that there’s some kind of commotion taking place at reception.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?” The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office building
Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, “If you don’t give me a name right now, you’re going to have to leave. This isn’t a bus stop, alright?”
“Sorry, Sorry.”
Oh God. You recognise that voice.
“I’m not loitering or anything dodgy like that. I’m just waiting for my… girl–uh… lady… um… friend.“
Rounding the corner, you see him.
Puppydog Steven has returned. He’s wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, he’s standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield.
“Steven?”
At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like he’s bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell he’s nervous and unhappy in a way you haven’t seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief.
“This one yours then, love?” Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.
“Yeah, he’s um… Yeah. Thanks, Susan,” you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.
“Steven, what’s wrong? Why are you—,” but you don’t even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.
“I’m sorry. Oh God,this is why I don’t— Sorry, sorry. I–” The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly some sort of garbled apology. “Look, if I– If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, I’m– Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. You’re acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly.
“Susan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?”
She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think she’ll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting.
“Room 10, pet.”
“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.
“C’mon.” You grab the cuff of Steven’s shirt and tug gently.
Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.
Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he starts again as soon as you’re facing him.
“Steven,Steven. It’s alright,” you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserable—every inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is coming—and you can’t bear for him to look like that.
But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity that’s startlingly reminiscent of the night before.
“I just– Look, I— You’re the best bloody thing I’ve had in my life in a long time—maybe ever—and… and last night was amazing. Better—way better—than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”
He’s so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.
“Last night was perfect,” he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. “At least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And I’m afraid I’ve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good ol’ Steven, can’t pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because it’s you, and…”
And he’s still talking, but you’re stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.
He said… he said that he woke up and you were gone. But that’s not right. You know that’s not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does he… not remember?
You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you don’t dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.
Instead you interrupt Steven’s rambling to probe gently, “I was gone when you woke up?”
Steven nods.
“Yeah, this morning. Must’ve worn me out ‘cause I slept straight through.” He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you don’t return it. “Was nearly late for work.”
You’re still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesn’t remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isn’t so far-fetched after all?)But Steven doesn’t give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.
“I don’t blame you for leaving, of course, but I can’t help thinking that I must’ve–” he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he can’t bear to look at you. “Look, you… you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I don’t remember. I do things that I don’t remember. And I can’t bear–”
He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that there’s no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.
“I can’t help thinking that I must’ve done something, and I’m– I’m sorry if I– Sorry. I– Just please.” His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and there’s something else there too as he continues, “Please tell me that I didn’t do anything to hurt or upset you.”
Fear. It’s fear you’re seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.
“Steven… ” You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.
“Oh. I– Oh.I did, didn’t I?” He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m– Oh God,what did I do? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever– Or would I? Guess I did, didn’t I? God I’m– I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why I would…”
This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this way—it’s painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.
“Steven—Steven!” You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesn’t even pause. You don’t know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.
Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. It’s a little awkward—Steven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightly—but it does shut him up rather handily.
His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and he’s wearing an expression like he’s forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing.
“It’s alright, Steven,” you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. You’re not sure what’s going on exactly, but you know you lo– that you care about Steven a lot and don’t want to lose him to… whatever it is that happened last night.
He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as he’s coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes.
“So, I didn’t… do anything to hurt you?” Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes.
You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you can’t help the swell of affection in your chest.
And it’s true.
Hedidn’t do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and you’ve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.
“So we’re… um…” he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, “We’re good then, yeah?”
You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“You’re… You’re sure?” he presses. He’s still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh.
You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.
Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then he’s licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm.
Steven’s kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like he’s seeking salvation from your lips; like you’re water when he’s dying of thirst, and he’s determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.
You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure they’ll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him.
Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes. Fuck, he’s so damned gorgeous.
And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but you’re certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all.
You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock above—6pm, after office hours.
There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.
Grasping Steven’s collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room.
He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. He’s like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and it’s adorable.
You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and you’ve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case.
He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.
The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt.
You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.
“Wait, wait. What are you–? There’s people outside. We can’t do this here, can we?” He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.
“It’s fine,” you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room.
“We shou—oh fuck, that feels so…—Shouldn’t be doing this though, should we?”
For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.
You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him.
“Steven. Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. “I-I– Don’t stop. Keep… um… keep going, please. If you want to.”
“Good.” You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach.
“Then sit down.” You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully it’s like you’ve tackled him.
He’s so distracted—eyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on you—that he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you.
You blink in disbelief.
"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me just…” Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. “Oh god, I’m so sorry."
Giddy relief fills your chest, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? It’s practically a comedy of errors.
Still, if there was any doubt before, it’s definitely gone now. This man—the man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweet—is your Steven.
You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Steven’s horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles.
“Stay,” you order with a fond smile. “Don’t move. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.”
While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.
You drop to your knees again and lean forward until you’re caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.
On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you weren’t privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome that’s beading at the blunt tip.
Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. It’s really not fair.
This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.
So sensitive, your Steven.
You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. It’s a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, you’d think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing.
You do it again, just to see if he’ll make the same noise.
He does.
Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.
“Shall I continue then?” you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.
“Yes, please. God yes.” His voice is breathless, desperate, and you can’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.
“Shit. Oh bloody–Shit.” His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.
Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like you’re holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe.
His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; it’s all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself.
It’s tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue.
"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. You’re so–oh fuck–so good at this… I mean why wouldn’t you be? I mean… oh God.” He’s babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. “Pleasedon'tstop.”
It is, possibly, the world’s worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that it’s impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.
When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, he’ll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide him deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until they’re just short of painful.
And all the while he’s watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though he’s afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe you’re real.
That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to.
One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where it’s stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as he’s writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine.
Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can.
“God, look at you. You’re so pretty. I can’t believe you’re actually–” He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what he’s saying, “Your mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can you— Can you take me deeper?” Then when you hum an assent around his cock, “Oh God, oh please…”
The words coming out of him aren’t even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same.
Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you are—dripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing.
“Oh. You’re–? Fuck. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.
“God, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he can’t help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to “Touch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.”
Hah. As though you weren’t already enjoying yourself thoroughly.
Still, it’s no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone.
God, and he says you’re the pretty one?
You can’t help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.
Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign he’s feeling insecure.
Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you don’t get much out of it, but you’ve certainly captured Steven’s attention.
He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.
You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. There’s an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers.
The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, you’re already so wet, and you can’t help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.
“Oh my days,” Steven breathes, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.
And, well, that just won’t do.
When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again.
Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. He’s all instincts and hunger now, and you’re reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake.
His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and it’s almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking.
You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, butfuck, you barely care. Can’t help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds he’s making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.
You’re overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps it’s the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat.
It’s too much and just the right amount because suddenly you’re there, right on the edge. Don’t realise that you’re moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and that’s all it takes.
You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Steven’s cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him.
Dimly you hear Steven’s shocked “Oh Lord, are you—? Oh my God!” and then a broken, breathy litany of “Oh God oh God oh God,” but it hardly registers.
You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and you’ve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm.
Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.
“Oh God, oh God, don’t stop.” The head of Steven’s slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, “Pleasepleaseplease– I need– Fuck. Please don’t stop.”
His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if it’s drooling, glistening under the ceiling light.
You can’t help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight.
If your goal was to make a mess of him you’ve certainly succeeded.
To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.
Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. It’s a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.
And you love it. You love it all.
The sounds he’s making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but there’s a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.
There shouldn’t be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.
“Steven,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, “I need you to keep quiet for me.”
You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can’t help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you.
You know you’re being mean. He’s so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you can’t resist as you continue to tease him.
“You don’t want me to have to stop, now do you?”
He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, you’d scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, “I—I’ll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please don’t stop.”
“Good,” you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth.
His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.
Your previous established rhythm falls apart.
His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure.
God, he’s fucking beautiful like this. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him.
From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, “Close. I—I’m close.”
You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like you’ve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.
You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm.
“Do you want to come in my mouth, Steven?”
He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you aren’t sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough, “Fuck. You can’t just– God.Yeah.Yes. Fuck. Please,” that has the tip of your ears tingling.
God, he sounds ruined.
He also soundsloud, and he isn’t stopping.
“Steven.” Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. “Shut it.”
A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises he’s making are even louder than when he was babbling.
In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat.
His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter.
It’s quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more.
You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You don’t let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and you’re sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.
Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. He’s staring down at you like you’ve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one.
All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while you’re still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue.
You don’t know what to say or do next, but it doesn’t matter.
Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come.
You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that you’ve come to associate with his touch.
It’s sweet; it’s depraved; it’s ravenous.
It’s all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, it’s something you’re not sure you can live without anymore.
Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And then…
“God, I love you.” He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.
You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Steven’s face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesn’t he?
The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Steven’s brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.
“Sorry. Should I… um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course it’s not. Confessing after you– you–” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Well, after that.” He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, “God, I sound like a right bloody wanker, don’t I?”
He’s right.
This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.
Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you.
“Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn’t I?” He drops his gaze, as though he thinks he’s committed some grievous wrong to offend you. “I’m sorry, we can pretend I never said it if that’s what you want.” It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. “I don’t– I don’t want to lose you.”
That’s the thing with Steven.
He’s all in.
Whatever else he has going on, Steven’s never been half-hearted about this, about you.
He doesn’t time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, you can’t tell, but he’s always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. They’ve always been right there on his sleeve.
And right now it’s clear to see that he’s en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer.
You’ve known for a while that you likedSteven, had feelings for him, and now there’s not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.
“I love you too.”
He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock that’s shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like he’s too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or you’re playing a practical joke on him.
“Yeah?” he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.
You don’t answer him with words.
Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remain—for both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out.
It’s you and Steven, red flags be damned.
Dedication and Credits
To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? I’m doing it anyway. I’m finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.
@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. You’ve kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because you’re in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.
@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, that’s my promise to you.
@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore
@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.
@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly
The character development of Steven where he negotiates with Khonshu like baby couldn’t even talk to a lady without getting nervous. Now he can tell an ancient God to hush up. Pop off Mr.Knight.
