a/n: hello! sorry to have been gone so long. i have so much to do, so little time to sit down for writing. and i think i have writer’s block… but i was battling it tonight!!! and i like to think i won :D but ofc, that’s for you to decide. happy reading!
my darling boy…. gif credit goes to owner / maker!
both your feet and knees nearly touching and criss-crossing on the floor, the growing intimacy between you two suddenly settles onto the silence you share. you become aware of it, too, and any restraint that kept you from reaching your hand out to steven’s face and tracing it drops. you don’t know if it’s your genuine yearning to do that, or your genuine yearning amplified by your still slightly-(or very much)drunken state. but you’re not sure you care, either.
you shuffle your butt further, closer to steven, over his wooden floor, and now your feet are directly laying by his thighs, close as ever. you look into his eyes, but you don’t fully acknowledge the anxious look in them. you look past that, and you see the desire, see the lust, the yearning, too. and so you know that your hand threading across his clothes or skin won’t be anything scary or intruding to him. he clearly wants this as much as you do.
as you move your hand gently down his clothed thigh, feeling already steven’s reaction to that—not having to see it to know it—, you tilt your head and rest it on your knees. your eyes, wide and wondering, gently look up into steven’s, low-lidded for once but on edge, yet still loving, and you give him a gentle smile of your lips. your hand traces higher, up steven’s arm on which goosebumps have no doubt broken out on. you don’t see it, because he’s wearing a jacket and one of his lovely sweaters underneath that. “you know what else i’ve wanted for a long time?” you ask in a soft whisper, your hand now at the cusp of steven’s neck.
you can feel him gulp, and you ponder if that’s out of fear. but you doubt it. he’s just nervous, stressed about what’s to come, as he almost usually is, and no doubt nervous about being turned on, too. perhaps he thinks he shouldn’t be. “love,” steven starts to say in a cautious, quiet voice, “before you finish that sentence, you need to be really sure.” so he knows what’s on your mind, and what your fingers are yearning to say for you, what they’re yearning to do. “you’re drunk, my darling, and i don’t wanna…”
you raise your head before he can say another word and lean even closer to him, nearly nose-to-nose with him now. your eyes search his, your hand cording through his hair at the back of his head. those beautiful silk curls. “i’m not black-out drunk, steven,” you assure him, “i’m… filtering things.” you say with a nod and an awkward smile. an exact replica grows on steven’s lips, his cheeks heating up with a rose blush. your legs rest on the floor sideways as you lean more forwardly towards steven, nearly on your hands and knees before him. your other hand rests on his chest, soothing very slowly and cautiously up and down. “god, i want you so much, steven. and i know you want me, too.” you state, and at that steven’s eyes nearly explode out of their sockets. you smile at them widening, and at his blush intensifying. you lean your forehead against his, your back arching and hips coming off the floor now with that motion, and you close your eyes halfway as you get close to him. “say it. please,” you urge him as you hear a deep huff leave his lips.
it takes him a few moments, but he does break. who is he to deny you? you clearly are filtering things, you’re conscious of your choices. only difference in your behaviour now from your usual sober one is that you’re talking a little more. just a little. and you’ve got that wide smile on your face, and the drunk look in your eyes. plus, you wouldn’t be the one taking the lead in this situation if you didn’t want any of this. so he’s convinced you want him like he wants you. “i want you, my love,” he finally says, voicing what you were already sure of, and leans his head back. just to see you, look at the beauty and miracle of you. the unbelievable you. a smile stretches his lips again as his fall half-lidded, those captivating chocolate eyes, and his curls press around his face more as the back of his hair flattens against the kitchen table leg.
you can’t help but make a smile at that awaited confession, your heart fluttering in your chest. your drunk smile is what makes steven chuckle, because oh, if it doesn’t make you more endearing to him… his hands slowly come up to your waist, holding onto its covered form on both sides, making your breaths turn heavy. you’re at his mercy immediately, your hazy eyes half-lidded from lust and the over-all enticing feeling of his touch. you’ve missed it so much, and you’re dying to tell him that.
your back arches when steven’s hands go lower, caressing over the skin of your thighs with out-splayed fingers, palm flat but rounding all your plump edges. you’re practically riding him already with how your hips are moving downwards and chest is arching towards his. “oh, my days, love,” steven muses, not knowing he’d have or generally has this immediate of an effect on you. he tightens his hands on your thighs just to test out the waters, and your reaction makes his eyebrows raise, and his eyelids flutter. he was sure you were an angel the first time he met you, but now this is just absolute proof that one cannot object.
how your head tilts slightly back, your chin up in the air, lips parted because soft sighs—and a whimper—are leaving them, your eyes nearly nearly closing. the muscles he sees in your neck are moving, the ones around your collarbone and the roots of your shoulders are mesmerising to watch as well. and the curves and forms of yours he feels underneath his hands… gods, you’re beautiful. he’s sure you’re the pure form of hathor’s rebirth. you cannot be a regular woman, or then he thinks—that’s where the beauty of it is, that you’re just as earthly as anyone else, yet you’re… heavenly. “steven… i missed you so much,” you whine as you try to grind more into his touches.
steven thinks that’s a very meaningful sensual confession to make. certainly one that means a lot to him—he thought you’d wanted nothing to do with him for the rest of your life. but here you are, telling him that you missed him while you two were apart. “i—i missed you, too, my darling,” he admits, though the words might sound forced and unsure, but they’re sure as all hell. steven’s just flustered, “you’ve no idea.”
you make a smile at that add-on, and even a chuckle. then you take steven’s hand in yours and lead it slowly up the side of your body. you make sure he watches as you do, and he does. with hungry eyes. with loving eyes. with everything that you love him for in those beautiful chocolate eyes. “i missed you everywhere,” you say in a hushed voice as you guide his hand now across the bare top of your chest, across your collarbones and onto your neck. without having to ask you or have you guide him, steven runs that hand to the back of your head, where he cradles your skull in the roots of your hair as the both of your eyes connect, “every day,” you whisper to him, now feeling his thumb on your cheek. you turn slightly to the side to kiss that finger of his with your lips, and once again you watch him as you do so.
steven gulps and feels his pants grow tighter, nearly causing friction between his skin and the fabric of his trousers. he grows nervous, breaks out a sweat, and you feel him doing so. he realises that you two haven’t even kissed yet tonight. your lips curl up into a grin and you lean into his hand. your own hand strokes his cheek and runs into his hair as your hips still roll down onto his. “wanna make up for it,” steven tells you, “let me touch you, darling girl.” he pleads to you, his chin tilting upwards while he does. you smile at him sweetly and move your index finger affectionately down his attractive nose and boop the very tip of it. steven smiles wide, too, but closes his eyes for just a moment while he pulls you even closer to him. his lips yearn for yours, and you know you have an offer to answer.
“on one condition,” you tell him, watching his eyes for reaction. steven nods, following in on his promise to do whatever he can, “i get to kiss you.” you simply say with a gentle shrug, and it makes steven laugh and shake his head, the curls coming out of their tucked-back positions here and there. you run your hands deep into them and in result lean his head back so you’d see steven’s face.
“anything, my darling,” steven tells you and pushes his own face as close as possible to yours, “i thought you’d never ask.” he says before pulling your lips down to his and finally kissing you like you’ve wanted him to for the whole of tonight, for the whole of your separation period. you instantly moan into the kiss and your hands nearly ravage his skull and roots as their touch intensifies. “i love you,” steven mumbles into your mouth as he nearly devours it, your tongues and teeth hitting each other as suddenly everything you both do has gained speed and impatience.
steven pushes a hand up underneath your dress and into your underwear, grabbing the devil by his horns first without hesitance. you can only guess how hungry the man is, and you don’t blame him. though steven wasn’t this head-on sexually your first time together. but you guess he’s gained some courage and confidence because he’s seen how you react to him. so your ‘i love you’ back turns into a gasp of surprise which, in turn, immediately melts into a moan as steven’s first touch upon you feels ecstatic.
and though he had some trouble the first time, he now expertly ‘most immediately finds your most sensitive nub and adds pressure to it with two of his fingers. your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders, where you’re weakly gripping the material of his jacket. his getting straight to the point is a give-away that he needs you coming soon, needs to be inside of you soon, as well. he’s impatient, he’s quick, but oh does he make it worth your while. and he makes up for everything so much so that you’re forgetting everything that you talked about or that happened between you before he hooked that hand under your dress.
your hips buck into his hand in some sporadic rhythm, “fuck, steven,” you whine right into his ear, and hear a groan in response. one that sounded as if he was mad, but you’re sure his not. his actions beg to differ, and now that he’s pushing his ring finger inside you, you’re sure he’s far from being mad at you. your hands are fisting his jacket out of the intensity of everything, and you feel embarrassed at how close to coming you already feel now, “right there, oh my god…” your eyes are rolling into the back of your head and you’re positively nearly fainting.
steven watches your face, and then lays kiss after kiss after that territory his hand already treaded on—the skin above your chest, around your collarbones, on your neck—until his lips are right by your ear and he’s uttering all the words you and your cunt wanted so bad to hear. “want you to come on my fingers, darling girl,” he says, very well knowing that this one is your favourite pet name for yourself that steven uses. it’s the way he says it, and now his voice has an effect on the sound and on you, too, “need you to come for me, love, come on.”
tears are biting your eyes and now some dropping onto your heated cheeks, steven’s pressured stimulation on your clit and folds and inside you driving you over the edge already. you’re crying out his name, moaning it, chanting it in whispers, painting the illusion of a witch in his hands. steven already has a plan, and he enjoys the very first pleasurable part of it now—pleasuring you—and now he sees you come for him in all glory of the spectacle. beads of sweat on your forehead, tears pushing past your eyelids squeezed shut, your lips parted and nose bunched up in that cute way. he smiles as he finds another miracle in you, and he holds your head up with his hand so that you wouldn’t hurt your neck.
“that’s it,” is the first thing you hear once you feel yourself sort-of down from your orgasm haze, and you blink your wet eyes open finally. steven’s looking up at you with languid, head-over-heels eyes. but there’s some mischief behind them, and you can feel him ruffling about with something around your thighs, which you can barely feel, by the way.
“‘m sorry,” you blurt out in your flushed state, feeling ashamed at how quick you reached your peak, “that was… too fast.” but steven shakes his head immediately at that statement.
“no, my love,” he tells you, “that was perfect, don’t worry about it.” steven assures and lays a kiss just beneath your collarbone. your eyes flutter as you feel the gesture, sure that by now that exposed skin of yours must be littered in hickeys. “guess we’re both a little impatient, innit?” steven asks you with a wink and you feel him spread your thighs apart. you glance down, where his hand is once again wedging in-between those plump pillows of yours, and he’s bringing his hard self out of his trousers, and you look up at steven again.
“i don’t know if i can,” you tell him with a gentle shake of your head. steven raises his eyebrows.
“what, this?” steven asks as he lines himself up with your tight entrance and pushes inside, making you still around him before you instinctively relax, feeling every inch of him stretching you, “you’re taking me so well, my darling girl, there’s nothing to worry about.” steven assures as he sinks deeper and deeper into your warm, wet walls, pulling your body flush against his, and turning your lips into a perfect oval shape. he grins at that sight, and kisses your cheek. “you feel just heavenly around me.” steven confesses, staring into your barely-filtering eyes as a smile curves his perfect lips. “i love being inside you,” he says and you swear this is the voice of nervous, flustered, submissive steven again. he uttered that confession like something he shouldn’t really have said, in that usual way of his. that steven in combination with this more confident one is honestly a mix you quite want to get behind.
you steady your hands on steven’s shoulders once more, this time promising you’ll stick to this balance, and feel some of your strength returning. though there is a delicious burn in your cunt, your warm walls, from such soon contact again after that quick but intense release. it’s almost painful, but not completely. and it makes you weak in the knees again, so you leave the rhythm setting to steven while you steady yourself on him and get really close to his face. and suddenly it’s like you discover it for the first time again, and his lips have never looked more appealing to you.
your blushed pilgrims push against his, and you immediately moan against them again. steven’s one arm around your waist and the other sprawled across your hip both work at moving you up and down his thick length at a heavenly quick pace. you know he’s eager to finish as well, so perhaps it’s his body acting over his mind this time. he’d take his time, as he did the previous—first—time, if it was any other situation. but it’s not really, is it?
steven has missed you terribly, has felt guilty and ashamed for whatever he’d done. and you’d missed him, too, like a flower misses the sun, yearning for him every day. and you still feel that both-sided yearning now—in his thrusts, in his hands on your body, in his lips against yours, in his moans and grunts for you and because of you. and no doubt he can hear that in your cries, your whimpers, your moans for him, in the way you push your lips desperately against his and grip his shoulders. you’re both going through some of the most erotic moments and feelings you’ve ever felt, but you’re also going through an emotional storm, in which you’re afraid to let each other go. so you cling to one another like your lives depend on it, like the other might slip away at any next moment.
you’re not ready to lose steven again. not after you’ve made up in the most beautiful way that works well with your heart, too. and he’s not about to lose you, either, the best thing in his life that he fought pretty hard, if he might say so himself, to get back. when it’s over, and you’ve both come down from your highs—quite mind-blowing ones—you don’t want to pull apart yet. you don’t want the connection to end quite so soon.
so you sit there in steven’s arms, his pulsating length still inside you, and just watch him. and you run your hand across his features, whichever way your hand wants to, whichever feature feels more captivating in each moment. steven smiles at it, and occasionally even chuckles at your gestures and their character. “you’re treating me like quite the porcelain,” he tells you finally, after you’ve both not spoken since your orgasms. since you cried and grunted each other’s names like it was a name that would save your lives. who knows? maybe some day it would.
you smile at his comment, and keep on tracing his jawline, his nose, the shell of his ear with your fingers. “you’re porcelain to me,” you tell him, “but not in a bad way.” you say before his anxious brain can assume otherwise.
“hm,” steven hums, “never been compared to that before,” he admits, and you stop your hand movements, “i-it feels nice, to be honest.” steven adds on, and your smile grows bigger, cheekier. “you think my fragility is a good part of me?” he asks then, in a quieter voice.
you give him a nod. “it might be the very best part,” you say and hold his cheek in your hand. steven smiles, and you feel the curve of that expression push into the palm of your hand. you sit in silence for a while, just acknowledging and appreciating each other’s presence and hold while this moment still lasts. both of you are deep in thought, of course.
“was it good for you, love?” steven asks suddenly, quietly, in the silence between you. “i didn’t hurt you, did i?” he asks now, searching your eyes for any answers. and you shake your head assuringly, the smile on your face helping your case, too.
“it was more than good for me,” you tell him, “steven, i couldn’t form coherent words, and that should tell you something.” you say with a wide smile on your face. both your smile and your words make the two of you laugh, steven making an absolutely heavenly sound as he laughs.
“that—that’s great to hear,” he says after the laughter’s sort-of died down, but is still creeping in between words and syllables, “you know, at one point, during our… time apart, i even thought i was so bad… at sex that you decided to completely disappear and never contact me again. and make it so that i could never contact you again.” now this confession gets a really loud laugh from you, one that you can’t stop for some time. “i thought well, that happens nowadays, doesn’t it? some few centuries ago, and maybe not even more than one, women sadly had to put up with their husbands being bad at sex, they couldn’t go anywhere.” steven continues, and only works to add to your laughter. “but nowadays women do that a lot, don’t they? if it doesn’t work in the bedroom, it won’t work at all, ever. and so they leave, but don’t want to give an insulting explanation.”
you still laugh, but you also take steven’s face between your hands and pull it close to yours again, “while you’re very correctly observing of women and our behaviour, you do not have a thing to worry about,” you assure him, “you’re great at sex, steven grant. and if you’re sometimes unsure of that, practice always makes perfect. especially when you have a girlfriend who’s so willing to help.” you smile and chuckle again.
the title girlfriend stalls steven’s mechanisms again, but he gets back on track soon enough again. he tries to think of a way to play the fact that you two are really together again as nonchalantly as possible. “well,” steven says and lays a kiss on your hand, “would my girlfriend like a shower before bed?” he proposes, and you nod without hesitation.
you couldn’t wish for anyone else but steven grant in the world. even if he broke your heart, you know you’d still go on loving him. and that incident proved it.
a/n:okay i feel like i kinda went ooc for steven here, but… idk maybe i didn’t. anywhos, hope you enjoyed this :) another part, the very last one, coming, actually, lemme just write it :D
Abstract: He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
Words: 2.1K
Content: fluff, meet-cute, please don’t get off the train with strangers
A/N:pictures are not meant to depict the aspect of the reader, i tried to keep it as neutral as possible - june 16th, the day jesse and celine met, could i really pass on the opportunity to write a little au with our beloved steven grant? yes i am aware of the utter irony of ethan hawke playing the male lead, no i absolutely do not care - i wrote this in a rush and it is not edited
It is so incredibly difficult to focus on the book in your hands when the couple sitting across the aisle from you keeps arguing.
They’re speaking German, you’re sure, and he keeps waving his newspaper around to emphasise his words - until she smacks it right out of his hands, the sound so loud it rings in your ears and convinces you to get up at last, recovering your bag and quickly walking away from them.
Row after row you look around until you manage to spot an empty seat across from a man with curly dark hair, his gaze cast down towards the book on his lap. You put down the bag, quickly glancing at the man that returns your gaze - a quick nod of acknowledgement, both of her and of the absurdity of the situation, before returning his attention to his book, allowing you to try and resume your own reading.
It ends in failure once more, as the wife gets up with an angry noise and more muttering and mumbling in German, the man following her shortly to continue their argument across the entirety of the train.
You follow them with your eyes, and notice the man doing the same, eyebrows arched and lips slightly parted - after the couple passes you, he makes another quick eye contact with you, mouth moving in a silent uh-oh at the woman closing the door of the car in her husband’s face. You snort quietly, shaking your head before looking down at last to the page you’d lost your sign.
“Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?” his voice is low, with a strong British accent, and you train your eyes up towards him, temporarily dazed. You see his eyes widen a bit, just a hint of panic in his gaze before he clears his throat, stuttering a bit. “Do you speak English?”
“Yeah,” you reassure quickly, leaning towards him. And then, “no, I’m sorry - my German is not very good,” you confess, and he sighs, nodding slightly before leaning back, his gaze turning towards the window and the scenery outside. You smile to yourself, arm resting on the empty seat at your side. “Have you heard that as couples get older they lose their ability to hear each other?”
He blinks in your direction, fazed, lips parting again.
“No,” he muses, finding a smile starting to bloom on his face. “Really?”
“Supposedly, men lose their ability to hear high-pitched sounds,” you explain, the fact sprouting from your memory out of nowhere. “And women eventually lose hearing on the low end. I guess they sort of nullify each other, don’t they?”
“Must be nature’s way of allowing couples to grow old together and not kill each other, I guess,” he notices you grinning at the corner of his eyes as he takes in the information, and mentally slaps himself for his own words. So he clears his throat, awkwardly shuffling in his seat to face you before tipping his chin up. “What are you reading?” he’s noticed your eyes falling down towards the book, but cannot help himself attempting to salvage this half-conversation, possibly keep it going. There’s something enthralling about you, and he’s spent so long on that train that he just cannot let the opportunity for good company slip past him.
You hold up your book, an old battered copy of a French novel. He nods, humming, and you smile again.
“How about you?” he picks up his book - a textbook, really, the Ennead in gold foil blinking back at you. Your eyebrows arch in curiosity, but you do not comment on his reading choice.
Still, your lips part, and you’re about to ask a question when the door of the car slides open again and the couple comes back, still arguing, still loud. You both cringe at the sound, following their return to their seats with your eyes before once more looking at each other.
“Listen, I was thinking of going to the lounge car sometime soon,” he offers, eyeing the couple. “You wanna go?”
“Yes, please,” you exhale in relief, immediately standing up and stuffing the book in your bag. Then you pause, frowning to yourself before clearing your throat. “Uh, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand in his direction while he’s still getting up, and it takes him a moment to catch on.
“Steven,” he blurts out, holding your hand for a few instants. “Sorry - I’m Steven, nice to meet you, too.”
—
Steven is absolutely mesmerised.
He’s looking at you sitting in front of him and cannot seem to think straight. There’s something in your mannerism, in the way you speak, that has him eating out of the palm of your hand.
And surprisingly enough, he doesn’t feel the need to measure every word he says, to turn the words over and over in his head before actually saying them - he can just talk, and you’re sitting there with your glass of water and empty plate sitting askew on the table listeningto him.
“So, where are you headed?” you ask all of a sudden, and that bright smile of yours leaves him dumbfounded for a moment.
“Ah, back to London - I’m starting working on Monday, so I’ll get a flight from Paris,” he outright beams. “Been visiting a friend in Italy for a few days, borrowed a few books for my lessons, then decided to take the long way home - do some sightseeing from the window.”
“You’re a teacher?” there’s genuine curiosity in your words, head resting on your closed fist. He nods, and you eye the book poking out of his backpack. “Egyptology?”
“Yeah - I used to want to be an archaeologist,” he confesses, and your eyes light up with newfound curiosity. “I’ll have to admit, I’m not made for field work,” he gives a sheepish smile, which you return quickly. “What about you?”
“I just got my PhD and decided it was time to allow myself to travel across Europe for the first time,” you shrug lightly. “I’m not really thinking about work these months - not until I go back home, anyway. Next stop is Vienna.”
“And what do you want to do, then?” he asks, and your eyebrows arch carefully, attempting to not let your smile take over. He mutters something under his breath, quickly shaking his head. “Right - sorry, sorry. No work, got it,” you grin at him, nose scrunching up with the motion. “So why allow yourself? How come you never travelled around Europe before?”
“I just -” you pause, sighing as you drop both hands on the table. “I felt this constant pressure of just doing good, you know? Like -” you pause again, clearing your throat a little as the confession builds up - it’s been so easy to talk to Steven in the past few hours. “My parents have never really spoken of the possibility of my falling in love or getting married or having children. Even when I was young, they wanted me to think about a future career, to focus on what I wanted to do.”
“Did they expect a lot of you?” he frowns lightly, a slight sense of guilt building up in his chest.
“I mean, you did get a PhD,” he points out, his head tilting ever so slightly, causing a curl to fall across his forehead. It makes you want to reach across the table and sweep it back, so you move your hands back and onto your lap. “Andyou’re visiting Europe - isn’t that something someone great would do?”
“No, that’s the thing - it wasn’t demanding, they just assumed I’d be someone great,” you chew on your bottom lip absent-mindedly. “I’d say to my dad I wanted to be a writer and he’d say journalist. I’d say I wanted to have a refuge for stray cats and he’d say veterinarian. I’d say I wanted to be an actor and he’d say TV newscaster. It was this constant conversion of my fanciful ambitions into practical money-making ventures - it was a subtle pressure they probably didn’t even realise was there.”
The laughter leaves you before you can fully register it - he seems to have this ability of making you feel at ease that feels so rare, so difficult to find in such a short time.
“I suppose,” you muse, nodding slightly before taking a slow, deep breath.
“Maybe the problem is that if you have parents that never fully contradict anything you want to do and are basically nice and supportive, it makes it harder to officially complain. Even if they are wrong,” he offers, and you nod again, the smile starting to make your cheeks ache in the most welcomed way.
“Europe is my way out of thinking I owe them - or anybody else, for the matter - anything,” you declare at last, and watch him straighten a little, as if absorbing the pride in your statement. “It’s a slow process, but luckily it’s a big continent,” he grins at your statement, and almost goes in to reply when the train starts to slow down.
“Oh,” he slouches down again, smile faltering. “I think this is Vienna.”
“Yeah, it is,” you rest back on your seat, sighing quietly. “I wish I’d met you earlier - I really like talking to you,” you murmur, and his eyes widen a little as if in surprise.
“It was really nice talking to you, too,” he confesses, voice lower.
“God - I hardly talked to anybody in weeks,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The perks of travelling solo,” you click your tongue then, and reach over to grab your bag resting on the empty surface of the table between the two of you.
It hits Steven like a flash: he doesn’t want it to end. Not like this. Not right now.
His hand shoots out on its own accord, and he’s resting it over yours over your bag, quickly looking up at you just as you open your mouth to speak again, and for a moment you just stare at each other.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but doesn’t move his hand.
“I have an admittedly insane thought,” you retort instead, face flushing at the mere idea - because you don’t want it to end, either. “And I know it might come off as absurd, but it’s one of those things that will haunt me forever if I don’t ask you.”
“What?” he’s somewhere between perplexed and concerned, his hand shifting so his palm rests under yours, fingers curling gently around your own.
“I really want to keep talking to you,” you admit, and his quick smile caught him off guard as well. “I mean, I have no idea what your situation is, but I do feel a sort of… connection.”
“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, and you find yourself exhaling in relief.
“Good,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Because I really want to hear about your job, and that book, and how Italy was and -” you shake your head to clear it from the rambling ready to fall from your tongue. “Why don’t you get off here in Vienna with me?”
“What?” he smiles at the thought, but there’s some hesitancy in his expression.
“It’s Thursday, right? You don’t start until Monday, and we can just see the city today and you get the next train for Paris tomorrow,” you explain, shifting a little on the seat as people start to unboard. “You’ll still make it in time for your flight, and we’ll have some extra hours.”
He thinks about it - reallythinks about it.
On one hand it’s outright insane to even consider it: getting off a train with a stranger in a city he doesn’t know, with no plan as to what to do or where to go.
On the other he can’t bear the thought of letting this - you - slip through his fingers, of watching the train leave the platform with you walking away, your back on him, bag slumped over your shoulder.
He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
You’re still looking at him, eyes wide and expectant, a newfound giddiness as you eye the window and the people still leaving, nibbling at your bottom lip, waiting, waiting.
Steven smiles, his chest lighter, his head clearer.
Pairing: Marc Spector X Fem!Reader / Steven Grant x Fem!reader / Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader
Summary: You move into a new flat with the moon boys and they have their first tastes of domestic bliss.
Warnings: Implied smut: p in v, oral (f receiving). Minors DNI. But mostly it’s fluff. A bit of hurt/comfort. Domesticity but that’s literally in the title. Omniscient pov.
Word count: 3.8K
A/n: I’m very excited about this. I worked really hard on it so please please please let me know if you like it. Thank you to @sugared-tea for proof reading. Dividers by @firefly-graphics reposted because it didnt show up in tags. wtf tumblr.
Marc was terrified.
His heart pounded in his head and it was hard to breathe in the small office he sat in. The stale air choked him, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and his nails dug into the cheap leather of the arm chair. The landlord glanced up at him briefly while explaining the tenancy agreement to you. He sat behind an impressive desk, wore a cheap suit, and smelled like his secretary’s perfume. It made Marc distrust him. You noticed that the landlord had stopped mid sentence and looked up from the documents in front of you. You followed his gaze until it landed on Marc.
Suddenly it was silent, he could breathe again, and all he could smell was the jasmine and honey scent of your perfume. You offered him a knowing smile, reached over and placed your hand on his knee.
