#Konshu x reader

[buckmepapi]

Respect the drip, Karen

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant x Reader [1]

description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 11.1k

trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,

main masterlist | series masterlist

Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day. 

As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.

Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.

She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in. 

A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.

“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.

“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”

She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name. 

It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him. 

Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated. 

“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”

She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here. 

No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho. 

“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor. 

A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.

“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up. 

“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression. 

In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was. 

But that was not real life. 

Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s. 

“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.

Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum. 

“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms. 

“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:

“Road works-” 

They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh. 

“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.” 

Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.

The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front. 

It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it. 

They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice. 

She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven. 

Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him. 

It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.

Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about. 

“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone. 

Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”. 

The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips. 

“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment. 

“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten. 

Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked. 

“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about. 

“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway. 

Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?” 

Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.

“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.

Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug. 

The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs. 

“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.

“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”

Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her. 

“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper. 

Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”

Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away. 

“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you.  “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”

Liar. Liar. Liar. 

It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.

He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went. 

“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing. 

“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her. 

“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”

“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk.  “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,” 

He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.

She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary. 

She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”

“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more. 

It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.

Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was. 

Her sofa. 

The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?

Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain. 

Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was. 

Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited. 

She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under. 

Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller. 

The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.

“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked. 

“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”

“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.

“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window. 

“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London. 

“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?” 

She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.

“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.

Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside. 

“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted. 

“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.

“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag. 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears. 

Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing. 

“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”

“Alright, gators!”

She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag. 

Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse. 

She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed. 

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. 

This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now. 

Which only meant…

Her date had fucking stolen from her. 

“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes. 

It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties. 

She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend. 

“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building. 

Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money. 

And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.

“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics. 

“Even Stevie-”

“Steven,”

“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat. 

“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes. 

She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.

In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”

She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop. 

Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist. 

She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.

Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.

Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.

“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know. 

This man was no friend. 

“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?” 

“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him. 

She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man. 

“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be. 

That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system. 

She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before. 

“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice. 

“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact. 

Her heart plummeted. 

Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.

“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.” 

Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her. 

“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”

But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.

“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered. 

“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.

“You won’t believe me if I told you-”

“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her. 

Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but. 

Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,” 

She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before. 

She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”

“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,” 

The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being. 

She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening. 

She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push. 

“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”

Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel. 

She was too good to him. 

“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest. 

She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately. 

Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now. 

Yet the two of them barely spoke all day. 

Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying. 

It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first. 

“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?” 

“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course. 

She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought. 

“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be? 

She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.

“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom. 

“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only. 

Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment. 

Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish. 

They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself. 

It only made her heart yearn for him more.

Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented. 

She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her. 

Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound. 

But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement. 

She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor. 

“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”

Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room. 

She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor. 

“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”

His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely. 

Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be. 

And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly. 

His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot. 

The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know. 

“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”

The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt. 

The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.  

And they were approaching. 

An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down. 

But that was the thing. There was nothing there. 

“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there. 

A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct. 

“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush. 

“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit. 

She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it? 

Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill. 

Which she no doubt would be. 

Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside. 

The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions. 

Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-

Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.

In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left. 

Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward. 

Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room. 

The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go. 

It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it. 

A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll. 

The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.

But the worst was yet to come. 

There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover. 

She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself. 

She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting. 

Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side. 

That was when she started screaming. 

Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment. 

She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.

It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp. 

It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor. 

Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently. 

What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort. 

“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home. 

Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear. 

The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was. 

“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second. 

He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them. 

Where was she?

“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”

He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame. 

“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone. 

“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog. 

“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay. 

“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him. 

“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”

“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.

Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger. 

“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears. 

It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice. 

It was her. 

It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her. 

“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless. 

“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”

That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.

He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time. 

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

[incorrectanything]

Konshu: If you like me, raise your hand.

Marc, Steven, Jake, Layla, and Y/N: And what if we don't like you?

Konshu: Then raise your standards bitch, the fuck?

[thisisarcanereverie]

Moon Knight Masterlist

Mood board was made by me.

All of my y/n's are inclusive and are given minimal description.

OSCAR ISSAC MISC. CHARACTER MASTERLIST

🍷= Smutty Goodness

🔪= Dark Themes/ Angst / Triggery Material

 🍯 = Fluffy Goodness

______________________________________________________________

The Knight and the Pawn DARK! Mini Series (Complete)🔪🍷

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

You were nothing more than a pawn to him, and you didn't deserve that.

Love Bites (requested)🍷

You go to give Steven his lunch on his first day as a tour guide, which ends up in an interesting series of events.

Rooftop Sex with Mr. Knight (requested) 🍷

What rooftop sex with Mr. Knight would be like after a mission.

You're Warm (Requested) 🍯 🔪

from my prompt list

(Near death experience) "You're Warm"

Light as a Feather (Requested) (Part 2) 🔪

from my prompt list (Unrequited Love) "you cross my mind everyday, but I only cross yours when I am in front of you."

Monster (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) (Part 2) 🔪

from my prompt list (Unrequited Love) "You don't get to say that to me, not you."

Eat Your Young 🍷

Marc had always been your weakness, and he knows it. So when you both get into a fight he makes it up to you the only way he knows how.

Cutting Ties (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) 🔪 (Complete)

As a Widow you made enemies of powerful people, now that the Red Room has fallen you've been running. Now 8 years later all the running lead you to London, deciding to only stay a year before heading off to the next location. What you didn't count on was meeting Steven Grant along with Marc Spector and Jake Lockley. Now that a year is up and you have to leave, is there any chance on escape?

[ursa-tan]

Don't fight with me

—————

Konshu (moonknight) x reader

5,013 words

Marc Spector (moonknight) & reader

Marc and the reader are out on a mission, both being godly avatars (Marc having Konshu and the reader having Anubis), they’re expected to be civil towards each other. After spending a month cramped up in a tiny, cheep apartment, the reader has enough and snaps at Marc about cleaning up after himself. Konshu is not happy to hear them shout at his avatar

The last thing I wanted to be doing right now was getting in a fight with the man I was living with. Marc Spector was normally a great guy, a little brash and heavy handed at times but overall really sweet, especially to me. But right now, he was being an utter dick head. I don’t know why he thought ignoring chores was a good idea, but apparently, he did. I didn’t ask for much, I just wanted him to clean up after himself, that’s all. But it was too much for poor old Marc to do.

I didn’t want to shout at him, but he wasn’t willing to listen to a simple request. It was a bad day, I was tired and just wanted a fucking break. But apparently that too much to ask.

“Seriously Marc? You make a mess in the kitchen and don’t clean it up?”

“I’m tired (Y/n), cut me some slack,” he groaned without looking up at me.

“This apartment is barely big enough for the both of us, I just want to keep it tidy so its an easier space to live in.” I could feel anger bubbling in my chest, a scream scratching at my throat to get out.

“Stop being so aggressive about it. Ill get round to it.” This time he looked at me, the pure apathy on his face only made me angrier.

“Y’know what Marc? Fine. Fuck you! If you don’t Wanna clean up after you, I won’t either!”

“Oh, fuck off (Y/n)! I couldn’t care less!”

I didn’t take the time to look at his face, as he said “I couldn’t care less”. So, I opted to just storm away to the only space that was mine and mine alone in the tiny apartment – my bedroom. I just needed a minute alone. Just a little while away from the man in the living room.

And I thought I was going to get that, until the all too familiar sound of wind pierced the silence.

I whipped around, intending to give Konshu a piece of my mind, only to find him already looming over me. I stumble backwards in shock, eventually bumping my back against the wall behind me, but he still doesn’t give me any space.

“You think it’s a good idea to start a fight with my avatar human?” the god loomed over me now, one hand reaching to rest on my shoulder, thumb gently caressing the front of my neck.

“Fuck off, I don’t answer to you.” I had to resist the urge to spit in his face, choosing to sneer at him instead.

Suddenly, his hand was around my neck, the long bony fingers wrapped fully around my neck, squeezing at the soft flesh with just enough force to insinuate a threat. His tall stature bent down to bring the tip of his beak next to my ear, along with his free hand up to your hip.

“You may be tethered to your own god Human, but I am in charge here.” His hands both continued to tighten as his husky voice reached my ears.

“Fuck off Konshu, I’m not scared of you,” I hissed out, prompting him to press me into the wall harder than I was before. I desperately wanted to retaliate, but I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” he growled into my ear “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s entirely up to you.”

“I’m not scared of you Konshu, I’m not just going to let you push me around.”

He seemed rather happy that I said that, pulling me away from the wall and pushing me towards my bed. His large hands let go of me once the back of my legs hit the mattress, letting me fall onto it.

It only took a second before he was bending down and placing his hands on the mattress, either side of my body and caging me in. My breath quickened and I could feel a heat rising to my face.

“Well then Scarab, I’m glad you want to do things the hard way.” Both hands were on me in an instant, gripping at my hips, almost painfully digging into me. His fingers ran up my body, hooking into the waistband of my jeans.

Konshu didn’t speak this time, only tugging at the waist band and waiting for me to answer. My heart rate quickened as I froze up, not moving an inch as he tugged once again.

“Are you too dumb to understand a simple gesture Scarab? Do you need to spell it out for you?” His voice was still gravely in my ear, making my face grow that much hotter. “Fine then. Take them off, or let me.” Only when he finished speaking did I realise he had been undoing the button of my jeans.

All I could do was lift my hips slightly while I blinked at him, shivering at his hands as they skimmed down the skin on my thighs. Slowly they were exposed to the air and as soon as my jeans hit the floor, his hands went straight to grope at my thighs.

“I’m not going to do this if you don’t want it.” He continued to slowly massage my thighs, kneading the sensitive flesh between his large hands. I remain frozen, staring straight up at the ceiling and breathing heavily, but I push my thighs against his hands trying to get him to continue.

“No, Scarab. Use your words. Or are you too stupid?”

I let out a small grumble, pushing my thighs into his hands even more and whispering. “I want this.”

“I didn’t hear a please Scarab,” he whispered in my ear, continuing to massage my thighs. I failed to bite back the temptation to growl at him.

“I’m not gonna fucking beg for you K-“ I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence as I felt one finger brush over my clothed core, applying more pressure over the entrance and then pulling away. Konshu chuckled darkly, slowly dragging his finger back and forth across the fabric of my panties.

I still refused to open my mouth, but the god above me seemed perfectly happy to continue going about things his way. Slowly, his finger found my entrance and began to push more firmly against over my panties. I was sure that the sharp tip was going to pierce the fabric as he pushed harder and harder. Just as the fabric reached breaking point, he pulled away. Not even seconds after he did, Konshu’s hands were back on my skin, pulling my panties down my legs and tossing them onto the floor.

Only now did I realise how truly cold his hands were, guess that’s what I get for getting down and dirty with a skeletal bird god. The tips of his fingers scratched at the soft flesh of my inner thigh as they scraped towards my core. Heat was slowly beginning to build in my core as he edged ever closer to actually touching me, only to move back down and start the process all over again.

His hands finally start to skim closer to my cunt, only to move out of the way last second and begin to snake up my shirt. I feel my stomach muscles tense when his fingers ghost my lower abdomen, causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

His hands skimmed behind by back, a gently tug urging me to sit up. Although, I didn’t have to worry about that for long, as I was guided back down again by a gently push to the chest as soon as my shirt and bra were gone. Both pieces of fabric were forgotten as toon as they hit the floor, as Konshu started to skim those sharp fingers of his over my delicate skin once again. Although this time, they weren’t restrained to any one area and instead trailed my entire body.

His right hand made its way back to my cunt, which at this point was soaking. I could feel him trailing a finger around it, watching as my legs twitched and my hips jolted while he did. It didn’t take him long to find my clit, brushing over it with his thumb in such a delicate manner it almost had me begging for more. Slow, gently, feather light circles were traced over my clit for a few seconds before a sudden, sharp push had me gasping for air.

Another chuckle fell from Konshu. I tried to look away from him, but his left hand came to grip my face and force me to look at him.

“You are going to watch exactly what I do to you until I say you can look away, understand Scarab?” before I had a chance to answer, the muddle finger of his right hand was dipping into my pussy. Little by little, his finger moved into me, until it was impossibly deep. Once he could push in no further, he slowly began to pull out. He kept this excruciatingly painful pace for a few seconds before pulling out entirely.

A moan almost left my lips, only to be replaced by a sharp gasp when a different finger was pushed inside of me. He did the same with this one has he did with the other, only pulling out once he deemed it sufficiently wet. Looking up to me to check I was still paying attention, he used the fingers that were now wet with my slick to push back into me.

“Konshu-“ The hand that had been gripping my face moved sharply to cover my mouth instead.

“Tonight, I am your god, your master. You will address me as such Scarab, or you will suffer the consequences.” Slowly, he began to curl his fingers into me, the flat pads pressing into my walls. “But I fully intend to make sure you can’t speak by the end of tonight.” His fingers continued to move, stretching me with a slightly painful burn that made me writhe.

“Oh Scarab, if you can’t take this, there’s no way you’ll be able to take me,” he murmured into my ear, continuing to slowly curl what would be the pads of his fingers into my upper wall before relaxing them. Konshu continued to slowly move his fingers, never changing pace or how hard he was doing it. All I could do was let my eyes flicker shut and hold my hips off the mattress as he did.

A short moan started in my throat but didn’t have time to reach my lips as Konshu pushed the thumb of his free hand past my lips. It pushed down onto my tongue, effectively silencing me as my watery eyes looked up to him.

“Oh Scarab, is this too much for you?” he didn’t give me a chance to answer before his fingers began to curl and relax faster than before. I could feel him slowly begin to pump them as well. The pleasure began to build up very quickly, growing from a warm tingle in my cunt to a tightening pleasure in my lower abdomen. I could feel it surmounting, building to a fast climax. Just as white began to creep into the corners of my vision and a whine built up in the back of my throat, his fingers stopped.

The sudden stillness ripped the building whine from my throat, only now it was a whine of displeasure. I tried my best to show how frustrated I was by biting down on his finger, but with him being a god, it didn’t seem to have much effect. Despite the lack of reaction, I continued my attempted assault on his bony thumb. This still yielded no results – until I felt his fingers sharply push up into my, causing my biting to stop and a desperate moan to tear itself from my throat in its place.

“I really wouldn’t suggest trying to fight me, unless you don’t wish to cum tonight.” I now understood why Marc found him so insufferable. Well, I always had, but now I really knew. In a pathetic attempt to apologise, my lips gently closed around the part of him that was still in my mouth and I pressed the flat of my tongue against it. The god above me seemed pleased with my non-verbal answer and rolled his thumb over my wet tongue.

His fingers began to move inside of me once again, pumping and curling with the same rhythm they had found before. I defiantly wasn’t one to complain, instead continuing to absentmindedly play with Konshu’s thumb using my tongue and moan at the pleasure. Once again, it didn’t take long for the pleasure to begin to bubble up in my stomach, the tension in my lower abdomen began to tighten once again and almost bubbled over – only for Konshu to stop once again. Some part of me was sure that if he could smirk – he would be.

The pressure slowly simmered down, but Konshu never removed his fingers. Just as the pressure ebbed away, leaving me a little frustrated and beyond disappointed, he began to move again. Faster and harder than before this time, his hand was moving almost painfully, but not quite, the feeling of a climax built up much faster than the previous, and I could feel myself tightening around him. He stopped again and I could feel tears bubble up in the corners of my eyes and spill, trickling down my face at the overwhelming feeling.

“What do you want little Scarab?” His voice wasn’t aggressive like it had been before, but it wasn’t kind either. He was taunting me, making fun of me and the state I was in because of him.

I tried to speak, to spit a witty remark in his face, but it didn’t work. My throat had closed in on itself and all I could do was gasp for air and breathe heavily as he chuckled.

“If you want to cum, then you best work for it,” his voice was smoother than ever, flowing like the Nile and making me desperate for release. Despite the humiliation it would normally bring, I felt as if I had surpassed a threshold of some kind and slowly began to try and bounce my hips.

I was quick to find out that it wasn’t working, and settled on rolling my hips instead. Konshu moved in time with me, but put in no more effort than I did. I was effectively fucking myself on his fingers and he was getting off to the idea – I was sure of it. Tears blurred my vision more than before and I couldn’t help but let small whines scratch their way out of my throat. My hips moved faster and with more force as I continued, and despite the effort that I had to put in, my climax began to build up again.

My face burnt with embarrassment as I felt myself tighten around Konshu’s fingers, my hips shuddering as I got closer. The pressure that had been fading in and out to par finally snapped and I came. The orgasm washed through me, back arching with the pleasure as I gushed over the god’s fingers.

I could feel his fingers keep moving as I came down from my high. My body relaxed into the mattress once the pleasure finally ebbed away, allowing my muscles to completely relax. His fingers still didn’t stop moving, gently massaging my walls.

“You ready for more Scarab?” his voice was gravely, sending a shiver up my spine and causing a whimper to fall from my mouth. Konshu seemed pleased with that, finally sliding his fingers out of me and starting to rub gentle circles on my clit.

His free hand moved to his own hip, fiddling with something before returning it to my thigh. His fingers dug into my soft flesh, massaging and bruising it. I couldn’t help but roll my hips up into his hand, causing his fingers to slip in and out of me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he almost chuckled, finally removing his fingers from me. I whined as the long, almost rough fingers dragged out of me. The pleasure finally faded completely, leaving me with a warm wetness between my legs and partially smeared down my thighs.

My voice seemed to come back once he stepped out from between my thighs, so I propped myself up on my elbows and looked up at him. The god stares down at me as I close my legs and let my face settle down into a deadpan expression.

“So, you’re gonna edge me and leave me huh?” Obviously, my sarcasm hadn’t left me at any point. Although my question seemed like the wrong thing to say at this very moment, as the towering figure leaned in. He would be caging me in if not for the fact that his arms were tucked behind his back.

“Would you like to phrase that differently scarab?” A darkness dripped from the ancient voice that I’ve never quite heard before. If I could’ve swallowed my words right then, I would have. However, intrigue spread through my body and, despite the fact Konshu was a god, I wasn’t going to let him push me around.

“No.” I tried to keep my voice strong and stable, but the way he straightened his posture to stand as tall as the ceiling would allow made my body quiver.

“Have it your way then Human.”

Fuck

There was a rustling and the fabric that had adorned his waist dropped to the floor. It crumpled around his feet in a heap before he stepped out of it. I was drawn to look at Konshu’s face, unable to tear my eyes away.

In a way that could’ve been mistaken as tender, the bony, calloused hands of the god before me once again trailed up my sensitive thighs. Rough bone moved to cup the delicate flesh on the insides of my thighs and – for a second – I thought I had gotten away with that I had said.

Suddenly, his demeanour changed, using his superior strength to snap my previously closed legs open and hold them there. I fought to close them, purely out of spite, but nothing I did fought against the god’s strength.

“If you call me name, my real name, I shall stop… Until then, you are mine to do with as I please.”

A deep pit started to form in my stomach, causing me to tear my eyes away from the almost delicate looking structure around his eye sockets. Lustful eyes trailed all the way down his body, stopping at his crotch.

I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting, but a large, almost translucent and honey coloured member was not it. It was solidly 8 inches long, maybe more, and dripped with what I could only assume was precum. The girth was hard to judge from this angle, but you could understand why he had made the comment earlier.

Nervousness consumed me as I realised there was no way this was going to happen without at least a little pain on your end. Words bubbled up your throat and tumbled over your lips in an attempt to stall him just a few more seconds.

“Don’t you need a c-“ He cut me off, hands holding the underneath of me knees as he tugged me closer.

“No need, you are a mortal. Your fragile little body wouldn’t take it even if you wanted to.”

Questions flooded my mind and the thought of the painfully delicious stretch to come was no longer on the forefront of my mind.

“But aren’t new gods cr-“

A sharp thrust caused his member to glide through my folds, coating it in my wetness.

“Cease your incessant questions. You are a mortal, nothing will happen,” his voice seemed distant, preoccupied on things other than me running my mouth.

Konshu pulled his hips back, removing a hand from the back of my knee to take hold of his cock. Guiding it towards my practically dripping entrance. The thick head pushed against my entrance before slipping up at the last second, pressing against my clit. It’s still sensitive from earlier and the pressure makes my back arch, eyes squeezing shut; the leg not being held by Konshu wrapping around his waist.

Dark chuckling came from above me and the god readjusted, finally pressing into me. Not even an inch in I could feel the stretch, pushing me further open than I had ever been before. Soft whimpers make their way from my lips, spilling out and into the air.

“Hmm, what a wonderful sound,” his grumbling voice dripped with lust, only adding to the way my pussy squeezed around him.

Konshu moved his hands, placing them on the underside of my thighs. For a second, confusion passes over me before he’s pushing my legs forwards, knees practically touching my shoulders. The burn of my muscles sketching is quickly pushed to the back of my mind by the feeling of the god pushing into me. His large hands continued to hold me exactly as he wanted me, pushing his hips to slip his cock into me. Burning pleasure coursed outwards from my core, reaching a high when his pelvis finally pressed into the underside of my thighs.

Despite what seemed like desperation to move, the ancient being pressed into you stayed still, opting only to pull your legs so they laid partially over your shoulders instead. Slowly, the pain from being stretched so much gave way to a most more pleasurable sensation. Although, there was a pushing inside of you that was stranger than anything you’d ever felt.

Managing to raise your head ever so slightly, you looked down and at your lower stomach. There was a slight bulge. Caused by Konshu’s member pushing against the soft, warm walls of your pussy. You wanted to reach down and touch it, push against it and see what it felt like, but decided against it for the time being.

Seeing the way I moved to look at my body, Konshu gave an experimental thrust, pulling out half an inch before sliding back in. My head fell backwards onto the soft sheets as he did, a moan falling from my lips. I hadn’t expected it to feel like good.

In response to my moan, he gave another experimental thrust, then another and another. Slowly, he built up a good pace, pulling out slightly more every time until he was about a quarter of the way out before thrusting back into me. MY pussy began to flutter around him, squeezing his cock while it dragged along my walls.

It almost sounded as if he was growling above me, huffing with each move. I know he was restraining himself for my sake – something I didn’t think the god could do. I reached down, between my legs, to run a finger over my clit. However, my hand was quickly swatted away my Konshu.

He moved his left arm to cross both of my legs, holding the outer side of my right thigh and pressing them both to his chest. His right hand quickly snakes between my legs and a thumb pressed to my clit. Konshu began to rub fast, tight circles with just enough pressure to make my back arch off the bed and I practically screamed for him.

Barely understandable words spilled from my lips as my eyes squeezed shut, but not once did I say his name. “God, Feels so good!” I yelled as the muscles in my back screamed for me to relax.

He didn’t respond, only quickening his thrusts. Languid motions that drew more and more out of me as they sped up. Konshu started to go harder as well, pounding into me with each snap of his hips. Each thrust seemed to have him slipping further out of you as well.

Konshu finally settled into a brutal, bruising pace, slipping all the way out of me before fucking himself all the way back in. I could feel every time the head of his cock came in contact with my walls and, combined with the sensation of the tight circled being rubbed on my clit, it was driving me towards my second orgasm of the night – quickly.

My moans grew in volume and shrillness, until I was practically screaming. Konshu seemed to enjoy this, his hips or hand never once faltering. The knot in my belly grew tighter as he kept going. Despite the fact he never changed pace, it felt as if I was getting more and more sensitive until my orgasm finally comes crashing over me.

White hot bliss coursed over my body, consuming my vison and mind, leaving no room for anything else. Arching off the bed once again, every muscle in my torso and legs felt like they tightened with absolute pleasure. I could do nothing but moan, no words were formed though, just a scream of pure ecstasy.

Once I finally started to come down from my high, I noticed Konshu hadn’t changed his pace at all. Although his thumb was slowing down on my clit, he never actually removed it, and his hips didn’t stutter nor falter. The feeling as starting to get to much, overwhelming me as I finally dropped fully back onto the mattress.

Tears began to brim in my eyes faster than I thought they would’ve. Overwhelming was the only thing I could call the sensation now. The drag of his cock along my sensitive walls.

The hand that had previously been occupied playing with my clit moved to my lower stomach. Suddenly I was aware of what he was going to do. Large fingers splayed out, palm directly over where the small bulge would appear with every thrust, not applying pressure yet.

That changed rather quickly, as his palm pushed down into my belly and the feeling of his cock became accentuated. My previous screams of pleasure turned into overwhelmed sobs. Yet I didn’t want him to stop.

For a moment, just a moment, Konshu seemed as if he wanted to as if I was ok. But even through the blur of tears that cascaded down my cheeks, I begged for more. And the god obliged my pleads.

This was no longer about my pleasure, but rather about him chasing his release. His hips finally began to falter, thrusts becoming sloppier and more pressure being applied to the hand pressed against my stomach. I could’ve sworn I could hear him mumbling curses with the occasional hint of my name, but the ringing in my ears made it hard to know.

Finally, Konshu tipped over the edge, finding his release. His hips never stopped moving nor did they truly slow. Instead, he continued to fuck me hard and fast through his orgasm. Spilling into me hot and heavy, growling out my name. After what felt like minutes of agonising pleasure, his hips finally stilled, pressed into me. He was panting, catching breath he didn’t need to catch.

I shifted, pulling myself out of his grip and off of him, sighing at the feeling of being empty and letting myself go limp against the bed. Konshu’s cum spilled out of me as I lay there, catching breath I actually needed to catch.

A bony hand touched my thigh, gently, moving it to exam it.

“I didn’t hurt you did I Scarab?” I was surprised at how gentle his voice was, especially as his hands twisted me every so slowly, checking for bruising.

“No… Not in a way I didn’t like at least…” I was still trying to suck in breaths and calm my pulse.

I felt the hotness between my legs and inside me dissipate suddenly, feeling as if it was completely gone. Mustering the strength to sit up, I checked myself for the mess I was sure I was going to have to clean up. However, there was nothing there besides my own mess. My eyes flitted to Konshu who, while still missing the garments that usually adorned his lower half, no longer had a dick.

Questions started to materialise in my mind, and I wanted to babble them all out. However, Konshu seemed to beat me to it.

“It’s magic. Anything that comes from it is magic. I can summon it and get rid of it as I please.”

Well… that was all of my questions answered.

I did my best to reach down without falling off the bed, picking up my shirt and using it to gently pat my thighs dry. Eventually, I managed to get myself below the covers without having to get up either.

“You must be tired Scarab, I’ll leave you be,” there was something in his voice that was so much kinder than you had ever heard before, yet somehow it seemed to sound the same as it always did.

“Thanks… Konshu…” I mumbled, pulling the duvet up to my chin and curling my legs towards my stomach slightly. This was gonna hurt in the morning, you could already tell. In an unpleasant surprise that really shouldn’t have been a surprise at all, I realised that I was going to have to get up to flick the lights off, close the curtains and the door.

Before a groan had the chance to escape my mouth, I heard the sound of the curtains being drawn. Turning my head slightly I could see Konshu, making sure they were fully shut. Then, he made his way towards the door, flicking the lights out and turning closing the door behind him without a single word. I know full well he could’ve just dissipated and probably did as soon as he was outside the door.

Warmth from both the actions of the god and the duvet around you started to seep into your body and after minutes, you were no longer awake.

[ultrablackwidower]

Boy to the Moon

One day, Marc would wake and brush his teeth. Make coffee and eat his breakfast like nothing ever happened. One day, he may tell someone on the street about his lover here, and maybe, just for a single moment, struggle on the details. Even to Konshu it was horrifying, because even he did not want to forget the human woman who had only ever treated him with kindness. Had always been on his side.

Watching the worm and the warrior cry over the woman’s body almost felt cruel. Konshu didn’t like humans. Never liked them. Usually, he would have avoided them at all cost, the filth of their feelings too strong. But this was a different kind of death. One that shook his Moon Knight to the core and demanded their souls.

Demanded it because Konshu could feel the dust in his lungs displace, as though his breath in Marc’s lungs was dying, too. Because it was. Marc was standing over his lover’s corpse for the first and very last time. It was difficult to comprehend the grief that he, as a God, was watching unfold. The man before him, whose life was at the mercy of his skeletal hands, was losing his light. A part of him was dying and Konshu could not give it back to him.

It was painful for the God to admit, but he had appreciated the woman’s presence in their lives. She had been the kind of shaken that made death feel perfect. Pale and empty, with dark haloes beneath her eyes; like the frames of within a mine that was about to collapse. But she would never now grow old. While alive, she had oozed vitality, dishevelled and harmfully ignorant of how violent she was allowing the world to be to her.

That was what drew Marc to her, he believed. They drank whiskey like excuses, wept at silly things, and she was good at getting what she wanted. Even better at getting what she didn’t want. They were both fuelled off of chaos and it felt like a collision every time they touched. Konshu would be able to feel it as though their hearts entwined and reached through history to touch the sand before the pyramids were built.

But neither Konshu nor Marc would ever experience these things again. Never have to worry about her safety. The last time the God had watched them part, the man didn’t feel it then— but the woman’s chest had become a hallway and her head was an empty room. Something burned behind her pupils like the surface of the sun.

She had known she would die, and so did Konshu. There had been a static in the air, one that told of death and love and determination; the woman had come to Egypt to save him. And in turn, gave her life for his in the brief time Konshu was imprisoned.

No one would ever experience her again. Marc would no longer have to worry. But he couldn’t save the one person most important to him.

Sometimes, when she thought she was alone, Konshu would watch over her. Once, she had broken a bottle of alcohol and smiled like an empty clock face when blood ran from her palm. She was like the bottom of all those bottles she drank as she apologized to the doctors afterward for overshooting her stitches. Sometimes, Konshu wishes he could have hemmed her hands over themselves so she would know how it truly felt helpless. Scratch the word consequences into her chest.

She was too much like Marc.

She could spin gold with her words. Could talk anyone into naivety. She had loved the Moon Knight, but her own heart was heavy with life.

But now this world had lost her around and around in cosmic circles. Every blood drop had been a pit stop. Her eyes had been tricked into crossing and reality had shot her in the middle of the tomb. Marc had wanted to steal back what he thought the world owed him; and still, she died.

Responsibility came easily. The hard part was keeping it. Owning it like fingerprints on a bottle or bloodstains on wrappings.

No, Marc wasn’t laughing.

No, this wasn’t amusing.

Konshu suddenly saw his Knight’s ribcage as a harness. If the God allowed it, life would hang the man. This was a war inside of him that would only last a heartbeat in comparison to the lives Konshu had lived through. Centuries passing over like a page flipped in a book. A baby conceived and buried as an old body, in the same moment.

Marc, like his lover, was not old. But unlike his lover, he would not be buried yet. The God could feel the man’s heartache, the one festering inside of him at this very moment. The doe nuzzling itself against the inside of his throat. Konshu pictured the panic, the fear, the perennial doubt and indescribable hopelessness as the man, who was a warrior, screamed toward the stars.

After all, what did the world even mean when his better half was no longer breathing? Konshu knew it wasn’t the time to make a remark, even though he knew each of these feelings would soon become barely words. Barely a grain of sand in the desert.

One day, Marc would wake and brush his teeth. Make coffee and eat his breakfast like nothing ever happened. One day, he may tell someone on the street about his lover here, and maybe, just for a single moment, struggle on the details. Even to Konshu it was horrifying, because even he did not want to forget the human woman who had only ever treated him with kindness. Had always been on his side.

And right now, everything about her was so fresh in their minds that even the God felt the pain. And so Konshu stood over his two wards with his staff pressed firmly into the ground. Opened his other arm like a wing toward the sky and said a little blessing for her. She would only see the field of reeds. Nothing less.

As though it would mean something to the weeping Knight. As though the words in an ancient language would let her body refill with life instead of continuing draining into death. As though the words would allow them all to find peace.

But peace did not exist. Not yet.

And the war was nowhere near finished.

[zymruk]

Headcanon: What if you two went camping? [Steven Grant x Reader]

Steven Grant Headcanons: What would he do on a camping trip?

• He would be nervous as hell. The idea of being in a place away from society and surrounded by wilderness would send shivers down his spine.

• On the week before the trip, he would try to convince you not to go. In reality, the mosquitos wouldn't be the bigger problem. In reality, the issues lied in his lack of control over his sleeping disorder.

•Konshu wouldn't shut his beak about how much of a coward he was being. In this god's mind, he had no more reason to fear anything. After everything that happened in Egypt, he had gained respect for the weak human.

• Mark, though, was happy for Steven. His brother was finally having a life for himself. A girlfriend that loved him, a brand new job that offered him bonuses. He even got a driving license; though he never used it.

• When it's finally time to go, Steven has packed everything that might ease his mind. He's got his podcasts for the road. You two have packed lunches and your bags. And even rented a car to go; there was no way that you would get into a bus with everything you two had.

When on the road, as the city disappears and more trees show their leaves and trunk, you can feel your body relax. Before meeting Steven, the only time you could go camping was with your bother; so to share that love of the wilderness with your partner feels literally like a breath of fresh air.

On the campsite, obviously you do most of the preparations as you're most experienced in this field of activities. Though Steven had known how to install a tent. It was as if he already had done it.

Obviously, it had been Marc. Steven had let him front in order to not look like a bloke in front of you. And it had worked. You had been quite surprised at the display of skills.

During the trip, nothing too bad had happened. Marc had let Steven have his brief vacation. Jake had popped up twice, unbeknownst to anyone. Truly, Steven thought he was asleep during the blurs. You hadn't really been with Jake when he fronted. Apparently, Konshu had discovered a sinner not so far away; he had given Jake the task of getting rid of them. Break their windpipe. The usual. And then, he returned to your side and slept.

When the morning comes, you're the first to wake up. You're curled up against Steven, holding his arm hostage. You decide to bring him breakfast. Or at least some sort of breakfast; which comprises two chocolate flavored crepes for you and two strawberry ones for Steven. (you had taken the time to cook them before leaving)

When Steven wakes up and finds your meals on paper plates, he can't help but love you even more. You had taken your time in making his favorite breakfast, there was even some coffee for him.

You two spend the rest of the weekend by fetching berries, going swimming in a nearby lake; sleeping and obviously making love to each other.

When the end of the trip arrives, you are both eager to go home and want to stay longer. Steven, too, has discovered that he doesn't hate the idea of camping. Sure, there had been mosquitos and bugs, but it was worth it. He had loved seeing you at work on this little camping site.

[ramen-flavored]

LAYLA EL-FAOULY IS MAKING HER COMIC BOOK DEBUT!!!

[xcalciumx]

A Night to Remember | Moon Knight System x Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Summary | A nice night with your boyfriend Marc quickly unveils into chaos. A third altar? A horrifying demon? Your half-assed Egyptian God of Wind and Air, Shu? What could possibly go wrong. 

—

“Here you go.”

You smile sweetly at your boyfriend as you set the cup down on the coffee table, taking care not to spill the hot contents inside.

“Thanks, baby,” Marc says as he sinks further into the couch, the NFL playing on the television becoming a background buzz. You watch him with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before snapping open again. His breathing is heavier than normal and it’s almost as if he’s curling in on himself as he sits there, eyes blank.

“You alright, Marc?” You murmur, reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder softly. At the contact, his gaze shoots to you. He mumbles something incoherent before speaking up.

“Mm, i’m alright, hon. Jus’ a little dizzy. That’s all…”

You hum noncommittally, not sitting down yet as you observe him carefully. 

“Stevey’s not trying to front, is he?” you ask calmly, head tilting in question. A few dark locks of hair fall over his forehead as he blinks blearily over at you. His strong jaw is accentuated by the gentle glow of the lamp, his features seeming to darken with exhaustion. “Marc?” 

He shakes his head.

Your lips thin as you keep watching him, a part of you suspecting that Steven was, in fact, trying to take the body. He continues to sit there in a haze, and you think for a moment before cupping his face gingerly. He blinks up at you, though it's as if he's not really seeing you.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright? I don’t think coffee is gonna do you any good right now.”

Marc doesn’t respond. Turning on your heel, you quickly make your way back into the kitchen, hands wringing together in worry. Marc can handle it, you remind yourself. He’s a big boy. Nevertheless, you can’t help but put an extra hop in your step, hoping to get the glass of water and return to his side pronto. The glass is cold in your hands, the filtered water that had been sitting in the fridge making it even more so. Though you can’t see into the lounge from where you are, you can't help but keep glancing towards the doorway in concern for your lover.

The water quickly rises to the top of the cup. You hurry back into the room. 

Except now, Marc isn’t there. You stop in place, lips pursing. Where had he…? Before your mind could come up with anything crazy, you heard the soft thud of footsteps approaching you from behind. 

“Marc, lovely? How are you…feeling?” 

As you spun around to face him, your words slowly trailed off. Marc was standing there, but immediately you could tell there was something off. His eyes seemed to have gotten somehow darker, his back straighter than usual. Any signs of his previous delirious state had practically vanished into thin air. You cocked your head to the side, assessing him. Silently, he stared back, his empty stare now a piercing glare. 

“Marc?” you cleared your throat, “You alright?”

Slowly, like a creeping vine, a smile made its way across his lips.

“Fine, darling.” He replied, though there was something off about that too. His voice was rasping just a little too much, a strange accent lacing his voice. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?” 

You blinked a couple of times while you processed his words.

“Fine,” you stammered. “Um, I suppose you’re feeling better then.” You amended, not fully believing that he was just suddenly okay. Just to make sure, you shot him a sheepish grin, beckoning him over. Wordlessly, he answered your call, coming closer. When he was within reaching distance, you raised the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling the skin there for any signs of a fever. At the unexpected action, he looked down at you with confusion, body tensing. Before he could ask, you were already retracting your hand to your side. “You’re not coming down with something, right? I mean, you don’t feel warm but your voice…”

His dark chocolate eyes met yours with a sudden intensity, making you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. Nervous. Why were you nervous all of a sudden?

“Maybe I am getting sick,” he said slowly, eyes tracking the length of your face carefully. “I feel a little…faint.”

Knew it. You gave him a reprimanding look, bringing your hands up to push him back down onto the couch next to you. He went down with ease, not putting up a fight. Remembering the glass of water you had discarded onto the table, you quickly found it, situating it in his hands. 

“Drink,” you ordered. 

He did so, eyes still not leaving you even as his throat bobbed with each swallow. You mirrored him, eyes a little tight around the edge as you regarded his actions. A dreadful feeling crept up your spine but you shrugged it off for the time being, leaning onto the arm of the sofa casually.  

“Can’t believe Konshu would let his avatar get sick,” you murmured, loud enough for Marc to hear. “I’d say the old geezer’s not exactly doing his job right, is he?” The silence that met you was eerie. Marc lowered the glass from his lips, reaching over to place it on the oak table. He didn’t say anything, didn’t laugh. Normally, Marc would be the first to laugh at any remark or joke made at Konshu’s expense, so this quiet response had you concerned. He must have realised his silence unsettled you, as the next moment he was cracking a small grin.  

“Yes, well…” he didn’t finish his sentence. Just sat there, something heavy going on behind those almond eyes of his. You wanted to do something, hold his hand, but that daunting feeling was back. When he glanced at you, you swore that, even for a second, you were looking at a stranger. But if it wasn’t Marc, then who was it? At the thought, you blinked repetitively, mentally scolding yourself. You were just paranoid. All the worry for his well being was turning your head into mush. But the idea was incessant, haunting. Maybe something funny was going on up in his deep and complex mind; perhaps Steven was causing a ruckus. You nearly laughed at the thought of your sweet British man doing anything remotely annoying or ‘causing a ruckus.’

“Hey, Marc?” you spoke, conscientious about what you were saying. “Are you sure you’re the only one driving the car, right now? I mean, Steven’s not shotgunning, right?” He looked at you with bewilderment, as if the analogy wasn’t one the two of you had used a thousand times before. Quickly though, you watched as he dispersed of the shock and instead, shook his head calmly.

“No.”

“Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, okay.”

Just then, a dark shadow flew past the corner of your eye. When you tilted your head slightly to the left, you were met with the sight of your very own god, Shu, standing by the bookcase in the corner of the room. Very minutely, you raised your eyebrows; a silent query. 

His response was instantaneous.

That is not Marc Spector, little mortal.

Your eyes widened a tad but you schooled your features, urging him to continue with a slight wave of your hand. In front of you, Marc had his eyes trained to the tv, lips curled into a displeased frown. Though you wanted to inquire more from your god directly, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do given the situation at hand.

There is a darkness radiating off him. Like a plague. But I'm not quite sure what it is…

A plague? Curious, you peeked over at where Shu was standing, but was met with the barren walls of the apartment instead. You couldn’t help but mutter a soft curse. That annoying old prick. Hearing your profanity, Marc peered back at you again, a salacious grin curving his lips.

“Filthy mouth, mi amor.” 

What were meant to be supposedly cute words had you holding back a flinch. Marc never spoke Spanish to you; and he certainly never called you his ‘amor’. You couldn’t show him that though, so instead of gaping in shock like you wanted to, you returned his teasing with a cheeky little smile.

“¿Sí? Mala mía, nena.” Something twinkled in his eyes as he leaned towards you. He clicked his tongue tauntingly. Though there was something strange going on, and there was a large possibility that this wasn’t Marc - it was still his body, and you were still just as attracted to it as you were twenty minutes ago, which didn’t help much at all.

“No bueno, not good at all.” he admonished, dark eyes looking you up and down like prey. Beside you, your hand clenched into a fist. Spanglish banter with Marc? Something was definitely up.

You hesitantly stood up, nodding towards the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back, need some water.” Marc waved at his nearly empty glass.

“You can have some of mine, hermosa.” He eyed you quizzically as you shook your head.

“You’re sick, remember?” you huffed out a quiet laugh over your shoulder, already walking away. Back turned, you missed the way his lips straightened seriously, eyelids falling into a bored expression.

This time as you crossed the threshold, you were in a rush for a whole other reason. 

Be careful, little mortal. That is definitely not one of your boy-toys in that meatsuit.

You jumped at the booming voice in your head, whipping around to the kitchen counter where Shu had returned, sitting nonchalantly on a stool. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah, thanks, I got that part.” you hissed quietly, walking towards your knife block. “But if it’s not Marc, and it’s not Steven - who the hell is it?” The ancient Egyptian made a shrugging gesture at you, ostrich feather flopping around on his head while he looked around the room.

Something dark. Something ominous.

“Okay, would you stop it with the mysterious, vague crap? What is - “ you paused suddenly, ears faintly picking up on movement from beyond the door. The hand that had been reaching for your chef's knife instantly stopped and redirected to the cupboard above your head, in an attempt to appear like you were searching for a glass.

Uh-oh.

You shot a last minute glare at the wind god, grabbing hold of a glass as you heard footsteps hit the tiled floor of the kitchen. Briefly, you closed your eyes and took a calming breath. Whatever this was - you would deal with it. A cold draft made its way up your spine.

Don’t turn around, little one.

Shu warned you, his usual booming cadence levelling out as he watched over you. As you observed him from the corner of your eye, you watched as he mimicked a gun with two dark fingers, your lips downturning at the action.

“Oh, hey Marc?” you asked in an attempt of casual indifference, one hand grasping at the door to the fridge. He took a moment to answer.

“Yes?” 

It was almost like he wasn’t even trying to hide the New York accent anymore.

“Steven forgot to feed Gus and Frankie this morning. Could you…?” he anticipated your question and you heard the hefty sigh that escaped his lips behind you. There was a slight tapping sound against the floor before you heard him walking off to supposedly feed the goldfish. You let out a breath of relief, go you. 

It was a lie, of course. Steven could never forget to feed the fish. However, Marc had been fronting all day, and well, Marc didn’t really care for, in his words, ‘the stupid pets’. Naturally then, it was your job to feed the fish when Steven wasn’t present; though, you had returned home from a mission early this morning and had fallen right into bed with Marc, your fatigued mind not even remembering till now that you owned Gus and Frankie. Still, the excuse to get this Marc imposter away from you and unsuspecting was as good as any.

Make haste, little mortal. He will kill you if you don’t do it first.

You directed an angry snarl at your god.

“I’m not killing my boyfriend.”

Though as you said this, the silver of the knife sheened as it slipped from the block.

Why don’t you just wear the suit?

“Because I’m trying not to let on that I know he’s not Marc!” You whispered angrily, stalking around the counter and stopping at the hallway door.

The suit will keep you safe.

“If I need the suit, then give me the damn suit. But for now, shut up and watch my back.” The god huffed dramatically in your head but you ignored it, creeping along the wall till Marc, or Marc’s body you guess you should say, came into view. He was standing at the fish tank, large hands fiddling with a packet of feed. 

You nearly started cursing at him - that was the wrong stuff! He was holding the special treat pellets Steven liked to give them when they behaved. The bloody bags cost double the amount of normal feed. Steven wouldn’t be happy if it was wasted, neither would you.

Delicately, you snuck up behind him, air stuck in your lungs. The knife you brandished was tucked closely to the small of your back, your eyes never leaving the enigmatic figure in front of you. Appearing stoic and collected on the outside, you were freaking the hell out on the inside. You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Would you threaten him? Demand him to reveal himself? You weren’t going to actually hurt this dude, right? Afterall, it was still your boyfriend's body and just the idea of bringing him harm caused a gnawing pit to grow in your stomach. You’d known Marc for well over a year now, and although your first meeting had technically been a fight between the two of you (a petty god vs a pettier god kind of thing) it had been the last time you had laid hands on eachother so violently and with so much ill intent. 

It’d bring you a lot of pain to hurt Marc, but him hurting you? It would kill him. So, the fact that this guy was seemingly trying to outright murder you…Yeah, it stung a little. Imagining Marc or Steven finding you dead on the floor made you feel sick to the stomach.

With that in mind, you crept closer, only a step away from grabbing him and putting the knife to his throat like you intended. You weren’t going to cut him - no way, you were just gonna scare him a little and hopefully get some answers.

Well, that was the plan at least.

Until he whipped around and pointed a beretta M9 straight at your chest.

Your eyes widened.

“Hold on -”

He did not. 

You saw the squeezing of his finger, heard the click of the gun and then your ears began to ring with the sound of a gunshot. Straight into the heart. 

Gasping for breath, you stumbled back, eyes frantically darting to the golden chestplate now wrapping around your torso. 

Told you, you needed the suit. 

Your panicked expression quickly morphed into one of fury, hands shaking by your side. The chef's knife that you had intended to use was quickly chucked behind you as you snatched your spear from your back, your armour now encasing your whole body.

“You asshole!” You yelled at the man, stunned at how easily he had tried to murder you. He blinked at you innocently, gun lowered to his side.  

“Nothin’ personal, sweetheart.” he said, this time the fake voice he had kept up shattered completely. “Orders are orders, you’d understand.” 

Your jaw clenched. No, no you would not understand. 

“Konshu is making you do this?” He rolled his eyes at you.

“Who else?”

“Who else? I - why the hell,” you didn’t know what to say to that. Konshu wanted you dead? Since when? “Who even are you?” you managed to get out, trying to gain some semblance of control back. A smug smirk came over his face. 

“¿Que? I’m Marc Spector,” he taunted you, knowing full well that you knew he was not Marc Spector. Not in the slightest.

You ground your teeth, shooting a glance at the Egyptian god over near the bed. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes trained on the window. 

“Shu?” you hissed, no longer bothering to hide the fact you were talking to him. Not Marc Spector raised a brow. “What is it?” The god looked over at you quickly, his eyes darting between you and not Marc. His eyes flared with golden light.

Shaytan.

A cold wave flowed through you at the word. The scrunched up, concerned look on your face did not go unnoticed by the imposter opposite you.

“Wow, you’re loco. I’m probably doing the boys a favour gettin’ rid of you.” 

You tried to ignore his words, but the sheer malice of what he was saying caused an involuntary reaction. You whipped your head back to him, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

“Shut your mouth, dimwit. You must think this is a real joke, huh? Shaytan - it’s a demon! You need to back off, now, because something really, really bad is going on.”

All you received was a flat, deadpan look. 

“Okay, I’ve entertained this long enough. No hard feelings, loca.” As he spoke, he tucked his gun into the sweatpants Marc had been wearing, head tilting back a little. You watched as he closed his eyes and then…nothing happened. The silence was prominent when he peeked one eye open, lips pulling down. His fists clenched by his side but still, everything stayed the same. You could’ve laughed. 

“Having a problem there, estúpido?” you mocked. He glared at you, mumbling something under his breath. Then too, he looked towards the window, completely disregarding you. 

“Aye, where’s the suit?” he said. You looked at the blank space that he was talking to, glancing at Shu who had come up next to you. He rested a glowing palm on your head.

Look.

You had to stop yourself from screaming as the light flooded your mind, opening up your conscience to the world beyond. By the window, ghoulish form trembling and heaving, you witnessed the creature Shu claimed was the ‘Shaytan’. Long pale limbs, glowing silver orbs for eyes and a body that resembled a starved, withering corpse. It was definitely not Konshu. Your stare wavered to where not Marc was speaking to him, confusion washing over you.

He only sees Konshu standing there.

Shu’s words made you frown.

That’s what those Shaytan do. They hide their true form, encapture gods and feed on the vulnerable souls of well…avatars. 

“Are you saying that thing wants to eat my soul?” The horror on your face doubled. “Wait, are you saying that it’s also gonna eat Marc and Steven’s soul?” 

Shu grimaced.

It looks hungry, little one. You should probably run.

“What!?” You almost screamed. Just then, the haunting eyes of the creature locked onto you. Your heart dropped to your feet. “Do something!” you hissed at your god, “get rid of it!” The awkward laugh booming in your head was not reassuring. At the same time, not Marc met eyes with you, determination ever-present on his face. Great, just what you needed. One horrifying monster and one murderous psycho. Amazing.

See, that’s not really my area of expertise. We need the moon god, he has more experience with those things.

Slowly, you began to back away, spear clutched in a death grip. “Are you kidding me? Where is he then?”

Like I said, they encapture gods. Konshu is probably fighting his way back from the underworld right now. Don’t fret though, I’m sure you will be alright. If you…if you leave. Right now. Um. 

You were already running, floorboards thudding beneath you as you skidded down the hall towards the front door. When you glanced back, you noticed that your god had completely vanished, probably not wanting to be the next one on this demon's hit-list. 

“You’re the lousiest god I know, Shu! I swear to - OOF!”

As you reached for the silver knob, something heavy came barraging into you from behind. Your back throbbed at the harsh contact. As soon as you hit the ground, you twisted your body - expecting to come face to face with the psycho occupying Marc's body. You wanted to cry when you realised that it was not the psycho, but rather the soul-hungry boogeyman that was trying to rip you to shreds. Its paper skin rippled as it leant towards you, mouth opening into a deep, black hole. As soon as you saw the pink tendrils that slithered out from that darkness, you knew you’d be having nightmares for at least a year after this. 

Beyond him, the moon gods' avatar came screeching to a halt, his eyebrow drawing together at what he was watching. 

“Konshu?” he asked in that thick american accent of his. If it weren’t for the fact you were about to get your soul sucked from your body, you would have shouted at the man for being so stupid. The creature huffed above you, a low howling sound echoing from its skinless lips. “Right…” not Marc responded. You could barely believe what you were seeing and hearing. He really believed this was Konshu, didn’t he? You almost felt bad for the man for being tricked by this demon. Almost. 

Those tendrils got closer and closer. It was only when they were a hair's breadth away from your face did they stop. You inhaled noisily, trying to escape the grip of this thing. But even when you managed to pull a hand free and swing your spear haphazardly, it simply passed through it like a cloud, having zero effect. The Shaytan didn’t like that, growling and snarling in your face. You turned white as a ghost. 

Holy hell. You were going to die.

A dark shadow fell over your head and you were barely able to make out Shu above the demon's head. The tendrils tickled your nose and you had to contain a shout.

“Do something,” you whispered through clenched teeth. “Shu, don’t you dare let me die to this thing.” Your eyes fluttered in uncontained fear as you felt it latch onto you with those tentacle things. It’s heaving, rough breaths amplifying as it tugged at your skin. “Shu!”

To your utter relief, the Egyptian God actually did do something. His hand, decorated in sapphire jewels and dark beads, reached out in front of him, some sort of ancient Egyptian chant leaving his lips. You could just make out the ankh held firmly in his other hand. As the words spilled out, the Shaytan began to thrash, angry howls filling your ears. Even so, it didn’t disconnect from you. You were beginning to feel dizzy, a tiredness taking over your body. It was like the feeling of running nonstop for hours and finally passing out from dehydration. Except you weren’t just passing out, your very mind and being was being pulled from you.

“Shu,” you rasped desperately. His chanting stopped.

Nothing’s working, little mortal. I’m sorry but there’s not much else I can think to do.

You’re giving up on me? You wanted to yell. After everything you’d done for him, how loyally you had served him all these years, he was just going to let you die? You had never felt so angry in your life. Not to mention this whole thing with not Marc; how long had he been hiding from Steven and Marc? How long had he watched the three of you living a content life and decided ‘right, I’ll just kill her and it’ll be no big deal’? You wanted to punch him in his stupidly handsome face, not just to quell your own anger but for the other two men who had to share a body with him. You couldn’t imagine how he could try to hurt you so nonchalantly. He really was a psychopath. 

Dark spots clouded your vision, the anger swelling inside of you becoming mute as you could no longer keep fighting back. It was done. You were done. What a miserable fucking way to go out. 

Through the dark haze, you heard a distant voice, a familiar yet unfamiliar one, a loud yet quiet one. Booming. Reprimanding. Godly?

- you are certainly reaching old age, you dumb little man. What god doesn’t know how to deal with a Shaytan in this day and age? 

Pressure seemed to suddenly vanish from your chest, the growing exhaustion in your body coming to a still. That voice…that voice.

Konshu?

Jake Lockley, you must be under the influence of the other two’s stupidity. By what order would I be sending you to kill her? Astonishing. Truly.

Slowly, the world came back into focus, your eyes straining to look up at the wooden ceiling above you. The Shaytan was gone. 

Thank fucking lord. 

The towering figure of your god presided over you instead, a grim set to his lips. You shot him the nastiest look you could manage in your half-conscious state.

Forgive me, little mortal. Konshu arrived and he saved you from your imminent end. No need to be bitter. 

You coughed, throat dry, before turning over onto your hands and knees, whole body aching painfully. 

“No need to be bitter?” you sputtered, leaning on the wall as you tried to stand. “You were going to let me die,” you hissed. 

I tried!

“You didn’t try hard enough, you big, dumb god!”

That’s not very nice. 

You growled, turning back towards the apartment where a certain Moon God now stood with his avatar. Your furious gaze settled on ‘Jake Lockley’. 

“You gonna apologise now, you fool?”

Jake’s dark eyes settled on you, his shoulders lifting in a half-shrug. Now that you were looking at the real him, you could make out every little thing that made him distinctively different from Marc and Steven. From the posture to the look in his eyes.

“You can’t really blame me for all that,” he said. Konshu made an annoyed noise at his side. When you looked at the Moon God, he made another frustrated sound.

It’s not my fault that I chose a dumb avatar, little girl.

Your lips pursed.

Meet Jake Lockley, the third and last one inside your partner's head. My real Moon Knight. 

You looked back at Jake, hands settling on your hips as you regained your bearings. Everything that just went down flashed through your mind, a crease forming on your forehead. Tonight was supposed to have been a nice night-in with Marc, but this…this?

“You and I have a lot to talk about, Jake Lockley,” you scowled.

[god-complex-12]

Rasāsvāda

— Paring; Khonshu x male reader. Fandom; Moon Knight/Marvel

Rasāsvāda: (n.) the taste of bliss in the absence of all thoughts

Quote; "Your heart is aching, Y/N. Your mind is trying desperately to hold you together, like clay being pinched at the seams. You're trying to maintain control, but something in you is not quite stable."

Description; Night conversation with Khonshu. Disclaimer; Sad. Mentions of a higher power. Reader is Moon Knight. High up on a building. Absent-mindedness. Mentions of degradation and judgment for an opinion? Khonshu’s depicted to be a dick. Ignorance to one’s own feelings. Mental health issues (not specified). Unstability. Loneliness.

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

A/N: I don’t know. Everything had been fucking everywhere for me, so have this and do what you want with it. That's all I can muster up. 

Trillions of small little light sources scattered in the darkness of the sky appeared, occasionally disappearing behind the light gray clouds and reappearing when they pass. Small to what all see, but huge when closer. Perspective tricking the less developed minds into thinking there's tiny night lights gifted by a higher power or simply to make the night sky look pretty. The earth’s atmosphere makes the bright celestial body’s twinkle. From where the white armored vigilante sat, he was incapable of hearing the ever subtle sound those huge stars emitted despite the sound traveling through the gas in the huge vacuum of the universe. 

The cold night wind made the knight’s cloak gently rustle. One of his legs was dangling off the side of the building ledge and the other flat on the edge he was sitting on, bent to his chest as his head was completely pointed upward. His mind blank, his mask off, his body relaxed. 

The god looked down at his avatar. His hollow eyes staring at the back of Y/N. He knew Y/N was unaware of his presence, but that’s not what concerned Khonshu. He tapped his staff against the rooftop to make himself known before speaking. The loud ‘thud’ of the staff coming in contact with the concrete roof bounced around the area. “Y/N. What are you doing?” 

Y/N didn’t flinch or move. He had gotten so used to Khonshu’s frequent appearing and disappearing that he no longer got visibly frightened by being watched. “Looking.” His tone was quiet, calm, and vague. He didn’t go on into detail, instead leaving it short and sweet for Khonshu to interrupt for himself, so that Khonshu was given the chance to make what he wanted of the answer.

Khonshu didn’t like that. He knew why Y/N was doing it. Y/N spoke vaguely because he knew if the answer wasn’t of the deity’s liking, it would only lead to degradation and judgment, so he gave an open book answer. Khonshu looked at the Moon Knight for a few seconds before calmly speaking. “Looking for what, might I ask?”

Y/N shook his head, not looking at Khonshu. “Not looking for something. Just looking.” He wasn’t searching for anything. It’s like looking at a painting in a museum, some people look through the painting for inspiration, techniche, or flaws; others just admire the work, not actively searching for something in specific. 

Khonshu tilted his head to the side slightly like how a dog does when you say it’s favorite word in a baby voice. This caught his interest. All the many years he’s walked this Earth, human’s like this always caught him off guard. "And what is it you hope to see by 'just looking’? Is there any particular reason why you wanted to be here.. on this roof?" Khonshu clearly didn’t get the message in the last response.

Y/N sighs. Not an upset or disappointed sigh. Just a simple deep breath. “Peace.” Another vague, open ended question for Khonshu to mold and shape to his liking. He gave an answer that would fit both the stand points of the searching artist and the admiring artist. 

"Hmm. And has that peace you seek been found?" Khonshu's gaze remained locked on Y/N’s back. He didn't seem to be bothered by anything, either. A few moments passed after the question. A comfortable silence filling the air between them. 

“Momentarily.”

Khonshu nodded slightly, remaining silent. If this was the kind of answer he was going to get, perhaps he should try a different approach. He sighed before speaking again. "What troubles you, Y/N? I know you're hiding something." Khonshu's voice was low and quiet, but there was something about it that gave it a slight edge, an underlying sharpness.

"I am?" Y/N slowly turned his head to Khonshu. This was the first time he had looked at Khonshu this entire conversation. His face is an unreadable expression even for Khonshu. "Since you know I'm hiding something. What do you think I'm hiding?” Y/N seems more curious by the accusation than defensive. 

Khonshu's gaze remained still and cold, but there was something there — a sliver of compassion. He knew what he was asking Y/N. "Your heart is aching, Y/N. Your mind is trying desperately to hold you together, like clay being pinched at the seams. You're trying to maintain control, but something in you is not quite stable."

Y/N slowly nodded and hummed in acknowledgement. He was silent for a moment as he went back to looking at the sky. It was true, he couldn’t argue even if he wanted to. "I'd tell you you're wrong, but if you were... I wouldn't be your avatar."

Khonshu chuckled lightly, finding the small jab quite funny. "Very astute of you." He sounded appreciative. "But you still haven't answered my question. You hide something from me, from yourself. What is it?"

"I must be very good at hiding because I don't know." He looked back at the night sky. He constantly had this nagging, never ending sense of dread. That something would go wrong, or maybe that something was already wrong. He was paranoid of everything around him and it was tearing his mind apart. Piece by piece. He didn’t know what caused it though. He never did. That’s what drove him into the dark, never ending pit of madness. 

Khonshu took a moment to respond. His voice was very carefully measured, calm. He knew that Y/N was going through something, even if Y/N was too stubborn to admit it or if the man truly didn’t know. "I think you might, Y/N. I've had the chance to observe you at close range for a little while. I know there's a weight on your shoulders. I know it's there in the way you stand so rigid, because you're so desperately trying to not buckle under that weight."

“Oh, how poetic of you. Does that come from being so divine?” There was sarcasm carefully laced Y/N’s tone. He’s not stupid enough to insult a god who saved his life and had been protecting him, but he can’t help but show some of his annoyance with light “playful” sarcasm. 

“You are a lonely person.” Khonshu states this as fact.

“I am, aren’t I?”

[lxviswxrld]

credit to @/lokiwiidow on instagram

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [2]

description: She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 9.6k

trigger warnings: GORE, blood, very briefly Reader/Dove has worries of SA but absolutely none happens nor was there the intention of it happening and it is only implied, swearing, talks of infidelity (we love Layla el Faouly in this house so she will stay in the story but not as a romantic partner for Marc/Steven)

main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: so as promised this is now an avatar!reader series. all the Ancient Egyptian facts mentioned are simply researched off google and some books I have on Egyptian mythology so someone please correct me! Also to avoid confusion Seth goes by many names eg Set/Seth/Setekh and is only really known as God of Death in the marvel comics, not in real mythology! Again, my knowledge of DID is purely researched so if anyone is upset with my phrasing or what I have written please tell me!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

Marc cradled her wounds harshly, guilty chipping at him when he heard her whimper at the sheer force he was putting on the lacerations. 

“Konshu!” Marc hissed over his shoulder where he felt the bird poking at the Jackal’s dead body. He had arrived five minutes too late, barely just pulling the monster off her before it could set its teeth into her leg and start feasting. The dark haired man had been quick to snap its neck, throwing the carcass behind him and tend to where she twitched and writhed on the floor. 

It was bad. Her thick blood smeared all over the ceremonial armour that would somehow clean itself of the stains like it did with the blood of the others he’d killed. 

He’d had blood on his hands before, but not like this. Not an innocent woman that slipped away under his touch, the eyes he’d seen from inside the body batting up at Steven with golden innocence. 

He knew how Steven felt about her, the way his heart, well their heart, would pick up when the two of them got even the slightest bit closer. The way doubt ate away at his quiet counterpart, doubt that someone her age would find a man ten years older than her even the slightest bit attractive. She had dozens of men after her, he saw how their eyes trailed up and down her figure when she would be so much as stood minding her business and stacking shelves. 

Marc knew despite Steven never admitting to his feelings, despite the fact he’d tried helping him get over his crush by asking his other gorgeous co-worker on a date for him, he knew Steven would be devastated if anything happened to her. 

The two of them shared a friendship first and foremost. She was possibly the only person Steven had to rely on that he found comfort in, the only real friend he’d got. And she was good, Gods above Marc could see even when he was on the inside that she was good to him. When she would leave him notes to remind him to wake up on time, bring Steven little trinkets she’d found that reminded her of him. She hadn’t batted a single eyelid of judgement when she’d seen the sand around his bed, or the foot cuff. In fact she’d made a joke about his unique tastes in the bedroom and then asked if he would like to buy mugs together. 

She was pure, and kind, and good. It was Marc’s job to deliver vengeance to those worthy of it, and she was the furthest thing from it. And it was his conflict with Harrow that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. 

He couldn’t let her be taken from Steven, not like this. 

“KONSHU?” Marc called, louder this time to get the God’s attention, “Will you quit poking that thing and get over here?”

The skeletal figure paused, his staff still half way through prodding the corpse out of intrigue as he took note of the pitiful little human dying on the floor. 

“She’s a lost cause, Marc. The worm can make more friends. We have work to do,” Came Konshu’s booming voice, the figure walking towards where the blood pooled on the floor messily. 

“That is not an option, what happened to protecting ‘the travellers of the night’?” Marc seethed back, compressing the wound harder. But it was no use. He felt the liquid seeping through his clothed fingers, how it pumped out of her rapidly. His heart dropped sadly when he saw she was looking right at him, her eyes wide and wet with fear. 

“Steve-” She started. Even so close to death she was worried about him. 

Marc’s chest constricted with sadness. Steven would never get over this if she were to die like this, calling for him, clinging to his alter for dear life. It was his job to protect Steven at all costs from the tough realities of life, and watching her die would torment his alter in a way he just couldn’t allow. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Marc shushed her, eyes narrowing on the way blood dribbled out her mouth and he heard her chest rattle with a clogged airway. 

She didn’t have long left. 

“Konshu, do something!” Marc yelled, his hand cradling her neck gently, trying to tip her head up far enough that she could breathe still. “We need to do something now!” 

“There is nothing to do, Marc Spector.” Konshu said simply, yet his boned beak snapped to the plinth the two humans rested on, his concave eyes trailing up to the monument that watched over them, “Unless…”

“Unless what? Just do something, she’s going to bleed out any minute now,” Marc rushed, a hand coming to hold her head up more as she started choking on herself. 

He had seen gruesome things before, done gruesome things. But this was heart wrenching, watching the one person his alter cared for die so horrifically. Slow. Messy. Painfully.

“I cannot do anything to help the little runt,” Konshu snapped, raising his staff to the behemoth, looming figure behind the two humans clinging on to one another, “But he can,”

Marc’s head whipped to where the bird-faced demon was gesturing, the man’s near black eyes trailing up to the statue of the god watching over the three of them. “Who is that? Anubis? Ra?”

“Seth. God of Chaos, Storms and Foreign lands.” Konshu spoke of his old friend fondly. Marc’s eyes squinted in suspicion at the admiration in his voice. “Sometimes seen as the God of Death.” 

If there was anyone who loved vengeance and all things violent as much as the moon deity, it was the one who created it all. 

Spector’s heart squoze in fear at the idea of throwing her to a life of servitude like the one he had been forced into. But there was no way of healing her deep wounds in any other way than giving her up to a god that would find use in her survival. 

“God of Death?” Marc asked, “Is there no one else who would take her?” Nothing about Seth screamed out that he would be gentle to her. Konshu was bad enough, and he was merely the God of the Moon, let alone the embodiment of violence. 

“None that would accept a vessel so weak.” Konshu said darkly, kneeling down behind Marc and calling upon his dear friend in arms, “She is bleeding onto his monolith as if she’s given herself up to him as a sacrifice, he’ll like that,”

“No, wait-” Marc wasn’t sure he liked the sound of a deity so dark taking control of her, but he hadn’t the time to protest any further before his own God’s voice rattled the shards of glass laying on the floor with its volume. 

“Seth! Old friend, we have a gift for you,” Konshu bellowed, his head lowering as a sign of respect to his superior. The god killer. The brother slayer. The evil serpent of the Ennead. Konshu could only revere in the footsteps of such a god equally, perhaps moreso, hated by the higher council.

Konshu’s avatar opened his mouth to protest when a snake-like hiss rolled over his back and every hair on his body stood on end. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before, everything warm inside of Marc’s body being robbed at the very sound of it, his breath included. 

It was neither man, nor animal, nor monster. A mix between a snarl and a spit of anger from being woken from a deep slumber. 

Death overcame the room.

“Konshu,” An ancient voice came from above. For the first time in Marc’s servitude to Konshu, he was afraid to see where the sound came from. What had made such a noise. 

What Death looked like when you stared him in the face.

“It is good to see your face, shadow dweller,” The voice of Death spoke, every scratching syllable running through Spector’s body like a fear he’d never known. 

He couldn’t face the thing that caused such a feeling, and kept his head down as a result. Down to where she was. Still looking at him with such desperation, oblivious to the unholy conversation happening around her. 

The light in her eyes was dimming, the tears slithering into her hairline pitifully. She hadn’t got long left. He’d failed her. He’d fail her if Seth couldn’t get to her in time. Yet the selfish part of him didn’t want him to, wanted to keep her pure and untainted by such a cruel being. 

But this was for Steven, he thought. Keep her alive for Steven’s sake. 

“We have a body for you, dark one,” Konshu said, gesturing to the girl’s weak body that his pathetic avatar clung to fiercely.

“To see through the afterlife?” Seth questioned, the lights in the museum hall flickering as if indicating he was in every atom of the room with them. 

“To have as a vessel, Seth,” The Moon god prompted, his staff gesturing to the pool of blood the two humans sat in, Marc’s arms by now drenched in it. “See how she bleeds for you. I know you feel it as I do, the darkness in her heart, the chaos-”

“Oh,” Seth’s aged voice hummed in delight, “Oh, how her corrupted heart sings to me. You have done well, Konshu,” 

That had Marc gripping her body just that bit tighter. What had he done? The god seemed so thirsty for her blood, for her body. 

But it was too late now. Death had taken a fascination to her. Two long tendrils of pure, cold darkness emerged from the shadows and wrapped around where her weak state was slipping away from Marc’s arms. Hands that had trusted him to keep her safe fell from his bicep, falling slowly into her lap as the blackness took her. 

“Be gentle,” Came from Marc’s mouth before he could help it, not wanting to make himself known to the old god. Her body was raised into the air before the statue, her head limp as it sagged over her shoulders, heavy and lifeless. Shadows wrapped around her limbs, crawling up her nose and under her closed lids like an infection, spreading, consuming, digesting. 

“Gentle?” The hoarse voice rumbled with laughter, “She is going to be my most prized possession,” 

There was something so peaceful about the way she slept despite the trauma of the last couple days. Marc had flown the two of them back to her apartment, figuring it was a much easier way than getting on public transport with a sleeping woman in his arms. He knew it would garner too much attention, even with the way he’d wrapped her in Steven’s jacket to cover the sight of the blood from the security cameras. 

He’d laid her in her soft bed, slipping her shoes off and draping the soft duvet over her body, the whole time she’d not murmured one bit. He would have almost been concerned that Seth hadn’t healed her in time had he not seen the two gods emerging from the dark corners of her bedroom like the boogeymen they were. 

If Konshu was nerving to look at, then Seth was something straight out of a child’s nightmare. 

Unlike Konshu, he was not bones. He had the body of a goliath man, arms taught with dark muscles, and a small piece of cloth to cover his dignity. Gold chest armour rested over his shoulders and wound around his thick arms. Hair lined his arms and chest in thick mounds, and he held a staff similar enough to Marc’s own god that he could see Seth’s was much more intricate than his counterpart. It had dark hieroglyphs running down the sides, a pointed skull of a jackal atop the weapon with a gold headpiece weaving its way over the animal's forehead neatly.

But that wasn’t what scared Marc. It was the beast’s head that sent chills down his spine. His head was that of a lithe dog, like a Doberman on steroids, ears and snout thin and long as it stared down at him. A predator if ever he saw one. Seth’s eyes were black, brimming with menace and plague, his jaws lined with what seemed like hundreds of teeth sharper than any blade Marc had ever seen. 

The insidious smile plastered on the demonic jaws was what got him. As if Seth knew the fear he instilled in him. As if he saw how much he regretted listening to Konshu already. 

Seth was every awful feeling you had in your gut before something terrible happened. He was the last breath a person takes as their soul leaves their body, a cold hand of a corpse. A dark shadow in the corner of your eye. A premonition of death. He was every ounce of pain, burden and agony any being had ever felt in the thousands of years they had existed in this small corner of the universe. He was torture and misery hailing down upon the world straight from purgatory. 

And she was his now. His to ruin and vanquish as he pleased.

The two gods stood on either side of her bed, staring down at her in fascination as Marc sat on the chair at her desk, his dark eyes flicking between the monstrous creatures. 

“Do you need to watch her like that? I thought we had work to do,” He prompted, hoping to take their attention off her vulnerable body. 

“Harrow was onto something with this one, Marc Spector,” Konshu chuckled, taking a seat on the window sill to watch Seth caress her head, his hands gentle yet Marc sensed there was nothing kind about the gesture. As if on cue, her face scrunched up, still riddled with sleep, and she twisted in mental torment. His touch alone had given her a night terror, he was the king of chaos after all, “If you saw the yearning for vengeance in that girl’s heart, you’d find her fascinating too,” 

“She’s not evil, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marc’s jaw clenched harshly as she whimpered and tried to roll away from the hand that poisoned her dreams. His eyes darkened at the sound of Seth laughing to himself at his cruel trick. 

“She’s not what you think, runt. She will do well as my avatar,” 

Marc finally set his gaze on the unholy deity, the slim, mutt like face staring down at him with inky black slits. He couldn’t hold the stare for long, the creeping feeling of unease that washed over him the moment he met Seth’s eyes was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Tugging on his collar to free some space for breath, he turned away.

“What will you make her do?” He asked quietly, sparing a quick, pitiful glance to her face that had now smoothed out in peace once more. 

“Nothing she doesn’t already want to,”

She felt the uncomfortable scratch of jeans against bed sheets before anything else. The detergent, that was almost unscented from the countless years she’d used it, was homely against her nose and she stretched out under the covers to pop the joints that had been curled into the foetal position for however many hours she’d been asleep. 

There were about ten seconds between waking up and remembering whatever the fuck happened last night where she remained in a beautiful state of blissful peace. There is a virtue in remaining ignorant, she realised. Remaining unaware. In fact, she would go on to cherish those ten seconds when her eyes took in the same plain wall that had always been next to her bed, when her head was not loud and the air was not tight in her chest. 

Ten revered seconds when things didn’t hurt. 

Yet by the eleventh second, the whole evening came flooding back to her, ripping through her synapses with the feeling of dread. 

The man in the museum that had grabbed her and Steven. The dogs, the running. The creature tackling her, its teeth, oh god, its teeth and claws, the way she’d been thrown through the glass like it was child’s play. 

Sitting bolt upright in bed, the early morning sun illuminated the room enough that she barely took note of the figure sat opposite her. Throwing the duvet off herself frantically, she scanned every inch of her body for anything that hurt, that was bleeding and needed immediate attention. 

But, as was a recurring theme in her life these days, there was nothing there. 

Not a single scratch, or scab, or scar in sight. Her shirt was ripped to shreds, dark red and spattered with something lumpy that she didn’t want to even consider what it was. That would need to be thrown away. But lifting up the torn fabric to reveal her bare stomach, there truly was nothing there that indicated what had happened was real. Were it not for the evidence on her shirt she wouldn’t even believe it had happened.

What the fuck was going on?

As if on cue, she raised her fuzzy head the slightest bit and caught the man sitting at her desk, looking straight at her with cold, brown hues. The short, dry yelp she let out had her lungs wincing, her hands raising in front of her to protect herself from any oncoming attack, before it clicked in her head that it was Steven. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse, Steven had gotten her home safely last night. 

“Oh my god, Steven!” She rushed out of bed as he stood, though the dead expression hadn’t yet left his face as he stood to meet her.

Marc had barely opened his mouth to explain when he was tackled around his waist by her open arms. She was strong now, strong enough to hug him tightly and have his ribs jitter painfully, no doubt a side effect from becoming an avatar. 

The older man had just about talked Konshu and Seth into leaving him to explain to her what was happening, knowing how terrified he was when he first started hearing the God of the Moon addressing him. He knew for anyone so soft to the world, hearing voices and seeing giant creatures ordering you to do their bidding would mean a one way ticket to a hospital ward.

“Steven, I’ve been so worried about you! What on earth happened, what were those things- wait!” She pulled away quickly and checked him over for wounds himself, searching him up and down until she was satisfied he was okay. 

Marc would have laughed snidely at her concern, knowing he was more than capable of taking care of himself, had she been anyone else. But it was endearing how her first thought was for his alter’s safety. 

Now came the hard part. 

“I’m fine, everyone’s fine. How are you feeling?” He saw her gaze snap to his, brows drawing down into a frown at his accent. 

“I’m-” She paused for a moment, and he watched as her eyes took in his whole demeanour. He knew he behaved differently to Steven, even by voice alone it was clear, but she seemed to be catching every small manner that he differed from him within seconds. “I’m fine, I could have sworn-” Eyes trailed over his face again as if to confirm her suspicions. She stepped back, shaking her head and bringing her hand to her temple, walking over to her mirror to check for any bruising. “Did I hit my head?”

He could have lied then and there. Marc could have washed his hands of her and convinced her she’d just had an awful fall, that nothing that happened last night was real. But Seth was coming to collect his dues, there was no stopping that now. Marc knew it was already his fault that she was in shit’s creek waist deep, it wasn’t fair of him to just up and run like he did with everything else in his life. 

She deserved the truth. As so many people in his life deserved the truth; Layla, Steven. He had brought trouble to their doors and buried his head in the sand the moment he saw consequences. He’d ran away, denied, denied, denied until he started believing it himself in the hopes the guilt so familiar to him would let go of his chest. 

But this was different. Dove was the only thing Steven had in his odd little life, the only person who cared for him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he wasn’t only fucking up his own life but now Steven’s too, Steven who he had always tried to protect. Nurture. Perhaps he would have left her to the wolves were she his friend. But she wasn’t. She was Steven’s girl. His dove.

“Listen, you-” Her ears pricked at the sound of his new voice again. Marc saw how her posture straightened alertly, and her eyes snapped to look at him in her peripheral vision. Not necessarily panicked, but wary. As if trying to not give away her awareness of his change. A reflex, as if she’d done this before; hidden her fight, flight or freeze response. But Marc being the skilled mercenary he was, was one step behind her, clocking her reaction immediately. “You did hit your head pretty hard last night so I think you should sit down for this, princess.” 

She turned slowly to look at him with wide eyes and he almost winced. She knew something was off, wrong. Princess? That was certainly new. Practically a million miles away from the nicknames he’d already established for her. She carefully sized him up with her cautious eyes, looking him head to toe as if to find the flaw that gave him away, the exact thing that made her feel the uncanny effect. 

Truthfully, she had been able to tell just from the way he had hugged her. The barely there hand on her sides, the way his body went ironing board stiff in her arms, the way his head was held far away from her as if she were a bad smell instead of falling into the open space her shoulder provided like Steven normally would. 

He was looking at her as if she were a wild animal on the side of the road, lame and ready to succumb to a terrible fate any second now. As if he was sorry, as if he’d been the driver knocking her down and had to be the one to see her shrivel pathetically on the pavement.  

His voice was colder than Steven’s had ever been, formal. Everything about him screamed unfamiliar in the worst way despite being the double of him. But the way his face seemed tired, not in the way Steven was always tired but like he was tired of everything around him, tense, forlorn. Sorrowful. The way he stood straighter than Steven’s usually slumped over figure, he seemed immediately bigger and broader than her friend ever had because of it. 

Whoever was looking at her was not her friend. Foe? She didn’t know, but she knew this man was not Steven Grant. 

The next thought struck her harder than the glass wall had. What if it was? What if this was Steven, and their whole friendship over the past year had been an act to get her weak and vulnerable, cowering in her bedroom like a deer at the end of a rifle barrel.

“Who are you?” She murmured quietly, as if she were afraid to approach the clear fact he was not the man she’d known for the past few months.

The stranger took a sigh, raising his hands up to calm her as if to approach a spooked animal. “Look, I can explain everything, but would you please just sit-”

“Are you twins?” She asked, taking a step away from him. Please be twins. Please let me keep Steven, the only one who was ever good to me. Marc stopped in his place, realising his presence was scaring her. She looked pitiful, the warm eyes that had seemed so relieved to see Steven were now on high alert, nothing about her shrunken body seemed relaxed. Her eyes drifted past him to the door, and Marc was quick to realise she was gauging if they were in her apartment alone. “Is Steven here?”

One single beat. 

“Yes.” She’d already caught him in his lie. He was hoping to get by on the technicality of his words, but his hesitancy to answer had her eyes snapping back to him in fear, “It’s difficult to explain. He’s here, he can’t talk right now,” 

That did nothing to reassure her. In fact, it made it sound like Marc had hurt the one person she’d hoped to get her out of this situation. The man chided himself for his cold demeanour, but he couldn’t help but wince at the onslaught of information that was to come. 

For this to make sense, he would need to tell her alot.

He saw it in her eyes. The way her body gave away her next moves, her slight, gentle step towards the door. Her chest puffed out as if she was building false confidence in herself for her next move. To run. 

It didn’t matter that he looked like Steven, that he was wearing his clothes. That was not him. Had something happened to him with the invisible dogs? Or the white figure that had haunted her dreams that had held her as she had fallen into that cold darkness? Or was she truly going so far down the rabbit hole she was losing all sense of reality?

Either way, this man was a stranger. And he was in her room. Alone. Unbothered by the blood and gore on her shirt. And he wouldn’t let her see Steven, wherever he was. 

A walking red flag.

Another single beat of silence passed between the two of them, before she bolted for the exit. 

Maybe it was his military experience, or the fact her innocent face had made it so easy for her to read. But Marc was quick to catch her by the waist, tackling her to the floor and pinning her easily. 

The scream she let out was awful. Her newfound strength and sheer terror made it a little more difficult to reach a hand over her mouth but the way she thrashed as if fighting for life clutched at Marc’s chest heavily. A free swipe of her arms, the blood and dirt still buried deep under her fingernails, came up to push his cheek, scratching deep into his skin enough to cause three red marks on his olive complexion and have him hiss in pain. 

“Please, STEVEN- Please just let me go- Don’t- STEVEN” She yelled, her legs kicking up to try fight him off. Her eyes welled up as she screamed more, her throat audibly going raw from the sheer effort. 

“Shhh. I’m not gonna hurt you, just please calm down,” Marc begged as he put his hand over her mouth. He saw the fear in her eyes that told him all he needed to know. He was a stranger to her, a stranger in her room that had pinned her to the floor. 

Of fucking course she was terrified. 

Her cries for help were only muffled by his large fingers as his eyes peered down at her in sorrow, “He’s here, I promise. Steven’s here, just please let me explain.”

Her eyes stared up at him through glassy, fat tears. The voice, that voice. The way he held her so gently despite having the strength to hold her in place. The stranger, the same stranger that held her last night was - what? Steven’s twin brother?

Marc watched the moment she recognised him, somewhat. Alteast recognising him out of the suit. It felt too reminiscent of the moment he’d watched her die. Call him selfish but he preferred when she’d held on to him in a fleeting moment of trust than the fear that she gazed at him with now. 

“I saved you and Steven last night, from those things, remember me?” Marc asked sternly. Her eyes remained wide and frightened, but she seemed to give up struggling. Her face was the picture of confusion, conflicted whether to trust a familiar stranger or keep throwing her entire weight into fighting him off. “Yeah, see? Now I’m gonna let go of you but you’re gonna need to trust me for all of five minutes. Your life is in a lot more danger than those things that attacked you, and I’m not gonna be able to help you if you don’t listen to me. You got it?”

He felt her body relax the slightest amount, before she nodded helplessly. Marc checked over her face one last time for any immediate signs of fleeing. When he found none he let go, leaning back to stand, rubbing a hand over his stinging cheek. Not bleeding, but raised and hot with impact. 

“Who are you?” She whispered, still laying on the floor in shock, her chest heaving with a nausea that had washed over her the moment he had gotten on top of her. Call it a reflex, but the idea of a man who wore her best friend’s face invoking such a power over her curdled her stomach to its very core. 

Marc looked down at her, her eyes neither trusting nor looking for a reason to run. She needed to know, he repeated to himself, were it not so important he would have left with no query. No traumatic incidents needed. 

But Death was around the corner. Sooner or later he’d appear to her, ask her for things Marc could only dread. 

He owed her an explanation at the least.

Sticking out a hand, the same hand that had stopped her squeals for help, he offered her help up off the floor. Her eyes flicked from the tawny digits to his stiff expression in caution. “I’m Marc Spector. Nice to meet you,” 

She sipped her tea silently. She liked it strong, unbearably sweet and piping hot. Sometimes she joked with Steven it was how she liked her men too. But she was in no joking manner now, and Steven wasn’t here anymore.

Well he was, and wasn’t at the same time. 

They shared a body, that’s what Marc had said. She’d read about stuff like that, seen it in movies, but funnily enough the phenomenon of two people in one body wasn’t even what had her jaw clenched in disbelief. 

Egyptian gods walked among them. Lived with them, had their own societies and laws, puppeteering random strangers to do their bidding. 

And one, perhaps the worst one she could think of, had her in his clutches. 

Of course she’d heard of Seth. She stacked around fifty of his statues a day in the back of the gift shop, his wolf-like face not nearly as friendly looking as one would hope if they’d learnt he was now their master. 

If Marc was telling the truth, then that’s essentially what Seth was to her now. A puppet master, a dictator, a tyrant pulling the strings on her every move for the inevitable future.

He was the body of everything chaotic. Nefarious. Evil. Violent. And yet she couldn’t help but sigh at the dramatic irony that she expected nothing less from an ancient god that had taken an interest in her soul. It saw in her what she knew had always grown. What that Harrow guy knew immediately, supposedly the gift of his own god, to see the disruption inside people's hearts. What Steven and now Marc were so blind to. 

Seth had seen the pollution that cursed her down to her marrow and licked his lips in glee.

“Are you okay?” Marc’s American accent met her ears. They sat in her kitchen, the small breakfast counter being the only thing holding her up as she rested her elbows on it, barely feeling the way the scalding hot tea slid past her silent lips. 

“Mhm,” She murmured, hands wrapping delicately around her clean mug. She’d given Marc Steven’s mug, mindlessly making him a tea the way Steven loved his cuppas, only to have the new man wince and spit the liquid back out. 

More of a black coffee guy, he’d said apologetically as she visually sank in realisation they were truly completely different people. 

“I know it’s a lot to process, I know I freaked out the first time I spoke to Konshu.” Marc explained, his tea going cold with his lack of interest in the drink. He watched her expression meticulously, as if trying to pick over every tiny change in her face as to any hint how she was feeling. 

She stared at the white table deep in thought. Blank and empty as the surface itself. 

“What will he want from me?” She asked quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he confessed he was the other half of her best friend that happened to share a headspace with him. 

Marc looked at her blankly. “I don’t know,” He answered honestly. He would love to tell her Seth would be kind and graceful, gentle as he’d put it. He’d love to take it back, dig her out of this mess in any other way than offering her as a sacrifice, a mess he’d made by listening to his own God’s orders.

Marc would love to leave her and Steven in peace to pining and mixed feelings and words unsaid, but he couldn’t. She was in the gates of Hell now, deep in the Underworld. And there was no point of return. No do over, or waking up and pretending the whole thing was a silly dream like he’d been pulling over Steven. 

This was out of his hands now. 

“He wouldn’t make me-” She paused, taking a deep breath and putting her mug onto the counter to stabilise her shaking hands, “He won’t get me to-” Kill was the word she kept silent, but Marc understood nonetheless. Seth was the god of death and violence and all things lawless. There wasn’t anything Marc could promise wouldn’t be coming her way. His expression must have been grave enough to warrant her to let out a rattled sigh, tucking her hands into her lap to pick at her dirty fingertips. “Oh,” She said simply. 

“Look, once I’ve stopped Harrow from raising Ammit, then I can worry about how to get him to release you, okay?” Marc said shortly, running a weathered hand over his tired face. 

It was odd, seeing a man look so much like the sweetest guy she’d ever met brush her off as if she were a minor inconvenience. Which she was. She knew he felt guilty for letting his god give her up to the higher being, but he seemed tired of this whole situation by now, reaching his limit on being tender with her. 

Marc didn’t have time for this. He was trying to help the poor girl, but the best way he could think to fix their problem was to clear his plate of his own agenda first. Which meant leaving as soon as he could to get the scarab somewhere hidden and Harrow off his back. 

Her eyes steeled over at his words, furrowing her brows. “Once we’ve stopped Harrow, you mean?”

“What?” Marc said with a huff, looking at his tea as if it poisoned him, wishing it were a black drip coffee she hadn’t got the money for. 

“We can stop him, right?” She asked, an edge to her tone that she’d never used on Steven. Everything reserved for him was purely saccharine sweet and gentle, loving beyond what friends should be. 

“We?” Marc bit with a scoff.

“Yes-”

“We?”

“Yes we, what, do you have a French man living in there too?” She barked, slamming the mug down with a blaze in her eye at the disdain he looked at her with, “Now look, I know it’s a little unavoidable for you and Steven, but I’m not one to have people fix my problems for me,”

“Yeah, you seemed to have it completely under control last night when you were bleeding out,” The man snapped, watching her jaw tense with an anger he’d never seen from his time watching her through Steven’s eyes. 

They glared at each other for a moment, the red welts on his cheek staring back at her as if to remind her of her new strength. She needed him. Her body felt cold, as if she were carrying a corpse around not her own limbs, her every breath tasted of smoke and rot. She felt like she had bugs crawling over her spine, the hair on her arms never laying still with the goosebumps that dotted her skin. She felt dead. Casket, buried and six feet under. Then again, she sort of was. 

“I’d like to speak to Steven, please,” She said quietly, polite despite the fact she was angry. 

“I told you, you can’t talk to him right now,” Marc replied, stepping away from the kitchen and heading towards the front door to her apartment, “Look it was nice to meet you but I have work to do. You just stay here-”

She stood up, nearly knocking the mug over as she pursued him, grabbing his arm with a jolt. 

Marc could have sworn she nearly ripped his arm out his socket with the unknown vigour she had. He made a small yelp that he choked down as she yanked him back to face her.

“You are not leaving me to deal with a God of Death alone, are you kidding me?” She seethed, unaware of how tight she was grabbing him. She was gonna leave one hell of a bruise, Marc thought, but the desperation in her voice was clear as a bell. “I don’t care if I have to stalk you myself, we both know you can stop this Harrow guy a lot faster if there’s two of us,”

“I won’t be stopping anyone if I only have one arm so would you please let go and stop mauling me, I’m trying to help you here, princess,” Marc retorted, as if to snap her out of her rage. Her eyes fell to where she was gripping him harshly, her hand alone turning the bottom half of his arm red with lack of circulation. 

Her face visibly drew back in shock, letting go of him quickly. “Sorry,” She muttered, sheepishly. 

Well, that was new. 

Marc sighed, looking down at her crestfallen expression. She was scared, he knew she was, but putting her into the line of fire was exactly the last thing he wanted to do after already watching her suffer enough for his mistakes. 

But she was persistent. And smart too, he knew she was right in saying they could figure out how to push back against Harrow a lot faster with two brains. At least if she was with him, he could keep an eye on how Seth was treating her. 

If he was being much too greedy and insidious, which is what Marc expected from him, then maybe he could ask more of the Gods to step in. Or even the God of the Dead could help them find a way to stop Ammit from being resurrected. What was the point in conjuring chaos if another god was going to end everyone who had it in them?

“Alright,” She perked up instantly, those wide eyes looking at him with elation that he was going to stop being difficult and pushing her away, “You can help, only if you promise to do exactly what I ask of you. We can’t have you going rogue, that will make my whole plan just messy, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” She said smoothly, flashing him a toothy smile, “Thankyou, Marc. Really.” 

“Alright,” He nodded, reaching for the door, “Get some more sleep, I’ll call you when I need you,” 

The smile dropped from her face as fast as it had come. That phrase was not comforting in the slightest. How would she know he was honest, that he meant his word? Steven always meant his word. Steven she could trust with her life.

This man was not Steven. 

She knew it was childish, but she was quick to grab his hand again, gentle this time, not nearly as forceful as before. His empty brown eyes snapped to meet her gaze, the hair on his arms standing to attention as if he'd been electrocuted by her touch alone. 

“Promise me?” She asked, eyes wide and imploring him to understand how desperate she was, “Promise me you won’t leave me alone?” 

He took a moment to look her in the eyes, her lashes framing the pure anguish held in her sweet face, batting up at him with woeful hope. 

He could see why Steven liked her. She was the embodiment of everything good, everything that needed protecting in the world, that needed cherishing and kept safe. He felt her small hand squeeze him in need. Having someone so kind and so blatantly enchanting to look at essentially begging for his refuge awoke something primal in him, something caveman that said I would never let a hair on her head be harmed. Something not even sexual, just purely carnal that overcame his senses as he imagined it did Steven’s, that had him nodding on instinct. 

“I promise,” Marc said calmly, squeezing her hand back, before he shut the door coldly and left her flat. 

She did not in fact wait for Marc to call her. In fact, by the time she’d woken up she had two missed calls from Steven and a flurry of messages had filled her screen all from one of her four contacts in her phone. 

Steven 

Are you okay, Dove?          

Please respond A S A P

I don’t know what’s happening, they’ve said I’ve destroyed the loos 

They said I carried you out of the building but I don’t remember seeing you after we got split up

Oh god don’t be dead

That would make me a proper maniac who killed the only bloody friend I’ve ever had

Please don’t be dead

Dove please message as soon as you can I need to know you’re okay

She huffed a breath of relief. Steven was back. Anxious and worried for her life, but he was back. She had barely a few hours of sleep since she’d seen Marc leave her apartment around 5 am that morning, but by now it was well into the afternoon.

Talk about being dead asleep. No, that’s not funny, she chided her brain.

Rubbing aching hands over her eyes to remove the last remnants of exhaustion from her face, her hands floated over the keys to reply to him.

Yet she could think of no way to tell him just how she felt; as though she were both relieved and dreading the idea that she could now talk to him about everything that happened, that she wouldn’t be alone with his stern counterpart in fixing the situation she had found herself in. 

Yet the thought settled deep in her stomach. What if he ran from the very sight of her? It was obvious Seth wanted her out of interest, not just convenience. How he lusted for the cruelty and anguish in her bones. The venom that bubbled under her skin, infecting her brain and thoughts, the part of her that made her a disease, contagious to everyone around her.

Steven could take one look at the woman she truly was and wish for nothing more to do with her. Then what? The loneliness she had always known awaited her? The feeling of being left to the darkest corners of herself she knew waited for a moment of weakness to strike. Is that what she was to be subdued to? 

She couldn’t say she was surprised. But she had to see him. Even if to beg for forgiveness of the bitterness that lay inside her, get on her knees and ask him to stay for her. 

Words on a screen simply wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t redeem her enough to keep him like she wanted, if she could ever repent at all, that is. She needed to see Steven. 

“Let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” Layla sighed as she yanked the thick wad of documents out her bag. She had no idea what Marc was playing at, perhaps creating a new identity was his way of running from responsibility again. He was always good at that. 

“Did I? Uh-” Steven fumbled for his reading glasses as the vibrant woman shoved the files under his nose. 

“This is what you wanted,” The woman, Layla, the only person who could help him understand what it was this Marc guy had plunged him into, said to him with an unmistakable bite to her words. 

“Let’s have a look here,” His coffee ground eyes scrunched in confusion as he read over the papers. He brought them closer to his face as if in disbelief as to what he was reading.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla seemed to have calmed slightly, bitter still but more heavy than anything as she watched him look at her in astonishment. 

‘Divorce/dissolution/judicial separation petition’ stared back at Steven, an offer to end a relationship he knew nothing about with a woman who frankly scared him. Yet he could see the pain in her dark eyes as she avoided his glance. The way she’d swallowed her pride to come after this Marc guy to get the papers signed once and for all, though by the sounds of it it was his idea completely. 

This little American man seemed to like starting fires and not waiting to find out if they burnt. If people got hurt. Which they did. 

Steven was still waiting for Dove to message him back. If Marc had hurt her in any way he swore he would hand himself over then and there, particularly after finding a bloody handgun in his storage locker listed under his name. A gun? A wife? His best friend’s body? Who knows what else this Marc was hiding?

“Divorce?” Steven asked, looking at Layla in confusion, “You- We? I don’t know- You two were married?”

“Yeah, we doing this or not?” Layla snapped, though the gloomy look on her face told Steven all he needed to know. She was hurting. She hated every second of this as much as he did. 

He flicked through the pages a few times, clearing his mind on the matter. He felt he had no right to meddle or sign away anyone else's relationship yet this woman looked at him expectantly in a way that had him curling over in near fear. He opened his mouth to ask her more about this Marc guy she was so angry with when a pounding on his door met his ears. 

“Steven,” It was her, “Steven, are you home?”

Oh, thank the heavens and every cloud in them. The tension that had grabbed him by the throat and laced it with emotion all morning melted away at the melody of her words. So eager to hear her voice, to convince himself she really was safe, he dropped the papers onto the nearest table and rushed to the sound of her knocking frantically once more. 

“Who is that?” Layla asked, annoyed that the papers she’d dragged across the globe had been discarded without a second thought. But her question fell on deaf ears as Steven swung the heavy door open. 

The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment, both of them looking equally as shocked, confused and exhausted by the events, yet still not quite believing that they were seeing each other alive again.

“Oh my god- Love-” Steven heaved as she bolted into his arms for the second time that day. Though this time he hugged her back just as strongly as she’d expected. His body soft, gentle, warm with the way he encompassed her figure with his entire being. Not like how Marc held her in the slightest. He squeezed her tight, as if letting go of her again was the last thing on his mind, his hands flat on her spine and his head burrowing into her sweet smelling collar.

God he was so relieved to feel her again. Her face was smashed into his chest, her new found strength bringing him as close to her as physically possible, hoping to everything he wasn’t going to leave her the second he knew about her new, um, condition. 

“Steven, oh my god, I thought it was you, the guy in my room- and last night! I was so worried about you- how do you feel, are you okay?” She rushed, unaware of the way she was being watched by two enraged brown eyes. 

She had been so enamoured with Steven holding her so close, she hadn’t even seen the stunning woman stood a metre away with an aghast expression.

“Dove, I was so worried, Marc said I had to give the body to him so he could help you, I-” Steven’s voice was clogged with guilty and sorrow as he drew back from her, watching her expression scrunch into concern, entirely focused on his every word, “I couldn’t help you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, love-”

“Hey, look. I’m okay, see?” She reassured, squeezing his waist lightly, wishing to soothe away the tears building in his waterline, “Marc got to me in time. I’m okay-”

“You met him?” Steven said the same time a new voice met her ears. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

Her head snapped to her left to where a woman stood, her fists clenched and full lips pursed into a sneer of disgust at her presence. She was gorgeous. Perhaps the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. The type of face you’d see on a billboard, effortless and striking, the kind that had even her fawning over her rare beauty. 

The woman looked all the more annoyed at her gawking expression.

Layla’s head cut to Steven’s flustered face, looking between the two women in surprise. 

“This is-”

“Is this why you wanted a divorce, Marc?” Layla barked, the two embracing each other immediately pulling apart at the accusation that came crashing down on the two of them. “Is this your girlfriend?” 

Divorce. The word echoed in her head like a stab to the chest. He was married. Steven, well Marc technically but Steven’s body was married. To the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. It only made sense. No matter which way he was packaged, whether he was Steven or Marc, he was a god among men even without Konshu. 

And she currently looked like a mistress.

“No!” They chorused, Steven turning away from her and leaving her standing in the doorway confused. 

“No, she’s my-” Steven paused as the younger woman spoke over him in just as much panic this woman would get the wrong idea.

“We work together,” She rushed, walking towards the woman with her arms up in surrender. Of course this looked bad. Awful. The guilt of falling head over heels for someone else's husband churned in her stomach. 

“Me and her work at the museum, well worked I suppose,” Steven said, shutting the door behind her, hoping Layla didn’t start shouting like she had done a few times already. He was as tired of taking Marc’s shit as she seemed, but he supposed it was just as confusing for her to be married to someone who claimed he was someone else. 

He just hoped the woman he was enamoured with entirely didn’t get the wrong idea also. 

“I’m so sorry, I suppose I should introduce myself,” The younger woman attempted a friendly smile, which was entirely shut down by Layla glaring at her and snarling at her pleasant tone.

“You’re supposed to introduce yourself to a woman before you fuck her husband,” The woman said, leaning over the woman intimidatingly before turning to Steven’s scared mouse expression with a growl. 

“I’m not sleeping with Marc,” Dove piped up, though her chest was rattling with the furious nut-brown gaze that met her the second she opened her mouth. If looks could kill, she’d be clinging to the shreds of life that she had left all over again. She saw Steven look at her with reddening cheeks at the inference of her words, “Or Steven! I’m not sleeping with either of them,” 

Layla scoffed, looking her up and down, “What? So you’re just his young, pretty co-worker who just so happens to give them fat fucking heart eyes the minute she sees him?”

It was her turn to become flustered now. She felt the embarrassment hail down on her in waves, heat crawling over her cheeks as she stared at the woman who had managed to see her feelings for her husband within seconds. Women had sixth senses for things like that. Which wouldn’t be a bother, except Layla was married to him. Not Steven himself, but his body yes. 

This was all so complicated for the half-dead girl’s already mithered head. 

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, hoping to god that Steven had somehow miraculously become deaf for five seconds and he truly hadn’t heard what his alter’s wife had just said. 

“Exactly,” Layla huffed, reaching to grab her backpack and leave her husband and his mistress to their little roleplay where he was an English, ex-gift shoppist and she was his young co-worker too innocent to so much as tell him how she felt. What a joke.

“Wait, please,” The girl tried to slow her down, as she headed for the door, “Please, I can explain.”

A new knock on the door stopped Layla in her tracks. 

“Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” 

A female voice. Unfamiliar to either of them. 

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy. We’re here about the disappearance of your co-worker,” The young woman’s face scrunched up in confusion as they said her name. Her full, legal name.

Steven and Layla simultaneously turned to look at her. 

“You’re missing now?” Steven whispered, to which she shook her head. 

“I spoke to the police on the way over here. Donna gave them my number when they saw you carrying me out of the museum,” She said back in a hushed tone, “I told them I was safe, that I fainted and you took me home.” 

Layla’s eyes flicked between the two of them, her mind clicking as the voice on the other side of the door continued more forcefully, “They’re not real police officers,” She hummed quietly.

Steven and Dove looked at eachother. A look of panic passed between them as they shared the same thought; Shit. 

“Marc said Harrow had connections all over,” She whispered back, watching as Steven reached for the multitude of locks slowly, if not to stop the fake officer from battering his door then to seem as though he were co operating. 

“What are they looking for?” Layla asked, a moment of clarity snapping in Steven’s eyes as he reached into the gym bag he’d dragged from Marc’s storage locker. His hand emerged with the scarab, the same jewel he could have sworn had been plucked from his dream. Layla’s eyes widened, then narrowed at the man in question. “The scarab? What we fought side by side for? So this whole act was so you could run away with your mistress and keep it for yourself?”

“I am not-” The younger of the two started in a tone loud enough to have the officers stop their barrage on the door. Fearing they’d heard her, she huffed and started again, snatching the scarab out of Steven’s hands and turning to Layla, “I am not sleeping with your husband,” She breathed, “But the three of us are in serious trouble if they catch us with this, that’s what Marc said-”

“Yeah, I know,” Layla snapped, glaring at the woman who stared back with a now annoyed expression, “You might be new around here, but I know all about my own husband and his messes, thankyou,” 

With the final growl, Layla wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around the girl’s forearm, dragging her to the open window. 

“Woah! Woah- I know some things were said but throwing me out a window is a bit heavy, don’t you think?” She exclaimed, her feet sluggishly tripping over themselves as she followed the woman obediently. 

Layla sucked her teeth, flashing her a death stare, “I’m not going to kill you, though I’ll wring your neck if you keep talking,” She snipped, pointing onto the ledge the roof offered as a place for them to hide, “Get out, they suspect something already, we’ll see where they take him and go from there,”

Flicking Steven, one last glance, he nodded for her to listen as he called to the ‘Detectives’ that he was complying with their orders. 

Be careful, she wanted to say, please just be careful. Please don’t leave me alone.

I love you.

I spent all night worrying about you. Dreaming about you. I want you more than I wanted life again. I want you to know Seth can never have my soul no matter if I am his avatar because it’s not mine anymore, it's entirely yours. My heart that rots and withers beats for you. Not even to sustain this carcass I’m in, just for you. 

Please don’t leave me.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say a word less she’d risk their safety. Risk the scarab. 

So she simply nodded back, and climbed out onto the slanted tiles. 

drop a comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist! PERMANENT TAG LIST

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[angrylittlebimbo]

Moon Knight System x Bimbo Reader

this is an expirement strictly for idk why, but there arent any Bimbo reader for under the moon knight tag and it upsets me. The reader will have female body parts and feminine basically everything because this is actually my first writing and i have never written before so writing femininely will be all i can do atm.

Reader was in her closet throwing clothes everywhere and waiting for her boyfriends to get home. She pouted when she couldn't find anything to wear in her thousands of clothes, all in different shades of pink. When Reader heard the door unlock she ran to greet her boyfriends with a big smile one thing about her she always knew who was fronting. Currently fronting was Steven and he looked tired barely noticing her"Steven!! Hi Steven!!"She happily and quite loudly said as she jumped on him. He caught her of course and seemed a little less tired"Hi, love..."He softly spoke to her and offered her a small smile.

Steven let her kiss all over his face know that she definitely left lipgloss all over his face, he could feel it. He put her down and she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed letting him sit down and she went back to the closet. She continued to throw clothes out"Lemme tell you about my day babe!"She said and finally found a cute outfit"You are like..totally a good luck charm!"She happily said"So first i woke up and fed Gus! then i fed myself and then i came to the closet and looked for an outfit! then you came home." She explained and started to undress to put on the outfit, Steven blushed and closed his eyes"You've seen me like this many times!"She pouted and crossed her arms. Steven moved his hands, only it was no longer Steven, but Jake"Hi Jake!"She jumped on him happy to see him"Mi vida, what are you doing barely clothed"He asked, signature smirk on his face as he ran his hands over her curves slowly.

She giggled a bit and wrapped her arms around his neck"Well i was just about to get dressed y'know, but then i got totally distracted!"She said and got off of him to put on her skirt that she should definitely not bend over or crouch in. She put on her tank top that had the word Milf across it, she didnt know what the word meant, but she loves the shirt anyways. Reader smiled at Jake and did a little spin for him"Do you like my outfit?"She asked and faced him again"Podrías usar una bolsa de basura y todavía querría estar entre tus piernas princesa(1)"He responded and she stood there confused"Uhm...Okay?" He chuckled to himself"Marc wants to speak to you about that skirt princesa."He said and Reader pouted crossing her arms"No!"She said as Marc fronted"That skirt barely covers your ass!"He scoled and she pouted and whined"I dont care! Im cute!"She protested"Everyone wants to see my ass!!" She said to him.

Marc crossed his arms"And thats the problem! You are amazing, but we dont want other guys staring at your ass or your tits cause they belong to us"She stomped her foot"I dont care! I wear what i want to you meanie!"She crossed her arms and walked away to the kitchen with Marc following her. Marc frowned and held her waist"You dont understand cause you dont see the world for how it really is"He played with her hair(if you have some)and ran his hand along her curves much like Jake does. Jake fronted"Marc is trying to say you are too pretty for the world"

"Tell her that her ass looks nice in the skirt"

Marc said from the headspace and Jake relayed the message by stepping away from her and smacking her ass"Marc wanted me to do that"He said, half truth, half lie. She made a small noise after he did that"That hurt!"She pouted and faced him, all he did was shrug as Steven forced his way to the front"I absolutley love the way you dress! Its truly creative and your body does look amazing, but we promise your personality brought us to you."He said and opened his arms for her"Oh Steven!! You have such a way with words!"She happily said and jumped into his arms much like she did when they first arrived.

translations:

(1)Podrías usar una bolsa de basura y todavía querría estar entre tus piernas princesa-You could wear a trash bag and i would still wanna be between your legs princess

[deadqueerboys]

Steven: You're always mean with me.

Konshu: No i'm not! I didn't even talked about how dumb you look in that suit from last night.

Steven: You just.. okay, forget it!

[homeybadger]

Possible Idea?

So, I had a brief idea for a superhero fanfic, but I wanted to gauge your guy's reaction first. Please let me know if you'd read this, if I should write this for the Marvel or DC universe, and who the reader should end up with- if anyone! (I'd very likely write the reader interacting with the Moon Knight or Batman side of things respectively)

Please do not copy my work! Even if I'm uncertain about writing a full fic, I'm still personally invested in this idea.

Dayshade

Word Count: 264

Vigilantes are many things, but they’re also human. They get tired, they make mistakes, they miss something- they slip.

That’s where you come in. 

Dayshade.

Despite lacking the gadgets or specialized training of any renowned heroes, you find a strange sort of contentment in your humble role as the self-proclaimed “guardian of daylight”. By day, you’ve vowed to discreetly intervene in minor crimes whenever possible, offering assistance with a subtle touch that goes traditionally unnoticed by most. 

Your accomplishments currently include returning missing wallets, moving broken down cars from the road, and- most notably- tripping an actual bank robber fleeing from officials.

Under the cover of night, you’ve begun to embark on very brief patrols- you do have a life after all- both striving to lessen the burdens weighing on the shoulders of your city’s defenders and to ensure the people around you directly feel more secure. The moniker itself even started as a joke, something you’d whisper to yourself quietly for your own amusement. Dayshade- who’d ever take that seriously?

Arguably though, it was a good vigilante name. It was two syllables, so it was easy to yell, and the title was easy enough to remember. 

Slowly but surely, you became a figure who operated discreetly under the cover of daylight, subtly shading the city from wrongdoing without drawing any undue attention to yourself. You were simply content to exist in the daytime, unseen and unnoticed by the wide variety of villains who often plagued the city.

That is, until tonight.

Who knew an actual sun god would take the moniker Dayshade seriously?

[deceasedream69]

Red

Summary: you have Scarlet witch powers. But when you get too angry your eyes start glowing red and you kinda lose control of your powers, there's no way of stalling your rage, but Marc's used to it.

A little angsty :)

--------------------------------------------------

Glass shattered all over the place. There's still a couple of "wolves?" Around.

She was fierce. Her eyes glowing red, but I can tell she's already getting tired, still not backing away nevertheless.

She pierced with her magic through a wolf's chest, pulled it's ribs out of the chest and then throw it to kill another, repeating this trick one more time. We both turned at the same time. A person was in danger, and screaming.

She caught the wolf in front of the person and threw it away, getting closer and closer.

The man just stood there, half relieved half scared while looking into her eyes, she just lifted her fist and I knew that was my cue.

- "okay, sweetheart, time for a break", I grabbed her from her waist and pulled her away from that poor scared man.

She tried hitting me but I grabbed her fist, just a few inches from my face, a really bad choice. With her other hand she used her magic to throw me away.

- "enough, enough, time for the big guns", I prepared myself.

Being sneaky was my thing, she didn't even see me coming behind her and Bam! Needle to her neck. She wasn't pleased at all, but I still managed to pour the whole thing in before she threw me away one last time, or maybe not the last of the night.

I was fast to caught her in my arms. She finally looked so peaceful.

3rd person pov

Her head was spinning, slowly fluttering her eyes open, trying to balance herself without touching the white figure in front of her. One white glove on her thigh.

- "hey, sht, look at me", his other hand on her chin, moving her head up. Her eyes switching, but staying more y/e/c than red.

Flinching back, in a reasonable way since there was a strange white figure in front of her dizzy body.

-"hey, it's me", his hand now on her shoulder, moving slightly. His mask fading in an attempt to make her calm down. She looked at him.

- "Marc..." then down

then up again.

Eyes red again.

- "Marc"

He smiled, relieved, tho, he shouldn't be.

- "you fucking lying piece of shit", each word being cut off by a slap.

- "wow, wow, time out"

- "don't try me, Spector" he was stuck between a wall and a glowing red hand.

- "I'm trying to be reasonable... And patient", he lifted his hands in surrender.

- "or what? You'll abandon me again?", The pain in her voice was not something she was embarrassed for, but something that made her even angrier.

His mask was on again, everything turning black for her after that.

Part 2?