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heartthrobin · 11 months

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press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

taglist:

@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 10 months

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Marvel Masterlist

One Shots

Spook-vengers Tower - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

Better Than Gifts - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda, Vision, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

New Years Eve - Steve Rogers x Reader ft. The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes (all platonic)

Not Making It Out - Loki x Reader

Love Is Sacrifice - Loki x Reader

Champion Selection - Loki x Reader

My Mistakes - Loki x Reader

The Task - Loki x Reader

Pulled From The Timeline - Loki x Reader

Poisoned Ice - Loki x Reader

Pompeii - Loki x Reader

Madripoor - Bucky x Reader

Why Would I? - Bucky x Reader

A Small Thing - Bucky x Reader

Not The Worst - Bucky x Reader

A Little Help - Bucky x Reader

When You Wake - Bucky x Reader

What We Started - Bucky x Reader

Kiss Her, Captain. - Steve x Reader

Attacked - Steve x Reader

Aftermath - Steve x Reader

The Drink Allergy - Steve x Reader

A Subtle Escape - Steve x Reader

A New Mission - Tony x Reader (platonic)

3am - Frank Castle x Reader (platonic)

Trick or Eat - Venom x Reader (platonic)

Halloween Cookie Surprise - Venom x Reader (platonic)

When Ghosts Hunt - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Under The Flame - Robbie Reyes x Reader

As Imagined - Ben Poindexter x Reader

Surprise Guest - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Earpiece Patch - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Imagines + Mini Fic

Imagine Steve wanting to propose but having to hold off because of the Civil War

Imagine Steve's surprise when you hit an entitled party guest

Imagine flirting with Steve much to his surprise

Imagine inviting Steve to the newly created Memorial Centre

Imagine a kiss from Steve to distract you from blinding pain

Imagine boldly telling Steve how you feel mid-mission

Imagine waking Steve up after being disturbed by a nightmare

Imagine being paired with Steve during the time-travel mission

Imagine Steve’s anger when you go off book during a mission

Imagine being the last person that Tony tells about 'moving day'

Imagine Bucky’s therapist asking about you

Imagine laughing at Bucky after his failed plane jump

Imagine getting caught in the crossfire of John Walker’s rampage

Imagine trying to talk John Walker down at Zemo’s apartment

Imagine waiting for Bucky and his cake delivery

Imagine convincing Bucky to get back into dating

Imagine taking Bucky to meet his dinner date

Imagine being ambushed by HYDRA while waiting for Bucky

Imagine Bucky being present when you wake up

Imagine refusing to work with Loki at the TVA

Imagine Loki trying to explain his theory to you on a busy day

Imagine Loki being asked to let you go

Imagine discovering that Loki is to aid in the escape of Asgard

Imagine Loki falling asleep on your hand

Imagine Mobius shocking you with an idea regarding Loki

Imagine Loki hearing about your variants

Imagine sending Mobius to calm Loki after you’re injured

Imagine Loki stealing your pie at the TVA

Imagine your surprise when Thor brings Loki to Norway

Imagine learning that Hela wants you dead too

Imagine waking up on Sakaar to find Loki trying to help

Imagine asking Thor about a gift that you gave him

Imagine Thor trying to grant you visitation with Loki

Imagine Thor learning that you’re in Norway with his father

Imagine Thor asking Loki about your whereabouts on Sakaar

Imagine finding Venom raiding your pantry

Imagine spending the holidays alone in Avengers Tower

Imagine checking on Robbie’s injuries

Imagine helping Matt escape the prison after Fisk takes control

Imagine Marc Spector inquiring about your hand injury

Imagine Khonshu trying to convince you to be his avatar

Imagine going present shopping for the Avengers

Imagine the Avengers when they learn that you and Bucky were attacked

Imagine Clint coming to you after a mission gone wrong

Imagine Fury asking you to be a diversion

Series

The Rider’s Guardian - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Stowaway Cloak - Stephen Strange, Reader (platonic)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Return to the Easy Navigate Masterlist)

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januaryembrs · 7 months

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [8]

description: Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest.

Why does Dove look so guilty?

word count: 10.8k

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Drowning. Hints of domestic abuse/grooming. Minors DNI. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]

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There was always a moment when Frank would let go of her head and she would emerge from under the water, her chest taking in deep breath, choking on the bath water, her throat heaving. There was the moment she felt as if she was dragged from the very worst thoughts, if this would be her last moments, drowned in a fucking tub of all things, and she would finally breath air and be left with the even worse feeling of fear seeing him smirking down at her.

Being dragged out of her stupid little head felt something like that.

She had been buried too deep in a haunted house, in ghost thoughts, to realise the sheer chaos happening around her. Harrow had destroyed the sarcophagus with the same purple light that had summoned the jackals, the spell pouring vibrant dust out of his staff.

The wind whipped around them, Khonshu standing watch over them from the crescent roof, his own anger swaying the trees and string lights around them, the bulbs themselves flickering as if also in tune with the God’s waning temper.

She watched Harrow scurrying away, his snide smile cutting through her like a blade, like a shard of glass, and it was only then that she realised Mogart’s men seemed to be scrambling for their weapons. The rats are always the first to abandon ship, she thought bitterly.

“Hey, he’s gone!” One called, making her whirl around for the source of the commotion.

Sure enough, Marc had disappeared, her heart dropping at the sight of it. He wouldn’t leave her here, would he? Surely-

She reached for Layla, knowing she’d be the only thing to save the woman if the men went for the triggers. Layla had no healing armour or protection from a higher god, and despite the woman’s independent nature, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she let her fend off the dozen men alone.

She prepared herself for a fight as the guns were drawn, squeezing her fists tightly as she begged her own suit to appear. Her eyes scrunched shut, willing it to cover her as it had before when she’d nearly ripped Harrow’s face apart inside the pyramid, though she felt no difference. Ofcourse, it was just her luck that the one time she needed it, she struggled to summon her suit.

She was aware of the irony, and was sure it was her god teaching her a lesson.

Hearing the men gasp amongst themselves, her eyes snapped open, looking down at her chest, only to see her flaunted breasts still staring back at her, mocking her for wanting it gone. You wish to be a hero, but you’re no more than a body. A thing for them to look at. Nothing more.

The frustration read clear on her face, her cheeks hot with panic, that is until she looked towards the source of the murmurs, her eyes locking on top of the glass pyramid at the entirely white figure staring down at them, its eyes pale moons that watched her carefully.

Marc. It was Marc. Ofcourse it was, because he’d rather die than ever let them have her and Layla.

The last time she’d seen him like that was the night at the museum, that first time she’d been in his arms, been at his mercy. She remembered the way he held her in a way no one had ever been so kind to, she was sure such a gentle hand had never existed. Not on anyone but Grace. Not anyone but Steven.

And with that it was like a thread had snapped.

Anton’s bodyguard was the first to move. Grabbing the young man by the scruff of his robe, he shoved the millionaire under his arm, manhandling him out of the way of danger.

It took two of Marc’s crescent moon shaped weapons to go whistling past her face before she felt herself jump into her own body, as if she’d been watching from the back seat until then.

The trigger had been pulled on her own body's defence the moment the guard pointed his pistol to Marc, she felt her suit slink over her shoulders, melting down her arms like a creature growing life. And the best part of all; with it came no feeling of being dislodged from her body. With it came consciousness, control. The ability to decide how her body was to be used in this fight.

Which then begged the question: how was she to fight? She’d grown up in a rough neighbourhood and had the odd scrap at school, but armed guards? This was new territory.

Marc seemed to have the weapon under control on his own however as he leapt from the building and kicked the guard square in the chest, the gun flying from his grasp. It didn’t stop her from tackling the next guard who raised his own gun to the suited man, though with little to no experience fighting, just the instinct to protect him, she simply took him down to the ground, serving him a sharp jab to the nose that seemed to stun him and kicked his weapon towards Layla, who scrambled to grab it.

The screams of the party goers met her ears, the rushed footsteps heading either to their vehicles or to any spare boats, realising their situation was not just a little catfight but more an armed brawl.

Layla shot at the two men that emerged from the mansion, slipping past Anton, who cowered behind his security guard like a child, the suave attitude long gone from the man. She seemed more than comfortable with the handgun, Dove quickly noted, though she was also fast to hear the queue of bodies that approached them, the clicks of ammunition falling into barrels meeting her sensitive ears.

That had her head whipping around.

There, slinking over the sand of the pony pit, stood at least twenty men approaching the three of them with deadly focus.

“Shit,” She cursed, looking to Marc all but a second too late. The pop of the bullets being released from their chambers had her wincing, turning away as if that would defend her at all were she to get shot. Was she bulletproof like Marc? Or would Seth allow her some bloodshed to teach her yet another lesson of taking his powers for granted?

As if he had heard her question, she felt a splinting pain slash through the back of her leg, the sharp feeling dragging a grunt up her throat. Bearable, but a horrid sting, as if she’d been shot by a paintball at close range. She was sure she would have a bruise there soon, but a bruise was better than a bullet hole, she supposed.

Eyes flicking up to where Marc stood over Layla, his cape a shield over the woman she watched as he looked up to her with narrowed eyes.

“You guys need to buy me some time,” Layla ordered, crouching low under the cape to make herself a smaller target.

“Is that you in there, princess, or have I got another problem on my hands?” He called over his shoulder, barely fazed by the bullets clinging to his suit.

“It’s me, I’m fine,” She promised, feeling another shell smacking into her stomach with a hidden grunt, “The suit is working just fine,”

Marc nodded to himself, chewing his tongue behind his mask.

“I don’t suppose you’d listen to me if I told you to leave with Layla and get to safety, huh?” He said emptily, wincing as the guards got close enough to feel the bullets graze past them.

“Don’t waste your breath,” She snipped, looking down at Layla, the same thought passing between the two of them.

“If you die on me, princess, I might have to murder you,” Layla called to her, earning a small smile, and the three of them sprang into action.

Marc flicked the bullets that embedded in his suit right back at their senders, hard enough to take down half of them men advancing on them, the other half seeming to pause to reconsider their attack.

But by that point, the two of them had vaulted over the fence and were heading at full pelt towards their assailants.

“Aim for the chin, sweetheart, chin and nose,” Marc called, his moon shaped blade back firmly in his hand like a set of brass knuckles, slicing through their kevlar with every swipe. He swiped at one hard across the face, deep enough to ward him off, spinning quickly to throw the blade into another one’s chest cavity.

“Chin and nose, got it,” She said, wrestling her arm out of one of their grasps with a quick elbow to the stomach, driving her fist up into his nose cartilage with a hard punch.

The man cried out in shock, his nose spurting with a river of blood almost instantly.

“Sor-SORRY,” She said, her fist meeting another one under his chin in a hard uppercut, the force of it snapping his teeth together, his head rattling in an ache from the damage. She wouldn’t be surprised if his jaw had popped out of place.

“Stop apologising to them,” Marc yelled incredulously, kneeing another one in the gut, throwing him to the ground as he grabbed the other by his outstretched arm, twisting it behind his back with a force that ripped apart every tendon attached, “They’re trying to kill us,”

“But I am sorry- SORRY” She called back, throwing a punch to another one’s cheek so far off form, had her super strength not been so vicious she would have been screwed. Marc would need to show her how to fight properly, he noted in his mind, though he had hoped with everything in him that it would have never come to this.

He’d wanted to keep all the violence away from her. He didn’t need the same darkness that lingered over him to shower on her too.

Tackling two of the men on his own, he threw a kick to the first one’s chest as the other tried to grab him in a chokehold. It was a frivolous attempt however as Marc threw an elbow behind him, hard into the side of the guard’s temple which sent him down. The second one wasn’t so lucky. So bitter that that woman, his Dove, was fighting; was being shot at, being manhandled right in front of his eyes, the second guard to cross his path was nothing but an export for his rage.

He hated how moral she was, hated how it got her hurt, how it got her entangled in his mess. Yet it was one of his favourite things about her, how soft she was, how she would never leave anything, human or animal, to suffer, loved how she would always want good for him too. He didn’t deserve it. He had never deserved her. Never deserved the soft.

He had barely realised he had begun strangling the guard, his hands wrapped around the meat of his throat until he saw his face begin turning blue, and Steven’s voice had entered his head.

“Stop it, Marc,” Marc grunted in anger, it was all he could manage through the wave of rage he was sinking under, “No, Marc!”

As if to brush off Steven’s voice, Marc threw the man to the ground, spinning on his heels when he heard a gun cock behind him.

The guard shot a few rounds into the hard plate of his chest, not that he felt anything, watching her tussling with a man a few feet away, trying to wrangle his gun out of his hands before he could fire at her. Not that the bullets would do any lasting damage of course, but he felt his stomach drop all the same. He was quick to disarm the guard in front of him, watching the mans face contort into horror as the white eyed mercenary set his sights on him, a heavy hand coming out to grab the pistol with a bone breaking grip, ripping the thing from his fingers as if he were taking candy from a child. He grabbed the man by the jaw with the same crushing hold, feeling the guard whine under his malicious hand, writhing in pain.

Marc hated the part of himself that felt fulfilled seeing the ones who hurt her suffer themselves. He felt pleased. Felt warmed knowing he’d made them pay.

“Give me the body, Marc,” Steven hissed from inside the headspace. He felt his alter taking the reins, felt his consciousness slipping through his fingers despite his protest. But Steven was getting used to this now; he had been so caught up in protecting her he forgot about the one he was supposed to protect his whole life.

Marc’s eyes closed and Steven’s opened.

His hands went slack around the guard’s jaw that cracked under the pressure, the man’s entire body dropping in defeat.

“Oh! Sorry!” Steven’s soft voice rang out, a world away from the gravelly growl of Marc’s lilt. Leaning towards where the man groaned on the floor, clutching his face, he murmured “You alright? That’s it. Alright, time out!” He huffed, turning to the other guards circling him, their guns cocked at their sides, weighing up if they’d be the next to end up crumpled on the floor with broken bones.

He held his hands up in a T, “That’s it time out!” he called out, his white gloves soft against his rough hands. “Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? Let’s all just like chill the F out-”

“Steven?”

Her voice was velvet. Worried. It robbed him of words immediately after so long not hearing his name from her mouth. It was an odd feeling being inside the body, a watcher of the world and not living in it. Watching the way she looked at Marc with such raw vulnerability, such glazed trust, how he saw her sadness much more frequently now.

His body betrayed him, freezing for a second before turning to her. But when he did, he was near robbed of breath too.

Her suit, the same one he’d seen on her the first time, the night she’d nearly killed him. Though that hadn’t been her. It wasn’t her. He’d have known her anywhere.

This one was the slightest bit different. Her muzzle was gone, her lips exposed, the shock evident on her face, mouth agape. Her eyes were hers again, not black soulless pits like when they were his. But hers, the ones he loved to stare at, the ones that looked at him with such cottony kindness he felt as if he would melt under her gaze like a pool of butter.

She looked at him as if seeing a ghost. He looked at her as if she had turned on the light in a dark room, as if she were a fog horn on a rough sea, as if she were dragging him from the depths of death single handedly.

For the first time in months he said her name. Her real name.

She cracked a smile, her eyes wetting, glossing with happiness. It was him.

“Steven!” She said, her teeth gleaming at him under the lamp light. Her eyebrows softened, her mask drawing away into her hairline as if she needed to see him fully, as if her body craved him so much even the smallest barrier was a nuisance. Taking a small breath to fight off the sob that crawled up her throat. She felt as if she would be okay now, as if he was her knight in white armour here to carry her from the mess she’d found herself in. Nothing made sense to her anymore, nothing except Steven. He always had a way of explaining everything that seemed to tick the right way in her brain.

His moonlight eyes blinked at her starrily, his rose lips curving into a smile.

The space between them was syrupy thick, it made the gulps of air all that more difficult to swallow.

His mouth dropped open to call her name, his foot shuffling forward to embrace her in the biggest hug he could manage. He’d needed her more than he’d needed air.

He couldn’t help the cry of horror that ripped from his throat when the spear was shoved through her stomach and she fell to her knees.

“Steven!” She yelped, watching as one of the riders rammed a lance through his thigh, another going through his collar bone. She grunted, the effort of calling for him constricting around the pole. It was a harsh ache, and it took everything in her not to panic that the healing armour would stop working, that Seth would want to watch her writhe in pain for a little longer.

But she felt her blood stem at the site, heard the pounding of hooves approaching the two of them, gasping as two more riders circled him, another of the wooden blades piercing his gut.

Glancing at her one more time, a whine pouring out his masked mouth as he watched her drop to her hands, one of the guards kicking her in the ribs, a rattling wheeze rolling from her lips, an attempt to conceal a grunt of pain. She didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to give the guard the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

Yet she felt another spearhead trace over the back of her neck, sensed the way his arm drew back to aim for a killing blow. And all she had the heart to do was to meet the white eyes that watched her sadly, knowing this was another goodbye one way or another.

“Take the body, Marc!” He yelled, groaning as a fourth spear took him to his own knees, his heart rolling in waves behind his chest, “Take the body-take the body, Marc,”

Dove put a hand on the rod that pierced clean through her, feeling a wave of nausea constrict her throat when she saw the weapon peaking back out at her, the pointed tip of another blade stroking over her chin.

“Wait-Stop,” She choked, her breathing laboured by the terror that grabbed at her words, “Please,” She put her hand up, trying to hold off the attacker even the smallest amount. If he felt any guilt seeing her crumpled on the floor like a shot deer, pleading him to retreat, it never read on his face as he sneered, drawing back to seal the deal.

Marc felt as if he’d been dragged from dark waters when he opened his eyes once more and saw her moments from a grisly end. The weak look on her face was enough to have him ripping the spear from his own abdomen effortlessly, as if the feeling of it wasn't stomach wrenching. As if he wasn’t in imminent danger himself. He launched his moon blade into the guy's shoulder, the silver crescent lodging itself into the flesh, enough to deter her attacker for a moment and have him drop his weapon in a yelp of pain.

“Wait there, princess, I’ll be right-” He started, grunting as he pulled another of the rods out of his thigh, at least enough of it that he could move, “-right there,”

But then he saw it; Layla in Mogart’s line of fire, a bleeding welt on her face. Mogart atop a horse, one of his fine Arabian steeds, a spear in his hands, a nasty smirk on his face. Layla, who had no god to help her. Layla, who lay without armour. Layla, who wouldn’t survive a hit to the chest like the two of them would, had.

Dove followed his line of sight, hearing the voice that drew her back to reality, that had the guard second guessing whether it would be wise to wound her more when the man watching over her seemed intent on finishing him off. Seeing Layla on the ground, her eyes disorientated from the strike to the face, it seemed she felt the same pang of urgency to drop everything they were doing and save her, save her, she’s in danger and you need to save her-

“Layla!” She screeched, the dread meeting her expression at the sight of the man who had seemed so willing to bed her now vulturing around Layla’s forlorn body, stunned and immobile. Helpless. Perhaps this was how Marc felt when he found her in the museum, but a pit of anger, one she knew all too well, seemed to swallow her fear whole and all that was left when the wave retreated was vengeance.

Her attacker took it then was his time to strike, seeing her caught off guard, yanking the spear from her stomach, pulling the pointed end out of her flesh and turning it back to her throat as she yelped from the feeling. It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have, but she felt bile rolling around her throat at the sight of her insides splayed out on the tip of the rod.

Yet all she could think about was Layla. Layla was in danger. Layla needed her.

The nausea turned to adrenaline as she kicked him hard in the shin from her place on the ground, grabbing the weapon to hold it away from where it swung close to her face, the sharpened end winking at her.

Scrambling to her feet, she threw her fist into his nose, hearing a satisfying crunch and a pig-like squeal to follow. Yanking the spear from his grip effortlessly, she swung the wooden end into his temple, watching it splint from the force and he was down like a sack of potatoes.

There was a moment then when she spun on her heel to witness the two men circling Layla, Mogart atop his brown gelding he had told her was one of his best. Something flickered in the warm, night air, something dark, this time without Khonshu’s influence.

She felt his hand on her back, his hand. The paw that played her strings, the claws that sunk deep into her.

“Not now,” She growled, her eyes locked on Mogart’s smarmy face, daring either her or Marc to take a step towards Layla. Horses were faster than human’s by a mile, especially the thoroughbreds he kept.

“You couldn’t save her, mutt,” His dark voice rattled down her spine, sucking the air out her lungs. He knew. He knew about Grace. No one else in the world knew about Grace. Grace was just for her. “You couldn’t save her, but you can save this one.”

“You think?” She whispered, not daring to check over her shoulder, his goliath face peering down at her, his snout washing cold breaths over her ear, her hair fluttering under its breeze. She didn’t think she could stand to lose another friend, if she could even call Layla that. Either way, the blood staining her hands, the lives gone because of her.

She could have stayed with her brothers and avoided all of this mess, could have been there to see Mikey through rehab, not just dumped him there and left.

She should have tried harder to save Grace.

She would fight tooth and nail to save Layla.

“Yes, little pup.” He eased, his cold claws stroking down her collarbone, almost comforting, almost a phantom over her shoulder, “It is not wrong to want retribution. What he took from you, it is a debt you will never have cleared.”

She hated how much he sounded like a voice of wisdom. Hated how he seemed to worm his way into her head and draw out her own thoughts, make them sound reasonable.

“You could save this one, if you give into the chaos. Let him have exactly what he deserves. He wished to buy you, use you. And now he wishes to slaughter her in front of your very eyes.” Seth’s voice was a snarl, a mirror image of the anger that built in her when his dark eyes flickered over to her, his mouth drawing up into a nasty smirk.

She hated to say it, but he was right. Seth was right. He deserved her worst.

Seth chuckled, watching her eyes darken with fury, a fog of bedlam filling the air.

“Now, little beast,” Seth whispered, retracting his paw from her arm, her mask slipping back over her face to cover the delicacy of her temples, “Go fetch,”

The three of them were silent in the truck. Layla’s face had been wiped clean thanks to the limited first aid kit shoved under the seat of the rental car. The wounds were mostly superficial, it was her head that had been rattled mostly. Shaken her hard enough to have taken her wit with it.

Layla’s memories flickered like a broken projector, glimpses of the moment the four of them crossed paths in the centre of the paddock. Marc tackling her out of the way of Mogart’s steed that would have done enough damage to her bones even without its rider's weapon. The sand flicking up around them as Hellhound dragged the wealthy man from his saddle, a spear piercing his thigh, his own rod yanked out of his grasp and tossed clear across the pit.

She watched Marc scramble to stop her from beating the life from him, heard Anton say something quietly to her, whatever humour he had left spent on pushing her over her limit. Watched her fists meet his cheek as she choked through tears, angry tears, salt that stung her superficial cuts on her cheek.

Dove didn’t want to think about it.

“Let’s play nicely now, and I might still consider paying for our night together,” He’d murmured, his dark eyes trailing over her face that gave away too easily her torment, her instability. Mouth drawing into a nasty sneer, she dug her claws into his collar bone, drawing a squeal from him. A pig set for slaughter.

“This body can be bought and sold all you like. But it is mine.” She hissed, the anger bubbling under her surface when he chuckled weakly opening his mouth to speak again. Only for her to bring her armoured knuckles across his cheekbone, hearing something crack under the weight of it.

And she didn’t stop. Not until she felt arms constrict around her shoulders, pinning her hands to her sides, thrashing under the grip. She hadn’t realised she was crying until she felt her hair stick to her face, the wetness she had assumed was sweat burning her eyes even more when she heard Marc talking to her once more.

“Stop, stop.” A calm utterance over her shoulder as he pulled her away, “That’s enough, princess, you got him. You got him.”

And then they were rushing into the car before more could come, before Mogart could speak past the swelling on his face enough to call for help, before he could realise she’d broken his nose, cracked five of his teeth.

And they were setting off out of the city, towards the sand dunes that stood between them and the tomb.

Layla seemed to have quickly recovered from the heavy hit she took to the face, either that or a serious concussion had made her tongue all the more sharp as she piped up from the driver's seat, finger drawing gently over her wounds as she watched the road, Dove sat in the seat behind her.

The marrow white of the moonlight soothed between her eyes as she shut them, her clothes returned to normal, the soft hum of the engine rattling her skull as it rested against the window. She felt tired, inside and out, felt her body shutting down, dragging her back over the rainbow. Thoughts of a man that no longer existed poisoning her thoughts.

A weight sat between the three of them, a wall Marc knew the girl in the back seat was locking herself behind, hiding from him. Something she hadn’t done in the whole time she’d known him.

She’d been wary of him when they had first met, hell she’d turned tail and ran from him the first sign she saw he was not Steven. But withdraw from him? Now they were him and she was her. Now he had shown her he would always come to drag her from her dark. Never.

“Oy,” He kissed his teeth in annoyance, inspecting his ruined coat where Layla had torn away the metal cuffs to use as weapons, “I really liked that jacket,”

The street lamps were cottony balls of gold as she opened her eyes, looking past them and into the inky darkness.

“We’ll get out one day right?” She asked, her head pressed against the window, the coal colour of the sky barely concealing the city smog, the new moon of the month meaning they were alone in their thoughts tonight, the sky entirely black, missing its lunar companion.

Grace was there. Grace was always there. Always touching, always loving, just always Grace.

She reached out her fingertips to brush against her own, stroking a pretty pink thumbnail over the back of her hand.

“Of course. Some day.” Grace said, though her eyes seemed to search for the same round ivory shape that watched their conversations most nights. It was all they had, the moon and the birds, but the two things never seemed to stay for too long. They had better things to do, Dove remembered thinking. Nothing seemed to stick around except Grace.

The red light from the hotel sign sprung to life, flickering for a second before switching to full beam right as the clock struck eleven pm. Same as it did every night. Same as it would every night from then on.

Their faces were painted with cardinal red. The red reminded her of the shoes, of the glittering heels that had quicksanded her into this life. The red turned her stomach sick, the red was a sign he was heading home, a sign he was on his way back.

“How do you know?” She asked, and she couldn’t remember why she did but it was probably just because Grace knew everything. Grace could tell her the world had ended outside of their little bedroom window, that the day was night and night was day and she’d believe her. She’d take her word for gospel.

Grace held her fingertips, playing with them absently. She was thinner than she was a few months ago. They’d persuaded Frank to get her some kind of anti anxiety meds, some kind of Diazepam, to calm her down since she was struggling to sleep.

They came with as much fuss as they’d expected from the man, given to her as a treat for being so loyal, came in a little brown bottle with no label. Whatever they were, whether legit or not, they worked. Though she seemed almost tranquilised most days now.

She sighed, her sullen eyes blinking slowly at the red glare that tinted her honey gold locks.

“Because I know it can’t be this forever,” She murmured, her cheeks sunken, body lifeless. “It just can’t,”

“Hey,” She was jolted from her reverie, brought back to the car where Marc had a hand on her knee, shaking her slightly, “You okay?”

But she didn’t answer him, she simply looked back out onto the street, eyes flicking from one street lamp to the next. She wished she would just fade away, float from her body and just stop, just stop thinking, knowing she could come back to it, just fade away for a little while.

Leave me to die while you can, Marc. She wanted to grab his collar and scream in his face, Leave me, get out, get safe. I’m a disease waiting to spread.

“What was Harrow talking about?” Layla asked the man, her brow fully cleaned now as she glimpsed at the side of his face. She could have sworn the air got sucked out of the tiny metal compartment the moment she’d opened her mouth, Dove’s chest plummeted into her stomach, churning in on itself.

It was clear Layla’s question was aimed for Marc as her fawn eyes turned cold, glaring into his cheekbone as his face tensed slightly, the weight of something heavy sinking into his eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his hands finding the hem of his shirt to lift the stained material over his head, even if to put a small barrier between the heat of her stare and his guilt.

“He said I had a right to know,” She pointed out, rubbing her temple hard when he met her with a beat of silence. She knew Marc too well. He busied himself with other things when he was thinking of a lie, busied himself with balling the fabric up in his hands, a sour look on his face.

“I have no idea,” He said, reaching into the back seat for his bag for a change of clothes.

If Dove was listening in on their conversation, she showed no sign of it when he caught sight of her, staring out the window, though her eyes were empty, and he was entirely sure she was not watching what was out there, but was much much further away than their little car and his and Layla’s argument.

“I never told anyone why I really moved,” Layla shook her head, gripping the wheel tightly, “But he knew, he just saw right through me,” She said aghast, the accusation clear in her tone. Marc did himself no favours, fretting more over getting his white jumper over his head than even being able to look her in the face. And her, god he wanted to shake her with everything in him and beg her to speak, to say something, to stop looking so distant from him, to crawl into the tight little space in her mind she’d found herself in and dig her out of it. Come back to me.

“He’s just trying to mess with you, he’s just trying to get into your mind,” Marc muttered, adjusting the jumper over his bare body, glancing back at the woman in the back seat to see her still down her little rabbit hole, “Don’t let him do that, you know, he’s got this idea that he an see the true nature of people, some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he would have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, now would he?”

“So it’s not true?” Layla cut him off with a doubtful sigh. He was rambling. He always rambled when he was lying, as if he was trying to fill his mouth with more words so the truth wouldn’t come pouring out instead. “What he said about you and-”

“No, of course it’s not true. No, he’s just trying to divide us, don’t let him get in your head.” He muttered, glancing back over the centre console for the third time. She was still lost in a daze on the other side of the glass, she was still miles away from him.

He wondered if Harrow had been telling the truth about her too. The look on her face, the terror, the guilt written over every inch was telling. He knew it well, knew it like looking in a mirror. Ghosts that haunted him even to the farthest corners of the world, his mother’s vicious words that never seemed to leave him.

What had she done? What had she been running from? What had made her look so… so sorry?

He didn’t care. He’d decided then and there, when she’d taken off after Layla, the woman who had hated her the moment she clamped eyes on her, then and there when he thought of her handing him the tiny pigeon crumpled in her fingers, then and there when he’d heard how relieved she was to see Steven. There was nothing she was capable of so bad that he would hate her. Harrow was trying to divide them, just like he’d said.

He forgave her without so much as knowing her crime. But Layla was not so soothing.

“What about you, hm?” Layla bit, her umber eyes flicking up into the rear view mirror, landing on the girl that seemed to barely acknowledge her, “Hey, princess, I’m talking to you,”

Dove’s head snapped to see the pair of them watching her carefully.

“Huh?” Was all she could manage, looking between the two cluelessly, catching herself going back to the woeful eyes the man shot at her.

“What was Harrow talking about? About ‘the last man you were with’?” She asked bluntly, her focus darting between the set of traffic lights they sat at and the woman in the back who purely froze.

This was it. She heard her blood rushing through her eardrums fast, mimicking waves rolling into shore. Joey had once told her that was why you hear the sea when putting a shell to your ear, it was the blood rolling through your eardrums, her clever little boy. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, choking her, strangling her. Silencing her. Her boy. Her sweet boys.

“Well?” Layla pushed, eyes glaring expectantly. She couldn’t say she blamed her, Layla was trusting some stranger who hid half of herself to help them save the world. She couldn’t be angry at the woman, she was being cautious. She was being Layla.

Yet Dove felt herself shutting down at the confrontation. Felt her inside collapse in their resolve, her mouth remaining in its tight lipped grimace.

“My-” She cleared her throat, starting again, “Before London…”

She couldn’t say it. She felt her heartbeat rocking her ribs, vibrating through to the seatbelt across her chest, so harsh it was squeezing at her throat.

“What, was he married too or something?” Layla asked with a nasty laugh, so entirely wound up that Marc seemed all the more concerned about her weak frame quivering in the back seat than about thinking straight. He should see the warning signs by now, the way she never gave anything of herself away, the way she had a sorrow written across her expression that told her Harrow had hit a nerve with his words. Though, Layla supposed rose-tinted glasses make red flags seem normal. She would know of that one.

“Layla,” Marc warned, his eyes hardening as he looked back to her in the driver’s seat, only to have her huff.

“No-no I would never-” Dove winced, bottom lip trembling as she could barely force her words out. Would never what? Sleep with a married man. She wasn’t blind, she saw the wedding bands that lingered on so many of the men's fingers. Or even the tan lines from the few who tried to cover it. She couldn’t say it, because she had. She should have known better, should have tried harder to leave, shouldn’t have been so fucking naive.

“What, Marc?” Layla was a bomb close to detonating now, spurred on by Marc’s obvious lies and Doves' silence that spoke volumes. She felt as if she was the only person in the car speaking any sense, only one opening her eyes to what was happening, “You don’t know anything about her, are you really willing to stake both of our lives defending her?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harrow is trying to get into your head and it’s working-” Marc snapped back, his brows entirely contorted now into an angry frown.

“Stop-” Dove felt herself whisper, the two of them falling into disarray in front of her, like she was watching a glass wall slowly crack, thunder waiting for its crack of lightning, “Stop, please,”

“Do you not think about Steven? How do you trust her with Steven knowing she hides so much from him?” Layla fought back, her hands gripping the wheel hard enough her gold rings bit into her skin, her nose flaring with anger.

Dove felt the bile rising in her throat as her very worst fear was declared, said to the one man whose job it was to protect sweet Steven from people like her.

“Now is not the time for us to be divided, this is exactly what he wants, this is exactly how he wins,” Marc hit back, not noticing how the life drained from their passengers face, her eyes filled with tears.

She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t go back to being alone. She couldn’t. There was nothing left of her before Steven.

“Stop it,” She managed a bit louder this time, drawing a breath when they seemed to ignore her as Layla pulled onto a quieter road that began to lead into a deserted track cutting through sand dunes, leaving behind the city.

“This is just so like you, Marc, not thinking about the consequences until you've dug me into shit knee deep,” Layla seethed, her foot pressing on the pedal until they had picked up a decent speed.

“Just lay off of her alright? I know we’re all under a lot of pressure but she is innocent in all of this-”

“Innocent?” Layla scoffed, with only more outcry from Marc, the two of them talking over one another.

Dove felt the sick rising, the lump moving out of her throat to make way for whatever she could give next.

“STOP IT!” She yelled, her voice cracking and silencing the two. Though Layla seemed to have had quite enough of them and slammed her foot on the breaks, the three of them jolting forward, “Just STOP,”

The car went quiet, beside the angry huffs exhaled through flared nostrils, Dove’s mouth bobbing open to speak finally. Yet she felt lost for words; her body was still back in that room, in that window, and she was but all a shell of who she should be. A ghost. A phantom in her own body.

The sound of static sprang to life making the three of them jump, cutting through the dead silence, the number on the radio in the centre console flicking through a handful of signals, before landing on one entirely different than they’d been listening to, music pouring from the car’s speakers.

‘Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray

They built you a temple and locked you away’

No. No it couldn’t be. It had to be some sick joke. She would have known Billy Joel anywhere from her niece's endless runnings of his tapes.

‘Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay

For things that you might have done

Well, only the good die young’

She was out of her seat in seconds. The door slammed behind her heavily, her shoes tearing across the sands, lungs constricting in a rattling pant.

“Why must you torment me?” She mewled, the God she spoke to crawling his way out of the night, still as monstrous as always.

“I did nothing, pup. You are getting stronger,” Seth growled back in delight, following behind her, a shadow nipping at her heels, “That little magic trick was your own doing,”

She swallowed thickly, taking off into the dunes for a few more paces, “It wasn’t even her favourite,” She sneered, which only made him laugh loudly at her attempt of rebuttal, “Why did you choose me for this? Why me? If all you want is to torture me for the rest of my life,”

“I see it in you, mutt, as hard as you like to deny me. I see the way vengeance claws at your stomach like a babe growing life,” His ominous words were met with silence as she continued marching away from the car, ignoring his attempts to anger her. But she knew it was true, knew she was rotten inside. She’d known it long before that night. Long before Seth.

She walked through the darkness of the dunes for a moment more, if not to get away from that car where she’d be forced to spill, then to get away from him who followed her footsteps a single paced behind her.

“He wouldn’t care, mutt, if you told him,” He said calmer than ever, quiet enough to throw a fault in her steps, “There is no guilt in retribution-”

“I CARE,” She screamed at him, the air falling hushed as she finally faced the god that once made her cower, looked into his black soulless eyes that watched her intrigued, “I CARE THAT I AM GUILTY,”

She couldn’t help but fall to her knees. She needed air, more air than her lungs would take, more air than her throat would allow, like rising out of the damn water all over again. The twilight was soupy and warm as it was in the day, muggy and honey thick as she breathed in.

“You are too soft, mutt. I give you such a gift of life and I am still met with nothing but thankless whining-” He hissed, any semblance of calm gone.

“TAKE IT BACK THEN-” She yelled, fingers grabbing into the sands angrily, throwing it at him pitifully with a weepy sneer, “TAKE IT BACK! I am not the ‘fist of vengeance’ you want me to be!”

His dark laughter echoed in her ears as he melted away into the gloom as quickly as he had come, whispering into the space between them as he slipped away; “I think you’re exactly what I want, that’s why you hurt,”

She cried harder.

She barely heard the footsteps over the soft sands, not until she heard him shushing her, a hand coming over the crown of her head, stroking her hair gently as her shoulders shook.

He was like Grace in that sense. Seemed to always be there when she needed him most. Without fail, without hesitation.

She let Marc pull her close, let him wind his arms over her shoulders and hold her head steady into his chest, kissing her temple as she sniffled. She couldn’t take it anymore, burying her head into him tighter, her hands around his torso, clutching at the muscle of his back.

“Marc- Please don’t take him away from me-” She hiccuped, her body convulsing in gasps, “I’ll be good to him, I promise I would, please don’t leave-”

He hushed her louder, moving to see her face, his forehead knocking against hers, their cheeks brushing, the wetness dripping onto his jaw.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Marc assured, stroking over the back of her hair, “Steven would never forgive me-”

“You would hate me- I’m so awful-” She whimpered, sniffling into his jaw, feeling him push her away by the shoulders, far enough he could see her sodden face, “He would hate me,”

“Stop that,” He chided sternly, brushing over her cheeks with his thumb gently. A wethered smile met his lips, eyes meeting hers earnestly, “There’s nothing you could ever do that could make him hate you,”

“What Harrow said- I-” She hiccupped, she couldn’t stand to feel his soft brown hues on her mournful face. She had to tell him something, something to keep him from asking. She remembered him rambling in the car, keeping his mouth busy to keep the truth from coming out. She supposed she felt the same. “I did something terrible, Marc,”

His lips quirked downwards, as if he was stuck for what to say, his gaze following the tear that rolled over her cheek, joining the wet that pooled at her jaw.

“Terrible things don’t always make us awful,” He said quietly, though it felt as though he’d prodded at her very core, touched a nerve so raw she felt a breath leave her, clogging in her throat.

“The last man I was with, I-” She swallowed thickly, “I stole his money and left him because I was too cowardly to just break up with him,”

She felt heat rip inside immediately.

She’d lied. She’d lied to him. Then again, what was so different than usual. She had always lied to Steven.

Marc bit his lip, watching her with pity.

“Was he good to you?” He asked, stroking her hair carefully as she shook her head. She hiccupped again, wiping her face with the cuff of her sleeve, sniffling through a bunged up nose.

“He liked to tell me he was. He took me away from my brothers.” She said, brushing sand off her thighs absently, “He told me I could make more money working in the city, forced me to move away from them, and I believed him because I was so stupid-”

“You’re not stupid,” Marc tutted, his face a sour frown. He hated seeing her cry. The emptiness behind her wetted eyes only reminded him of his own, and that scared him far more than anything else she could have said, “And you’re not awful. You’re human.” He whispered, stroking a thumb down her jaw, collecting the remaining tears that gathered there.

She breathed out shakily, finally brave enough to reach his eyes. Her lip damn near started quivering again at the softness behind them, a softness she didn’t deserve, a softness that seemed to make her think maybe, maybe he would understand if she told him the truth.

She dismissed the thought immediately.

His lips parted, as if wanting to say more, except he could only stare at her own mouth. How it glistened with salted tears. He couldn’t help but slowly run a thumb over her lower lip, fixing the hurt, erasing the guilt. He could never fix himself. Could never fill the darkness that devoured his life, his memories. But he swore on every god out there he would mend her wounds for her.

He wanted to kiss her more than ever. He wanted to pour every bit of love he and Steven had for her combined and fill her to the top until it poured out of her instead of those dreaded tears. Wanted to put his lips on hers as if he even thought himself worthy. He’d lay down his life for her instead of Khonshu, carry out anything she ordered of him, jump as many hoops, die for her over and over and over if it meant he could kiss her now.

He felt her looking at his lips too, something close to glistening want in her eyes, behind soggy lashes, leaning in further and further until-

“We should get back to Layla,” He said, his cool breath fanning over the bridge of her nose.

She nodded her head in his grip, sniffing one last time as the tears seemed to have died down, swallowing whatever words she was going to say.

They walked back to the car silently.

“Try that one,” Marc said, handing Layla a scrap of the cartograph. In the midst of the chaos Layla had managed to grab the shredded map and stuff it into her pack, where the three of them were now tasked with putting it back together again. Except, unlike any puzzle she and Steven completed, the map was simply a bunch of dots punctured through the fabric meant to be stars, with no actual linear picture in sight.

“Maybe actually,” Layla muttered, as Dove stared between four pieces of her own, the headlights from the truck illuminating their view, “Uh, no. Anything over there?”

“Yeah, I got the world’s suckiest game over here,” The younger woman huffed, rubbing her tired eyes. It was well into the night by now, and they had been driving for just over an hour to get to where they were in the middle of nowhere, far enough away that Harrow’s men would struggle to find them, not so far they were lost, “Atleast in UNO I know how to win,” She said grumpily, picking the skin around her thumb.

“I’m not getting any whole constellations. It’s just little pieces and fragments.” Marc grumbled, holding up three pieces sellotaped together that gave him nothing useful, before he slammed them down on the hood of the car in anger.

The two women jumped, watching him walk away with a heavy breath, hands on his hips.

Dove chewed her bottom lip. She wished Steven were here.

Watching Marc round back on them, coming to stand next to her with his elbows on the metal work, running his hands through his dark locks to calm down.

“This is gonna take forever,” He grumbled, shaking his head in defeat. They had been so close, so close to just snagging the map out of the sarcophagus. But of course Harrow had to shake things up for them as if it was all part of his game, one they never got to win.

“Marc, we need Steven,” Layla said over the bonnet of the truck, her eyes tired, her wound sore over her brow, “He understands all of this. I really think it's worth giving him a shot,” Her gaze slid to where Dove looked at the fabric pieces in her hand guiltily, “Don’t you agree?”

She felt Marc’s eyes on her then, the two of them waiting on her verdict, both equally exhausted though Marc’s almond hues came with a hint of frustration.

She saw it immediately, swallowing calmly before she met his stare, sighing slightly.

“He’s much better than I am at this stuff, Marc, and- and it’s not that you’re not useful in so many other ways, it’s just-” She bared a sad smile, though his face remained bitter, eyes unfocused as if he were lost in his own thoughts, “We could do with him right now,”

“Marc, it’s okay just let go,” Layla pushed harder, seeing as he wasn’t moving, which seemed to be the thing that had him growling in annoyance, reaching over for the wing mirror of the truck, grabbing it with his bare hands and wrestling it free, “We don’t have time,”

The mirror popped off with a whine and Marc huffed, avoiding Dove’s eyes that watched him dejectedly. She had never wanted to make him angry, nor to make him feel useless. But Steven would be their saving grace right about now.

Grabbing all of the pieces of cartonage, along with the tape in a big bundle in his arms, Marc walked away from the car, away from the pitied stares, and off a metre or so away where he could talk to Steven in peace.

Dove watched his retreating back, rubbing her arms nervously, ears pricked up for any signs of vehicles approaching, though all she heard was Marc’s mumbling to his alter through the mirror.

“All right, go ahead. You’re in,”

Then, as if his whole body seemed to loosen in moments, his shoulders dropped, his head tilted to one side, and he seemed to immediately clamp eyes on the pieces of the map at his feet.

“Cheers, thanks alot.” Came a familiar English drawl, higher in pitch, happier. The usual edge of sarcasm teasing his words.

Steven.

It was Steven.

He was right there.

No armed guards, no spears, no Arabian Steeds separating the two of them, just Steven.

She’d forgotten how it felt to have her legs weak hearing his voice alone.

Falling to his knees, his white trousers dirtying immediately which was just so Steven-like it bubbled a watery chuckle up her throat, he got to work tearing off pieces of tape, grabbing pieces of fabric and arranging them without too much thought. As if it came so easily he saw them fitting together without much head scratching like the rest of them had.

“Don’t need that bit- don’t need that,” He muttered under his breath as she dared a step near him, her footsteps wary enough she could barely spook a deer. Her heart leapt in her chest as she became close enough to touch him, close enough to run her hands through his hair if she wanted to.

Crouching down next to him, she peered over at the side profile of his face, scrunched with concentration.

“Steven?” She dared to ask, a nervous smile growing as he swivelled to look at her, feeling as if she was part of some dream she’d had for so long. How had she survived without those eyes, those gentle eyes that watched her so carefully, his face entirely different from that of Marc’s despite being identical. His face looked smoother, the frown gone, the bitterness turned into something sickly sweet that glazed his eyes with stars, “Steven,”

He took her in; god his words were knocked from him at the sight of her so close. He wanted her in his arms, he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how she was the only spot of light in his terribly confusing life, how she was the only person to ever see him, even when she knew about Marc. She saw him. She saw Steven Grant. The heat engulfed his cheeks immediately, his chest seizing at the feeling of her hand brushing against his own, willing him to say something, anything.

So he did. Except, ofcourse, he was still Steven.

“Egyptians invented modern navigation.” He choked out, ripping some sellotape off, biting it in the middle to cut it with his teeth, “There’s not alot of landmarks in the desert so they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. Bloody genius, isn’t it?”

He continued fiddling around with the cartonage, as if his heart wasn’t speeding like a rabbit’s for having her so near, attaching the final piece to create a star shaped map, clearly showing a handful of constellations as if what he’d just done wasn’t ‘bloody genius’ in itself.

“Et voila,” He said, holding the finished product out to her, his eyes falling on her face as she took in the map with astounded eyes, her lips parting in shock, her brows flying upwards, “It’s French,”

She couldn’t help but laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth as if the sound was offensive in such a dyer situation, smiling at him through a relieved sort of glee. Steven was back. Things seemed okay when he was there.

She couldn’t contain it anymore, springing towards him for a tight hug, feeling him wrap his arms around her quickly, as if he’d needed it just as badly. There was something oddly isolating about being inside the body, having to watch her light dwindle while screaming and rattling at Marc to fix it. He’d missed her. Missed her so much he couldn’t help bury his nose in her neck, the smell taking him back to the times she would sleep over and stay in his bed while he took the sofa, and when he would crawl back under the duvet the following night everything would smell as if she’d never left. As if she was pressed against him as tightly as she was now.

She smelled like everything good in his life. Smelled like the cinnamon latte she would drink before work, smelled like cuddling up to watch a documentary, knowing they were toeing a line between best friends and something else that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Kiss her. Kiss her. You don’t know how long you’ll have in the body, kiss her now Steven.

Gods he would die to kiss her cracked lips and heal their stings.

“I missed you so much,” She murmured into his ear, as if she wanted only him to know.

“Oh, love, I missed you more,” He replied, nosing her neck, lips brushing over her pulse gently, accidentally, enough to have her suck in a breath and grip him tighter.

“Absolutely impossible,” She chuckled back, running a hand up his spine, weaving into the nape of his thick hair, carding her fingers through them in a way that had him whine.

“Sorry to shit over all of this,” Layla called awkwardly, and the two pulled apart as if they’d been caught, “But what do we do with this map now we have it?”

Steven stood up quickly, face flushed with embarrassment that Marc’s ex-wife had found him smelling the girl he longed for. She was quick to her feet too, brushing the sand off her knees before it could stick.

“Well, you see those little pin pricks?” Steven asked, holding the map up toward the trucks blaring white light, the thin constellation in the middle showing clearer than ever, “We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates using that.” He said, a wide grin on his face, the fascination clear in his tone.

“Hold on, let me just scan it,” Layla said, holding her tablet up to take a photo of the cartonage, the impressed smile growing easily on her own face.

“Well, um actually…” Steven began, disappointment slowly creeping into his tone, “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,”

Layla’s face scrunched up as if she ignored Steven’s words, tapping around the screen for it to work magic.

“It’s not working. Why is it not working?” She asked, frowning at the tablet.

“Yeah, yeah. You see, Senfu marked that tomb like two thousand years ago,” Steven explained, his hands waving around as he explained the science behind their predicament, “And stars drift over time. Not much as far as stars go, but-”

“But enough to change our course by a fair bit, I suppose?” Dove cut in, Steven nodding in agreement with a besotted look on his face.

“That’s exactly it, love. It could mean the difference between us searching miles and miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking,” He explained, fiddling with the sellotaped edge of the map idly, “So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date, we’re buggered,”

Dove chewed the rough edge of her nail, the concentrating frown on her face, the same stance she assumed when she had no hand to play in their many card games, when she was considering something big before she said it. Steven had tried to pry her finger from out her mouth before, insisting it would only hurt her more when it started bleeding, but he knew it was a soothing behaviour she had when she was thinking.

“I remember that night.” Came a deep voice, cutting through the emptiness of the desert like a horn. Not of her own master, but the bird headed one that puppeteered her companions. Her head shot up to the top of the sand dune they stood next to, where the skeletal figure stood proudly with his staff, staring at the sky as if watching his own child. Though Dove supposed she too would admire her own creation if she made something so beautiful. “I remember every night,”

“Khonshu?” Steven called out warily, the three of them following the god up to the peak of the dune as he began disappearing over the valley, fading into the night air like a laugh in the wind. Her legs burned with the effort of the steep gradient and soft sand flooring, but the trio reached the top with little complaint. Looking out onto the vast sands blanketed with stars, they searched for wherever the God of the moon had disappeared to, though they came up empty handed.

“I can turn back the night sky,” His booming voice reverberated around them, loud enough she was worried the sand would shift beneath their feet.

“How?” She asked, the two avatars looking to the stars to wait for answers while Layla fiddled with her tablet.

“It will come at a cost, and I cannot do it alone. The worm will have to help me”

As if her fear had begun materialising, the wind picked up around them, cycloning into a harsh whip, spinning a thin layer of sand that bit at her skin, caught in her hair.

“Steven,” He materialised behind the, “When the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me,” The god requested, holding his staff up high, no doubt to beacon his power.

Fat chance of that happening, Dove thought bitterly, knowing how badly Marc wanted the being gone from his life, sucking away at his being, draining him like a parasite that forced him to obey.

But perhaps the god was not entirely awful, she thought with one single shred of hope, because as he had promised, Khonshu raised his hands to the inky blackness above and Dove watched in bewilderment as the sky began moving, twisting on its axis like a metal globe.

She watched as the stars moved slightly at first, then whipping around into a brief glimpse of sunlight as it picked up pace with Steven raising his arms too, falling towards the horizon faster and faster until there were nothing but beams of purple across the Egyptian night sky.

And the stars were turned back by damn near two thousand years.

—

Taglist:

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years

Text

baby scarab || 51

anon - i love this series sm 😭 what if baby scarab runs into one of her old abusive foster families and steven has to prevent jake and marc from fronting and he fails miserably

~~~

anon - BS having a nightmare about her dads hurting her?

~~~

A/N : just a reminder that dreams are visions into another universe :(

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : using poe dameron gifs bc idk where to find more mk ones :(

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, mentions of violence, language, old foster parents bringing up old shit, an almost panic attack, nightmare, protective dads, mentions of pedophilia, let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

“wait so they just started following you and saying things-“ marc stops himself. “wait what did they even say?”

you sigh for what feels like the millionth time.

it was the next morning, marc drinking coffee while interrogating you now that you felt better, taking your medication at the right times now.

your head still felt a little off, but better enough to be able to think straight.

“frank told you, didn’t he?” you dodge the question and marc nods.

“well- yeah but i want to hear it from you” he says honestly and you hum.

“what if i don’t want to talk about it?” you ask and reach for the remote, turning on the tv until marc takes it away, turning it back off.

“then i’d tell you that whenever you feel like it, you can. whenever you want” he begins. “oh, and i already called you in today, so don’t even think about leaving alone”

“but i need more pop tarts we ran out again” you whine and marc scoffs.

“how are we out already? we just- nevermind” he sighs.

“i can go to the market with you later, if you want” steven offers and you smile.

“see? this is why stevens my favorite” you start. “plus i won’t be alone, i’ll have you guys” you say, and marc rolls his eyes.

“i know but-“

“you still worry, yeah i get it but it’ll be a short trip, what could happen?”

~~~

you took forever getting ready, but now you and steven were hand in hand on the way to the store.

you found it comforting to be holding one of your dads hands while you were in public.

it comforted them too.

you had been touch starved ever since you remember, and now that you’ve been completely comfortable with all your dads, you had no problem with just taking their hand in yours just because you feel like it.

now all three of them had lacked comfort as well.

marc being abused by his mother after his brother passed away, stevens life being a bit messed up by not knowing he had an american man living inside him, and jake, who had been in hiding, only coming out to protect steven or marc without them knowing.

marc and jake loved it especially because it made them feel special.

they’ve killed so many people- and knowing that a teenage girl trusts them makes them feel like they can actually be good people.

and that’s because they are, they just don’t believe it.

steven though, has just simply never had anybody.

all the dates that had been messed up, and just no time to ever connect with anyone until now.

he simply just liked the feeling of having someone that wanted to connect with him, especially his kid.

now back to walking on the sidewalk, steven guides you into the less crowded store and grabs a basket, you letting go of his hand while he does so.

“now why don’t you go get your pop tarts, and meet me by the produce” he starts. “how does that sound?” he asks and you smile while nodding.

“it sounds great” you begin, walking backwards. “see you in a minute” you turn around to the pop tarts while steven wanders towards the produce.

it was almost empty in the store, thank khonshu, while you walked down the aisles, searching for your favorite flavor of pop tarts.

you found them and picked up the box with a small smile, about to go find steven when you heard a voice that made that smile disappear, a frown replacing it with semi widened eyes.

“is that y/n? y/n y/l/n?” you turn around and see a middle aged woman, and an adult woman as well, looking like the older ‘sister’ you once had.

the last home you were in, the one where you spent most of your time starved in a basement- this was the family.

well, some of it at least.

the older woman- your old ‘mother’ looked at you in shock, and you just stared back, the pop tart box in a tight grip in your hand.

you just clench your jaw as they both walked towards you with small smiles.

“oh, look how you’ve grown-“ the older lady says, putting a hand out towards your face but you hit it away.

“don’t” you whisper out, your voice not wanting to get any higher. “please leave me alone” you back up and turn to get away from them when the person looking at you when you turned around made your breath hitch and stop in your tracks.

it was him.

your old ‘father’.

he was older. but he still had that same scowl on his face whenever he looked at you.

“what the hell is she doing here? i thought she was still in the crazy place” is the first thing he says, nearing both the women, and when he passed you, you couldn’t help but flinch when he got too close.

you felt overwhelmed, and your ears felt like someone had shoved a bunch of cotton balls in them.

just hearing all their voices made you want to hide in your room under your bed for the rest of your life.

you just shakily watched all of them stare at you while you breathed heavily and clutched the food to your chest.

you couldn’t bring yourself to move back, it was like your feet were cemented into the floor.

the thing is, you were scared- no, terrified.

you could go your whole life not knowing whatever happened to these people, yet here they are.

“yeah i thought she’d still be there too but obviously she’s not” the younger girl says and you blink away tears, not wanting them to see you cry.

the large man just stared down at you, not sure what to think.

the last time he saw you, he sent you away and watched as you were knocked out and wheeled away after being deemed insane.

and now here you were, staring at them like they were ghosts.

“are you okay?” your old ‘sister’ asks and your eyebrows furrow as you bite your lip.

“please don’t-“

“why are you acting so scared, huh?” the man asks and you avoid looking near him as his voice sounded tense and angry.

you could bring yourself to say anything, just hearing his voice brought back too many memories.

when he would smack you around for breathing too loud, or not being grateful so he would throw you in the basement.

or just throw things at you, like glass bottles or heavy books just for fun.

“what did we ever do to you?” he says to you, making your head shoot your to look at him through blurry vision.

“you starved me and locked me in a basement” you end up letting out a quiet whimper at the end of your sentence, putting a hand to your mouth to not let anything else out, afraid he would actually hit you in public.

“because you were ungrateful” he starts, scoffing while the two women just give him subtle judgmental looks. “and it looks like you still are. let me guess, you made some fancy couple pity you so that you would get adopted” he states and you shake your head.

he just scoffs again and the younger woman rolls her eyes.

“just leave her, she doesn’t want to see us and she isn’t our problem anymore” she says and you blink rapidly to try and makes the tears go away.

“oh jesus- you’re crying? you think i can’t see through your act?” he steps closer to you. “you’re crazy. delusional. you better get your ass back in that asylum before you scare anyone else off” he grits out and you make a furrow your brows.

“oh you don’t know, do you?” he starts, a bitter smile on his face as he takes another step closer, the two women just ignoring everything and browsing the shelves.

“your first family? when they found out about you they gave you back” he starts and your frown deepens. “last i heard they left town after not feeling safe in their own home. reports of feeling like they were being watched every since you left”

“can’t you see? you just leave danger in your path, you scare people, and that- the fact that you are a deranged little kid is the reason it got you abused”

he took yet another step closer, so that he was really in your face.

“i don’t know why we ever took you in. always ungrateful, and disrespectful” he shakes his head, glaring into your eyes as if you murdered his entire family.

your eyes just filled with more tears, while you shrunk into yourself, feeling small once again like you did only a few years ago.

“i don’t know why anyone would ever want someone like you. you’re a psychopath. you see things, hear things, and you terrify anybody that gets to know you”

“and that’s all you’ll ever do. you can’t do anything else, you’re a defenseless, weak little kid, you’ll never amount to anything” he chuckles darkly.

he is about to continue when he’s roughly shoved away, and the two women turn their attention back to help the man from stumbling over.

steven was the one who shoved him away, putting a hand out in front of you as a foe of protection as you stare at the floor with wide, teary eyes.

“have you gone mad?” steven exclaims, looking at the man with disgust and surprise.

“this is a kid you’re talking to- a completely normal one at that” steven defends you while he feels both marc and jake trying to push him away so that they could have their own talks with the man.

steven quickly tells them to stop, and that he can handle this in his head, no longer feeling the pressure in his head after that.

“so? what’s it to you? i was just telling her i was surprised to see she was still-“

“what? still what?” steven presses impatiently.

“sane, by now i thought she’d be kept in padded rooms by the way she used to act around us” he starts. “embarrassing us then acting like nothing happened” he mutters and steven scoffs.

“maybe you should be the one in the asylum” his eye twitches in anger, and he stands a bit more in front of you.

“she is not crazy- and she isn’t some defenseless kid! hell, she could probably take you down is she wanted to” steven shouts at him and the man rolls his eyes.

“oh yeah? why are you even defending her? do you know what she sees? she sees things that aren’t even there” he explains and steven shakes his head.

“i’m defending her because she is my daughter- and because it’s the right thing to do” steven begins and the man’s composure falters for a second.

“and yes. i know of her illness, and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. and do you know why? it’s because that doesn’t define who she is! she is the smartest kid i’ve ever met- and she is literally capable of anything you don’t even understand” steven stops himself and you shakily reach a hand to tug at his sleeve, making him turn around with softer eyes.

he just gives you a nod, and turns to the man one last time.

“if i hear that you’ve said a single word to her again- and that applies to all of you- we will personally see to it that you can never speak again” steven ends darkly and turns around to guide you away from them.

the commotion had gathered a small crowd, all of them on your and stevens side after hearing steven yelling at them.

“hey kid, you alright?” you hear marc ask and you just distractedly nod while adjusting your hold on the pop tart box.

“i’m.. im alright. thank you guys” you end quietly and steven stops the both of you behind one of the taller shelves for some privacy.

“i’m sorry if i freaked you out, i don’t know what came over me, i-“ you cut steven off by hugging him tightly.

“he deserved it” you assure him.

“he deserved more” jake scoffs and you sigh, letting go of steven and avoiding eye contact.

“maybe he’s right. maybe i’m cursed or something” you start, steven shaking his head.

“everywhere i go, danger follows. yesterday with those guys, and now today with.. them” you sigh and put your pop tarts in the basket steven was holding, making sure they didn’t crush the fresh fruits and vegetables.

“you aren’t cursed, it was just bad luck” steven guides you to the checkout, while you just listen to him talk.

“he didn’t know what he was talking about, trust me you aren’t insane. yes, you have your moments like when you brought a duck home, and the whole sex thing- but you’re pretty normal otherwise” he says quickly and you find yourself smiling as he pays for all the groceries, and you slip some money in his pocket for the pop tarts.

“well, as normal as you can be with the- thank you-“ he quickly thanks the lady at the register while speaking to you.

“anyways, you got bit by a radioactive spider and now you have spider powers, and in my personal opinion i think that’s a bit more strange than your illness” steven whispers to you honestly and you smile, taking the bag from him so that you could hold his hand again as you walked out of the store.

“you don’t have to carry that-“

“yes i do” you tell him and he stays quiet.

the walk home is quiet, which you liked since you had an odd sense of closure with your old ‘family’.

you’d never seen steven act like that before, even the way he so aggressively pushed that man away from you and yelled at him.

that was always more marc and jakes thing, but honestly seeing steven stand up for something he knew was right made you proud of him.

he was proud of himself too, he didn’t even think he had it in him to stand up to anybody like that, especially someone much larger than him.

he felt an adrenaline rush when he saw that man all up in your face.

he was waiting just a bit too long by the produce when he decided to look for you, and when he turned a corner some guy was just insulting you and calling you crazy.

what happened in his head, is that he beat the absolute shit out of that guy and took you home so that he could watch your favorite show with you while you calmed down.

well, he got the ending right because after putting away all the groceries that’s exactly what you did.

you were sat next to him, messing with your hair rather than actively watching tv.

steven had noticed of course, too. he was watching you.

but not in a creepy way, no, more like in a worried way.

you would usually be talking his ear off, or at least doing something to interact with him.

but here you were. sitting almost a foot away from him while your head was in space.

it was the most awkward you and steven have ever been to be honest.

it was either you or him making conversation, and he didn’t even know what to say.

he didn’t want to trigger you or set you off if he says the wrong thing, but he also wanted to give you a sense of closure.

marc and jake both agreed that steven should just man up and say something, just to at least make you feel a little better.

“so.. y/n. if there’s anything you’d like to talk about i’d-“

“why would i want to talk about it? i already said i was fine” you interrupt him with an all too fake smile.

“darling, this is really bothering you, isn’t it?” steven states more than questions and you give up and nod.

“more than it should” you mumble angrily.

“here, how would you usually release your anger when you were in foster homes?”

“steven how does this help, amigo?” jake asks and steven shushes him.

“just trust me” he mutters and you think about it for a second before answering hesitantly.

“sometimes i would punch the wall until my hands were bleeding” you mumble and steven hums.

“glad you grew out of that” he starts. “..anything else?”

“i.. i used to fight kids at school. my first fight was in second grade when i threw a rock at someone’s head and then she turned around and started pulling my hair and.. it just escalated from there” you explain and steven nods.

“okay.. so you’ve released anger physically” he nods to himself. “alright then”

you notice him tense up only a bit, and by the way he changed his posture you could tell it was marc.

“fight me” is the first thing he says and you just raise an eyebrow.

“no” you start. “what the fuck”

“yeah, come on just hit me, i’ll heal right away plus it’s not like you can actually hurt me” marc chuckles and you deadpan at him.

“no. ass”

“aww, y/n come on” he tries to convince you and you shake your head.

“just one punch, really quick” he tells you, putting both his hands up so that you could hit his palms if you wanted to.

you just stared at him with a small smile. “nah, i’m- i’m good” you say and marc sighs dramatically.

“wimp”

“shut up marc”

“chicken”

“marc”

“wuss”

“i swear to-“

“fine, i get it you’re too scared-“ you cut marc off by shoving his hands away and flipping him around by his shoulders to pin him down to the couch, twisting one of his arms behind his back and moving it up further every time he tried moving.

“hey hey hey- now wait a damn minute-“ marc takes a couple breaths.

you just smile from above him while jake laughed.

“steven was right, i feel better” you nod to yourself.

marc just lays there in defeat as jake keeps on laughing.

“see, and now you can say you’ve beat marc in a fight” you can sense the smile on stevens face.

“hey she didn’t beat me, if we were really fighting i would’ve gone easy, but i still woulda won” marc complains and you chuckle, getting off of him while he sits back up and rubs his wrist.

“sorry if i actually hurt you” you mumble.

“you didn’t, but i am proud, you did that perfectly just how i taught you” marc compliments and you find yourself smiling again before it quickly fades.

“i know i say it too much but i really do appreciate you guys” you begin. “you act like i don’t have schizophrenia, you tear me like i’m a person and really love you all for that”

you take a quick breath and continue. “it’s hard to think about everyone else before you guys because they all treated me like i was a disease or like i was just some stress ball. so they didn’t acknowledge me or they.. they hated me and hit me and-“ you cut yourself off, feeling a weight come off of your chest.

“you guys are my first real family. it’s weird saying that since im 17 but still” you lean back on the couch and marc does the same, pulling you close to him so that your head rested between his chin and his shoulder.

“and we are honored to be your first real family. we love you, honey” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you snuggle in closer to marc, making him chuckle.

“you tired?” he asks and you just hum.

marc adjusts you so that you’re laying more comfortably, with your head in his lap while he played with your hair, knowing you liked that.

it was almost like flipping a light switch when you fell asleep.

unexpected honestly, and you weren’t even remotely prepared for what was coming.

~~~

you woke up alone, which confused you as you sat up and looked all around the apartment.

nobody was there, and you couldn’t find any notes so you frantically looked around the house for anything, when all of a sudden jake appeared in front of you, adjusting his hat as you flinched back from shock.

“holy shit- jake you scared me what happened?” you ask him and he shakes his head slowly and you raise an eyebrow.

“jake..? you okay?” you question and he tilts his head at you.

“i am” is all he says before he slouches over, and takes off the hat.

“steven?” you ask again, and he nods slowly while you just stare at him.

“what is going on?” you mutter to yourself and he chuckles.

“you don’t know? are you delusional or something?” he ask sarcastically and your jaw drops.

“steven what the hell? are you being serious?” you exclaim, and he crosses his arms.

“you know, i only defended you so that it would hurt more” he starts and you get even more confused.

“what are you saying? are you- do you really mean that?”

“why of course i do. you think we mean anything we say?” he takes a step closer to you and you back away.

“scared, love?” he raises an eyebrow and uncrosses his arms.

“you should be. you’re stupid to trust anybody when you’re the way that you are. crazy. delusional” he takes a step closer with every word, you backing up until you’re against a wall.

“psychotic” he grins at you and you furrow your brows.

“this isn’t real” you mutter to yourself, knowing for a fact that this couldn’t actually be happening.

“yes it is, darling” he says the last word with venom laced in his tone.

“no it’s not” you grit out pushing him away from you, and right after you do, the unexpected happens.

steven brought his hand back, and released it to swing right at your face, hitting you right in the cheek.

your eyes widened and you froze up, bringing a hand up to feel where he had hit you.

you blink once, and he was gone, and you find yourself in front of a mirror.

and another blink later, you aren’t in the reflection.

the person that was in the reflection was arthur harrow, smiling at you while you tried your hardest to breath.

“no.. why.. this- you can’t-“

“your time will come, y/n. soon enough” he tells you, and then, it all goes back to black.

~~~

A/N : i’m so so sorry about the weird ending it’s really rushed bc i’m already late at posting but i really do hope you enjoyed it, stay tuned for more :)

see you all in a few days :)

taglist ---

@alexloveskili @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @thebiggestsimpshrimp @guyinachair27 @astrobuzzsstuff @mooonlight-and-stars @moonlighting87 @mateihavenoidea @inactive-things @alondrashultz @femalemarvelself @queenthorin1 @haileymorelikestupid @jvdethirlwall @justtiredandvibing @winterfrostsarmy @themapoftinyperfectthings @littlebird101 @atzlena @httpslinow @arrowurboat @m-brekker @lifeandbandmembers-blog @adamcarlsenslvr @violet-19999 @seninjakitey @bestgirlpip @panic-in-the-multiverse @in-between-the-cafes @branolagar @bl6o6dy @annoyingmarvelreader @bee-a-cool-kid @buzzitsbeee @wintergirlsoilder2 @crow-carcass @you-bloody-shank @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @valiantphantomangel @50shadesofcrocs @rayrlupin @kingshitonly @brekkers-desigirl @hutaos-gh0st @kayane28 @nevaeh-jasso @lizlil @scarabgrant @luvxxee @certainchildmentality @yikesitskennawrites

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starryevermore · 2 years

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Steven grant and chaotic reader, Steven screams? Reader screams louder. Steven has a gun from Marc and drops it? Readers picking it up and throwing it at whatever. Marc…marcs just scared. Jake…Jake is done. (Maybe feature Khonshu as being shocked at how careless the reader is with their action and life) but all are happy that steven - da baby - is protected by reader no matter what.

oopsie daisy ✧ steven grant, marc spector, & jake lockley

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Steven grant and chaotic reader, Steven screams? Reader screams louder. Steven has a gun from Marc and drops it? Readers picking it up and throwing it at whatever. Marc…marcs just scared. Jake…Jake is done. (Maybe feature Khonshu as being shocked at how careless the reader is with their action and life) but all are happy that steven - da baby - is protected by reader no matter what. - anon

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector x jake lockley

word count: 400

warnings?: not proofread

It wasn’t often that you joined the boys on whatever mission Khonshu sent them on. To be quite frank, you were…a bit of a loose canon. And the boys loved that about you—they really, really did—but it often made an already messy situation even worse. Which is not to say you were incapable of taking care of yourself. Quite the contrary, actually. You were fully capable of taking down anything that stood in your way. It’s just…Well, your unconventional methods were surely going to the put the boys in an early grave.

Worse yet, Steven was the one fronting now. Sure, the man had grown in his confidence and in his fighting skills, and was certainly on the same level as Jake and Marc. However, there were still moments where the more timid nature would peak through and one of the others would have to quickly front in order to prevent a complete and utter disaster.

Which was exactly what was happening right now. You and Steven, it seemed, were the perfect storm of pure chaos.

Marc wasn’t entirely sure how Steven ended up fronting in the first place. One second, he was running behind you, trying to make sure that there were no more bad guys following the two of you. The next? Steven was tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground. Which, naturally, was the perfect opportunity for more bad guys to make their appearance.

Steven let out a scream, scrambling back up to his feet, searching desperately for the gun he dropped. You saw it first, the gun having landed a few feet in front of you. For a moment, Marc thought you were going to hand it back to Steven, since you didn’t have a ton of experience with firearms.

To his horror, you let out a scream louder than Steven’s and threw it at the nearest bad guy’s head.

“Oopsie daisy,” you said, “must’ve slipped out of my hand!”

Did she…Did she really just throw the gun?, Jake asked.

“Now run!” you shouted, grabbing Steven’s hand, practically dragging Steven away from the scene.

Suddenly, I understand why her and Steven get along so well, Marc said, watching as you and Steven ducked into a hiding spot, the remaining bad guys running straight past you. But at least they’re both safe now.

But that was my favorite gun!

#steven grant imagine #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x female reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #starrywrites #starryevermore

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ao3feed-irondadspiderson · 5 months

Text

Moon Girl Meets Marvel

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52818970 by CloverTheFox exactly what it says on the tin. Moon girl meets other heroes, vigilantes, and maybe villains(?) in marvel! This is made by ya girl, Froggy! :D Words: 850, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Moon Knight (TV 2022), Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur (Cartoon 2023), Deadpool - All Media Types, Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Loki (TV 2021), Fantastic Four (Movies), Daredevil (TV), X-Men (Movieverse), Wolverine (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Multi, Other Characters: Lunella Lafayette, Casey Calderon, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Peter Quill, Guardians of the Galaxy Team Members (Marvel), Bruce Banner, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Kate Bishop, Steve Rogers, Steven Grant (Marvel), Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Wade Wilson, Frank Castle, Shuri (Marvel), Toussaint | T’Challa (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Johnny Storm, Scott Lang, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Khonshu (Moon Knight), The Beyonder (Marvel), Miriam "Mimi" Lafayette, James "Pops" Lafayette Sr., Adria Lafayette, Devil Dinosaur, James Lafayette Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Devil Dinosaur & Lunella Lafayette, Casey Calderon & Lunella Lafayette, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Lunella Lafayette & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson Additional Tags: X-Men References, This took time to type out, Im tired, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Gun Violence, Technology, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Will update with more tags read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52818970

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

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tiptapricot · 7 months

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ABOUT TWO DAYS LEFT for @marveltrumpshate charity bidding!

Bidding closes October 28th 11:59:59 EST! If you want to donate money to a good cause and get some fanfic from me in return, check out my auction information here. I have two listings! A safe for work listing going up to 5k and an explicit nsfw listing going up to 4k! Both are still only at their base bids so it’s fair game to anyone looking to get a piece 👀

In addition to all the relationships listed on my auctions (including romantic and platonic Moon Knight character dynamics from the show, Lemire, and MacKay, spiderdads/spiderparents/Miguel focus from ATSV, House of Shadows-centric, Khonshu-centric, and Logan x Charles from xmen evolution) I’m also absolutely open to doing stuff from the Spiderman Insomniac games!! Esp anything with Parksborn or Harry/Peter/MJ. Would also love to do some Frank Castle and MK system work, or any Jack Russell and/or Ted Sallis work from the MCU Werewolf by Night special should anyone be interested, whether platonic, romantic, sexual, whatever! If there’s something you’re interested in besides what I list here/on my auctions, just ask!

I love focusing on intimacy, queer and trans explorations, body horror and supernatural exploration, friendship, dynamic growth, alternate timelines and changes of events, 5+1s, grounded intimate encounters, and more. If you’re curious, I’m always open to answering questions about possible prompts or ideas. These auctions are your best shot at getting work from me for my next round of commissions, as they’ll be taking two of my slots in January, so check out my listings and help contribute to a wonderful fan event raising money for good causes! :-D

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unhinged-summer-fun · 2 years

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Danktober 2022 Masterlist

faq link | recap link

Day 01: Chernabog (Slavic Folklore) x Reader Day 02: Joel Miller x Reader Day 03: Chernabog x Reader (delayed)

Day 04: TBAD polycule Day 05: Pero Tovar x Reader Day 06: Frankie Morales x Reader

Day 07: Pero Tovar x Reader Day 08: Joel Miller x Reader Day 09: Marcus Moreno x Reader

Day 10: Frankie Morales x Reader Day 11: Daddy!Agent Whiskey x Reader Day 12: Joel Miller x Reader

Day 13: Puppy!Marcus Pike x Reader Day 14: Din Djarin x Reader Day 15: Joel Miller x Reader

Day 16: Joel Miller x Reader (delayed) Day 17: Max Phillips x Reader (delayed) Day 18: Khonshu (Moon Knight) x Reader (delayed)

Day 19: Puppy!Marcus Pike x Reader Day 20: Daddy!Agent Whiskey x Reader Day 21: Frankie Morales x Reader

Day 22: The Thief x Reader (delayed) Day 23: Frankie Morales x Reader Day 24: Boba Fett x Din Djarin x Fennec Shand

Day 25: Triptych polycule Day 26: Puppy!Marcus Pike x Reader Day 27: Puppy!Marcus Pike & Mesh Network polycule

Day 28: Marcus Moreno x Reader Day 29: Khonshu (Moon Knight) x Reader Day 30: Frank Castle (Punisher) x Reader

Day 31: Joel Miller x Reader

Danktober Weekly Roundup Posts

Week 1: Days 01-07 Week 2: Days 08-14 Week 3: Days 15-21 Week 4: Days 22-31

All of these works are cross-posted to my AO3 account (unhinged_summer_fun) with the exception of the Farmer Joel AU (which is getting its own multichapter fic treatment soon) and Day 29 (it's a deleted scene from Day 18 and I figured it'd just be nice to have for my Tumblr crowd anyway). The snippets posted for Danktober 2022 will remain up even after the story starts posting. After the event is finished, I’ll distribute the works into my masterlist links for future ease of access. (I've already started doing this, there's some unlinked placeholders all over my main masterlist)

Thanks for reading!

#unhingery #danktober 2022 #masterlist

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nadja-antipaxos · 1 year

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FAN FICTION MASTERLIST

OC MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

HAVE A REQUEST?

18+ only (to be safe)

+ = Work in Progress

[C] = Completed

❤️‍🔥 flaming heart emoji = Smut

🩸 blood drop = Canon Typical Violence (never explicit)

❤️‍🩹 bandaged heart = Mentions darker themes (never explicit)

E means rated explicit so minors DO NOT INTERACT ( DNI )

**All my fics are listed on AO3 including fandoms not listed here such as Barry (HBO) and Veep. **

DEFENDING JACOB

Log kya kahenge (Andy Barber/Desi!OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: On the worst night of his life, Andy Barber meets Dr. Rashana Rao. A year later they meet again and he asks her out. The odds are against them with her parents' wish for an arranged marriage and his own feelings about his past. (Oneshot) [C] ❤️‍🔥 AO3 || TUMBLR

GIFTED

Don’t Let Me Down (Frank Adler/OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: Mary befriends a literature professor at the university who catches Frank's eye, Samantha Harris. She teases him and Frank falls hard when he least expects it. (Oneshot) [C] ❤️‍🔥 AO3 || TUMBLR

GHOSTBUSTERS

All My Pictures of You (Egon Spengler/OFC) - TEEN

Summary: After the destruction of Gozer, Callie Spengler decides to read her parents' journals to understand their doomed romance in their own words. (Oneshot) [C] AO3 || TUMBLR

MARVEL

AVENGERS

but it's golden, like daylight (Steve Rogers/OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: After protecting her from the Mandarin’s men, Steve Rogers becomes friends with benefits with Tony's little sister, Nicolette Stark. What was supposed to be a little fun becomes much more than what they originally bargained for. Post 2012 The Avengers through Endgame. (Multi-chapter)+ ❤️‍🔥 🩸 AO3 || TUMBLR

MOON KNIGHT

the eye of the moon (Moon Boys System x Layla x Desi!OFC)

Summary: Ash Rajul serves the goddess Sekhmet as her avatar working to keep the most vulnerable safe. 3 years ago, she had a falling out with Khonshu’s former avatar, Arthur Harrow, and seeks to keep the world safe from his vengeance. Marc Spector doesn’t trust her, Steven Grant is enamored with her, and Layla El-Faouly is her former lover who wants her help. They better figure it out because somebody’s gotta save the world.(Multi-chapter) [C] ❤️‍🔥 🩸 ❤️‍🩹 AO3 || TUMBLR

MULTI-FANDOM PROMPTS

FALL 2022 PROMPTS

STAR WARS

Gold Eyes (Din Djarin/OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: Din’s ongoing rivalry with his least favorite bounty hunter becomes something else once the kid enters the picture.(Oneshot) [C] ❤️‍🔥 AO3 || TUMBLR

STRIPES

Rebel Rebel (Russell Ziskey/OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: Before he enlists, Russell Ziskey has an amazing one-night stand and wakes up alone. To his surprise, 18 months later, she interviews him and John about their rescue and doesn't seem to remember him at all. (Oneshot) [C] ❤️‍🔥 AO3 || TUMBLR

SUCCESSION

Can’t Make You Happier Now (Kendall Roy/Desi!OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: Nearly twenty years ago, Kendall Roy made Nisha Asuri a promise to rule the world with her. The son of a media mogul and the sister of two tech wunderkinds. The most formidable power couple New York has ever seen. That was the deal. So, she did her part. Built her reputation as a ruthless corporate lawyer. Had his children. Stayed with him through the highest highs and lowest lows. She deserves to win not realizing that nothing goes as planned when your partner is Kendall Roy. (Multi-chapter) [C] ❤️‍🔥 ❤️‍🩹 AO3 || TUMBLR

TED LASSO

under the mistletoe (Ted Lasso/OFC) - MATURE

Summary: Ted develops a crush on one of Rebecca's famous friends, so Rebecca invites her to a Christmas party. (Oneshot) [C] AO3 || TUMBLR

mirrorball (Ted Lasso/Desi!OFC) - EXPLICIT

Summary: Ted develops a budding friendship with a single mom who happens to be a popular romance author, Priyala Kumari. Her eldest barely knows who he is while her youngest is a Richmond super fan and the most aggressive player on Phoebe's team. Priyala knows even less than he does about football, loves tea (chai), and has the sweetest laugh he's ever heard. She likes Ted just as much but wants to support him as his friend. Until they get matched on bantr. (Multi-chapter) [C] ❤️‍🔥 AO3 || TUMBLR

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bigbadripley · 1 year

Text

Chapter 3 - Self Control

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!Female!OC, Friend!Matt Murdock

Summery: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT | Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Alcohol mention, body issues, heavy flirtation

Words: 2.3K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List

"Now and then, you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights, you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control" -"Self Control" by Frank Ocean

Jake's suspicions were confirmed as he watched Simone enter the gala arm-in-arm with Horns, wearing his usual ketchup and mustard colors but in a suit jacket. The man looked hideous and likely didn't look in the mirror before showing up to this shindig.

Simone, on the other hand, looked incredible. Her gown was dark green and velvet, form-fitting, and the back hung just above the dip before her rear. It hugged every curve and was complimented by a golden leaf crown in her dark hair. A goddess in every sense of the word.

She immediately noticed Mr. Knight in his usual get-up: all-white suit and mask, but to his credit, this suit looked slightly more polished than the normal one and was paired with a long dress cape. She couldn't say much, though, as the black and white paisley print suit she wanted to wear was stained by coffee an hour before this thing even started.

The tables were round, with 6 seats each, and dawned silver cloths. Simone led Matt by his arm, reading each nameplate to find where they would be seated as the lights dimmed and the host, Emma Frost, took the stage to address everyone. They took their seats, and a small ring of feedback from the mic got the attention of the partygoers.

"I am so happy that you all could make it tonight. A lot of familiar faces, some new, also..."

As Emma spoke, Simone noticed her table neighbor belatedly took their seat to her left. The section was so dark she couldn't make out the face. Whoever they were, they smelled like sandalwood and citrus. The distracting smell almost made it hard to concentrate on the words being said by the woman on stage.

"Speeches like this are always such a drag." Her left-hand neighbor whispered, leaning over slightly. His voice was like the smoothest gravel pit, deep and rich. Every bit of his game was in that baritone, and he knew it.

So, the mystery Old Spice Man wants to chat? She thought.

"Tell me about it." She said with a slight snicker. In the corner of her eye, she noticed his shadow grow slightly closer, introducing his scent to her senses more.

"...But most importantly, enjoy the gala!" Emma finished, prompting everyone in attendance to clap and the lights to come back. Simone looked at the man next to her to find that, like Matt, he was a mask type but one that she recognized by reputation and fortunately didn't have as a patient.

The one generally referred to as Spidey wore a dark blue mask with white eyes, red details, and a dark blue tailored suit. "Wait, you're that therapist. I have a friend who goes to you. Simone Fredrick, right?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah? But I'm a psychiatrist," She corrected, intending to sound playful and immediately kicking herself in the ass at how it came out. The man's hands came up in surrender,

"Right, my mistake."

"Sorry if that sounded super pretentious of me."

"No, don't worry about it. Defend your position, Doc. You worked hard to get there." He told her as if speaking from experience. She appreciated it but saw he was looking at her right side before she could talk. "So, your date's the devil himself."

"S-Man." Matt greeted him with a nod, having been acquainted with him several times.

"I'm his plus one." Simone quickly corrected again to not give him the impression that she was on a date.

"I see, so no super-powered boyfriends to worry about?" The mask asked. Simone couldn't tell, but she swore she could hear him smile. Murdock stood first and held his arm out for her to take.

"Just my league of seven evil exes." She answered with a chuckle that Spidey met with his own. She stood and smoothed out her dress, "I'm kidding. I do have an ex here, but he's nothing to worry about since we're just having a friendly conversation."

Simone took Matt's elbow and watched from the corner of her eye as the masked man stood. Murdock tipped his thumb to his mouth, signaling her to cut it short and take him for a drink. "I'll see you around. Try not to miss me too much." She told teasingly.

"And what if I do? Miss you too much?" S-Man asked, taking her flirting and tossing it right back at her. The charisma of this man was something otherworldly to Simone, and it was deliciously refreshing.

"Come find me." She offered a wink before turning and walking with Matt for refreshments.

I'm fucking back, baby! She thought to herself, feeling suddenly giddy.

"30 minutes in, you're already flirting with the masked types," Murdock said as they sauntered. To Simone, there was nothing wrong with a bit of flirting. Completely harmless and doesn't mean anything unless the man actually does come find her.

"What? He's funny!" She defended. She imagined if she could see Murdock's eyes, he would roll them at her. If he wasn't blind, she might just as well assume he's seen Spidey's face before. She wondered if anyone else might have.

"Your heart damn near left your chest when you talked to him." He added, rubbing his ultra-sensitive senses in her face.

"Are you serious? Should've read my mind." S

"You know I can't, doc," Matt said, stopping them both and sticking his nose in the air. "Jen's here,"

He no doubt could smell her from across the room, weirdly enough. Jen spotted them both before Simone started looking for her and watched as the gorgeous green woman in a two-piece purple outfit made her way over.

"Simone, what the fuck! You look so hot!" She exclaimed before her eyes darted to the man on her arm. "And you look... presentable, Double D."

"Funny, Simone said the same thing." He responded, removing his elbow from Simone's hand and gesturing it to Jen. "May I?"

The pair walked to the bar, chatting as Simone looked around a room full of people she either knew as patients or didn't know at all. A man walked by with a tray in hand, and she took one of the numerous glasses it contained and sniffed it, concluding that it was minty water instead of liquor and sipping it delightfully.

"Fancy seeing you here, darling." She heard a familiar voice say as she felt a tender hand on her tailbone. Her mouth twisted in an attempt to not blush as Mr. Knight, in the flavor of Steven Grant, came into view.

"Probably not that fancy."

"You look awfully fancy. I told you that dress was perfect."

"And you look blindingly white." She told him in a tone that sounded much nastier than she intended. She couldn't see his face but knew that Steven would have frowned at that.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked softly. Simone felt a string in her heart snap at the question, knowing she always had difficulty being angry with referred to as her sweetheart.

"No, not you, Stevie." She admitted with a sigh. There was a brief silence between them as Jake pushed his way through.

"Not me either, then, right?"

"No. Not you, either." She answered. She hoped they would understand that. Jake understood, getting into enough mental fights with Marc over it that they almost felt physically pained after.

"Se esta escondiendo de nuevo," Jake informed her that he was hiding quietly, knowing Simone would know he was referring to Marc and hoping she could consider spending some time with him in his absence.

May's well go into business for me. He thought.

It was a tempting, unspoken offer. His hand was still in place as she felt his gloved touch burn into the bare skin of her back while goosebumps rose from the chills. The leather fingertips glided a bit to her side and between where the plunge and her skin met. Her mind was in the gutter, or rather, back in the taxi in London where they met and subsequently touched for the first time.

That's it, doll. Tell me what you want. The soundbite replayed in her memories and weakened her knees.

She would have Jake or Steven back between her hips in a heartbeat. Hell, under the right circumstances, or if she was feeling especially immoral, she'd take Marc also, but Simone couldn't bring herself to crack.

"Best of luck, then. I'm gonna enjoy the party. Have fun vampire hunting." She said in a fluster as she left the conversation before being dragged any deeper into the black hole she had trouble escaping the first time.

The feeling of his hand lingered on the small of her back even after she was feet away from the man in white. Things would be different if this was as simple as her just being mad at Marc. It wasn't that easy anymore.

Fuck, I'd kill for a splash of tequila right now. She thought as she took a sip of the refreshment and made a face at the idea of the smell or taste of tequila. Or a splash of the S-Man. That could be interesting.

Simone perked back up as she watched her friends return with champagne glasses in hand, laughing. They used to sleep together but fell off, with Jen spending more time on the West Coast and now recently making her return.

"How'd that go?" Jen asked, referring to her chat with Mr. Knight, which she undoubtedly saw from across the room.

"About as well as expected. I didn't cave, though, so that must count for something."

"You're getting stronger. Practicing Self-Control." Jen told her, sounding proud before she leaned down a bit like they were sharing secrets. "And what's this I hear about Spider-Man?"

Damn you, Murdock!

"Just some banter, nothing crazy." Simone brushed it off. It felt like more than that, but she didn't want to call it anything else.

"Let's hope he's not a 20-year-old, right?" Jen joked, referring to her date with Kate. Simone's eyes widened at this, realizing it was possible, given the mask part, and gagged.

Damn you, Jennifer!

The night continued as planned. They played craps and danced before Simone and Murdock decided to call it a night; Simone had a day job, and Murdock had his patrols to do. More than that, she wasn't having a good time watching everyone with the genetic capacity to get drunk get belligerent.

"I listened in on your chat with Mr. Knight. I hope you don't mind." Matt admitted once they were standing outside the entrance of his place. She shrugged,

"Not much was said, so I'm not too worried about that."

"I read between the lines a bit," Murdock said with a nervous chuckle. This piqued Simone's curiosity.

"And by that, you mean...?"

"He had you on the ropes. Your heart was going a mile a minute and changed patterns between lust and fear, you started sweating, your breathing slowed, not to mention what was going on wit-"

"I get it, Matt. It was a moment." She cut him off abruptly. If he could see her, he would know she was trying everything she could to not blush with embarrassment. She always tried to put on a brave face, and to tumble as far as she did tonight was humiliating.

"Are you over him as much as you say you are?"

"I'm over him enough to walk away from stuff like that now, whereas a few months ago, I don't think I would have toughed it out," Simone explained. Matt slightly nodded in response, believing her but having doubts.

"I guess I'll let you get home then, Simone. Have a good night."

When Simone returned to her apartment, she tossed her heels off and glared at the suit she meant to wear tonight with a frown. The dress she ended up with was one she bought for the last gala and didn't attend because she panicked at the sight of herself in it.

"Just go without me." She told Marc after yanking it off her body and exchanging it for her pajamas. Simone habitually shied away from events she wanted to look good for. Marc had just gotten his suit on and looked handsome and damn-near angelic. A suit as bright white as that one was bound to draw attention to him and, in turn, draw eyes to Simone. She didn't want to be looked at.

"What? No! If you don't go, I don't go." Marc said, entering the room to find her dressed down again.

"You're the one who was invited. Really, babe, I don't mind."

"Is it about the dress?" He asked. She stayed silent, knowing it sounded far more convoluted than she thought. It was backless, sleeveless, and she loved it at first, but hated it tonight for the first time.

Marc sighed and knelt in front of where she sat on the couch, taking her hands into his and resting his chin on her knuckles. "Remember when I said you'd be in a room of dozens of freaks with a ton of other issues to worry about?"

"I do, but it's not just that." She replied with a heavy sigh. "That dress made me feel like a princess before. Now I just feel out of place in it."

He could see the disappointment on her face, and though he didn't fully understand how she could be so self-conscious, he knew she didn't see herself how he saw her. Simone only saw the dark, tiger-stripped markings up and down her arms, legs, face, and neck.

"Then I'm not doing my job right. That's it; we'll stay in, and I'll remind you just who the hell you are, Moni."

She eyed herself in the mirror as that thought replayed. She looked good and knew she wasn't the only one who thought so, scarring be damned.

Indeed, Marc. You did remind me who the hell I am.

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