#steven regal x reader

[regalityandcoffee]

𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓡𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓵

Words Of Encouragement (18+) (Lord Steven Regal x Reader)

Warmth (Bret Hart x Lord Steven Regal x Reader)

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

Lord Steven Regal SFW Headcanon Alphabet, parts N-Z (Here's parts A-M by @kayfabebabe!

[kayfabebabe]

SFW Alphabet - Lord Steven

This is my half of a collaboration with the amazing @regalityandcoffee over our shared love of Lord Steven. Here you’ll find letters A to M. 

You can find Regality’s half right - HERE  Go and read her half right now! 

~ ~ ~ 

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

From an outsiders perspective, Lord Steven Regal is the furthest thing from an affectionate man. He is far too preoccupied with his public image to let himself accept and give affection as openly as others. A stiff upper-lip must be kept at all times. Privately, he is surprisingly affectionate with his partner. Leaving sweet notes on their bedside table, regularly gifting them fresh flowers and planning impromptu dates. 

B = Books (Are they a bookworm? What is their favourite genre?) 

The Lord’s illiteracy is a closely guarded secret. Throughout the years, he has learnt how to maintain the idea that he is a well-educated man when, in reality, he struggled to write his own name. It takes an immense amount of time for Steven to trust his partner enough to divulge this information to them. They don’t poke fun or act outraged. He is met only with their compassion and want to help him. A private tutor is quietly hired and, in a month, the first carefully written note appears on their bedside table. It’s short and simple, but the meaning behind the shaky words are incredible. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

There are a handful of people in the world who can proudly say that they’ve been cuddled by Lord Steven Regal. And all of them would happily agree that he loves to cuddle, despite some denial from the man himself. He is the first to reach over after settling into bed for the night with his partner in hopes of completely enveloping them in his arms. Gentle fingers would brush through their hair or trace light shapes into their skin. Even if they’re not ready to fall asleep yet, Steven will hold them and they’d speak softly to each other without breaking the peace of the moment. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

There is one thing certain in this world: Lord Steven doesn’t know the first thing about cooking. Growing up, there were dozens of servants working in his family’s manor to handle those tasks. He is absolutely astonished when his partner shows off their culinary skills in the kitchen and pleads with them to teach him the basics of cooking. There is something undeniably endearing about Steven’s obvious enthusiasm for knowledge. HIs partner doesn’t force the Lord to struggle through reading an actual written recipe. Instead, they relay their favourite childhood from memory, not precisely measuring the ingredients or setting any strict timers. The finished dish almost brings Steven to tears because he can feel the love poured into it. He can taste it. And in the dozens and dozens of culinary masterpieces  that Steven has had, not one has tasted that good. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Steven is, if nothing else, a gentleman. He isn’t the type of man to write his partner a short, discourteous note to explain his decision or simply disappear into the sunset without a word. Even when finishing short-term trysts, he simply can not forget his manners. So, when ending an extended relationship with a partner, Steven would sit them down to have a mature conversation, face-to-face. 

“Darling. I can’t begin to tell you the full extent of my happiness over the course of our relationship. But, I believe that it’s time for us to part ways…” 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Commitment is a slightly sensitive subejct for his Lordship. Due to the circumstances of his youth; Steven was always lead to believe that he NEEDED to get married and he NEEDED to have children. He grew to slightly resent the idea of marriage and settling down which is why he experienced the odd affair before meeting his partner. Then, he begins to understand why people get married. It takes Steven some time to accept and openly express these feelings to his partner, but when he does tell them, it’s a precious moment. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

The best way to describe Steven is carefully brutish. He isn’t afraid of laying his hands on someone or verbally besmirching them, but there’s always a softness to him. A delicate nature that he only allows to flourish in the privacy of his home with his partner. If his partner is ever upset about something, Steven will wrap them in his arms in order to comfort them or listen closely if they simply need to get something off their chest. They once cut their finger whilst preparing dinner and Steven insisted that they sat on the counter beside the sink whilst he carefully bandaged them. It is remarkable to see such acts of tenderness from a man as tall and broad as Lord Steven. 

H = Happy Memory (What is one of their happiest memories with their partner?) 

It was when Lord Steven was forced to attend some boring family business in England and he was able to convince his partner to accompany him on the trip. They seemed rather excited to visit his homeland as well as the chance to learn more about his fascinating culture. However, the excitement was quickly lost when they reached the airport. It took nearly an hour of panicking in the lounge for Steven’s partner to admit that they were terrified of flying, but they wanted to come with him to England anway. 

Things became worse after they boarded the plane. Seated together in first-class; Steven tried to soothe his partner by reciting Shakespearean monologues that he was forced to learn as a young boy. It didn’t work. He recounted a humorous story of one of the horses. Again, it had no positive effect. Out of slight desperation, Steven pulled his partner into his lap and held them to his chest whilst telling them of the things that he missed most about England. The genuine warmth behind his voice and the security of his arms miraculously worked on easing his partner’s anxiety. So much so that his partner remained asleep for the entire flight. Steven didn’t care or, even, notice the sideways glances from the flight attendants and other passengers as he was too focused on ensuring his partner remained calm. 

After a wonderful week together in England, it was time for the return flight to America. Once the seat-belt sign was switched off and they were allowed to move inside the place, Steven didn’t hesitate in guiding his partner into his lap again. They slept for the entire journey. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes a while for Lord Steven to feel comfortable to say ‘I love you’ to his partner. He doesn’t try to ignore his feelings for them, but he can’t force himself to say those three specific words. So he finds subtle ways to express himself without having to say them.

“I find you rather remarkable.” “You’ve bewitched me.” “I’m partial to your company.” 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh dear. One of the Lordship’s few flaws is his tendency to become jealous. It is more likely to happen at the beginning of a new relationship when he hasn’t settled into it and learnt to trust his new partner. Much of the jealousy stems from believing that somebody better than him - somebody more handsome, richer and smarter - will take them away. When this happens, Steven retreats into himself and withdraws. He becomes lost in his own head. It takes a great deal of patience and gentle reassurance by his partner for Steven to return to normal. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The very first kiss that Steven ever gives his partner is a polite kiss to the back of their hand whilst being introduced to each other. It is a sweet gesture. One that leaves his partner’s cheeks pink and warm. The next is a small peck to their cheek. Still polite. Steven is always polite, even behind closed doors with his partner. Before their first ‘real’ kiss, he lowers his voice to a gentle whisper and quietly asks for permission. 

Slow. Sweet. Lingering.  It doesn’t quicken or deepen until Steven feels his partner pulling him closer by a hand on the back of his neck. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

‘Wretched urchins’ is how Steven once described children. They are loud, rude and, oftentimes, inexplicably sticky beings. There is, of course, immense pressure from his family to raise an heir for the ‘Regal’ name to continue. The subject of having children with his partner isn’t brought up until somebody lays their baby in Steven’s arms. Wide, unblinking eyes stare at him from the bundle of soft blankets. Steven stares back as something frozen cracks deep in his chest. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

His Lordship is rather a lazy creature in the morning. He spends as much time as possible in bed before he forces himself out from underneath the covers and searches for the nearest source of caffeine. This slow, leisurely approach continues throughout the entire morning. The only exception is made when Steven’s partner asks him to accompany them to the morning market in search for something special for their dinner. They are the only person who can coax him out of bed before sunrise although their efforts are often successful due to the promise of coffee and a few kisses. 

[moonlight-prose]

Heyy I never send requests because honestly I can’t explain what I mean but can you do

*hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you* from the fritz gerald sentence starter list with steven grant

I loveeeee the way you write him 🥰

THE WAY THINGS CHANGE

a/n: thank you so much darling! i've been off my writing game for awhile. but i was listening to the head and the heart last night and gained some much needed inspo for steven. only to find this perfect request sitting in my inbox yet to be answered. so i hope you enjoy this late response.

summary: memories of steven grant haunted you like a history you could not change. they were your dreams, nightmares, and wishes that never came true.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: steven grant x reader

warnings: none, angst, my attempts at being a writer again, idk this is probably not very good so be warned.

The sky was set aflame as the minutes and seconds ticked by. Your mug filled with cheap wine sat on the edge of the roof, your hands clasped around it. You wondered if you imagined hard enough that maybe the liquid would burn hot. Would it turn to coffee? The same type you had with him. Would the sun fade to a soothing darkened sky, scattered with very few stars and even fewer wishes. 

His smile was an object of permanence in your mind's eye. The quirk of his lips, the pink hue that fell into a pout of confusion. Even if it was just to show he was listening.

Although when it came to Steven, he always listened.

If you shut your eyes—imagined a night sky of infinity and constellations and stars not yet wished upon—you could see him. You could feel the way his curls twined around your fingers. The soft brown was somehow your favorite hair color now. You never knew you had one until him. They became a staple when you remembered him. The singular trait you latched onto when you could no longer trace the shape of his face, the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose.

“What’s your favorite thing about the night sky?” you asked on a whim. The coffee perked you up slightly. Bitter and grainy on your tongue but perfect nonetheless. It allowed you to stand there at least, to stay awake as his own mind fought against the exhaustion that no doubt riddled his bones.

He never complained though.

Never told you that he lived on barely enough; that his mind was a place of chaos he’d been privy to for quite some time. You saw him as much as you could, but sometimes time never seemed to work in your favor. Time seemed to be intent on keeping the two of you apart.

He smiled—bright enough to put a sunset to shame. “The moon.”

“Of course,” you huffed.

His life wasn’t a secret to you. Steven—ever the man to consider others emotions—made sure to be upfront with you. As much as he possibly could of course. But some secrets were simply not his to tell, not a history he could divulge. So he made up in whispered words of lands that existed centuries ago. In stories that bridged the gap between humanity and the past. He regaled you with the history he could speak aloud with the hope that it would be enough.

That you’d be okay with just that.

“Tell me yours love.”

Somehow breath turned nonexistent around Steven. Your default had become to live eternally without it. Not that you minded much. Breathing was no longer a necessity when you yearned for the sensation that came without it. The skipped beat of your heart, the warmth that spread through your stomach, and the love you felt spark along each nerve and each limb.

With Steven you felt like you existed on a different plane. Problems were nonexistent. Humanity became an afterthought, and the possibility of anything flourished like a flower at the start of spring. Bright and beautiful and full of endless potential.

You’d describe your relationship with Steven that way. A perfect replica of that actually, but every now and then life collided with your shining star, knocking away the wish before you could make it. Steven held your hope in his open and inviting palms, yet the thought of permanency with him…felt further away with each passing day. He couldn’t remain. He could barely stay for the moments spent awake together.

“The stars,” you whispered, casting your gaze out onto the sea of tiny shining sparks in the sky. An endless amount of them out in space, yet so few shone in the night sky.

“For the wishes?”

You smiled. “I guess so.”

Oblivious to you, he had moved closer, his leg centimeters away from brushing against yours. “What are you wishing for tonight?”

Could you tell him? Could you reveal that your mind—your heart—was set on him. After all this time it would always be him. Steven had sunk into your life as one would fall to the bottom of a river. Softly, smoothly, until your breath slipped free in a thousand tiny bubbles. Yet you held the option to come up for air; you had every choice layed out in front of you.

When it came to Steve though…sinking was the choice you’d make every time. You’d rather drown in his sweetness than live without it. A fact that you’d come to terms with months ago.

“You tell me,” you replied, your eyes meeting his. So full of life, so full of hope. It nearly broke your heart in two.

He smiled. “It’s not really a wish.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s…uh…” He tapped his finger on his leg. A subtle beat of morse code, each letter spelled out before your very eyes. You caught the makings of an L and an O, but the echo of his cough dragged your attention away. “It’s hard.”

“What’s hard?” you breathed.

He cleared his throat, a hint of crimson spilling onto the tops of his cheeks. “Hard to sit here and be so close to you, and not kiss you.”

Your stomach swooped, breath escaping your lungs faster than you could suck it in. Yet you still held his gaze. You kept it like a closely guarded secret; dug your fingers and nails into its makeup hoping that some part would remain once this moment ended. Once you were alone again, yearning for him to return. That was the thing about Steven though. You never had to hold on so tight, because without knowing it, he was already embedded in your heart. He was a part of your DNA.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, leaning a bit closer. The heat of your mug seared into the skin of your palms, but you ignored it for favor of the burning ache that spread through your stomach. Until it wrapped tightly around your heart.

Like a vice you’d never be able to escape.

“No?”

You shook your head, leaned even closer, and watched his eyes flick down to your lips. “Guess you figured out my wish.”

He let out a breath, shaky and warm, and you nearly collapsed as it washed across your face. Perhaps he wanted to say more, or maybe you should have been the one to keep talking, but Steven was never one to keep you waiting. He yearned for you like the moon did the sun. An ongoing cycle of passing one another by, until nothing remained but your simple silly little wishes scattered across the sky.

He held onto each one with reverence. With the patience of a man who knew that your time together would come. You’d flourish together, pass across one another. Even if it was for a brief amount of time. Steven had always been your wish, your eclipse that was yet to come, yours in more ways than you could imagine.

Cupping your cheek, he tugged you close enough until his nose pressed to your skin, his shaky breath an indication that he felt just as nervous as you. That this small moment of time was anticipated with a fervor you’d never understand. His lips met yours, barely there at first, a soft brush of skin against skin. You felt hesitant, scared that he wouldn’t want more than this.

Until you heard him groan. Broken and long and absolutely withering. He tugged you closer, his lips slotting against yours rougher than before. And you felt the heat spill searingly into your chest, a soft moan bubbling to the surface to echo in the night air. He swallowed it with ease, his fingers lightly digging into your cheek, hand moving to press into your waist. You could still taste his nerves on your tongue, feel the way his body remained slightly tense, but with each touch of your skin to his he began to loosen.

He bloomed for you right there on that balcony with the moon as your only witness.

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks, the sunlight spilling back into your vision as you finally opened your eyes again. Sunset melted into dusk, the soft hues of blue and purple streaking across the sky. Until you could see the moon begin to rise in the east. A glimmer of the man that once held your heart in his.

The creak of the roof door echoed behind you. Probably another tenet coming to admire the view. You gathered your mug, wiped the flow of tears that refused to stop, and moved to give them the space. You’d seen enough of the moon for one night. There was no reason you had to stick around to pick out hopeless stars and lost dreams. That would remain in the past with the rest of your memories.

“What are you wishing for tonight love?”

The breath caught in your throat, eyes wide as you whirled around to face what you assumed would be a figment of your imagination—a cruel trick of your mind. Yet there he stood. Wearing different clothes, and holding a different demeanor, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

You smiled slightly, your fingers tightening around the mug. “You tell me.”

[jobean12-blog]

The Shadow of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Fairytale/Vampire AU, soft!dark)

Word Count: 6,017

Summary: James has spent many of his long years in despair...until he finds you. 

Author’s Note: This is for @boxofbonesfic “Once Upon a Time” celebration and 10K milestone! Congratulations lovely and thank you for hosting! 💕This is also for Lilo and Aqua’s “Myths and Legends” writing challenge @sparkledfirecracker @tumblin-theworldaway thank you both for hosting!💕 The fairytale that inspired this is Beauty and the Beast. I also have references to the book Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I used a lot of Vampire myth and legend, including some form of magic-charming- to keep the reader under control. James and his companions are definitely from a different era of time than the reader and they come off kind of fancy for that reason. 

Warnings: mentions of b-loo-d, mind c-ontrol and magic charming, k-id-napping, built up tension, moments of f-ea-r, s-ucking b-loo-d, b-iting, but there is some softness laced in between all of it (18+ONLY)-if I miss any please let me know :)

The banner above is mine. It’s terrible because I’m terrible at banners. The edit on the left was made by my dear friend Nix, which is the opposite of terrible, it’s amazing 💕This photo below is all Seb, I take no credit for his gorgeousness. 

The last rays of a dying sun filter through the ornate stained-glass windows of the estate and cast shimmers of fading color upon the dusty stone floor. The only other light is from a pair of blue eyes, so startling, they rival the beauty of the ancient artwork adorning the walls.

“You are sulking again,” a voice calls from the back of the room.

It receives no answer and there is no sound of footsteps as the other approaches, materializing next to the set of blue eyes.

“Are you going to spend all of eternity in this constant state of shadow?” the new voice asks.

James turns to his companion, the years of their friendship spread out over centuries, and asks, “isn’t that the very nature of our existence?”

Steven only stares ahead in answer before placing a placating hand on James’ shoulder. “You have the power to take what you want. You must make a choice. Stop lingering in this…purgatory.”

James only nods before his legs begin to vaporize and tendrils of dark mist crawl up his long body. His eyes are the last thing Steven sees, the blue piercing the black cloud before James is gone.

Steven drops his head then turns on his heel, walking briskly from the large room.

The bar is busier than usual tonight, full of tourists regaling in their visit and drunk locals cheering them on. You run from table to table, dodging sloshing pints and groping hands. When you finally find yourself back behind the bar you let out a long exhale and lean on the counter, smiling when your friend the bartender dashes past you for more glasses.

“Really hopping tonight,” Matt yells with a smile.

You laugh with an exaggerated wipe of your brow then grab your glass of cool water for a nice long drink. You take no notice of the pair of stunning blue eyes that follow your every move, their owner cloaked in shadow and hidden from the sight of most.

In the next hours that pass many of the patrons become too drunk to carry on a conversation and the travelers move on, so the bar is now quiet and you have time for your favorite activity. You reach under the bar top and retrieve your book, a smile gracing your features as you sit and open to your bookmark.

“Reading again?” Matt asks as he grabs himself a drink of water.

“Always,” you answer without looking up.

He’s silent for several moments until he leans down to whisper along your ear, “that man over there…he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. Do you know him?”

You keep your head down as if you are still reading but slowly lift your eyes and search the room. At first you see nothing and your brow furrows in confusion.

“Matt, I don’t see…” you start to whisper, stopping short when your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the man he speaks of.

It’s as if the world around you fades away and you’re consumed by the presence of this stranger. Your breathing slows and at first all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, until his voices penetrates the veil, smooth like silk even as you stare at lips unmoving. It frightens you but you can’t seem to break away and it feels as though you’re being pulled toward him by an invisible string.

“Hey!” you suddenly hear your body shaking under the force of Matt’s hands.

You gasp loudly and grab hold of Matt’s arm, turning to him with wide and panicked eyes.

“You ok?” Matt asks, much more softly now, his features etched with concern.

“I…,” you start and swing your head back in the direction of the stranger but he seems to have disappeared into thin air. “I think so.”

Matt follows your line of sight and whispers, his shock evident, “he’s gone.”

You swallow hard and cling to Matt with trembling hands. “I swear it was like I was under a spell,” you say quietly.

“It looked like you were in a trance,” Matt explains before handing you more water.

“Have you seen him before?” Matt asks.

You don’t answer right away, a chill running down your spine as your mind races.

“I don’t know…it all felt eerily familiar but I never even got a look at him.”

“Did you frighten her again?” Steven grins when James pushes through the large double doors of the estate with a loud bang.

James shoots him a cold glare and Steven’s grin fades.

“She is always with that young man…Matt” James states, his distaste obvious in the way he says the name. “Who is he? Why does she stay with him?”

Steven waits before answering, clearly formulating a careful response.

“I have seen him,” Steven answers. “You have mentioned they work together…perhaps they are just friends.”

“She isn’t in love with him,” James states after a prolonged silence. “But he is in love with her.”

Steven takes a step toward James, resting both of his hands on James’ broad shoulders.

“Do not make any thoughtless actions James,” Steven warns. “You don’t want to lose her before you even have her.”

“You think she would be upset if I…disposed of him?”

James’ question makes Steven raise his brows with a wry smile.

“Fine…I won’t kill him,” James sighs. “But I will not allow him to stand in the way of what’s mine.”

The next few nights of work are uneventful and slow and by the time the weekend rolls around you’ve almost finished your book.

You feel his presence before you see him, a warm rush of awareness overwhelming your senses. You lift your gaze from the page and meet his incredible blue eyes. He’s handsome in a way that’s arresting and your heart starts to beat faster.

“Hello doll,” the man greets.

You stare at him, your mouth curving into a cautious smile.

He smiles back, his plush red lips spreading wide over white teeth.

“Have we met before?” you muse as you openly study him.

“I don’t believe so,” he answers. “I would never forget such a beautiful creature.”

Your eyes linger on his handsome features, his eyes standing out above all else, before you lower your lashes at his compliment.

“Can I get you a drink?” you ask, as you close your book and hide it back under the bar.

“Please,” he says. “Red wine.”

You nod and go about pouring him some, setting the glass down carefully and noting how his long and thick fingers curl seductively around the stem.

“What book has you so captivated?” he asks as he swirls the liquid around the glass.  

“Frankenstein,” you answer. “Have you read it?”

“I have.”

You instantly brighten at his answer and hold out your hand to introduce yourself. He takes it, filled with a sudden delirious hope as he dips his head to brush his cool lips across your knuckles.

Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the feel of his lips but thankfully you recover by the time he lifts his eyes back to yours.

“A pleasure doll. I’m James. James Barnes.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the recognition of his name.

“James,” you repeat in a soft murmur and he tenses at how keenly he wants to hear his name on your perfect lips again and again.

“So I do know you…sort of.”

You’d heard stories of the famous family but you always assumed they were nothing more than that…stories.

“You may have heard my name before, yes,” he acknowledges, “but I assure you that whatever you’ve heard isn’t quite the truth.

“Guess I’ll just have to find out for myself,” you reply.

James steels himself, hiding his pleasure at your words with a swift change of topic.

“How do you like the book so far?” he asks.

“I love it! It’s hauntingly beautiful and sad. I’m almost finished.”

With an agreeable nod he launches into a perfectly articulated and clever review of the book, much to your delight and you find yourself completely engrossed with his every word.

“You must come and see my library,” James tells you. “I have an extensive collection.”

You sigh at the thought, resting your elbows on the bar and leaning in close to him.

“I’d love that more than anything. I’ve always dreamed of having my very own library.”

His eyes flash, silver against his pale skin, and he brushes his fingers down your arm.

“You are most welcome any time doll. I think you would find my home has many things you would enjoy.”

Matt loudly calls your name, his tone sharp, and it startles you.

“Need some help down here,” he repeats, eyeing you suspiciously.

You pull yourself away from James, feeling slightly lightheaded but managing a smile.

“I apologize but I need to go help…”

“Of course doll,” James says smoothly, gritting his teeth with anger at the interruption.

“Perhaps I may request your presence at the ball I’m hosting next week. I can show you my library.”

You can’t hide your surprise at his invitation, your eyes filled with nervous anticipation.

“If you’d rather have a more private introduction I will understand,” he quickly adds.

“No, no,” you assure him once you recover. “But a ball…isn’t that old fashioned?”

You make sure to smile after you tell him this.

“Indeed it is!” he agrees with a smile. “You’ll find I can be very old fashioned…perhaps I should have used the term party.”

“There is much to do!” James bellows as Steven follows behind. “Everything needs to be cleaned and prepared. Nothing can be left undone!”

Steven rushes off to alert the others and begin the preparations while James stalks off to the library to make sure his most befitting gift is in order.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Matt asks as he follows you around your small bedroom. “You need someone to come with you to keep you safe! We hardly know this guy.”

You turn to him with a smirk.

“Well, anyone who enjoys books as much as I do can’t be all bad!” you exclaim as you look him over. “Now go find something to wear.”

When you arrive at James’ estate you tilt your head back to follow the grand height of the edifice. It looms darkly against the star filled sky, backlit by the shine of the moon.

“Wow, it’s bigger than I imagined,” you whisper to Matt.

“This place is insane! It looks like some creepy house from one of your books,” he jokes.

You elbow him before smoothing your hands down your dress and using the knocker to alert your presence.

The door swiftly opens to reveal a tall blonde with a sweet smile.

“Welcome,” he states, keeping his eyes on you. “James is expecting you.”

He finally moves his eyes to Matt and his lips turn down into a slight frown.

“You’ve brought a guest,” Steven states dryly.

You fidget with your hands and drop your head.

“I didn’t wan to come alone…” you start to say quietly.

“Do not fret darling,” Steven says kindly. “You were simply being smart. Please, come in.”

He reaches for your hand and you take his, stepping inside with Matt right behind you.

As Steven ushers you down the long hallway you take the opportunity to look around, noting the elaborately decorated walls, with bold colors but delicate carvings and when you pass a set of large floor to ceiling windows you notice a splash of vibrant color outside.

“Oh!” you exclaim, stopping to look. “You have a garden?”

Steven steps closer to you, admiring the blooms.

“We do,” he says proudly. “It is James’ second most prized possession…his library being the first.”

A bright smile graces your features at the mention of the library.

“And all these flowers bloom at night?” you ask, your forehead furrowed now in thought. “How strange.”

Steven clears his throat. “Why yes! Excellent observation my sweet. James prefers the beauty and fragrance of things…nocturnal.”

“Now come, we don’t want to be late.”

With that, Steven urges you down the hallway toward large wooden double doors. He pushes them open with ease and sweeps out his arm with a bow.

You give him an elegant nod of your head and enter. The domed ceiling is covered with magnificent frescoes and the candlelit wall sconces cast various hunting battles, landscape scenes, and jousts in an eerie glow.

“Wow,” you whisper, still looking up when you feel that familiar shiver creep down your spine.

That’s when you turn and see him. He approaches slowly, his tall and powerful body moving smoothly across the floor. He’s dressed formally and when he reaches you he bows with a flourish.

You’re momentarily stunned, the opulence of it all something you are not used to.

James holds out an inviting hand just as you hear the first note from an organ hidden above you, the melodic sound reverberating in the open space.

You reach for him, placing your fingers in his palm and smiling softly.

“If I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness,” he murmurs, quoting a line from Frankenstein.

“Oh that’s one of my favorites from the story!” you gush.

In a whirl you are quickly in his arms, one of his hands holding yours and the other placed at your lower back.

“I’m so delighted you came,” he says tenderly as his eyes wander over your face then sweep down your body. “You are a vision. The stars will be jealous of you tonight.”

If the use of one of your favorite lines didn’t already work his most recent words make you swoon and you clutch his hand more tightly, nibbling your bottom lip.

“James…” you begin but he spins you away before you can say more and when you’re back in his arms his face is only inches from yours and you’re at a loss for any other words.

He keeps you close and you can feel every inch of his hard body pressed to yours.

The sound of voices draws your attention away and you suddenly remember Matt.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “what about Matt?”

James smiles and although the gesture is warm something dark flickers in his eyes.

“Your friend seems to be doing just fine doll,” James tells you as he spins you both around so you can see.

Matt is currently dancing with a beautiful red head, her pale face lit up in a smile as they twirl around the room.

“He certainly looks fine,” you finally say with a giggle.

“I assure you my friends are very engaging. They were overjoyed to know I was having company. Natasha especially. She loves to dance and it’s been quite some time since I’ve entertained.”

“Your home is beautiful,” you say. “Do you live here alone?”

“No. Not alone,” he says. “Steven is my companion…we have been through much together and our friendship runs deep.”

“I met him when we got here and he showed me a glimpse of your impressive garden.”  

James smiles, doing nothing to hide the haughty lift of his chin, and says, “ah yes! You’ve seen my flowers. I do enjoy tending to my nightly blooms.”

“I noticed many of them were open even in the nighttime,” you state pleasantly, not wanting to come off as rude.

“Yes all flowers of the darkness. The moonflowers are my personal favorite.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before,” you say.

“Well I’ll be sure to give you the grand tour of the garden after you see the library,” he beams.

As you continue to dance and talk you lose track of time, not even noticing that Matt has long since disappeared and you and James are the only two left in the large room.

“You’re a wonderful dancer James.”

“I’ve had many years of practice,” he explains. “And it helps having such an exquisite partner.”

You glow under his praise and find yourself craving more from him. You press yourself closer and release his hand, languidly sliding it along his shoulder to rest just below the base of his neck.

Joyously he returns your embrace, holding you affectionately as he continues to float you around the room. As the music slows so do his steps and as if sensing the change, you cling to him, your fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck.

His passion mixes with the innate thirst he has kept hidden and the scent of your skin, the feel of your body and the taste of you is overwhelming. He yields, and with a groan, dips his head to kiss your throat, his fangs emerging quickly and purposefully.

His kiss is gentle, not that of a predator but of a lover, and you gasp at first but don’t pull away. An ecstasy like you’ve never known takes over and any thought of pain ebbs away with every pulse of your blood.

“James!” comes a commanding voice that goes unheard by you. “Release her!”

You’re suddenly thrust from James’ arms, weak and dizzy. A soothing voice enters your head and your eyelids grow heavy, the room around you slowly fading into blackness.

James paces at the foot of his large bed, the four wooden posts holding up the deep velvet draping’s that partially shield you from his eyes.

“The thirst is commanding,��� Steven states placidly. “But you must be more careful!”

James turns to his lifelong friend and stares, his lips parting as his fangs grow and sharpen.

“Yes, it does,” James answers, his voice low and menacing. “I need to feed.”

Steven nods with a quick glance at your prone form on the bed. “She will be safe here and she will sleep through tomorrow’s sun. Come. Let us hunt.”

The two men take long strides toward the door and with one last longing glance behind him, your soft features illuminated by a sliver of the moon’s pale light that escapes through the tapestries, James’ body shifts into the shape of a sleek black wolf and he races away.

At the smell of food you gently shift along the silken sheets, stretching out like a cat before you blink your eyes open. Darkness surrounds you and the smell of something sweet but weathered permeates the scent of the well-cooked meal.

You sit up slowly, clutching the sheets to your chest and noting that you are no longer wearing your dress from last night, only a thin chemise.

Last night?

Your mind begins to race and your voice catches in your throat as your eyes focus on the room.

“Where am I?” you squeak out, plastering yourself to the leather headboard.

“You’re safe doll.”

At the sound of James’ soothing voice you visibly relax. Something about his presence makes you feel calmer. You don’t quite understand it but he puts your mind and body at ease.

“What happened?” you ask. “Where is Matt?”

“You indulged a bit too much after dancing,” he explains as he moves closer, now standing beside the bed. “You were unfit to get home so I let you sleep here. As for Matt, he is safe at home.”

Again, for reasons unknown to you, you trust his word.

“Is this your bed?” you ask as you fingers sweep over the plush fabric.

You look up at him with the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Yes,” he whispers. “But I slept elsewhere. I promise you.”

More tension leaves your shoulders and you look past him to the steaming food on the small table.

“Hungry?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

“Starving!” you exclaim as you start to get up.

When you stand your legs are wobbly and you teeter at the edge of the bed.

James quickly wraps you in his embrace and holds you against his chest.

“Slow,” he instructs. “You have slept long and haven’t eaten. Sit. I will bring it to you.”

He gently sits you back down and goes to get the tray of food, setting it down beside you on the bed. He pulls up a chair and sits beside you, stabbing a piece of the food with the fork and bringing it to your lips.

Your eyes stay locked on his as your mouth opens and you take a bite. The low moan that leaves the back of your throat is unexpected but you are hungrier than you thought and the food is delicious.

His eyes flash and he grips the fork tighter, his already white skin pulled tight against his knuckles.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asks, plucking another bite from the plate.

“Yes,” you whisper, eagerly taking the second piece.

“Eat all you want doll. You’ll need your energy for all I have to show you today.”

He entertains you with stories of how he’s collected his books and how he came to love gardening. You brighten at his words and dutifully eat all the food on the plate.

When you’ve had your fill he stands and begins to collect the tray. You sit back with a contented sigh, fiddling with your necklace. Your fingers graze something on your neck and a rush of emotion floods through you.

“James,” you say, your voice wavering.

He’s instantly at your side, his face etched with worry.

“I…I have…” you stammer, fighting the growing warning in your head.

James delicately rests his palm over your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips.

“Everything is fine doll. I have everything you need here. Just say the words and it will be yours.”

Your eyes refocus and settle on his as a sense of peacefulness washes over you once again.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, warm and inviting, and your eyes drop to his lips. You’re drawn to him in every way, his charm ever present in the forefront of your mind and you grab his wrist, leaning in closer.

A loud knock on the door startles you from your trance and you pull away, quickly covering yourself with the blanket.

James’ eyes narrow and he let’s out a low rumble.

“Come in,” he says dangerously.

Steven enters and looks between the two of you, his eyes widening slightly at the look on James’ face.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he regrets. “But you are needed.”

He keeps his eyes on James and waits.

“I won’t be long,” James assures you, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll find everything you need in the chest at the foot of the bed. Feel free to wander the house.”

He stands abruptly and moves toward Steven, brushing past him with the soft closing of the door.

“This better be worth my time,” James seethes.

Once the two men are far enough away from the bedroom Steven grabs James’ arm and swiftly turns him so they are face to face.

“Do you have her under your charm?” Steven asks, his teeth gritted.

James turns away, walking toward the windows to look out over the garden, the bright blooms like stars scattered across the darkness.  

“She will try to run,” he states coldly. “I will not have it.”

“James,” Steven sighs as he comes to stand beside his friend. “You do not give yourself enough credit. How do you know she will not grow to love you?”

James is silent for a long time, his eyes still staring out at the darkness.

When he finally speaks his voice is smaller, carrying none of it’s usual authority and fierceness.

“One could no sooner love a monster.”

“Give her time,” Steven answers quietly.

James makes no further comment and simply asks, “what could be so important that you would pull me from my love?”

“The young man…Matt, came to the estate. He is demanding to know why she is still here in your care and when she is coming home.”

James is quiet for a long time after Steven’s explanation and finally he squares his shoulders and sets his jaw firmly in line.

“Deal with it and make sure I am not disturbed again unless absolutely necessary.”

Before Steven can give any sign of acknowledgement James whisps away into a bat and speeds down the hall toward the library.

You dress in the clothes that he left you, running your fingertips over the soft fabric of the simple dress and loving how it fits you perfectly. The floor beneath your feet is chilly and you silently wish for something warm to cover them. Just as you open the door of the bedroom you notice a pair of slippers resting at the side and you wonder if the house has heard your silent request and answered.

Now warm and comfortable you make your way down the long hallway, passing the room from last night where you danced with James. You continue further down, seeing many smaller adjacent rooms that hold cozy sitting areas and desks.

When you reach the end of the hall, moonlight gathers on the stone floor from one of the large windows, and a large oaken door sits slightly ajar.

You take a deep breath and gently push it open the rest of the way.

A large fire burns comfortably in the hearth, its ruddy glow infusing the room with heat and light. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with richly carved wooden bookshelves, every available space filled with books.

The scent of well-oiled leather and old parchment invades your senses and you throw your hands up and twirl with barely subdued awe.

“I was hoping I would be back in time to see your reaction,” James purrs from the doorway.

You spin around to find him leaning against the tall wooden doorframe, his perfect lips carved into a soft smile.

“Oh James!” you exclaim. “It’s just….”

You squeal in happiness, running to one of the shelves and plucking a book off, your fingers moving reverently across the worn binding before you carefully open it and lift it to your nose.

Your inhalation is loud and full and when you lift your eyes to James his own are crinkled with joy.

“Is it everything you hoped for?” he inquires as he moves toward you.

“It’s even better,” you whisper, clutching the book to your chest.

When he reaches you he presses his long fingers under your chin, caressing your jaw with his thumb.

“I cannot express the happiness this brings me. You may read anything you like. They are yours.”  

Your mouth falls open at his offer and your eyes widen, brightening with tears.

“But…why? You just met me. Isn’t there someone else…?”

“There is no one else,” he says sharply, not meaning to speak so and he quickly smiles and tucks you under his arm.

“There is no one else who would enjoy them as much as you,” he says, this time his voice soft and pleasant.

“What about you?”

Your question catches him off guard and he studies you silently before gathering you in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Yes. I will enjoy them too of course.”

He’s reluctant to let you go but he can feel your body brimming with excitement.

“Go, enjoy! I will come find you shortly for dinner.”

He turns to leave but you grab his hand and give it a small tug, smiling under your lashes when he gives you a curious look. You press your palm to one of his cheeks and softly kiss the other, your lips lingering for a moment before you pull away.

“Thank you,” you whisper and with a wide smile you dash off to the shelves.

James wanders back down the hall, his fingers pressed to the same spot your lips had touched and for the first time he weighs the reality of Steven’s words.

Could you really love him? Would you stay because you wanted to?

When Steven comes to collect you for dinner you are curled up in one of the scarlet velvet cushioned chairs, a large book in your lap and a wistful expression on your face.

“My dear,” Steven says softly. “Dinner is ready and you must be hungry.”

You look up with a start but smile when you see him.

“Yes, I am!” you say with a laugh. “What time is it?”

“It is well past dinner time but your schedule is off after your night of partying.”

At that last word Steven gives you a playful grin and you match it but as you stand and go to him it begins to fall.

“I don’t even remember having a drink! All I remember is dancing with James and then I woke up in his bed.”

Your steps slow and you look at Steven, your eyes turning round with fear.

“Don’t worry,” he says carefully, moving forward tentatively to take your hand. “Everything is fine and you are safe.”

His words are like a warm caress and you feel the tension seep from your body.

“What have you been reading?” he asks as he urges you out the door of the library.

With your fearful thoughts a distant memory you divulge Steven in every little detail of the book you’ve read so far…a first edition copy of ‘Wuthering Heights.’

“I still can’t believe I have it in my hands,” you say with amazement as you look down at the book. “Where did he get this?”

“You can ask him yourself,” Steven smiles as he holds the door of the dining room open.

James greets you by taking your free hand and leading you toward the chair next to his, pulling it out so you may sit.

Steven clears his throat to get James’ attention, a silent exchange passing between them. James nods and proceeds to sit.

“So, what do you think so far?” James asks as his eyes drop to the book.

“I love it but how did you get a first edition copy?”

Your excitedness eases some of the worry that Steven’s earlier warning provoked and he relaxes, eagerly listening to your chatter about the book.

“Won’t you have something to eat?” you ask when you scrape your plate clean with your last bite.

James glances down at his still full plate and smiles.

“Well, I was so enraptured with you, I forgot to eat,” he says with a wink. “But come, we will go to the garden before we have some dessert.”

He stands and reaches for your hand, taking it and looping your arm with his. You press into his side and walk with him down the long hallway toward the garden.

The darkness of the night isn’t oppressive, the leaf-filtered moonlight turning the garden into a moving tapestry of shadows and wisps, and all around are the soft sounds of nighttime life.

James breathes in deeply, the subtle scent of your warm blood taking precedent above all the other fragrances from the flowers. A warm breeze travels among the leaves and blooms yet your body trembles.

“Are you cold?” James asks.

“It isn’t cold out but for some reason I feel a chill.”

At your answer he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. You smile in thanks and pull it closer to your body, discreetly sniffing the collar.

His smell makes you sigh and you snuggle closer to the warm fabric.

“It must be a lot of work to care for all these flowers,” you muse as you meander down the stone pathways.

“It takes nurturing and patience,” he says quietly as his eyes wander across the flowers. “Time is something I have a lot of.”

He steps closer to the moonflower plant and gently picks a blossom, twirling it between his long fingers.

“This, doll, is a moonflower.”

He holds it just under your nose, the soft petals tickling your skin as you inhale.

“It smells almost citrusy,” you remark. “They are beautiful.”

He takes the flower and tucks it under the thin strap of your dress, his fingertips tracing the outline of your collarbone before ghosting along your throat.

“Did you know they are deadly if ingested?”

Your eyebrows raise and you shake your head, leaning into his touch. “The seeds are highly toxic but thankfully once you educate yourself they are both very safe and very easy to cultivate.”

“Do they stay open in the daytime?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“They do not. They are true nighttime blooms. Only in the darkness do they come alive.”

His fingers move higher and curl around the back of your neck. Your scent surrounds him, drowning out all his other sharpened senses.

“James,” your voice trembles.

“Do you want to know another of my favorite quotes from your beloved Frankenstein story?” he whispers, his breath cool against your skin.

His fangs begin to lengthen and hunger tugs at every fiber of his unnatural existence.

“What is it?” you ask, your body now completely pliant against his.

His nose brushes along the length of your neck and he gently nips at your earlobe, pressing his thumb under your chin to tilt your head back and expose more of your throat.

“If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear,” he murmurs, pressing his lips just below your ear.

You tremble but this time it’s not from the cold and when your eyes meet his commanding gaze you smile softly and press closer to him.

“But I am not afraid,” you whisper.

He takes your face in his hands and smooths the pad of his thumb across your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own, their color red with the anticipation of the taste of you. His fingers slide down and graze your pulse point, the rhythmic throbbing sending a rush of heat through his body.

The clouds move slowly across the sky, exposing the full silver light of the moon and it floods the garden, bathing you both in an ethereal glow.

“I will no longer suffer this eternity alone. You will be mine forever.”

His lips press to yours, nipping and licking your warm flesh before he parts your tongue and swallows your gasps of pleasure. A fire erupts across your skin and your fingernails dig into his back, his jacket falling to the ground in a heap of dark fabric.

As his hands explore your bare skin he can barely contain his awe, the feeling of you is better than anything he could have imagined in his long life.

The flower that is secured in your dress floats to the floor as his fingers slip under the thin straps and slowly push them off your shoulders. His lips never leave yours when his hands travel lower, caressing every inch of you that he can.

“James, please,” you beg, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

He pulls away, your lips still chasing his, and looks into your eyes.

Slowly he loosens his hold over you and some of the light returns to your eyes like a spark ignited. You reach for him again; this time of your own accord and he growls in victory.

With languid movements he brings your lips to his once again, softly kissing them before he moves down your neck, lightly scraping your skin with his elongated fangs.

You gasp his name, a whispered plea, and he can no longer deny the thirst that burns inside him like a fever and without warning he embeds his fangs in your soft flesh.

For that one brief moment all desire leaves your body and is replaced with an innate terror at the realization of what’s happening. With a weak push on his chest you try to get away but it’s too late and before the cry of anguish can leave your parted lips you sink into an inky blackness, the feeling of ecstasy creeping over you like a veil, shrouding all else in shadow.

@book-dragon-13 @dreamlessinparis @lookiamtrying @loki-laufeyson-1054 @goldylions @seitmai @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose​ @flordeamatista​

[steve-hen-grant]

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

[soft-girl-musings]

Last Night -- Chapter 3 (Armistice)

chapter 1 chapter 2

cross-posted to ao3

Jake Lockley x fem!Reader

tags: the long-awaited comfort to all that Hurt

wc: 1,755

fic summary: You're usually tight-lipped about your frustrations, especially when it comes to Jake. But a drink too many leaves you spilling your thoughts one by one.

__________

You don't call him that day.

Or the day after.

Maybe it's pride that keeps you from reaching out. Maybe it's fear, or some morbid curiosity to see how long he'll stay away. 

Whatever the reason, it seems naive to simply call or text as if nothing's happened, to assume you can just pick up where you left off. The thought of how much he must hate you right now is enough to cement your radio silence.

The apartment is quieter than usual without Jake, Steven, or Marc underfoot. You each lead your own lives, but there’s been a fairly predictable rhythm you’ve fallen into together; this might be the longest you’ve gone without knowing when you'll see them next. As you go about your day, mixing with the guilt is a nagging feeling at the back of your mind, as if you’ve forgotten something.

If only you could forget, simply move on without addressing the issue at hand. But you don’t know what to say. You doubt a run-of-the-mill apology would be sufficient.

So you lean into the solitude. That first night, you scoot your pillow to the middle of the bed and sprawl out. It’s been a long time since you’ve slept alone; most nights you either wind up tangled with Steven, with Marc resting neatly beside you, or cocooned in Jake’s arms. You stretch and sigh: you may have to get used to this.

The next morning is just as unnerving, the additional hustle and bustle missing from your own routine. You eye the empty bathroom counter as you get dressed: it seems so daunting, so final.

You drink your coffee alone. There’s no one sitting across from you regaling you with trivia, making a dry remark at your brewing method, or sidling up beside you with an attitude fresher than his morning breath. Maybe it’s the caffeine, but you shake at the absence.

The day goes by in solitude again.

That night, you pile your pillows beside you. The bed feels colder than the night before.

__________

Fate (or karma) forces your hand on the third day.

You can be absentminded, but you're in rare form this week. So when you hear the door click behind you when you step out to receive a delivery, it takes a moment to register your mistake.

You're locked out.

And there's no spare key.

That fact doesn't stop you from searching the doorframe, the welcome mat, every inch of the space around your apartment door before you slide to the ground, head in your hands.

They have the spare.

It was a big step for you: giving them a key to your place. Specifically, giving Jake the key. You'd met him last, and wanted him to feel special, like he was an equal part of this relationship. You'd made a big show of it too, wrapping his key in a box and presenting it ceremoniously one night at dinner. It was, in his words, cute as hell.

–Now, however, it adds insult to injury, since Jake was also the one who'd remind you to make a copy for times like this. 

You groan, letting your head thud against the door. You know what you have to do.

Thankfully you'd kept your phone with you. After wallowing for another minute or two, you finally send the text:

I'm locked out of my apartment. Can you come let me in?

Hardly a minute goes by before you get a response:

On my way.

You anxiously bite your lip when you read it. Usually they initial their texts, depending on who's responding. Maybe they won't stay long. Can't say I blame them.

Fifteen minutes go by before you hear footsteps in the stairwell. You shoot up, not sure how close you should stand to the door. You settle for leaning on the wall between the neighbor's door and yours, distracting yourself with the damned parcel that started all this.

The door to the stairwell opens. Your breath catches when you recognize the flat cap of the man you'd hoped to have a bit more time to prepare to see.

Jake approaches wordlessly, barely acknowledging your presence. From where you stand, you can see the slight shadow of stubble that mirrors the color under his eyes. He looks… tired.

He takes his key ring out and fumbles with it for a moment, searching for your apartment key. He still hasn't looked at you. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

"I got worried when you didn't call."

You scoff, the sound slipping out before you even register it. You see his jaw clench, and your hand flies to cover your mouth.

"Sorry," you blurt out. "It's just… that's kinda what led to this whole situation, isn't it? Irony, or whatever," you add with a forced smile. He raises an eyebrow.

"Hm." He grunts as he turns the key, unlocking your apartment door. He holds it open, eyes to the ground again. 

You mutter your thanks and brush past him, entering quickly. He doesn't budge.

You set your package down and turn back to the door.

"Jake…" Your voice comes out more defeated than you'd intended. His eyes finally meet yours. 

Oh, he looks exhausted.

"Do you… want some coffee?" You shift your weight nervously as you ask. "I made a fresh pot. Well, it was fresh before-"

"Sure." He steps inside, letting the door close behind him.

Your forced smile softens into a real one. "Good… okay, good."

You leave Jake standing at the door as you rush to the kitchen, a strange sense of urgency taking over. You select his favorite mug from the dish rack and pour his coffee, adding some sweetened condensed milk (he'd never admitted to liking it, but you've always seen him sneak it in after you pour yours).

Holding his mug and the one you'd made earlier, you head to the kitchen table. Jake follows, setting his coat on the couch. He takes the seat directly across from you.

The silence of your empty apartment  pales in comparison to the deafening quiet that now hangs between you. Jake takes a sip of his coffee; you notice his eyes light up a bit. He still doesn't say anything, but his shoulders visibly relax.

"How did you-" "Jake, I wanted to-"

You both pause, and a nervous laugh slips out before you can stop it. Jake begins again.

"How did you feel... after? In the morning?"

You shrug. "I got the hangover I deserved."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. Karma's a bitch."

You fidget with the handle of your coffee mug. It's now or never.

 "Jake, when I said... what I said, I need you to know I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

A sad smile tugs at his lips. "I think we both know that alcohol can do a lot of things, but it can't make you a liar. Quite the opposite."

Your hand tenses around your mug. "...I guess I did mean it, a little. But I said it in the worst possible way, I cannot emphasize that enough."

 He sips his coffee and looks away. After a moment, he speaks again.

"Do you really feel like I suffocate you?" His eyes are low, as is his voice.

"No, of course not." He gives you a look, one you know all too well. Bullshit.

You shift in your seat. "Fine. In the spirit of honesty: I feel... trapped, sometimes. Like we can't move on until you hear everything that's happening in my head."

Jake leans forward, resting his folded arms on the table. "Really," he asks, his tone measured.

You nod. You hate how your voice shakes as you continue. "It was fine at first, but sometimes… sometimes it can be a bit... much, you know? Like, I don't always want a solution, or to tell you everything right away. Sometimes I need to feel things on my own before I talk about it."

You finally reach for him, your fingertips grazing the tabletop. "But that doesn't excuse what I said. Jake… I'm so sorry."

You wouldn't blame him if he chose to walk away. But you hold his gaze, silently pleading with him to stay. To fight, to say something. Say anything.

Jake's brow furrows as he chooses his words. 

"Querida..." he trails off. You sigh in relief at the endearment.

"You hurt me. I guess I pushed you, and I’m sorry for that, but what you said in the car... that hurt." 

"Totally understand. I was out of line–"

You're cut off by the sudden touch of his hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm. The crease in his brow softens as his gaze returns to you.

"But… I forgive you." He squeezes your hand to emphasize the three words you've been longing to hear.

You lace your fingers with his, tears threatening to form. "You're going easy on me, Lockley."

"Maybe," he smirks, a playful glimmer in his still-tired eyes. "But I think we could use easy right now."

You nod, relief blossoming in your chest with every passing second. "We're still finding our rhythm," you offer, squeezing his hand in return.

"I know, I know, just... don't cut me out, okay?" 

"Never."

You eagerly move to the seat closest to him, budding elation slicing through the  previous tension surrounding you both. It feels good to be this close again.

"I promise to not cut you out, but I do want better boundaries for us, okay? So we know where the line is," you add as you grasp his free hand in your own.

"Sounds like a plan, cariño." Jake leans in, tugging you closer. "I'm all ears."

Your cheeks heat at the proximity. The red tinting his own features is enough to confirm he’d missed you just as much as you'd missed him.

“Let’s sort that out later.” You grin up at him. “Want to hear what Evan did last week?”

Jake kisses the back of your hand, his lips curling into an impish smile against your skin. "Please, I’ve been itching to know what that pendejo did for days.”

So there you sit, hand in hand as you spill the beans on your less-than-ideal week. The remaining stress rolls off you as you speak, Jake hanging on your every word. Both cups of coffee grow cold, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve missed this. And as you talk, you know the feeling’s mutual.

You’ll be just fine.

__________

A/N: ok i'm a bit emotional bc in my 15 years of reading/brainstorming fics, this is the first story i've ever finished. definitely celebrating tonight. thank you to everyone who supported this angsty brainchild; i'm excited to write more Moon Boys this fall!

thank you so much for reading <3

tag list: @lunar-ghoulie @romanarose @casa-boiardi @chrissymodi-frost @shadystarlightgentlemen @ivystoryweaver (y'all rock, lmk if you want to be kept in the loop for future stories!)

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER ONE - SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

The grandeur of your ancestral house in Guildford enveloped you as you strolled through its opulent corridors. Intricately carved wooden paneling adorned the walls, while rich crimson carpets absorbed the echo of your footsteps. The air is filled with the faint scent of polished wood and aged leather, exuding dignified timelessness.

Ascending the grand staircase, you run your hand along the mahogany handrail, feeling the smoothness of centuries of use. Reaching the landing on the second floor, a series of oil paintings greeted your vision. Painted by the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Gauguin and Millet, each frame you passed through expressively telling stories of their lives’ hardships expressed through masterful strokes that evoked love, pain and unwavering resolve.

You finally reached a pair of imposing double doors, elaborately carved with intricate designs and gilded accents. Pushing them open, you step into your refuge within this grand manor. You took in the soft early afternoon light streaming through the lace curtains, the interior awash in soft, muted colors that evoke a sense of calm and serenity. The master bedroom itself bore an air of regal charm, with the walls adorned with exquisite silk wallpaper featuring delicate floral patterns. A four-poster bed draped in satin was situated at the very center, the bed linens made of the finest Egyptian cotton and the plump pillows neatly arranged in the head rest. 

Seating yourself at the foot of your bed, your eyes caught a familiar oil canvas painting facing your direction - a self portrait of you dressed in a filipiniana gown while holding a soft-feathered fan on your right hand. Brief images of the very day you were painted flashed through your mind, remembering your shy, palpable smile as you took a graceful, elegant pose towards the handsome yet unrecognizable painter as his right hand carefully glided his paintbrush across the canvas.

You’ve been having these recurring dreams again as of late. But you cannot figure out for the life of you who the mysterious subject of your night recollections is.

Mildly shaking your head, you made your way towards your antique writing desk situated near a large bay window, overlooking the well-manicured gardens outside. The scent of freshly picked flowers finally distracted you from your musings, mingling with the aroma of polished wood. Carefully arranged, your flower vase was strategically placed beside an assortment of your night study essentials -  an inkwell, quill pen, notepad, a hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt, and a work laptop with multiple tabs open. 

Against one wall, a towering bookshelf houses an impressive collection of leather-bound tomes, each one a testament to your intellectual pursuits. You returned the hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt to its previous resting place, vowing to return to it after your overseas assignment. That book was an essential to you since you work full time as a museum curator for the British Museum. Back then, that career path wasn’t meant for your gender in the olden age. But as the world changes with time and equality between sexes have been more embraced, you found yourself living your life long passion of promoting cultural heritage and ancestral discovery.

Typing away at your laptop, you’ve mostly dealt with a lot of email exchanges involving procurement and acquisition of artifacts, record keeping and liaising with Egyptologists for the upcoming Ennead exhibition you’re organizing. You have already let most of your recent business contacts know that you’re on overseas leave, advising everyone to liaise with your secretary, Aleah Santos, in your absence.

A gentle knock on your door pulls you out of your reverie, your eyes now diverted towards the bedroom entrance. A middle-aged British man stands in the doorway with an air of quiet dignity, his appearance a testament to his impeccable service and professionalism. His face exudes an air of experience and reserve, befitting his role as the trusted steward of the household. He wears a perfectly tailored, immaculately pressed charcoal-gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously combed and styled to maintain a polished appearance.

His striking deep, intelligent blue eyes observed you quietly, framed by well-defined eyebrows that conveyed a sense of attentiveness. He was holding in one hand a tray with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and a blueberry scone, and a neatly pressed and folded set of smart, business casual clothes in the other. The fabrics were chosen with care and tailored to perfection, a testament to the older man’s meticulous attention to detail.

“Bill, how lovely to see you this afternoon”, you smiled appreciatively before standing, slowly reaching for your wardrobe in his arms. “Thank you for bringing these”

"It's my pleasure, Lady Carter", Bill answered politely, his refined British accent adding to his aura of sophistication. William Jones, who you affectionately nicknamed “Bill”, is the latest addition in the long line of the Jones household who have served the Carter family for a very long time. As the new head of the family estate, the depth of his loyalty to you runs deep and unquestioned.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing your necessities for the trip”, Bill said with a warm smile as he followed you inside, placing the tray of refreshments on your desk. “You'll find your travel documents and essentials ready in your briefcase, and I’ve packed you a suitcase for the three-day trip”

“What would I ever do without you?” you chuckled playfully, grateful for his unwavering efficiency.

“Years of service have taught me well”, Bill chuckled softly. “Now, if I may, I’d like to go over your schedule for the week.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears”, you nodded, finally taking your first sip of the afternoon tea prepared. It was nothing short of exquisite, the fragrant steam wafting up to greet your senses. “Impeccable brew as always, by the way”

"I’m glad you like the concoction, Milady”, Bill nodded before clearing his throat, proceeding to recite the details of your upcoming trip. “Your flight to Chicago is later this evening at 7PM, and I will be driving you to the airport three hours prior”

You nodded, mentally ticking off the items on your mental checklist, as he continued to consult his notes and brief you.

“Upon your arrival to the United States, a valet service will pick you up and take you to your hotel. I made reservations at the one within walking distance of the family court where your next interpreting assignment will be running for three days”

“That’s good to hear”, you nodded, taking a small bite of the scone. “Have my secretary check on the tour guide headcount at the British Museum and handle the recruitment interviews while I’m gone” 

“Understood”, Bill said curtly, finishing up writing on his notes. He gave a small bow before leaving the room. With his departure, you set to work on packing your travel essentials for your upcoming assignment. 

The routine of operating as a freelance interpreter was familiar, accepting potential clients needing your services regardless of location. You cater mostly to the Filipino community, as it helped you fulfill your duties as Mayari’s avatar - to oversee, guide and protect her travelers of the night. Of all the careers you dabbled in your long life on this earth, being an interpreter and a museum curator were one of the very few roles you’ve had that you took immense pride in. Both navigated the complexities of language and history, bridging the gap between cultures and individuals.

The next morning after your arrival in the United States, the Chicago sun greeted you as you stepped out of your hotel room and into the bustling city streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby café, tempting you, but duty called.

You found yourself before the imposing building of the Chicago Family Court in Cook County. It was a massive edifice of imposing architecture, and its walls seemed to resonate with the stories of countless families and their struggles. On your way to the court registry, you navigated the maze of hallways with purposeful steps. The walls were painted in muted tones, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. Lawyers in tailored suits, stern-faced judges, and anxious family members all found their places. The court clerk finally checked you in after having you sign the log book, advising you of your assigned courtroom for your scheduled appointment.

You walked into the assigned courtroom, the polished wood of the benches and the imposing judge's bench before you. The judge’s gaze met yours as you approached the witness stand, acknowledging your presence as he had you sworn in. He instructed you to raise your right hand as you recited your oath, a solemn promise to faithfully and impartially interpret the proceedings for those who needed it. 

“Thank you, Interpreter”, the judge nodded, your duty now officially recognized. “Please introduce yourself to the courtroom for the record”

“Yes, Your Honor”, you greeted in a clear, unwavering voice. “Good morning. My name is Mira Batala-Carter, and I will be serving as the Tagalog/Filipino interpreter for the witness in the stand”

The court proceedings began, and your voice filled the room as you translated the witness's testimony. You moved seamlessly between languages, ensuring that justice prevailed, one word at a time. The judge and attorneys watched you closely, appreciating your precision and dedication.

After the session concluded, you extended a hand to the witness, a kind-hearted woman who had been through a trying experience. She thanked you for your services, her eyes conveying a profound gratitude that words could not fully capture. As she left your presence, you muttered a silent prayer to your patron goddess, fulfilling your role as her avatar as you invoked a simple protection spell.

“Patnubayan mo ang guhit ng kanyang kapalaran, aking diwatang Mayari”

Guide the lines of her fate, my goddess Mayari.

As the proceedings unfolded over the next three days, you found yourself immersed in the world of legal battles, translating the words and emotions of those caught in the intricate web of the justice system. It was a demanding role, one that required not just linguistic proficiency, but also an acute understanding of human nature and the ability to convey the nuances of speech. Legal jargon and emotional testimonies flowed through you, and you remained resolute in your duty as an interpreter.

You arrived early on the last day of your interpreting assignment, finally giving in to your caffeine cravings as you clutch a cup of steaming coffee to ward off the chilly Chicago morning. You took a seat in the hallway, waiting outside the assigned courtroom. As you sipped your cappuccino and glanced around, your eyes landed on a man slouched on one of the benches, clearly taking a nap. 

His face stirred a memory, one that danced tantalizingly out of reach. Yet you couldn't quite place where you had seen him before. He had a rugged handsomeness, an aura of enigmatic mystery that drew you in. 

The man's companion, a woman of Arabic-Egyptian descent with a cascade of curly, dark hair, approached him, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She leaned down, her concern etched on her face as she gently nudged him awake. She whispered something to him, and he stirred, blinking his eyes open.

Your heart clenched as you witnessed the tenderness in their interaction. The way their eyes met with shared history and unspoken understanding prompted a deluge of memories to flood your mind, unbidden and unexpected.

Like ghosts from the past, you heard sounds of laughter and shared secrets echoing inside your head. Your lips trembled as they seemingly remembered the tenderness of breathless kisses stolen beneath the moonlit sky. The details eluded you, but the emotions were vivid—joy, love, and a sense of belonging. 

But as swiftly as those memories resurfaced, they slipped away like sand through your fingers, leaving you with an ache of longing and confusion.

Who was this man, and why did his presence stir such deep-seated emotions within you?

Before you could delve further into your thoughts, a call from Bill interrupted your reverie. You reached for your phone, the jarring ringtone pulling you back to reality.

"Lady Carter," Bill's voice came through the receiver, crisp and professional. "I have an important update from Miss Santos. We are still missing one more tour guide from the total headcount you require for the upcoming exhibition"

“Copy that”, you nodded. “Please have her finalize the applicants I’ll need to interview on Saturday”

As you hung up the phone, a court clerk emerged to announce that the morning proceedings will now begin. Finishing the rest of your coffee, you threw the empty cup at the nearby bin before entering the courtroom once more to complete the final leg of your interpreting assignment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mayari, the patron goddess of the moon, quietly observed from a distance as her ethereal, astral form shimmered from afar. Her eyes, filled with a sorrow you had never seen before, remained fixed on you as she recalled the most grievous of her sins—removing your image of Darius Carter and your memories of the events that had bound you to Khonshu's avatar, Moon Knight. She had acted with what she believed was your best interest at heart, but now, as she watched the remnants of your forgotten past resurface, doubt crept into her heart.

Mayari was determined to see her decision through to the end, to protect you from the darkness that lurked in the shadows. Yet, as she gazed upon the unfolding drama, the lines between right and wrong blurred, and the weight of her choices pressed upon her.

“Mr and Mrs Spector, please come to the front”

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

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[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Eff Being Friends

Steve Rogers x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

? x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

Ex!Thor x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader "Ci”

Ex!Loki x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader "Ci”

Wordcount: 4191

Summary:

To say the relationship between Steve and I was complicated would be an understatement. But I’m not the one to blame. That honor goes to Captain Indecision, himself. So why would he ever think I would make things easy for him?

Warnings:

18+ Only MDNI, Angsty with some mild smut and surprise feels.

Notes:

Heavily inspired by “Fuck Being Friends” by Jessie Reyes. I have this need to fuck with Steve. Also there be a twist abound. Who could the mystery person be?

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

Your off and on relationship with one Steven Grant Rogers, is once again off. This hot and cold shit is for the birds. If it weren’t for his dick game being almost magical you would have written him off a long time ago. Well that and you might possibly be in love with the fucker too.

When he’s not self-conscious and feeding into his own paranoia, things are great. It’s when he lets his intrusive thoughts and the opinions of others guide him that things take a turn.

Like when he starts acting a fool now that Thor is on the compound for a visit with Loki. Both of whom are technically your exes but as you’re gods you don’t hold the same morality standards when it comes to multiple partners. You were actively hooking up with both of them at the same time, ages ago.

It may have even become a bit of a competition between the brothers at one point.

So why should you shy away from all the wonderful flirty banter and not so innocent exchanges being thrown your way. Steve needs a reminder that you’re not from this realm and he can’t toy with you as such. Just because you’ve put up with his bullshit thus far, does not mean you will continue too.

Being green with envy serves him right.

Tony has gotten into the habit of throwing a game night once a month for ‘morale’ or whatever. Honestly, you think it’s just an excuse to get everyone shit faced enough to reveal or do embarrassing things so that Jarvis can hoard it all to be used later. Whatever the reason, you are more than excited this months is happening while the Asgardians are here.

You’ve been having the best week with them. Reminiscing the good ol days and creating some hot and heavy new memories to add to the list.

“Watching you surrender to my magic. Wrapped tight in my shadows. Is a sight that will never cease to amaze me. Offering up your body, the perfect altar, for me to worship. To show my own devotion through your surrender. A gift I have never taken for granted my dear. Steven really is quite the fool.” Loki professed before rendering you brainless and cock drunk for hours.

Steve’s eyes have been attached to your frame all night. Begging for you to give him some attention. But you pay him no mind. You’re preoccupied being very flirty and touchy feely with everyone.

Tony has decided that tonight’s game is Truth or Dare. It seems the man of iron is also enjoying watching the gods get under Steve’s skin.

You take every dare, and they get raunchier by the ask. You give Nat, who is sat next to Captain Cranky, a sultry little lap dance that ends in a heated kiss. Only to be broken up by Steve’s quiet growl.

On your next turn your dared to make Thor get a boner without touching him. You saunter behind the loveseat he is perched on. Leaning in so that you can whisper in his ear. You regale him with all the dirty things you love that he does to you. The way his lightning makes you sing like no other. All stated low enough for only the gods and the super soldiers to hear. Your mission is a success of course. Thor’s unable to hide the ‘hammer’ tenting his slacks as he pulls you over the back of couch onto his lap and bites down on your throat making you giggle.  

The game continues with Clint having to admit that he most certainly has seen his teammates getting it on when he has been up in the vents. “Some things you can’t unsee unfortunately.” He shivers.

Sam, having confessed who he thinks has the best ass, turns to you. “Truth or Dare Ci?”

“Dare of course. Why change it up now.”

“I dare you to get Loki to genuinely smile.”

You look at him quizzically. “You think you’re so smart. Prepare to be knocked down a peg or three bird boy.”

Standing you walk over to Loki, who has been leaning against the wall, observing all night. With a cheeky smile you wave your fingers and cloak yourselves in darkness that's not only soundproof but is also time spelled as well.

You lower to your knees and snap Loki’s pants out of existence. The visual of you before him is enough to turn his cock hard as steel in front of your very eyes. You waste no time attaching your lips to the foreskin covered tip. Teasing the sensitive flesh with your tongue before sinking down to the hilt. You pull out all the stops. Sucking his cock until he comes down your throat with a roar. Savoring every drop as he fills your belly.

Removing the spell, it seems to the room as if only 1 minute has passed. It does not go unnoticed that Loki is relaxed while he continues to lean against the wall. Grinning like a loon.

This is when Steve notices your slightly swollen lips and quiet panting. Having been on the receiving end of that look many a time, he seethes. Cracking the glass of whiskey in his hand.

You give your turn to Loki so that you may catch your breath. It’s no surprise to anyone that he chooses Steve. “Truth or Dare Captain?”

“Truth. I have nothing to hide.” He challenges the God of Mischief.

“Alright.” He glances at you quickly. Catching you subtly lick your lips, most likely still tasting of him, grinning to yourself. “When was the last time you got your cock properly serviced and with who?”

Everyone assumes the answer will be you when you were still together a couple weeks ago.

With a cocky grin and sip of his drink he answers as he stares you down. “Yesterday after training with Sharon. She caught me on my way to change in my room and said I looked tense and needed a release. I took her up on her offer. Plus she gives decent head.”

He must have thought that you were going to be upset that he let poor lovesick Sharon suck his dick instead of getting the best head of his life from you. You couldn’t care less actually.

Not when you were getting dicked down in your own post training bath with Thor. It really is a great way to help stretch out and relax your muscles.

“Good for you Steven. You always are so tense after a rough training session. I know I was. Thor helped sort me out though.” You sweetly state.

“Are you serious right now? You two were practically on the verge of killing each other in the training room.”

“Great foreplay. Don’t tell me you never partook in post battle coitus with her. She is ravenous after any kind of rough play.” Thor, the sweet himbo that he is, adds in.

“Fuck this. I’m going to bed.”

“Should I call Sharon to come lick your wounds?”

“Fuck you Ci”

“Sorry not tonight, Cap.”

In the state-of-the-art training room only Stark money could provide. Left to your own devices. You and Bucky are engaged in an intense sparring session.

Each move is calculated, precise, and born from years of relentless training. Bucky, a seasoned veteran, exudes an aura of quiet confidence and strength. While you, a woman of equal skill and determination, possess an uncanny ability to anticipate his every move.

As you grappled along the training matts, your bodies intertwined in a dance of submission and evasion. Knives glinted in the dim light, their edges a constant threat that kept you both on high alert.

On an instinct, you feigned a strike. Your body language, a masterpiece of your deception. In that split second, you seized the opportunity to swiftly maneuver behind the super soldier and lock him in a chokehold.

Triumph flashed in your eyes as you tightened your grip around his throat. Victory soon at hand.

But Bucky was not a man to be outdone. With a lightning-fast reversal, he spun on his heel, catching you off guard. His powerful muscles and Vibranium arm strained as he flipped you over, pinning you to the ground. A wry smile played on his lips as he secured his victory.

Though the training session had ended, the unspoken tension between the two of you lingered in the air.

“Still too cocky for your own good, Doll.”

“Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”

“You ever gonna stop letting me best you?”

“And miss gazing into those icy blues of yours. I don’t think so. I’ve been a goner for them since the first time you laid eyes on me.”

The first time you met James Barnes was not in Germany like every likes to think. In fact, you had a prior and very intimate relationship with the Winter Soldier. You nursed him back to health long ago when he was still under Hydras thumb. He had wound up collapsed at your doorstep in the middle of nowhere when a mission went wrong and his handler died.

That was the first time he was able to begin remembering. You spent countless nights in front of the fire. Keeping each other warm as you explored these new feelings together. Keeping your skills sharp by engaging in sparring sessions that always ended up pressed flesh to flesh and covered in sweat. Helping him hold on to whatever memories would pop up. It was both sweet and dangerous.

When Hydra tripped your alarms, he begged you to just let him be retrieved. He couldn’t bare knowing any harm came to you because of him. So you let him go with a sweet kiss. But not before placing mark on his ribs that only other gods and those spelled to do so can see.

“You never told him did you?” You inquire.

“Neither did you.”

“I did it for your protection. You were on the run and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. It’s not my fault he went on the run for you. Who do you think helped him break everyone out and gave Shuri the extra juice to reverse those nasty words in your head.”

“I can’t keep watching him do this to you Ci. I’ve tried talking to him but he cant get it through his stubborn skull how good he has had it. I would give up my humanity to have you back again. I would never take you for granted. Hell, I’d happily let you keep him as a lover in our life if that’s what you so choose. I wouldn’t care who I had to share you with. Just as long as I had you.”

“James.” You whisper. “Take your shirt off.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it please.”

As he does, the rest of the team file in along with Thor and Loki to run some training exercises of their own.

“Buck why do ya got your shirt off already pal?” Steve questions.

“I asked him to.” You deadpan.

“Why the hell would you do that for Ci? Don’t you have Thor and Loki to play with. Bucky is off limits.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you wrong Steven.”

Bucky looks at you with pleading eyes. Unfortunately you just don’t care to keep this secret anymore.

“James, lift your left arm and turn your side towards our team please.”

“Oh! Your finally going to do it. I was wondering how long, if ever, you were going to let them in on it.” Loki teases.

“On what?” Steve grits out.

“On this.” With a wave of your hand a symbol appears on Bucky's ribs. Glowing a soft golden light that matches your eyes. A chalice overflowing with wine.

“He already is mine. He has been for a quite some time. And will remain that way until he draws his last breath. Which wont be for a very long time as his soul is tied to mine.”

Bucky looks at you with confusion in his eyes. “You gave me your soul bond? Even though I was under Hydras control.”

“I did. It was what gave you the extra strength to endure and survive. I knew you would make it back to me one day. As an immortal I have all the time in the world to wait.”

“But you were with me when I brought him back here.” Steve blurts out.

“Well aren’t you the observant one Stevie. It changes nothing. If he had come to me that day and declared he wanted his place by side, he’d of had it in heartbeat. After a discussion between all of us of course. I’m not actually heartless. I just come off that way.”

“What the fuck Ci?! My best friend! You couldn’t tell me you had been with my best friend when he was brainwashed.”

“Watch your tongue, Rogers. You have no room to speak upon what I did or did not disclose to you. I wasn’t the one playing games with the others heart and emotions now was I.” You seethe.

“I asked her not to.” Bucky imparts. “I was free of Hydra, and we were rebuilding our friendship and I didn’t want to mess it up by intruding on what you had. I was just happy to be near her again and that she had someone I trusted by her side. But man was I wrong. What the hell happened to you Steve? Little Stevie from Brooklyn would have never treated a dame, let alone a goddess, the way you have Ci.”

“Don’t try and turn the blame on me Buck. You could have told me you’d been with her. We shared girls before back when I couldn’t get any on my own. What was so different with her?”

The team looks at each other after that comment with curious brows.

“Because she means more to me than just sex and that is what you would have reduced it to. I told myself, I would either get to have her fully, out in the open or not at all. Keeping my love tucked in the shadows.”

“So you’re the only one who can love her?” Steve shouts.

You clear my throat. “Ahem. You gave up that right when you kicked me to the curb yet again two weeks ago.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just get all lost in my head thinking about starting a family and how would that even be possible with a goddess if I couldn’t even get my dance with Peggy. Then I get angry and need space so I just end it so I can really think things through. I always come back though, Doll. Always.”

“Wooow.” Tony says with a clap. “Capsicle really stuck his foot in it this time.”

“So, your telling me, that instead of just having a conversation about what’s prattling around in that stubborn ass head of yours you thought it prudent to just break up with me then turn around and ask for me to take you back time and time again?” Your eyes alight with golden fire as your temperature raises.

“Avengers, I’d advise you to get behind me and Thor for your safety. I’ve only ever seen her this angry a handful of times and it usually does not end well.” Loki nonchalantly states.

“Yes. No. I-I don’t know. I was confused okay!” He shouts back. “Needed to work some shit out.”

“And that required you to be between Sharon's thighs and any attractive woman who gave you the time of day?”

“Well no, not exactly. That just helped me shut my brain off. But it never felt as good as being inside you.”

“Well, congrats to me for having such good pussy. Why is that though? Does my pussy beat better than my heart does? Boy, please, you aren’t blind. Your too smart for that lie.”

“I’m an idiot when it comes to women and love in general okay. Give me a fight and I know exactly what to do. But love? I’m clueless.”

“Don’t expect pity from me for you playing with my heart. I gave you more than enough room to grow and explore and figure things out as they came. It’s not my fault you chose to throw those things in my face. It is my fault for taking you back so many times though. Especially after Bucky arrived. But he wanted to stay loyal to you. His oldest pal. So I catered to his wishes. Even if it ended up to my detriment.”

“Seemed to be doing just fine to me while you were hooking up with Loki and Thor.”

“My Godly exes. Who I was in a relationship with a millennia ago in another realm. Men who I trust enough with my body to understand that carnal pleasure is all I am able to afford them at this time?”

“Makes no difference to me. Not when you were parading it around. I now can only imagine how it made Buck feel.”

“Didn’t bother me. I know all about how their relationships worked. Gods are different. She’s not in love with them like that. Not anymore at least. They were no threat to me. Plus I was still staying in the shadows.”

“Also.” Thor interrupts. “That lovely little soul bound symbol along Barnes’ ribs can only be seen by other Gods and anyone the bond holder deems fit to see it. So we already knew where at least half of her heart was held. Plus she is such a great lover. I never pass up the chance for such pleasure when I am afforded it.”

“Aye Aye” Loki agrees.

Steve throws his hands up and storms off. Most likely to go ruin a punching bag or five.

Bucky takes the opportunity to embrace you in front of everyone. At his acceptance of your claim, gold and black lines appear on your left shoulder. Matching the pattern of his Vibranium arm.

“Seems the bond has formerly been reciprocated. Welcome to Immortality White Wolf.”

“What are we going to do about Steve?”

“Let him go pout or fuck or whatever he needs to do. When he’s calmed down, we’ll have a conversation and figure out if he deserves a place by our side. You do have a very very long life ahead of you now.”

“Oh he has a looong way to go before I’m okay with letting him get close to you like that again. I think you gave him far too many chances.”

“I gave you a chance from the start didn’t I. Wasn’t planning to fall so quickly or for you to have such an impact on me but sometimes the fates like to play games.”

“Doesn’t help when you spell their lovers for making a pass at you.” Loki discloses.

“Excuse me, but I was spelled for my protection. If they had tried to keep their hands to themselves nothing would have happened to them.” You defend. “And If I remember correctly, you benefitted that night from the spell as well. Bedding down 3 fates at once is quite a feat. You’re welcome.”

Loki grins that devilish smile. “I’d be happy to show you my gratitude once more.”

After family dinner later that night…

“Are you serious Steve? You can’t possibly be serious right now. Who the fuck gave you the right to even speak with such vitriol on your tongue about him? He may care about maintaining his salvaged reputation but honey I am a whole mess of I don’t give a fuck. There is nothing you can do or say to me that I haven’t already done to myself. So come on. Try me. I love stupid games. I always come up with the best prizes.”

“Doll, you don’t need to do this. I’m okay. Steve's just hurting.”

“Like hell you are James. I know that look in your eyes and I’m not okay with it. Everything inside of me wants to make a scene right now. To bring America’s Golden Boy to his knees. But I know you don’t want that. So, this is the best solution.”

“Oh, wow. You need the goddess to fight your battles for you now Buck. Just look at you pussy whipped already. I must say I much preferred when I didn’t know you had had my woman before me.” The angry blonde spouts off.

That was it. That what the last nail in his soon to be coffin. Your shoulders relaxed, as a calmness took over. You turned to smile sweetly at the group of hero’s lounging around you in the common room. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You rise to your feet. Bucky reaches out with his metal arm, giving your hand a squeeze and looking into your almost vacant eyes. “Doll?”

You just squeeze his hand back before releasing it and starting to walk away. You could hear Steve’s teeth clenching as he bites down on his jaw. A quiet had settled within the room.

“Sure can dish it out. Too bad you can’t ta-“

That was all he was able to make out before your hand tightened around his windpipe. No one moved to help the hero.

“What was that? We’re you going to imply that I couldn’t take it. Tsk tsk tsk.” You make sure to dig your nails in, allowing little rivulets of crimson to take the course of gravity and stain is alabaster skin.

His eyes begin frantically searching the faces of his friends around him. Surely someone would come to his aid. He was the leader of the team wasn’t he.

“Oh, they won’t help you my dear. As you know I’m not exactly mortal. And therefore, even with all their nifty enhancements. They are no match for me. Expect Wanda. Although I really don’t want to know the truth to that. I very much like the Scarlet Witch.”

You allow him to take a quick breath and he squeaks out. “Thor. Loki.”

“My demi god exes?” You start to laugh. “You think the can or will save you?”

He nods.

“Oh you poor unfortunate soul. That’s not going to happen. You see, I can control the elements and well all that lovely Thunder can be rendered useless with a snap of my fingers. I’m also the mother of magic. Only one close to me is Freya. Loki’s magic technically stems from me.”

You turn to the blonde Adonis and dark prince with a smile. “I wouldn’t do anything to you without just cause. You know that.” You send them a wink and they beam a smile your way.

“Doll, he’s starting to turn red.” Bucky states.

“Oops.” You loosen the pressure on his windpipe but keep your hand firmly in place around his thick and bleeding neck.

“I think it’s due time for you to retire to your wing for the night Captain. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you that can’t be reversed.”

You take a step back, releasing him. Watching as he clutches his neck. Eyes brimming with hurt and anger.

You lean forward and run your tongue along an errant trail of his life force. Making sure he watches as you trace it along your lips, before pulling it into your mouth and swallowing. With the snap of your crimson covered fingers all traces of blood disappear.

“Now run along. And remember,” You step forward so that you may whisper in his ear. “This was but a warning. It would more than please me for you to fuck around and find out what I would do if you slight what is mine again.” You place a kiss to his cheek and return to your White Wolf.

Everyone watches on as he huffs and puffs. Stomping towards the elevators.

Everyone except for Bucky. He only has eyes for you.

He pulls you down to straddle his lap. You can feel exactly what that little display of your power used against his best friend did to him pushing against his zipper. His flesh hand grips your hip tightly as his metal thumb runs along your bottom lip. “Say goodnight to our friends, Doll.”

“Why? Steve’s gone. We can enjoy the rest of our evening in peace now.”

“Say goodnight, георгин. Unless you want our friends to see you get fucked stupid.”

You bite your lip and maintain eye contact with his steel greys. “Goodnight, Earth’s mightiest.”

He grips your thighs tight and rises from his seat. Heading for the elevators. “Tony, up the sound proofing for our floor. Oh and can you funnel the audio to my Asshole best friends room as well.”

“Damn that’s pouring lemon and salt into the wound.” Clint quips.

Tony messes with a screen on his watch for a moment. “Done and done terminator. Try not to break too much furniture this time please. I’m gonna have to start a tab soon with you two.”

Before the elevator doors can fully close you shout out. “What’s the fun in that!”

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Avatars

Pairing: Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Wepwawet Avatar! reader

Genre: not necessarily fluff, it’s just you and Marc interacting for the first time

Warnings: little bit of violence and like a line of swearing, also this was written on a whim so it’s not that good

——— ——— ———

Who is Wepwawet, you may ask. He is a god, depicted with a gray blue-ish wolf head, or jackal head. Originally he was a War Detity, or was seen as a scout to clear ways into war. But in later depictions of Wepwawet, he has gone up to the horizon and called the “Opener of the Sky”, clearing the way and guiding the dead to their afterlife.

So as you, Wepwawet’s avatar, are seen as a fierce fighter, but kind and gentle to those in need.

In times of need, people depict their savor with the head of a jackal or wolf, a flowing skirt (more of a half skirt, like a cape for your pants), and a tall staff with a slant at the top and two prongs at the bottom. They say they were kind, carrying them to safety as soon as they can. But fighting ferociously against the danger.

So, it’s when Steven finds you working in the museum with him, in the Ancient Egypt exhibit of course, due to your affiliation with a detity. He takes an interest in as, as Marc does too.

You stand up to your’s and Steven’s boss, Donna. Correcting her on his name, shooting back passive aggressive comments when she spits them out at your coworker, and taking over certain jobs when you can see that Steven is uncomfortable with Donna.

It’s not the slight crush inside of you towards Steven that makes you protect him, it’s your duty as an avatar to Wepwawet. It’s an instinct now, to protect those in need. Just like now.

“Stevie!!” Donna yelled.

Shop had closed. Patrons had long ago left. A few day security were left, and Donna had chosen you two to close up, to scan in items from today’s shipments and restock the larger of the shelves.

“Steven,” You corrected, stocking up some Anubis plushies.

You could practically feel Donna rolling her eyes in your direction as she walked by.

Steven was stocking up on Bastet statues, she’s seen in her most regal, house cat sitting form. But he turned to Donna, a fearful look in his eyes.

“I need you to go in the back and continue scanning in today’s shipment’s,” Donna ordered. “I’ll be leaving.”

And with that, your boss turned around and walked out the doors of the exhibit. And you rolled your eyes, leaning down and grabbing more Anubis plushies. You listened to Steven’s steps fade into the background and disappear behind the door to the back room.

You broke apart the box once done stacking the plushies onto their respective shelves, setting it behind the cash register. You wandered around the shop, making sure things were all stacked accordingly, fixing up Steven’s rushed stacking and putting away his empty box. You’ve also decided to grab one of your spare cleaning rags to clean up the exhibits that we’re guarded by glass.

As you clean, you notice two things, the moon is full and the large jackal statue that guarded the entrance to your exhibit was missing. Odd. Did they move it today without you notice? Or.. did something happen?

As if on queue, a noise sounded behind. Nothing more than a creak, but you couldn’t help but turn around. And before you stood an 8 foot snarling, drooling jackal.

It lunged at you and with the flick of a switch, you summoned your suit and held it back with your staff, your hands on either side and it’s jaws gaping around the metal rod.

“shit..” you muttered, drool dripping onto the floor.

With a thrust of your arms, you overpowered the jackal, and held it to the floor with a foot on its chest and the pronged end pressed up against its forehead.

“Down,” You ordered.

The jackal was still, like it was in a trance. It reminded you of a dead insect, with it on its back and it’s legs bent. It breathed still, the jackal’s eyes watching you.

“Stay,” You ordered again, cautiously lifting your foot from its chest.

It stayed.

“Go back to your post, jackal,” You told it.

The jackal scrambled up and over to the empty stone stand over by the entrance and sat exactly like the one on the other side of the door. Slowly, it turned back to stone.

As soon as that was done, you were suddenly put into a chokehold from behind. You grabbed their arms. with your pulling doing no avail, you elbowed them in the side. Within their moment of weakness, you flipped the over onto the floor in front of you and pointed the pronged end of your staff at their neck.

They were in a mummy wrapping-like suit. It covered their entire body, including their head. They also had a cape and a hood with their suit, but the hood was fallen back, revealing more of the covering on their face that encased their whole head.

“Who are you?” You both asked.

His voice was gruff and a little winded.

“You answer me first,” You pointed the staff closer.

“No,” The figure grabbed your staff, twisting you over and tripping you so you fell on your back. “You answer me first.”

You gasped for air. Landing flat on your back knocked the wind from you.

You noticed that the figure kneeled on top of you, holding the pronged end of your staff to your throat, like you had done to them previously.

You noticed their hand moving towards your jackal head, to lift it up you suppose. So you punched them in the face, cause them to reel back and hold their face. You kicked them off of you and grabbed your staff, poking at the figure.

“I asked first, who are you?” You asked once more, adjusting your mask to cover your face, as a little had been revealed.

“Fine,” the figure moved to stand, but you poked them back down with your staff. “Alright alright. I am the avatar for Khonsu. So then who are you?”

“I’m the avatar for Wepwawet,” You answered, observing the person below you.

They seemed well built, the hugging frame of their suit didn’t hide that. Too bad you couldn’t see their face so you knew who they were.

“So are we chill?” The person asked.

“I don’t know, are we?” You asked. “Not gonna put me in a chokehold again, are you?”

“No promises,” The person winked.

You hesitated for a moment, before retreating. You set the two-pronged end of your staff on the marble floor of the museum floor, careful not to leave any scratch marks as Donna might blame your coworker tomorrow if she saw the damage. And you watched as the mummy man get up, offering no help out of caution.

Before you both could speak, you turned your head to the side, hearing voices from the entrance to the museum.

“Night guards,” You mumbled, glancing at the man across from you who looked in the same direction. “C’mon.”

Without waiting or looking behind you, you headed for a back hallway in the exhibit, knowing a quick way out without being seen.

“Where are we going?” The man asked. He followed you.

“What way were you gonna go without being seen?” You questioned, spotting your escape route. “Out a window?”

He stayed quiet. That’s what you thought.

You trotted up the stairs, hearing the man’s heavier steps. You opened the exit door, the cold night hair hitting your face. The air stilled as you stepped outside.

You two ended up on the roof, the city lights lighting up the sky around you. You turned to watch your new companion fix his hood, pulling it up over his head. You observed the man more. His hood came to a point in front of his face, and his eyes glowed white, no pupil visible. He also had a half circle, shiny logo on the center of his chest.

“Like what you see?” The man questioned. He had an american accent, you now noticed now that your fight-or-flight had gone down.

“You wish,” You winked, knowing he couldn’t see it.

You noticed flashlights in the windows below. Noting that as your leave before they saw you two up here.

You moved to leave, hopping up onto one of the higher roofs.

“Where are you going?” The man asked. “How do I know you’re not a threat?”

“One, I’m not,” You answered. “And I’m going to leave before we’re caught. See ya later, Mummy Man.”

Before you gave him a chance to speak back, you hopped off the opposite side of the building and onto another, going through long way to a route to your flat, making sure your companion hadn’t followed you.

And Marc still stood on the building, watching the spot where you had disappeared. Looking for the ears of your mask, or your two pronged staff. He and Khonsu didn’t know Wepwawet had an avatar. They’d have to discuss this they next time they went to the Pyramid of Giza, I’m sure Steven would love to go back.

[mikeisthricedeceased]

Any headcanons for A/B/O with alpha!f!reader + moon boys please? 🙏🏻🔥♥️

Oh, this is an interesting thought 🤔

Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Warnings: Impact play, bruising, D/s, pain kink, lots of kink mentions honestly

Steven Grant - Omega

Steven is a total sweetheart, not a total pushover. He’ll fall at your feet, softly reciting a few lines of poetry without completely realizing he’s doing it. He also won’t hesitate to step up if someone is rude or disrespects you. He’ll kiss his way up your thighs, comparing you to every goddess he can think of that’s renowned for beauty or grace or intelligence. Loves when you bite and nip at his shoulders and hips, anywhere that is regularly covered up, because it feels special, like a secret just for the two of you. He likes when you give his nipples a little pinch every now and then, makes sparks jump under his skin. In private, he almost exclusively calls you “Alpha,” the word leaving his lips wrapped in warmth and affection. He can get a little cheeky, but he isn’t quite a brat. Big fan of praise and softer forms of affection, though he does enjoy some hair pulling.

Marc Spector - Omega

Marc is a little rougher. He’s hard-headed and bratty, but utterly charming and protective. Wants what’s best for all of you, while not afraid to be a little selfish from time to time. Likes when hickeys are visible just above his collar, keeps his chin raised enough to show them off, looking a bit smug with you at his side. He whispers dirty things to you in public, teasing until you give a reaction, and he knows you’ll be tying him down later, teasing him right back. Will often look to you when there’s a decision to be made and ask, “What does The Lady want?” or nods to you with a “You’ll have to ask The Lady.” He always says it like a title, like something downright regal. He’s also a pretty big fan of getting pegged. Wants to feel the bruises you left, your fingers digging into his hips, hours after you’ve both finished.

Jake Lockley - Omega (or maybe Beta?)

Jake is the ultimate brat. Impact play and punishment of nearly every kind are what he lives for. He back talks constantly, bites back when you nip at his throat, does everything he can to frustrate you when you try to restrain him. Slap him, spank him, degrade him, rake your nails across his skin. Edge or overstimulate him for so long he can’t help but cry, and he’ll still make a snarky comment as you untie him afterward. He is also fully ready and willing to brawl with anyone who even looks at you wrong. He takes the longest to wear out of the three of them, always wanting harder, faster, meaner. He also reacts well to CBT, but too much might affect the others, so it’s for occasions when he’s been especially naughty. Regularly says “You hit like a girl,” while you are slapping/spanking him. That’s code for “bring out the flogger.” When all is said and done, he thanks you before you end a scene, kissing the hand you had used for the slapping/spanking/flogging/etc and calling you “mi vida.” He isn’t around as often, so that’s usually the softest moment you have with him.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

A Night At The Museum

Summary: After asking you out, Steven invites you to a private tour of the National Art Gallery.

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!Reader (mentions of Marc and Jake)

Word Count: ~1.7k

Content Warning: teeth-rotting fluff, J.B from Security being a little sweets thief

A/N: Based upon a slightly altered request by @screechingsweets.

Please consider liking, reblogging and commenting! It means the world to me 🌸💞

Feel free to check out my Masterlist!

Tagging those who may be interested: @luke-o-lophus @littlefreya

A low groan left Steven's mouth as he eyed himself in the three-part mirror hanging above the sink in his bathroom.

"I look like a total knob.." He muttered, his fingers nervously adjusting the too-tight knot of his maroon tie.

"No, you don't.", Marc responded, throwing Steven a reassuring smile out of the right tile "You look absolutely sharp, bud."

"I really don't know, Marc.." Steven turned his shoulders as if to pose for all three of them to form an opinion.

"Have some trust in yourself, man. You managed to ask her out all by yourself and just think about how happy she looked as she gave you her number!" Marc's eyes darted towards to left tile of the bathroom mirror, pointing towards Jake, who stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

With an insecure frown on his face, Steven's gaze wandered to Jake.

As per usual he wasn't a man of many words so he agreed to Marc's words with an affirmative nod of his head.

"Well then, lads, here goes nothing..." Steven huffed, shoving his slightly sweaty hands into the pockets of his grey trousers.

-----

Fumbling at the thin strap of your handbag, you looked up to the brightly illuminated banners, advertising a visit to the National Art Gallery. It was well beyond sundown so the already impressively coloured death-masks of various pharaohs gleamed down on you with an intimidating stare. The regal sheen of gold striped with a deep blue that survived thousands of years without losing any of it's magical vibrance. It wasn't much of a big mystery to you as to why Steven seemed to be absolutely enamoured with those ancient relics, enchanted by stories lost to sand and burning heat. By simply looking at those banners, the gently waving fabric in the fresh night air, you felt the legacy of this ancient culture calling out to you, luring you inside for them to tell you their tales as long as you were willing to listen.

"Heya! Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long!" The audibly excited voice of Steven Grant pulled you from your musings.

A bit taken aback, you turned to the side from where his voice was coming, a warm smile tugging at your lips.

"Ah, no.", You waved your hand, shushing his worry away "I was a bit early actually."

"Oh, okay.." Steven mumbled under his breath, his legs striding towards you in a stiff motion.

Standing right in front of each other, neither of you were quite sure whether to hug or not. A slightly awkward slience dawned to spread between the two of you until you decided to take the initiative and greet him with a short embrace.

He smelled good, you thought to yourself as your chin slightly brushed over the soft fabric of his button-up shirt. You couldn't quite pinpoint the exact smell, but hints of freshly bought books and minty toothpaste settled themselves into your nostrils comfortably.

"So, uuh..", Steven stammered, slightly overwhelmed by the unexpected close contact "Shall we go in then?"

Although you felt a tad of hesitation since it was quite beyond closing time, you nodded.

"Are you sure if it's okay that we... I mean..." You nodded towards the broad building.

A short, but reassuring chuckle fell from Steven's lips.

"It's okay, don't worry. J.B from Security owed me.... caught him nicking sweets from the gift shop."

His profound explanation elicited an amused laugh to rumble through your chest.

"So, if you'd please follow me now." With a surprisingly self-assure expression on his face Steven waved his arm towards the steps leading up to the entrance "The mysteries of ancient Egypt are awaiting."

It was impossible to miss the way his dark-abmer eyes lit up with unadulterated excitement and joy and once more you found yourself happy that the clumsy man from the gift shop, who had eagerly answered each and every question your class of preschoolers had bombarded him with, bashfully asked for your number that afternoon.

-----

Aside from your occasional steps, taking you from one exhibit to the next, the vast halls of the gallery were so quiet that you could've heard a needle drop. This calm atmosphere, entirely stripped from all the large, loudly nattering groups of visitors that poured in during daytime, was nothing short of magical. To you it still felt borderline illegal to be in here, getting a private tour. Without a doubt, for a first date Steven made quite the impression.

"Steven?" You quietly asked, pointing at an array of tiny figurines behind thick glass "What are those?"

Taking a step back from an exhibit close to the one you were pointing at, Steven crouched down a little next to you.

"Those little things?", He smiled, unfiltered adoration for the works in front of him adorning his features, leading the fine laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes to crinkle "That are ushabtis. They are part of the vast amount of grave goods given to the deceased to work for them in the afterlife."

"Like little minions?" You rose your brows, your eyes subconsciously widening in interest.

"Exactly!" Steven chuckled "See those inscriptions on their legs?"

"Yeah." To see them even better, you decided to take the same slighy crouched down position as Steven.

"They served as some sort of promise to the deceased. A guarantee to rise and work when called upon."

"Loyal even in death, huh?" You exhaled, your breath forming a small circle of condensation on the thick glass, indicating that you leaned in nearly embarrassingly close to the exhibit.

"Whoops!" You straightened your back again and swiped the slight damp patch with the palm of your hand.

"Don't worry!", Steven laughed out "That certainly won't disturb them in their slumber."

"Are you sure?" You joked to play over the hint of red flushing your cheeks.

"I'm very sure. If they aren't bothered by a wild mob of preschoolers every other day, the little fellas down there won't be appalled by a lovely face."

His compliment surely didn't help with calming the spreading warmth on your cheeks. For a moment you just looked at him, your eyes scanning his face from the dark, curly hair over his thick and defined eyebrows down to his lips, their corners softly pointing upwards into a gentle smile. This man in front of you had absolutely no idea how handsome he was just standing next to you, explaining things that sparked your interest. You felt save in Steven's presence because he clearly wasn't playing pretend with you.

There was no 'Look at this expensive bouquet of flowers I bought for you to at least kiss me' or 'Drink another glass of wine so it's easier to convince you to come home with me' in his invitation to the gallery. No, tonight you were stone cold sober and Steven was so genuine in the way he carried himself that you simply refused to believe that there was anything but mutual interest in the same topic that had let him to bring you here.

The realisation hit you by surprise to say the least. In the back of your head memories from past, rather awful dates resurfaced, most of them ending with you in a cab back home questioning your taste in men or taking a walk of shame back home the next morning. Tonight felt like none of those things. Spending time with Steven felt calm.... but most of all easy. Something you hadn't experienced in way too long.

"Thank you.." You mumbled, absolutely nothing better wanting to pop up in your head.

Suddenly, at your response, Steven's breath hitched a little as if he didn't even notice the compliment he uttered so casually just moments before.

His upright innocence shot right through you chest into your heart and you wondered if you ever met someone so pure before.

"Are you alright?" Steven's brows rose to a light frown as he turned towards you, his eyes locking with yours.

"Yeah, I'm good." You assured him, your hand slowly reaching out to the tip of his tie.

Within seconds that appeared agonisingly long to you, your fingers wrapped themselves gently around the silky fabric and softly tugged him towards you. It didn't even needed a full step for him to stand right in front of you, your faces just centimetres apart.

"Steven?" You whispered, hearing his quickening heartbeat thudding in his chest.

"Huh?" He murmured in return, eyes widening in anticipation and his pupils nearly blown enough to devour the golden sparkle in his amber eyes.

"You are a really precious man." As soon as the last word had left your mouth, you leaned in and carefully pressed your lips onto his.

They were warm, soft and inviting. The scent of freshly printed pages and mint settled back into your nose as he reciprocated the kiss. In this moment you were sure to feel your bodies bleeding into one another under the cozy hue of the gallery lights.

Having Steven so close to you felt good, felt right and neither of you dared to break from the kiss as you released his tie from your grip. Instead, he slowly rose his hands up to your neck, carefully enclosing it with his tender palms, pulling you closer until your entire body stood pressed against his taut statue.

Two hearts thundering so close to one another, set ablaze by a hitherto unfamiliar kind body heat.

However this night would progress, you knew that it wouldn't be the last time you felt his taste spreading into your mouth.

[regalityandcoffee]

Warmth (Bret Hart x Reader x Steven Regal)

Summary: You. Bret. Steven. Cabin in the woods in Winter. What else is there to say.

Warnings: Short, nudity, suggestiveness.

Enjoy <3

♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡

"Dear, come to bed."

"In a minute, I'm just watching the snow fall," you mumbled, your hands against the ice cold window. Outside, soft flakes of white coated the ground and stuck to the window.

You heard a sigh, then the sound of sheets and the creak of the bed. You looked over your shoulder to see Steven leave the bed and walk to you. Arms went to your waist as he fought back a yawn, his naked figure against you. "It's getting late, you don't want to be tired on our outing tomorrow, do you?"

"Will we even be able to go? The news said 4-6 inches, but what if we get snowed in?"

"That's alright," you two turned to see Bret come back in, drying his hair with a towel, sweats hanging low on his hips. "We could go sledding another time. Besides, would either of you complain if we all got stuck inside?"

Steven shook his head as Bret walked over and ruffled his hair. "Just us three, nothing to do but watch movies, drink hot chocolate..." he took you by the chin, giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Maybe share a pretty girl for a couple of hours..."

Your face grew hot at the comment. Laughing, Bret shut off the lamp and crawled under the comforter. You and Steven followed and you snuggled in between the two of them under the warmth of the bedding.

Bret's hands rubbed up your sides as you turned to kiss him, and soon you were letting out breathy moans between the two of them as Steven kissed your neck, slipping a hand down your underwear.

"We...should be sleeping." You said between breaths.

"Are you really tired, though?" Bret murmured, a hand moving up you shirt. You thought about it for a second and shook your head. "How about you Stevie, are you tired?"

"Not at all," said the man behind you, pressing closer to you. You could feel his erection against your backside. You moaned into Brets mouth as his fingers toyed with you.

"Then I think we can stay up just a bit longer. Whaddya say, doll?"

"Yeah, okay..."

"Don't worry about tommorow. Whatever happens, happens. Besides, we have all weekend for whatever we wanna do..."

-fin-

[rawiswhore]

Steven Regal x Fem Reader- "Cover Them Up Slut!"

I hope you people reading this fanfiction won't find it degrading to women, so viewer discretion is advised.

I will also edit this fanfic in the future.

______________________________________________________________

A lot of vintage British comedy---especially from the 1960's and 1970's---sexually objectified and often even degraded and humiliated women by having their clothes fall off or ripped off.

"The Benny Hill Show" is a perfect example of this, but there were also those "Carry On" movies from those decades.

Unlike Benny Hill, "Carry On" movies are something mostly only British people know.

Speaking of British people, when you think of British professional wrestlers, who do you think of?

Davey Boy Smith/The British Bulldog and William Regal immediately come to mind.

Unlike British professional wrestler Big Daddy/Shirley Crabtree, Davey Boy Smith and William Regal were both famous in England and in the USA.

Not only does William Regal love professional wrestling, he also loves British comedy---especially the British comedy he grew up watching.

He's paid homage and tribute to British comedy in the WWE by dressing up in drag.

During a time when there were almost no British pro wrestlers in what was known as the World Wrestling Federation, William joined the company at the end of 1998, where he went by the name "Steven Regal".

On a "Shotgun Saturday Night" episode that aired in November of 1998, Steven had a match against X Pac, and you were X Pac's valet.

During this match, you were dressed in a short sleeved midriff bearing crop top with these matching skintight short shorts.

Your top was lightly colored so your nipples could show through it, although was it necessary for you to wear a lightly colored top considering what the climax and highlight of this match will arguably be?

You didn't wear a bra underneath your top on purpose, and your nipples were slightly poking out of the fabric of your top during parts of this match.

Before this match, you rubbed ice cubes on your nipples so they'd protrude through the fabric of your top.

Luckily after having your nipples rubbed by ice cubes, the wetness from those ice cubes rubbed on your areolas wasn't soaking through the fabric of your top, much to the dismay of the horny male fans eager to see a wet T-shirt contest.

In parts of this match, you were bouncing up and down on purpose not just to cheer for X Pac, but also so your breasts would be bouncing up and down under your top.

However, that wasn't the point of this match.

Sometimes you clapped your hands and beat your hands on the ring the cheer for X Pac.

But the big standout and climax of this match was during a moment where you were next to the ring standing in a spot where Steven Regal was.

You weren't in the ring, but nearby it.

During one part, your hands and arms were above your heads where you were clapping your hands, cheering for X Pac and even jumping and bouncing up and down.

While your arms and hands were above your head just to clap, your shirt rode and raised upwards more and more until your bare breasts were exposed.

The camera caught and filmed your shirt raising and elevating up your body that caused your bare naked tits to be exposed on television, where the camera caught and filmed your tits out.

The camera was standing in front of you and filming you when your shirt raised up.

Soon some fans in the audience saw your barenaked breasts released, and the titantron was even playing you with your barenaked breasts exposed out.

Fans---both male and female---got out of their seats and cheered when they saw your chest.

When the fans in the front row saw and noticed your bare breasts out, the cheers and roars began spreading, where many of them were pointing to your chest with their index fingers.

These fans' eyes grew wide and their eyebrows raised, many of their mouths were agape.

Steven heard the roars and cheers from the audience, and he turned to see what the hoopla was all about, only for him to see your barenaked breasts out and your face completely embarrassed.

When you found out your barenaked breasts were out, you pretended to be completely embarrassed, your eyebrows raised and your eyes growing wide while your face looked shocked and horrified.

You quickly moved your hands and arms down and your hands grabbed your top to pull it down until both of your breasts were covered.

Male fans were unhappy once you covered your tits back up.

This moment was completely rehearsed and it was intentional for your chest to be exposed like that.

You could've walked up the stairs and stood by where Steven is, attempting to slap him and your shirt raises up and exposes your barenaked breasts.

You could've also cheered for X Pac while you stood in the ring but outside of the ropes, where your arms and hands were above your head to clap for him which would cause your shirt to elevate up and expose your barenaked breasts.

Another moment could've involved your barenaked breasts exposed and you didn't know about it.

This moment of you being embarrassed due to your bare breasts exposed due to raising your hands and arms up to cheer (which caused your shirt to raise and ride up) was influenced by moments on "The Benny Hill Show" and "Carry On" movies, where women were embarrassed from their clothes ripped off and their breasts exposed.

Deep down inside, you weren't really embarrassed.

You wish you could've flashed and exposed your bare breasts at some other sexy male wrestler, like Christian Cage, Jeff Hardy, Rob Van Dam, Chris Jericho, etc.

But Steven Regal was British, and this moment made sense since it's like moments from "The Benny Hill Show" and "Carry On" movies.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Quindrabble #4 || Jake Lockley

Summary: A 500 word drabble for family man Jake Lockley x fem!reader. Warnings: Fluff

|| Main Masterlist || Drabbles Masterlist ||

“Welcome home, handsome.” You moaned as Jake pinned you to the front door, dropping his flat cap and keys onto the hall table while his lips connected with your neck. “You’ve been gone too long.”

“Lo siento.” He murmured as he made his way to your lips. “Had a few things to take care of.”

The pitter patter of feet came rushing down the hall and Jake turned just in time to catch his little girl as she jumped up. 

“Papi! You’re home!” 

“Mi hermosa hija, look how big you are getting.” Jake laughed as he spun her around in his arms. “I was only gone a minute.”

“Uh, Steven? Please tell me this is your secret family.”

“They’re not mine, bruh, I couldn’t even make it to one date.”

“Oh shit, this is a serious problem.”

“Out of curiosity, just how many of us are their rattlin’ around in here?”

“Are you alright, love?” You asked as you saw Jake shake his head and look away from the mirror hanging in the hall.

“Headache is all.” He said with a small smile, shifting his daughter to his hip as he kicked the front door closed and took your hand. “I just need to hear all about mi familia. Have you been a good girl for mami?”

Jake took his favourite spot on the sofa and you curled into his side as he pulled Gabriella under his other arm, a deeply contented sigh escaping as he settled into the cushions. He looked exhausted as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, smiling as he listened to his daughter talk up a storm about everything he had missed. 

“Alright sweetheart, time to get ready for bed.” You said when she finally seemed up to date with her news. “Papi needs to get some rest.”

Her bottom lip pouted and she tried to charm you with the warm amber eyes that matched her fathers but you shook your head before Jake could give in. He was a big softie when it came to Gabby so you were the one who had to put your foot down. 

“Listen to mami,” he said before kissing her temple and whispering, “I’ll be in shortly to read you a bedtime story.”

She bounced excitedly off the sofa and tugged on Jake’s hand impatiently. “Can I choose Popocatépetl e Iztaccíhuatl?” 

“Ay ay ay, a romantic tragedy…” Jake muttered as he looked at you. 

“Don’t act like she gets it all from me.” You teased, catching his hand and pulling him back down to you to steal a kiss. “The romance she gets all from you.”

Gabby tugged at her fathers hand again, reminding him she was still waiting before bounding off down to her room with Jake following more sedately. Falling back onto his cushion, you smiled at the warmth in his spot, the reminder that he was finally home again before his smooth voice drifted down the hall as he regaled the love story.

[peterthepark]

venus, planet of love

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut with plot, mentions of marc and khonshu, mentions of therapy and brief panic attack depiction, all the fluffy feels, mutual pining, idiots in love, inexperienced!steven and reader, the l-bomb and lovey dovey sex, aftercare, about 9k word count teehee, friends to lovers

summary: art models are surprisingly hard to come by in london. maybe they just don’t want to work with you. maybe they’re intimidated. steven thinks you’re pretty and marc thinks it’s time to act on it. who knew steven grant would be up for a portrait?

note: first moonknight fic!!! here’s to many more :) feedback and reblogs are 100% appreciated, thanks!

- masterlist - steven grant playlist

“It just looks so smooth, like I want to touch it.”

“What? Her arse?”

The Rokeby Venus stands out as striking against the patterned red wallpaper of the gallery. The painted depiction of Venus is a stark paste of white, sensual and vividly nude as your eyes follow the curvature of brushstrokes on her backside. The soft greys, reds and creams compliment the fleshy paraphernalia of the painting; your starry eyes wander in a mixture of awe and engrossment, while your fidgeting friend beside you finds his gaze on another work of wonder.

“I’m appreciating the art, Steven. Not the arse.” 

The corners of your lips tweak into something in the sorts of regale as you deliberately scribble onto your notepad, the sound of the number-two pencil against paper filling the eerie solitude of the museum. Steven’s attentive stare follows the tiny scrunching of your nose and soon, he finds himself amused at how your expression slowly shifts into unmistakable concentration. 

It’s endearing. 

Especially when he sees the tip of your tongue poke out from between your lips, nestling against the bottom of one of your front teeth. 

Adorable. 

“Oh, you’d loathe the ancient Egypt exhibit then. Not a tad bit of arses there.” Steven finally catches your eye, your head lifting from hunched shoulders to listen to him. His comment draws a quiet chuckle out of you, to which you motion for him to go on. He doesn’t hesitate. “Well, I mean, nudity had a proper place and time then. The Egyptians prided themselves in — in fashion, in jewels and beads, fabric and linens. Really, nudity was practically associated with work or oftentimes, social status. Royalty loved to dress up. You don’t see many naked ushabti, yeah?”

The strewn sentences leave him with a deep exhale, mouth parting as he gauges your reaction carefully. You’ve always adored his bursts of passion. Youthful, exciting, like the first tall flame of a new candlelight.

Steven makes an effort to ignore the image of Marc harshly rubbing his temples in the golden frame of the painting.

“I don’t think Velázquez intended nudity to be the central theme.” You mindlessly tuck the notepad into the tote bag on your shoulder. The movement causes your elbow to brush against Steven’s forearm, and he gulps roughly at the tingling of his skin. “Nor do I think it’s completely about Venus.”

“Whaddya think then?” 

You quirk a brow at his question. “I think… I mean, it’s obviously an allusion to sexuality and the aesthetic of it. But not sex. More like—”

“Beauty.”

You glance at him briefly, voice getting caught in your throat as you lose your train of thought just by looking at him.

“Yeah. Beauty, women, attraction, it’s all very speculative…” 

His side profile is something you’ll never get used to. The singular curl that unravels down his forehead knocks the wind right out of you, the dark chocolate strand begging to be wrapped around your finger and the rest carded through your palms.

Sometimes, you think he deserves a museum exhibit of his own, dedicated to his constant busy mind and to the soft yet simultaneously roughened details of his face. 

Maybe most of the time, actually.

Steven doesn’t notice the stumble in your body language, too swept up taking the painting in for what feels like the hundredth time but really, his mind can’t stop replaying how ‘sex’ had rolled off of your tongue so beautifully, and now how Marc won’t stop fucking pestering him about growing some balls and manning up tonight.

His watch beeps and pulls you both from your respective trances while Marc sends him a hard glare through the reflection of the watchface. “Oh, bollocks.” Steven sighs out, jaw clenching as anxiety takes over the tranquility of his features. 

You turn to him with knitted eyebrows. “Problem?”

“Yeah, think we’ve got to run.” He frowns, gesturing for you to follow him to the front of the exhibit. “Donna’s gonna have my head tomorrow for bringing you ‘round again, love.”

“S’not like I’m breaking and entering.” You playfully smirk at him as you clutch your bag, jutting one foot in front of the other as he hastily takes you through the employee exit and resets the alarm on the door. “And if I did want to rob this place, I would’ve done it by now. No offense.”

“None taken.” He breathes out through a winded laugh, fiddling with the zipper at the bottom of his collared jacket. He treads carefully beside you in the alleyway. “Mind you, as long as you leave the gift shop out of it, yeah?”

The streetlamps cast shadows over your face, but he finds himself gazing at you even through all the darkness.

A lingering stare. An appreciative smile. A mirroring in how you both tilt your heads to the side ever so slightly. But Steven sees the second hand embarrassment on Marc’s face transcend into the golden swirls of puddles on the cobblestone, his eyes screwed shut as a pained scoff leaves him.

Could’ve kissed her right now, Steven. 

Your toothy grin is all in one airy and lighthearted. Despite Marc’s unmistakable jabs, he’s proud of at least one thing: 

Making you smile.

“Of course, silly.”

No one really expects a friendship between an art student and a gift shop-ist from the National Gallery to work in a manner that is so effortless, so easy, as if it were like clockwork.

Except, the hour hand and the minute hand will never line up. 

Because you’re semi-convinced that Steven doesn’t harbor any sort of attraction towards you, nothing more than feelings of friendliness and a dash of awkwardness. But then there’s that other part of you, the part that notices the stolen glances, how he looks at you all doe-eyed and regardful even when you have nothing to say, how he remembers your breakfast order every single day despite having trouble with his own, how your number is the only other emergency contact in his phone besides his mom who hasn’t called him back once. Hell, you’ve even been friends long enough to earn an alligator emoji beside your name. What a rarity.

Just friends. That’s all it could and should be. 

Steven thinks you’d never date a bloke like him. Marc is sold on the idea that you have feelings for Steven, in which the tension, he states, is painfully and terribly obvious. It’s difficult to watch, even from that other dimension. And Khonshu, well, that guy just thinks that the three of you are all bloody idiots. 

You try to push down the odd fluttering of your stomach when Steven opens the door to your car for you. He always does. You’re used to the chivalry, the old-fashioned kindness, but something about how he’s doing it tonight — hand hovering over the small of your back, then over your head as you dip into the driver’s seat while he watches you intently, wrinkles smoothing over his tan skin and eyes softening.

You look up at him before he shuts your door. “Tea at mine?” 

“Only if I get to make it this time.”

You scoff in offense, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he comes around to the passenger side then buckles himself in. “What was wrong last time?”

“Honestly, Y/N?”

“Yes, honestly!” You slightly turn up the radio, raising your brows at Steven as he immediately changes the station.

He sputters through a chuckle before he can even finish his sentence. “Tasted absolutely rubbish, I tell you!”

“Piss off!”

Abruptly, you both laugh heartily at that, shoulders bouncing as Steven recalls the memory of how awful it not only felt in his mouth, but how awful the brew looked in general. He finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from your face. Unable to stop replaying your sweet giggle that he drew out of you over and over again, and how his name falls from you like a bubbly chant as you reach over the console and slap his arm. Unable to stop his fingers from twitching against his thigh because he just wants nothing but to reach out and tuck that annoying wisp of hair behind your ear and tell you how much you truly mean to him.

The moonlight looks pretty on you.

Steven likes the comfort of your flat more than his own. There’s something remarkable about seeing a bed without ankle restraints and chains, or having sand stuck to the soles of his feet as he pads around the kitchen for once. Just you, him, an ugly red sofa, and the mess of unfinished canvases on your floor. Your lips twitch when he reaches around to help you get something off of the top shelf in your cupboard, his large palm gently pressing against your upper back when he pulls away to hand you a porcelain cup. 

You pour from the teapot. Steven adds an acceptable amount of milk. One long sip. Sigh of relief. Another sip. Then, smile at each other behind your delicate cups.

Like clockwork.

His kind voice feels warmer than the tea in your hands. “I enjoyed today.” Steven admits, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles as he speaks into his cup. 

You study the sincere tenderness in his dark irises. “I did too.” For a moment, the silence is nice. It’s comforting. You’re a safe haven, even as he fidgets nervously, drumming his fingers against the cool surface as you reluctantly look away from each other. Yet the longer you linger in the quiet, the louder the thoughts in your mind get. Your pinched voice comes out rushed and unsure. “Are you still seeing that therapist?” Steven tilts his head, unable to recognize your tone. 

“Seeing her? What do you mean?”

“Like, um, the sessions and stuff.” You chuckle softly, waving a dismissive hand at that with widening eyes. “Not in — in that way. I mean, are you?”

Why is she asking?

“Oh, goodness. No. Absolutely not.” Steven‘s dark eyebrows shoot upwards. His hold on the porcelain teacup tightens, knuckles tensing. “Why’s that?” 

You blink rapidly. “Just wondering.”

“We weren’t compatible. Professionally.” He sends you a close-lipped smile. It’s demure, and for some reason, nostalgic. “She had this — this big, caged bird in the room with us. Like a bloody parrot or something.” Then, he shrugs, eyes darting across the room with what seems to be an amused smirk as if you’re supposed to understand this implied sort of inside joke. “Wasn’t very soothing. Probably gonna find someone else in the time being, you know, hopefully with a… nicer therapy animal. Preferably one that doesn’t repeat everything that I say.” You nod slowly, taking another sip while he clears his throat. “And you? How’s your project coming along, dear?”

You snort. “Haven’t even drawn a single thing.” Your shoulders deflate as you sigh dramatically. “Due in a week, not a single idea in mind, canvas still as empty as ever.”

“You’d think it would be easy to find a model. Plenty of nudists in London.”

“Yeah, well, none of them want to be painted.”

“Then they must be intimidated.”

A tiny clink fills the air when you set the cup of tea onto the table behind you, arms crossing over your chest as you tuck your hands by your hips. The flat feels chilly beneath the illumination of the kitchen lamp. Steven feels too far away. But at the same time, he’s here. Here, in the tiny room, by the stove, dark circles beneath his lower lashes like he hasn’t slept in years, muscles straining against his jacket.

“And why would they be intimidated?”

If Khonshu could swallow him whole, this would be the perfect time for it. If Marc wanted to take the body, he’d let him. But the alters stay out of it, and for once, Steven longs for their interference. He can’t escape the way you stare at him, innocently chewing on your bottom lip as you await his response patiently. You don’t prod, just let time pass. Steven doesn’t know which is worse. The fridge rumbles. The shower next door shuts off. The cars outside whizz by. The moon peeks out from the blinds. There’s a wailing siren in the distance, but nothing is louder than the heartbeat drumming against your chest as Steven swipes a wet thumb over his mouth and gazes out the cracked window above your sink.

“Because — well, you’re a talented painter. You’re good, good at what you do and you — you’re intentional.” He locks eyes with you in the midst of his ramblings. “You’re purposeful in how you study people, how you look at them, memorizing every flaw and every detail between. You capture beauty, um, that — that I can’t even see and I don’t know how…” He lets out a nervous laugh, jaw clenching under the weight of gritted teeth. “I don’t know how anyone can just sit there and watch you paint without melting on the spot.”

Keep going.

“Steven…”

“You intimidate because you’re beautiful. And beauty makes people nervous, Y/N.” He clasps a hand over his heart, not because the words strike him deeply, but to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.

You collect your weight from the table, using your heel to slowly push yourself towards Steven and stand in front of him. You curiously toe at his white sock with your own, avoiding his gaze as you uncross your arms from your chest and entangle them behind your back with a frown.

“Do I intimidate you?”

Khonshu isn’t even in the kitchen anymore, and Marc is speechless. He can’t even watch.

At first, Steven’s voice comes out as small. And had you not been watching the parting of his lips, it easily could’ve been mistaken as the wind knocking against the walls. “Yes.” 

“Is it because you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re more than that.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I am.”

Steven chuckles, shaking his head. His pupils are heavily dilated, darker than normal. “Trust me, you are.”

“Prove it.” You pick a stray thread off of his shirt, goosebumps erupting across his soft skin as your cold fingertips leave him. His eyes follow the motion before they flicker back to your face. “Sit on that sofa and let me paint you.” Steven can’t pinpoint the emotions behind your words. Close to playful. Far from joking. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious, but you’re grasping at paintbrushes with a glowing smile and quickly tying an apron around your waist that leaves him blushing shamelessly. 

“You do not want to paint me.” He awkwardly huffs out, raising his hands at you before you’re pouting at him. “Y/N, it would just be a waste of canvas.”

“And why would I not wanna paint you?” 

You pull your hair up into a ponytail, ignoring how Steven’s gaze trails up your exposed arms and the curve of your shoulders. You inhale deeply, and just from the way your throat flexes in the shadows, Steven suddenly brings himself to sit on the mass of pillows atop of the velvet couch. He watches you drag an easel out from your closet, placing it right by the footrest and the swiveling stool across from him. There’s a cart filled with discarded jars of scotch, tubes of different paint mediums and a wooden palette marked with an array of clashing colors beside you, an attest to the acrylic staining the Persian rug beneath your feet.

“Because I’m just me. Just Steven.”

Your eyes pop out from over the canvas.

“Well, I think ‘just Steven’ is perfect.” 

He winces, lines creasing together on his forehead. “So what do I do now? Just — just pose, or…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, teeth making indents on his bottom lip. “Do I smile? What do — what do your models usually do?”

“Well, most of the time, they’re usually half-naked and tend to be as still as a statue.”

“Oh.”

You peer back at him again, gaze full of sincerity and concern as he self-consciously situates his position on the couch. “But you don’t need to follow the naked part. Just the latter, okay?” 

“Alrighty then.”

He can feel the warmth of your smile radiating even from six feet away. “Relax your jaw. Don’t look so scared, the more natural the better.”

His pupils dart around the room, taking in your flat as if it’s the first time he’s been here. He can’t look at you. He can’t. Not when you’re concentrating on him like that, scouring the details of his features, the lines and moles that mark his face, the exhaustion, surveying the slump of his spine like that was meant to be beautiful to you.

Would you capture all his flaws and blemishes then turn them into compliments?

“I told you I’m intimidated.” Steven quips, squaring his shoulders when he sees your paintbrush take the first glide across the blank canvas. 

“And I told you that there’s nothing to be intimidated about.”

“You know, I quite hate it when you get down on yourself like that.” He glares at you with a heavy shrug. Even when he’s clearly upset at you, Steven has a certain calmness to him. 

He’s the striking resemblance of lightning without the explosiveness of thunder. 

You don’t say anything, just swirl a mixture of colors onto the battered palette as you return back to the painting. He can see your tongue prodding against the inside of your cheek, rumination coating your mind in the same manner that hues of beige, black and pink coat his portrait. Steven lets the silence talk. He lets you bask in the quiescence for the sake of your art, for the sake of peace and his embarrassing desire to get this over with. But at the same time, he doesn’t want this to end.

Sure, he hates the fleeting eye contact. But come tomorrow, you won’t be staring at him like this — won’t smile at him with such tenderness and intention, won’t let your gaze wander for longer than a best friend would. Come tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast together while an ABBA record echoes from the living room, then you’re driving him to work with morning road rage and leaving for a nine a.m. lecture as if domesticity didn’t have an effect on you like it did on Steven. 

There, you won’t study him like he’s the most interesting creature on the planet. But come tomorrow, he’ll continue to read you like you’re the rarest text of Egyptian lore. 

“You intimidate me too, you know.” 

Could you hear the cogs in his brain? Was this an answer to all of his speculations? Curiously, Steven turns his feet towards you. His ears perk up, full brows raising at your unanticipated statement. “What?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. 

“Now why would I do that?”

This time, your face is completely blocked by the easel. You make it purposeful so he can’t discern your expression, even as the brush moves in slow and heavy strokes against the canvas. 

“I suppose for the same reason you find me intimidating.“

The sound of wet paint dabs onto the surface and drowns out your shallow breaths in the midst of Steven’s surprise.

“You find me… pretty?”

The scoff at the end of his question makes you cringe. Maybe you’ve said too much. Maybe you’ve stepped a line, or maybe he thinks this is all too odd. 

Your lips flutter upwards solemnly as you repeat his exact words from earlier. 

“I think you’re more than that.”

His heart could absolutely burst from his chest right now. He’s helplessly pinching at the bridge of his nose, unsure where to put his hands and why his hair suddenly feels so flat against his head. The couch beneath him is stiff, uncomfortable against his arse as he realizes that he’s been sitting in the same spot for too long. And now, Khonshu is simply leaning over your shoulder to look at the easel, thrumming with critique and amusement as the God towers over your hunched frame on the stool.

“Damn it.” Steven groans, placing a fist over his chest as he fidgets erratically. His eyes narrow, lips pursing together as he tries to blink back the chaos in his mind and fights off the urge to hand the reins to Marc. “God, I think I’m having a panic attack right now.”

“What?” You immediately place your brush down, peeking around the side of the canvas as Steven tries to even out his breathing. The stool nearly clatters to the floor when you stand and take long strides to his aid with wide eyes. “Do you need some air? I can — I can open a window, or — water? Water would be good?” He nods feverishly, tearing his gaze away from you and directing it to the stained carpet. You rush over to the sink, flicking on the tap and clumsily filling up a mug that Steven had given you from the gift shop. “Okay. Here, here.”

The dinosaur pun on the front isn’t so funny anymore when water sloshes over the rim as you hand it to him. He takes loud gulps as you cup your hand below his chin and catch the excess from the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — are you okay? What happened back there?”

You called me pretty, he wants to say. You don’t think I’m awful-looking, he wants to say. You think that I’m worth a second glance and worth all those lingering stares that I thought were parts of my imagination, he wants to say.

But instead, he saves those remarks for another time, and settles on one that seems fitting for the moment.

“I got intimidated.”

And you laugh. It’s brief and small, yet large enough to mend the brokenness of Steven’s haywiring brain when you set his mug down on the footrest and look down at him from where he sits awkwardly on your couch. The overhead light creates an unconventional halo behind your crown of hair, your shadow embracing the sunken essence of Steven’s face as he quietly admires you.

You send him a lopsided smile, dimples creating crescent moons around your lips and the bulb of your nose as anxious fingers twitch at your sides. “I’m no Venus.”

“Goddess or planet?”

He draws another chuckle out of you.

“Goddess, I think.”

“Well, Y/N, gods and goddesses are fairly overrated anyways.”

You bite your lip. “And if I’m a planet, then what does that make you?”

Steven lets his stare drop from your face, curls dropping against the shine of his forehead as he dusts away the lint on his pants. You study his distracted form, leg brushing against his bent knees as your stance hovers over him. He sighs shakily at the sensation, but then your fingers shift to wrap around the roughened hands that are interlocked together in his lap, thumbs hesitantly ghosting over his knuckles with a shyness he’s never seen on you. 

The notion causes him to ever-so-slightly lift his head. Those big, brown eyes meet yours in the humming of your living room, and the hand that’s wrapped around his own slowly travels up to the underside of his jaw. You can feel his muscles move beneath your gentle touch when his warm cheek leans into your palm, staining his skin with paint. 

“Must make me the idiot who sits in the observatory all day, all night, watching in awe through a telescope.” He closes his eyes when your fingers trace his skin, shifting higher and higher until you languidly card your nails through his dark curls. His head tilts back submissively with the soft action, nose pointing up at you as bliss falls upon his features. “Sounds a bit creepy now that I say it out loud.”

“You know people say that Venus is hellish, right?”

His eyelids flutter open, long lashes tickling you. “You’re pretty hellish to me.”

“I’m offended.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, resting his hand against your outer thigh. 

Both of your heads follow the motion, as if his body had betrayed what he was trying so hard not to do — touch you, feel your heat against his, let his touch wander where his mind shouldn’t. But he can’t rewind time, and he certainly can’t stop how his palm stretches over your upper leg until it rests upon your hip. 

“Steven…” You stroke his cheek with amorous yearning, smudging the space underneath his eye with a shade of pastel pink. 

“Don’t — don’t say my name like that, love. Please, don’t.” Air escapes from his nostrils, his words fall from his lips in a longing tone laced with subtle desperation. But nothing is subtle anymore. Not with how he looks up at you like you’re the brightest star in the universe, staring at you like how you stare at famous masterpieces in a museum or even the works of art that never get noticed, but when they are, everything just makes sense. “You say it like…”

Now this all makes sense.

“Say it like what?”

“As if it’s more than my — more than just a bloody name.” Steven’s eyebrows furrow deeply, yet somehow he looks softer. 

“More than just Steven with a V?” He laughs at that, a deep rumble that vibrates through his belly and throat as his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, I like saying your name.”

Your fingers against his bottom lip bring him back to this painless reality, and the tension isn’t so unbearable when you stain his sun-kissed skin blue in the dull light above the sofa.

“No… not that.” Both of your hands cup his cheeks, ears tucked into the spaces between your curling digits as you caress his chin with your thumbs. Your pupils lull him into hypnosis, and he finds himself unable to stop gazing at the constellations in your irises. “You say it as if you like me.”

Fucking hell, Steven.

His hands tighten around your hips, anchoring you. 

“I do like you.”

“No, like — like more…”

“More than a friend?” 

“Yeah.” His blinks grow rapidly while his face contorts into something of shock and perplexity, teeth on display as he shoots you a panicked look. “Do you?”

“Do I? Steven, I’ve…” An exhausted chuckle racks through you. 

A pathetic noise of protest bubbles out of him when your palms leave his jaw. The cold isn’t so welcoming, and neither is the rest of your flat when you turn your back on him to tousle your hair with pent-up frustration. Meanwhile, Khonshu lingers in the hallways and curiously sorts through your vintage records. Marc wants nothing to do with this and resorts to plugging his ears.

Steven, here and now, is alone — alone with you and a giant, undeniable problem with the word ‘FEELINGS’ stamped right on top of it. He’s been decent about how to deal with emotions. He knows where his heart is, what makes his brain light up and what grows butterflies in his stomach. And even when you pace the room in worrisome, dizzying circles, all of the above outweighs the anxiety that shelters his bones.

“Y/N, dear, will you please sit down?” You don’t listen. He allows you two more laps around the couch and footrest until he beckons to you again. “Y/N.” Another two, then Steven himself is trailing behind your haste steps. “Y/N, what is the matter with you?” He takes the liberty of grabbing your wrist, pulling you back before you can escape once again. He squeezes your arm. Once, twice, till he understands that you’re fully listening. “Stop it, you.”

Normally, he’s the one running. But something about the way you look at him makes him want to stay, something about how your lips part and how you roll your bottom lip between your teeth then let it bounce back to its natural position makes him all hazy-eyed and helpless when your own eyes flicker to his mouth. You don’t know where to look, yet you strive to take in every single detail of him because you’ve never stood this close to one another.

You’re breathless, while his chest rises and falls steadily. You’re stepping on Steven’s toes, but he doesn’t mind. The hand around your wrist travels up your elbow, keeping you anchored when his other one does the same to your opposite arm. “Stop.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face as he shakes his head at you. 

“You stop.” Your eyes gravitate to his mouth again, plump lips pouting with temptation as you subconsciously take a step closer towards each other. 

Does he want this as much as you do? 

His knuckles run along your cheek and your droopy eyelids grow heavy at the tender feeling.  Steven’s fingers find that annoying wisp of hair from earlier, and he takes it upon himself to tuck it behind your ear. You try to stifle a moan when his nails card along your scalp, mirroring your gesture from before. But a whimper eases its way out of you, followed by a shaky sigh when your voice denounces you. His movement stills for a moment, but then both of his hands are cupping your face and his forehead is pressing against yours in a manner that is so indescribably intimate, you can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’re so pretty.”

There’s that desperate whisper again. 

Your mouth reaches for his. You can feel him holding you by the back of your neck, lips unmoving and lacking confidence against yours. It’s a short kiss, nothing too heated, but when you try to pull away through mumbling apologies, he can’t help but grab you by the chin and bring you back to him for seconds. 

You gasp into his mouth, the button of his nose resting against your cheek when you regain your self-control and hold onto his shoulders for leverage. “I’m sorry.” You blurt out.

“No, no,” He kisses you again, pupils wide and hands grasping at your belly when realization washes over. “Forgive me, I don’t — I didn’t mean to—“

“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” You smirk. The teasing grin is immediately wiped off of your features when Steven pulls you closer and tighter, almost as if you’d slip away from him anytime soon. “Are you going to do it again?”

“I think I want to, unless you don’t want me to, Y/N.”

“Of course I want you to. I want you, Steven.”

He chuckles in disbelief. “You do?”

“Well, I kissed you back, didn’t I?”

He gets lost in your eyes for the millionth time tonight. His accent draws out thick and frustrated when he finds the courage to pull your lips back onto his. 

“Oh, fuck it.” 

You moan instantly when his fingers undo your ponytail and tangle through your hair, flawed palms grabbing at each other’s clothing like you hadn’t felt the touch of someone else in ages — like you hadn’t felt Steven touch you in a fashion that is so sexual, so passionate and needy as if he’s been needing you all his life.

You kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he casts against your ear when you near his throat. He pinches himself when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder. It’s real. You’re real, with your hot tongue against his neck, with your chapstick molding him into shea butter and beeswax, with your paint-stained fingers dancing across the hem of his jacket like a tease. It’s real when his arms wrap around your frame, and your back immediately arches in response to his embrace while he ponders the skin beneath your shirt. 

“You can touch me.” You whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. He sighs at the consensual phrase, coffee-colored eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. “S’okay, Steven.” 

“Are — are you sure?” 

“I am.”

The couch creaks beneath him when he reaches over and gingerly holds you by the jaw, thumbing at your earlobe with hopeless adoration. It feels like two teenagers kissing each other for the first time. Awkward tangled limbs. Noses accidentally bumping and twitchy eyelashes poking at sensitive flesh. But it feels so natural, especially when your body reacts to Steven’s affections as if it has always known him.

He kisses you. A lot. 

And he kisses you some more until you’re practically sliding off the couch and resorting to becoming labyrinths of desperation on your rug.

Your shirt rides up as Steven drags a large palm over your ribs, tracing the bone beneath your titillating skin. His head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re eager for his mouth again. “You’re unreal, Y/N.” He groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you roll on top of him and straddle his lap. “Two years of my life I’ve spent pining after you.”

You giggle, “Try three. I win, yeah?” 

“Oh, so now it’s a competition?” 

“I’m just saying maybe you’ve been Venus all along.”

He smirks playfully, shrugging from where he lays on the floor. “I think we both know I prefer ancient Egypt over ancient Rome.”

“Planet.” You breathe out, fighting off the urge to close your eyes when his hands finally make contact with your lower back. “The planet, not the goddess.” 

Steven’s arm extends upwards, pushing your hair away from your face when you look down at him with a dreamy gaze. 

“Goddamnit, you’re so pretty.” You sigh in content at the praise. “My Venus.” 

The pet name nearly makes you melt.

No artist in the world could replicate the masterpiece of your skin against his. No artist could etch every detail of you and depict it in a manner so accurate or perfect — every mole, scar, freckle and fold as if you were carved from Venus’ hip at birth. No painting could hold the same beauty of Steven nervously taking your shirt off, unable to capture the quiet chuckles when your head gets caught in the fabric. Venus’ figure can’t compare to Steven’s tawny chest, faint abs rippling under your nails and lips as you kiss your way up to his pecs. 

Surrounded by pools of each other’s clothes, your burning bodies lay beside one another as sensual messes on the floor, rutting against each other gently and needily as Steven hikes your leg over his hip. You grind your mound against his crotch, gasping into his mouth when he holds you there.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He remarks, gripping onto your waist before he suddenly looks to you for guidance. “I-I really… fuck, I really do want you.”

His touch is featherweight, flightless but not even close to fleeting when he takes the time to voyage the muscled wings of your back. 

“In what way?”

He exhales shakily, wetting his lips. “All of them.” You tuck your head under his chin after pressing a brief kiss to his temple. His voice rumbles against your body. The richness of his accent drops to a deeper octave when you reply in a high-pitched moan, hips grinding onto his front when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear. “Teach me how to take care of you, love.” 

“Touch me. Just touch me like you won’t ever stop.” Steven studies the desperation in your glassy eyes and nods softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. Yet, past the swirls of loving lust in his expression, you recognize that something’s bothering him. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” He says almost too quickly. “Yeah, I am. Are you? I just, um…” He laughs sheepishly, stroking the side of your head. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You haven’t?”

“I never… got to that point, really, with anyone.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” You shift closer to him, resting your forehead against his as you look at him through your lashes, “I’ve never had someone inside me.” And Steven moans. Loud, deep, desperate. You would’ve clenched your thighs together had Steven not hoisted your leg higher over his hip. “I’ve done stuff, but… never been fucked. Never been…” You sigh blissfully when his fingers trace the curve of your buttock. “… properly filled up by anyone.”

“You’re going to k-kill me, love.” He glances down at your clothed core, fingers begging to reach for you.

“I’m sorry, I know. I know.” You kiss him, earning a needy groan from the man. “Go on then, touch me, baby.”

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong. Tell me if it’s not what you want.” 

Agonizingly slow, his digits dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your cunt. The gentle notion makes you gasp once more, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit. His middle finger circles leisurely over the sensitive nub with feathery touches.

“Steven,  fuck… yeah, that’s it.”

His voice hitches in his throat as he gauges your reaction. “Oh, love, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?” You guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your slick against your wet entrance. “Y/N, you gorgeous, gorgeous thing.”

“Feels good.” You scratch at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. Your eagerness spurs Steven further and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. “Tease.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing and you’re calling me a tease?” He smirks proudly, repeating the gesture until he’s drawing a moan out of you each time. The outline of his dick protrudes against his boxers, and only then does he realize how hard he is for you. “It’s good, yeah?”

You’ve never seen him so smug.

Yet you like it, and you can’t fucking help but want more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, it’s — it’s… oh, Steven.”

Your sentence is interrupted midway when he pushes his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretching sensation. He inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. You shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. He hums at your facial expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his jaw.

It brings an innocent smile to his face thinking how he’ll have to show up to work tomorrow with remnants of you all over him. 

Steven mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his fumbling kisses. You rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own pleasure against your skin.

“You’re so perfect.” He groans, fucking his digits in and out of you. The noises that leave your cunt and his throat are sinful, but nothing beats the image of you resting your head on his arm, his hand cupping your mound while he fingers you on the floor impatiently. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, dovey? God, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to.”

“Steven, your fingers...” You watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. You nearly sob from the intensity. “You get me so wet.”

��That’s good, Y/N. That’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that.” You clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you. His touch is generous, obviously eager to satisfy you, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. “Can I tell you something?”

Your voice comes out broken, mind fuzzy as your cunt tightens around him. “What?”

“Those… those two years, I…” He moans in tandem with you when you nibble at his bottom lip. “I, fuck, it wasn’t just pining, Y/N.”

“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I — I think I’m in love with you. And not just because I’m…“ He laughs. “… inside you right now, but I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment you spoke to me and — and fuck, being able to hold you like this only confirms it.”

And just like that, you come undone all over his thick fingers.

“Oh, fuck! S-Steven!”

You cry out into his chest, bite marks tattering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax. Your body shivers from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, which usually never happens from anyone else’s hands other than your own. Steven’s confession hangs heavily in the air even as he coaxes you through your high, fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you. 

Soft praises leave him in whispers, and he shares his affection for you with gentle pecks to your temples. 

A couple minutes pass by until you’re able to catch your breath, or at least, compose yourself.

“Was I imagining that or did you just say you love me?” You look up at him with big eyes, voice hushed and fearful as he wipes the sweat away from your brow with his thumb. 

He gulps, lashes fluttering dreamily when you cup his cheek with a shaky hand. “S’real.”

“Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“More than best friends?”

Steven adores the childish glimmer of curiosity in your innocent gaze. He chuckles quietly, nodding. “Best friends included and more.”

“I love you, best friends and more.” You rub your nose against his before your stare drifts to his swollen lips. “But the next time you confess shit like that, don’t do it when you’re fingering me.”

He flashes you a weak smile. “Alrighty, miss.”

Although, Steven is unprepared for when you untangle yourself from his arms and settle between his thighs, nails raking over his muscled calves and mouth grazing over the bulging front of his boxers.

Your next words simultaneously fill and take the air from his lungs.

“Do it when you have your cock inside me.”

Marc nearly takes control of the body himself at that exact moment, and Steven immediately thinks he’s going to pass out when you tug his boxers down his hips to free his aching prick. His reddened tip is already leaking with pre-cum, thighs jolting beneath your slow and open-mouthed kisses to his skin. 

“You really are hellish.” He whines when you wrap your middle and ring finger along the middle of his cock, lips suctioning around the base. A long moan drawls from his throat as he rests his head back against the rug, eyes screwing shut when you run your warm tongue along a prominent vein. 

“Am not.” You chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the head.

He stifles a groan, forearm coming up to cover his eyes as you take just the tip of him into your mouth. “Oh, my god, Y/N. F-Fuck, yes.” You hum in amusement, the back of your throat sending the vibrations right to his cock. “That’s good. Really fucking good. Oh, fuck.”

You grin widely, but remain careful not to use any teeth on him. “You’re very needy, you know that? But, oh, you’re just doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

The mocking tone of your phrases make him squirm. He’s gripping onto a fistful of the Persian rug, wrinkling it with scarred knuckles. 

“Please.”

“Please?” 

“More. Touch me more.” He shakes his head at you, chin pressing against his chest as he stares down at you with a defeated expression. “Please, love.”

You’d be lying if you say that the way he looks at you doesn’t make you wet. You’re practically a puddle of desire, and Steven is melting jelly in your hands when your head quickly bobs down his thick length. 

He’s sputtering out a string of swear words, cursing more than you’ve ever heard him in your years of friendship. You can tell he’s trying his best not to cum prematurely, not that you’d care anyways, but with how his soft stomach ripples and flexes with each deliberate swirl of your textured tongue, you know he’s struggling.

And just when you’re about to give him that moment of release, you feel Steven pulling you back by the hair. Disappointment flashes over his features briefly when your mouth leaves him, but the boyish longing on his face quickly shifts into attentiveness when he catches a glimpse of the confused glint in your eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Your hands find his face once more. It becomes so natural in this new, sudden dynamic together — touching him, feeling him against you like you’ve always wanted. “Was it too much?”

“No, no, it was amazing.” He assures you, fingers pushing back the matted hair on your cheeks. “You’re amazing. I just don’t — I don’t wanna finish and leave you unsatisfied.”

“You could never leave me unsatisfied, silly.” You bite your lip feverishly, thumb stroking his chin for comfort.

He smiles. The tension of the conversation seems far from innocent now, especially when a near-indiscernible side of Steven appears as the words leave him confidently:

“I want to be your first, though. The first man inside you.”

“Steven…” 

“Only if you want, Y/N. Whatever you say goes, no matter what.” His hands grab yours, sweat sticking to each other’s skin. “It would be nice to have you be my first. And me as yours. I mean, it sounds so juvenile to want no one except you, but it’s the truth.” He lazily kisses across your knuckles, paving his way around the tendons with his lips. “I want to have sex with you, and I want to remember it.”

“Is he here right now?” Steven freezes and his jaw goes slack at the question. He can tell you’re nothing but concerned once your eyebrows knit together deeply. “Is Marc here?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked about Marc Spector without Steven bringing him up on his own account.

“Why? Did you want — do you want him instead?” 

“No! No, I don’t. Not for this.” You smile with brief panic, tracing the bridge of Steven’s nose to put his worries to rest. His frown gradually fades with the soothing motion. “I just want to make sure it’s you. Everything we do here, I want it to be with you.” You ruffle his hair teasingly once he sits up. “No offense to Marc, by the way.”

Steven chuckles, “I’ll give him your regards.” 

“Well, he has yet to talk to me.” You shrug casually, grabbing onto his biceps as he pulls you onto his lap. 

“He’s just shy.” He grins against your lips. His palm travels up the swell of your breast until he’s softly kneading the ball of flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your breathing quickens, eyes fixating on his hardened erection. “Shyer than you?”  

“Oh, incredibly.” Steven jokes, shaking his head. 

He can just imagine Marc’s downturned expression of disbelief. 

“Tell him…” You nip at his earlobe, moaning against his cheek. “… that I’m already spoken for.”

“Are you now?” He’s abrupty cut off by his own gasp when your arm reaches behind and you wrap a fist around his dick, pumping him slowly in your firm grasp. “Rude. I was talking.”

“Were you? I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

She thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she?

“Stop a-apologizing and…” He hisses when you twist your hand, grazing the pad of your finger over his slit. “F-Fuck, Y/N.”

“There we go…” You grind against his tip, pre-cum smearing across your folds. “What do you want?”

“Want you to use me, darling. However you’d like.”

“So eager for me, Steven.” You breathe into his mouth, noses nudging against each other as you line his cock up with your entrance. “You haven’t even fucked me and yet you’re practically begging for more.”

“God, you talk so filthy for someone with such a gorgeous face, yeah?”

“I guess I truly am hellish.” 

And yet nothing about this feels like hell. 

Especially once you sink down onto his length, the heavy tip of his cock ready to stretch you out. It’s only slightly painful — a brief sting, the awkward shifting of bones so that Steven can sit back and have your thighs on either side of him, the echoing of your quiet whimpers beneath the soft light as you take every inch of him into your core. Your slick spreads onto his thighs and balls, wetness coating his digit as he instantly reaches for your clit like its become second nature.

“You — you’re really tight.” He groans, looking down at where your cunt swallows him whole. 

You laugh wryly, whimpering when his hips subconsciously rut into you. “And you’re really big.” 

Steven tilts his head back and looks up at you with a hazy smile, raising your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. For a split second, you think it’s Marc — the darkness in his eyes, the sudden dominance dripping from his tone, but it’s a big mistake on your part to second-guess him once he finally thrusts into you.

“Say it again, love.” 

It’s completely Steven — his wandering hands, grasping and grabbing at flesh, grounding you, feeling every crevice and fold of your body like it’s a sanctuary that he’s been dying to enter.

“You’re so big.” Your mouth gapes, eyes widening when you submit to his touch and let him take you. “Oh, fuck. Steven, please.”

“Yeah?” He grunts gruffly into your neck, teeth marking the virginal expanse of your throat. “You like it this way? My lovely Y/N enjoys getting fucked on the floor of her own flat?”  

“I love it.” You meet his strokes halfway, tits bouncing in his face as he leans forward on his knees and wraps your legs behind his back. “Oh, s-shit. Mmm, right there — right there feels so — so good, Steven. Fuck!” 

Steven bites down onto your shoulder when he lays you down onto the rug, cock burying itself deeper inside your cunt while he puts his weight on top of your body. His whiny moans are muffled, gasps and slaps filling the ambience of the messy living room. You’re sure that the neighbors below your studio can feel every force of Steven’s hips pounding into you — hard, slow and full. 

You scratch down his spine, red marks drawing angry lines across his tanned muscles. Juices are running down your inner thighs and cream coats his cock as he fucks you needily. While his skin is stained with paint, your skin is littered with his stinging handprints. He spreads his palms over your ass, carefully maneuvering you up and down his length as you sob into his chest.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re everything I could’ve dreamed of.” Steven pants out incoherently, nipping at your jawline. “This pretty cunt… jus’ wrapped ‘round me. I could get used to this, you know that?” 

Your throat feels raw from your mewling, the exhausted and desperate need to cum written all over your features. “You can have me anyday and anytime. I want you to…” You swallow roughly. “… fill me up, Steven. Take me whenever.” Your tone grows hushed, breathy whispers ghosting over the shell of his ear. “I wanna see how drunk you can get off of my pussy.”

“Holy f-fuck.”

You laugh together, even during the heated moment. “You love it when I talk dirty, don’t you?”

“I just love you. Anything you say, anything you do, it just absolutely riles me up.” His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you to him till your foreheads are touching and your naked bodies beg even harder for release. “God, dovey. You’re a perfect work of art. 

“Mmm, I-I’m close.” You gasp out, nails digging into his shoulder blades when his cock begins to hit that unforgivable spot inside you. 

Steven takes a moment to pull out of you, running himself against your folds until he dives right back in. His tip prods and prods at your walls, your wetness leaving his prick damp with each deep stroke. 

“Fuck, Y/N. S’good, I can’t — oh, hell, I can’t think anymore.” He whines, arms resting on either side of your head as he pounds into you. 

“Stevie.”

He shushes you tenderly, thumb sliding across the corners of your eyes to wipe away the brimming tears. “I know, darling. I know. I’ll get you there, promise.” His breath fans out across your lips, and you take advantage of your proximity to reel him in for another drowning kiss. 

His thrusts grow sloppy, hips losing their graceful rhythm as he continues to snap into you. He beckons your name like it’s a song on loop, while your tiny whimpers turn into loud wanton groans of lust. He pulls you back into an embrace and sits up again, hooking his arms under your knees so that they’re bent and your ass hovers over his lap. 

The position leaves you vulnerable when you hold onto his torso for dear life, fluids making a mess between your bodies.

“I love you.” You croak out, opening your eyes to gaze into Steven’s dilated pupils. “Best friends and more.”

“And I love you.” You moan in tandem, feeling yourselves near your orgasm. “My sweet, perfect Venus.”

You clench around his hard cock, cumming intensely on his length as he cries against your neck. His hands are everywhere, but all you can focus on is the way your cunt contracts around him, tugging and milking him till he discovers his own high. This time, Steven doesn’t shy away from moaning and allows himself those deserved minutes of relief as you ride out your orgasms together.

“Oh, my god.” 

Momentarily, neither you or Steven move from the rug. He keeps you on his cock, too scared to face the emptiness that’ll come once you leave him. But it seems that you share the same sentiment, sighing against his bicep as you draw circles on the back of his hand. 

He decides to break the comfortable silence.

“I do okay?” 

Steven can feel your smile form against his skin, eyes sleepy and droopy from where your head lays. “You did so good.” 

“You wanna get cleaned up?”

“Please.”

With ease, Steven helps you off of him, already missing the comfort and warmth of your core as you both shakily rise to your feet. For a split second, it’s awkward — your palms shift to cup your naked breasts, while his limbs fumble to fetch you a quilt from the couch till he realizes his own indecency.

But then you share another bubbly laugh and offer the other half of your quilt to Steven, who doesn’t hesitate to cozy up beside you and have you lead one another to the bathroom. You take him under your clothed wing, ankles bumping together clumsily as he finds the light by the sink and quietly flicks it on.

He unravels himself from the quilt first and sits by the edge of your bathtub while he waits for the water to heat up. You watch him lovingly from the doorframe, tired and hair matted, but nevertheless, Steven thinks you look ravishing.

“Come on now.” The Londoner makes grabby hands towards you, taking the blanket from your hickey-covered frame and folding it neatly by the bathroom counter. 

You sit with him in the tub — back to his chest, his back to the tile, your hands interwoven amongst the soapy suds and lavender, chamomile-scented bubbles. 

A soft sigh. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. An adoring chuckle as your lover brushes his nose against your ear and tells you stories of how the sun loved the moon.

Like clockwork.

Steven is everywhere. On your lips, the scent that wafts through your closet, your bedsheets and the Persian rug in your living room, in how you make your tea, in what mug you drink water out of, what songs you play to start your morning.

But most of all, he lingers in the unfinished painting on your easel. Jaw sharp and nose prominent, eyes youthful yet wise, lips pillowy and inviting. 

He is in the shades of brown, pastel pinks and the added hue of orange from how his marked skin glistens in candlelight.

He is your Venus.

Not the goddess, but the planet.

Either way, neither of them are able to truly equate your love for him.

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER THREE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER THREE - A CHANCE ENCOUNTER ABOVE THE CLOUDS.

Finding his seat while boarding the plane back to London turned out to be an easy task for Marc Spector. 

As he made his way down the narrow aisle, the bustling ambiance of the airplane surrounded him. Passengers were shuffling to their assigned seats, stuffing their bags into overhead compartments, and finding their in-flight entertainment systems. With his ticket in hand, he confidently located his seat, guided by the digits on his boarding pass. It led him to a cozy two-seater nestled in the middle of the row. His seatmate, a young woman seemingly in his early thirties, was already settled in the aisle seat.

After stowing his carry-on bag securely in the overhead compartment, he turned his attention to the person who would be his companion for the duration of the flight. Dressed in a simple white blouse and camel brown pants, the woman exuded an air of regal poise that drew Marc's gaze. Her chestnut brown eyes met his with a polite curiosity, her lingering gaze holding a certain depth of wisdom that seemed to witness centuries come and go. 

Her long, ebony-black hair was meticulously gathered into a sleek ponytail with but a few strands of white blonde highlights perfectly framing her olive brown facade, seemingly untouched by the passage of years. Her lips, painted in a delicate shade of mauve, initially curved into a subtle, downward-facing arc. However, as their eyes locked in a silent greeting, her lips gradually transformed into a warm and inviting smile. Her right hand gracefully rose to offer a small, friendly wave.

“You need help with that, sir?” the lady greeted, her voice a gentle, inviting melody as she momentarily rose from her seat to make way for Marc.

“No need, miss”, Marc replied, flashing a warm smile as he settled into his designated spot by the window. “But thanks for the offer”

“Don’t mention it”, she nodded, taking her seat beside him. Her phone chimed, and she blushed slightly before retrieving it and answering the call with a delicate touch of her forefinger.

She looks really pretty, Steven mused in the window’s reflection, his puppy eyes fixated on their seatmate speaking in a foreign language they couldn’t understand, openly admiring her captivating beauty. A subtle shake of Marc's head conveyed his mild disapproval within their shared thoughts, his expression forming into a slight grimace.

“We just got divorced, Steven”, Marc whispered to himself, silently expressing gratitude to the higher powers he still believed in, thankful that their seatmate remained absorbed in her conversation and had yet to cast a glance in their direction.

“Sige, Aleah, pakisabi na lang kay Bill na pauwi na ako from Chicago”, they unintentionally overheard the woman speaking, her voice carrying just enough volume to pique their curiosity. “Ikaw na ang bahalang mag-ayos ng mga job interviews ko sa darating na Sabado sa British Museum para sa upcoming exhibit natin”

Of course, Aleah, just let Bill know that I’m about to fly out from Chicago. I'll leave you in charge of setting up my job interviews at the British Museum for next week’s upcoming exhibit.

British Museum? Steven's eyes widened almost to the size of saucers as he gazed in astonishment at the stunning woman standing beside him. Did she really just say British Museum - oh bollocks! This is too good to be true! If there's an exhibit, she might actually work there, mate. Should we ask her, please?

If Steven wasn’t already fancying the mysterious lady then, Marc was certain that he worships her now, utterly smitten.

“Salamat, Aleah. May pasalubong ako sa inyo ni Bill pag-uwi ko”

Thanks, Aleah. I have a present for you and Bill when I get home.

The lady ended the call with a graceful flick of her fingers, her gaze sweeping back to Marc, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Sorry about that," she said, her voice warm and melodious. "Was I being too loud?"

Marc leaned in a bit closer, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "No, not at all," he assured her, mentally keeping Steven's incessant ‘Ask her please, Marc’ phrases at bay. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop either, so let's just pretend I didn't hear a thing."

“Well, that's quite considerate of you”, her laughter danced in the air like a sweet melody - soothing yet very contagious as Marc’s lips couldn’t help but break out into a serene smile. "But nah, it’s fine. My work isn't exactly top-secret anyways"

With a casual wave of her hand, she continued before gently tucking her phone back into her elegant, native hand woven handbag. "I was just catching up with my assistant back in London. She was updating me on a few work-related matters while I'm here overseas. You see, I work as a curator at the British Museum."

We didn’t even need to ask, Steven couldn't help but be awestruck as the revelation sank in, his eyes fixed dreamily on their seatmate before murmuring his awe in quiet reverence. I can't believe she’s living my dream life.

Marc's eyes sparkled with relief as he nodded. "I see," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand thoughts finally finding peace and quiet. "Steven would have absolutely loved to work there."

"Steven? Who is he?" The kind lady's curiosity shone in her eyes, making Marc inwardly groan while his mischievous companion snickered, his arms folded as he fought to contain his laughter.

You've really gotten yourself into a pickle, Marc. Steven's laughter echoed in his mind. Let's see you wriggle out of this one.

"My... my twin brother," Marc replied, allowing the carefully rehearsed falsehood to roll off his tongue. "He used to work at a museum and always dreamed of becoming a tour guide. Unfortunately, he never got the opportunity and ended up working in the gift shop."

"Really?" The lady's eyes twinkled with wonder. "If he's passionate about Egyptian history and culture, he's in luck. I'll be conducting interviews for potential tour guides to fill one more spot for our upcoming Ennead exhibit next week."

Is it too soon to propose? Steven gasped, practically hyperventilating with excitement. Can I marry her, Marc? This is it, oh my days—

"If your brother's interested, tell him that we have an opening", the young lady winked, sending Steven inside Marc's head into a complete frenzy. "I'll be more than happy to make time for him if he drops by the museum this weekend."

"You really didn't have to do that", Marc nervously chuckled, clearing his throat. "I'm sure you're already pretty busy"

"Nonsense, I’d love to help out!" the lady exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with warmth. She reached into her handbag once again, the faint jingle of keys and coins accompanying her actions, and retrieved a sleek, purple and gray card. It had an air of sophistication about it, just like its owner. 

"Here’s my calling card," she said, offering it to Marc with a graceful flourish. "It has my email address there so that Steven can send me his CV."

Taking the card gingerly, Marc's eyes scrutinized it, reflecting his mixed emotions. He could see his own reflection, and that of Steven, peering closely at the small piece of printed cardboard paper. Finally, they focused on the name of their beautiful flight companion, which was printed neatly in bold font at the center.

MIRA BATALA-CARTER mirabcarter@britishmuseum.org Curator, British Museum.

“My name’s Mira Batala-Carter, by the way,” she said happily, extending her hand for Marc to shake.

"Marc Spector," he replied, nodding and accepting her hand in a brief but gentle handshake. He couldn't deny the flutter in his heart as her soft skin met his rough, calloused one. But he quickly composed himself.

“Pleasure to meet you, Marc,” Mira said with a warm smile. “You just received my last card, though, so my apologies for that. Never expected to find brothers of potential tour guide candidates on my flight back home, so I didn’t bring extras with me.”

"Never expected to meet museum curators on a plane either, so I guess we're even," Marc quipped, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. This kind of conversation was unusual for him, especially with a stranger, but something about Mira made him feel at ease. It was a rare moment of connection that allowed him to be more of his old self.

His young, kind, innocent self. Before all hell broke loose in his traumatic childhood. 

"Yep, not everyday you get to meet interesting strangers, right?" Mira smiled serenely. "But seriously, let Steven Spector know that the museum opening is for real, okay? I'm really keen to help him out"

"Well, actually, his name is Steven Grant," Marc corrected.

"Steven Grant? Like Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America?" Mira's laughter rang out, coaxing a mischievous twitch from Marc's upper lip. Meanwhile, inside their shared mental space, Steven couldn't contain his amusement and erupted into hearty laughter. "Don't tell me your brother's secretly Captain Britain or something"

"No, but I bet he wish he was", Marc chuckled, and Steven's jaw dropped at the unexpected snark. After taking a deep breath, Marc wove another web of lies into their fabricated narrative - a convincing 'backstory' of him and his mental sibling. "We were twin brothers, yes. But our circumstances, well – it's really complicated. I wouldn't want to bore you"

"I'm sure I can keep up", Mira encouraged, leaning in with genuine interest. “Besides, who said I was bored? You were pretty much the highlight of my whole day”

Mira's words caught both Marc and the reflection of Steven in the window off-guard. They blushed furiously, unable to help their reactions. Marc cleared his throat once more, determined to provide an explanation without revealing the actual truth.

"We're twin brothers," Marc began as leaned in closer to Mira, his voice carrying a touch of vulnerability as he delved into his personal history. "But our parents divorced when we were very young." His gaze dropped momentarily, a shadow of old memories darkening his expression. "My mother, well, she remarried and took Steven with her. That's why he goes by his stepfather's last name now."

Mira's empathetic eyes met his, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "I see," she said, her curiosity tinged with sympathy. "I’m so sorry, Marc. I didn't mean to pry into your personal life"

Marc offered a small, appreciative smile, grateful for Mira's understanding. "No need to apologize," he reassured her, his voice warm and friendly. "I understand that our different last names can confuse a lot of people."

"Yeah, it did catch me off guard at first." she admitted, a gentle chuckle escaping Mira's lips to conceal her nerves. “But thanks for sharing that with me, Marc. I can tell it's not something you reveal to just anyone"

Marc Spector and Mira Batala-Carter exchanged glances, a silent understanding flowing between them as they settled into their seats. The hum of conversation and rustle of passengers settling in faded as the plane's engines roared to life. At that moment, a flight attendant glided toward their aisle.

"Please fasten your seatbelts," she spoke with a warm smile, her gaze focused on Mira. "Can I interest you and your husband in some in-flight lunch meals? We have a variety to choose from: pork, chicken, beef, and even vegan options."

Mira chuckled nervously, her eyes meeting Marc's. "Oh, he's not my husband, just a new friend I've made," she explained. "But lunch sounds delightful. I'll have the beef. What about you, Marc?"

"I'll go with the chicken," Marc replied, beginning to retrieve his wallet. However, Mira gently halted his hand before he could complete the gesture.

"No, it's my treat," she insisted, handing her credit card to the flight attendant before Marc could object. "Consider it a token of appreciation for sharing your life story."

"I'll get the next one," Marc sighed, slipping his wallet back into his pocket without fully grasping the implications of his words.

Mira couldn't resist a mischievous grin as she teased, "The next one? Are you asking me out already?" Her eyes sparkled with humor as Marc chuckled nervously. "Loosen up, I'm just kidding! I hope I'm not upsetting any missus at home."

Marc laughed, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. "No wife to go home to now, actually," he admitted, taking a bite of his roasted chicken. "My ex-wife and I just got divorced."

"What?!" Mira exclaimed, her shock palpable. What rattled her even more than the revelation itself was Marc's seemingly nonchalant attitude about it. It was as if the dissolution of his marriage hadn't left the mark it should have.

"That’s what I’m in Chicago for, actually," Marc shrugged, his expression somber yet resigned. "Layla and I recently finalized our divorce and went our separate ways."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that," Mira said, her empathy evident in her tone.

"Don't be," Marc responded with a gentle shake of his head. "We parted ways on amicable terms."

"Really?" Mira's expression softened, a genuine smile breaking through. "I'm glad to hear you both are on good terms."

Marc, with a determined tone, shifted the spotlight away from himself. "What about you?" he inquired, his gaze intently fixed on Mira. "Do you have a husband waiting at the airport back in London?"

Mira's gaze flickered for an instant, a subtle veil of sadness momentarily shrouding her countenance. Yet, she swiftly composed herself, offering Marc a warm smile as her eyes bore into his. 

"Late husband, actually," she confessed, her words carrying the weight of cherished memories. "Darius Carter passed away some time ago."

A pang of remorse coursed through Marc's thoughts, silently cursing his insensitivity as Steven audibly gasped inside his head. "Shit, I'm sorry," he sighed, voice heavy with regret. "I didn't mean to bring him up like that."

Mira, however, was quick to dispel the awkward air. Her voice was gentle and reassuring as she spoke, "Don't worry about it. Besides, I love talking about my late husband to anybody who asks. For me, it's like keeping a part of him alive somehow."

Marc nodded thoughtfully, a newfound respect for Mira's perspective dawning upon him. Despite his initial hesitation, he found himself growing more intrigued by the life his new friend had led. "That's one way of putting it," he conceded. "What did he do when he was still alive? If you don't mind me asking."

Mira's response held a hint of nostalgia, her eyes sparkling with fond reminiscence as she began to unveil her late husband’s past. "He was an Egyptologist," she revealed, causing Steven's eyes to widen as he listened intently. "We actually met at an expedition, back when I just started working for the British Museum as a curator's assistant. We've been inseparable ever since."

Marc savored each bite of his meal, his gaze fixed on his companion as her expressive storytelling drew him further into her world. Mira's eyes sparkled with nostalgia as she recounted the vibrant cultural explorations she and her late husband had undertaken, along with their shared love for history books. The vivid memories painted her face with a radiant glow that slowly wove its way into Marc and Steven's hearts.

"I've just taken over this conversation, haven't I?" Mira shook her head modestly, taking a brief pause to finish her meal. "Please feel free to stop me at any time when I talk nonstop like this."

"Nonsense, I like hearing you talk" Marc retorted, his voice carrying more warmth than he intended. Mira chuckled softly in response.

"You know, your late husband must have been an extraordinary man," Marc remarked, prompting Mira's eyes to well up with welcome tears upon hearing those words.

"He was," she replied, her voice unwavering. "I don't know why, but I feel strangely at ease talking about him with you."

"I’m honored then," Marc replied genuinely, earning a widened smile from Mira. "But as much as I'd love to continue this conversation, I've noticed you yawning every five minutes."

Mira's eyelids drooped at Marc's gentle observation. "I definitely need some shut-eye," she admitted. "It's been wonderful meeting you, Marc. Wake me up when we're in London, okay?"

"I will," Marc assured her, his voice a soothing lullaby as Mira surrendered to the embrace of sleep.

END OF CHAPTER THREE.

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