#konshu imagine

[januaryembrs]

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

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

word count: 11.1k

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

main masterlist | series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was not real life. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Road works-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liar. Liar. Liar. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her sofa. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, gators!”

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

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

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

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. 

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

Which only meant…

Her date had fucking stolen from her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even Stevie-”

“Steven,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This man was no friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart plummeted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You won’t believe me if I told you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was too good to him. 

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

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

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

Yet the two of them barely spoke all day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It only made her heart yearn for him more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they were approaching. 

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

But that was the thing. There was nothing there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which she no doubt would be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the worst was yet to come. 

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

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

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

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

That was when she started screaming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where was she?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Steven grant x reader #Steven grant fanfiction #Steven grant imagine #marc Spector x reader #marc Spector imagine #marc spector fanfiction #Jake lockely x reader #Jake lockely imagine #Jackie lockely fanfiction #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moon knight imagine #moonknight fanficiton #konshu x reader #konshu imagine #layla el faouly #Oscar Isaac x reader #Oscar Isaac imagine #Oscar Isaac fanfiction

[tales-of-the-ghost-zone]

Danny Phantom x Moon Knight

Been obsessed with the idea of the crossover between these two shows! Mostly because it’s Danny Phantom cannon that Tucker is the reincarnation of an Egyptian pharaoh!! And the crossover would come in with Tucker’s past life having being one of Khonshu’s previous avatars. Hell it could even be that Tucker was Konshu’s first ever avatar!

Like I’m just picturing a scene where the Moon Knight System and Khonshu meet team Phantom and Khonshu takes one look at Tucker and just has a stroke cause that is one of his previous avatars who died thousands of years ago wtf is he doing here alive and looking like a teenager. And if we’re going with the whole Danny is the king of the ghost zone via conquest, his next thought would be and why the hell is he hanging out with the king of the dead?!!!!

Meanwhile the whole of team Phantom can see Khonshu, Danny because he’s half ghost, Tucker because he’s a reincarnated pharaoh who was a previous avatar, Sam cause she was once given ghost like powers for a short time by Undergrowth and is now not fully human anymore, and Jazz because she’s lived in Amity Park exposed to ambient ectoplasm in the air for so long that she’s now liminal as hell!!!

Team Phantom is just staring up at this giant bird skull person in absolute confusion. And then Tucker just kind of squints at him for a moment and goes “hey I know you!” And the Moon Knight system is just standing there in the background confused as all hell, looking back and forth between this group of kids and Konshu.

#dp x mcu #dp x marvel #dp x moon knight #danny phantom #moon knight #everlasting trio #everyone that grew up in amity is liminal as hell #I imagine the moon knight system wouldn’t be able to be overshadowed #cause Konshu is an Egyptian god and he has a claim on them #and that protects them from ghost possession #vlad tries to overshadow them one time and gets yeeted #the moon daggers can harm ghosts as well #so moon knight can actually fight ghosts and help the Phantom team out on patrols #the moon knight system are absolutely horrified tho when they find out how Danny died #and that his parents are ghost hunters #who routinely shoot at him cause they don’t know he’s Phantom #they have flashbacks to their childhood #and now the moon knight system has adopted Danny #Steven has to hold Jake back from going absolutely feral on the Fenton parents #he wants to go feral on them too but he knows Danny still cares about his parents #so he’s holding himself and the other two back #though he does sass the ever loving shit out of the Fenton parents

[michillangelo]

K: yes :) he do :)

#marvel comics #moon knight tv #marc spector #konshu #this is not how that scene went but it is how Konshu wanted it to go #do u think he chooses his Avatars for how much they’ll horrify the other gods? #imagine you’re an ancient egyptian god and ur outcast sibling has brought the Most Fucked Up man home for family dinner #my art

[deceasedream69]

Red

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

A little angsty :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being sneaky was my thing, she didn't even see me coming behind her and Bam! Needle to her neck. She wasn't pleased at all, but I still managed to pour the whole thing in before she threw me away one last time, or maybe not the last of the night.

I was fast to caught her in my arms. She finally looked so peaceful.

3rd person pov

Her head was spinning, slowly fluttering her eyes open, trying to balance herself without touching the white figure in front of her. One white glove on her thigh.

- "hey, sht, look at me", his other hand on her chin, moving her head up. Her eyes switching, but staying more y/e/c than red.

Flinching back, in a reasonable way since there was a strange white figure in front of her dizzy body.

-"hey, it's me", his hand now on her shoulder, moving slightly. His mask fading in an attempt to make her calm down. She looked at him.

- "Marc..." then down

then up again.

Eyes red again.

- "Marc"

He smiled, relieved, tho, he shouldn't be.

- "you fucking lying piece of shit", each word being cut off by a slap.

- "wow, wow, time out"

- "don't try me, Spector" he was stuck between a wall and a glowing red hand.

- "I'm trying to be reasonable... And patient", he lifted his hands in surrender.

- "or what? You'll abandon me again?", The pain in her voice was not something she was embarrassed for, but something that made her even angrier.

His mask was on again, everything turning black for her after that.

Part 2?

#imagines #fanfic #marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight imagin #moon knight imagine #konshu #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

[broadwaytraaaaash]

me checking my notifs every 30 minutes to see if reader dies in Transitions:

#steven grant my beloved #steven grant #marvel moon knight #moon knight #imbeggingyouy/n'sbeenthroughenough #marc spector #layla el faouly #jake lockely imagine #konshu

[ultrablackwidower]

Working on a new Moon Knight fic! Stay tuned ya'll

#marvel #marvel cast #Moon knight #Moon knight fic #marc spector x you #marc spector imagine #marc spector fic #marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant x you #Steven grant #steven grant fic #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely x reader #Fic #Konshu #Oscar isaac

[frost-queen]

Suspicious faith//part 2 (Reader x Steven Grant)

Requested by: Myself, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex–awesome–22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @automaticbakeryfreakshoe, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves​

Summary: Steven can’t seem to escape the embarresment, certainly not when he comes face to face with his savior once more. 

Read part 1 here! & part 3 , part 4

You stood under the shower, letting the water rinse you. Running a wet hand over your hair, wiped you some droplets back. You never intended for him to end up in your apartment, but last night you felt like you had no choice. You looked down, letting the water pour down your neck, taking a deep breath. Suddenly were you back at last nights scenery. Steven laid down on a bench, chuckling like a little child. – “Hey! Hey!” – called you out, trying to reason with him. – “Where do you live? Where is your house?” – asked you. He was clearly too drunk to get home by himself. Steven rolled to his side, wrapping his arms around himself. He kept chuckling finding himself amusing. You sighed deep, looking around to see if anyone was witnessing this. – “Tell me where your house is?” – asked you again, bending a bit down.

“I don’t remember.” – chuckled he out, rolling over to his back. You cursed at yourself, wondering why you were even feeling so responsible for him. – “Alright come on.” – you walked up to him, grabbing his arm. He almost slapped you as his arm hung slappy beside his body. Clenching your jaw, moved you, your other hand around his waist. Steven felt heavy as he relied on your strength fully. Having one arm of him around your shoulder, pulled you him up. You stood up straight, blowing annoyed some hair out of your face. Pulling him better upright, dragged you him to the only place you knew he would be alright. Your place.

Steven roamed panickily around your apartment. He searched carefully all the places, too ashamed to bump into you. He felt like a nervous wreck. He normally wasn’t like this. So impulsive and daring. He snuck up to a door, hearing the shower. He exhaled deep, knowing you were in there. Less chance he could run into you. – “God, Steven.” – mumbled he out, wiping his hand down his face. Moving anxiously with his body, hesitated he if he should say something like ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’. The thought of last night, a hazy memory tormented his mind again. The sight of laying on top of you, his lips inches away from yours. – “Stop it!” – shout-whispered he, slapping himself against his head. 

Too embarrassed to say something to you, went he in search for a note. He stuck the sticky note on a framed painting against your wall, taking his leave afterwards. You got out of the shower, looking curious around. There was at first no sign of him. Still rubbing your wet hair a bit with a towel, caught a certain note your eyes. You leaned forwards reading the note. It simply stated, ‘Thank you’. You flicked the sticky note with your finger, gritting your teeth a bit. Why did it even bother you that he left without a word? Rolling with your eyes, prepared you yourself for work.

“Y/n!” – your colleague waved at you, running up to you. She handed you a cup of coffee, coming to walk beside you. – “I’ve been wondering since last night what happened?” – asked she curious. You took a deep breath, greeting the security guy of the museum. You explained to her he was the same guy from the subway. She gasped loud, pulling you to a stop. – “Subway guy!” – exclaimed she, seeing you nod briefly. She smiled all giddy, acting a little too childish. – “What happened next?” – asked she. Both of you went up the stairs, scanning your badge to enter the restricted area. – “He got drunk.” – stated you. – “Poor fellow.” – muttered she out, holding the door open for you. – “So I’ve been meaning to ask you… did you sleep with him?” – you froze, eyes wide, staring at her. – “What?” – called you out. 

“Well he did ask you too, didn’t he?” – she couldn’t hide her excited smile for gossip. – “No I did not.” – responded you. You quirked your eyebrow up, seeing her smile falter. Scoffing soft, sat you down behind your desk. She came standing before your desk, pressing her hands down. – “Well… then why did you help him out? He did called you a thief, right?” – reminded she so happily. You took a deep breath, spinning your chair around to the window behind you. – “I don’t know…” – responded you. Your colleague narrowed her eyes at you, knowing you weren’t telling the entire truth. The truth was you knew how he felt. You had once been cheated on as well. The humiliation he went through that night was more then enough.

You didn’t want him to embarrass himself even more then you once did. You had overheard their conversation. He ended up in the same hotel as you, his table not far from yours. You knew immediately who he was, yet it didn’t stop you to help him. You felt obliged to help him. If you hadn’t swooped in to save him, he would’ve sure embarrassed himself more or worse. Perhaps do something he might regret later. But what did it matter. You did a good deed for a stranger, that you most likely will never meet again.

Steven entered the museum, stopping in front of the security guard. He checked his name tag, pronouncing it wrong at a simple hello. – “It’s Steven… with a V.” – replied he, not sure why he even kept trying. The security guard waved him away. Steven went straight to the gift shop area where he worked. Oh how much he loved to get an upgrade. He had always been fascinated by Egyptian mythology and now here he was in the gift shop. God what a downsize, but better than nothing. He stood behind the counter, unpacking a box when he heard it. Faint whispers of gossip. – “I’ve heard that Jess broke up with him because he slept with another woman.” – Steven turned his head to see from who the gossip came from. – “Sorry but what?” – called he out, seeing two other shop workers whispering to each other. – “I…I am the one who broke up with her!” – shouted he, angry. 

The two of them shook their heads, giving him a foul glance. Steven gritted his teeth, picking up a box. He carried it through the gift shop to stock souvenirs away. – “Poor Jess.” – heard he behind him. He tried to ignore it, knowing they would never believe him. – “I always knew something was off about him.” – Steven sighed deep, filling the rows full of Osiris figurines. To make things worst stepped a man up to him. – “I can’t believe you.” – said he with a disgusted glare. Steven pulled himself up, glaring right back. – “Jess has always been so good to you…” – he sighed disappointed, tugging his hand in his pocket. – “What do you want Nick!” – spitted he out. 

Nick kept a calm neutral expression. – “Jess deserves someone better than you.” – said he with a laugh. – “Yeah, like you?” – called Steven out. Nick just held his hand up, slowly turning around. Steven threw an Osiris figurine back into the box out of anger. Hearing the clearance of someone’s throat, made him jump out of fright. He widened his eyes at the director of the museum. – “I’m so sorry… I’ll…I didn’t mean to thrown that…I’ll pay for it.” – stuttered he out, rambling over his words.

“Come with me.” – Steven nodded, cleaning his jacket a bit. – “Yeah, sure…” – said he, going after him confused. He nearly tripped over the box, too nervous to think straight. What if he got fired? He didn’t want to think about it. – “Uhm… may…may I ask what this is about?” – asked he cautiously. The director shushed him with one loud tone. He nodded quickly, pulling himself back. Many curious eyes fell on him as Steven felt watched. He grabbed the open side of his jacket, pulling it closer to him. – “You’ve received a praise Mr. Grant.” – stated he. – “I did?” – questioned Steven, hurdling closer to the director. He hummed loud with a nod.

“You can see it as a little.” – the director paused, turning to him. – “Upgrade.” – said he, trying to sound cool. He started walking again, Steven running after him. – “Thank you… Thank you sir.” – preached he, overjoyed. No more gift shop worker. Finally his dream would come true. Yet why the sudden and what was it? Steven wondered who gave him the praise. There was surely no one that cared for him. Well… Jess did. Could Jess have done this? His head was spinning with a thousand questions. The director leaded him to an office near the archives. – “You will be working under a new chief. Chief Y/n Y/l/n.” – said he, standing in front of the office.

“Welcome to the archive department.” – said he with a loud chuckle, opening the door. He staid by the door as Steven wasn’t sure what to do. The director pushed Steven into the office, closing the door behind him. The office was rather small. Just two desks, well three if you counted the table in the center that could be modeled as future desk. A lady sat by her desk on Steven’s right side. – “I’m…I’m…” – stuttered he out, looking over at her. – “You’re the new guy!” – exclaimed she, getting up from her chair with a certain sparkle in her eyes. – “Are… are you perhaps Miss Y/l/n?” – asked he politely. She shook her head, pointing at the desk right in front of him. 

Steven swallowed nervously, looking up to the person who sat with her face hidden behind stacks of papers. You slowly got up, sighing deep as you held a file in your hand. – “Laura Can you-“ – started you, looking up. You got startled, seeing him stand before you. Steven’s eyes shot wide open in shock, pointing at you. – “You!” – called he out, gaping at you. – “This is going to be fun.” – whispered Laura to herself.” – You looked briefly away, wondering how you got in this situation again. – “You are our new help?” – questioned you, looking over at Laura. Laura nodded with a giddy smile. Steven humbly smiled, bowing at you. He didn’t know why he bowed, it just occurred to him.

Rolling with your eyes, crossed you, your arms. – “Look Mr. Grant.” – began you. He looked at you, embarrassed to meet you again. God how much he wanted to disappear from shame. You had seen him in such a drunken state he wanted to punch himself in the face. – “I don’t know how things were handled in… which department did you come from already?” – you weren’t sure anymore. – “The gift shop.” – answered Steven softly. Quirking your eyebrow up, wondered you how he even got here in the first place. – “Right.” – breathed you out. – “Here we expect hard work and care for our museum.” 

Steven nodded. – “Do you know a bit about Egyptian mythology?” – you wanted to know that you hadn’t received a lousy gift shop worker with no knowledge of the museums artifacts. – “I…I…I know very much about it… fascinated by it.” – replied he shyly, taking a step closer to your desk. He felt like overstepping, taking a step back. – “Good! Then you’ll know what to do with this.” – You picked up a file, holding it out. Steven hurried to your desk, catching the file before you dropped it to the ground. – “Any other questions?” – said you, replacing some files on your desk. Steven licked his lips briefly, leaning a bit forwards to you. 

Quirking your eyebrow up, could you just tell he had a burning question on his lips. – “Yes uhm…” – started he, eyeing Laura curiously. Laura pretended not to hear him, turning her gaze down. You waited his question when Steven leaned more in. You did a bit as well, wondering what he was being so secretive about. – “Did…did we kiss?” – Laura snorted loud as you could only stare at him.

“It’s just… I…I can’t…” – recalled he, running his hand nervously through his hair. You smiled, hiding it quickly away. – “I don’t know.” – said you, leaving him in the dark. Steven looked agitated down. If only he could remember. Now he was stuck with the possibility it might have happened or not. How dreadful it was not knowing. You saw the struggle on his face, having to do your very best not to laugh. You knew he hadn’t kissed you but leaving him in the dark was way too funny. – “You can sit over there.” – you pointed at the table behind him. 

Steven looked over his shoulder, pointing hesitant at the table. You nodded sitting back down. He cleared whatever laid on the desk to the side to make some room. He sat down, opening the file you had given him. He staid silent, not being able to grasp that he encountered you again. It would’ve pleased him to know you were just some stranger he might never see again. Now he was filled with embarrassment that you worked at the same place as him… and Jess. God Jess. If Jess saw you, she would freak out or perhaps not even care. 

Jess was a tour guide. Biting his lip hated he that he still cared for her. She spread the word around that he was the one betraying her when it was the other way around. Now she looked like a victim and he the jerk. Steven didn’t look up when you went in and out of the office.

His eyes widened remembering a little bit more from last night. Him crying like a total loser in the presence of you. Steven felt like dying from embarrassment. What a great way to start your new job. His chief had seen him at his lowest… and he had called her a thief. Angry at himself, gave he himself a slap against his forehead. Laura watched him with confusion. Steven snickered at her, turning his head away. Could this day get any worse? He seemed to keep embarrassing himself at any given time. Steven went out to grab some coffee. He froze on the spot, seeing Jess chat casually with Nick. Suddenly it hit him. It was Nick he had seen at the hotel with her. 

She had cheated on him with Nick. A sense of alone and stupidity crawled up his spine. Slowly sliding its long arms over his shoulder, embracing him into the darkness lurking inside of it. Jess spotted Steven, whispering something to Nick. She then left a sweet kiss against his cheek. So much for a break-up period. Jess walked up to Steven. – “Steven!” – said she, greeting him. – “Why are you spreading these rumors about me!” – bit he at her, reminding himself he should be angry at her. Jess fluttered her eyelashes surprised. – “What rumors?” – replied she. – “I broke up with you after you slept with that woman.”

“I didn’t!” – called Steven out, losing his temper for a moment. Jess laughed loud as Steven felt silly. – “It doesn’t matter, Steven. Now if you’ll excuse me.” – Jess took her leave, walking back to Nick, who welcomed her with open arms. Steven felt sick. He hurried himself into the bathroom to calm himself down. His stomach was twisting and turning, tying a knot. He knew for sure Jess was having a good time now. Everyone would believe her, and her suspicion had been confirmed. He was once again the loser. Now Jess knew the truth he chickened out. 

That he never dared to sleep with another woman just to get back at her. She knew that and she would keep reminding him off that. You clenched your jaw, having seen it all. How easy she could downsize Steven. How she had no grace towards him. It was clear some part of her was glad to be rid of him. Angry, headed you back to your office. Laura popped her head up from behind her computer. – “You okay Y/n?” – asked she. You mumbled some curse words out, sitting down aggravated. Steven entered some time later, avoiding eye contact. You exhaled deep, observing him more closely.

It had been almost a week now since Steven worked for you. It wasn’t his dream job, but it was better than stocking shelves. It was lunch break as Steven was out. Laura and you still at the office. – “Alright! I’m going to grab something from the cafeteria, you need anything?” – Laura shook her head. – “I’ll be done in a moment, you go ahead.” – exhaling softly, left you the office. You made your way over to the cafeteria. You were waiting in line as your eyes fell on the window that overlooked the little courtyard area behind the museum. A nice gathering spot to eat lunch outside. 

You frowned, seeing someone that looked like Steven sit on a bench alone. Staring at him, wondered you if it really was him. You put more weight on your foot, standing in a different position. Scoffing with such anger, saw you Jess and Nick approach Steven. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear it was killing Steven to sit there. Bringing your hand into a fist, hated you what she was doing. Had she not hurt him enough. Gasping surprised, unclenched you, your hand. Why did you even care? Steven can handle himself, why should you involve yourself in it again? You owed him nothing, for a fact he owed you. Biting your lip furiously, hated you the growing feeling inside of you.

Cursing underneath your breath, left you the waiting line, going outside. Outside heard you fragments of their conversation. – “Look at the state of you.” – laughed Nick out. Jess would just stare at Steven. – “Let’s go.” – said Jess to Nick, touching his elbow. You gritted your teeth, coming in view. – “I have been looking everywhere for you Steven.” – called you out, walking up to him. Steven startled, putting his lunchbox away. – “Oh Miss Y/l/n, I was just about to head inside!” – blurted he out, thinking he had forgotten the time. Jess gasped in shock at you, slowly recognizing you. You looked briefly away, hating yourself for doing this. – “I…I…I missed you.” – said you, trying to sound as convincing as you could. 

Steven turned to look at you in utter confusion and shock. The atmosphere was awkward as silence fell between you all. – “Even… even though it has only been for a short period of time… but I missed you.” – repeated you, cringing a bit at your own talk. Jess quirked her eyebrow up, glaring at Steven. Steven was stunned. – “What?” – said he confused. You could strangle him for not taking the hint. You were once again helping him out of this situation, but you needed a little back-up. Sighing deep, had you to step up. – “Steven… I…I…” – started you. – “How should I say this…” – mumbled you in silence, looking nervously around.

“Steven, I think you are hot.” – stated you. – “What?” – repeated Steven, finding this very odd. Jess glared coldly at you, crossing her arms. You felt warm from the situation you were dragging yourself in. Burning hot from taking the humiliation for him. – “Do other people know?” – said you, looking away. – “That… that I fell for you at first sight!” – Jess clenched her jaw, staring deadly between Steven and you. – “I’m sorry what?” – called Steven out, feeling like his head was spinning. You took a few steps closer to him as Steven leaned away from you. You slowly rose your hand to him. Steven didn’t know what you were going to do, but he didn’t want any part of it. You placed your hand on his shoulder, tapping it. – “Your charming…” – mumbled you out as Steven could only stare dumbfounded at you.

“Let’s go.” – said Nick, tugging on Jess’s elbow. You smiled faintly at her, trying to keep the weird feeling that crawled around you down. Jess narrowed her eyes at you, threatening you in silence. The moment they left moved Steven his shoulder as you lifted your hand up. – “God that was humiliating!” – said you, wiping your hand down on your shirt. You came sitting down beside Steven as he slid further away from you. – “What am I doing?” – sighed you out. Steven stared a bit at you. When you looked back at him, adverted he, his gaze. – “Just ignore her.” – advised you. – “Become a better person and live a happy life.”

“Why… why are you suddenly so nice to me?” – questioned Steven. With shock, brought he his hands up to his cheeks. – “You didn’t really fell for me, did you?” – blurted he out, thinking you actually fell for him. – “I’m sorry, that is impossible.” – muttered he out, staring in front of him. – “Steven!” – said you, forcing him to look at you. – “Enjoy your lunch.” – You got up with a deep sigh. You took your leave, having the need to wash the humiliation off you. What had possessed you to show your face like that in front of them. Now they must think you are some kind of idiot that falls in love with someone at first sight. Which was not. Groaning wanted you to rip that feeling of protection over Steven out of your chest. Why did you fell so obliged to help him out of every situation, revolving his ex. 

Steven hesitantly returned to the office, peering inside. – “She’s not here.” – stated Laura. Steven nodded, entering more calmly. He went to sit by his ‘desk’ taking out a file. He couldn’t help himself but stare briefly over his shoulder to your empty desk. Why did you approach him? Why did you say those things? Had you really fallen for him? No that was impossible. No one ever fell so quickly for him and certainly not after the history he shared with you. To be fair, he thought you hated him. You had been ordering him around, pressuring him to do his job perfect. For if he did the paperwork right, he might have a chance to head into the archives himself. Now only Laura and you were authorized to do so.

You were making your way over to the office when you spotted Jess marching towards you. Just what you needed. Coming to a stop, inhaled you sharply at her arrival. – “So you work here as well, coincidence, I think not?” – said she to you, her arms crossed. You rolled with your eyes. – “Anything else?” – questioned you, not giving her any space to boss you around. You were about to walk past her when she stepped in front of you, blocking your way. – “Are Steven and you a thing?” – asked she, her jaw firm. – “Why? Do you still care for him?” – responded you, crossing your arms as well. Jess laughed loud as if you had just said the silliest thing. – “I just don’t trust you.” – spitted she out, glaring at you. 

You untangled your arms patting her against her cheek. – “And I think you are just jealous.” – you smiled at her when she slapped your hand away. You left her behind, going towards the office. Steven shot his head up at the sight of you. You almost sat down when Jess barged in. – “Jess…” – stuttered Steven out, jumping up from his chair. – “I don’t believe a word she says.” – Steven looked curiously at you when Jess pointed at you. You rolled with your eyes, thinking she was so dramatic. She glared at Steven. – “Diner tonight!” – called she out. Steven pointed confused at himself. – “With… with me?”

Jess looked up to you. – “Bring your girlfriend with you!” – Steven’s eyes widened. – “My what?” – he turned around, staring at you. You were shocked, staring at Jess. – “I don’t believe for a second you are over me.” – she sneered. – “If this is all a sham, you can tell me now if not then I will see you tonight.” – Steven gaped at Jess, sweat breaking out in his neck. – “See you tonight then!” – answered you happily, waving her flirtatious goodbye. Jess slammed the door behind her. Laura exhaled deep. – “That was wild.” – said she. Steven walked up to you, demanding an explanation. – “What did you tell her?” – asked he loudly. – “Nothing!” – answered you honestly. – “Not my fault her jealous ass can’t stay away from you.” 

Steven clenched his jaw, pressing his hands firmer onto your desk. – “Now… now she thinks you are my girlfriend!” – You quirked your eyebrow up at the intensity of his voice. – “It’s just an act Steven!” – called you back, getting up as well. Resting your hands on your desk as well, leaned you closer to him. – “I’ll gladly tell her it’s not true so she can ridicule you more because that is what she is doing Steven. She is mocking you and at the same time is she too jealous to see you move on from her.” – God how aggravating he was. Truly pulling the blood from under your nails. – “You know what just forget about it! You can have dinner with her alone. I don’t have to do this.” – laughed you out, standing up straight.

You walked around your desk as Steven followed your movement with his eyes. His bitter eyes that were glaring at you. – “Don’t come crying to me again when your life is a miserable mess.” – your words felt like a knife in his heart. Steven was shocked for a moment, wondering what he was doing. You left the office shutting the door loudly behind you. Steven groaned against the palms of his hands. – “What kind of a mess am I in…” – said he to himself. Laura pressed her lips together, sensing the tension in the room but decided to ignore it. 

Steven seated himself down weary. What was he going to do about tonight. He sure didn’t want to be seen as some loser again. At the other hand couldn’t he grasp why you were doing this for him. Was it perhaps because of the kiss? Steven thought back about his drunken evening he landed in your apartment. His lips inches away from yours before the memory turns to black. He shuddered at the flustered feeling inside of him. That couldn’t be it right? He wasn’t even sure he’d actually kissed you.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

#imagine #moon knight #imagine moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fandom #steven grant #imagine steven grant #steven grant x oc #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #konshu #marc spector #fanfic #fanfiction #Fic #steven grant fic #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant modern fic #steven grant fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar issac imagine #steven grant fluff #marvel #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #writing

[hailey-murdock]

Y/n: if I punch myself and it hurts am I strong or weak?

Steven: strong

Layla: weak

Konshu: a idiot like the worm

#incorrect mcu quotes #mcu #steven grant #steven grant x reader #layla el faouly #konshu #marvel imagine #marvel #moon knight

[januaryembrs]

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

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

word count: 9.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t have long left. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death overcame the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing she doesn’t already want to,”

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

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

Ten revered seconds when things didn’t hurt. 

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck was going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now came the hard part. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One single beat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A walking red flag.

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course she was terrified. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He owed her an explanation at the least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was out of his hands now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” Marc bit with a scoff.

“Yes-”

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that was new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This man was not Steven. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steven 

Are you okay, Dove?          

Please respond A S A P

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

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

Oh god don’t be dead

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

Please don’t be dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

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

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

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

“This is-”

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

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

And she currently looked like a mistress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” 

A female voice. Unfamiliar to either of them. 

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

Steven and Layla simultaneously turned to look at her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

Please don’t leave me.

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

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

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[lunalockley]

3. The confession

Masterlist

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, sort of sub!Steven, oral male!receiving, just Steven being a hot mess

Summary: Steven blurts out so much information at once that your mind is clouded enough to think straight

Words: 3.2 k

Notes: Thanks again for all your support! Your comments make so so so so happy. I hope you like this one, we are getting into it! Comments or suggestions are always welcome <3

Previous chapter

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You sat on the sofa with damp hair.

Now, after what feels like more than fifteen minutes, your hair is already dry and Steven hasn’t said a word yet. Every time he opens his mouth he shuts it a second later, frustrated. You try to remain patient but the worry is winning you over.

Your body is slowly tensing as you watch him shift in his position, adjust his clothes and hold his hands on his stomach over and over again. He keeps glancing at your doorway almost like he had lost the courage and was ready to physically escape this conversation any minute.

Soon you realize he’s not just nervous about what he has to say, he's anxious.

You want to break the bubble he’s in, kiss his cheek and massage the tension away but you don’t want him to feel pressured or rushed. You want to respect his own time to open up.

Yet curiosity is eating you alive. What could he have to say to be in this state? That he doesn’t even know how to start? Is he married? Is he a fugitive? Is he in danger? Is he scaping someone or something? In which case, would he be the good guy or the bad guy?

Even when the image of your cute neighbor purposely hurting someone seems completely ridiculous to you, it takes you by surprise the thought that comes next.

Would that make any difference to you and how you feel about him?

It shocks you that, even now, you’re just… intrigued, not afraid. Whatever is tormenting him you want to help, not run away.

The acknowledgment illuminates feelings you’re not ready to name.

You intervene when his breathing quickens, he’s getting more and more disturbed with every passing second.

“I wish I could follow wherever you go when you get lost in your mind” you whisper, moving the soft curls away from his face, catching the attention of his eyes.

Steven immediately stops the whirlpool he’s in, melting at your touch. The emotion produced by your words echoes inside him, in hearts still fighting not to let you in completely.

“I’m looking a bit dodgy, aren’t I?” He asks, concerned.

“Just a little bit,” you joke with a soft smile.

He leans in to steal a kiss from your lips. Then he inhales and, finally, speaks.

He starts with the history of Egyptian Gods, he tells you about The Ennead, about Taweret, Ammit and Konshu, the God of the Moon. How he intervenes in human lives, protecting the travelers of the night through his avatar.

And you are completely lost, trying to follow the completely unexpected path his rapid babble has taken through ancient names and beliefs until—

Until Steven says he was an avatar himself for a brief period of time.

He tells you about the things that happened in Egypt, about why he had to go so urgently. How he went inside the pyramids and discovered the tomb of Alexander the Great. How even when he experienced things he couldn’t ever imagine existed he was relieved he wasn’t Konshu’s avatar anymore.

You are trying to make sense of the things he’s saying but it’s too much information to take all at once. He’s jumping from one thing to another. Just a few minutes ago you weren’t even sure you believed in god, much less in the plural sense of the word.

He’s talking about things your brain is struggling to accept.

But you see truth in his eyes, in the way he’s telling you all this. He believes what he’s saying.

Making you, somehow, believe it too.

So when he meets your eyes, expectantly, all you can say is:

"I don't understand—I don't understand most of it… or any of it. But I believe you."

Your words seem to reassure him because just when he hears them he tells you about Marc.

Marc.

Marc and their little brother.

He talks about the accident. About Marc being Konshu’s avatar. About how during all these years he didn’t even know about Marc until just a few months ago.

“I was afraid, I couldn’t tell the difference between my waking life and my dreams. I would go to sleep, then have these violent nightmares, then wake up in the middle of my life without remembering how did I get there,” he keeps blurting out, a little bit calmer this time, with your interlaced with his. “And—and Konshu terrified me the first few times he appeared in front of me, searching for Marc. Seeing him I thought I had lost my mind”.

He explains to you how he feels him, how Marc lives in the silences between his thoughts. How he knows he’s there even when he’s not speaking to him.

And how Marc didn’t want Steven to tell you all of this.

“Marc was constantly reminding me that I shouldn’t get too attached to you, that I shouldn’t let my hopes up because you didn’t know about Konshu, about what had really happened in Egypt and about him, about his existence. So every time I would try to tell you he would talk me out of it saying that you might not be ready yet. That it—that it might scare you off. And I tried making him understand that you wouldn’t but he just repeated that I would lose you over and over and it started to get into my head. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but I didn’t know how either. The whole thing sounds taken out of a bloody weird-magical-ancient-creepy Disney story, doesn’t it?”

It kind of did.

You get that part. But why did he start the conversation with all The Moon God thing? It would have been easier to explain and follow if he had started telling you about Marc first. Was he —or were they— more concerned about your reaction to Marc’s existence than about them being some sort of god’s incarnation? Those times you've seen Steven lose himself in thought was he actually talking to Marc? Was Marc the one in the elevator and was he earlier in the bathroom when you felt Steven’s demeanor change? Had he been around more than those two times and you didn't realize it?

“Is he with us now? Listening to the conversation?” You hear yourself ask out loud.

You have so many questions and all of them are forming inside your head at the same time.

“No, no… He left when I started talking because he didn’t want me to.”

Has he been forced to spend time with you? Is that the reason he didn't want you to know about him? Because you might want to meet him? Or maybe it's that Marc doesn't trust you? Steven said he had taken care of him since they were little. Maybe he didn’t approve of you?

“Was he right?” he asks with a softer voice and a harder grip on your hand.

The vulnerability behind his eyes blanks your mind for a moment.

“What? Sorry, was he right about what?”

“About me losing you.”

He’s looking at you as if he is waiting to listen to a death sentence and you know him enough to see he really believes that you are going to reject him, that you are going to run away. A part of your heart breaks with the idea of them believing they have to hide themselves to be loved. You want to hurt whoever has hurt them before. And although right now your head is not working well with all the information you just received, knowing that you need to process it all, you are sure that both now and tomorrow, a week or a month later your heart will feel the same way for him.

“Why would you? You are still you.”

A thousand different emotions and thoughts pass through his face, but instead of trying to vocalize any of them, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you in a way he has never done before.

Strong, passionate, as in a form of recognition: you may feel for me the same as I feel for you.

And although the lack of air is clouding your head more than already is, you kiss him back with the same intensity. Telling him without words: I do, I do, I do.

All of your senses are soon overtaken by him. And even when the last functioning part of your brain is telling you that you probably shouldn't be doing this right now as soon as he’s moaning in your mouth your reasoning is walking out of the room, leaving you alone with Steven and his lips on your skin, and his hands on your hips pushing you against him, and the heat of his body warming yours, and the smell of his essence making you want to be closer and closer, and the feel of him already hard under you.

“Love, you’ll have to guide me through this,“ his mouth whispers against your ear before devoting itself to spread eager kisses throughout your neck. You’re not sure if the goosebumps that take over you are induced by his lips or his words. Or by the low hum he gives you when you throw your head back to give him more space, unable to resist him. Or by how his hands keep holding your hips, slowly grinding you into him. Probably all of them.

But when he reaches your clavicle you hold his face between your hands to stop him. As much as you want to take off his clothes and just jump into him you want to be loving and gentle, just like he’s with you. You don't have to go all the way in tonight, you can show him other things.

“We’ll take it slow. You can change your mind any time, ok?”

You wait till he nods in understanding to begin unbuttoning his shirt, following the new path of exposed skin with a racing heart and shaky fingers. You never thought skin could be attractive, but his is. It’s inviting even, all velvet soft and golden dim glow under the faint light of your bedroom.

When you finally reach the last button, you take a moment to run your palm from his lower stomach all the way up to his cheek at an unhurried, steady pace. Your fingers tingle as you get a better feel of his smooth skin and strong muscles and your poor heart contracts hearing how his breathing is altered just by the light touch of your hand.

“You are gorgeous, in every way,” you can’t help saying, meeting his eyes when he huffs in response.

“Now you’ll have to prove to me I’m not dreaming 'cause you’ve said things like that in my dreams before.”

So you do.

You prove to both of you this is not a dream by pushing him into the mattress to have more room to leave gentle kisses on his chest, above his hammering heartbeat; tender bites on his shoulder, his ribcage, and his hand when he moves your hair out of your face to have a better look of you; licks that instantly flex his muscles every time you get close to the beginning of his trousers; the mere trace of your lips over his heated skin just to feel him shiver underneath.

And he just takes anything you give him, accepts anything you do to him with shaky breath and devoted eyes.

You back up to sit on his lap again and can’t help but run your nails over his smoothly muscled chest while making eye contact, inviting him without pronouncing a word.

In a second he gets up, eager to take off your shirt and turn you around, mirroring your actions and adding up his own.

First, he approaches the exposed skin with his fingertips, almost as if he still wanted to check the reality of the situation, of you under him, half-naked, flushed, happy, and willing.

The soft sighs his touch coaxes out of you must be credible enough because then he’s caressing you with his mouth. Leisurely tracing the curves of your shoulder, your ribcage, and your stomach, stopping at the cup of your bra.

“Can I take it off you?”

His breathless voice never so dark before, clouds your mind and exposes you.

“You can do anything you want to me, Steven.”

His shocked gasp it's the last thing you get before you feel him cupping one breast and sucking the other. Your stomach clenches as his hot tongue traces your nipple and he moans against you, delighted by the way you’re arching under his touch.

His eyes don’t leave your face, memorizing every single one of your reactions, as he instinctively develops a pattern of softly biting the tip just to soothe it with tender licks and soft kisses afterward. It’s glorious. But the sensations are too strong to remain still anymore, you need to touch him too.

You take advantage of the fact that his mouth is making its way to your other breast, leaving small kisses on your sternum, to hold his face and guide him to your mouth and kiss him fervently, confessing to him things you don’t dare yet to say in words. And he answers to all of them, with every vehement move of his tongue against yours.

You slip one finger inside the edge of his trousers, tracing the skin under the fabric. Involuntarily, his hips thrust into you at the motion.

“Can I take them off?” You ask over his mouth.

He backs up to look at you, giving you one of those soft loving smiles you are always craving so much.

“You can also do anything you want to me, love.”

Love, love, love.

He doesn’t have any idea the power he holds on you every time he calls you love.

A little bit more desperate than you would like to recognize and faster than you thought possible, you get rid of his pants. And now you’re attacking him all the way up to his thighs, caressing his skin until he’s breathing ragged and harder than ever under his boxers.

His neglected erection getting all of your attention now, unable to even try avoid it anymore.

You ignore the primal impulse to beg him let you touch him, waiting to move only after you get his confirmation.

“Please.” It’s all he says.

You slowly palm him through his underwear, savoring the feel of him.

“Please,” he whimpers once more and all pleasantries are pushed aside as your hand finds its way to hot naked flesh.

Dear god.

He’s thick, silky, and perfect. And so ready for you.

He throbs under your touch as you get him out of his underwear. Once it's free you can’t help but stop for a moment to take him in. How can he be so pretty? Everywhere, every part of him, he’s gorgeous. Your heart hammering faster than ever under your chest and your mouth watering just by looking at him.

You move tentatively one finger over his tip, brushing the precum all over his length. Slowly, you start adding fingers, tracing his figure making him get used to your touch. And stars, the way he reacts to your caresses is everything.

Seeing him this wrecked, this hot and desperate just by your hand is making you so wet. You wrap your whole palm around him to jerk him off with harder, but longer motions watching the muscles under his slight stomach flex.

“Please, more I just—Please,” he begs again, his raspy tone seeping deep inside you, adding up to the warmth on your lower belly. He whimpers, watching in awe as he thrusts himself rock-hard and pulsating into your hand, unable to hold still any longer.

You’re not trying to tease him, you’re just figuring out what he wants. Does he want it faster? Does he want your mouth?

You lean in to kiss his hipbone and then—

At the first touch of your tongue, Steven is overwhelmed with the need to confess he loves you, the urge to cry, and the fear he actually might pass out. The contact is enough to send all the blood in his body rushing to his dick making him lose all sense of gravity. As if it wasn't enough that every one of his senses —overflowing with the feel of you— had him already dizzy now your mouth is making him feel in ways he didn’t even think were possible to feel.

So he raises his head to at least try to express one of all the things he's feeling, but then he sees you taking him all the way into your mouth, feeling you moaning against him, and all he can do is choke at a sight he knows it will haunt him in every dream and fantasy from now on until the day he dies.

Your body fills with fire at the taste of him and you can’t help but take as much as of him as you can into your mouth. Your now unoccupied palm finds its way down to massage his balls, desperate to feel him.

And god, his broken panting must be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Wa—wait! Stop. Please, wait,” he calls and you instantly stop taking him out of your mouth. “Sorry, love. I just—I was about to come in your mouth and I—”

“I want you to come in my mouth, baby. Don’t you?”

The ragged cry he gives you as an answer as he throws his head back against the mattress is enough for you to take him back into your mouth again.

His body is now covered in a thin sheen of sweat and impossibly rigid, you notice he’s still holding back. That won't do it.

You take him as far as your throat lets you and run your nails from his lower tummy to the very base of his cock. His stomach flexes under your touch and then he’s cumming, throbbing inside your mouth just like you wanted him to.

You drain him until he’s just a beautiful trembling mess that repeats your name in choked whispers without stopping.

You pull up to take a better look at his stunning body completely relaxed on your bed, but then the whole picture, the way his eyes meet yours with more love and devotion than ever feels so domestic and intimate, more than everything you’ve done today, has a full-force impact into your heart.

You lower your head again to kiss his hipbone, humming happily thinking about how much you enjoyed this even if you didn’t come yourself. Satisfied with how close you feel to him right now.

You are kissing his lower stomach when his fingers brush your hair away from your face.

“Is my turn now, isn’t it love?” he asks, still panting underneath you.

Wait, what?

———————————————

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#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #moon knight imagines #steven grant smut #mcu moon knight #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x you #jake lockely x reader

[alannybunnue]

Reader is an Avatar of Anubis who Marc crosses paths with during his time as Konshu's instrument of justice and quickly develops an obsession,,,

OH SHIT 😀

I can't help but imagine like Anubis yelling at Khonshu every now and then because his Avatar was stolen...AGAIN

Like bitch, this is the fifth time this week, control your boy!!

While Marc is keeping her locked in his apartment with that ankle chain. Steven is trying to convince him to unlock her (Not let her go, we all know that Steven and Jake share the same fucking obsession, and no one can change my mind-)

Also, i do imagine that she may have broken a few of his bones trying to escape (Avatars are kinda strong ya know?)

#ask #marvel cinematic universe #yandere concept #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #avatar!reader

[bluebirdsboi]

Solace | Marc Spector x Male Reader

Fandom: MCU

Genre: Hurt Comfort

Paring: Marc Spector x Male Reader

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, Mentions of violence

Word Count: 677

Requests are open

** This work does not use (Y/n) and has a vague allusion to the reader’s gender, but this is intended for people who identify as male *

Marc’s contract with Konshu took a palpable toll on your relationship. He was always leaving in the middle of the night, has gradually become distant as time passed, and was coming back with a grim or dejected expression accompanied by what you hoped wasn’t blood on his skin and clothes whenever he got home. You’ve been dating for around five months now, and you began noting these patterns roughly a month or two into your living together. Eventually, you finally told him you had had enough and he sullenly explained his dealings with Konshu. When he finished, all you could do was hold him close and reassure him that everything will be alright.

Presently, you stayed late after work and weren’t able to get home until well into the evening. You admired the beautiful hues of orange and pink that painted the sky while making your way home; the scenery juxtaposing what was waiting for you at home.

You opened the door to your home, met by the sight of the interior left almost exactly how it was earlier, the only difference being the door to your shared room had been left ajar. “Marc, you home?” you called out as you closed the front door and set your things in their place; however, you received no response. The stillness of the air alongside a deafening silence stirred an apprehensive sensation in your chest, especially since Marc should have been home about now. “Marc?” you tried again, this time skulking closer to the bedroom. Gently opening the door, you were struck with a scene that completely shattered your heart. There in front of you was Marc, sitting on the floor against the bed in only shorts with a bottle of whiskey that had around a fourth of its contents remaining sitting within arm's reach.

He turned his head to look at you, letting out a sigh, realizing how he must have looked. “Hey, honey.” Marc’s tone held its signature raspiness with an added layer of despondency. After his somber greeting, he turned his head back, unable to face you. In response, you walked deeper into the room to have a better look at your boyfriend, still attempting to comprehend the situation and contemplating how best to console him. Seeing that his head was hung in what seemed as a mixture of shame and guilt, you decided to sit next to him while keeping some distance between you two.

Breaking the silence you began, “Marc-” “Just... save it, okay?” He cut you off, looking up but still averting his gaze. “I know this isn’t how to handle this, but I... I don’t know what to do anymore.” Marc spoke in reference to his arrangement with Konshu, his voice brimming with despair. “I can’t just forget everything I did. Do you know what it’s like having to leave your boyfriend every night and come home to him covered in blood that’s not yours?” He continued, his voice laced with a color (colour) akin to a passionate sadness. You gently placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder in response. He flinched and sharply turned his head to you but gradually relaxed, leaning his head onto your shoulder so you could fully wrap your arm around him. 

After giving Marc time to quell his charged nerves and settle into your touch, you spoke up, “I couldn’t begin to imagine what you have to go through every night, but all of this is Konshu taking advantage of you. Nothing more.” Your words began to soothe him evidenced by the loosening tension in his shoulders. “I doubt being forced to kill every day is easy, but please come and talk to me next time, okay?” Marc let out a hum of agreement, too emotionally drained to let out any words. The room fell into a comfortable silence before Marc asked, “Hey, hon?” “Yes?” Marc could only speak two words that expressed his sentiment, “Thank you.” Your response was to hold him ever so slightly tighter, draw and release a deep breath, and simply say, “Always.”

- End -    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: Hey, so it’s been a very long time since I’ve posted on here. I’m sorry for my long hiatus, but I do intend on writing more now that I have more time. I’m posting this oneshot just to get myself back into the swing of things, so I apologies if this isn’t as good as it could be but I’m working on some requests right now so there are those to look forward to. 

I will be making a sort of overhaul to my blog which is mostly just adding a guide post and breaking up my masterlist into individual ones, so that will be either the bulk or entirety of my post tomorrow. I’ve also been finalizing some character details for my second blog, AO3 and Wattpad so I can start working on two of the stories I have planned. 

That’s all for the current updates at the moment, so as always, thank you for reading <3

#explore #marvel #mcu #marc spector #marc spector x male reader #moon knight #moon knight x male reader #marvel x male reader #male reader #x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #marvel x reader #hurt/comfort

[gin-stan]

Redrew this [ Old (June 2023) Vs New (Feb 2024)]

I've recently gotten a tablet and a new art program, now I dont have to use my old phone to draw anymore. It's crazy the difference now that I have a bigger screen to draw on 💀.

This is my first time drawing my own interpretation of Jake. He's still a work in progress. (I have some bits of his personality in coherent thought, but that's about it).

I imagine his impulse control is like that scene in Peacemaker where the two ladies asked, "What are we gonna do with this guy?" (He's tied up in the back of a moving van) and vigilante and Peacemaker immediately pull out a gun and try to shoot him.

He's very respectful, especially of elders, he's the type to help old ladies(people) cross the street.

Basically, he lives by the code of "Don't start nothin' there won't be nothin.

He's not ultra violent, either. He does what he needs to do in order to serve Konshu and protect the system, but he doesn't necessarily enjoy it. It's a job the same as being a taxi driver.

Of course, he still speaks Spanish, but he can also speak other languages as well. Out of the system, he's the one who can speak the most languages fluently. [Russian, Spanish, English, ect.].

Out of all of them, he has the more explicit mouth. He can get very creative with his curse words and insults

I can't think of anything else, so just ask. I'll come up with an answer.

#drawing #i like making fun of fanon jake from time to time #steven is in a totally different art style than the other two...RIP #art #sketch #fanart #artist #chibi #artwork #moon knight system #moon boys #moon knight fandom #moon knight #jake lockley fanart #jake lockley #marc spector fanart #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant fanart #marvel moon knight #moon knight fanart #digital aritst #digital art

[h3k3t]

The tale of the Sun and Chaos || Chapter O1

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜꜱʜᴀʙᴛɪ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʏʀᴀᴍɪᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢɪᴢᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴠᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴀᴛᴇ. ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ;  ((ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ & ᴍᴀʀᴄ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ)) ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ "ᴍᴏᴏɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ" ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ;; ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ;; ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ/ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ;; ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ-ᴛᴏ-ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪ��ɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏʀᴘꜱᴇꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ɴ / ᴀ: ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀꜱ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀᴛꜰᴏʀᴍꜱ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴘʀɪᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛꜱ, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ

Night had fallen over the ruins of the pyramid of Giza, or at least what was left of it. What exactly happened was still completely incomprehensible if not for those who experienced it firsthand and fought. They had been inauspicious days, strange days, with events that had not been seen for a long time. Starry skies that changed at the speed of light, pyramids reduced to rubble, souls that flew away from their bodies, to then end everything in a sudden silence, as quick as a slap that leaves you perplexed and astonished.

Silence had now fallen on the pyramid of Giza, a silence, that unlike that of the desert, emptied the lungs and filled them with heavy anguish and the smell of some rotten corpses left to rot in what remained of a room that perhaps was used for of councils or meetings. Who those people were is a mystery that will be buried in the sand, as well as the footprints of a thief, who silently crosses the rubble that obstructs the corridor leading to the ushabti. Their hands tremble as they grasp the stone objects with caution, their eyes look around, snapping like sentries, at the first noise nearby; it was not in the plans for anyone to cross the path of that stranger, nor was it in the plans for anyone to catch them red-handed. Time was short and this was still a hostile and dangerous land.

Just as the thief had arrived they disappeared, there were no sounds of footsteps echoing in the ruins, only a spiral of light that immediately closed, letting some sparks meet and the grains of sand, extinguishing after a while.

London - 02:20 am

Jake Lockley's eyes slowly opened, he focused on the surrounding place, finding himself between the sheets of the double bed where Steven Grant and Marc Spector slept, convinced that they now have a life free of any abnormality. The man heaved a long sigh, picked up a small alarm clock that was on the next bedside table and noticed that it had been two in the morning for a few minutes. Well, at least the two alters had slept for a full three hours, that was enough.

He immediately got out of bed and as usual washed and dressed, ready to start a new mission, another 'work shift', another night in the service of the god Konshu. If you wondered how much this lifestyle could weigh on Jake Lockley, the answer is 'nothing'. Nothing he did weighed on him, it didn't bother him to drive his limo or his cab to unknown destinations, it didn't bother him to track down those who according to Konshu's will were to be punished, nor did it bother him to kill them, slowly or quickly. For him that was right, this was what he was and what he always would be: a hitman, who in a rather twisted way took pleasure in imposing his own justice with violence. Jake Lockley was convinced that his perspective on life and cause and effect did not make him a monster, he was simply capable of going all the way, going through one cycle and starting another, to go where Steven Grant and Marc Spector had been unable to get.

The figure of the man approached his beloved limo, shiny under the pale eyes of the moon and the dim lights of the London streets. He slipped into the vehicle after opening the door to the driver's seat and lowering the window, he looked in his jacket pocket for the pack of his French cigarettes and a lighter. He raised one to his lips and after trying twice to trigger a flame from the lighter hole, he burned the end of the object, finally taking a long puff. His dark eyes, devoid of light or reflections, took a quick glance at the row of seats behind him, where Konshu used to sit. He didn't even need to turn his torso, he already knew that the cold caress of the unusual wind was the signal that that skeletal bird in a suit and tie had just appeared.

"Evenin’, Konshu" Jake said before a long cloud of whitish smoke came out of his nostrils, while with his gloved hand he chased the ash that had deposited at the end of the cigarette out of the window. His tone was impassive, almost sarcastic in feigning a minimum of feeling.

"There was a theft in the pyramid of Giza, Jake Lockley" Konshu had never been a type for so many ceremonies, he didn't go around things, he said them and wanted them to be done instantly.

"I didn't think you were such a nostalgic type" Jake commented taking another drag on his cigarette "Is that all? Should I go to Egypt to find out more?" Jake disliked long journeys, it compromised his secret life. In the shadow of Marc and Steven he lived, fought, and everything else and it was okay, even though he was often so close to being discovered. Jake was a territorial type and if there was one thing he wasn't willing to give up it was the sort of freedom he had gained now that the two had let their guard down, not now that he had tasted how sweet the feeling was of taking action and not being damned interrupted.

"You won't need to go far, Jake Lockley" Konshu replied crossing one leg "In fact the thief seems to be closer than we think" the man raised an eyebrow.

"Are they in London?" well, this was a fluke.

"I feel a strong energy, not of one, but more ushabti" replied the god. All of this was strangely easy.

"But you don't know who they are, nor would you be able to give me a precise point, uh?" Jake urged him with the cigarette between his thin lips.

"If I had been capable of such things, I certainly would not have needed you" to the ears of poor fools this might have seemed a flattery, to Jake's it was just a shrill and annoying bell that reminded him how much his presence was swinging between the being a useful avatar and not being one, so it was rare for him to fail.

"Okay, but it will take time. London is big” replied the man rolling his eyes to one side, before realizing that Konshu had already disappeared into thin air. He didn't need anything else, they both already knew what Jake had to do: the necessary and fast.

[ . . . ]

London - 5:00 am

Dawn was now on the horizon and Jake had just closed his front door after crawling inside the dusty apartment he called home. His gloves were soaked in blood, as were his shoes. A Spanish curse escaped from his mouth tightened by the teeth and framed by a tense jaw, he should have cleaned them as soon as he woke up, he hated walking around in dirty clothes... The man walked over to the old wooden wardrobe next to the bed, and after undressing and putting on his pajamas he crouched down to the cabinet, slipping a calloused hand under it. His thick fingers moved a rather damaged wooden plank and pulled out a box that was not too bulky and after putting his clothes into it he placed it where he had previously hidden it.

It was all there, in that niche under a wardrobe, his existence was small to fit into a crack between wooden boards, in a box, yet it was the bearer of an immense chaos, which in the naivety of the two alters formed a paradoxically perfect balance.

Jake looked at himself for the last time in the mirror, he hadn't gotten much that night, he had stalked some people who could know something about the black market of archaeological finds, auctions and much more, but not even well-placed punches and some threats have helped any advantage. He was back to square one, thought the man lying on the bed, and time was short. He closed his eyes with a slow sigh, as if it were his last breath before he died and then an idea flashed through his mind, before Steven could open his sleepy eyes again.

London - 5:10 pm

“Thank you and have a good evening” Noah Amon greeted with a smile on her lips a young father and his adorable daughter, who had just bought a plush of the goddess Taweret at the gift shop. The girl waited for the two visitors to exit to be able to breathe a long tired sigh. Even today the umpteenth day of work was coming to an end at the British Museum in London, even if in some corner there were still some tourists who dragged along enchanted by some relics from ancient Egypt. How to blame them, the girl thought as she stared blankly at her cell phone screen; No notification of missed messages or calls.

"Hey, hard day?" JB asked approaching the counter of the shop, then observing Noah with a cracked smile.

"As usual, is there any news from the world of otters?" she asked with a small, amused smile, honestly if Noah had known that she would have had a bigger salary sitting in an armchair all day and watching otters videos, she would surely have thought twice before accepting the job as a saleswoman at the museum. Her colleague smiled almost spontaneously before showing her a video of a rather chubby otter breaking ice cubes. The two laughed lightly for a few minutes looking at his phone screen, before Noah shook her head, she couldn't understand if JB's presence make her happy or not, surely since Steven had disappeared into thin air at least her days were not flat and totally unsatisfying.

"So," the boy put his cell phone in his pocket before giving her a mixed look of sleepy and friendly "Some colleagues were organizing a night at the pub tonight, would you like to join us? I can accompany you if you don't have a car"

Noah was undecided, there was something strange about JB. In the end he wasn't a bad boy, no, in his own way he kept her company, he was nice with her, and every time he took care to involve Noah in some way. Surely it had been a couple of weeks now that the boy had approached her and if they started dating, it wouldn't even mind Noah; Why not, after all? What was wrong with that? Nothing, it’s just...the girl was convinced that it was not the right time, her head was still overcrowded with too many things, things that unfortunately JB would not have been able to understand. She was about to respond when, paradoxically, Donna saved them from a potentially sad ending.

"Hey Amon, the new exhibition is in a week, do you know what that means? New inventory” The woman noisily placed a few boxes on the counter, under the gaze of JB and Noah, who simultaneously pressed their lips together in an awkward thin line. The girl turned to him and with a hint of a sorry smile she said:

“Unfortunately I still have a lot to do tonight, JB. You know, after all, that's why I earned a degree in History of Anthropology and Religions and one in History of Art, right?" Noah commented with a point of sarcasm as she opened one of the packages, pulling out an item "To sell Horus plush in a gift shop" she let out a self-deprecating chuckle, while JB pursed his lips in an annoyed grimace.

"I keep saying you're wasted in this bloody gift shop" he said, shaking his head in regret.

"I know, but apparently Dylan is doing just fine on her own...Donna says" she replied shrugging.

"If only that idiot Scottie hadn't been fired—"

"Steven, his name is Steven, JB" Noah corrected him as she put the plushies in their place "And anyway he would have been better than me as a tour guide" the young man shook his head unconvinced.

"Too bad he was crazy as a bloody mad horse" he replied putting his hands in his pockets. Noah would have liked to reiterate that most of Steven's psychological imbalance had most likely worsened in recent times due to the bad working climate, but in the absence of evidence and unwilling to argue with the one person who tolerated it inside, she decided to keep quiet.

"Whatever, bruv" she replied vaguely.

"Hey listen, I too try to tell the boss, I just wish well..." JB tilted his head to one side smiling gently at her, then put his hands on his hips "You're a good girl, you know, and you deserve to be happy"

"Thanks bruv. That's kind of you" Noah returned the smile, while he gave her a friendly wink.

"I'm going, my friends are waiting for me, but hey—" the boy pointed at her as he backed away "You owe me a beer, mh?"

"Count on it" she replied with a gentle smile greeting him, even though she wasn't really convinced of that.

Noah rolled up the sleeves of her cream colored vintage shirt, trying to muster courage and strength for what awaited her tonight, well... those damn stuffed animals didn't fix themselves, earlier she started and sooner she finished, she kept repeating in the her mind. Donna's voice boomed from loudspeakers throughout the museum, warning that the British Museum would close to the public in a few minutes, the last of the tourists strode towards the exit, footsteps echoing off that polished marble floor and Noah, completely distracted by the world around her, she tied her hair back in a low ponytail so some strands didn't get in her face as she lifted boxes, set items down, and made a list of the day's prices and receipts.

Someone approached to her, their step was calm not entirely affected, the girl naively thought that it was JB again, maybe he had come back to say something:

"Hey JB, did you forget something?" she asked looking up, before meeting that of the last person she would have ever imagined she could cross the threshold of that place again "S-Steven...?"

#Moon knight #Jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #fanfic #imagine #scenario #mcu #marvel #chapter 1 #konshu #layla el-faouly #The tale of the Sun and Chaos #heket works

[mini-sae]

Marc Spector alphabet

A ( aftercare ) : Either that he's rough or not, Marc always takes time soothing you. He's gentle and so soft with you. It's an effort for him to not sleep shortly after he cummed, but he knows he won't be able to sleep until he's sure you're totally fine.

B ( body part ) : Marc loves caressing your thighs. Touching them, kissing them. Lifting them and putting them on his shoulders while diving into you. And if there is meat on them, he's in heaven.

C ( cum ) : Unlike Steven, Marc loves to make a mess. He always watching his cum leaking out of your pussy. Or your mouth.

D ( dirty secret ) : Everytime he cums in you, he likes to imagine that he's breeding you. He doesn't dare telling you cause he's afraid you wouldn't want a child with him, never. As if...

E ( experience ) : Marc has a lot of experience. Sexual and emotional. He used to be married and before and after his marriage, he had his share of gitlfriends and one nightstands. But none of that prepared him for the way he fell for you. It still amazes him that he's able to feel so much for someone else.

F ( favorite position ) : Good ol' missionary. Where he's in control and where he can see your pretty face. And you can touch him anywhere you want.

G ( goofy ) : Marc has a great sense of humor. But not in bed. During sex, he's entirely focused on you or he's in desperate need of comfort and tenderness.

H ( hair ) : Just like his alters. Pubic hair, that's all.

I ( intimacy ) : it's between your legs that Marc is the most vulnerable. When he's not fucking you like crazy, he holds you dearly like he was afraid to see you slip away. He keeps telling you that you're everything to him. And he loves hearing you say that you will never leave him.

J ( jack off ) : Anytime he's on a mission for Konshu, his thoughts are on you. And in the rare nights he has to spend away from you, he touches himself. Imagining having you in every way he likes.

K ( kink ) : He likes chocking you when he takes you from behind. Not to hurt you or to overpower you. But because he marvels in the way you trust him with such a gesture. You perfectly know that he would never hurt you. And that just make him feel so loved.

L ( location ) : He's the most comfortable at home, even though he likes to take you in unexpected places. But at home, there's not a furniture he didn't fuck you on. He likes bending you over while you're cooking or cleaning. And you never get tired of it.

M ( motivation ) : Actually, you don't need to motivate him. Your man tries to get in your pants any chance he get. You often find yourself on your back because you were touching, kissing, or eyeing him in a funny way. Witch you didn't btw.

N ( no ) : Hurting you is a no, but hurting him his a freaking fucking no. He told you that right away. He can tolerate some hair pulling and scratches on his back. But that's the most he will enjoy in roughness.

O ( oral ) : Marc loves when you suck him off, but he loves eating you out even more. Maybe even more than Steven. He loves your taste. There's not an inch of your pussy his tongue didn't lick. He only stops when you can't take any more of it.

P ( pace ) : It's all or nothing. Marc can be as rough as Jake and tender like Steven. But there's no inbetween.

Q ( quickie ) : Yes yes yes. Marc always wants you. Either there's time for it or not. And when you think there's no time, he proves you wrong in making you cum in no time.

R ( risk ) : Always. Marc loves to take you to restaurants, theaters, beautiful gardens... And everytime, he manages to find a place for the two of you. And he loves challenging you at staying quiet.

S ( stamina ) : That man is unstoppable. Once he's in you, he stays in you for so long. And you better be prepared for the next rounds.

T ( toys ) : Marc loves to fuck you with a sex toy while you're going down on him. Sometimes he puts the toy down your throat while taking you hard.

U ( unfair ) : No. Like Steven, he doesn't have the heart to make you beg and cry. It's actually a touchy subject with Jake. He always yelling at him in the headspace to stop.

V ( volume ) : Marc is not shy about voicing his pleasure. He whines, rumbles, growls. His sighs are so hot near your ear.

W ( wild card ) : He just loves cumming on your face. He smears it with his cock or his hand when he's done, and ask you to sleep like this, unless you mind. And you don't mind, never.

X ( x ray ) : Years as a mercenary did it's job. He's so solid that you feel like a tiny thing when you're in his arms.

Y ( yearning ) : Always. Marc is always yearning for you, no matter what. Even if you made love a few minutes ago, he still yearns for your body.

Z ( zzz ) : As a mercenary, Marc learned to sleep anywhere and in any conditions. But that was before you. He can't sleep if you're not here. If he doesn't see you or feel you, he's wide awake. But when you're here, he sleeps. He sleeps without nightmares.

#fic #x reader #fluff #story #lovers #fanfic #fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector #marc spector × reader #alphabet

[ultrablackwidower]

Hold me While you Wait

Part 1/2 Takes place while looking through Marc's memories Listened to 'All for Us' by Labyrinth

The woman came inside and closed the balcony doors with a gentleness that stirred something within Steven. It felt like sympathy. He knew what it felt like to cry alone, reaching for something in the dark to prove that there was something more to life. Always falling short of something, fingertips feeling nothing.

This room was different from the others, Steven realized.

It was different because Marc cowered behind him as they walked through the door, and the smell of flowers and coffee was so overpowering that it seemed to awaken something within them. Within them both.

This wasn’t just a memory Marc was trying to hide from him— it was a memory that he, too, had. And he knew it. He knew it as the walls transformed into a small apartment. White and contemporary, without much space but perfect use of every corner and shape available.

He walked through its front door. The kitchen was to the right, small with two wine glasses on the counter from the night before and a pan on the stove that was still warm. Someone had made breakfast. French toast, he thought by the sweet smell in the air as he stepped further into the area.

He emerged into a living room, where a small white couch, one single coffee table, and a television were sitting. The TV was turned to the news, Egyptian words rolling off the tongue of the reporter as they discussed the weather and the traffic. But that wasn’t the intriguing part.

The part that pulled them into this memory stood on the open balcony, where the white curtains blew gently into the living room with the wind and a slender woman stood casually with her back to them. She had long curls, dark as obsidian, and a coffee cup in her hand. She wore their boxers, and a button-down top that was so full of wrinkles that he already could tell what happened the night before. One of her bare feet poked at the flower pot on the floor— one of many. This one was growing a beautiful blue flower.

“Are you going to be like this all day?” a voice called from the bedroom.

Steven’s head turned to see a past version of himself— of Marc— entering the room with a towel around his waist and his hair still wet from the shower. A frustrated expression was on his face. One that dripped with silent anger and self-loathing he had come to live with.

The woman turned her head to glance over her shoulder. She was beautiful, with full lips and a perfect nose, cheeks smooth and wet with tears. He hadn’t realized before, but she was crying. Quietly, to herself, as though afraid to bother him. She clutched the coffee cup to her chest like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“That depends,” she spoke, accent light and travelled. It did not shake. As though she, too, was warring with herself and trying to keep the balance of life between them from collapsing. “Are you still going on the mission?”

Marc sighed heavily. “I have to. You knew this before we got into this mess.”

“No. You told me you’d stay with me. You told me that last one would be exactly that— the very last one,” she told him, finally turning around.

The woman came inside and closed the balcony doors with a gentleness that stirred something within Steven. It felt like sympathy. He knew what it felt like to cry alone, reaching for something in the dark to prove that there was something more to life. Always falling short of something, fingertips feeling nothing.

“You don’t know what it’s like dealing with all of these broken promises. I’d give you the world if it meant you’d stay, for good,” she told him, putting the coffee cup down.

She stepped toward Marc and put her hands on his face. There was something in his eyes. He took hold of her wrists and pulled her away. Something contorted so quickly across her expression that Steven nearly missed it. But he could sense her pain from a mile away.

“I’m doing this all for us,” Marc said briskly. “Why don’t you get that?”

“Because there is no us if I’m the only one here.”

Steven turned around as the two figures before him stood silently in front of each other. Ghosts who didn’t know how to see each other, who kept passing one another in the night. Marc, in his hospital clothes, cowered by the front door. Trying not to look at the memory in front of them.

“Who was she?” Steven asked quietly, praying that there was more to this.

Marc couldn’t look at him in the eye. “She was….Rana.”

The name didn’t ring a bell in his head. “Did we live together?”

“Yes. Even when we had no food in the kitchen, no money….she made us happy,” he told him quietly, voice cracking with guilt. “I’d have done 25 to life to give her the world.”

“But you didn’t,” Steven accused. “We left her, didn’t we?”

He turned back to the scene as it unfolded, Rana turning away from them with tears in her eyes as the coffee cup fell from the corner of the table. It fell in slow motion, the liquid sloshing over the rim toward the delicate rug on the floor as she walked into a hallway and disappeared.

Like a ghost.

Marc stood there, staring after her with the towel still around his waist. Guilty or innocent, they loved her. But he stood still as though she were simply a stranger passing through their home. Her footsteps got further and further away, her figure completely gone from their view.

Steven lurched forward, arm reaching out to follow her.

“No!” Marc shouted at him, grabbing hold of his shirt.

But still, he followed.

#marc spector #moon knight #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #konshu #moon knight show #moon knight x you #marc spector fic #marc spector imagine #steven grant fic #steven grant x you #steven grant imagine #marvel #marvel fic