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paleprincessturtle · 8 months

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Ruined Plan

I'm back again! Happy reading and please excuse any inaccuracies in my writing.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Female Reader

Donna stared at her screen in disbelief and gasped. She closed her eyes and looked at the screen one more time and looked behind her, at her boss’ office. She printed the document on her computer and invited herself into Harvey’s office. She waited in front of Harvey’s desk while he was on the phone. Not long after Harvey hung up the phone and he raised his eyebrows at Donna. “Are you going to say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like fish out of water?” Harvey said as he jolted down something on a document in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Donna asked him in disbelief. “Tell you that I’m the best closer this town has ever seen? I think the world knows, Donna.” Harvey smirked and looked back down at the document. “If it’s a guessing game, we have to pen it down for another day. As you know, this case has been going on for far too long.” Donna didn't say a thing but instead slid the document she printed just minutes ago. Harvey peeked at the document and asked “Why are you looking through my bank statement?”

Donna rolled her eyes so hard, for a second she was scared it won’t get back. “To make your usual monthly financial report, Harvey. What else?” Harvey waved the page absentmindedly in the air. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” Donna leaned on his desk and pointed to a specific date. “Cartier? That much? On a lunch break?” Donna asked as she straightened herself. “You’re proposing,” Donna said matter of factly. Harvey grinned so wide that it scared Donna. “The thought was just so sudden and I thought why not.” Harvey shrugged. “And why didn’t you ask for my help to pick out the perfect ring?” Donna paced in front of his desk, looking like the world was about to collapse. Again, Harvey just shrugged. “The ring must be here. Show me the ring.” Harvey squinted his eyes at her. “Harvey, I swear to God if you choose not to show me the ring, I’ll turn your office upside down and nothing will stop me.” Harvey put his hands up in defense and retrieved a key inside a little compartment underneath one of his basketball cases and opened a middle drawer in his desk. He carefully took the box and handed it to Donna. With the same care, Donna took the box in her hand. “Let’s see if we can return this ring if it turns out to lo…” Donna said seriously and stopped herself once she opened the box fully. “Well?” Harvey stood up with his hands in his pockets and smirked.

Donna nodded and grinned “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself. This looks beautiful, simple yet elegant. And jeez, Harvey. Are you trying to blind anyone who looks her way?” Harvey’s smirks grew significantly bigger. “Kinda need to show everyone she’s off the market.” He said proudly and Donna burst into a huge fit of laughter at the prospect of seeing Harvey finally getting married and most importantly, happy. “I know this case is important and you’re swamped. But let’s take 30 minutes to plan the actual proposal. This is a very important matter, Harvey." Donna sat at the chair in front of Harvey’s desk and moved his laptop to face her.

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The sound of his own phone startled Harvey. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he looked up from piles upon piles of documents on his desk. He cracked his neck before he moved the documents around to find his phone. Harvey instantly smiled. “If it isn’t the most gorgeous girlfriend a man could ever ask for.” Harvey leaned back in her leather chair as he was immersed in the sound of laughter from the other side of the line. “Flattery won’t bring you anywhere, Mr. Specter.” Harvey smiled “But I’m known for my flattery and charm.” Harvey paused, “Is everything okay?” he suddenly worried as to why she called and it was not even 10 am. “All is well, Commander. Just asking if you could pencil me down for a lunch picnic today?” His heart heaved suddenly, Heaven knows how much he wanted to go and how hard it is to say no to her. But at least she wasn't here to show him the pout. “Oh baby, as much as I love the idea, I’m seriously swamped.” Harvey heard a big sigh and the sound of the fridge door closed. “Still?” he heard her pout. Damn it, Harvey thought. He thought not being with her and not seeing the pout will help. But now, he heard her pout. Great. “Unfortunately, still. I’ll make it up to you. Okay?” Harvey tried to reason with her as he thought of the getaway Donna and him planned earlier and smiled. “No worries, baby. Good luck with your case, okay? Don’t forget to ask Donna to bring you something for lunch. Don’t forget to eat lunch or I’ll send the SWAT team down there to shove a hotdog down your throat.” Harvey laughed heartily at her threat. “I won’t. Gotta go, the DA office called. I love you.” Harvey heard a cheerful I love you as he hung up.

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Donna entered Harvey’s office exactly at 1.30 pm. “Your 1.30 appointment is here.” Harvey looked up, bewildered. “What appointment? I told you to clear up my schedule today. I’m busy.” Before Harvey saw her, he already smelled the mixture of vanilla and rose. “Even for me?” she said sweetly as Donna left the room and closed the door behind her. Harvey stood up immediately and walked up to her. “You’re too busy now for me, Mr. Naming Partner?” she smirked as Harvey enveloped her in his embrace. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I called Donna and she told me you refused lunch. So I took matters into my own hands and made you lasagna. I’ll only drop this.” she gestured to a lunch bag that he realized just now. “I thought you'd send a SWAT team? You’re damn pretty for I thought would be 10 bulky men.” Harvey said as he gently squeezed her ass and smirked before delicately pecking her lips. “Harvey!” she slapped her hand across his chest. “No fraternizing in the office!” she scolded, face all serious. “You won’t work here until at least another month. You’re here as my girlfriend. And maybe we could make use of the copy room? Or hmm, the file room?” She laughed though he earned another slap across his chest. “I thought you were busy? Come on, eat your lunch.” She separated herself from Harvey’s arms and he involuntarily frowned at the absence of her in his arms. She opened the lunch bag and laid down the food containers on another side of his larger desk for him to eat. “Come, Harvey. You should eat.” she frowned and she called for Harvey. He sat down and now he felt hungry. Between the sight and the smell of this lasagna, he realized that he has been working on an empty stomach. “That ain’t so hard, right?” Harvey nodded, mouth full of food. “Are these the files you've been going through since last night?” she gestured to the ones on the table and a few boxes near his desk. Again, Harvey nodded. “Won’t you eat with me?” He opened the lunch bag to find another lasagna for her. “Meh, I’ve had lunch at home. Thought I will just drop your lunch,” she said as she squatted beside one of the boxes. “I’ll take half of these files. You finished your lunch first.” She took a few boxes with her and brought them to his sofa. “Babe, you don’t have to. You’re not even working here yet, the merger isn’t yet effective. Go out and have a spa day or something. Thank you, but I have it handled.” Harvey said after he gulped a big amount of water. “I won’t have it, Harvey. I’m free to help and I won’t go. Well unless you call the SWAT team." They smirked at each other as she flopped down the sofa and started with the box on the very top. Harvey stared at her as he chowed down the last bit of his lunch. How come he scored such a beauty? She leaned her back, documents opened in front of her, as she pouted while fully concentrating on the task at hand. She folded both legs, hitched her summer dress, and revealed her smooth thighs. What a pretty sight, he thought to himself. Since 3 days ago Mike got sick, this is the first day he felt happy by the news. He looked down at his lunch and something occurred to him so suddenly. He just realized how devoted she is to him. Her bringing him lunch now wasn’t the first time. She’s taking good care of him. They had been together for a tad more than a year now since she was working with her previous firm, been living together for over 7 months now Even when she was busy working, he always got home to dinner. Sometimes even home-cooked lunches brought by herself to his office. The warm baths she always knew he needed without him saying anything. How she knew what to pour him. White, red, whiskey, or bourbon. How all his friends love her. Adore her even. That never really happened with his previous partners.

He had to make her his now. Scratch that, he needed to make her his now. He moved carefully to his desk, as carefully as he could without disturbing her. He took the key and opened the drawer. He checked the box and sighed in relief as he saw the ring still in place. He sat up straight and fixed his tie before walking up to her. She didn't even bother to look up, thought he must've needed something from one of the boxes she took. It then caught her attention when she saw him standing on one knee. “Harvey?” she looked at him quizzically. He pulled out the red box from his suit jacket and she gasped. She put her legs down, both hands covered her mouth as he opened the box. Exposing the ring. “This is not how I, actually me and Donna, planned it. We were supposed to be in Boboli Garden when I asked you this question. But I can’t wait that long. You are my life and I never loved anyone as much as I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Marry me.” Harvey looked at her sincerely and his eyes glistened. “Yes” her voice was just above a whisper. “Yes yes yes! An infinite amount of yes!!” She shrieked. Harvey smiled widely as he slid the ring down her slender finger. She put up her hand and admired the ring “Goodness, this is beautiful.” Harvey wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her up with him before spinning her around. Harvey stopped, her feet still hadn't touched the ground. Their foreheads touched as they grinned at each other. “I love you so much” she whispered as she closed their distance. “Not even in a proposal will Harvey Specter ask” Both of them laugh, as they kiss again. They separated in shock as Donna swung open the door so hard. She inspected the sight before her and screamed “HARVEY HOW COULD YOU PROPOSE TO HER IN YOUR OWN OFFICE?!?! WE'VE MADE A PLAN!”

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Author's note: Feel free to send me some story ideas. Thanks!

MASTERLIST

#harvey specter #harvey specter fan fiction #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter x reader #suits harvey specter #suits tv

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margaretoakgrove · 11 months

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Caring Lord Heisenberg

First of all, let me to wholeheartedly congratulate you on being one of the luckiest people in the world!

Yes, that's right, you have automatically become one since that very moment when the heart of lord Heisenberg himself chose you as his only one beloved.

And despite of the tough personality and rough exterior of this man he is, actually, quite kind, caring, gentle and attentive within the soul and will do literally anything to see a genuine smile of happiness on your face.

You will probably not hear him saying "i love you" hundred times a day because, not going to lie, Karl is not very good at expressing his feelings with words, but he will definitely always find many other different ways to show how deeply he really cares for you.

On daily basis the lord lavishly compliments your outward look, making your cheeks redden like two ripe tomatoes, and persistently encourages you not to give up on your cherished dreams but devotedly follow them no matter how difficult that is, this way helping the wings of your soul remain unfolded.

All needs of yours Karl is very well aware of and always ready to help you out to entirely fulfill each and every one of them. He buys your favorite beverages and food from the Duke, even without paying attention to the prices; masterly unnoticeably steals breathtaking books from the rich library of lady Dimitrescu, makes Donna special orders for her to sew new clothes to your liking and asks Moreau for all necessary and qualitative medicines when you are in a poor state of health.

Speaking of your health, it is extremely important for the lord for you to stay well as much as possible and for this reason, knowing his habit of smoking like a chimney, Karl avoids puffing cigars near with you.

Making jewellery of metal has now turned into Heisenberg's new little hobby in his spare of work time. He enjoys sitting in one of his workshops in a calm atmosphere, painstakingly designing and creating another trinket, at the same time quietly humming some nice melodic song and vividly imagining how doubtlessly glad you will be to receive one more peculiar handmade gift from him.

Sometimes because of an especially unpleasant family gathering or an unsuccessful experiment, the blood within the man's veins begin to boil out of irritation and pure anger. Remembering how highly sensetive by nature you really are, Karl politely asks you to leave him for some time alone in order to cool his jets and be able to think straight as he desires not one bit to accidentally snap at you and break your fragile heart.

For Heisenberg there is nothing more unbearable than to watch his darling cry. Therefore when your precious eyes start filling with bitter tears of sadness, the lord, as if on autopilot, gives you a firm yet gentle hug. Carefully and caringly stroking your hair and back, your beloved tenderly soothes you, assuring that everything is certainly going to be alright because he is always here…with you…

When you wish to take a slow stroll in a forest or simply around the village, usually Karl gladly joins you, serving you as a loyal and reliable defender. But at thouse moments when he, unfortunately, cannot come together with you, being too busy with working on his projects, the lord sends a pack of lycans in order for them to protect you from every ill-wisher and each potential danger during your walk. Don't worry! These fluffy guys just look so intimidating, but Heisenberg trained them too well, and, believe me, they will never dare to cause you any harm.

At the restless nights of your life when you, being attacked by a bunch of poisonous anxious thoughts, try to desperately fall asleep, almost constantly tossing and turning in the bed, the strong arms of your beloved wrap around you even more tighter than usual. Pulling you closely to his sturdy wide chest, Karl softly and gently caresses your tensed body, placing simultaneously little loving kisses on your face, neck and shoulders, from time to time speaking into your ear very pleasant amazing things in a whisper until you feel absolutely relaxed and sleepy.

Closing your eyes and sinking into the land of sweet peaceful dreams, inwardly you sincerely thank the Universe for allowing you to love this incredible man and to be loved by him tenfold back, feeling with all your heart that, in fact, only he and he alone is everything you have ever truly wanted and everything you have ever so badly needed.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #re8 #re8 village #re village #Lord Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Heisenberg #House Heisenberg #Lord Heisenberg headcanons #Karl Heisenberg headcanons #Heisenberg headcanons #Lord Heisenberg x reader #Karl Heisenberg x reader #Heisenberg x reader #Lord Heisenberg x you #Karl Heisenberg x you #Heisenberg x you

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unrefinedmusings · 10 months

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no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader headcanons

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, nasty situations, age gaps, dirty talk, strip clubs, threesome, mentions of infidelity, sexually forward behavior?, not proofread very well

a/n: blaming this one on ovulation and listening to hot stuff by donna summer on repeat. only one of the scenarios is told in second perspective, but feel free to think of all of them as you.

currently obsessing over a joel miller slut era

the outbreak never happened and sarah is off at college. being a father has been his greatest joy. he would not trade a second of his time with sarah for a more rebellious youth. but when joel is almost 45 and living in an empty house, he gets lonely. and bored. that's when he starts to notice. the fleeting glances. the overt stares. he never realized how much attention he got. so he lets his dick do the thinking for a while. who could blame him? people were throwing themselves at his feet. who could blame them?

some standout moments:

while shopping for a birthday present for sarah, joel walks into a boutique at the mall. it's a small store and a slow day. the girl at the counter perks up at the sight of him. she's not subtle, nearly salivating when he walks over to ask for help. she touches him way more than what is appropriate while giving an opinion on earrings. all he does is lick his lips in her direction before she's locking the front door and turning the shop sign to closed. he drags her into a changing room despite her suggestion of the back office. joel doesn't mind the size of the stall when it means he can watch her face while he pounds her from behind. when he finishes, he kneels to make her finish one more time on his tongue. "make sure to watch yourself, honey. look so pretty when you cum."

joel miller is neither stupid nor cruel enough to get involved in someone else's marriage...but that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. since entering the business, he's found that every bored housewife loves to flirt with the contractor. now he just lets himself flirt back. watch their cheeks flush when he winks across the room. see them turn their weddings rings around, as if not seeing a diamond will make him forget their husbands hired him. it gives him an ego boost knowing they'll think of him in their marital beds that night.

hank, one of the younger guys on his crew, is engaged and invites joel to his bachelor party. tommy insists he go, at the least so as to not come off as an unfriendly boss. the strip club is loud, and his beer is overpriced and watered down. none of that matters when he sees the little devil come out on stage. she's wearing a lacy red corset that's pried open, letting her tits bounce free. he palms his cock under the table when she spreads her legs wide for the audience, and chuckles when her horns don't fall off even when she's upside down. joel had always been impressed by the fancy spins and twirls, but what he loved most was watching a woman make love to the pole. she's gyrating against it like a cat in heat, even turning around and letting the smooth metal slide between her asscheeks. she saunters over after her show, slides into his lap and offers him a dance in a private room. the horns fall off while she's bouncing on his cock, chasing her orgasm as his fingers work her clit.

the one he should probably feel the worst about it is the least his fault. those girls were so eager. they zeroed in on him before he realized. joel wanted to get a beer after work, the two seniors from Texas A&M wanted to sow their wild oats. joel knew they were a little too young for him, but they insisted since neither had been with an older man or had a threesome before. both girls sidled up on either side of him at the bar, each slipping a hand onto his thighs. he can't feel that bad when he remembers what having two pretty young things kissing on his cock was like. what it was like lying in his bed, one on his cock and one sitting on his face. hard to feel bad about that.

his favorite occasion is the night he meets you. it's late. he's had an awful day. two guys on his crew called in sick and he had no time to eat. he stops at an old school drive in for a couple burgers. in his side mirror he sees you, sees your uniform: cropped white tee, short black skirt, and, oh fuck him, rollerskates. your tits jiggle as you come to a stop by the driver's side window of his truck. you catch him staring. he can't muster the energy to be inconspicuous. joel's gaze lifts to meet yours and sees the flirtatious smile you've got on. leaning against the door, you ask to take his order. "I'll get two burgers, some fries, and two shakes if you've got time, sweetheart. Only one if you got somewhere else to be." You take your break in his back seat sipping on a vanilla shake with his head between your legs. After you cum, he lifts your shirt up and jacks off on your tits. He makes sure to grab the panties hooked on your skates and tuck them into his jeans. When you ask for them back, he spanks your ass. "I'm coming back for another pair. When's your next shift?"

💕💕💕💕💕

Thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller headcanon #joel miller drabble #the last of us #the last of us drabble #joel miller x you #tlou smut

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astroboots · 2 years

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will.

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?”

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter).

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.” You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?"

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better.

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.”

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that.

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much.

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen.

It’s chaos.

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries.

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room.

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap.

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him.

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life.

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know.

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay.

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve.

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him.

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.”

You’ll lose him forever.

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about?

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has.

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely.

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent.

You need to protect him.

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why.

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated.

It’s all very… un-Steven-like.

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either.

Definitely not Steven.

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you.

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign.

Stay away. Do not engage.

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least.

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect!

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous.

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it.

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning.

A red fucking flag.

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen.

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank.

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish?

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank.

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic—

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.”

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language.

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door.

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this.

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again.

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key.

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off.

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place?

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words.

You Is Steven okay?

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet.

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes.

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing.

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake.

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise.

Marc He’s safe.

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life.

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again.

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day.

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner.

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him.

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you.

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you.

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult.

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter.

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head.

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it.

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way.

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress.

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside.

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer.

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now.

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer.

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence.

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge.

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth.

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely."

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank.

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she?

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?”

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks.

You point to the postcards.

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth.

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her.

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him.

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious.

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says.

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?”

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second.

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or–

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them.

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss.

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to.

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window.

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before.

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.”

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst.

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression.

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly?

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him.

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies.

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing. And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time.

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you.

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half.

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear.

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said.

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well.

What reason does he have to lie to you? None.

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say.

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine.

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier.

You When’s Steven coming back?

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely?

You He has his performance review at work on Monday.

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again.

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square.

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night.

“Good morning,” you call out.

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it.

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed.

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank.

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence.

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself.

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic.

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.”

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right?

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”.

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn…

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.”

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing.

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait.

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies.

Wow, this man is blunt.

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity.

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.”

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe.

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.”

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer.

Except it doesn’t come.

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks.

“I like Switzerland.”

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted.

Marc shifts his feet slightly, redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely.

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink.

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat.

Shit…

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it.

“You’re hungry,” Marc states.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo.

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book.

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one.

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi. Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts.

Marc Yeah. He’s safe.

You When’s he coming back? We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel?

Marc No. He’ll be back.

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again.

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it. When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message.

Marc Thanks.

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!

1K notes · View notes

spctrsgf · 1 year

Note

Hello :3

Could you write something where it’s Steven’s birthday, but he rather not think much about it because he doesn’t have anyone to celebrate it with and it kind of makes him sad. However, as he’s stocking up some shelves at the shop one of his coworkers, the curator of the Egyptian exhibition, approaches him to wish him a happy birthday and she gifts him a small cake she baked (she definitely has a crush on him, but is as timid as him). And Steven just melts because he only mentioned his birthday once and here is his crush showering him with attention.

cake

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language (I think), just floof, no use of y/n, steven being lonely (not for long dw), reader and steven being oblivious lovestruck idiots

Steven never liked birthdays.

Well, that’s a lie. He loved other people’s birthdays. He is a giver at heart; he always wants to shower people with attention and gifts in appreciation. With the few people he’d been close enough to call a friend, he was a ball of excitement when the day came along. He provided the “happy birthday”s and corny gifts he’d spent the whole year brainstorming on.

But his birthday? The energy seeps out of him.

What was there to celebrate? He was just another year older, and another year passed without so much of a happy birthday from anyone else. Why celebrate something, like a birthday, if you had no one to celebrate it with? Steven had seen all the balloons, happy faces, cake, and the countless other things that represented a birthday on the television. Though he yearned to experience it, he felt like all hope had been lost.

What did it matter if he celebrated it anymore? He could get by without it.

Even he knew that he was lying to himself. As he woke up on the day he dreaded all the other 364 days in a year, he found the daunting facts hovering over his head: no one would remember. When he strolled into the museum, on time for once in a while, Greg, yet to remember his name, the thought hit him again. All throughout the day, he shuffled about his day in a sort of haze, ready to be off of work so that he could buy himself a box of chocolates to eat while watching some sort of sappy romance movie and wallow in his sadness.

But, no, the universe seemed to be against him. Donna decided to put him on inventory again. It was the third day this week, and it was as if she knew herself and was just out to make his life even worse than it was. So there he stood, the last soul in the museum other than the cleaners, spending away the last of his birthday at work. How miserable of him.

He shook his head out of his stupor. Steven, don’t sit around and pity yourself! He scolded himself for what felt like the millionth time that day. So much for not thinking about it. Sighing, he put his brain to thinking about the newest documentary he’d found to watch when he got home. It was on the Greeks, which were admittedly less interesting than the Egyptians, but still good nonetheless.

“Steven?” he perked up at the sound of his name, nearly dropping the plush Taweret he was holding. When the sweet voice didn’t call again, he chuckled lowly to himself. Look at you, imagining things. Bloody hell, mate, pull yourself together. The door opened before he could move to scan the Taweret, his grip on it tightening in automatic response. Then a head popped in, looking left and right, and his body immediately relaxed.

You.

You, the curator of the Egyptian exhibit he cherished so much. He’d been by it so much, in fact, that he could remember every bit of information that was there, but he still found himself back there again and again, always in awe of the sweat and tears he could tell you shed while crafting it. On the one occasion that you’d been by while he was there, you’d shuffled over to him when he timidly called you over and met his gaze with a slightly shy yet informed one as you answered his question, honeyed voice like music to his ears. He appreciated the determination set into your eyes as you argued with Donna to keep the exhibit up, appreciated the humbleness as you were met with yet another compliment on your work.

You were perfect, and Steven couldn’t help but fall hopelessly for you, even though he could barely get words out when you stood in front of him in all your glory.

“Steven, hey! What’re you still doing here?” You smiled softly at him, still hovering by the door. “Uh, well, Donna decided to put me on inventory.” Steven took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

You frowned. “Huh, that’s funny. I told her not to do that.”

“Well, Donna doesn’t really listen to anyone who isn’t controlling her paycheck, does she?” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, too stunned by the fact that you’d asked Donna not to put him on inventory to form any coherent thoughts at the moment. Gods, he was down so bad if that was making him flustered.

You snorted, much to his surprise. “You have a point.”

“Is everything okay? Why are you still here?” He asked, taking in the way that you still hovered by the door, most of your body hidden.

“Well, um,” you looked down, seemingly shy. “I brought you something.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

You tilted your head. “For your birthday. Today is your birthday, right?”

And that, that right there, was the type of thing that would make his knees buckle. The fact that you, out of all people, remembered his birthday when he’d told you a grand total of once. It was an offhand comment, you were talking about your mother’s birthday and he’d shot in that your mother and he had the same birth week, to which you’d asked which day and wished him an early birthday before you’d been dragged away by Donna. The fact that you had gone out of your way to buy him something, that you’d spent time and money on something for him.

He was sure you could hear the way his jaw clambered to the floor, could see the way his hands gripped the countertop and he leaned onto it for support. “For– for me?” He fumbled. You nodded. “For you.” With that, you came out from behind the door and into the room fully. In your hands you held a paper plate, and sitting atop it was nothing other than a birthday cake. You placed it on the counter in front of him, and he could see the little egyptian hieroglyphics you’d drawn onto it with navy blue frosting.

Steven couldn’t function. It was like you’d fried his motherboards, like you’d just produced the key that unlocked his heart. He all but melted at the gesture now more than ever.

“Aww, Steven, don’t cry.” Your voice brought him out of his head, and he brought his hand up to his eyes to wipe the tears that slipped out. “I’m sorry, it’s just–” he sniffled. “No one’s ever done this for me before.”

“You’ve never had a birthday cake?”

“Not one that someone else has made me, no, not for a very long time.”

“Steven Grant,” you rounded the countertop to stand next to him, your stern face slightly terrifying. “That is a very big problem. I'm glad I've cured you of that.”

He smiled earnestly. “Yeah, I am too.”

“Also,” you grabbed the edge of the plate, dragging it closer. “I hope you like vanilla cake. I actually couldn’t go out and get more cocoa powder, so… also, the frosting might be a bit strong– I put some cinnamon in it.”

“Yeah, that’s better than alright. I bloody love cinnamon. How’d you know?”

“I saw you when you found those cinnamon rolls at the cafeteria… and I supposed you liked cinnamon a lot. And then I found some at the store, so I picked it up.”

“You are amazing.” He was sure that sounded sappy and that he had a stupidly wide grin on his face, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care anymore.

“Says you.” you shot back.

Steven chuckled, turning back to his cake and swiping a bit of frosting off in an attempt to save himself from turning into a blushing mess.

“Listen,” you cracked into the silence, twisting your hands together impossibly tight. “If you don’t otherwise have plans, would you like to come back to my place? We could get pizza, watch some movies, but only if you want, of course. I don’t want to intrude–”

“I would love to.” the words were out of his mouth before he could even put together a coherent thought about it.

“Cool, alright,” You beamed. “Grab your coat and let’s go, Grant.”

Oh, how he loved his birthday.

a/n: thank you for this, lovely anon, i enjoyed writing it! and also thank you to @themistwithinthemystery for proofing this! feel free to pop by my inbox anytime, everyone, and leave a request or just a thought :)

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fantasy-relax · 3 months

Text

Jealous kitty.

Bonus!(Brainrot)

Donna Beneviento x Reader (MC)

"I will be working with Cassandra on her.."

She doesn't listen after that static fill her head, you are leaving her. This Is her chance her route why Cassandra is always ruining it.

"You're going to leave me for Cassandra?" She can't help te venom in her voice, you are leaving her for her flirty, dramatic, excentric (adopted) niece. If it was Bela or Daniela she could at least understand the blonde was a softy behind her cold exterior and the red head was sunshine incarnate. But Cassandra?

"I don't going to leave you I'm just gonna be in Cassandra's play" You remark not made her fell better at all" For three months and one week approximately. The Romeo original is going to be better by that time. I still want to work with you, I just need to change the schedule for that.

She can't do nothing to stop the hurt that she feels, she was here first, she asked you to work with her first! how can you go to someone else so easily?.

"if is not okay with you, I-"

"Ok" her jaw is tight trying to bite the word before saying it" Okay, you need a more flexible schedule I can do that, It will be just for few months and you will come back to me " She can adjust both of your schedules to ensure she is in the theater when you were rehearsing because she refuses to let you alone with Cassandra, she knows how her niece can be.

She looks at you and her anger subsidy when in your face in your eyes all she can see is softness and care.

"I will always come back to you"

God, how much she wishes for that to be true.

She knows that next few months will be difficult for you, she knows that you need all the rest you can get but she is angry for your choices. It doesn't help that the play is Romeo ad Juliet, every single touch, hug and flirt put her in the edge of throwing her tool box at Cassandra's head.

"When I said left I meant my left, move it again" she was being petty but every single time her eyes closed the image of you with Cassandra tormented her so she decided to torment you "Good job, now these two" She ignored your pleading face.

-------—-------------------------------------

Everything was perfect, you were hers. At least for this timeline.

She knows that she is being clingy but she can't help herself, kissing you, touching you just being close to you make her the happiest woman in the world. And you let her! You don't get mad or annoyed with her, you don't mind her behavior at all you indulge her!.

You brought light to her world she can't lose you if you were gone she doesn't know what she would do. She prays for Forgetfulness in the next loop she doesn't wish to remember this happiness she doesn't wish to know what being yours mean, it will be too much pain for her to bear it.

She was the first to notice how some of her clients will sneak looks at you, how they would blush when you handed their order, how they would giggle like idiots outside the shop pointing at you oblivious self.

Troie.

When you finally noticed, you try to let them down gently some understood, others will come back bought something and flirt with you like she wasn't there.

Puttana. Vaffanculo, tutti.

"Sweetheart this can't go on" of course this can't go on, these bitches need to back the fuck out. "We need to maintain a professional image in the shop, that mean no kisses in front, no stealing me away to the nursery when I'm working and no picking fights with the clients, okay?" WHAT.

You are joking right? This is a bad joke right?. No. You are serious.

She pout and put her best puppy eyes. She can see how close you are to bending to her wishes but in the end you stand firm.

"Dear, sooner or later the glamour will fade way but the reputation of your shop will be damaged. We need to be professionals about this." Why did you had to be like this?

"Ok" CAZZO.

Your lunch break became make up break. But it seems not matter how many hickies she leaves in you, they still keep trying to take you away from her.

Of course she sees when that Figlia di puttana give you some paper, you take a look just to roll your eyes and quickly throw it in the trash, she was curious to know what exactly was so she picked up.

A number.

This. Is. Enough. She walked back to the nursery, less she throw a pot at the next woman that flirt with you, avoiding you every time she go out. When you grabbed her hand she easily go away just saying:

"We must keep a professional image in the shop, remember?" the look in your face made her smile.

You wanted her to play nice, she will play nice. You were about to know what Malicious compliance mean.

------—--------------------------------------

Avoiding you for almost week, was hard for her but it's all part of her plan. She can feel your eyes on her every time she is with you in the front.

Did she bend a little more that necessary? Yes.

Did she put more sway on her hips when walking? Yes.

Did she can feel the hunger and desire in your stare? Yes.

Did she enjoyed it? Absolutely.

Now the final details for her plan.

"Hi aunty! Did you are still messing with my roomie?

"I'm not messing with them, I'm doing exactly what they asked me, now can I ask you for a favor?"

"You betcha! What do you need?

" A friend of yours and your thieving skills"

The day has come, Five minutes before five o'clock she put the kettle her phone buzzed.

"We are outside!"

Perfect. She goes to the front, ignoring the sad look in your face. "Why dont you take a break I made some chamomile tea"

You nod, and she knows that you would come back quickly, not willing to leave her alone for more that a few minutes knowing how hard is for her to deal with people.

She almost feel bad about what is going to happen.

Almost.

Angie friend comes to her.

"My friend said that you would reject me I said that at least I should try so what do you say pretty girl, go out with me?" your stare was burning with jealousy and she don't even try to hide how pleased she was with that

"Well I have been a little neglected" she was being mean and she was enjoying it. "but is a no, sorry"

" Oh well I try it" the sigh that she let go was more of relief than disappointment the poor girl was perfectly aware of the murder in your eyes.

"Professional image, dolcezza" it's all she said before going back to the nursery. Riling you up was so fun.

You were fuming all the time you were working. Not even your so called fans were willing to talk to you for more than two minutes. At the end of the day you looked at her with fire in your eyes that made her so restless but she will no be the one to admit defeat.

"Do you mind if I walk you home?"

"It will be my pleasure, Tesoro" the smirk in her face just made you more angry.

The walk was silent one.

At the steps of her family home you looked at her, putting her best innocent face she looked back at you.

*Just a little more*

She took a step to you and patted your shoulder with a hand full of dirt, because she needs your shirt dirty for the next part of her plan and because she deserves to be a little shit. You blinked at her audacity.

"See you tomorrow, dolcezza" smiling she opened the door. One, two, three.

She was being hosted over your shoulder it seems that the adrenaline and anger was giving you strength, closing the door with your leg you make your way to her room, opening the door aggressively and throwing her in the bed.

"Why are you being so rough" She was pouting but she knows you can see the mischievous shine in her eyes.

Without answering her question you kiss her with all the hunger you had been keeping inside. Freeing her hair out of her bun, you tore her shirt open, kissing her free skin soft sighs escaped of her mouth transforming in a whine when you bite her clothed breast while taking off her pants, she raise her hips her patience had been running low since you put that stupid rule.

You move away with fascination and adoration in your face how easy is for you to made a mess of her, she is panting trying to catch the breath that you stole, tears in her eyes for the pain of your bite and she knows her underwear is ruined already.

She is so needy and she is not afraid of admit it.

"Beautiful"

Your praise never fail to make her blush, she is so embarrassed and so flattered.

She knows that you are still mad when you grab her legs rougly moving her to the border of the bed, quickly you kneel devouring like a starving beast.

-----------—---------------------------------

She loves this.

You in her arms sleeping so calm so comfortable. Your naked body pressing close to her your back and shoulders were full of scratches that she touches softly.

Maybe she was a little rough too. But considering that her legs feel numb and she is sure she is full of bite marks is fair to say this is a tie.

You are hers and she is yours.

She glances at the clock in her dresser. Well, she is the owner she can open a little more late is not like is the first time she has done it.

She just wants to enjoy this a little longer.

Later an alarm goes off, waking both of you.

Moving slowly you hiss "My love did you have to scratch the hell out of me?"

"Depends, did you have to fuck me into the mattress?" Not that she is complaining as is what she wanted, she needed your unshackled desire. And how much she enjoys feeling you so deep in her.

You blush but the proud smile in your face give away your satisfaction. "You could have cut your nails if this is what you were planning"

Oh this is not over yet. "I have been busy".

She tries to hide her smile when you asked her for clothes.

"Donna, sweetheart, darling, dear, you don't expect me to walk around like this" you gesture at your body full of marks that the tank top can't hide.

She shamelessly ogle you God, if she doesn't knew that you need to present your exam she would be all over you, under you, beside you.

When she became a pervert? Oh you were waiting her answer.

"I'm sorry cara mia Is all I have" she said with the most sincere tone she can muster. She hid all the other clothes obviously. She don't want her efforts to waste.

You sigh.

"You are going to be late, dolcezza" this time she can't hide her smirk.

Cursing you give her a quick kiss and run to the school.

She walks calmly to her flowershop. Her legs aren't numb anymore but she is still tired. Even so she feels like she Is walking in clouds.

The smug smile she gives to your fans when they see the marks that you left in her neck can't be stopped by her shyness.

Oh how much she enjoy the envy in their eyes.

She is yours, you are hers.

Her phone is buzzing taking it out she reads the message that her beloved niece have sent her.

"🤢"

"Sorry Bambina, I guessing you saw them? "

"🤮"

"Did you did what i asked you?"

"Yes, Daniela is outside and today is not her laundry day. Now excuse me I need to bleach my brain."

--------–——--------------------------------

When you came back every single client had a particular reaction to you appearance. You have been laughed, scoffed and nodded.

" Ah, problems with a misbehaving kitty?" Well she would have behaved if her partner stopped being so charming. "here this cream work wonders for that injuries"

She is laughing freely in the nursery she was having a blast with all this.

"Thank you, sir" she bets you're so red right now.

"Is nothing dear, I remember when I was younger my beloved Jerry was a jealous and clingy kitty, always wanting to be with me, practically throwing himself at me, fighting with whoever took my attention away" oh? "it was a problem when I had to work, he don't liked being alone that much so I made sure to let him know every night that how much I loved him and that I would never leave his side." OH

That is not a bad idea. God, she is really a pervert.

"Hey what is taking you so much! We're going to be late!" it seems that the kitty never stopped being clingy" Hurry up!

The man in front with you just laughed.

"See, so clingy" She walked silently to you side" Make sure to show your kitten love continously less they want to scratch you up" Good advice but she makes no promises, the man looked at her " Ah, young love " she blushes but smile" I'm coming Jerry!"

" Wisdom of your elders never should be wasted" you flinched, she giggles at your reaction " you should treat your Kitten right.

"I'm gonna start by putting a damn bell on you" you said before grabbing her by her waist.

"What about the Professional image, dolcezza?" She had gotten her way again.

"To hell with it" you kissed her" I need to take good care of my sweet, clingy and jealous kitty.

She was putting a show but the look of the few fans that refuse to take the hint was worth it.

She noticed the crow outside and she kissed you more aggressively.

She would enjoy her time with you. Because now you were hers but the next time it wasn't safe to say you would come back to her.

It will be too much if she sent a video to Miranda?

#resident lover #donna beneviento #my work

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 18 days

Text

Bloody Beetle | Part Nine

Summary: the afterlife is quite what you expected it to be

Pairing: Taweret x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: it's the afterlife y'all... you dead...

A/N: please note as much as I did some research into identity disorders, it may not he 100% factual and is supposed to be taken in context of the story... as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Floating.

You're floating in dark nothingness.

Your body weightless.

Your mind empty.

Just… nothing…

Then you hear something in the distance.

A voice.

A name being called.

Your name.

Closer.

The voice gets louder, angrier, as it gets closer…

“Y/N!”

— — — —

Your head slips from your hand as you jump awake from your position, leaning against your work desk. Donna, your boss, stands on the other side of the desk, looking down at you disapprovingly.

“Is this what we pay you for? Sleeping on the job?” She tuts before continuing to rant at you. You ignore her, looking around the familiar museum inventory room as you try to shake away your sleep. Broken remnants of a realistic feeling dream flash in your mind, like a puzzle missing half the pieces.

You had been in Egypt, that much is clear. But what were you doing there? Lots of people, unknown faces looking at you with hatred. Scales. A glowing purple light. A crocodile?

You’ll have to tell Steven about this dream when you see him. Maybe he’ll understand it more than you do. Then you realise, he’s not here.

“Is Steven not in today?” You ask suddenly, not really caring that you’ve interrupted whatever rant Donna was on.

“Who’s that?” she looks at you blankly and you laugh.

“Ste-ven.” You repeat clearly, emphasising each syllable. “Steven Grant? You know, the Egypt guy. Works with me down here like, all the time.”

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

“Steven!” You shout, getting frustrated now.

“Don't matter how many times you say it!” Donna is getting more annoyed by the second. “There is no Steven that works here.”

“Is this some sort of joke?! I know you don't like him very much but even by your standards this is cruel!”

“Okay, you need to calm down or soon you won’t be working here either!”.

“I’ll show you, look!” You grab your mobile and open the photos app. To your horror there’s not a single one of Steven to be found. “No! Where is it?! I took one just the other day… he was wearing one of those stupid pharaoh headdress things we sell to the kids. It was right here-”

“Y/N!” Donna snaps, snatching your phone and putting it down on the desk. “I don't know want to hear any more about your imaginary friend, alright? You’re wasting my time as well as your own! So unless you wanna be looking for a new job I suggest you drop it.”

You're about to argue back, but think better of it. Arguing with Donna is like hitting your head against a brick wall.

“You’re right, sorry..." You say sheepishly, playing along. “I just got confused. I think I might be coming down with something.”

“It’s alright.” Donna looks at you unconvinced but accepts it anyway. “Forget about it and get back to work.”

“Yes boss.” You say and she walks away, glancing back at you suspiciously before she leaves.

As soon as she’s gone you pick your mobile back up off the desk to message Steven, but when you search your messages all the ones from him are gone. So you head to the contacts and scroll down to ’S’. Sarah, Shaun, Simon, Stuart… where’s Steven? You scroll up, thinking maybe he’s saved under ‘G’ for Grant. Nothing.

You consider for a moment calling the police. But what would you say? ‘My friend has disappeared, but no one remembers him and I have no evidence he ever existed?’ They’d either laugh at you or lock you up. Maybe you are going crazy…

No. Steven was real! You remember him. The sound of his laugh as he would tell you a really crap joke he'd heard. The way his eyes would light up when someone asked him a question about Egyptian history. The smell of cologne whenever he bumped into you, which was more often than you’d think. He really was quite clumsy. That was one of the things you loved about him. And one of the things you had in common.

You decide to go find J.B. Surely he’ll must remember Steven, even if he does always called him ‘Scotty’. If all else fails, you could at least get him to check security cameras.

But as you step out from behind the desk, you don't notice the large box on the floor and trip over it. You manage to stop yourself falling by clinging on to the desk, but you send the box flying across the room, the contents spilling out everywhere. It's filled with action figures that you sell in the gift shop. You pick one up.

At first glance you think it’s a mummy but then you notice, it’s a man. A man dressed all in white and wearing a white cape. You take another figure out, almost the same but this one wearing a white suit.

You dig deeper into the box. It’s full of figures. Some the same as the two you’ve already got. Some with the skull of a bird and holding a crescent moon staff. A lady with dark curly hair. A crocodile... Then you find one that makes your blood run cold. A man, wearing a reddish brown outfit and sandals. He has shoulder length dirty blonde hair, and he’s holding a glowing purple cane.

“Harrow?” You whisper, the name coming to you out of nowhere.

An image fills your mind; Harrow stood in front of you, plunging a dagger into your stomach.

You look down and realise your clothes are stained red with blood. Your heart and mind starts to race. Something isn’t right. You need to get out of here.

You run to the door, swing them open and crash straight into someone. You look up and to your surprise see a tall hippopotamus stood smiling wildly down at you.

You freeze as the two of you stare at each other for a moment. The hippo raises its hand in a waving gesture.

“Hi!” A female voice. She sounds friendly enough.

“Uh… h-hi?” you stutter, trying to remain calm.

“You're not screaming.” She says. You're unsure if this is a statement or a question.

“Am I supposed to be..?”

“No, not at all. I’m just used to people screaming when they first see me. To be fair death can be quite traumatic as it is so I suppose to then come face to face with, well, me… must be quite startling.” She laughs. “You're handling this amazingly. Well done you.”

“Death?” You ask and her face drops.

“You didn’t know?” She says and you shake your head.

“I thought it was just a bad dream.”

“Oh dear. I am very sorry, but I am afraid you are quite dead. Oh hang on! I have a thing I’m supposed to read…” She pulls a scroll out from her robe and unravels it before beginning to read. “Welcome gentle traveller to the realm of the Duat. I am Tawaret, goddess of women and children and I am here to guide you through your journey to the afterlife.”

“Wait wait wait, if I’m dead then why am I at the museum? Shouldn’t I be, like, in heaven or something?”

“Because the Duat’s true nature is impossible for the human mind to comprehend, you may perceive this realm as something more easily recognisable to you. Was this place special to you?”

You think back through all the happy memories you have here, in this room laughing with Steven.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” You say with a smile. “But hang on, Donna was here. My boss. She was here earlier having a go at me as usual. How is that possible? Is she dead too?”

“This place can appear as real as you want it to. Whatever would normally be here will be here, that includes people. But rest assured, she is very much still alive.”

“Then where’s Steven? He was always here with me, but Donna didn’t even know who he was!”

“Steven? Steven Grant?” She asks.

“You know him?”

“I do. Goodness, how do I explain this?” She says, mostly to herself. “Steven Grant isn’t real.”

“Of course he is!”

“No dear, uh…” she pauses, thinking over her words. “Do you know a Marc Spector?”

“Kind of. Not very well, but we’ve met.”

“Right! So… Steven is Marc.”

“I don't understand.”

“Marc created Steven when he was young to help him escape the trauma he was going through. He may not have even realised that that’s what he did, but whenever life got too much for Marc he would become Steven instead.”

“No hang on, Steven told me that this Marc lives inside him. Are you saying it’s the other way around?”

“Steven really believed he was who he was. He had no idea the truth.” She watches you for a moment. Watches as your brain ticks over everything and sadly the truth sets in. “I think deep down, somewhere, subconsciously a part of you knew. That’s why he’s not here. The Duat picked up on it.”

She was right. Ever since that night when Marc first spoke to you, a small part of you had wondered. Harrow had tried to tell you, in his own manipulative way. You just didn’t want to believe it; Steven wasn’t real.

“I wish he was here.” You say sadly. Taweret puts a caring hand on your shoulder.

“I know dear, this is a lot to take in. But as I said, you are handling this exceedingly well.” She smiles at you, holding out her hand. “Come, let me show you around.”

— — — —

You follow Tawaret through the doors and to your surprise you're no longer in the museum. Instead you find yourself on a magnificent wooden boat sailing through sand.

“Where are we going?” You ask, staring out at the the amazing blend of purple, blue and gold that makes up the sky. It would take your breath away, if you weren’t already dead.

“Hopefully to the Field of Reeds.”

“Hopefully?”

“Yes, there’s just something I have to do…” she places her hand on your chest and pushes, reaching inside you and when she pulls her hand back out she’s holding your heart. You watch in shock as she away from you and places the heart on a scale. She takes a feather and places it on the other side of the scale. The scales swing a few times before settling in a balanced position.

“Oh goody.” Taweret smiles. “I would have hated to have to throw you overboard.”

“Excuse me what?”

“If they scales hadn’t balanced, you would not be permitted entry to the Field of Reeds. The dead would have dragged you down into the Duat where you would have remained forever frozen in sand.” She explains and you stare at her in horror. “But the scales are balanced, so no need to dwell on that.”

You walk to the edge of the boat and look over at the sand below you. You can just about make out the shapes of human figures half buried in the sands, hands desperately reaching for something to grab onto. It sends a shiver down your spine. Taweret moves to stand beside you.

“All these people had unbalanced scales?” You ask sadly.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do the scales ever get it wrong?”

“That’s not possible.” Taweret says looking at you, she notices you look troubled. “Are you alright?”

“When Harrow judged me with Ammit’s scales, they were unbalanced.”

“Ammit is wrong. She judges based on things that might happen, what someone might do. We judge on what you have done." She turns to face you completely, putting her hands on your shoulder so you have to face her. She looks you in the face. "Believe me when I say, you are a good person Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Thank you.” You say with teary eyes as the boat continues its journey.

— — — —

Eventually you arrive at the most beautiful place you have ever seen.

“Welcome to the Field of Reeds.”

It’s indescribable. An endless view of golden warmth. Peace like you’ve never felt before.

“It’s… I don't have the words…”

“Enjoy it. You belong here.”

You smile up at her.

The peace doesn’t last long however, when suddenly you hear a familiar voice calling from a distance behind you.

“Hey! Hey, hippo lady! You gotta take me back!”

You turn to where the voice is coming from.

“Not this again.” Taweret sighs.

“Marc?!” You interrupt as you realise who is running toward you. He stops when he notices you.

“Y/N? What- what are you doing here?”

“Same as you.” You respond bluntly. “Harrow killed me.”

A range of emotions flash across Marc’s face. Anger and sadness being the mains ones.

“I’m sorry.” He says simply, before turning his attention back to the hippopotamus next to you.

“There’s nothing I can do Marc.” Taweret says before he can even ask. “Steven is gone.”

“What?” You look between Taweret and Marc in a panic, but Marc turns away from you. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“The Duat has him.” Taweret explains. “When Marc died, the Duat split him and Steven into their own separate bodies in order to fairly judge their lives.”

“So Steven is one of those bodies in the sand?” You say in horror and she nods. “We can go back for him though? Right?!”

“It doesn’t work like that. If you leave here you can’t return.” She looks at Marc. “Please, enjoy your peace.”

Marc turns around angrily.

“Peace?! There is no peace without Steven!”

“You don’t need him anymore Marc. You created Steven when you needed to cope with the worst parts of your life, but that’s over now.” She says, her voice gentle.

“So I get to go on to eternal peace, and he just…” Marc pauses. “Stays lost in the sand forever?”

A tear escapes down your cheek at the thought of Steven being one of those desperate figures you saw in the sand on the way here. Even though you now understand that Steven was only ever a personality created by Marc, he still felt real to you. You only really knew Steven. Your goofy, lovable, Egypt obsessed friend.

“No.” Marc says suddenly. “I’m not good with that.”

“Wait!” Taweret calls as Marc begins to walk off. “Think about this!”

You watch him for a moment before turning to Taweret. She shakes her head at you, warning you. But you ignore her and run to catch up with him.

“What are you gonna do?” You ask.

“I’m gonna get Steven back.”

“Then I’m coming too.”

“Are you sure?” He stops and turns to you. It’s still so weird seeing Steven’s face but hearing Marc’s voice. “I can’t guarantee this will go well.”

“He’d do it for it me.” You say and Marc nods.

The world around you starts to swirl. The golden sky turns dark and the reeds change to sand. Just ahead of you you spot him. Steven. Now one of the figures stuck in the sand. The two of you run over to him. His frozen hand is reaching out in front of him, a look of pain on his face. Marc crouches in front of him.

“Steven. Looking pretty rough man.” He cries. “I don't know if you can hear me… From the moment you arrived, way back then, we were so young… You saved me. I survived because I knew I wasn’t alone. You were always there, alive, full of hope. I tried to protect that, and I failed. I couldn’t protect you.”

You feel a strange sensation in your feet and look down to see they’ve started to turn to ice, like Steven. Then you notice Marc’s hands have also started to change.

“You didn’t abandon me.” He looks down at his frozen hand. “You didn’t abandon me. And although that field back there was looking pretty good, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna abandon you.”

He tried to reach his hand up to hold Steven’s but his arm goes stiff. He looks at you and nods his head to gesture for you to come over. You crouch down beside him, looking into Steven’s terrified eyes.

“Hey Stevo. It’s Y/N. You know, Marc is right. You would never abandon the people you care about. How many times you stayed later than you needed to at work, just so I didn’t have to do inventory on my own.” You laugh as tears stream down your cheeks. “And I know you wouldn’t have left me with Harrow unless you had no choice. Because you are the best person I’ve ever met. You don't believe it, but you are. I should have told you that when we were alive. I should have told you how much you mean to me.” The feeling of your body quickly changing to ice spreading up your legs and arms. You manage to lift your hand to hold Steven’s.

Your body has completely changed now, only your head remains. You look at Marc. He reaches his hand up and places it over yours and Steven’s.

“You are the only real superpower I ever had.” He says to Steven as the ice takes over, freezing his head completely.

You feel it creeping up the sides of your face. You fix your eyes on Steven and manage to whisper three little words as the last part of you becomes frozen in the sand.

“I love you.”

— — — —

The worst thing about being frozen in the Duat wasn’t actually the being frozen, but rather the fact that you were conscious the whole time. Forced to stare into the frozen eyes of the man you love, but unable to move or speak to him.

All concept of time goes out the window. You have no idea how long you’ve been stuck like this, when suddenly you're aware of a rumbling sound and bright light shining to the side of you. As the light hits the side of your face its like warmth is being restored to your body. The ice melts away and you take a deep breath as life is restored to your body.

You look over to see the giant ornate gates have opened, light pouring through them. You turn back to look at Steven, the ice is starting to melt from him.

“Steven…” you whisper and he looks at you, taking a big breath of air into his thawed body.

“Y/N…” he smiles and hugs you before turning to a now unfrozen Marc. “Marc!”

“Steven!” He says happily.

“You came back? What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Steven says, smiling as he helps Marc stand.

“Well I did a whole little speech there.”

“It wasn’t that little.” Steven laughs, pulling Marc in for a hug. He turns to you, holding out his hand to help you stand. “I heard yours too.”

“I meant every word.” You say sincerely, looking into his eyes and he smiles as he gently places a hand on your cheek.

“I love you too.” He whispers.

“Uh, guys.” Marc says from beside you. “As lovely as this moment is… we have a problem.”

You both turn to see what Marc is looking at. A giant sandstorm wave heading straight towards you.

“Oh bollocks!” Steven shouts. “Come on, lets go!”

The three of you start to run, Marc struggling as his leg seems to be injured. Steven hooks one of Marc’s arms over his shoulder and you do the same on the other side.

“I’m slowing us down, just go!” Marc shouts.

“We’re not leaving you!” You reply, almost dragging him now.

“Coming through!” You hear and turn around to see Taweret on her ship sailing towards you. “Osiris you old softie!” She calls as she crashes through the wave, slowing it down to give you time. “Now run!!” She shouts.

“Hippo!!” Steven shouts, waving his hands in the air before Marc grabs him and pulls you all towards the gates. You run with all the strength you can muster and finally make it through the gates.

— — — —

“Where am I?” You ask aloud, glancing at the bright white nothingness around you. “Steven? Marc? Anyone?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” A voice calls from everywhere at once.

“Hello?” You respond.

“I am Osiris, god of the underworld.”

Part Ten

Taglist : @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker

(if you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!)

#moon knight x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #taweret #Taweret x reader

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foreverinadais · 2 years

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in an argument (hc)

thank you for all the love on my last hc! here is another one that i’ve been wanting to write for a while. enjoy! (part 2 is here )

STEVEN:

okay so we’ve seen how this man reacts to Donna

I don’t know... salad? bread?

in an argument, I think he would be sassy

rolling his eyes a lot

making comments straight after you say anything

“Oh well that’s bloody wonderful.”

“Do you want a prize?”

“Good job I don’t care.”

And you would get so frustrated

because when this man starts, he will not stop pestering

“Right, Steven, I’m done with this conversation.”

“Your done? I was done with it an hour ago! But nooo. It only matters when your finished with it, your majesty.”

most of what he says is from the heat of the moment, his annoyance shining through and coming out as waffle.

you would get up to make a tea or something and he would make comments about how loud you are

“Blimey can you do that any quieter? honestly.”

And you would roll your eyes

“for fuck sake Steven, just shh already.”

he would make another sassy comment, maybe do that mimicking thing, just to reiterate how pissed he is.

eventually, he’ll just (not so subtly) excuse himself from the room into the bathroom or something and just stay there for a bit

partly out of pettiness and partly out of guilt

and wouldn’t come back out until he knew you had either left, or were busy doing something else as to avoid further confrontation

and when he did come out, the silent treatment starts.

okay but i feel like he would ignore you whilst purposefully looking over to see if your watching

like he wants your attention, wants you to make the first move at apologising.

which will not happen

so he just pettily ignores you for the next couple hours

which is fine by you, because sassy Steven is a force to be reckoned with.

MARC:

Marc would be angry in an argument.

i mean we’ve seen what he does to the reflection after arguing with Steven

maybe something big happens and he risks his life and you have had enough

so, naturally, you talk to him

and he gets a tiny but defensive

mistakes your care for confrontation

“I’m just worried about you.”

A scoff: “No, your worried about yourself. You know if something happens to me, it happens to all of us. Just wanna keep your bed warm.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

his natural instinct is to push you away

and it isn’t even his own fault

he feels insecure.

so, after a particularly heated screaming match, it would get too much.

he would just start shouting

not just at you, but at his alters too

he doesn’t want to let his guard down long enough to be vulnerable, even admit that your right.

“You know what, I’m leaving.”

“Where?”

“Don’t fucking know, anywhere.”

“Marc, please don’t leave.”

Maybe he would hesitate hearing the way your voice cracks

but then he remembers what just happened and he shakes his head, licks his bottom lip

and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

and you would just cry, or groan in frustration and worry

before climbing into bed and falling into an uncomfortable sleep.

Jake:

okay so I think that Jake wouldn’t be loud

like his face would say it all.

you would be shouting at him, beyond furious, whilst he just sits with a bottle of whiskey, sneering.

or smirking.

and it infuriates you.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?!”

He would shrug, take a swig, and look away.

“No you better look at me. I’m not doing this, do you hear me? You can’t keep doing this shit.”

Jake stands up and suddenly steps close to you, making you step back.

“Or what?”

You back up into the side of the kitchen cabinet, and he’s close to you, close enough to feel his breath.

“Or what, Cariño?”

and this always happens: you argue, then you don’t resolve it, you just solve it physically

so you refuse to do it again, push his hand away that’s slowly travelling up your thigh.

“Or I’ll leave.”

It catches him off guard and he instantly steps back, smirk dropping from his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Your hesitant, because you don’t really want to leave him or any of them

but he needs to know what he has to lose before he makes the same mistake again.

Jake clicks his tongue in his mouth, slamming the bottle down on the counter beside you, enough that the echo sounds round the apartment.

“Fine. Leave then. Get out, I don’t care.”

You don’t.

Until he grabs your jacket and shoves it in your hand.

“Get. Out.”

And after scoffing, you do, muttering a ‘fuck you’ as harshly as you can muster and leaving.

and Jake shakes his head, moving to the sofa, anger dissipating into sadness.

You really left.

#Moon Knight #ff #angst #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #mk #Steven Grant #marc spector #jake lockely #moon knight headcanon #headcannons

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punishedcrow · 6 months

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OKAY YALL MAJOR RESIDENT LOVER SPOILERS HERE IM THEORIZING

So far I've done the Cassandra, Donna and Bela routes. This order is important. I've started with Cassandra because I continued on my demo save and so far everything seemed normal with some hints of mystery here and there, but I didn't get too much out of the romance objective and yes I save scummed a lot so I know a little about Cassandra's bad ending, but haven't gone fully through with it, I've just had the scene with her where she's all creepy.

I knew I'd have to solve mysteries, but in a game where you start over and over again, how would the secrets I found matter? THATS WHERE DONNA'S PLAYTHROUGH COMES IN. AGAIN, MAJOR SPOILERS!!!

So her route was full of secrets I didn't pry on. I save scummed a couple times, but since I loved Donna so much, I didn't even go too much further to know what happened on the bad choices. Only on her playthrough, characters star mentioning "rounds" and "next time" and Donna talks about not letting this happen again. MC is really important to Mother Miranda and the whole purpose of the game is for you to find out why. I've found some stuff at Cassandra's playthrough by sneaking in the third floor, but that didn't give me much clues. On Donnas route I've looked at some stuff and went back to a save when she absolutely hated it, but it didn't trigger a "secret found" prompt.

Donna knows about Miranda's plans and her capabilities, but she seems to have some power too bc Miranda didn't pressure her as much as you'd think. Like she straight up fucking turns of Bela's heart with magic (I told you there's spoilers) as punishment, but she's just "boogey woogey imma scare you" with Donna. What is Donna capable of? I need to know, maybe on another playthrough with her where I snoop around and try as many options as possible? I need to know, specially because she knows.

And this is why the developers of this game are geniuses bc Dona FUCKING REMEMBERS MC. At Bela's playthrough, when you go to her flower shop, she blushes when greeting you. Donna does NOT act like that at first glance on her playthrough. And it happened right after, on this order. WHY THE HELL WOULD SHE ACT LIKE THAT IF SHE DIDN'T REMEMBER??? And it explains a lot why she was so jealous and possessive on her route. She knew she'd be seeing you with a bunch of other people over and over until eventually you came back to her (?). And also, even though Cassandra is flirty with everyone, she flirted with MC a lot at Donna's playthrough, when I still had a couple of Cassandra's saves registered. And at Bela's route, when I met Donna, I still had a couple of saves from the second playthrough. But none from Cassandra, since it had all been overwritten already and she didn't flirt with MC at all on Bela's playthrough, without her saves.

What I can deduce from the story I've seen so far is that the only Dimitrescu kid that has a hint of what's happening at this school is Bela, since she's been fucking cursed by Miranda. Donna knows because she's Miranda's "daughter" and Alcina's sister, who also knows about all the cult shit. But I cannot confirm if their remembrance is truly coded in the game. It probably is, because that is the point of this doki doki literature club time loop plotline. Like of course that's the plot line, come on, that's what's most fun about it.

Miranda wants something from MC, so imma leave her for last.

I've also noticed that Angie has been drinking more and more, specially on the third playthrough, after Donna, who's her aunt/mother. It almost felt like she was depressed everything was happening again and Donna would be depressed again (not the case apparently), so she got depressed too.

My game plan now is Dani, Angie, Alcina and Miranda. Let's see how this goes. After all that I'll mess around with Donna's route and others to see some bad endings with the creepy sprites like Cassandra covered in blood and zombie Bela killing my ass, that truly caught me off guard btw.

Oh and I'm really loving this game. The descriptions, the way it's written, it's all so well thought out to me. It's sensible, it's relatable, it's honestly quite captivating tbh. I love all those women and I don't feel like any of them are my super favorites, but maybe Donna bc I've always loved the character since I played RE Village. They're all so different and interesting that I like them all in different ways.

Honestly, I have no conclusion for this, but I know MC is important for some kind of ritual Miranda's cult is doing. What could it be? How does it connect to the time loop?

#resident lover #resident lover spoilers #SPOILER WARNING #3am posting #3am insanity #bastardcore #chaoscore #lesbian #maybe when im less sleepy i come bsck to conclude this #edit: i've come back and made this make more sense lol

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watchoutforthefanfics · 4 months

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The Curse of the Companion || unrequited! Eleventh Doctor x reader

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Gilded Lily by Cults + anon request "the reader deals with the consequences of being the doctor's companion and unrequited love."

TWS: angst, unrequited love, anguish, and heartbreak.

[[A/N: sorry for taking so long I am mad depressed so get lit. Hope you enjoy, anon :) ]]

The legends speak so wondrously of the Doctor. It didn't matter where you were, you always saw them -paintings hung up in galactic galleries, stories told to alien children, and even among your city! You'd heard from a coworker (really from another chain of people you assumed) the idea of a man sent only to save Earth every time they needed it. And maybe there was a detail wrong like the box was green or he didn't speak a word -lord knows that wasn't true.

He often said that in every legend there's usually a companion, an equal part of the story.

"You'll be remembered just as I am."

You'd heard of the blonde with big brown eyes, Rose, the one who carried on -Martha, the fiery redhead Donna, or the Ponds -something in your chest stung.

Legends of the Doctor being cursed weren't new, the last Gallifreyan, so many enemies, losing so many people- He was the epitome of a tragic story.

But you wondered, often, just why the companion's curse wasn't so spoken of.

To know the Doctor was a blessing, to explore the world, the galaxy, mind you- was a blessing. It was freeing, exciting, and wonderful.

Learning about so much more than anyone even had the opportunity to was a blessing.

But... loving the Doctor was a curse.

You weren't the first, and you knew somewhere deep in your chest that you wouldn't be the last. Even if you stayed with him until your bones grew brittle and your hair turned grey, the Doctor would keep moving.

And yet still, you loved him.

The world would keep turning, the danger would keep coming, and he would stay the same -saving Earth, no matter what. You knew that he'd loved some of them, truly loved them and part of you wondered if you could be one.

But you weren't. You knew it.

When he spoke of Rose, of River- He'd get this look in his eyes, a faraway look of both love and grief, loss.

He didn't look at you like that.

And one day, you realized it.

You couldn't sleep, the Tardis was whirring, and somewhere distant you could hear the tinkering of his tools. He'd sent you to bed because you were acting odd. All he could think of was sleep.

"Go, sleep. Humans need that, yeah?"

He cared, but not in the way you did.

"I'll be here ready when you wake!" he'd exclaimed so excited, you knew this would hurt. It would hurt either way.

You'd die on this ship for him, you knew you would. You'd never have a family, or see your Mom again, but you'd die here. Happily. Because you loved him-

"Oi, what are you doing up?" he remarked offhandedly, and you took a moment to look at him, "-I told you to sleep."

His big green eyes, his floppy hair, his stupid bowtie.

"Couldn't," you answered, short but honest.

The Doctor turned to you, tilting his head curiously -bright and twinkly. You wished you could erase it from your brain for a moment because such a look begged you to stay.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, Doctor-" you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Whatever I did," he hummed, standing, "-I do lots of things couldn't tell you what- I'm sorry."

"Doctor-"

"Do you want me to grovel? I'm not above groveling."

"I want to go home."

He startled for a moment, green eyes fading before brightening, "Is that why you're so grumpy? You could've just-"

And then he looked at you. You looked different, like a stone statue -bags under your eyes and redness blossoming there. He almost asked why you'd been crying, before something in him righted.

"Oh."

"I want to go home," you repeated, but it was empty -hollow like the hole in your chest.

He looked at you for a spare moment, something in you watched his hearts break in his chest, "I have... I have so much to show you. You can't just-"

"Doctor, please," you urged, and now suddenly you were crying, "-I need to go home."

He looked at you even more, like he was trying to read you so desperately trying to understand. You were sure he couldn't. He wouldn't know, you were too good at hiding it -you'd gotten that way one too many River visits.

She was so sweet to him and powerful as a woman, time lady, the perfect match. You couldn't blame her for loving him, you did yourself.

"Why?" He asked, openly, something in you sunk.

"Do I have to tell you?"

"No, you don't have to," he echoed, and slowly flipped a switch like it took all of his energy, "-I'd never force you to do anything, you know that."

"Then-" you started.

"But," he interrupted, soundly, "-I believe I deserve something. Anything. I can't... I can't accept it if you... if you don't tell me why."

You pursed you lips, inhaling a shaky breath, "Doctor, I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Did someone... threaten you? Are you in danger?"

"No," you bubbled up, something in your chest throttling, "-no, Doctor, I'm... I'm perfectly safe, I just-"

"Want to leave," he uttered, a little desolate, a little heartbroken. Something in the green, green of his eyes that screamed 'so soon?', and yet you couldn't stop it. Something in you continuing, pushing further, let me out, let me out, let me out-

"You really don't want to tell me, do you?"

"Doctor," you whispered, biting back the instinct, "-I can't."

And then, he looked at you.

Green eyes and floppy hair, stupid bowtie, and tweed jacket, he looked at you in a way that you saw sometimes -far away and distant like he knew everything in the world. Did he know?

His head tilted, his eyebrows pulled together, and he looked at you. Like he... like he recognized what you were doing.

"Oh," he spoke, "...it's... it's the thing, isn't it?"

"The thing?" You questioned.

"I'm an old man, Y/N," he smiled, a bittersweet kind of one, "-I'm not stupid."

"So you- you know," you remarked, slowly -your heart on the brink of beating out of your chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I've seen it before. I know that look- You... you-"

Martha, something in your mind dinged, "We don't have to."

"You love me," he finished, his green eyes scattered everywhere but at you, "-don't you?"

"Doctor-"

"No, no shame in it now," he hummed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "-I understand. I know."

"Fine," you sighed, sinking to the metal floor, cold pressing into your skin, through tears, "-I do. I love you."

"Y/N," he faltered.

"Don't," you stopped him, "-just don't. I know you don't-"

"How do you-"

"I know," you silenced him, shaky breaths inhaling into your chest, "-Doctor, I know you. More than you know. And I know who you love... it's not me."

He turned to look at you, green eyes scattered across your face, "I could."

"Doctor, please," you echoed out wiping at your eyes, legs pushed into the metal, "-don't pity me."

"Y/N, if you give me time-" he seemed desperate, roaming closer to you -only desperate to keep you.

"Doctor, stop."

He froze.

"This isn't... This isn't something that can change. I could die here and you wouldn't love me," you spoke something in you breaking, "-not really."

"I love you in the way that matters," he spoke with a firm voice -speaking as though it was a fact. Like he could convince you.

"Like a dear friend," you concluded.

"No, no," he started, so close to you (you took a step back), "-like a companion. Like my companion."

"And it's different?"

"Very different," he replaced that step towards you, platonically brushing his hands down your arms -you knew the drill, "-it's... it's hard to explain. I just, sometimes believe the universe is wrong."

"Wrong for what?" You echoed, a little softer.

"Wrong that I chose my companions," he hummed, "-I think in some twisted way you chose me, Y/N. And... and everyone before you did the same. Every companion I've ever had has altered me to who I am today."

"And you're saying I-"

"You are a part of me, my dear, dear Y/N," he spoke, and suddenly you saw tears built at the corners of his eyes, "-I will truly never forget you. No matter what you believe, every companion carves out a space in my hearts."

"So, I can go," you echoed out and suddenly it didn't feel right, "-you will move on but you won't... you won't forget me. No matter how hard I believe it."

"No matter how hard you believe it," he finished and suddenly he was smiling, a big wide smile that made your eyes hurt -just a little.

Something in you healed just a smidge.

"This is a good ending," he clarified, "-no death, no break in the universe if I come to see you, nothing."

"And you promise to?"

"Promise what?" He questioned the tilt of his head not unlike a puppy.

"Come visit me," you clarified, slow and unsure, "-I know, I know I'm leaving... but you're still-"

"The Doctor," he spoke, soft, "-and you're still-"

"Your companion," you let out a big gust of air, and something in you felt light and airy again.

It was the curse of the companion, sure, but nothing would amount to the knowing the Doctor. Being able to love him-

You were certain it was something much different than a curse.

#the curse of the companion #watchoutwriting #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x y/n

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everlastlady · 5 months

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Husband Father Miran HCS

𐂂- Author's Note: Since I posted some Lord Dimitrescu husband hcs. I was scrolling through the hashtags and saw someone was looking for gender bender content of Mother Miranda and Donna. So I decided to do it, I'll be doing Donna aka Donnie next for husband hcs until then enjoy my version of gende bender Mother Miranda aka Father Miran. Remember to eat a meal or a snack, drink some water, get some fresh air, take your medicine, and remember that you are loved. If you loved this story remember to comment, click or tap that heart button, reblog with tags, and blaze if you can. Always remember to support your local writers. ♡♡♡

𐂂- Word Count: None, sue me!

𐂂- Story Contains: Husband Father Miran, Experiments, Cults, Smut so minors dni or people who aren't comfortable with smut, reader is female, worshipping, and spoiled reader.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who thought you were a little cutie when you wandered into the village got lost. He had to tell the Lords to leave you alone. Something about you had him interested and soon the two of you were married. Yes Father Miran is a strange and scary man but behind close door he was a goofball and you loved him. He didn't want you to worship him like the others. He wanted to be your equal but he didn't mind a little worshipping in the bedroom whenever the two of you were feeling naughty~

✧- Husband Father Miran, who always wants to match with you. The colors are always brown, gold, and black. He thinks you both look important because he believes you and him are important. He doesn't mind if you don't want to match on certain days but he'll always try to convince you because he wants others to know that you are his.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who doesn't reveal his face to the other lords or anyone for that matter. Only you get to see those beautiful blue eyes and a lot of his blonde short hair. He actually never wears his mask when he's in private with you. You have wore his mask before and he thinks you look as powerful as him.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who mourns the loss of his son but he's glad that you are in his life. You showed him how to love, live, and laugh again. He hopes to have a child with you one day. And he will be very protective of you and the child. But he doesn't mind if you want kids. But he'll get a baby eventually.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who worships between your legs, your sweet nectar until you are nothing but a moaning mess that has unraveled in front of him. He won't stop until he has pumped you full of his seed in all sorts of positions. He'll cry out your name, not caring who hears. Because he wants you to know how much he loves you, sometimes he won't stop until you are crying out his name. Once he is done, he'll give you the aftercare. A bubble bath, fresh pajamas, snacks, and water. He'll give you soft kisses and rub your back until you fall asleep.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who always has someone watching you when he's busy or away. The village is dangerous and he doesn't want you to get hurt. He is also worried that the other lords might hurt you. Especially the creatures that lurk around the village so he usually keeps you inside the manor. But there is always a lot to do so you don't get bored. He even made a special room for you so that you don't get lost in it.

✧- Husband Father Miran, who is thrilled when you give birth to his son. He's the one who made sure everything went right that you would stay alive to see the life you were bringing into the world for you and him. He'll make sure to take care of the child while you recover. Always having the baby by his side but bringing him back if he needs his mother especially if he needs to feed. Miran can't help but cry up a storm and be grateful to have a child once again, to have you. His family is complete but his experiments aren't done but he makes sure to spend time with you and your son, because you guys are his everything and no one will take you guys away.

#resident evil village #mother miranda #father miran #mother miranda gender bent #resident evil village x reader #father miran x reade #lord dimitrescu

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river-of-wine · 7 months

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i agree with ur post abt the RE villians so much… the way people treat the lords is honestly the way people should have treated the bakers 😭😭 who were like actually not even themselves like they were literally being controlled…

donna especially bothers me with how people treat her as a innocent defensless victim that was attacked by ethan when she lured him into her house with a hallucination of his dead wife, OPENED THE DOORS FOR HIM, and then trapped him in there… the end of donnas fight is even more frustrating when ethan was literally forced to stab angie in order to avoid being stabbed to death by a bajillion dolls but people still take it as “ethan chasing her down”

and i 100% agree with ur take on the hcs about karl… there r so many that r taken as fact just to put him in a more sympathetic light which bothers me alot because its clearly not true… u dont have to try and make ur character look better to like them… sometimes u should just accept a villian as a villian! i remember i used to think karl being taken as a child was canon because it was so widely agreed upon and brought up in arguments that i thought it was real 😭😭

and oh brother… dont get me started on the deal… could u imagine how incredibly OOC it would have been for ethan to take that deal? where after fighting tooth and nail and the expense of his own life to keep his baby daughter safe no matter the cost to turn around and be compliant in using said baby daughter as a weapon…?! naw!!! it wasnt on ethan to have to negotiate with karl to make a better deal, especially when ethan turned him down the first time after being rightfully angry at the insinuation of using rose as a weapon. and karl doesnt explain, doesnt negotiate on his side, he kicks his chair down and threatens ethan, he uses fear to try and get ethan to join him

that is not good intentioned!!! and thats ok!!!! hes a villian!!! his ego got bruised when ethan turned him down! so he got mad and kicked him down the propellor hole! thats not on ethan!

i wish people could appreciate the character for who they r… its not karl if u strip away his arrogance and ego 🥲

(sorry for the lomg ask, i really like resident evil and that post u made was so real…)

ALL THIS EXACTLY!! I have been a Resident Evil fan since the year RE7 came out and let me tell you I was baffled when I played RE8 and saw Miss Kill and Maim and Murder and her cocky cowboy brother be treated like the new Jack Baker. He became infected by protecting his daughter from his crazed wife and he doesn’t even hold the events of the game against Eveline when he speaks to Ethan about

The response Donna gets is particularly frustrating because at least with some of the more sympathetic looks at Alcina and Karl, there are HINTS at the fucked up people they actually are. Donna is essentially turned into an entirely different character.

The closest thing I think I can compare Donna’s fanon characterisation to is Eveline, but even that isn’t entirely accurate. Eveline is ten years old and given that fact as well as her upbringing, if that’s what we can call her being raised as a weapon in a lab, I really doubt she understands the gravity of what she has done. She doesn’t understand why people are angry with her and, as we know from both her and Jack, all she wants is a family. But all this in mind, Eveline can still be quite a mean kid. I don’t blame her for this at all, it’s a completely understandable response for her to have as a young child in her situation, but she is controlling the Baker family to be violent murderers, makes Mia attack her own husband and is particularly malicious towards Rose. Eveline has fun with some of her meanness as well. She laughs at Zoe as she runs off to infect her family, she taunts Ethan before he reveals the neurotoxin that he has, she mocks Rose when she tells her the crystal isn’t in House Beneviento. Again, while I don’t really blame Eveline for behaving this way and she was also entirely a victim, Eveline is also not presented as being a naive and palatable villain.

Donna, in canon, is not Eveline. She’s nothing like Eveline. Eveline is a child who can’t comprehend the severity of what she has done to the Baker family. Donna is a grown woman. A mentally ill woman, yes, but we aren’t shown any signs that said unspecified mental illnesses make her into the weak, incapable and naive version of her character that is so spread around the fanbase.

House Beneviento is inaccessible unless Donna lets you in. You cannot get inside if she doesn’t let you, and she intentionally lures Ethan inside with hallucinations of Mia, who he very recently watched get shot multiple times and die. She makes him give her the only thing he has left of her, the photo of Mia and Rose, before he gets inside, and once he’s in there Donna continues to very specifically target fears Ethan has about protecting his family with the hallucinations.

The flowers didn’t just appear around House Beneviento for no reason. Donna doesn’t think Ethan will have fun physically taking a mannequin of his wife apart or hearing her crying voice over the radio. Genuinely, I do not know how people can look at that baby hallucination, a horrifying recreation of Ethan’s dismembered infant daughter chasing him down through narrow hallways and still think Donna had no ill intentions whatsoever.

Donna’s death is jarring and upsetting, it gives a completely new light to what Ethan was doing and just how intense those hallucinations were, but Donna was not just fleeing Ethan unaware of why he was attacking her and Ethan was not just attacking Donna for no reason. Not only is she swarming him with dolls filled with razors and knives, she’s also mocking him through Angie and suggesting that he is a bad, even abusive father.

Donna is the one of the lords who comparatively has the least reason to be attacking Ethan. While I do not think Ethan was unjustified in the slightest, he did trespass on Alcina’s property and kill one of her daughters and he did make Karl mad because he didn’t take his deal. Those are reasons. Donna just kind of fucked with Ethan because??? Like why did she do that??? She’s a fucked up lady that’s why. And that’s what makes her interesting. House Beneviento is insane and scary and watering down the woman responsible for it all is so boring!

Speaking of Karl, I’m not at all surprised he received the response that he did. He’s a conventionally attractive male villain with a cocky demeanour, a fun voice and a backstory with a hint of sympathy. Of course he gets babied and woobified to no end. I completely agree with you about the headcanons surrounding him. For a while I just felt insane and I was convinced that somewhere in my three playthroughs that I had missed something somewhere, like I found his damp cigar but not the document that explains that he was kidnapped as a child by Mother Miranda. There’s nothing that suggests that in his lines or any of the documents about him, and I think people get so blinded by the Heisenberg that they want to exist that the Heisenberg who does exist fades into the background.

AND YEAH! NO WAY ETHAN SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THAT DEAL! ABSOLUTELY NO WAY! To recap what Heisenberg has done to him at this point, he has:

• brought him to the lords and Mother Miranda where he and Alcina argued over who gets to violently murder him

• put him through his little lycan torture tunnel and almost killed him with that spinning spike cylinder

• forced him through another lycan den where he has to deal with them as well as Urias

• suggested using his six month old baby who has already been dismembered as a weapon to further his own goal

Like fuck no! Get away from me! I’m out of here! Ethan’s primary goal was never to kill Mother Miranda, it was to save Rose, why risk both himself and Rose trusting this man who is not only one of the group of people who have been trying to get him killed this whole time and who has also personally tried to get him killed multiple times before now? Ethan’s main motivation is always to protect his family. It’s why canonically Mia will always be the right choice in RE7, it’s why he ended up in Louisiana in the first place, it’s why he’s here, it’s why he’s kept going even after finding his daughter’s head in a flask on the suggestion that he can save her. He’s not going to use her as a weapon because this guy wants to.

Also SO TRUE ABOUT HEISENBERG JUST NOT EXPLAINING ANYTHING!! I hadn’t thought about that but yeah. Yeah! He didn’t explain a thing clearly, didn’t try to negotiate, just got all mad and threatened Ethan when he said no to his deal.

Karl is a total love to hate character for me. Kind of similarly to Lucas, he’s a mad genius type who likes to taunt Ethan over an intercom while Ethan deals with whatever new horror they’ve made for him to face and just doesn’t shut up, and I wouldn’t have him any other way! His huge ego and over confidence is so fun and it’s what makes him as memorable as he is. Same with Alcina! They’re two total show offs who have done incredibly fucked up shit, Alcina more so, and similarly to Jack while he’s under Eveline’s control it’s this cockiness and extreme nature to their violent actions that make them memorable and entertaining villains.

Donna is scary! She’s really scary! Imagine an adversary you can’t even see, who has complete control over what you see and experience, and is using that to force you through some of your deepest fears. Ethan isn’t her first victim either, and the psychological aspect to what she puts him through is deeply unsettling, taking Donna’s very intentional use of Mia and the fears about Rose being unable to be fixed away from her leaves her with nothing.

Why strip these villains of what makes them fun or scary? It’s a horror game! It’s a Resident Evil game! One of the most memorable Resident Evil characters ever is a very tall man in a trench coat and a funny hat. These games are over the top and campy and it’s also a horror game! There’s going to be fucked up people in it and it’s fine to like them if they’re fucked up! It’s weird that that has to be said!

No need to apologies about the long ask!! Resident Evil 7 and 8 are two of my biggest special interests and I love talking about them, especially about a bunch of very interesting characters who get so watered down and woobified it’s basically not them anymore. Thanks for giving me another excuse to talk about it!

#re8 #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg #ethan winters

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