#steven grant of the gift shop

[ivystoryweaver]

So the people in this museum hate beauty and intelligence or…

[interwebois]

Saw it Love it💖 and Happy May the 4th💫 and 2 Year Anniversary of Moon Knight🌙 S1:E6 !!!

5/04/2024

[daphnefisherofficial]

AHHHHH my beautiful Steven 😍🫶🙌

We do learn from the best, you silly old bird.

[crowlysium]

Today I want to talk about how the psych ward from then later Moon Knight episodes represents both the Duat and the IW (Inner World)

We know from Tawaret outright stating it that the psych ward is the Duat, where souls are judged in the Egyptian afterlife. She states that the ship holds the memories of a person and that it takes the form of something comprehensive to the deceased.

In systems with an IW (Not all have one), it can be just about anything. For example, ours used to be various places from all of our introjects sources, but it has recently changed to be our original fantasy world from our wip. Some others could have a simple house, or a void with singular rooms. They could, such as with Marc’s system, have a mental health facility.

How is the psych ward both the afterlife and the IW?

Marc and Steven are able to interact in a physical manner and are also able to view memories, things that do happen in IW. They also go there when the body dies, which means neither of them would front.

For systems with IWs, it is where alters live when not fronting. In the episode where Steven isn’t fronting, where he says he is imprisoned, he is in their IW, though he (and Marc) may not have access to visualize that yet. It is also possible neither could visualize it as they were largely co-fronting during their time together and for some systems, when alters are cofronting this limits their connection to their IW

It is likely intentional that this place works as it does so that it involves the Egyptian mythology of Moon Knight and also subtly represents DID in a way that isn’t too far off from the realities some systems may experience. As a singlet, it is hard to accurately portray our experiences, but by putting it in with the afterlife, it does so very well. A system might be able to relate to some of the things in that psych ward, where singlets can simply enjoy a plot about escaping the afterlife.

Steven turning to stone represents dormancy, by the way, but that’s a topic for later.

-Steven Grant

[ivystoryweaver]

Look, whoever thinks Steven Grant ain't got game watched a different show...

BUT THEN

[interwebois]

Dissociative Identity Disorder/ Other Specified Dissociative Disorder

In October of 2022 watching Moon Knight because Cinema Therapy did a video about it saw a bit and was like well I have Disney plush and its Oscar Isaac, (Poe) so let’s watch it. Little did I know our life will change after that. I Alice don’t remember watching Moon Knight the first time or watching The Making of before watching the Series. The only think I Alice remember is episode 2 but it’s a 3rd person prospective. I remember right before and after watching the series and for 2 weeks having non stop panic attacks and not know why. Some of the thoughts I do remember like, “this happens to me all the time”, “Other people experience this” “I don’t have DID because I don’t have Amnesia but other than that it’s all relatable” “This is how I experience being Trans or having an OCD voice” (being Trans is real what I’m referring is the body looking like someone else and me thinking that’s what it meant to be Trans, only time feeling Dysphoria) and searching “Is it possible to have DID and no Amnesia” “Is it possible to be Autistic and have DID” “How Steven and Marc interacts with each other, well that’s too relatable” “Have to show this to my mom because I can finally explain what I experience” watching DID channels to look more into it and every video, every article, every post. The more and more I read, the more and more was like umm “So all those weird things that happens, and I don’t tell anyone even my therapist at that time because If I say it out loud what’s happing they will think I’m weird and the fact that we brushed it off all as having Autism, other people experience theses, what?” but still being like “I don’t have this because I don’t have Amnesia” (Later in November finding out OSDD-1b and still being like nah TW: my trauma isn’t that bad, now knowing more about it and being like that happened what ohh:) and in October started to look like Steven Grant and me being like “Well this is normal, It’s the phase where I look like someone else”, (because this happens with different people) it happened in July of 2022 with Neal Caffrey from White Collar, felt like was about to happen but didn’t (Now we understand that Steven is either was a Fragment that turned into an Alter as he was figuring out his identity or he was an Alter but didn’t really identify with a particular look yet and was trying figure himself out, because this reminds me especially of high school, well I couldn’t control what I was saying when getting excited (but now with a British Dialect, which I Alice can not control, or feeling things for guys but at the same time not since young) and it happened with Isaac Kalder in high school and he was the first Alter that I Alice was able to see and similar things happens with him, rewatching The Devil Inside and My Virtual Escape from McJuggerNuggets on YouTube later after knowing DID/OSDD being like “Oh my, did not realize, how much Isaac was Passive Influencing us” Literally how he talked, walked, songs that he listened to how he handled his depression or when someone triggered him. In 2019 I Alice feel bad about this now, threw all of the clothes that he bought (except one), stopped listening to songs that he liked, stoped watching TDI and MVE (even though gave us comfort) because was like every time I look like him. I’m sad, I feel dysphoric, I want to look like him, to the point I Alice was forgetting what the body looked like and forgot the body’s biological gender or forget that Alice is a thing, depression, which caused him to go dormant until 2021 where I started to hear him from the inside but with his voice) (Sorry🙁). and also TDI is like an accidental representation of DID because I remember now rewatching (the first time I Alice do not have those memories just remember right before and after, when TDI was out but not MVE, just like Steven absorbed those feelings) TDI when the split happened because a lot of stressful thing happened at that time, being like well I can relate to Jesse because he switches with his characters that he has from his childhood and can’t control what’s happening.

And in December still not think I have OSDD-1b but thinking maybe I’m just really autistic so I don’t understand my emotions at all, “Is there any similarities between TDI/MVE and Moon Knight” and the amount of things that are similar was like “wtf”, and later rewatching Moon Knight and getting told why they related to Moon Knight other than the DID symptoms and well yeah. The amount of things in Moon Knight that tides into our childhood is actually astounding especially Steven, which make sense, when watching a movies, series your brain lights up the same way as if it were happening, (TW: my leading theory before I knew this was a thing was, the stuff that happened when younger that’s how we reacted, felt and those same brain frequencies were getting turned on:)

Difference and similarities

btw there are other Alters just talking about Isaac and Steven and well Alice/Ashla.

Isaac Kalder

Similarity: Identifies like 90% with his source

Difference: His age is 19 and the source he’s 18, I think it’s because I Alice always wanted an older brother and now the body is 19 so he’s like a month older, I always saw him as an older brother even before knowing about the System)

Steven

Similarity: Identifies with the look, name, dialect, how he carries himself, body cadence, just more romantic (finding these thing along the way being like why do you do that, I guess that’s a different thing from your source that’s cool and rewatching it being like oh that’s where that quality cam from)

Difference: He’s more like Episode 5 when Steven (MCU) is comforting Marc and now he’s more confident in himself, basically after Season 1. It’s like instead of (TW warning: the trauma that happened to Marc, Steven and Jake it’s replaced with what happened to us. also he’s a Subsystem (For us an Alter in a Alter) mostly because of flashback that happened fair recently and yeah, all those flashback kind of went to Steven and he kind of split with Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewelyn Davis, that was confusing when it was happening, now Steven is more bi they kind of passive influence each other sometimes but when triggered Steven kind of goes inside and Llewyn kind of comes out. DEPRESSION, Steven and Llewyn are kinda figure things with Isaac where if Llewyn feels more the same way which when the split happened Llewyn did absorb the liking guys thing more:) (our Steven is more Romantic I guess the feeling of love)

Alice/Ashla (Biological Female but doesn’t really identify with that mostly so I guess I’m Non-Binary, still figure things out, I do like woman though no question about that)

Love Star Wars and Moon Knight and Disney and McJuggerNuggets content. It’s rare for me to feel like Alice but when I do it feels weird, higher voice etc so kind of go by Ashla just like that name mostly because it’s a SW thing.

It make sense that we have a lot of fictives, Autism and because of it have hard time connecting with people and understand peoples actions and only able to relate, and understand fictional characters, or since younger only having emotional comfort from fictional characters, and love everything about film from filming it, acting, voice acting editing, sound design and want to do those things we want to do, we all like different aspects of the Film process

Consent forms:

Alice/Ashla: I agree to publish this

Steven/Llewyn: Yeah sure. We agree to this s***

Isaac: Okay

[ivystoryweaver]

I love Steven’s directness. When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear

OSCAR ISAAC in MOON KNIGHT | 1.05 Asylum

[dxhxe]

if anyone dislikes steven. They are simply not ok

i mean steven grant

[hipsterfrankcastle]

better skint londoner representation in moon knight season 2. i want to see steven grant sweating on the victoria line. i want to see him buy a tesco meal deal, and then complain about the fact the price of a tesco meal deal has gone up. i want to see him physically fight a tourist in trafalgar square!! more realistic london experiences please!

[sarahghetti]

can you pretend to be my boyfriend?; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: the boys pretend to be your boyfriend in order to save you from a creepy stranger.

warnings: inappropriate behaviour towards the reader, female!reader.

moon knight masterlist | all masterlists

steven

you lean over the gift shop counter, eyes wide as you ask, “can you pretend to be my boyfriend?”

poor steven is just confused at first.

“pretend to be—wait, what do you mean—?”

he doesn’t get a chance to finish that thought because the man who’s been trying to flirt with you all day suddenly rounds the corner, and you’re out of time.

“there you are!” a smarmy grin, eyes looking you up and down. it makes your skin crawl. “I was worried that you might’ve left before I could get a chance to talk to you again.”

“yeah, wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” you mutter.

it clicks in steven’s brain then, though not exactly fast enough for him to come up with a retort other than, “right, yeah, right.”

the man’s attention doesn’t waver from you, however, and you squirm on the spot. time for a hail mary, you suppose, turning back to steven. “are we still good for lunch, babe?”

“oh, yes, lunch—right, of course, love,” steven nods, more confident. “I just need to finish up some last things here, if you’re willing to wait a bit?”

you’re ready to say no worries, take all the time you need when the guy scoffs, barely sparing steven a glance. “a sales clerk? really?”

“better than the wet tissue you are, bruv,” steven snaps back, so fast that he surprises himself a little. something simmers under the man’s expression, but steven’s faster. “do I need to call security?”

that finally gets to the guy, who just mutters curses under his breath before finally pissing off. your smile is genuine now when you look at steven. “thanks for that.”

“no worries—are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you nod. “don’t suppose you’re actually free right now, are you? the least I could do is buy you lunch as thanks.”

luckily for the both of you, he is, and he rounds the counter with a wide smile on his face before you lead the two of you out.

marc

he’s just waiting to place his order at a coffee shop when you walk in, some guy hot on your heels and prattling on despite your obvious discomfort.

“oh, hey, babe!” he doesn’t even realize you’re calling out to him until he meets your gaze, and the pleading look in your eyes is all he needs to understand what’s going on. “sorry I’m late.”

“it’s all good.” marc knows the drill, injecting warmth into his smile as he walks up to greet you. he gives you a small nod, letting you know that he’s got your back as he slips his hand into yours. “was worried about you for a minute there.”

“wait, are you two…?” the man looks between you, eyebrows furrowed.

“mhm.” he keeps his tone light, but is secretly watching like a hawk for any signs of escalation. when the guy’s mouth twists into a scowl, marc subtly tugs you behind him.

“you never said you had a boyfriend.” the venom in the words is terrifying, but marc doesn’t flinch.

“no need to cause a scene, man,” he says, tone amicable, but you take a peek at his face and his expression is as hard as stone. “now, if you’ll excuse us.”

marc leads you back into the line to order, squeezing your hand gently to stop you from looking over your shoulder. there’s the heavy stomping of feet before you hear the bell ring over the door as the guy leaves.

the relief is palpable. you finally let go of marc’s hand, face warm as you smile sheepishly at him. “thanks for the help. let me buy you a coffee?”

“don’t worry about it.” he shakes his head, but you offer again and, well, if you insist. he doesn’t mind spending the rest of his afternoon with you at all.

jake

he’s the one to notice your discomfort from across the pub, how you subtly shift away from the man leaning in close to speak directly into your ear.

when you meet his eyes, you mouth, help? and jake doesn’t even think twice before downing the rest of his drink and making his way to your table. he slaps a hand down onto the guy’s shoulder, making him jump. “think you’re in my seat, hombre.”

the man’s greasy smirk twitches, obviously thinking that jake is interrupting his ‘game’ or whatever the fuck. “nah, man, I’m just—”

“trying to hit on my girl, yeah, I can see that.” jake grins at him, but you get the impression that he’s baring his teeth more than anything. he looks to you, and his gaze softens. “you okay, there, baby?”

“better now,” you say, and it’s not a lie.

the guy turns to jake fully, sizing him up. “you think you’re so tough, huh?”

jake doesn’t even blink, just raises a single eyebrow as if daring for him to suggest taking the matter outside. it’s not even a competition, because the man backs off a moment later, angrily slipping out of the booth without looking back.

you don’t breathe until the guy finally leaves the building, at which point a heavy sigh falls from your lips.

“the nerve of that guy,” jake mutters, clicking his tongue.

“right?” you shake your head, then gesture to the now-vacant seat beside you. “care for a drink? I think I owe you after your help back there.”

“you owe me nothing,” he corrects, but slides in beside you anyways, taking your offer with a smile.

[bullet-prooflove]

Steven Grant joke right here

[lostalioth]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

→ premise: it was meant to be just a simple quick visit to your sweet boyfriend at work, a regular thing on your days off, something steven looked forward to. especially when the both of you snuck off to the bathroom.

→ pairing: steven grant x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, against the wall sex, bathroom sex so semi-public sex, creampie, nicknames [baby, love, darling]

→ a/n: kinktober 11

It was merely meant to be a short visit to Steven, your lovely boyfriend, at his job in the gift shop. You just missed him and wanted to see him, you didn't intend for it to end with the two of you sneaking off the bathroom.

“Darling I really need to get back to work, my boss won't like that I'm gone so long” he groaned out, his voice soft as his breath fanned across the back of your neck. His body betrays his words however as he makes no move to stop pinning you against the bathroom wall. His hands grab onto your hips as he drills into form behind. Your chest up against the cold tile wall, your hips bouncing off of his making a slapping sound that filled the echoey bathroom alongside your whines. Your knees grow weaker and weaker the closer you get and the faster and harder Steven thrusts inside you. “Mm baby please just a little longer im s’close” you whimper out about too loudly, the words slurred as your head was going hazier from the pleasure.

Steven's large hands leave your hips, one comes up to cup over your mouth muffling your loud moans, the other drifts between where your bodies are connected and rubs at your clit. “As heavenly as you sound love you‘re gonna get me fired if you aren't quieter” his voice trembles as he can feel you clench around him in response to him silencing you. His eyes screw shut in bliss as he can feel your cunt trying to milk his release from his aching cock. “Gonna cum baby oh fuck-” your words come out mumbled and broken from beneath his hand though Steven can hear you enough to understand.

“Cum for me darling” he moans out, his hips speeding up even faster trying to push you right over that edge. His cock hitting just right deep inside you and his thumb playing with your bundle of nerves you cum hard on his cock. Biting your lip to help further muffle the wanton moan that threatens to escape, it comes out as a strangled desperate whine instead. “Good girl baby, fuck im gonna cum okay love?” He grunts out as his hips falter in rmyth fucking you through your high. With an almost pathetic sounding whine leaving his lips, Steven’s orgasm hit him, shooting hot ropes of cum inside you. After a minute or two when the both of you catch your breath he slowly pulls out, the mixture of his cum and your own leak out of you, trailing down your thigh.

“Maybe you should visit me at work more often darling” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss at your exposed shoulder. You smile sweetly at him as he quickly works at cleaning you up best he can before he goes back off to work with a short but loving goodbye kiss.

→ a/n: i have never written for steven, this is really short and kinda ass as i rushed it cause its like 2 days later than when i wanted to post this, im trying to get back on track and not fall further behind so there will hopefully be another kinktober day posted today as well.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Need Steven with a freak. Let’s say he’s been dating this girl for a while and he’s ready to take it to the next step. He’s super worried he’ll make you all uncomfortable and stuff when he asks but the next thing he know he’s being ridden till the break of dawn

(I’m ovulating I am so sorry-)

OMG SAMESIES AND I. AM. ✨FERAL✨ RN

Please

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, just smut af, protected sex (implant), oral sex (m!receiving) creampie, overstimulation

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This lil dress here is what I had in mind for the outfit in the start. (I'm a sucker for sunflower patterns)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It had to be tonight. He just couldn't take it anymore. None of them could.

But Steven was the worst about his urges. He felt awkward and worried it would chase you away, the first girlfriend he ever got to finally have; all the others didn't understand his... Problems.

Problems he later learned were triggered by Marc (and in some cases, Jake), but you? You took them in stride, like a duck to water.

The moment he first saw you, his breath had been sucked right out of him. Marc and Jake went dead silent, too.

It was a gloomy, dreary day; the rain coming down in heavy droplets, casting a grim light down on the London streets.

But there you were, walking around the museum, looking at exhibits and scribbling notes in your tiny notebook with oh, so many post-its sticking out, fattening the tiny book until it looked close to bursting.

You were the only ray of sunshine on that day, your yellow dress that hugged your body just right, little sunflowers covering the fabric. Your hair done just the right way to accentuate your face as your eyes studied each artifact and bauble you saw.

To say the boys were instantly smitten was an understatement.

It took weeks of bumping into you to work up the courage to talk to you, and it was only when you came in to buy a rather dinky looking scarab plushie in the gift shop. It's this conversation where he finds out you're in school, trying to become an archaeologist and historian.

Steven's dream girl, and he had hearts in his eyes at every word you spoke.

He couldn't help but blubber out a request for a date, and you agreed.

The rest... History in the making.

You'd been dating for two months, but already he could feel the pull of urges he didn't necessarily indulge in often.

Sure, he, Marc and Jake could indulge in it themselves, trying to take the edge off. But sometimes it felt like the more he indulged in it, the more intense his fantasies got.

He simply couldn't keep tugging his cock for momentary relief anymore, imagining it was your soft hand, your mouth, your tits or something else wrapped around his cock that had him practically drooling: your sweet cunt.

But tonight? Tonight was the night. He was afraid to bring it up because he didn't want you to feel like he was moving too fast; and he could barely function when you admitted you were a little surprised he waited so long. (And teased him a little for how sometimes he just wasn't stealthy when trying to conceal a surprise boner.)

You'd told him that you thought about him too, and that you were more than willing to let him indulge.

But it was from there that you found out that Steven had never actually been intimate with anyone. Jake and Marc had, yes. But poor Steven has just never had the luck.

And that's how Steven found himself in this precarious situation, you on your knees, your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock as you bobbed your head so sweetly, tongue laving around his length, hollowing and sucking your cheeks with every drag, tracing the vein that ran up the side of him.

He couldn't stop with the babbling praises, the sweet petting in your hair.

Honestly, if you knew he was this weak? You'd have jumped his bones a lot sooner. Probably after the fourth or fifth date. It was rare you found someone who was intellectually a joy to talk to (not excluding Marc and Jake) who was so handsome and sweet to you.

One hand was thrust down into your panties, playing with yourself, dress hiked up so you could have better access as you continue sucking him off, the lewd sounds coming from both of you more suited to a pornography than the quiet air of his flat.

You could feel your orgasm cresting already, but you knew that you didn't want to just cum on your fingers like you had so many times before, you wanted to feel Steven inside of you and god did you want to drain him for everything he had.

Steven made a whine, babbling your name again.

"L-luv, I'm--I'm gonna--ugh--"

He couldn't even get the sentence out before you felt him spill down your throat, his hips bucking suddenly you gagged, carefully adjusting so you didn't choke as he pumped his load into your greedy mouth.

Well... you weren't surprised he didn't last very long...

He immediately started rattling off apologies that had you giggling.

God damn, you were going to enjoy draining him. Maybe Marc and Jake, too.

The blush that spread up to his ears made him look absolutely adorable.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" He stammered out, covering his face. "In--in your mouth, I--"

With the fluid grace of a cat you climb into his lap, straddling him.

You cup his cheeks and kiss him softly, before pulling away.

"You're alright." You assure him, peppering his adorable face with kisses.

It's when he squeezes your thighs and ruts up into you, his face buried in your neck that you realize he's still hard.

You bite your lip and kiss his ear.

"Steven, do you want me to ride you?"

"Ohgodsyesplease." He breathes out on a whimper.

You hastily line his cock up with your hole and sink down, taking him in inch by delicious inch until you're stretched beautifully around him.

You tip your head back with a groan. He certainly had girth for days, that was for sure.

"I'm... Already close. Can you help me?" You say, giving him a sweet pout that makes his heart jump up into his throat.

"Y-yes, I can--"

The way he keeps cutting himself off makes you want to cuddle him and cover him with kisses, but at the same time fuck him until his legs go numb.

Maybe you'd do the former later.

You pull his fingers into your mouth and he makes a soft moan when you suck his fingers, swirling your tongue around his calloused digits until you deemed them wet enough.

Then, you guide his hand down your body to your throbbing clit, and show him the rhythm that'd work for you best.

"Try to keep it in time with me, m'kay?" You groan, grinding down on him in one slow, languid movement.

His eyes roll back, but he nods and keeps his fingers over your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in time with each downward stroke of your hips.

Every bit of him had you aching, from his electric touches to his fat cock spearing you open and fucking your weeping pussy in the best way possible, you kicked yourself mentally again for not bringing up sex sooner.

Steven's cock felt far better inside of you than your fingers or your toys at home. He felt hot, he felt real. And real is what you'd been lacking lately.

Whatever Steven would give you, you planned on taking happily. You would--

Your eyes flutter open when Steven suddenly arches his back and hits you deeper than you expected him to; opening your mouth in a quiet cry, no sound escapes as your orgasm hits you and Steven continues swiping at your clit, fucking you from below as you shudder and collapse on top of him as he continues breathing on the hot embers of your orgasm to keep it going for as long as possible.

"Please." He whines in your ear.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

"In-inside--" You whimper, biting down on his shoulder, earning a toe-curling moan from him.

"You can do it inside."

He grits his teeth and let's out a hissing cry, veins popping in his neck and forehead as he fucks his spend up into you, his orgasm burning and flaying his nerves raw as he pumps you full.

He drops back onto the cushions of the couch and sofa, breathing hard, desperately trying to drag oxygen back into his lungs.

Reality however, is a cruel mistress and he looks down at where you two were connected.

"Oh, b-bloody hell. I--I didn't--"

"Relax, hon." You giggle, leaning back with one hand braced on one of his knees for support, your other hand trailing lazily down to where his cock still split you open, his cum leaking out around his length. The sight of you sent a dizzying spiral through him.

"I'm safe, promise. I have an implant. Still good for another three years."

The thought that he could keep doing this for three years--

His mind went blank when you grind down on his lap, feeling his cock stir to life despite the fact he was now exhausted.

"L-luv, I... I don't think I can..." He panted desperately.

Your brace your hands on his chest and start bouncing on his lap, grinning wickedly the whole time.

"I'm gonna keep going until I drain you dry, sweetheart. Get comfortable."

The gulp he made was audible in the space you shared, as was the sinful slap of skin on skin.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Criminal

Characters: Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader

Summary: Heartbreak lingers after Marc Spector shattered your trust. Seeking revenge, you turn to Steven Grant, his softer, kinder counterpart—never expecting to fall for him. But secrets can’t stay hidden for long, and when Marc forces the truth into the light, the lines between love, guilt, and betrayal blur.

Now, caught between two sides of the same fractured man, you must face a question you never anticipated: Are you willing to hurt Steven to get back at Marc, or has your heart already chosen sides?

Word Count: 1672 words

Prompt: Criminal- Fiona Apple

A/N: This is one for the wonderful @caplanbuckybarnes for the decades challenge. I know it’s taken me a while, but I hope it’s worth the wait.

You were a terrible person, you knew this, felt it acutely in your heart as your eyes looked into those rich, earthy ones that were both so familiar and also completely foreign. There was an intensity there that was hard to read. At one point you would have attributed it to passion, but that time had long since passed, hadn’t it?

“Marc…” you managed to whisper, your tone bordering on a whimper as you pressed further back against the wall, trapped between the solid brickwork and his muscular frame.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He growled. His chest heaved with each labored breath as he pushed closer. Heat radiated from his body, sending a shiver down your spine.

Six months ago, you would have melted into him, given him everything without hesitation. He was right—this was what you had wanted. To make him so jealous he’d claim you as his once more. The man before you had broken your heart, shattered it into a million pieces. And somehow, every piece had still yearned for him.

But now… you weren’t so sure. You’d wanted him to feel the same pain, to be consumed by jealousy, to want you the way you had wanted him. Maybe then, you thought, you’d feel whole again. But things had changed. You’d changed.

A potent wave of guilt washed over you as your gaze fell on his soft, plump lips. You had been careless, reckless even—so focused on hurting Marc that you hadn’t considered the damage you’d do to him. To Steven. The plan had seemed simple enough when all you could see was Marc, when the only goal was to make him jealous enough to take you back.

But now… your eyes flickered back to meet his, and suddenly Marc was gone. All you could see was Steven—gentle, unaware, and so heartbreakingly kind. The heat of Marc’s presence still lingered in your mind, but the memory of Steven’s breath was soft, steady, as if he didn’t know what had passed between you and Marc made the guilt twist even deeper.

You knew it was wrong—had known from the moment you set this in motion. Stephen didn’t deserve to be caught in the fallout of your history with Marc. But you couldn’t stop, could you?

You should have walked away, shouldn’t have ever walked into the museum gift shop that first day, intent on making Steven fall for you. But that was before everything got tangled—before his kindness broke through the cracks in your anger. What had started as a simple plan, a way to hurt Marc like he hurt you, had spun out of your hands. Now, you weren’t sure if you were still trying to get back at Marc, or if it was something else entirely.

It had seemed so clear at the time—make him jealous. Make sure you were still a part of his life in a way he couldn’t remove. But somewhere along the way, you’d lost control of it. Of yourself. Because now, the only thing you couldn’t remove was the guilt. It clung to you like a second skin, pulling tighter with every moment you spent with Steven.

You kept telling yourself you could stop anytime. Walk away before it got too messy. But the truth was, you were in too deep now, and a part of you knew—when it all came crashing down, someone’s heart would be broken. Each day, each moment with Steven, it was as if you were gambling with something too precious, and the stakes kept getting higher.

Steven had been so sweet, so bashful when talking to you, like he hadn’t believed his luck when you gave him your number—despite him knocking over a stand of stuffed dinosaurs in his rush to impress you. There was something endearing about him, something that tugged at you in a way you hadn’t expected. A total contrast to Marc, all of Spector’s hard edges melted away in Stephen’s presence. And that should’ve made this easier, shouldn’t it? But it didn’t. Not anymore.

He hadn’t believed his luck, but the truth was, you hadn’t either. You’d walked into that museum gift shop with a plan, but after, watching his cheeks flush as he stumbled over his words—and those stuffed dinosaurs—you couldn’t help but feel something more, something deeper than you ever intended.

There was something so different about him—a softness that clung to him like warmth, the opposite of Marc’s intensity. Where Marc was composed and calculated, Stephen was unguarded, like he didn’t know how to hide behind walls the way Marc did. And that… that made everything harder.

Marc pressed his body against yours, his hands on either side of your head, trapping you between him and the wall. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, like he was barely holding himself together. His chest was hard against you, the heat of his body making it difficult to think straight. Every inch of him felt familiar and dangerous all at once, and the scent of him—clean, with a trace of cologne—made your head spin.

You should have pushed him away. You knew you should. But your body betrayed you, frozen under his touch, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a reminder of the messy tangle of feelings you still couldn’t untangle.

"Steven," you whispered brokenly, the name slipping from your lips like a lifeline you weren’t ready to let go of. But even as the sound escaped you, Marc pressed his body harder against yours, the rough heat of him a sharp contrast to Stephen’s softness. Your heart stuttered, tangled in a mess of emotions you couldn’t control, couldn’t unravel.

"We both know you don’t want him," Marc growled, his voice thick with possessiveness, as if he could still read every part of you. His breath was hot in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "He can’t touch you the way I do. This has always been about us—you and me. It’s always been me."

His words settled over you like a heavy weight, sinking deep into the cracks of your guilt.

You pushed against his chest, and a flash of surprise crossed his face, breaking through the confident mask he had worn since the moment he cornered you. For a moment, his body tensed under your hands, as if bracing for something he hadn’t expected. His breath hitched, and the certainty in his eyes faltered. He had been so convinced—so sure that all it would take was this moment, his hands on you, his body pressing into yours, to prove to Steven that this was all some game.

"I fucked up," you said, the words catching in your throat. Admitting it felt like a weight crashing down on your chest, but you couldn’t keep running from it. "I know I fucked up, but I can’t do this to him."

You frowned, pushing Marc again, harder this time, putting more space between the two of you. His eyes darkened, frustration flickering across his face as he stumbled slightly, his hands dropping to his sides. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go, he’d thought you’d show your true colours and then you would be out of his life, out of Steven’s life.

"You’re right," you continued, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I went looking for Steven because I wanted to hurt you. I thought if I could make you jealous, maybe it would make things right. Maybe it would make you feel what I felt. But it’s not right. And it’s not fair to him. I don’t want to hurt him."

The man in front of you changed before your eyes. His shoulders slumped, his entire frame folding in on itself as if he was shrinking under the weight of everything you’d just said. The hardness in his face melted away, replaced by a look so lost, so broken, it made your heart ache. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and retreated until his leg hit the sofa, stumbling slightly as though the ground beneath him wasn’t stable anymore.

"Steven?" you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to hold back the tears rising in your throat. His wide eyes met yours, filled with confusion, hurt, and something deeper—something you weren’t sure either of you could name.

You swallowed hard, guilt twisting deeper in your chest. You had wanted to hurt Marc, but now, standing here, watching Steven fall apart in front of you, all you wanted to do was take it all back.

He just looked at you, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. His breath was uneven, his hand still tangled in his hair, like he was holding on to that single gesture to keep himself from falling apart completely. The room was thick with a fragile kind of quiet, the kind that could shatter with the next word.

"Steven," you said again, softer this time, your heart breaking with every syllable. "I have no defense for what I’ve done. But please, know that what we have… it’s real. It’s always been real." Your voice faltered, the words on the tip of your tongue heavy with meaning. "I—I lo—"

"Don’t." He interrupted, his voice small but steady, the weight of his hurt in every syllable. His eyes dropped to the floor, fists clenching at his sides. The words he had longed to hear from you for so long were hanging in the air between you, bittersweet, poisoned by everything that had led to this moment. He shook his head, stepping back slightly, as if to create some distance from the pain.

"Not like this."

Your breath caught in your chest, the space between you feeling insurmountable now. You could feel the tears rising, but you swallowed them down, knowing he was right. No words could make this better—not yet.

[ivystoryweaver]

🥺

The most precious human being that’s ever existed

“I had to go digging down old Alexander The Great’s gullet, but I found it.”

Episode 4: The Tomb - MOON KNIGHT (2022)

Taglist: @oscarseyebrow @the-little-ewok @mypedrom @prettylilhalforc @princessxkenobi @mariesackler @dailyreverie @nowritingonthewall @mandelirious @zinzinina

Moon Knight taglist: @ahookedheroespureheart @discontinuedly

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

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

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

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

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

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

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

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

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

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

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jesus, Steven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who's birthday is it?"

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

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

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed a velvety red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let her respond, Steven."

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

"So, uh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

"Uh-- and you are?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good job, Stevie."

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day passed like most of them do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

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

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

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

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

“And you’re very beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven?”

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

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

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

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

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

“When?”

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

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

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

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

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

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

“I’ll hold you to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

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

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

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

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

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

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

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

-

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