eternalsams - Tumblr blog

eternalsams · 4 hours

Text

oh I really needed this update tonight

be right back, I gotta see Daddy and Princess get married

The Younger Kind Part 61 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The wedding day itself wasn't all that important to Bradley. He just wanted to get to the point where you and he were officially married, and the details didn't much matter. At least that's what he thought before he saw you step out of the house. Then he realized that these were the exact moments he'd never planned for but desperately needed to experience.

Warnings: pregnancy topics, swearing, smut, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley must have been able to tell that you were anxious on Friday evening. It was just a normal day, really. He went to work and dropped Noah off at preschool on the way. You used a vacation day to clean up the house a little bit with the promise that you wouldn't overexert yourself. And you made some snack trays for Saturday afternoon along with a lasagna for dinner.

But to you, it wasn't a normal day at all, because you were getting married tomorrow. Whenever you started thinking about it, you had to stop what you were doing and sit down for a few minutes. When Bradley left with Noah this morning, he kissed you goodbye like he always did, seemingly unfazed by the weekend plans. But now it was hitting you hard. You were getting married.

When the boys got home, they ran inside while Skittles barked at them. "Hi, Mommy! I painted a wedding!"

Bradley scooped Noah up with one arm before he got to you, and Noah brandished a colorful painting that looked absolutely nothing like a wedding, but you took it and exclaimed, 'It's perfect!"

"I know," he replied as you kissed him on the cheek. Then he started to squirm to the floor, and after that, Bradley's lips were on yours.

"It smells good in here," he whispered. Then he really looked at your face and asked, "Everything okay?"

You nodded and kind of half shrugged. "Yeah."

"You and the baby feeling okay?"

"Mmhmm."

He gave you a skeptical look. "We're getting married tomorrow, Baby," he murmured, holding up a cup from the coffee shop. He'd written Princess across it like he always did, and you looked up at his earnest eyes as tears filled yours. "If you've got cold feet, then I-"

"No!" you gasped, reaching for the cup and pressing your body to his. "No," you told him with all of the conviction you had. "I love you." His arm wrapped around your back, and you felt instantly better. You tried not to jostle the coffee too much as you ran your fingers along his cheek and up into his hair. "It's just hard for me to believe I was just your babysitter earlier this year."

Bradley smiled and said, "You were never just my babysitter. God, I wanted you bad. Right from the start. In my bed, and in my life."

You let your cheek rest against his shoulder as you inhaled the scent of French vanilla coffee, and Bradley traced your spine with his fingers until you shivered. "I wanted you just as bad, Daddy."

He kissed the top of your head. "Nothing's changing. You know that, right? We'll just have a little piece of paper saying we're legally married, but nothing is really going to change. We can take a honeymoon next year. We can eventually tell your parents we got married if you feel like it, or not. We can talk about combining the rest of our bank accounts if you want to. But it's still just me and you. Us and Noah and the baby."

"And Skittles."

"Obviously Skittles, too," he said, and of course the dog came running into the room.

As the kitchen timer started going off, you tried to slip out of his grasp, but he held on. "Tell me what's bothering you first."

You buried your face against his neck and inhaled deeply. Bradley smelled like home. "I'm a little nervous. I wrote my vows, and now I think they sound stupid."

"Nothing you say could sound stupid to me."

You groaned and added, "And I'm exhausted by eight o'clock every night now, and we have all these people coming over for the wedding. I look tired all the time."

"You're beautiful all the time. And I'll kick everyone out after dinner. I'm not going to want them here after that anyway."

When you laughed, Bradley started walking with you held against him. The kitchen timer was still beeping, and you didn't want dinner to burn, but you didn't want him to let go of you either. "I just want to adopt Noah and have a million more nights like this one," you whispered, still holding Bradley's hand and the coffee as he pulled the meal out of the oven.

You took a sip of your drink and it was delicious, and so were Bradley's words as he told you, "Then that's what you'll get."

So maybe it was kind of a regular night after all. You cut up Noah's dinner into bite size pieces for him, and Bradley was drawing lazy shapes on your pregnant belly with his knuckles while he ate. Then he cleaned up after he sent you and Noah to the couch to watch Mickey Mouse cartoons.

"Mommy, do you remember when we met Mickey? With Aunt Natasha?"

"I sure do," you said with a yawn. "That was the best day." Then Noah yawned, too, and it didn't take much coaxing to get him into his pajamas and into bed.

"Will you lay with me?" he asked as you tucked him in.

"Just for a minute, because I need to finish a few things for the wedding tomorrow."

You climbed into his bed, and the next thing you knew, Bradley was waking you up with a kiss. "Come on, Baby. Let's get in our bed."

You groaned and let him help you stand, and you ran your fingers through Noah's hair. "What time is it? I still need to vacuum and wash the kitchen floor."

"I already did it," he whispered as he led you out of the room.

You yawned. "I wanted to shower and shave my legs."

"Do it tomorrow. Or don't. I don't care."

"But it's our wedding day."

You let him tuck you into bed, and he slipped in next to you. "It is, Baby. Our almost-Christmas wedding since I couldn't wait until next year. And all I need is my exhausted Princess with her hairy legs for it to be fucking perfect."

You stifled your laughter as he curled up behind you, keeping you warm while you dozed off again with his big hand resting on your belly.

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

When you woke up the next day, Bradley and Noah were already gone. You knew the plan was for them to get ready at Natasha's place while she joined you here to help you with your makeup, but tears stung your eyes as you walked around the empty house. You missed them already, and you wanted them to come back home so you could make Bradley your husband. You decided to take that feeling as a pretty good sign that the wedding was going to be perfect.

The kitchen smelled good, and you found that Bradley left the fancy coffee maker on for you, but you gasped at what else you found. There was a light blue bakery box, and you opened it to find crown shaped donuts with icing that spelled out I LOVE YOU. You moaned softly and picked up the letter I donut and took a bite. You also found the bag from the jewelry shop, and you immediately remembered how sneaky he was the night you picked out the wedding bands.

You shoved the rest of the donut into your mouth and dug inside the bag. Your eyes went wide when you pulled out a tiara. An actual tiara with some purple gemstones adorning it, like an upgraded version of your paper crown. Now you really wanted Bradley to come home so he could see it on. He probably spent a fortune on it, like he did everything else for you, but you were already imagining that it might make its way to bed later.

"It's me!"

Natasha's voice pulled you from your wedding night daydream, and you rushed into the living room where she was already wearing a simple blue dress and holding several bags. "How are my boys?" you asked.

"Great. Excited. Noah already looks adorable. I guess Bradley looks okay."

You were cracking up as she wrapped you in a hug, and that's when you realized you were wearing an old TOP GUN sweatshirt and your underwear. "I need to start getting ready."

"Yes," she replied with a smile and a quick kiss on your cheek.

"And I really need to shave my legs."

"You should do that first."

"Yeah," you replied, laughing as you made your way to the bathroom. "I'll do that first."

Once you were clean from the shower, Natasha helped you into your new set of purple lingerie. You appreciated that she treated it like a business deal, simply saying, "Bradley will lose his mind later," instead of making a big deal about your growing belly. You were sure you'd be marrying him even if you weren't pregnant, but maybe it wouldn't be happening so soon. "Let's get your hair and makeup settled before we get your dress on. Go grab your tiara."

"You know about that?" you gasped, excitement filling you up.

"Please. I know about everything."

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

Perhaps you were a little nervous last night, but now Bradley was the one who could barely handle himself. You were inside the house, but he wasn't even allowed to go in there, and it was killing him. He wanted to see you in the worst way and make sure everything was okay, but instead he and Noah were stuck on the back patio as everyone else started arriving. All he managed to get was a text from Nat with a thumbs up emoji.

"You look adorable!" Bradley turned around to see Penny kneeling in front of Noah, making a fuss over him. "You match with your dad!" It was true, because you had been the one to find the light gray suits and floral purple dress shirts. Bradley simply ordered them and got himself and Noah dressed.

He hated to say it, but the wedding wasn't that important to him. Not really. He would have done a big, overpriced ceremony if that's what you said you wanted. But this was fine as well. All he really wanted was to make it official. The Bradshaws. His family. He didn't need anything else.

As Maverick pulled him in for a hug, Bradley saw some more of his friends from work arrive. Not that he'd ever really consider Jake Seresin a friend, but after he took the seven hundred bucks in tip money, Bradley said it was fine if he wanted to stop by. You were with Bradley now, and you were never going anywhere. He'd see to that. He'd had a lot of time to come to terms with how young you are and how guys were always going to be looking and hoping. If Bradley were less confident in himself or your love, he'd have never made it this far. But here he was, waiting for you to walk outside in your wedding dress so he could take the wedding band out of his pocket and slip it on your finger.

Nat came strolling casually through the back door as Bradley hugged Tracy and Noah played with Amelia. Bradley broke away from his lawyer who congratulated him and assured him that all of the paperwork he needed was in perfect order for today and for the adoption. When he pulled Nat aside and asked, "Is she okay?" he got an eye roll in response.

"She's great. She ditched you and ran away with another man and his adorable son not five minutes ago." Nat smirked at his deadpan expression and said, "You need to learn how to relax. I was just coming outside to tell you that we're ready to get started, okay?"

"Yes," he replied, already scrambling to locate Noah and Skittles. "Let's fucking do that."

Bradley knew the ceremony was going to be short; you and he had designed it that way. Ten or fifteen minutes, and you'd have it in the bag. It would be a done deal. But when Natasha screamed at everyone to be quiet and Javy started playing the song Bradley asked him to, it all felt very real. The music was just the right volume, flowing through the speakers as Bradley held Noah and Skittles in his arms, and it washed over him when he finally saw you. His favorite song, the one you knew immediately back in your babysitter days, had him remembering the way he fell for you. How you picked on him in the best way about all the old music he loved. The way this song made him think only of you ever since he heard you singing it in his kitchen.

And now you were stepping out of his house wearing a wedding dress and the tiara he picked out for you. Your glossy lips only made your smile brighter as you walked across the deck, purple shoes peeping out from the bottom of your dress. It wasn't a long walk along the path to where he was standing, and he'd remember every step you took for the rest of his life.

He grunted softly as he noticed the way your dress was snug enough to hug your bump like you were showing it off, allowing everyone to see what he'd done to you. He knew that the bouquet of purple wildflowers you held in one hand smelled as sweet as you always did, and you waved your fingers at him as you got closer.

"Hi, Daddy," you said with a smile just for him, and he rushed forward a few steps, closing the gap to get to you sooner.

"Princess," he whispered, leaning down to kiss you while Nat balked behind him.

"You're already doing everything out of order!" she said. "The kiss is literally supposed to be the last thing!"

You just laughed and kissed him again before also pressing your lips to Noah's cheek and patting Skittles on her purple bow. "It's okay, Natasha," you told her as you wrapped your free hand around Bradley's bicep and guided him to where she was standing. The song faded away, but you remained next to him as you smiled and said, "It doesn't really matter what order we do this in just as long as I end up married to Bradley."

"Okay, fine," Nat said, opening her notebook in a huff as Bradley set his son and his dog down. Skittles ran off toward Amelia, and Noah stood with his arm around your thigh looking up at you. As you ran your fingers through his son's curls, Bradley leaned in to kiss you again. "Stop kissing. Seriously. Or there won't be a big climax at the end."

The guys all hooted with laughter at what Nat said, including Bradley. "I don't think that will be a problem," you said, lacing your fingers with his.

"It certainly won't be," he whispered. "You gonna keep that tiara on all night?"

You looked a little bashful, but you said, "Of course, I'm a Princess."

When he tried to kiss you again, Nat started snapping her fingers in his face. "Enough. I need to read all of this shit that I wrote down so you can get married, okay? Just stand there for a minute, and keep it in your pants."

You were laughing now as you said, "This is already the best wedding I've ever heard of."

Nat cleared her throat and started reading from her notebook. "Hi everyone. You all know me, and you all know these two idiots who decided they wanted to marry each other, so I'll make this quick. Bradley Bradshaw is my very best friend, and I don't even know why. He's not particularly funny, nor is he the wittiest guy around, and he absolutely can't cook anything."

"Jesus," Bradley said. "Why did I ask you to officiate?"

She chuckled and said, "Because I also have a couple nice things to say about you.... Bradley is a lost cause in many ways, but he's loyal, and he has a cute son. Hi, Noah."

"Hi, Aunt Natasha."

Bradley was shaking his head as you squeezed his hand, and he gave Nat the signal to keep going. "Right, well, here's the other thing about Bradley: he's been there for me for a long time, so any time he needs something, I'm always going to help him. It was easy to see that he was lonely and ready to start dating again at the beginning of this year, and when he said he was falling in love with his babysitter instead of the women he was meeting from the dating app, I told him to go for it. I'd never seen him happier than he was on the days when he got to see you," Nat said, smiling at you.

"Really?" you asked, looking at her before looking up at Bradley in wonder.

"Really," he and Nat said at the same time, and he had to fight the urge to kiss you again. Instead, he ran his fingers along your cheek and didn't take his eyes off you as he asked, "Nat, can I say my vows now?"

You kissed Bradley's thumb as Natasha said, "Clearly you're just going to do whatever you want, so go right ahead."

"Great," he whispered. He had everything he wanted to say written down on a note card in his pocket, but he didn't really need it. With Noah standing in between the two of you, he knew he had everything he needed right here with him. "You still never told me how you did it, Princess."

You looked up at him as he held your hand, a puzzled look on your face. "How I did what?"

He ran his thumb in slow circles along the back of your hand and said, "How you walked into my crumbling life and made everything better."

Your lips twitched as tears filled your eyes, but you were smiling as you said, "There was nothing to fix, really. You and Noah just made me fall in love with you."

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Noah whispered, tugging gently on your dress as Bradley tried to contain his own tears.

"I know," you told him with a watery laugh. "I made you a snack tray, but you need to let Daddy finish talking first."

"See, Baby? We are pure chaos," Bradley told you, reaching down to scoop Noah up again. "We were so much worse before you, though. Thank you for falling in love with us. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for being more patient than anyone else I've ever known. Thank you for taking care of us, and for letting us take care of you. All I want is to be with you forever. The four of us," he said, his knuckles grazing your belly. "It's perfect, really. But I can't promise we will ever be less chaotic. All I know for sure is that I'm always going to love and appreciate you. And that it was worth going through all the bad stuff to get to this point. You were the missing piece. You were always the missing piece that we needed."

You nearly dropped your bouquet of flowers as you threw your arm around his neck and snuggled in against Noah. "I love you both so much," you sniffed. "And I don't even think you're chaotic at all. Being around you is the calmest I've ever felt. Like I know you'll protect me and make sure I'm comfortable. I started falling in love as soon as I met you both, and I keep falling in love a little bit more all the time. And I will never take this for granted, because I never expected anything this good to happen to me."

"I'm still hungry," Noah whispered loudly, clearly concerned everyone had forgotten about him.

"I know, sweet Noah," you said as you laughed and cried at the same time. "And I'm going to take care of you forever, okay?"

Bradley watched you kiss his forehead as Noah said, "I got you a coloring book. It's Princesses."

"Of course you did," you told him as your voice cracked. "You're the best." You were crying more now, but you looked so happy.

Even Nat was wiping at her eyes as she said, "Are we ready for the rings then?" When you both nodded at her, she pulled Bradley's wedding band out of her dress pocket and handed it to you. "Just put them on each other. Oh my God, I didn't think I would cry."

Javy handed Nat his handkerchief as you took Bradley's hand in your smaller one and slid the thick band into place. Then he kept his eyes on yours as he and Noah did the same with your diamond wedding band. You let your hand slide up Bradley's arm and settle on his chest. Your eyes were focused on his, and the purple gems in your tiara were catching the sunlight. You were flawless. You were his wife. Almost.

"Nat?" he asked, covering your hand with his own and pressing it against his heart. "Are we married?"

"Oh, right," his best friend replied as you laughed softly and bit your glossy lip. "Yeah, according to me and the state of California, you're married. You already kissed and messed that entire part up, but you can kiss again, I suppose."

He handed Noah to her, and your lips came crashing to his as he wrapped one arm around you. This other hand settled against the side of your belly where the baby was growing, and he heard everyone cheering in the backyard. You were right, this was the best wedding he'd ever heard of as well. "I love you, Princess," he murmured against your lips, the sweet smell of wildflowers everywhere as you deepened the kiss again.

Then you pulled away and whispered, "I'll love you forever, Daddy."

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

With two rings on your finger and your husband standing behind you, kissing your neck to the point of distraction, you tried to pull Noah's tray of ants on logs out of the refrigerator. "Daddy!" you gasped when his hand slid up from your belly to your breasts which did look pretty great in your wedding dress.

"Hmm," he hummed, giving you a little squeeze. When you whimpered softly he made a suggestion that you almost agreed to. "Let's sneak off to our bedroom for a few minutes. I want to play with my wife."

That word made you giddy, and you could feel every inch of Bradley's strong body pressed against yours. When you glanced outside, you saw your handful of wedding guests, dancing and playing with Noah. It was very tempting. Nobody would miss you, but everyone would know where the two of you went and why. "How much longer until you can kick everyone out?" you asked softly.

You felt him shrug behind you as he said, "The caterers will be here shortly, so probably about two hours before I can demand everyone leaves."

"Damn it," you said, pulling the snacks out of the fridge and unwrapping them. "I just want to take you and a slice of wedding cake to bed." You thought back to Noah's birthday party and the horny kitchen sex with the leftover cake.

"I'll feed it to you, and then I'll fuck you so good," he crooned, and you were about to tell him to send everyone home now when dinner and the cake arrived.

"Mommy!" Noah shouted through the back door, apparently no longer worried about his healthy snack since the sweets arrived. "Come look at the cake I picked out!"

You turned around in Bradley's arms, and he looked delighted to be presented with your baby bump. "You let Noah pick out the wedding cake?"

He winced in response as he ran his hand along your belly. "Yeah... about that. I'm really sorry."

You grabbed his left hand, his wedding band smooth against your skin where his fingers were usually a little rough, and you pulled him back outside with Noah's snack. "I don't know if I should be scared or-" You gasped when you saw it. "Oh my god, Bradley. It's perfect!"

The cake had two tiers. The bottom was decorated with white buttercream and a bunch of green and brown dinosaurs. The detail was amazing. There was even a volcano. The top tier was decorated with purple flowers and topped with a knight holding hands with a princess that looked a lot like you. The two layers looked pretty ridiculous together, but it was beautiful.

"I love it!" you squealed, making sure Amelia took some pictures of it for you. Actually, everyone had been doing a pretty great job of capturing the afternoon on camera. After dinner, when you cut into the cake and fed a bit to Bradley, Nat took a video of you smearing some of the purple icing all over his lips and mustache. He looked startled as you started laughing before kissing him.

"You'll pay for that later," he promised, holding you close while someone queued up his favorite song again for you both to dance to. But he wasn't complaining when your mouth was on his for most of the song, tasting all of the sweetness on his lips.

The afternoon was kind of crazy, and Bradley held onto you the whole time, only releasing you so you could dance with Mav and then Javy. And then all it took was one yawn out of you, and your husband was clearing everyone out of the backyard. Noah was all pumped up with too much sugar, but luckily he was going home with Penny and Amelia for the night. And lucky for you, your husband was as sweet as the wedding cake.

"Let me help you out of your dress," he whispered, setting butterflies off in your belly as he carried you inside the kitchen. "And I'll get your tiara out of your hair so you can get some rest."

"But I don't want to rest," you said, licking at a bit of icing that still clung to his mustache. "I want my husband."

He paused in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as you dragged your fingers through his hair. "Say it again, Baby."

"Husband," you whispered, kissing the prickly stubble on his jaw. "Please?"

Bradley just grunted in response, slid the door shut with his foot, and carried you all the way to bed. Once he had you spread out, you watched him make quick work of removing his suit coat and purple shirt. "Did you pick out this dress on purpose because of the way it shows off your bump?" he asked, kicking off his shoes. "That sounds like the kind of thing my wife would do to make me go insane for her."

"Maybe." You felt silly there in your tiara and high heels, but oh... the way he was looking at you. Bradley climbed into bed where you were being careful not to put your feet on the bedding, but you didn't need to worry for long. He took your ankles in his hands and placed them over his shoulders, stroking his hands up and down your thighs.

"Tell me what you want to do instead of resting, Princess."

The fabric of your dress was bunching up around your hips, and you knew the moment he saw your purple lingerie, because his knuckles connected with your core through the lace as you moaned, "I want my Daddy."

Bradley kissed the inside of your knee and caressed your thigh until you shivered. "Want me to do what?" he crooned, leaning down to kiss your lips. You could still taste the icing from the wedding cake when you ran your tongue along his mustache, and even though you knew what you wanted, you still felt shy asking for it.

When Bradley reached back to gently take your shoes off and toss them aside, you whimpered his name. He worked the zipper down the side of your dress and helped you shimmy out of it, and then you had your legs spread before him in just your tiara and purple lingerie. He looked sinful in his suit pants with his erection bulging and his wedding band on his finger as he said, "You're my wife. You get anything you want. Especially when you're wearing this."

You coaxed him closer so he was on top of you, and his length was resting on your core as you whispered, "I want you to make me squirt."

He groaned as he got to work like it was absolutely at the top of the list of things he wanted, too. "My pleasure, Mrs. Bradshaw," he murmured against your lips, and you were already clenching as soon as his fingers tucked inside the front of your underwear.

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

Bradley let you be as loud as you wanted. In fact, he was trying his damndest to get you louder and louder. You were his wife now, and Noah was gone for the night. Skittles seemed to have retreated to the kitchen for some solace as Bradley buried his face in your ass and pussy, legs spread open wide and shaking.

You cried out, "Daddy," over and over again as he changed his tempo from luxuriously slow to rough and fast. You wanted to squirt? Well he wanted you to soak the fucking bedding until you were crying. Every time he looked up at your face, he saw the swell of your growing belly, and he couldn't stop himself from grinding his cock against the bedding.

"Fuck," he growled, watching the rings on your fingers as you grasped at the pillow beneath your head. He could tell you were getting close as he brought you to the edge and then let his pace slowly fade away one more time, and when he slipped two gentle fingers inside you while sucking on your clit, you screamed his name. You soaked his face and hand, and he was afraid he was going to cum in his suit pants as your thighs clamped around his head, riding him through your orgasm.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you panted, sitting up in a bit of a daze even as your legs went limp. Your tiara was crooked, and your makeup was smeared, and Bradley couldn't get enough of the sight of his sated, pregnant Princess. Your eyes met his, and you smiled through your daze, sitting there on the wet bedding with your left hand resting on your belly. Meanwhile Bradley was a different kind of mess, trying to get his zipper down and alleviate his aching cock.

"Let me help you," you whispered, putting your hands on his wet ones before taking over for him. "Want me to go down on you?"

Bradley shook his head as you eased his pants and underwear down his legs and took his cock in your hand. "Baby, I want to fuck you. It's our wedding night, and I want to be inside you."

A soft yet determined look settled on your face, and somehow he ended up sitting in the wet spot with you straddling his hips. You didn't seem to care that his forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat and that he wasn't going to last very long. You just sank down around him, rocking gently as he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you. Either of you."

"I know," you replied, kissing him and brushing his hair back from his face. "I know, Daddy." He came with you just like that, your lips and hands gentler on his body than any touch he'd ever known before you. Your voice as soothing as his favorite song. It was no wonder he was so in love with you. It was no wonder he and his son couldn't live without you.

After he got you cleaned up and carefully removed your tiara, you fell asleep in his arms as he reminded you that in a few days, you and he would be finding out the sex of the baby after you adopted Noah.

"You're already the best wife and Mommy. I can't wait for number two."

"I love you."

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

It's official! Bradley married his babysitter! Noah is on his way to officially having Princess as his Mommy, and we will learn more about the baby so soon! Two parts of this series left! Thanks for reading and interacting and making this so much fun to write! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

211 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 6 hours

Text

Split

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: You break up with Jake because his actions make you question everything you’ve had between you, but he wants you to take him back.

Notes/Warnings: angst and fluff, those cursing words. Mentions of sex, but not the real deal. You know what, I cannot for my life stick to my word count plans. I always end up with a thousand more words than I intended. See, this was something I was playing around with while I worked on the rest of my requests, and then the fic gods turned on me and made me flesh this out because they have no respect. Also, it’s not proofread.

Words: 2639

Keep reading

1K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 6 hours

Text

my biggest headcanon is that Rooster is unintentionally attracted to milfs

nobody can change my mind on my headcanons but this one... 😗👌

All of Me

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC/reader

When Reese Kerner finds herself bored at the beach on a rare day of R & R. Things get a lot more interesting when Jake runs into her (literally). One thing leads to another and they find themselves back at Jake’s for a steamy, fun filled night that leaves Jake wanting for more, but Reese isn’t sure, especially with her history. Will he be able to convince her?

Reese is 38 and Jake is 30…so this is an older woman (MILF)/younger man trope 😏🐆

*Just like everything else I write/post: this is for adults (18+ only). MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language.

Let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist!

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@buckysteveloki-me

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul504

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@shanimallina87

44 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 6 hours

Text

Yessss those boys love older women and you cannot convince me otherwise!!

All of Me

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC/reader

Reese is 38 and Jake is 30…so this is an older woman (MILF)/younger man trope 😏🐆

*Just like everything else I write/post: this is for adults (18+ only). MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language.

Let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist!

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@buckysteveloki-me

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul504

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@shanimallina87

44 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 8 hours

Text

Tailor Astarion!

13K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 9 hours

Text

I feel like it's a need at that point

should I get it, there's €10 of shipping fee but that won't stop me

#Danny ramirez #Danny boy #fanboy #mickey garcia #top gun #top gun maverick #falcon #Joaquin torres

9 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 9 hours

Text

I would suck the life out of that man from his dick like he's a capri sun and I'm very thirsty

489 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 9 hours

Text

is the moon knight fandom still alive

126 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 9 hours

Text

We have ascension at home ;)

909 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 10 hours

Text

Astarion’s simple plan

8K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 17 hours

Text

maybe kinda naïve and clumsy, but still affectionate and cute

Jake has golden retriever energy

So would Hayley have black cat energy or what? Ooh maybe she's also a golden retriever

10 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 18 hours

Text

Reading amazing fanfiction, then forgetting to bookmark it

459K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 18 hours

Text

red cat energy is the best after golden retriever energy

Jake has golden retriever energy

So would Hayley have black cat energy or what? Ooh maybe she's also a golden retriever

10 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 1 day

Text

it’s worth it, it’s divine

marc spector x afab!reader

summary: when hathor said she’d help give you a push, you weren’t expecting to have marc, khonshu’s avatar, moaning underneath you by the end of the night. but you certainly aren’t complaining.

a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from pinterest* YALL WHEN I GOT THIS IDEA, I KNEW I FUCKING HAD TO. is this a self-indulgent, highly niche concept? yes. but I also knew y’all would eat this shit up, so we’re going to enjoy this together. (partially inspired by marc calling layla baby in the finale, cause holy hell.) also, this is def canon divergent but it’s for the sake of the fic.

warnings: this shit rated: porn, lil' bit of plot in the beginning, +18, unprotected p in v, there’s the involvement of both khonshu and hathor but everything is consensual, mentions of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), cowgirl, they’re both a switch, size kink, spit kink, edging, LOTS of dirty talk, marc has a sundress kink, over stimulation, orgasm denial, creampie, mentions of ovulation and the full moon (which I equated to making them both extremely horny, if that makes sense?) oh uh…they also have sex in the great pyramid

word count: 6.2k (of pure smut babyy)

main m.list | moon knight m.list

join my taglist!

•••

You’re ovulating…

“…And that matters to me how?”

Hathor sighs dramatically, trailing behind you through the hall. The sand blocks form gradually around you, morphing and falling into place as you begin your descent into the pyramid.

It means that now is a perfect time, pardon my crudeness, for you to get laid. You haven’t had sex in months and because of that, you’ve been particularly annoying.

You stop dead in your tracks, turning a sharp heel at the goddess in shock. Grimacing at her, you watch her unwavering expression (because she really doesn’t care), before turning around with a huff and continuing on your way.

“I don’t remember part of our deal being you’d check up on my sex life, Hathor.”

What did you expect? I’m the goddess of fertility, women…pleasure. I’m just checking up on my avatar. You know, if you’d let me, I could help set you up with a suitor.

You groan. Hathor huffs deeply through her nose, her large snout making the noise that much louder, as she follows you into the main room. Quickly scanning the set-up of towering chairs, you note that not everyone has arrived yet (thankfully, because you really don’t need the other gods to listen in to this conversation) as you walk to your place. “For your information,” you bristle, “I get along just fine without you. I don’t need the goddess of love to help me.”

The fact that you haven’t had sex in months just proves that you, in fact, are not getting along fine.

“Fuck you,” you spit. Slumping in the granite chair, you look again at the other avatars. They’re all here now, silent and still in their seats; postures stoic and calm as they look forward to the middle of the room. They seem completely unbothered…indifferent like they haven’t been arguing with their avatars for the past half hour. That fact only irritates you more. You’re sure that all the gods are annoying in their own special ways, but you’re positive Horus doesn’t go off on his avatar for his abstinence.

So that’s just your luck.

And that’s when you realize, she hasn’t been talking to you. You realize that she’s gone. Hathor, much like the other gods, has disappeared into a cloud of sand and dust, meaning that from here on out they would be speaking through all of you.

It meant that everyone was here, and the meeting was about to begin.

It was definitely a weird sensation: feeling your body come to a stand-still as a voice, which isn’t yours, speaks to a room full of Ancient deities. And, it’s equally as weird watching others' eyes glow in the darkroom as they practically scream at each other. The humans, the avatars, on the other end are conscious yet not really present. All nine of your bodies are rendered into just that. Bodies. Nothing more, nothing less. Just conduits. Though, as you get settled in your seat—preparing yourself for the utter shit show that will be this Council gathering (because they always are)—you reason that you’re used to it now.

As annoying as it is to have the Egyptian goddess of women gab away about your cycles, you imagine that in comparison to the others, she’s probably the better one. At least the two of you can and do agree on most things. One of them is you both don’t really care for these meetings in any way. Hathor was a lot more civil; far more cool and collected than everyone else here. It's why she explained to you early on that she gave up trying to talk to the rest of them.

So, as other bodies were being continuously possessed, Hathor and you would just have conservations in your head. Other than when it was an important matter that she absolutely needed to give her opinion on, she was just as lost in the clouds as you were.

And that wasn’t all bad.

But today you just wanted her to possess you until the meeting was over. You didn’t want to give her the chance to talk to you about your sex life, or lack of it, anymore.

Because if you have to hear her say one more time that you’re fertile, you just might strangle yourself.

“Khonshu’s here,” you hear a voice—probably Osiris—whisper.

And that’s when he enters the room.

He no longer sports a look of confusion, as he’s far more accustomed to this entire operation. But, as he comes closer, and you are able to properly see the curve of his brow bone, it seems that he’s traded that confusion for something else. There’s an underlying intensity to him this time that you can’t quite pin. Dark brown eyes pass over everyone’s face until they’re stopping abruptly in your direction. You hold your breath. He keeps his gaze there for a few seconds before he’s forcibly dragging his eyes away from you, finding his place in the centre of the room.

Truly, the small interaction is harmless. It’s nothing to warrant a full-body reaction, regardless of the way you get light-headed.

But you assume Hathor has other plans. You don’t miss the way your spine straightens and the way your leg hooks itself over the other as your shoulders fall back. You feel yourself take slow, deep breaths and realize you are lightly puffing your chest out. The action feels involuntary, and you can’t imagine how ridiculous you look.

“What are you doing?”

What does it look like? Sending physical signals is how humans can tell whether or not someone is sexually interested in them.

“Who’s to say I’m interested in your friend's avatar like that?” You mumble.

Because I can sense your pulse. Your blood is boiling, —.

You let out your breath, shaking your head back and forth until you feel you’ve finally regained control of your body. Osiris then stands up, greets all of you, and turns his attention to Marc.

When your eyes trail down to the man in question, you don’t expect to meet his stare. But you do. And he clearly doesn’t care that you’ve caught him looking at you. He’s entirely unapologetic in the way he stares; sharp eyes roaming over your body nonchalantly before clenching his jaw and rolling his shoulders.

Good God.

Slowly, he gives his attention to your counterpart, as does everyone else in the room, but you can’t dare look away from him. He flexes his hand then. Whether it’s subconscious or intentional you don’t know. But regardless, you watch on as warm tanned skin tightens with each movement until the vein at his wrist is exposed to you.

You feel your entire lower half flutter at the action.

Told you so, Hathor purrs.

•

It’s like that for the entire meeting: Hathor drops the occasional comment, voice echoing in your thoughts as flashes of Marc naked subconsciously pass by your vision. Which, part of you is convinced she has something to do with that—a petty way to prove her point. To make you squirm as she distantly laughs at you.

You attempted multiple times to distract yourself. To focus on anything other than his booming voice, and the broadness of his shoulders. Except, every time you’ve managed to trick your brain into thinking about something—anything—else, her incessant voice comes back.

Oh yeah, you definitely need to get laid.

She taunts you in the way a best friend or a close cousin would. Usually, it can be actually quite endearing, but right now it just pisses you off. Because the way she taunts you now is her way of saying, you can’t lie to me. You can’t hide from me.

Unfortunately, the more you think about it though, the more you realize that the goddess isn’t entirely wrong. You can’t lie to her. You’ve been particularly high-strung lately. So much so, that any average human could tell your change in mood. It’s aggravating, to say the least, and part of it is in fact Marc’s fault.

This is the third council meeting he’s been forced to attend, so you have been able to talk to him. You talk to him quite frequently, actually. It all started out of the pity you felt for a guy who clearly was in way over his head. Before, during and after his visits the two of you would talk for a bit. About anything and everything. Sometimes you would talk to him in passing, and others would go on for more than an hour.

During the past couple of weeks, you came to realize how truly nice Marc was. He had some major issues to sort through, but still, he was kind. His smile was genuine, and that too was something you didn’t need to be a god or goddess to see.

Within this short time, you also came to the realization that you do like Marc and his company. You really do. But it’s because of all these factors and the way you’re so comfortable around him, that your current situation has become his fault.

Marc is to blame for your mess of emotions because everything he does is incredibly sexy. The man stares at you. All the time. Much like today, every time he walks into the pyramid, he looks at you. Whether that’s directly catching your eye as you pass each other, or him searching for the symbol of Hathor above your chair until he settled on you.

Strangely, the last two times he’s been in here, it almost seems as though he’s looking for you.

It’s a silly notion, but one that excites you. Because it’s true that you haven’t had sex in months. No one—other than your trusty vibrator—has piqued your interest, even remotely. So, yes, you have been quite lonely. Up until a couple weeks ago, that is, when Marc showed up in tight black jeans, and a tousled mess of black curls.

You nearly fainted at the sight of him.

But, it wasn’t until the second time you saw him when he remembered your name and purposely made conversation with you after the meeting, that made you want to touch yourself at the thought of him.

Although you wouldn’t be opposed to just shoving his hand in between your legs either.

Whatever comes first, you suppose.

“Hey,” Marc calls out to you. His voice snaps you out of your trance, and it’s at that point you’ve realized everyone has left.

Everyone except you and Marc. Your mind races at that thought.

You offer him a small smile in response.

This is your chance, —. Don’t fuck this up. You two better have sex because I can’t stand the sound of that fucking machine anymore.

Shut. Up.

You hold yourself back from verbally snapping at her as you stand to greet him in the middle of the steps. “How’s everything going with you?”

Really? That’s how we’re starting the conversation? On Horus’ eye, this has to be the most pathetic exchange I’ve ever heard. Just—just give me control. Just a little bit. Let me set this up for you.

Rolling your eyes, you pinch yourself in hopes she’ll feel it. Maybe then she’d get the idea to shut the fuck up.

She doesn’t.

“It’s going,” Marc says with a shrug, taking a final step between you. He towers over you, eyes cast down with that same intensity from earlier. But then his head is snapping to the space behind him and he nearly growls.

The sound shoots right down to your cunt.

“…Khonshu being a bitch?”

He laughs at that, bright white teeth flash beneath his smile. “When is he not.”

You laugh back at him until the air clears and becomes deathly silent. Something feels different. It’s not awkward, but not calm either. It feels…like trepidation. Like there’s a blockade that attempts to halt any further action either of you may consider. Except, that blockade does nothing to hinder the electricity between the two of you. It’s a tension that holds your body hostage: frozen in place with no sign of escape. Not that you would really want to. Because it’s such an addictive feeling.

He doesn’t say anything to further the conversation. He just stares. Like he always does. Deep-set eyes stuck on your face. He’s lost in his head, probably at the mercy of his god, yet he manages to still be very much focused on you.

Just kiss him. Do it. Do something for the love of—

Marc takes a hold of your hips and pulls you into his body as a large hand comes up to grip the back of your head. Gently tugging on your hair, he holds you there for a moment, almost as though he’s waiting for your permission to continue. The whole thing happens in seconds. But once your mind catches up with the rest of you, you slowly open your mouth, offering a gentle uptick of your lips to him. And that act alone gives him all the incentive he would need.

Still holding you in place, he slants his mouth against yours. Knuckles dig into your skull as he kisses you like a hungry animal.

Fucking finally.

The voice echoes in your head and you’re not too sure if it was you or Hathor, or both of you who had that thought. Not that it really matters. All you care about is your own reaction to him. How your body naturally opens itself to his presence; to the excitement of knowing what’s to come.

He groans into your mouth then, and you take note of how delicious the sound is. How it gives you goosebumps and makes your belly flip. Pulling him impossibly close to you by his belt loops, you walk back to your chair only stopping when you feel the cool granite. You gasp at the contact, which Marc takes to his advantage: jamming his tongue down your throat, as his other hand caresses your chin.

It’s an aggressive yet loving juxtaposition. One that ignites something deep within you and forces you to paw at him desperately. Your hands glide over his shoulders, abdomen, hip bones…anything that you can touch as his mouth moves over the hollow of your throat.

He bites at the skin there, then soothingly licks at it. You lean backward, forcing your hips into his. He laughs. “You’re a needy little one, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, Marc, just…”

He stops, stands back and looks at you directly in the eye. “Just…what? You gotta use your words if you want anything, honey…”

You pause then, and something in the back of your mind snaps you back into focus. “Who says you’re the one in control…honey.”

There’s a moment where his eyes widen, and confusion flutters across his face briefly until you’re spinning the two of you around. Pushing him into the seat, you slowly kneel down in between his legs.

You don’t miss his sharp inhale. Giving him the sweetest look you can muster, you pout in his direction. “You wanna fuck my mouth?” Your voice is just above a whisper, but it’s strong, and you can tell how much you’ve rendered him speechless. Taking your pointer finger, you drag it up from his knee to his inner thigh, running the pad of it in circles into the fabric. He gasps through his teeth sharply, trying to hide the way he adjusts himself.

You pause. Then, you grin. “You like that?” You’re humming softly as your fingers expertly work the zipper of his jeans. You hook your thumbs on the front of his jeans, urging him to lift his body so you can pull his pants down.

His chest heaves, and you sit there for a moment—eyes flickering between his half-lidded ones and the tantalizing growing bulge in front of you. He’s gorgeous. A beautiful sculpture of a man that makes you incredibly dizzy. And incredibly desperate to give him head. It’s when his eyes cast downward at you, that you take action.

You relieve him of his underwear, hyper-aware of the way he springs free and hits the lower part of his stomach. You take his shaft in your hand and he hisses. There’s a bit of precum there, leaking from the tip. You take that to your advantage and use it to pump him a couple times, before gently licking at his throbbing cock.

Slowly, you ease the rest of it into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you go, pressing your tongue to the underside of it until you find the vein there. He’s groaning again; head thrown back as he white knuckles the chair you sat in only moments ago.

Swirling your tongue around him, you begin to bob your head in time with each stutter of his breathing. Taking your free hand, you pump him from the base, fingers teasing the tuft of curls there until he bucks up into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles. Sweat drips down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt as he tries to steady his hips. “You keep doing that, I just might cum in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

His gravelly voice nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head. It takes everything in you—and you mean everything—not to touch yourself then and there. You reason you could do it, it would be easy to slip your fingers through your folds; to fuck yourself on your own hand as you suck him dry.

But it’s when he sits up and pushes you off of him with a loud pop and a tendril of spit hanging off your lip, that you realize you wouldn’t have the time.

He wipes your lip, spreading your spit along the rest of your mouth as he holds your chin in place. Standing up to meet him, you feel the heavy weight of his dick against your stomach. It makes you hyper-focused on him and him alone; makes your body tremble as his cock twitches against you. The sensation reminds you that if you continue, you’d be able to feel him twitch inside you. You moan at the thought.

“As much as I’d love to see my cum spilling out of your mouth, I would much rather see it spill out of somewhere else.” He suddenly presses a hard thumb into your slit and you jolt, quickly grabbing his arms.

As his one hand strokes you—rubbing and flicking, gliding and pinching—his free arm wraps itself around your waist, propping up your knee ever-so-slightly, offering him better access to your core.

His nose presses right under your chin as your jaw falls slack; permanently open in a silent moan as he continues his ministrations. His knuckles press themselves into your clit, while rogue fingers ghost your entrance. Every time he flicks his wrist, changes his pressure, or even inhales the remaining scent of you on your neck, you feel yourself clench at nothing. Knees shaking with every throb of your pussy.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You moan, the sudden change of both of your attitudes adding to the tightening sensation in the pit of your stomach.

His fingers speed up, forcing your entire lower half to vibrate. If he wasn’t holding you, completely supporting you with his body weight; with the mere size of him, you’d have fallen over. Without a doubt.

He stops suddenly, fingers pushed right into your swollen puffy lips. From what you can see through half-lidded eyes, his eyes are dark; set on you as the frown on his face deepens. You whimper as he keeps his hand still. “I asked you a fucking question.”

Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, nipples hardening every time they press against him. This is when you realize the dress you were wearing sits loosely at your hips, the entire top of it off; bra tossed somewhere with only your boobs exposed to his warm skin… It seems he’s lost his shirt as well.

“…When did you…?”

His finger plunges itself further, to the point where you feel a sharp pain as his nail pokes the sensitive flesh. “If you want us to stop that’s fine.”

“What? No, I…”

“Then answer the question, baby.” His warm lips wrap around the shell of your ear. “How does the goddess of love wanna be worshipped?”

You moan, rolling your hips against his hand. You don’t have the breadth, nor the voice to speak. But you’re close. So fucking close. You don’t want him to stop, you just want—need—him to continue.

But you especially want him lower. Want his head between your thighs and his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy.

You want him to the point where not even Hathor could break you out of your reality. To the point where she’d have to rip you off of him and physically drag you out of that goddamn pyramid.

You wonder where she is now.

Marc waits for a response. He knows you’ll speak, but he needs to hear you. He’s patient. Calculated. A cocky son of a bitch who wants to hear you beg. And you do. “Everywhere. Every way.” You pant out.

He smirks against your cheek. “Sounds fun.”

Letting go of his grip on you (much to your chagrin and the way you immediately ache for his fingers) he yanks the rest of your dress down. Then it’s his turn to kneel. To look up at you through thick eyelashes and admire your completely naked form.

Excitement sets in his glazed-over eyes as he brushes his lips and tongue over the bare skin of your stomach. Rough, calloused hands skim up the sides of your body until they fully encircle your boobs. He groans into the skin just below your belly button, fingers groping and kneading sensitive flesh.

“You’re fucking beautiful, ya know that? Been imagining this shit for weeks.” Another kiss, this time on your hip bone. Your pelvis lightly moves towards him, daring to reach that longed-for high that he denied you earlier. He plants a kiss on your other hip. “Been wanting to taste you ever since I saw you.”

In a flash he has you backed up against Hathor’s statue, left leg thrown over his shoulder as he dives in. That beautiful head of black curls you had fallen in love with on that first day, is now drenched in sweat as it nestles against your mound. And it makes you want to scream.

He takes your breath away instantly, tongue expertly moving against you: giving as much as taking. You are hypersensitive from the earlier assault of his fingers, so when he flattens his tongue against the area between your clit and your hole, your heel juts in between his shoulders.

That action incidentally forces him further into you, pushing his nose into the hooded part of your cunt. His eyes dart up to yours just in time to watch you let out a high-pitched moan; fingers weaving themselves through his hair, as your head falls back into the golden statue.

Meanwhile, your eyes find her sculpted ones as you look up. A laugh escapes you, though it sounds like it’s miles away. And she said you needed her help to get laid.

Like hell.

You were doing just fine. Just. Fucking. Fine.

Marc growls against you, and the vibration makes you snap. Sweat rolls down your forehead, vision going blurry as you aggressively fuck his face, holding him in place with the grip you have on his head. It’s coming. You feel it. That beautiful precipice.

You’re just…you’re right there.

Just--just a little…

He stops. You then feel a gust of cool air hit your hot cunt, and you frown at the man who sits on his knees, slick all over his nose and mouth. Dark brown eyes are blown as his lips glisten a bright red. The look, along with the way his dick stands painfully erect is torturous.

“Who said you could stop…” you grumble, throat sore and raw. He laughs, then drags two fingers through your folds, collecting some of your arousal. Standing up, he grips your head again—a wonderful habit he’s started—squeezes your cheeks until your mouth is open before shoving his fingers in.

Instinctually, you close your lips, cleaning his fingers as he slowly pulls them out to admire your work. “See how good you taste, baby? Fucking delicious.”

God, he makes you feral.

“I said,” you groan, licking your lips clean of anything that might’ve spilled out. “Who said you could stop?”

He leans down to you, so insanely close that you can smell yourself on him. He doesn’t even attempt to wipe his face. Just allows his chin to shine beneath the light of the torches and the open top of the pyramid. “I did,” he whispers. “Because the first time you cum, I want it to be on my cock.” He taps your lips absentmindedly. “Next time will be on my face. Promise.”

He grabs your hair and pushes it over your shoulder before taking a step forward. He has a plan. A very clear predetermined idea of how this exact moment is going to go down. But what he doesn’t know is you do too. Except you imagine your idea is far different from his.

You stop his efforts just when he uses his hand to brush his tip against the edge of your pussy. Splaying your palms on his shoulders, you push him down until he’s completely on his knees. He looks intrigued. Compliant in his actions as he settles himself. You make note of the little bed the two of you have made with the discarded clothing, and realize the two of you don’t have to go anywhere. Because this is perfect.

You’ll take him right here. Right now.

Lowering yourself to his level, you separate your legs until you’re straddling him. You don’t know what controls you in that very moment; what allows you to go slowly in the wake of your desire to just fucking cum already. To just grab hold and grind against him until you fall over the edge. But as you tease him, adjusting yourself in his grip as he flashes a wolffish grin, you realize that this is the reason. The tension. The build-up. You want him to submit to you. You want him to beg to fuck you after you’re done fucking him.

It drives you mad.

His hair falls in front of his eyes and you take the moment to tenderly brush it out of the way. He catches your wrist in midair, pulling it away from his head before placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

You smile at him. But then he shifts his hips and his cock slides along your incredibly wet seam, bringing you back to the current moment. “Fuck me,” he moans.

Grabbing hold of his hands, you place them on your chest before raising your pelvis until you’re just gliding along his shaft. Marc’s head falls backward with a particularly loud groan and you take the opportunity to suck at his collarbone. You move your hips back and forth slowly, spreading your slick all over him until he slips between you without much effort at all.

Your thighs tremble, and you nearly gush all over him at the heat of it all. He looks delirious, soft moans filling the empty room as he now grips the ground beneath the two of you.

You love him like this. Hard. Desperate. Aching for you.

He’s now the one to buck into you, trying to gain some other form of friction; a little more momentum to drive him to that release.

You leave open-mouthed kisses along his throat and jaw causing him to shudder beneath you. Your fingernails glide along his chest and down to his dick in continuous motions as he groans. Using your other hand, you shove him backward until he’s fully lying on his back. His jaw clenches; his eyes stay fixated on you and the way your chest heaves in anticipation. He waits. Albeit, he’s a little less patient than before.

And that’s when you think that you’re just as tired of waiting.

With your knees, you lift yourself up, just enough to guide his cock to your centre. You clench around the tip as it rests just…right there. And then, after what seems like hours, you’re sinking down on him.

You moan loudly, mouth wide open as you gasp for air. Your body adjusts to the feeling of being full; stuffed beyond capacity; beyond what you thought was possible.

Your hands, in an effort to brace yourself, set themselves on his lower abdomen while his hands end up finding the dip of your hip and the curve of your ass.

And then you’re moving. You start off slow as you get used to the feeling of him and the way you nearly lift off of him entirely before dropping yourself back on his cock. There’s a nagging heavy drag of the particular vein along the underside of his dick that runs over your velvety walls. The feeling robs you of any cohesive thought and instructs you to continue further. To feel the way he throbs inside you.

“Fuck, —, you—so fucking tight.” Marc grunts as you pick up your pace. You’ve begun to swivel your hips; alternating in different patterns as you ride him.

You’re both in the midst of testing the waters of what turns you on and what makes you just want to fuck him into oblivion. On a particular move, when your pelvis rolls forward and your clit rubs against the base of his shaft and the bit of hair there, your nails dig into him. He growls at you as his hands tighten their grip on your ass. “Such a tight. Fucking. Pussy,” he growls through gritted teeth.

And that’s when the proverbial match is lit.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire; burning up like an object re-entering the atmosphere. His touch scorches you, and his voice goads you on. Leaning backward, you grab ahold of his thighs and then start bouncing. Your moans have quickly turned into whimpers and breathy cries as your cunt sucks him in further.

At this point, Marc has equal control as you. He aides your hips in their steady, fast-paced rhythm, lifting his to meet yours. You’re not too sure if you’re still the one riding him, or if he’s just thrusting up into you. But at this point, you don’t care. Because your brain feels like mush. The only thing taking up residence in your thoughts is the sound of skin slapping against skin and the squelching of him fucking through your wetness. All of it, mixed with Marc’s raspy voice, makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You’re so pent-up. So ready to finally cum because of someone and not something. To cum on Marc instead of your fucking vibrator.

You reason that if you were lucky enough, you would fuck him daily. Because this?

This was your field of reeds.

You’re so caught up in the way that coil tightens with each snap of his hips, that you hardly notice you’ve relinquished your power to him. He’s sitting up again, mumbling over and over in your ear: “fuck you feel so good. So good for me, honey.” He has your arms placed carefully around his neck as one hand sits in the middle of your back, and the other guides you’re ass up and down.

He’s moving at such a rapid speed, that you can’t keep up with anything. Your whole body feels numb as his cock moves in and out of you. In all honesty, you feel like you’re on the ancestral plane. Like you’re looking at yourself from the outside; like you can’t comprehend what is currently happening other than how fucking good your body feels.

“Fuck, Marc.” You cry. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard.”

And it’s at that particular snap of his hips you let out a moan that even shocks you. You’ve never heard that come out of your mouth once before, in any scenario. But, then again, no one else, not even your collection of toys has touched that inner part of you before.

He’s practically hitting your cervix. In your measly attempt to try and still maintain dominance—to fervently ride him—you had shifted your knees further apart which only allowed for his cock to kiss the innermost point of you. “Right there…” you almost don’t recognize yourself or if you had even said anything. If it was all in your head or if you spoke it into existence.

Nonetheless, Marc listens to your reaction. Reevaluating his situation, he slams his hips up again, and when you nearly scream, he smirks to himself.

“You feel that, baby?” He’s unrelenting in his pace, rapid calculated thrusts as he continues piercing you on his cock. He takes your wrist and holds your hand right above your cunt near your navel. “You feel me, huh? Feel me right there?” Another snap. Another cry. “I’m so fucking deep, baby. Just—“ he grunts. “Just fucking up right into you. Bet no one else can do that. No one else fucks you this good. God, you’re gonna feel me for weeks.”

You do feel him in your stomach, fucking you with everything he has; splitting you in half as you hold on for dear life.

The tears are streaming down your face now; pooling at the base of your neck. You sniffle. “Please, Marc… I’m so fucking close.”

“I know, honey.” His fingers begin to slip as his hips gradually become sloppier. He’s losing his rhythm and you feel the way his cock bulges inside you.

He’s gonna cum. And fuck so are you.

Except, if you just let go—

“No.” He growls in your ear as he drives you down on his hips. “You aren’t fucking coming without me, got it?”

His demand is aggressive, and though it should deter you, it does the exact opposite. It just pulls even harder on the end of the rope that ties itself in knots.

“Marc…” you whine.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair he yanks your head backwards until your eyes are directly in line with the open sky a couple hundred feet above you. “I’m right there, baby. Just—hold on for just a little bit longer. I know you can. You’re a good girl.” Another harsh thrust. “You can do it.”

You shake your head rapidly. “Fucking wait.” He spits, paying his attention to where your bodies connect; on how red and angry and fucking wet his cock is as it pistons into you.

Your hands flail, grasping onto anything they can, as you hold your orgasm in. Biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, you try to steady your breathing. He told you to wait. But fuck, you don’t think you can. Because you really are right there. That deliciously painful knot is so taut, that it threatens to rip itself apart at the thread.

“Fuck, Marc!” With a quick repositioning of his hold on you, he slams your hips down onto his, holding you down as he lets loose inside you.

His thrusts are erratic and messy as he groans. “Come on, pretty girl. Go ahead. Cum.”

It’s that sole command that opens the gates. The coil, on cue, snaps and you scream. It’s a blood-curdling, wall-shaking scream that echoes throughout the pyramid. The sound is so loud, you’re sure that half of Cairo can hear you; can hear you being fucked silly by Marc fucking Spector. The pounding of blood in your ears goes away as the upper half of your body falls backwards. Knees lock around Marc as your sight goes white.

With a loud groan, Marc takes hold of your body, flips you over so that you’re on your back, then fucks you through his own orgasm. Your walls squeeze him as he cums, fluttering around his throbbing cock as he stuffs himself into you.

You can feel the warmth in your lower half, regardless of all your senses having disappeared. Marc spills into you, slowly fucking his seed further into you as he comes down from his high.

The edges of your vision slowly dissipate back into the same indigo colour as the desert sky. It’s a beautiful sight that adorns the top of the pyramid and helps guide you through the final waves of your orgasm. The full moon glitters against the backdrop of stars (though you’re convinced your high added a couple extra white dots), and radiates downward.

Marc falls on top of you, his hot breath trailing over your shoulder and neck as he presses kisses to the area beneath your ear. His hands run tenderly all across the skin of your body, much like he’s stuck in a trance. A product of your shared euphoria—too caught up in the strength of your orgasms to truly understand what you’re doing, what you’re saying or thinking.

Your head then lolls to the side, only to see Hathor walk into the main room through the far corner doorway.

She stands there and looks at you, with her hands on her hips and a devilish smile on her face

Took you long enough.

•••

Moon Knight Taglist (+18)

@amaragray @izzy-laufeyson @eclecticlokibytomhiddleston @bitch-please-i-am-lucifer @bibli0thecary @a-certified-whore @gummywurme @superfanmixromancepony @theartofteendays @butterflyslys @timothee-nook @piratewannabe1013 @themadhatt3risbored @23victoria @nikitawolfxo @bookfrog242 @markijackson @kaqua @jekaelemen @lukespatterson @theamuz @lokisnumber1whore @anthonys-viscountess @loudlibrary @tillthetimecomesalong @avengers-bucky @lewickedgal @spectorfilms @stevestevesteveiheartsteve @dopeqff @lolitstiana @serrendiipty @bunnyrabbit-01 @justanotherkpopstanlol @chaoticevilbakugo

5K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 1 day

Text

first time (18+)

Pairing: Steven Grant x afab!Reader

Warnings: SMUT; sub!virgin!Steven, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, handjob, kissing.

“This is you, yeah?” Steven scratched the back of his neck a little nervously, thumb pointing to the door of your apartment complex.

The date he had so nervously invited you on was the most fun you’d had in ages. While Steven could have pointed out a million things he thought he did wrong, you thought he was adorable in all his antics. Conversation flowed without any stupid small talk, he made you laugh without trying to, and he even brought you two different flower bouquets because he wasn’t sure which ones you’d like more.

He was so sweet, insisting on walking you home after dinner even though the restaurant you went to was around the corner from your place. You took his hand in yours when the two of you left the restaurant, knowing he’d be to nervous to do it himself.

This wasn’t the first time you’d gone out with Steven. He’d been harboring a debilitating crush on you for all six months that you’d been working with him, holding himself back from asking you out or kissing you after every platonic lunch or dinner spent together.

Steven’s big, beautiful brain almost melted when you kissed him after getting ice cream after work a few days ago. He’d been glancing down at your lips the entire time you’d been eating, mesmerized by how they looked shining with the sugary dessert. And then all of a sudden you were leaning over, holding his cheek and kissing him so softly, like he was a million dollar artifact in the museum you were both growing to hate.

Steven had gone red all over, eyes casting down to your lap before muttering out a shy, “Thank you.”

You had giggled and brushed a stray curl off of his forehead to ease his worried eyes, “Figured I’d be waiting another six months if I didn’t kiss you right away.”

Standing in front of your building tonight, he was giving you those same worried eyes again. His hand was still in yours and you reached over to grab his other one as well, weaving your fingers through his and swinging your joined hands for a moment, “Do you want to come up for a drink or something?”

Steven’s eyes glimmered with a sort of anxious excitement for a moment, “Yeah- ‘course.”

You gave his left hand a gentle squeeze and smiled, pulling him up to your flat. He stumbled behind you, forever amazed by your ability to make the simplest activities feel like an adventure. When you led him inside, he calmed down a little bit, the familiarity of your home comforting him. Everything inside it was so you and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Slipping your coat and shoes off, you went into the kitchen to check on what alcohol you had, “I’ve got wine, whiskey, tequila, you name it.”

Steven sat down at the kitchen island, hair a little disheveled from when he pulled his sweater off upon entering. Your heart ached with how beautiful he looked, nodding in response to his answer of “Wine’s good” but barely registering it. How could you when he was sitting before you like this - big eyes following your hands as they poured the wine, cheeks and lips a little pink from warming up inside your apartment.

Getting the job at the museum turned out to be the best decision you had made in years, if not your life. You were falling hard for Steven, but it wasn’t as scary as it seemed to be in the past.

You handed him his glass and clinked yours to his gently, “To bitchy bosses?”

He laughed softly and nodded, “To bitchy bosses — For bringing us together.”

You took your sip and settled into your chair next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours gently, “Heard you stand your ground with her today, by the way. Proud of you, y’know?”

The small praise made him melt into the chair a little more, “It’s the beginning of a revolution, I think. We could make the whole museum ours, yea?”

Giggling into your glass, you nursed it in your hands and looked over at Steven as he turned in his seat to face you better. The tension between the two of you was always so high, no matter how much you laughed together or how much time you spent alone, there was always a burning tension that made it almost impossible for you to think clearly with him around.

His glass was on the counter, eyes scanning your face that slightly anxious way again before he laughed at himself quietly, hands coming up to smooth over his face.

“Christ — I thought it would be easier to kiss you myself this time, but I don’t- I don’t quite know where to start.”

You bit back a smile, delighted that he was fighting the urge to kiss you just as much as you were. You set your glass aside and took his hand, pulling him closer, “C’mere.”

Steven got off the high chair and stepped to stand between your legs, still taller than you. He felt you guide his hand to your cheek and leave it there, bringing your own two hands to his neck. You leaned your forehead against his, “It’s just me, Steven.”

He thought he was going to pass out. You were so close and so warm and he could even smell the remnants of the coconut lotion you’d put on earlier. He gathered his thoughts after a moment and nodded, nuzzling his nose against yours before pressing the softest kiss to your lips.

You were just about to say something when he kissed you once more, a little deeper this time, his hand on your cheek tilting your head the way he needed it to kiss you the way he wanted. One of your hands played with the curls at the nape of his neck and you smiled into the kiss, pulling him closer.

Finally. Steven was finally breaking out of his shell and his kiss made it hard not to grab his hand and pull him up to your bedroom immediately. You could tell he still needed your guidance, so you licked at his bottom lip gently, waiting until he opened his mouth to you with a soft groan. It was downright embarrassing how his groan went straight to your core, but you powered through and worked your tongue into the kiss, absolutely hooked on his taste.

The way his free hand hung at his side shyly was adorable and so very Steven of him, and you reached down to find it and place it on your waist gently. Coming up for air, you looked down at his hand and encouraged him to let it travel across your skin, “You can touch me, love. It’s okay.”

His eyes barely opened when you parted and he just nodded, pulling you in again and letting his hand barely wander down to the crease of your hip, giving it a small squeeze. Something about the shyness of it all made you feel like a teenager again and you smiled into the kiss as your hands traveled down his back, resting just over his ass until he gave his permission.

Steven hummed in approval and you brought your hands down to give his surprisingly full ass a playful squeeze, making both of you smile into the kiss, so much that your lips broke apart.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” You giggled and he quirked a brow, “Yeah?”

You gave him a soft “mhm” as you kissed across his cheek slowly, stopping to place a special kiss on that dimple that formed in response to your kisses. Taking a bit of a leap, you led a trail of slow kisses over his jaw and just below his ear, feeling his pulse thump faster and his breaths get a little shaky.

Steven’s reaction to all of your ministrations was unbearably hot, but you had a feeling it had been a while since he’d been touched like this, so you didn’t want to push him. When your lips slowly made their way down his neck and found a spot that made him whine, you almost lost it.

You pulled back a little bit and tipped his chin down to look at him, that warmth pooling at your center again when you saw his swollen lips and messy hair.

“Steven,” You panted, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes, “How long has it been since- since you’ve been touched like this?”

He was so eager with you, yet so shy — you were scared to even look down between the two of you to see if his arousal was evident. You didn’t want to make him any more anxious.

“Um- Never..” He rasped out, his gaze falling in embarrassment and your brows furrowed as you brought him back to you with your finger under his chin, “Hey, that’s ok, you know?”

You stroked his clean shaven cheek with your thumb, “So you’ve never-”

“Nope.”

It was hard to find your next words because, of course, it didn’t matter to you that he was a virgin, but you didn’t know whether he wanted to take any new steps today — any more than he’d already taken. You didn’t want to overwhelm him.

“Do you want to, um - keep going?” Were the very unceremonious words you chose and you slapped yourself mentally for them.

Steven laughed under his breath and nodded, leaning in and nudging you with his nose until his lips found yours again. You indulged him for a moment, but pulled away to look up at him again, “Let’s move to the couch?”

He only nodded and rushed over to the couch with you, barely registering the way you fell into his lap until he felt the grounding weight of you against his thighs and your lips on his again.

And the sounds- God, the sounds he was making were enough to make you lose your mind. Every kiss, every accidental rock of your hips against his pulled the softest little moan or sigh out of him. You could feel him growing in his slacks and you wanted nothing more than to get on your knees for him, but you were going to take this slow.

You sat up a little higher in his lap and rolled your hips against his slowly, mumbling a soft, “Is this okay?”

Steven nodded immediately, mewling into the kiss. He was obviously trying to hold back his noises a little, but no matter how hard he tried they still found a way out. His hands were holding onto you just below your breasts, thumbs brushing over your ribcage every few moments.

Your lips traveled down his jaw again, stopping to nibble at his earlobe, “Do you want my shirt off, Steven?”

He groaned at the feeling and breathed out, “Please,” to which you smiled and guided your hands to the hem of your shirt, “Go ahead, baby.”

The pet name made Steven’s heart clench and he tugged your shirt over your head, laughing with you when it got caught on your head for a moment. His gaze fell to your body and he looked devastated for a moment before he leaned down to press kisses to your collarbones and the swell of your breasts, “You’re so beautiful, love.”

Weaving your fingers through his curls, you held him close to your chest, letting him explore however he wanted to. His hands were everywhere and pressed you impossibly closer to his body, trying to relieve the ache at both of your cores. You felt him grind up against you clumsily and smiled, kissing his forehead to get his attention, “Steven.”

He was lost in his suckles to your shoulder, completely enamored in watching those pretty marks bloom from your skin when he sucked and nibbled just enough.

“Steven,” you repeated and gave his hair the gentlest of tugs, to which he groaned softly, lifting his head to look at you, “Yea- um, yes, what’s up?”

You giggled and pushed a curl behind his ear, “You’re hard, baby.” Before you got a chance to continue, he was already blushing and looking anywhere but your eyes, but you kissed him to bring back, “Do you want to stop or do you want to keep going?”

He let out a deep breath, “Keep going, please.”

Smiling softly, you sat back on his thighs and played with the hem of his button down, “Can I take this off?”

He nodded immediately and his eyes flickered over every new part of you that he was seeing as you unbuttoned his shirt. You swallowed, trying to keep your arousal at bay. He was gorgeous, his body the perfect balance between muscle and softness — absolutely beautiful.

Steven’s arms, which you rarely got to see under his oversized shirts and sweaters, were big and his chest had you immediately reaching to cup his pecs. You gave them a soft squeeze as you leaned in to kiss him again, letting your hands drift over his torso, touching him everywhere you could and eventually leading lower to the buckle of his pants.

He didn’t want to stop kissing you, so he just nodded when your hands hesitated over his pants. The tips of your fingers brushed over the tent in his pants, going slow so you wouldn’t overwhelm him, but he was already sighing into the kiss. Slipping out of his lap, you settled pressed up against side, still kissing him as you started to slowly palm his growing bulge.

“Christ- You’re gonna kill me,” Steven joked against your lips and you smiled, adding a little more pressure and watching his jaw go slack.

You didn’t want to kiss him, you were too engrossed in his reactions to every new thing you were doing to him. When your hand left his crotch to squeeze and skim at his thighs, he almost lost it, “Please.. Please don’t tease.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop teasing,” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Can I take the rest of this off?”

He was nodding immediately, reaching down and helping you take off his slacks and boxers in one go. His length slapped up against the softness of his stomach and you let out a breath, “Fuck- Steven, you’re so pretty.”

Before he had the chance to get anxious about himself, you kissed him deeply, holding the back of his head to control the kiss now more than ever. Your free hand found his cock, wrapping around him and just holding him for a moment. He was shaking beneath you already, so you pulled out of the kiss to calm him down, “Take a breath, sweetie. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours, taking a deep breath and barely mumbling out, “Just doesn’t feel real, is all.”

The affection laced in his words made you smile and you slowly twisted your hand around him, “Just focus on how it feels, baby. Don’t think about anything else.”

Steven nodded, his face falling into the crook of your neck with a groan. You began a steady rhythm, stroking the entire length of him and tightening your hand slightly around his tip, which pulled the prettiest sound out of him.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” You praised him, noting how much he enjoyed that and your control over him.

He was really letting go for you, not letting any of his anxiety or work trouble get in the way of being present with you. When his hips started bucking up off the couch, you nipped at his neck, “Stay still for me, Steven.”

Immediately, he nodded and dropped his hips back down, making you practically gawk at how eager he was to follow your instructions. You tilted his head up out of your neck to look at him, giving his parted lips a soft kiss and mumbling the quietest “good boy”. Steven whimpered at your words and held his hips back from thrusting up, “I’m — shit, I’m gonna..”

You held his jaw in your hand, your thumb stroking the softness of his lower lip, “That’s okay, sweetie. Just let go.”

He kissed the tip of your thumb gently, eyes falling closed as his breath hitched and his abdomen tightened up, soft moans falling from him in a continuous stream as he came in short spurts all over his chest and your hand.

You slowed your hand to a stop once he was done and it got to be too much, smiling when you saw the way his whole body was melted into your couch. You pressed a soft kiss to his chin as he muttered his quiet “thank you”, kissing down his neck and chest to clean up his mess.

“Christ- Love, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Steven laughed.

Coming up to kiss him gently, you held his face close and he looked up into your eyes, “I- I wanna make you feel good too. Show me how, please?”

As much as you wanted to resist him and make it all about him tonight, you’d been staring at his hands for months now, watching him scan hundreds of stupid plush toys and write down all kinds of stuff for inventory. The sheer thought of his fingers inside you sent another gush of heat to your core, one you weren’t sure you could ignore for another second.

You got up off his lap and pulled the rest of your clothes off, his reaction to the new skin making it impossible to be self conscious.

“My gods, you- Even Hathor doesn’t compare to you,” Steven mumbled, pulling you back into his lap and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the span of your breasts. He could feel the heat of you against him now and it was making him feral, his cock already beginning to harden again.

You smiled into his hair, bathing in all of the affection he was giving you. Finding his hand on your thigh, you took it in yours and guided it to your center, gasping at the feeling of his fingers running through you. He dipped a finger just barely inside you and gathered some of your slick, bringing it up to your clit and rubbing a few hesitant circles.

Groaning into his hair, you held his hand there, encouraging him to keep going. Steven looked up from between your breasts, “Like that?“, and you nodded quickly, “Y-Yeah, just like that, baby.”

He couldn’t believe how wet you were, practically dripping down your thighs. After a minute, you reached down and guided his two fingers down a little bit, settling yourself over them until they were inside you. You wanted to scream — it was overwhelming to finally have them inside you. They were thicker and longer than yours, the callouses from turning all those book pages rubbing at you perfectly.

You hugged his shoulders, burying your face in his neck and crying out quietly at the pressure building in your stomach, “Baby- I-I want you inside. If you’re not ready, that’s okay but- fuck..”

Steven nodded quickly, “I’m ready.”

That was all you needed. You raised your hips up, giving him a chance to pull his fingers out of you while you grasped his length gently, lining yourself up with him. He gave you another nod and you sank down onto him slowly, giving him a chance to breathe through the new feeling.

When he was finally settled inside you, his lips brushed yours and you looked down at him, his brows tied together and eyes closed. He was always beautiful, but right now, with his body completely relaxed and his face screwed up in pleasure, he was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him.

Pushing that stray curl off of his forehead, you started rolling your hips slowly, reveling in the sounds he made as soon as you did. His full lips were parted in a silent moan and he was trying so hard not to buck up into you, trying to be as good possible.

Speeding up just a little bit, you leaned down and found that spot on his neck again, biting and sucking gently until a dark, possessive mark bloomed there. You wanted everyone to know that sweet, shy Steven was all yours. And you were his. The mere thought of being anyone else’s ever again didn’t make sense anymore.

Steven’s breaths were picking up quickly and he didn’t have the capacity to hold his head up anymore, letting it fall back into the couch. You brought a hand up behind his neck and pulled him back to you to kiss him.

“You can let go, baby. I’m close too, it’s okay,” you whispered and he hummed his reply, his grip on your hips tightening.

The two of you only lasted a few more thrusts before you fell over the edge, gasping from the intensity of it all. Steven held onto you, letting his head fall back again with a silent moan.

He was completely spent, his body limp on the couch below you, gasping like he had just run a marathon. You hugged his neck, rubbing your nose against his soft skin and smiling when you could feel his pulse thumping away.

“You still with me?” You joked, and he laughed tiredly below you, raising his head and nuzzling your cheek,

“Just barely.”

1K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 1 day

Text

Puzzles

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!Reader (mention of Marc Spector x fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x fem!Reader)

Fic Type: Drabble

Summary: Steven’s not rough with you, like Marc or Jake. He’s more… Reserved. But he will wreck your shit if you ask nicely.

A/N: So yes this is fluffy Steven smut. No I cannot be stopped and no it is not a part of Red Handed.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW under the cut, softdom!Steven, sub?Reader, riding, missionary, edging, orgasm denial, squirting, breeding kink, trying for a baby, pregnancy, mention of marathon sex??? I think that’s it???

Steven Grant was a master of puzzles.

Jigsaws he solved within a matter of hours, if that. You’d long since stopped trying to keep track of his 3000-or-more-piece puzzles, always Egyptian-themed, that he’d clear a table for, finish in record time, and then break it up and put it away before reaching for the next one.

Escape rooms? You figured when you introduced him to the random little escape room app on your phone that he’d be just as stumped as you were. Instead, ten minutes later, he asked you how he gets to the next world. “Steven,” You breathed in astonishment. “You… You beat the fucking game?!” I think it’s a given to say that he’d also completely owned your consoles when you showed him puzzle-based games like Skyrim or Zelda.

Jenga, Ka-Plunk, DnD, hell, even Clue, he blew your mind with how quickly puzzles were solved by his hands. Incomprehensible, astounding, holy fucking shit your boyfriend is a genius.

Specifically, one of them in particular.

His Rubik’s cube.

The way he moved those goddamn fingers, those fingers that he could bend and flick and curl expertly against you and in you when you needed him too. Those hands alone could make you see stars if he was really intent on doing so.

He hated it when he had to use both hands for the Rubik’s cube. So he oiled it, ensuring that it flipped and moved with the smallest of touches, one-handed. Shk, shk, shk, he’d already solved it twice while you were watching, restarting the process when you asked him that one simple question. “Just one more time, love. Three times, then I’m all yours, yeah?” His soft voice was deeper, huskier, a little out-of-focus because of how deeply he was concentrating– not that you could tell he was. He looked calm, serene… but calculating. Deep in thought.

You were the puzzle this time.

“S-Steven, please–”

“Just a little bit longer, love.” He tossed the cube up in the air in front of your face, just being a showoff at this point.

Two weeks ago, you’d started talking about raising a family together. At first it had just been uncertain questions, but then you’d started looking into schools nearby, making lists of baby names, adopting a healthier diet, and going to the doctor. Steven was more determined to get you pregnant than you’d expected, tracking your cycles and ovulation periods– hence why he’d made you take a week off work. He’d seemed a bit nervous when he admitted that he called in for you. “Well, love… you’re ovulating now, yeah? I figured now’s a better time than any to–” You’d never heard the end of that sentence, having immediately dragged him to the bed.

But now there wasn’t an equal flow, like there usually was.

“Don’t cum until I say you can, dove. You can do that, yeah? Can you be a good girl for me?”

He’d laid back, helping you straddle his lap and sink down on his thick cock; it was then you’d realized that he hadn’t cum earlier, that he was holding off, maybe hoping an extremely powerful orgasm might be what it takes to knock you up. You were a puzzle he needed to solve, so like always when he focused intensely, you didn’t even begin to understand what he might be thinking.

He hadn’t thrust up into you, although he had allowed you to roll your hips, bounce on his length, do whatever you want at whatever pace you wanted– there were only three rules. You couldn’t touch yourself, you couldn’t cum, and you had to keep your hands on his stomach so he knew you weren’t cheating in your blissed-out state.

Slowly, his dark chocolate eyes trailed from the Rubik’s cube to your red, sweaty face. “S-Steven… Please, please…”

You found it. Right there. That spot where you can easily drive to your ecstasy. Maybe Steven won’t notice if you cum. Maybe he’ll let it slide. But he knew your body better than you did, and when you started to speed up the rocking of your hips, Steven’s free hand flew to your waist, effectively stopping your impending orgasm. “Steeeevvennn,” You whined, reduced to a blubbering mess of begging to barter for your release. Your approaching euphoria was ripped from you, descending rapidly into a cold pit of roiling tension in your lower belly.

Steven’s hand crawled up your side, brushing painfully close to your breast without touching it and running up the length of your neck. He stopped at your mouth, fingers expertly running over your top and bottom lip gently. “Sh, dove,” He said, all but absentminded as you tried to fuck yourself without fucking yourself on him, “Almost there.”

He slipped his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck on them. You swirled your tongue and bobbed your head, using the same movements as you would when sucking him off, but aside from briefly glancing to your face, he gave no reaction to indicate that it was turning him on at all. His cock barely twitched inside you, and you weren’t entirely certain if he just had that good self-control, or if you’d gone numb from the waist down from fucking like rabbits all day in any position and location possible in your flat.

Finally– finally– he removed his fingers and twisted to toss the Rubik’s cube onto the nightstand, unintentionally shifting himself deeper inside of you, if possible, and eliciting a moan from you; yep, you could still definitely feel everything down there. If anything, you were over-sensitive, rather than under. He stared up at you with admiration and a small smile, massaging your thighs. “You did so well for me, dove. You ready to cum?”

If it were only possible, you would have cum right then. “Yes, please yes!” Maybe in the morning you’d be a little embarrassed about how easily you begged, and so quickly, too– but you had little time to think about it. Effortlessly, Steven rolled you both over so that he was on top, between your legs and still buried deep inside you– maybe even deeper, oh god, you can’t take it–

Steven’s gentle kiss on your forehead was nothing compared to the sheer intensity of how hard he pistoned his hips into you, the head of his cock bumping your cervix and almost making you scream. “Let it out, darling,” Steven urged, “I like to hear you. Please, love?” He punctuated the question with an open-mouthed, heavy kiss on your pulse point right under your jaw, and this time you didn’t hold back. Your wail of pleasure drowned out his soft moans and gasps as he panted for air. Sweat glistened silver on his tawny skin, dripping from his nose, his hair, the chain necklace he wore– gently, you tugged on it, and Steven’s hands flew to yours. He entwined your fingers together before pinning them on either side of your head, driving deeper, faster, harder, until you can’t breathe, you can’t see, there’s only Steven, who kisses you passionately as his thrusts falter. “You can cum now darling,” He breathed into your mouth, moaning as you screamed his name loudly enough to hurt your throat. You soaked the bed, him, hell, you wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole flat was soaked. You’d never squirted before with him, and you wondered if it was what he’d been planning for.

Steven came with a cry, finishing as deep as he possibly could– a part of you thought he must have shot himself directly into your womb. He let go of your hands, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he held you close, trying to catch his breath. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, wincing as his hips rocked of their own accord in the aftershocks of his high. “Can you keep it all in for me when I pull out, dove? We’ve gotta make sure every drop has a chance, darling, every drop.” His hand rested pointedly on your stomach, making you smile and nod frantically.

When you shivered, he immediately reached for a nearby blanket, carefully pulling out of you and ensuring you were warm enough before moving away. When he came back, he very gently cleaned you up before moving you to a hot bath, letting you lay there while he changed the sheets. Before you could even think of moving from the tub, Steven returned carrying his comfiest hoodie and sweatpants he knew you liked to wear, along with a snack oh-so-typical of Steven.

“Are those… cookies?”

“Oatmeal cookies,” He specified, sitting on the edge of the tub and carefully handing you your plate. “With raisins. Better for you and the baby, innit?”

You flushed up to your hairline, touched by the gesture. “Honey, we don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet.”

“You will be,” Steven said excitedly, setting the milk (yes, he even brought you milk) on the sink so that he could kneel on the outside of the tub, staring at you fondly with his chin resting on the edge. He caressed your face, smiling when you leaned into him to press your foreheads together. “We’re gonna get you pregnant this week, love, I can feel it.” He kissed you softly, before his face contorted thoughtfully as he pulled slowly away.

“Steven?”

“Orange juice,” He said, abruptly standing.

“Huh?!”

He grabbed the glass of milk on his way out of the bathroom. “Orange juice is better than milk, right? Or, maybe not? Maybe they’re equal? You wouldn’t want them at once, love, so; orange juice, yeah, and a banana? I’ll just drink the milk then, don’t wanna waste it, and I’m not sure if I could pour it back into the container without makin’ a bloody mess…”

You listened to his rambling move about the flat as you nibbled on your cookies, smiling to yourself. You and Steven wanted this baby more than anything; and you wanted it even more since Marc and Jake were both scared but excited at the prospect. You looked at baby clothes together, you had everything planned out, and now you were finally, actually trying without any kind of protection to conceive.

Steven may have planned the week, but they were all so sweet, so supportive, so protective, ensuring that you eat right, drink right, sleep right, rest, bathe–

–and you loved them with all your heart.

The next morning, when you were making the bed, you found his Rubik’s cube half-finished on the nightstand. A smile made its way onto your face as you realized he’d never completed the puzzle last night in favor of completing you.

A couple weeks later, when you and Steven read the positive results of the pregnancy test, you realize, amidst all the cheering and hugging and crying, that with all of his planning, trying to get you pregnant was yet another puzzle he had solved, effortlessly.

With the help of Marc and Jake, of course.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! :3

Tags: @dameronsknight @sylkisdagger @atzlena @gucciboots @pastel-0-princess @poeticsorcery @rosaren2498 @love-on-the-murder-scene @wintergirlsoilder2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @multifandomsw @bookloverfilmoholic @khaotic-kris @hb8301 @soggumm @simonsbluee @adamcarlsenslvr @bluestuesday @magnet-girl @rosellacwrites @dweeb-central @ilymorepls @drwhofangirl1963 @loonymagizoologist @auszimbo @tealrivers @laters-gators12 @izbelross @xcatnapsx @child-of-the-moon-gods @djarinsgirl27 @sokoviansorceress @eerievixen @cold-buffet-ham @upbeat-cascade @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog @candydancey @rqmanoff @jakelcckley @sharin4readers @lovely-cryptid @marc-spectorr @rmoonstoner @oscarisaacsspit @marc-spectorr @lovely-cryptid

3K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 1 day

Text

Gift of Min

Summary: Marc brings back a trinket from his trip that may or may not contain an ancient sex god/aphrodisiac. Either way, Marc's not telling, and it's for you and Steven to find out.

Content: Explicit (like whoa), sex pollen, creampies sold by the dozen, refraction period we don't know her! overstimulation (cause once that boy starts he won't stop), please do not try to reenact this. If readers at home ever come across an ancient demonic box and inhales its contents the writer strongly urge you to seek medical attention.

Word Count: 8,100

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

"It's pretty," you remark.

It's a small trinket box, the size of an egg that fits neatly in the palm of your hand. Worn out golden brass with finely detailed hieroglyphics painstakingly etched along the edges. Touching the surface, you notice that one of the panels can be pushed outwards. You hum with curiosity as you press down on the thing with fascination as the box gives and a panel flips. It’s like one of those Japanese puzzle boxes you got for Steven on his birthday.

“Is this a puzzle?” you ask, as you flip another panel.

Marc takes the brass box from your hand and shoves it back into his bag haphazardly. "Don't do that, it's not safe"

“‘Not safe’ how?” You ask.

Unsurprisingly Marc does not expand on his cryptic statement.

“‘Not safe,’ it will pinch my fingers? Or ‘not safe’ as in I'll be releasing an ancient demonic God from its bonds?"

Marc gives you a look. Lips curved in a downward frown with that stubborn set of his jaw. He opens his mouth, and before he says a word, you already know what he is going to say.

"You don't–"

"I don't want to know," you finish for him drolly, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest in a mocking imitation of the man.

Only Marc would interpret the verbal request for more information as ‘I don't want to know.’

Marc stands across the room from you, head tilting to one side as he observes you. His expression softens as he does, the arch of his brows rounding, the tension in the lines of his face easing. There's a gentle curve at the corner of his lips that almost qualifies as a smile.

Any irritation you had felt at his rather brusque and unsentimental arrival home after having disappeared (as he does) for over a week starts to thaw when he walks towards you.

One sturdy arm, firm and warm, comes to rest on the small of your back, and he pulls you closer, head dipping into the side of your neck as he presses his lips to your touch-starved skin. It melts away the last trace of aggravation in you.

Then his hands draw down to curl around the back of your knees, lifting you up from the floor, with seemingly no effort, as he hikes your legs around his waist.

"This is a very transparent attempt at distraction," you accuse, as he carries you across the flat.

Marc sets you down on the edge of the bed. One hand hooks the hem of his shirt, dragging it upwards, revealing the expanse of bare golden skin that has saliva pooling in your mouth, as he pulls it over his head.

That hint of a smile that’s already on his lips curves even deeper as he thumbs open the button of his jeans.

"Yeah, but it's working." He leans down, capturing your lips with his, and you probably should be more than a little bit indignant at how he's got your number, but as his firm torso presses you down flush against the mattress, you're just not.

You wake in his bed. Quilts draped low on your hips, you’ve fallen asleep without a shirt or sleepwear, wearing only your knickers and the biting cold of the flat eats into your bones and you find yourself inching closer to the warm heat of his body, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

"Morning, love," he greets you in a murmur thick with sleep. It’s soft and melodic, as he presses his lips to your hairline indulgently. No longer the curt, and impassive American tone. Instead, it's all sweet and dulcet.

It’s Steven.

You nuzzle further into him, nipping at the warm skin of his neck and revel in the way he lifts his chin to give you more access.

"How was it?” you ask against the curve of his neck, “Where did the three of you go?"

"Saint Petersburg, and a small village some hours away by train. Marc handled most of it this time, so I don’t recall much. I mainly got twenty minutes to myself while waiting for a bus in a small coffee shop, and– Oh!” He shoots up sitting upright in bed, the sudden movement sending you tumbling to your side against the mattress.

“I got you a souvenir in fact. You’ll love it." Steven is already flinging the quilt off his legs and most of the bed in one fell swoop as he jumps to his feet and darts across the room, leaving you in bed trying to regain your bearings from the sudden switch in energy.

He drags Marc’s bag into the middle of the room, and the metallic rasp of the zipper fills the quiet space. "It should be here somewhere. Sorry, sorry," Steven mumbles as he continues to dig through the contents of the bag. "I know I put it in here... unless Marc threw it out."

“Oh wow!” The sound of rustling stops.

You tilt your head, trying for a better view, but at this angle you can’t quite see what he’s holding. “Is that my gift?”

“No,” He shakes his head, turning the small object in his hands with a delicate motion. “No, this is something else. It’s some sort of artefact—Egyptian, judging from the hieroglyphics. Marc must’ve brought it with him…”

Steven holds it up against the ceiling angling it towards the light and he's squinting his eyes as if to make something out.

"Essence of Min. A gift for mankind to rise," he reads out, then he holds the box closer to his lap out of your sight again. “Huh. Min was the god of sex in Ancient Egypt. Some kind of talisman, perhaps? Or wait— seems like it’s a… hmmm.”

His words trail off as his concentration is solely occupied by the box. You hear small clicks and sliding noises, as Steven continues to fiddle and, while your own curiosity is peaked, the warmth of the bed is also much too cosy for you to leave.

“Aha–” Steven exclaims as he holds it up victoriously.

The object glints golden in the light. The bright reflection blinding to your eyes that you don’t quite make out what it is he’s holding. A small golden box…

The recognition of what Steven is holding dawns on you, and you sit up quickly, throwing an arm out, like you could stop him from doing what you fear he’s already done.

"Steven, wait! Marc said not to touch–"

Before you can finish the warning, there’s the mechanical sound of gears turning and clicking into place. A sharp hiss emits from the box, and then there's a puff of smoke.

A wisp of a deep blue flame intermingled with white, rises up in the air and stretches outwards, like branches on a tree, seeking for something. You see it. The thin branches of vapour reach out for Steven streaming between his parted lips as he inhales it with a choked cough.

"Oh God, Steven!" You scramble from the bed, fighting to get free of the sheets, nearly falling in your haste to reach him. You dash from the bed and fall to your knees on the floor next to him, not even realising you’ve dragged the bedding with you until you have to release it to grab him by his shoulders.

His eyes are glazed with a feverish sheen, his dilated pupils widening impossibly further as he stares up at you. Beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

Marc’s warning, not safe, rings ominously in your head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is why you hate it when he keeps things from you or doesn’t explain them properly. Is it a box containing all the horrors of the world like Pandora’s? Is it just some old dust? Oh god, was the dust the cremated ashes of an ancient demon? Is Steven possessed now?

You grab Steven’s face in your hands, seeking out his eyes to see if he’s still here with you. “Steven, are you okay?”

His eyes roll worryingly to one side, struggling to focus before they finally settle on you, but it’s the pain etched onto his brows that makes the worry in your chest expand into alarm.

“I... don’t know, I don’t–” he slurs his words. Eyes slowly blinking with the clumsy movement of someone who’s inebriated. “I think– I think I’m not feeling too good. I– I feel hot…”

Oh god. Oh God. What if it’s poison? What if– Shit, shit!

Panic spreads along your spine, and you turn around towards Marc’s bag tearing the zipper the rest of the way open as you start to scramble through the contents. If it’s poison, Marc would have had some kind of antidote, surely. He’s smart like that. Right?

There are clothes, Marc’s passport where he looks like a serial killer, a gun (right, not touching that), and a notebook. Nothing that looks remotely like an antidote. No vials of neon liquid, no nothing.

Fuck.

In your desperation, you open the small notebook without thought. A folded note slides out and into your lap, and you pick it up, unfolding it to find an old, faded polaroid of the very same golden brass trinket box.

‘Gift of Min’ the caption says, just like Steven had read off the artefact before. Your eyes flit over the paper, taking in the old-timey typewritten message.

WARNING: HIGHLY POTENT APHRODISIAC INSIDE

DO NOT TOUCH CONTENTS

DO NOT CONSUME CONTENTS

AVOID EYE CONTACT WITH CONTENTS AT ALL COST

Wait, what? You read and re-read the words, trying to process the information. An aphrodisiac… Some kind of ancient viagra? Or an aphrodisiac like oysters and pumpkin seeds are aphrodisiacs? That hardly seems enough to warrant Marc’s concern.

Turning back towards Steven, you observe him. His chest is rising and falling erratically, fidgety fingers coming to the collar of his t-shirt and tugging the fabric away from his throat.

No, this is not a reaction caused by a boost of zinc in one’s diet.

Kneeling, you carefully approach Steven again. You rest one hand against the bare skin of his arm and Jesus, he’s burning up. So hot, it’s scalding against your fingertips, and you pull away from the sheer surprise of it.

“I-I think...” he’s struggling to get the words out, tongue darting out to wet his trembling bottom lip, looking like a man dying of thirst. “There's something wrong with me.”

“Steven,” you call out softly, “I think we need to get you to A&E. Can you walk? Should I call the ambulance?”

“No, I don’t–” his eyes squeeze shut, mouth clamped tightly closed for a moment then shakes his head vigorously, like he’s trying to push something away. “No. I don’t need the hospital. I’m not sick. I– I just need–”

“What?” you prompt. Lifting your hand to cup his jaw, you draw you thumb over the plane of his cheek to try to soothe the pinched pain in his face. “What do you need, Steven? I’m right here.”

He stills at your touch, slowly opening his eyes.

They’re pitched so dark they’re nearly black. For an extended moment your heart stops beating when you see the raw hunger that meets you there. A thrill shoots down your spine. A dormant instinct wakes in you, that of a vulnerable prey when it spots a predator. Run, it screams in your veins. But it’s already too late.

Steven surges forward, mouth crashing into yours hard, forceful and bruising. The impact overwhelms your balance, and you fall backwards, landing on your back on the pile of discarded bedding with Steven on top of you. He catches himself with his hands on the floor, stopping just short of flattening you completely thankfully, but his weight is still bearing down on you, crushing you into the floor. You didn’t realise how chilled your skin had gotten, shirtless and exposed as you were to the cold air of the room, until Steven was pressed up against every inch of you, his body emanating a near feverish heat.

His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip with a hungry lick, begging you to open up for him, and you do. Steven is always hungry for you, he kisses you like he’s starved for it. But in the past, no matter how lost in it he got, his eyes always kept note of your reactions. This is different. Reckless even.

It sends a thrill through you, and god, this is not the time, but you can’t help the fact that your body responds to him the same way it always does. His hands come up to grip your shoulders, pinning you down as if there was anywhere else for you to go with his weight already trapping you against him.

Something’s not right.

You try to call out his name, try to snap him out of it. But with his mouth firmly covering yours, any noise you make turns into a melted groan that he greedily swallows. His hips grind into yours. You can feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock through the thin confines of his boxers, twitching hot and insistent against your thighs, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, clenching in response.

“I’m sorry, love,” he breathes, lifting his mouth from yours for a brief moment. Not nearly long enough for either of you to fully catch your breath. “I’m sorry. God, I just– I want… I need you–”

And God, when he says it like that, voice hoarse and scratched raw with hungry need, it makes you forget everything else. For a moment, you don’t remember that something is not quite right. Too preoccupied with your physical reaction to the man you love on top of you. The sensation of him breathlessly pressing urgent kisses against your cheeks and whispered words of adoration in your ear. Your heart races in your chest. It’s beating so hard it feels like it is going to burst out of its cage. Your hand snakes between your bodies, clumsily forcing it past your torsos that are melded together by the way Steven is pressed up against every inch of you.

It’s a struggle to get your hand inside his boxers. Steven isn’t helping with the way he refuses to let there be even an inch of separation between you. Your fingers touch up against the soft skin of his stomach underneath his t-shirt as he continues to kiss you breathless. Your fingers fumble until they catch against the edge of his boxers, and finally, you manage to shove your hand inside where you can feel the velvety smoothness of his cock brushing up against your palm.

You make a small circle with your index finger and thumb as you reach for the bulbous head of his cock. Fuck. He’s already dripping. Precome welling out of him until his cock is slippery to the touch as you wrap around him. The sharp tendril of excitement that shoots up your spine already has you salivating, and you feel overheated. It makes you wonder for a second if you’ve been affected by the vapour as well.

It’s difficult to reach or to control your movement in this position, but you trace your fingertips up the length of him collecting the drops of precome that are dribbling down and spread the wetness over the sensitive head of him.

His gorgeous brown eyes roll into the back of his head as they flutter close, and Steven shudders at your touch, dropping down to press his face into your neck with a choked sob.

“Sorry, I don’t– I don’t know what’s happening.” He’s thrusting into the circle of your hand, seeking more—any friction you will give him.

His brows are furrowed, pinched in the space between with what looks like pain, and your heart breaks for him. All you want is to take that pain away, relieve it in any way you can. So you shove your hand forward, forcing your grip down along the length of him until your hand is wrapped around the thick base, squeezing down firm.

He stills and groans, the deep crease on his forehead easing just slightly.

“It’s okay, Steven”, you murmur, trying to be reassuring. Moving your hand up the length of him with a gentle pressure, testing your way forward. He’s burning hot and throbbing in your palm. With each thick inch of progress, he shivers under your touch. So much more sensitive than he normally is. “It’s all right. Does this help?”

“Yeah– God, yes.” He gasps then moans into your collarbone as he ruts into your hand mindlessly.

It’s awkward, with little grace to speak of. Your arm protests the unwieldy angle, and the cotton fabric brushes up against your knuckles with each press of his hips into your hand. You can’t move much, barely able to move your hand enough in the cramped space between your bodies to properly stroke him. Not that it matters, Steven is taking what he can have, his movement growing more erratic by the second as do the noises he makes, and God, this should not be as hot as it is.

You can tell he’s already close. His shoulders are tensing, neck straining, that gorgeous jaw clenching down as if he’s trying to bite down a scream. Soft whimpering moans devolve into strangled groans and almost-growls. His skin is feverish under your fingertips, burning up like a furnace as he keeps fucking himself into your hand.

"Fuck ohfuck oh fuck, I'm gonna–" the whole of his body seizes up, a pained muffled groan wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest. He stiffens and sobs brokenly into the hollow of your throat.

And then you feel it: his cock pulsing against your fingers as he spills into your hand. Rope after rope, it’s thick and warm. It gets everywhere. His stomach, yours, up the inside of your wrist. It drips down your hand, coating your knuckles and is running a sticky mess down the heel of your hand.

He collapses onto you, unable to hold himself up. His heart is pounding so fast and so hard you feel it beating its way out of his chest where it’s pressed against you. You keep stroking, prolonging his pleasure for as long as you can, until his moans subside into soft little whimpers, body shuddering violently above you at each stroke. Only then do you finally let go, drawing your hand out from between you and wrapping both arms around his back to hold him close to you.

“Was that good, Steven?”

With great effort, he drags his head up just enough so that he can rest it against your forehead and give you a small nod, apparently unable to speak. His eyes blink almost sleepily, and there’s a sweet half-smile on his lips that makes your heart flutter.

Relief floods your chest, as you watch him. The pain-filled expression in his eyes, fades away and melts into the familiar softness you’re used to seeing there. Perhaps you two managed to ride out the worst of the storm.

“Thank you, love. That– that was,” he’s still catching his breath, his chest expanding and deflating against yours. “Amazing… So good. Incredible, and I–” he’s still rambling adorably, trying to find every positive synonym in the dictionary to thank you.

Steadying himself on one shaky elbow, he starts to pull away from you. “Thank you,” he repeats again as he raises himself up on hands and knees and looks down between your bodies.

You can’t see what he’s seeing from this angle, but you can easily guess by the way his eyes trail down between the valley of your breasts down to your belly that must be smeared with his come.

It doesn’t last long. Steven shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from you and pushing himself up until he’s kneeling, looming above you.

There’s something sheepish about his expression, eyes not quite meeting yours, and it puzzles you. Your eyes roam over him as you take in his dishevelled appearance. His cheeks are flushed a deep crimson red. Whether from the rush of excitement from his climax or embarrassment, you’re not entirely sure. His shirt is wrinkly and clinging to the roundness of his hip and– oh. Oh.

His cock is still hard. Slick and glistening in the morning light, where his boxers have slipped far enough down his hips for it to spring free, standing fully upright in attention. So hard it looks almost painful where it’s firmly pressed against his stomach.

Steven is observing your watchful gaze, peeking at you through his lush eyelashes timidly.

“Can we–” he stops for a moment. His pink tongue darts out to lick his kiss-swollen lips. Any embarrassment bleeds out of his eyes, as his pupils dilate, eating into the warmness of those brown eyes of his. He stares down at you hungrily, trying to find his words. “I’m so sorry to ask, love, but uhum... Could we, possibly, maybe– go again?”

“Uhm,” your eyes are drawn down towards his thighs where his cock twitches eagerly under your gaze against the slick, sticky mess smeared around his belly button.

Warning bells sound off between your ears, sharp and shrill, alerting you to run. It’s there in your veins, adrenaline pumping under your skin.

This is probably more than you can handle. Steven is towering over you, just as eager and hungry as before his release, without any signs of flagging exhaustion.

Realistically speaking, how long could it take before this is out of his system? Minutes? Hours? Days? Will it ever end? Does he even have a refractory period right now? You know none of these things. To think you can handle this by yourself is at best an arrogant mistake that Marc will come to scold you for and at worst it could be a danger to your physical safety.

The smart thing to do is to seek immediate medical attention. Maybe they can stomach pump him at A&E.

Bloody hell. What if it is some otherworldly horny deity!? Would that even help? God knows what Marc brought home in his bag. What if it—whatever it is—ends up possessing the hospital staff? Can you in good conscience expose the clueless civilian public of London to that?

You can deal with this, a voice echoes in your head. You can take care of Steven. You want to take care of him.

You hear your name from his lips. A desperate and eager little sound and you look up to meet his pleading eyes.

"Is that alright? Can we love? I need to hear you say it." His lush bottom lip quivering with the needy ache that you can almost feel radiating from him as you watch his fingers flexing at his side. His jaw is grinding down, and you see the small muscle there flex. Drugged and out of control as he is, he’s still clinging onto his composure by his literal nails that are currently digging into his skin, not willing to do anything without your explicit permission.

Fuck, you can’t leave him like this.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you cup his cheek under your palm, trying to soothe the tenseness with your thumb.

“Steven, don’t worry. We can go again. As many times as it takes until you feel better, okay?”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he’s immediately pulling away from you, hands reaching for the hem of his tee-shirt as he pulls it upwards and tugs it off his head with such force that you almost expect it to rip.

It’s a miracle it doesn’t. Instead he’s kneeling above you, bare-chested, naked skin lit up against the natural light of his flat, golden and slick with sweat. He is so gorgeous it makes your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

His boxers come next. Hands forcibly shoving the elastic and clingy fabric down his rounded hips, and kicks them off into the corner of the room. Then his eyes search for you. Those eyes, normally wide and doe-like, are now sharp and almost predatory again.

Not for the first time this evening, you feel some lost survival instinct thrumming in your veins, urging you to run, warning you that this is not a good idea. Still you ignore it. Stay firmly in place as he reaches for you, because survival instincts be damned, you want this— want Steven. Will always want Steven.

His hand grabs onto the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. He’s fumbling with your knickers, hands so eager they’re shaking like a junkie waiting for their next hit. The delicate lace fabric snags at your hips in his hurry to get them off you, and when they won’t give, you feel the harsh tug biting into skin. A loud rip tears into the room. You yelp in surprise, before you realise that Steven has torn your panties in two.

It’s not something he’s ever done before without asking for permission first, but here you are. This is what you get for ignoring your self-preservation instincts. You only have half a second to mourn that these were one of your nice pairs, expensive ones—which you are damn well going to invoice Marc for later—before Steven positions himself over you, gripping his cock in one large hand.

Your mind goes blank, and you stare up at him in awe.

There’s still come dripping down the length of his cock, and his hand reaches over to your sticky one, scooping up what’s left on you, and using it to coat the length of his cock until it oozes down, slick and shiny under the dim lighting.

You’re transfixed at the sight of it, watching in a daze as he notches the fat glistening tip against your entrance and starts to push in, his head dropping to your collarbone as he shudders into you.

After his obvious impatience and the recklessness with your knickers, you brace yourself for a forceful shove, expecting the demanding slam of his overeager hips as he pounds into you. He doesn’t though. Somehow, even possessed and near manic, Steven still finds it within him to take his time with you. This world could be ending, a comet crashing into Big Ben, and Steven would still refuse to be rushed when it comes to you and him.

The first thrust is a slow and drawn out drag, and you think you can feel every throbbing vein and ridge of him as he stretches you out on his cock until he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“God,” his hips stutter and jerks into you as he sobs your name with a broken moan into your skin. “You feel so good. So fucking good, my love”.

His voice is melted and sweet in your ears. It makes your insides ooze with warmth and something as sweet and thick as honey drips inside your veins. Fuck, something must be wrong with you too, your insides are burning up. It’s all white bliss invading every cell of your body. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. He’s barely started, and all you want is more. To be filled up by Steven in this way forever. God, you never want him to stop.

His arms are trembling at the side of you. Steadying himself, he pushes himself up and away from you on one hand, dragging out his hips, slow and torturous until only the tip of him rests inside. You feel empty at the loss and immediately cant your hips upwards, pressing up against Steven, chasing the sensation of his thickness inside you. And as always, your sweet, courteous Steven obliges you.

Those nimble fingers come to clutch at your hips with a grip so firm, you can see the way it carves dents into your supple flesh. He holds you there, steady, as he pushes his way in, slow and thorough. Bliss crackling along the entirety of your spine, with every inch of him that he fills you with.

It’s ridiculous how pretty he is. A lone drop of sweat drips down the arch of his nose. Eyes closed shut and his face pinched in concentration. His hair is a mess, raven locks furled into tight locks from the heat and perspiration against his forehead. One sole stray, little curl has fallen onto his eyebrow, and you reach out to tuck it away. Even fucked out, most likely drugged and out of his mind, Steven is the most beautiful man you’ve seen.

The touch has him fluttering his eyes open for you, gaze searching until it locks in on your face and then sharpens into something dangerous. The look tells you he wants to eat you alive, flesh, skin and bones, he’ll swallow all of you down to the marrow. You want him to.

With your eyes still locked on his, you feel more than see his hand fall away from you as he reaches behind him until he’s caught your ankles, gripping them tight. He grabs your legs up around his waist, locking them over the luscious curve of his ass. Then he lets go and his hands come to the small of your back.

The floor beneath seemingly disappears, as he lifts you up with that surprising strength of his that you’ll never get used to, forcing your pelvis to tilt up to meet him. The new angle has him pushing in impossibly deep. It punches the breath from your throat with a pathetic high-pitched whimper. Has your thighs tensing and burning, your cunt spasming and clutching down on him involuntarily. He’s so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

“Fuck love, fuuuuck.” His nostrils flare. He’s growling now. Voice almost unrecognisable with a raw animalistic edge scratching at his vocal cords in a way you’ve never heard before. But he’s relentless as he keeps going, pressing his way inside you.

“You’re squeezing my cock so fucking tight. Feel so good, always so good. Don’t wanna stop. Never gonna stop fucking you.”

The palm of his hand draws a long shaky line along your arm before it reaches your hand, and he weaves his fingers with yours, pinning your hand on the floor next to your head. His forehead rests on yours, eyes affixed to yours. He has you trapped underneath every part of him, and that’s okay. It’s perfect. Because it’s exactly where you want to be.

Everything is sharp heat simmering under your skin. The pleasure of it is fucking blinding. You can feel it gathering, unmistakable warmth pooling in your belly. The floor underneath you sink and float all at once, and you try to squeeze your knees together to anchor yourself somehow, but Steven won’t let you. His other hand is on your knees, prying you open even wider for him.

Every muscle and joint goes taut, seizing up. The pleasure and overwhelming bliss fill you from inside out until there’s nowhere left for it to go. It’s overflowing, pouring out along every single nerve of your body. You can’t breathe, can’t see. Can’t fucking think. It’s so much, too much, that you’re overcome. But something’s missing, and you don’t know what. It’s like you’re too keyed up, ratched one notch too high to actually come. The immeasurable pleasure spiking your veins with nowhere to go.

You clutch at Steven, fingers grabbing hold of whatever part of him you can reach. You’re drowning in the overflooding sensations washing over you, and the only thing you can think to do is to cling onto the broadness of his arm like he’s your life-raft as you go under. You pull him down until you’re surrounded by his warmth and bare skin. And that’s it. That’s what you needed.

This man is all you fucking need.

Pleasure flares out through you, and you come with an unforgiving orgasm as you squeeze around the thick hardness of his cock. The tingling heat wraps around your bones and limbs, pouring into you with a sweet, slow thickness until you are drunk with it. It stretches out for so long, you lose all sense and measure of time and reality. You could stay in this blissed-out twilight for an eternity, die here and be glad for it.

Steven’s not stopping, still thrusting into you as he moans brokenly. His cock pulses inside you as he spills into you with a shuddering gasp.

You hum with satisfaction, savouring the sensation and how full you feel. Steven fills you to the brim with his release, until it’s slowly dripping and leaking out of you he is still prolonging his own pleasure and yours with gentle, slow thrusts.

His cock drags out until he’s almost slipped free, but then he stills while barely inside you. One hand comes up to cradle your face, spanning from your jaw to your ear as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. His thumb gently coaxes your mouth open so he can dip his tongue inside, and you let him. Your sweet gentle Steven. You’d let him do anything to you.

His hand drops from your face, palming your breast, then the side of your ribs before he grips at your hips, and presses his body close to you, and oh oh fuck–he’s–

You gasp, squeezing your eyes tightly shut at the sensation of his still hard cock pressing back inside of you, stretching you open all over again. You’re sore and oversensitive, but with how wet you are and his come still leaking out of you, there’s no resistance as you accept the thick intrusion of him no matter how tightly you clutch onto his cock, until he’s buried inside you as deep as he goes. And still, he tilts his hips and grinds down on you, nudging something inside you bright and blinding. Reaching impossibly deep in a way that has tears sting behind your eyes. Then he slides out, only to do it again. Again and again – and fuuuck again.

He keeps thrusting into you, stroke after stroke, with an unfaltering pace. His cock is still hard inside you, even as you feel him twitching inside and hear him gasping sharply in your ear from the overstimulation overwhelming you both.

“Steven, fuckfuck Steven–” You scramble for something–anything, to hold onto. Blunt nails digging into his strong forearms, with enough strength that it must break skin but he doesn’t even flinch.

He’s still rutting into you. Deep, persistent thrusts, and you can feel every inch of the hard length of his cock drag along your oversensitive cunt, stuffing you full. You’re spasming from the overstimulation, squeezing your legs as tightly as you can around his waist. But oh God oh God, he’s not stopping, even as he’s apologising.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t– can’t—fuck—can’t stop.”

You don’t know if it’s because your first orgasm never truly subsided, or if unbelievably, Steven is already working you to a second. But it doesn’t matter, it’s already happening, washing over you with each demanding thrust of his cock inside you.

Your veins are bathed in blissed-out pleasure. Static fills your ears, buzzing through your stomach, and it’s already happening again–

Fuck oh fuck, if he doesn’t stop– if he keeps going–

“Stev–” You never get to finish his name. Another orgasm overfloods you, heat and light swimming bright and sharp in your veins as it grabs hold of you and takes you under, holding you underneath the surface until you can no longer breathe, until you drown in it. Warm and blissful, sweet and ripe. It’s everywhere. Climbing between your ribs, infiltrating your lungs until it’s all you can breathe instead of air. Overtaking every cell in your brain.

Steven’s cock pulses inside you—Did he come too? God, you’re too fucked out to tell. Everything is floating, your vision blurry with tears. You’re sniffling, choking out a weak cry as Steven keeps going. Slower now, but he’s not stopping.

“Wanna feel your beautiful pussy squeeze around my cock again. Need you to come for me,” he rasps out and you are shivering as your brain starts to process the meaning of his words and the full implication of them. “Please, love, just once more. One more time, then I’ll stop.”

He drives his cock inside in one smooth and long stroke and he hits something devastating inside you. Sharp almost painful pleasure spikes your lungs, and you sob out, spasming into his touch. God oh God. You don’t know if you can survive this.

Out of nowhere, his thrusts slow to a still. All of a sudden his hereto undivided attentiveness and gaze on you tears away. He shifts his eyes sideways, gazing into the empty space of the flat. You don’t understand what has caught his attention as you turn your head in the very direction. Steven’s eyes are staring into the pitched blackness of the tv screen, like there’s something inside. Then you realise that it’s because there is.

You are never privy to their conversations as they happen. Can’t see or hear the others inside of the reflections. Can only guess what is being said unless one of them repeats the conversation for you.

Is Marc there?

Is Marc telling him to stop?

If so, you should be relieved. Happy that Marc’s come to save you like a knight in shining armour riding on a white horse, but instead of relief, you feel torn.

Jesus bloody Christ. What is wrong with you that there’s a twinge of regret at the thought that it’ll stop here?

It’s insane. Because you’re pretty sure your body reached its limit an orgasm and a half ago, and you barely know how you’re still conscious considering how hard you came on the last one. The insides of your legs have gone numb and you can’t even feel your fucking toes anymore. If only your brain could catch up and face reality.

Above you, Steven squeezes his eyes shut. He shakes his head with an aggressive force, as if trying to forcibly shake Marc’s voice out of his head.

“Ste–Steven?” you call out, fumbling his name as you utter it, your tongue heavy and slow in your mouth.

At your voice, his eyes slowly open. The black pitch that’s overcrowding his eyes, hungrier than ever.

“One more, love, jus’ give me one more, yeah?” His voice is slurred and drunk.

You should say stop. Deep down, as overcome and out of control as he is, if you asked him to stop, you still believe he has it in him to stop. For you, he would, supernatural forces be damned.

Your mouth parts, rounding your lips to say the word. But nothing is coming out. Instead you look up at Steven, heart filled with love for him, as he looks down at you in return, pleading.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and the love and worship you see reflected back in those eyes is overflowing, making your heart skip a beat at the sight of it.

You nod dumbly, signing your name and signature over the dotted line, knowing fully well that you are sealing your fate.

“One more,” you agree, “just one more, Steven.”

The room is thick and heavy and you’re not sure how long it’s been. How many rounds Steven has gone or how many times he’s made you come. Every nerve in you feels like a live wire. Overstimulated and plucked raw from pleasure. Your hands are on his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscles there.

Steven’s filled you to the brim with him, and despite how tightly you’re squeezing down, and the perfect fit of your cunt wrapped snugly around his thick cock, his come with nowhere left to go, you can still feel it, leaking out of you. It's trickling down your ass and soaking the floor underneath with each relentless press of his cock inside you.

It’s obscene, the fucking mess he’s making out of you.

Your head is heavy and dulled. Your tongue feels like it's anaesthetized where it presses against the roof of your mouth. You can’t find the words to ask him to stop—not entirely, but just for a few seconds, just enough to give you a breather—because you’ve seemingly lost the ability to speak. You’ve forgotten how to form words with your mouth, the only noises you remember how to make are moans, gasps and whimpers as his cock thrusts into you without ever stopping.

Long desperate thrusts, as his hands are gripping tightly into the roundness of your hips, tilting and slanting you just right for his cock to hit that perfect inescapable angle inside you. The one that has tears stinging behind the corner of your eyes.

Then it builds again, pleasure bright and unforgiving in your lower stomach. It numbs your thighs with the weight of it, and you don’t even know how, cause there’s no strength left in you, but your toes are curling in response, back arching up and off the floor. The ceiling is spinning, and you are tipping over, across the edge and boundaries of Steven’s flat.

“Fuck, love. You’re so tight, squeezing my cock so– Oh God, Oh God. You’re coming again aren’t you?”

A raw sob is wrenched out of your throat, because fuck, Steven is right. Your body seizes up. That’s what this is. You’re coming for him again. It rushes over you, spreading along the inside of your thighs down to the curl of your toes. You’re wrung out and exhausted even as the sensation fills you.

He pulls out, cock resting against your fluttering pussy, as he bends down to press his lips lovingly against your forehead, sticky with sweat. He’s mumbling something incoherent about how well you’re doing. How amazing you are. But for all his loving sweet words, he is ruthless. He doesn’t let you rest, barely lets you catch your breath. You’re still spasming from the aftershocks as he positions himself back between your legs.

“God, you’re so beautiful, love. I love you, I love you,” he keeps repeating, as he’s prying your legs open with his knee and notches his cock against your slippery and dripping hole.

“Love you so much,” he says, again. Then he drapes himself over you, mouthing indulgent kisses along every square inch of skin on your face he can reach. “Again? Can we go again?”

You can’t do anything but nod and close your eyes, craving it all over again despite how wrung out you are. He guides your knees up on his shoulders and rests them there as he pushes forward, bending you until he’s nearly folding you in half. Then he notches his cock against your entrance, pressing inside, and he splits you open again, filling you with every inch of that love he’s professing, pressed tight inside of you.

When you come to. It’s dark in the flat, save for the low dim light from the nightstand and the pale shine from the moon looming above the large windows.

You’re on the bed, you realise, and Marc is sitting beside you, looking a little worse for the wear, his brows knitted and a grim line set on his mouth. He must have moved you.

Something soft and damp brushes up between your legs, and you realise when your eyes flick down that Marc has gotten a wet cloth and is wiping you down with the gentlest care and soft movements. Despite his brusque mannerism, he’s considerate, your Marc. Too considerate to let you lie there on the floor in a kiddie pool of Steven’s come, even if it meant disturbing your sleep.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs. His hand comes up to cup your cheeks with a gentleness that warms you from the inside out. “You okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m–” Oh God, your voice sounds like you’re a 60 year old smoker. The word scratches against the walls of your throat leaving a painful itch. You harkle, and Marc looks even more concerned than before as you try to speak. “The box, what was–”

“Some kind of old relic that the old Gods liked to mess around with”.

You anchor your elbow to raise yourself to a sitting position on the bed. Fuck, everything feels sore. Muscles aching and burning even with that little effort. Your elbows wobble, unable to withstand the weight of your body, and Marc’s hand darts out to catch you, holding you steady as he helps you to sit upright.

“Full explanation, please,” you manage to rasp out as you throw him a pointed look.

You’re met with that familiar set line of his lips, that almost-frown, that tells you he doesn’t want to speak.

But you both know you’ve earned this one.

“It contained some sprite-creature that derives from the ancient Egyptian God Min. I don’t really know the details, but the box was meant to seal it in. Keep it from doing,” he gestures vaguely, “this.”

Oh god, so you really weren’t that far off the mark when you’d frivolously made the joke about releasing a god from its bonds.

“It’s secured by a puzzle that took experts over a decade to decode. Figures I leave Steven unsupervised for two minutes, and he cracks it,” Marc mutters. “You don’t have to worry. I trapped it back inside the box.”

“Where– how’s Steven?”

Marc lets a heavy exhale through his nostrils, reminding you of a frustrated bull with the way his shoulders are bunched up and tense.

“He’s on a time-out,” he says, as he keeps his hand on the cloth on your leg and gently drags it up your skin. “I tried to take over as soon as it happened, but he was too far gone last night. Wasn’t able to take back control until he was knocked out from exhaustion.”

Seemingly done with cleaning you up, Marc throws the cloth across the room and lands it perfectly square into the laundry hamper. He pulls himself straight, turning around as his eyes meet yours again.

“Don't be too hard on Steven when he wakes up. The stuff in the box is uncontrollable.” Marc says, pleading for the man’s case, even though he himself seems to be riding hard on Steven. Guess it doesn’t apply to himself.

He continues to palm the outside of your thighs up to your hips in a loving apology. Because it’s Marc, he doesn’t apologise with words, never has. He does it with his actions. At least that’s how it’s always been.

Until now, apparently.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly with a contrite tone, eyes looking into yours with sincere regret.

You blink at him in surprise.

The skies have parted and fallen over. Hell has frozen to the point it makes Antarctica seem cold. If you look out the windows, surely pigs must be flying across the London skies crashing into a Boeing Airbus. Because, Marc Spector, is apologising to you. With actual words.

You nod, so stunned you almost accept his apology without forethought. Except, you can definitely push this now when he’s unguarded. Squaring your cheek, you sit up on the bed, pinning his eyes with yours.

“You have to stop doing this,” you say, and Marc looks at you with a worried expression on his face, and you take his hand in yours.

"Don’t hide things from me. Especially not sketchy magical supernatural stuff. And especially fucking not when it involves an ancient crazed, sex god."

You search for his eyes, expecting him to protest, but he doesn’t. His hand just squeezes down tighter on yours as you continue.

"It doesn’t keep me any safer. I’ll get caught up on it one way or another, because I’m with you… and Steven, and Jake. That’s not going to change anytime soon. So it’s better if I at least have an idea of what I’m dealing with. It’s much scarier when I don’t know."

He’s quiet, but obviously listening.

It's almost eerie how obliging he is right now. It's the guilt, you realise as you watch the way he's slumped, eyes drawn perpetually downwards as if the floor has suddenly become the world's most interesting thing to watch.

"When I ask you what something is, tell me. That way, next time something like this happens, I'll know what's going on."

He still doesn't answer, so you tip his chin up to meet your eyes, seeking out eye contact until he relents. "Alright?"

Marc gives you a small nod. Then his eyes narrow, with the determination of a man who believes he can bend the laws of physics by sheer willpower. "There won’t be a next time.”

Dedication: You've all guessed it by now, to my one and only, the prawniest of them all!!! @thirstworldproblemss who got of her sleepy bussy just to help me beta-read, edit and meticulously do cockulations of Steven's clothing choices which kept changing throughout like it was Barbie's dreamhouse as well as the physically impossible contortions he was performing. I love you--moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooost

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

4K notes · View notes