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#moon knight imagine
soonknight · 9 months
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having thoughts about Marc and Steven threatening to send Jake out when you're being bratty because you all know he doesn't tolerate that kind of behavior (nsfw/mdni):
Marc's already pulled two orgasms out of you, and he keeps fucking you, vying for another...
"You can give me one more. Come on, sweetheart. Come on my cock one more time..."
You could probably do another if you really tried, but you're already covered in sweat and you know Marc's probably close by now, so you shake your head in protest.
"I can't, sir," you whine, but Marc's not buying it. You both know it's a lie- you could, you just don't feel like it.
And Marc wants you to put in the work. He grabs your face and leans over you, keeping up his thrusts.
"You can and you will," he growls at you. Marc's not a fan of lies. You shake your head again anyway, momentarily dislodging yourself from his hold, only for him to grab your face again, harder this time.
"Do you want me to get Jake in here?" Marc sneers. You whine, a little more susceptible to Marc's earlier request once he threatens you.
A chill rushes through you at the question; Jake hates when you brat even more than Marc does.
You complain that Jake will be mean, and Marc cuts you off when he doubles his efforts, reaching down to rub circles on your oversensitive clit.
"Meaner than me, baby?"
With the added stimulation, you don't stay still for long, which is not exactly obedient behavior in Jake's book. You don't even notice he switched in until he stops all movement entirely.
"What are we gonna do with you, huh, querida?"
Jake's voice is only a momentary warning before his hand is on your throat and he's pounding into you- deep, and just fast enough to keep your head spinning...
You whine at him, trying to keep yourself from squirming as you take in the pleasure. He's clearly got goals.
"Jake, I'm s-sorry-"
A firm slap meets your cheek; hard enough to sting a bit, but not hard enough to draw your eyes away from his.
"You know how I feel about whining."
He starts playing with your clit, and you do your best not to come on the spot. Damn. He's good.
"Whining is for when you don't get what you want. And this is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? Just needed me to rough you up a little?"
You nod, then quickly remember Jake always wants verbal confirmation.
"Yes. Yes, daddy, please-"
"Better. Now shut up and take it."
You do just that until you're whimpering for permission to come. But Jake says no.
You can't avoid the pleasure he's giving you in your current position, so you prop yourself up on your hands and try to scramble back from his fingers and deep thrusts to keep yourself from disobeying.
Jake doesn't like that very much either. He pulls your hips back and pins them down.
"Don't fucking do that," he spits. "You know better. Be a good girl and take it, then you can come like we asked."
It takes several well-timed breaths and digging your nails into Jake's back for you to calm down. You manage to hold off until he gives you permission.
"Atta girl. Come for me."
You do as he says, and by the time you come down from your orgasm, Marc is back.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"
or...
You love to tease Steven, especially when you're giving him head.
The way he bucks into your hands and the sounds he makes when he's close are to die for.
"Please, love, let me~ a-ah, fuck- I need you to let me c-come, please..."
Which of course, makes you drawn out his pleasure for as long as he can handle it.
Steven loves it, craves it even, but Jake's not always on the same page.
First of all, he's dominant about 90% of the time. You have to catch him in the right mood if you want to take control.
Second, he hates when you tease. It's a bit of a double standard, but you don't ever mind how Jake plays with you.
So, when Steven bites his lip, trying to control himself for long enough to form a coherent sentence, you have a hunch someone is getting frustrated.
"Darling, I can't hold on much longer..."
You take a little pity on him, mentally cataloging how many times you've edged him.
"I know, sweetie... But I'm not done with you yet, okay?"
Steven inhales, prepping himself for another round of stimulation.
"I can do it, I just..." Steven bites his lip again, trying to hide the way it quivers when he's lying. "Jake's gonna be real mad if you don't let me come."
Of course, you recognize the bratty angle, which makes you call his bluff.
Poorly.
The second your lips wrap around his cock again, you're pulled back by your hair.
"You've had your fun."
Jake's other hand comes to your mouth, pushing your lips open and shoving three fingers inside, pressing down on your tongue to keep it open.
"I'm gonna come down this pretty throat now, okay?"
It's not a question. You nod anyway.
As soon as he gets the green light, his cock is in your mouth again and Jake's fucking into it as hard as you've been trained to take it.
Tears falls from the exertion and mascara runs down your cheeks. Jake groans above you, spilling into your mouth after only a couple minutes. You did get them worked up, after all...
After he's made sure you've swallowed all his come, making you stick your tongue out for good measure, Jake gives you a pleased smile before he lets Steven front again.
"I told you."
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scarletttries · 8 months
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NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)
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Steven Grant + Recording: (prompt list here)
(Part Two Here!!)
- When Steven Grant bought a little camcorder and stand a few years ago, he had very innocent reasons in mind. Yes, the stand was set up so the camera pointed straight at his bed, but it was to capture exactly why we woke up so exhausted from a night of tossing and turning alone, not for anything more fun than that.
- Naturally anytime you were coming over, he'd carefully stash the device away, not wanting to creep you out or do anything to risk making the most important person in his life uncomfortable. He knows just how lucky he is to be the man that gets to worship your body, and even though he'd die for the chance to relive every one of your intimate encounters, he thinks it's way too weird of a question to ask.
- That is until one night you surprise him at home, on your way back from a girl's night and missing your sweet, nerdy boyfriend. He's over the moon when he opens the door to your bright, smiling face, quickly surrendering to your hypnotic kiss as you lead him to the bed he was all but ready to settle into for the night alone.
- Your hands are pushing his shirt off his shoulders, while his hands slide up your dress, clawing at your thighs until they spread enough for him to fit between them, when you first notice the blinking red light.
"Steven, gorgeous, how long have you had a camera in your bedroom?" Instantly he's mortified, apologising and tripping over his own feet as he launches off the bed, practically crawling across his bedroom floor to turn off the device,
"I'm so sorry love, I didn't realise you were coming, and it's to help with my sleep walking, and I swear I always put it away whenever you're here, I'd never violate your privacy like that." He's struggling to take in breaths as each sentence catches in his throat, tears prickling the corners of his eyes as he watches you pull down your skirt and hop off the edge of his bed, picking him up off the floor and bringing your hands to softly cup his face.
"It's okay, I believe you. I trust you Steven, I was just surprised is all." Your gentle words slow his heart back to a steady pace, the tender press of your lips to his enough to reassure him that this isn't the breaking point he always assumes is right around the corner. Each kiss is quickly followed by another, Steven completely entranced by you, enough so that he doesn't notice as you press the record button again, throwing the camera a showy wink as you lead him back to bed again.
- It's not until a few days later, texting Steven from a hotel during a weekend away that you let him know about your little tape. He's desperately fighting the urge to plead over text for you to come home early, settling for telling you just how terribly he misses you, three little words hanging on the tip of his tongue, not quite bold enough to let them loose yet. You echo his longing sentiment, telling him just how much you miss the feel of his hands on your skin, his touch on every part of you, and tell him maybe he should check his camera before he takes himself to bed.
- He's sceptical as he takes his camcorder off his stand, flipping the little screen to face him and scrolling through the hours of footage until he recognises the night he last had you over. He has to cover his eyes with embarrassment as he watches himself tumble out of bed to stop the recording, but his eyes dart wide open when he watches you turn it straight back on, the playful look in your eye immediately flushing all his blood down his body.
- He realises he's holding his breath in his attempt to hear every single sound you make as the two of you step across the screen and climb back on to the bed he's now propped up in alone. He knows it was your decision, but he still feels voyeuristic and dirty as he watches your dress slide down your body on the screen, his free hand slipping into his pyjama bottoms as his on screen counterpart slides his hands over your chest, earning a happy moan that has him hardening at the first touch.
- His mouth hangs open and he watches intently as he settles between your legs, turning up the volume as high as he can as you start to pant and moan at the feel of his tongue exploring your centre. His hand has picked up its pace now, chest heaving as he watches your back arch off the bed, nipples hard in the cold night air.
- He almost loses it the first time he notices you smile right into the camera as you moan out his name, a private performance just for him that makes his heart throb almost as hard as the manhood he's now furiously rubbing. He can feel him cross the point of no return as he watched himself plunge deep inside you, your legs wrapping tightly around his hips leaving no room between your two bodies, his lips desperately chasing yours. His screen self lasts longer than lonely Steven does, spilling across the empty bed as you let out the needy high pitched whine you do every time he pulls out of you to change positions. He sits there, dick pulsing in his hand as he watches your ass bounce as he slams his hips against yours, finally both spent and collapsing alongside you.
- Feeling utterly beat he almost puts the camera away, until he notices you creep out of the bed towards the bathroom, stopping in front of the focused lens to mouth three little words to him before stopping the video. If the sensitive soul hadn't already been in bed, he would have immediately collapsed to the floor. Frantically he picks his phone back up, impatiently waiting through the rings until he can finally tell you that he loves you too.
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astroboots · 2 years
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Fit to Burst
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CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant
Summary: Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: Marc's dirty filthy mouth, Steven's over-eager mouth, Marc is wee bit jealous, cunnilingus, overstimulation, refraction period? — we don't know her, established relationship.
Word Count: 3.5k (I have no excuse, pure self-indulgent filth)
Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist | Moon Knight Masterlist
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“Does that feel good, love? Think you can come for me again?” 
You don't know how many orgasms he's pulled from you already. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. You can't tell if it’s Marc or Steven fronting right now. If it's Marc who is talking to you, or Steven, taking you apart inch by inch, one devastating orgasm at a time.
Love. He called you love. Steven calls you love. This must be Steven.
Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter. 
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs. 
“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.
You can’t help but give him what he wants.
You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.
Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.
There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.
You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.
“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”
Fucking hell. This man…  
He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it. 
"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.
As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you. 
The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you. 
He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.
“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for. 
The only thing you can do is nod.
“You say stop if it gets to be too much,”  he rasps out as lines himself up against you. 
The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb. 
And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth. 
"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."
He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming. 
A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?” 
His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do. 
"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."
He stills. 
From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven. 
You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again. 
The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you. 
There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out. 
“Fuckohfuck, Marc!” 
“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”
Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob. 
"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands. 
You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit. 
“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"
His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge. 
It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"
That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed. 
There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does. 
If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair. 
“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”
Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.
Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone. 
"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"
His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop. “That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.  
He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system. 
“It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done. 
Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute. 
When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.
Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.  
The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him? 
Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven. 
You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling. 
He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.
“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”
You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it. 
You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again. 
The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear. 
“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.” 
You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs. 
“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.” 
This man is the devil. 
You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you. 
You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.
He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.  
Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...
"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.
"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.
You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to— 
“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”
His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.
It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.
When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real. 
Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you. 
Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin. 
In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.  
As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high. 
Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming. 
Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…
“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face. 
In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."
At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness. 
“Good. That’s good, yeah.” 
Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness. 
“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.
“Do you think we could go again? …please?”
Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse. 
You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride. 
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Dedication and Credits:
@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.
@frannyzooey for succeeding to make me cry on a Tuesday afternoon in the office with her kind words and support. You're someone that I'm endlessly proud to call a friend, for your humour, your kindness and your warmth. You are just one of the best humans and I hope you wake up everyday and know that and if you don't, I will remind you everyday.
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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 1
In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...
Steven Grant x afab!psychologist!reader (8.0k+)
RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, intense overstimulation, non-ejaculatory orgasm, cumplay, cum eating, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: steven is my baby. he deserves the world. i hope i did his character justice. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!
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CASE STUDY: STEVEN GRANT
ROLE IN SYSTEM: Caretaker / Internal Self-Helper
ATTACHMENT STYLE: Preoccupied
CHARACTERISTICS: timid, introverted, sensitive, unassertive; inferiority complex; the epitome of a people pleaser.
SPLIT FROM HOST: assumedly a result of simultaneous emotional and physical abuse from mother.
TRAUMA RESPONSE: alter likely emerged as a way to maintain the childhood innocence of the host; a personification of the word 'hope'.
SEXUAL PRESENTATION: shy, reserved, submissive, responsive, doting; views relationship as transactional (i.e. his only value is derived from what he can provide to a partner, whether that be physically, fiscally, materially, or emotionally); incredibly receptive to praise and validation.
Silence.
It filled the room and weighed heavy in the air—only interrupted by the buzzing of the filter in Gus’ fish tank near the center of the apartment.
You swallowed.
Why did it have to be Steven first?
You knew why. You’d made the decision deliberately, carefully—Steven was the softest, most vulnerable and hesitant. The most emotionally mature, but also the most emotionally fragile. Sensitive, caring, empathetic, loving—he really, truly cared. That’s why he had to go first. This was more than just an excuse to have sex with you—this was intimacy, passion, a closeness he so desperately craved. And you knew, deep down, he’d be comparing himself to his other alters. Envying their confidence, their forwardness, their unapologetic sexual prowess. Steven had always felt inferior—you needed to prove to him that that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
But still. As much as you cared for him, as much as you were looking forward to getting to know him physically, in that moment, you desperately wished for a hint of Marc’s initiative, or even a sliver of Jake’s assertiveness.
Steven was sat on the couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Nervous energy pulsed from his body in waves—his clear stress wasn’t doing anything to help with your own trepidation.
You shuffled beside him, crossing one leg over the other at the ankles. You drew in a breath.
“Do you... do we need to go over anything again?”
He flinched at your intrusion on the silence—without sparing you a glance, he offered a brief shake of his head.
“Well, I think we should go over it one more time, just in case. So. Today is—is about you. Whatever you say goes. Obviously, I have my limits, but, I mean, I really don’t see that being much of a problem with any of you—except maybe Jake...”
You digressed, but the mention of his alters clearly ruffled Steven’s feathers, even if he hid it well. You continued.
“And—and you’ll be fronting the whole time. No co-consciousness, or interruption from the others. Right?”
Steven nodded again, more firmly this time.
“Okay. And lastly—well, I’ve thought about it, and—and I think we should be fine without condoms.”
That got Steven’s attention. His head turned to you, eyes wide with bewilderment.
“What?”
You looked away abashedly, a blush creeping up your cheeks.
“I just—I’ve got the implant, and well—Marc gave me documentation confirming that you’re negative for any STI’s, which—so am I. So I figure—unless you’re gonna be having sex with anyone else in the time this experiment is being conducted, then—then I think we should be fine... for now.”
“You told us we had to be abstinent in the week between each experimental window.”
You laughed at this, amused at the incredulity in his voice.
“Oh, so you were planning on seeing someone else in between, then?”
His face flushed with alarm as he attempted to backtrack.
“Wha—no! No, I didn’t mean—you just—you said we should refrain from doin’ anything, as in—anything. So I just—”
“Relax, Steven, I’m just teasing you.”
You giggled, reaching to grip his bicep reassuringly. Your fingers making contact with his body seemed to jostle him—he stared down at the place your fingers wrapped around his arm, electricity crackling from your fingers and lighting a fire in his belly. He swallowed.
His sudden attention to your presence grounded you back into reality as well. You felt the taut muscles of his bicep flex beneath your hand, the parting of Steven’s lips and fluttering of his lashes making your breath stumble.
When he looked up at you, finally, his eyes were dark—lustful, desirous. Still, there was a sense of restraint within him, his diffidence preventing him from moving unto you further. You realized that you would likely have to make the first move.
“Steven.”
You spoke softly, drawing him in.
“Are you—do you feel ready?”
For a moment, he looked terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. He glanced away from you for a moment, trying to reason with himself, to will the anxiety away. You squeezed his arm.
“You don’t have to do this, Steven, really. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I want this.”
“But Steven, really, it’s alright—”
“No, you don’ understand—I really, really want this.”
His words were breathy, but certain, the desire in his tone undeniable. You felt your breath hitch at his confession, and before either of you had time to worry about it anymore, you closed the gap between you, pushing yourself up against his side and tilting your head so your lips met his. He whined into your mouth, his initial hesitance wearing off and making way for his insatiable hunger for your touch, your taste, you.
His hands reached to grip the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips to meld against his deeply. You leaned into him, allowing yourself to shift into his lap, your thighs straddling his. As you settled your weight onto him, he audibly groaned as your core pressed against the hardening tent in his pants. Your hands traveled up his chest and along his shoulders as your tongue explored his mouth. He fought back with equal fervor, and you could sense that there was a hint of desperation in him—as if he was finally acting upon the months worth of repressed sexual tension between the two of you.
You pulled away with a gasp, coming up for air as you lifted your chin slightly, away from the chase of his lips. Instead, they began a sloppy assault on your throat, mouthing and teething at the supple flesh of your neck and down into your collarbone. You let out a breathy moan as Steven lavished your skin with attention, quickly gaining the confidence to suck a mark into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You keened.
“God, Steven.”
The sound of his name falling from your lips was heaven. He pulled you back down for another searing kiss, and you offered an experimental nip to the swell of his bottom lip. He groaned.
“Christ, you’re a minx.”
His voice was throaty, gravelly, and you giggled at his comment as he pressed kisses to the corners of your mouth and the surrounding flesh of your cheeks.
“Should we... do you want to move to the bed?”
You asked quietly, and the man stiffened, clearly enticed by the proposal.
“Yes. Gods, yes.”
You regretfully pulled yourself from his lap and he followed immediately after, reaching for your hand as you guided him back towards his bed. It was neatly made, the corners tucked in and the blankets pressed. For some reason, it made you want to cry. You’d been at his flat plenty of times before, but never had you once seen his bed made up so tidy. He did that for you.
As you reached the end of the bed, you hesitated. You had taken the lead, carefully easing Steven into the interaction, but now, you needed to see what he wanted. You looked to him.
“What—where do you want me?”
He swore he almost blacked out at the sheer compliance that your tone offered. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tight in an effort to slow the rapidly building arousal in his groin—you hadn’t even fucking touched him yet.
“Would you—could you just lay down f’me, love?”
You smiled at him gratefully, offering a small nod at you followed his careful instruction. You shuffled up towards the head of the bed, turning to lie flat on your back with your head propped against the pillows. You looked at Steven expectantly—he was just watching you, fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides. Christ, you were a sight to beheld.
Cautiously, Steven lowered onto his hands and knees and crawled up towards you, allowing himself to hover over your body with his own, his waist slotting between the parting of your legs. He rested on his elbows, forearms framing your head as he gazed down at you. The sheer reverence and devotion in his eyes was almost too much to bear.
“Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”
He mumbled, fingers moving to stroke your hairline, tracing the curvatures of your face. You smiled softly before tilting your head upwards to close the small space that remained between you. These kisses were softer—slow, gentle, repeated slides of his lips against yours. It made you feel lightheaded.
You reached for the hem of his jumper.
“I—can I?”
You questioned against his lips, and he nodded slowly, sitting upright to help you pull the top up and over his head. He flung it to the side carefully, and you spread your hands out against the warmth of his torso, the ring finger on your left hand just barely brushing his right nipple. He hissed as the feeling of your cold hands pressed into his abdomen, but at the same time, the sensation was intoxicating. You let your fingers slide up towards his chest, skating across both of his hardened nipples before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back to you. He happily obliged, malleable under your touch, but you could feel his fingers twitching as if desperate to touch you. You pushed him back slowly, reaching to take off your own shirt.
“Wait.”
Steven panicked, and you froze, a flash of hurt cresting your face. But he just smiled gently.
“Can—let me.”
He offered, and you laid back, letting his fingers skim the flesh of your stomach as he gripped the hem and pulled the fabric away from you. You sat up briefly to allow him to pull it completely off, revealing your simple white lace bra beneath it. You watched him drink you in, completely infatuated. His hands skated up your sides, over the curve of your hip and across your ribs, but they halted before they reached any further. You nodded in encouragement.
“It’s okay, Steven. You can touch me.”
A whimper escaped his mouth as he slowly reached up the palm at your breast, still contained in the cup of your bra. He could feel the peak of your nipple through the fabric as he massaged the flesh carefully, kneading and squeezing. The sigh you let out spurred him on, and he reached behind you towards the clasp, eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a warm smile and nod, and his fingers worked to unclip the material beneath you. After a few brief seconds of his fumbling, his brows furrowed in frustration.
“What the—bollocks, why’s it so bloody hard to undo?”
Your saccharine giggle melted his annoyance as you offered him assistance, reaching behind you to unlatch the hooks. When it was finally unclasped, the cups loosening their hold on your breasts, he let out a shaky breath, gripping the straps and watching them glide down your arms until you were topless beneath him.
His movements were slow, deliberate, as he watched your body react to his touch. Tracing beneath the swell of your left breast, dancing across the valley between them, repeating the movement on the right side. Goosebumps trailed in his wake as he stared, utterly entranced at the softness of your skin and the rhythm of your breathing.
His eyes met yours once more, and stayed there as he slowly leaned down and pulled your right nipple into his mouth. You mewled at the action, back arching just slightly as his other hand came to cup your other tit, massaging it gently as he sucked at your flesh. He switched sides, lavishing your other nipple with equal attention, and even offering an experimental nip to the swollen bud, earning a cry from you—a mix between a sharp pain, quickly soothed with the swipe of his tongue.
You hardly noticed when his lips began pressing kisses lower across your chest, your breasts, across the expanse of your stomach, until his lips were skating over your navel, just above the button of your jeans. His dark eyes found yours, and he offered you a silent question, to which you immediately nodded. His trembling fingers reached to undo the button—with which he had much more success than your bra—and pulled the zipper down. As he slowly coaxed the fabric away from your skin, he pressed two hot kisses against each of your hip bones before pulling the pants completely off and discarding them nearby.
His hands roamed the newly exposed skin of your thighs, fingers creating divots in the soft flesh with his firm grip. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your calf, sliding them upwards until he reached your inner thigh. You whimpered at his proximity to where you needed him most, but he evaded you by switching to mirror the same path on your other side. Your toes curled in frustration.
“Steven.”
You huffed, head thrown back, and his head popped upwards, eyes wide with concern.
“Stop teasing.”
His gaze softened, and you felt his lips press right above your pubic bone, where the waistband of your panties was settled.
“Sorry, m’love, I couldn’t help it. I’ll make it better, I promise.”
His fingers gripped the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down your legs, successfully leaving you completely bare beneath him. You had half the mind to feel insecure at the exposure, but when you caught sight of the look on Steven's face, his eyes transfixed on the sopping folds of your cunt, any hesitance was thrown out the window.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
He whispered, letting the pointer finger on his left hand just barely graze between your pussy lips to gather some of your wetness, causing your hips to jolt. He let out a short ‘ha’ sound at your reaction to his touch.
“Is this—s’this all f’me?”
He looked at you again, lips parted and eyes hooded. You nodded vigorously.
“Yes, Steven, yes—all for you.”
He rewarded you with a groan, his finger offering another, firmer swipe through your folds, easily sliding through with the slick of your arousal. The tip of his finger caught on the hood of your clit and your hips jumped again. Instead of removing his finger, he slid it back downwards, slowly circling the entrance of your pussy with careful ministrations. Before you could even ask, he pushed his middle finger deep inside you, curling forward, and almost instantly, the pad of his digit nudged at the most sensitive part of you. You cried out at the abrupt sensation, hips unconsciously grinding down against his hand. He smiled wickedly.
“Ah—there you are.”
He mumbled to himself, repeating the motion once more to ensure he had located the spot where your sensitivity peaked. Again, your body followed the movement of his hand, and he easily added a second finger, slowly beginning to pump them in and out of you, all while continuing the well-received come-hither motion. You squeezed your eyes shut, core muscles clenched as pleasure spread from your cunt upwards, and then his thumb found your clit and you were reeling.
“Oh, fuck, Steven, shit—oh God, I can’t, m’gonna—”
His free hand came up to stroke your hair tenderly, eyes peeling away from where they were watching where his fingers sank into you to ogle at the face you'd make as you climaxed.
“That’s it, love. Doin’ so well. C’mon, give it to me.”
Your orgasm reached its peak, toes curling and back arching as you let out a salacious, pornographic moan, thrusting in time with Steven’s diligent fingers as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure from your dripping folds. Your skin buzzed with sensitivity as the waves of stimulation rippled through you—your breathing was labored when you came down from your high, sinking back into the mattress and grounding yourself back in reality.
Steven pressed a kiss to your lips, which you accepted gratefully, although your energy was significantly less than his—he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled away, just barely, noses brushing together in a moment of intimacy. You felt dizzy.
“So good, Steven—make me feel so good.”
You rambled, hot breath fanning across his face. He glowed at your praise, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. Even after your first orgasm, your hunger for him was nowhere near sated. Your walls were clenching around nothing, desperate for the hot drag of his cock inside of you.
Something resembling a whimper came from the back of your throat, and Steven’s eyes found yours, softening.
“I know, darling, I know. S’alright, I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”
Your fingers trailed down his stomach and covertly ghosted over the skin right atop the waistband of his jeans. Fuck, he still had his jeans on?
You reached for the button, and Steven took the hint, pulling them off of himself rather ungracefully and tossing them to the side. He was left in just his boxers, and when your hand stroked over the hard outline of his cock within them, he hissed, almost as if he were in pain. He recoiled from your touch just slightly, and you felt brief concern at the reaction. He squinted one eye open at you, wincing.
“Careful, please, love, I—don’t want this to end too quickly.”
“Whatever you want, Steven, I’m yours.”
You breathed, fingers caressing the side of his face and beneath his jawline. He grunted at your words, still fighting to maintain control of his body. It only served to turn you on more. When your fingers once more reached for the band of his boxers, he interrupted you with a kiss.
“Patience, love, s’alright.”
"Want you so bad."
You cried against his mouth, absolutely desperate, and you felt the stutter of his exhale as he pulled away.
“I know, I know, but I—Gods, ’m sorry, but I just have to taste you.”
You barely had time to process his words before his head was between your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inner flesh between them. Your eyes fluttered closed just as he licked a long, experimental stripe between your folds, making you jerk up towards him involuntarily.
Your cunt was puffy and swollen from your previous orgasm, but Steven wasted no time diving in. He let the tip of his tongue dance around your bundle of nerves, suckling it into his mouth and humming at the taste. The vibrations traveled all the way through you, and you moaned, head thrown back in ecstasy. You tried to force your legs from caging him in, but when he noticed the strain in your muscles, he tucked his arms beneath your thighs and let your knees rest on his strong shoulders, allowing him an even better angle with which to pleasure you.
He changed course, tongue now prodding at your entrance, pushing in and out carefully and slowly. At the feeling of your walls clenching, Steven jostled just slightly, the bridge of his nose rubbing against your clit just right. You cried out, fingers flying to fist at his dark curls, pulling him back in against you.
“Fuck, do that again, Steven, please.”
Steven wasn’t one to deny you of what you wanted. He obliged, repeating the motion, his tongue penetrating you rhythmically and his nose pressed against your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. You thighs tightened around his head, and you felt more than you heard the groan that it pulled from him. You were suddenly teetering on the edge of another orgasm.
“God, Steven, gonna make me cum, don’t stop, please—”
Steven maintained his pace, smart enough to know not to speed up or slow down or change up his rhythm at all as your toes curled. You briefly opened your eyes, and the sight in front of you toppled you over the cliff—Steven’s dark eyes staring up at you, the lower half of his face buried in your cunt, his hips rutting up against the mattress unconsciously as he watched you come undone. You practically sobbed as the shockwaves overwhelmed you, your thighs squeezing Steven’s head and holding him in place as you tugged at his hair. He happily lapped up your arousal, the taste of you lingering on his tongue when he finally pulled away after you had stopped squirming.
You tasted yourself on his lips when he kissed you, and the sight of your slick coating his chin and smeared across his cheeks was one of the most attractive things you’d ever seen. You smiled at him with hooded eyes, still coming down from your high.
“Please, will you fuck me now, Steven?”
You pleaded, and Steven groaned, pressing his still-covered cock against the heat of your pussy.
“Oh, yes, please, can I?”
He asked for confirmation, because of course he did, he’s Steven, and you nodded feverishly, watching with lustful eyes as he pulled his boxers down, his length finally released from the confines of the fabric. It stood at full height, long and big but not too thick, and you practically felt yourself drooling at the sight. His head was flushed a deep reddish purple, sheened with precum that had accumulated there. There was a prominent vein that ran up the underside of his shaft, and all you wanted to do was run your tongue along it. Steven caught you staring and grimaced, moaning lowly.
“Christ, darling, you keep lookin’ at me like that and ’m not gonna be able to last.”
His hand reached down and gave a few strokes to his cock, pumping it as he moved in towards you. He leaned down over you once again, eyes finding yours, and you felt the tip rub up and down your folds a few times. Steven’s lips were parted in pleasure, his breathing ragged. You felt the head of his cock barely breach the entrance of your pussy.
“Is this—are you sure?”
He asked you one final time, fingers reaching to stroke your hair. Instead of answering, you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, and slowly, slowly, he pushed into you.
The groan that escaped him was hellish, sinful, practically animalistic as he sheathed himself within you, pushing in to the hilt until he was buried completely in the warmth of your walls. Your eyes never left his face, absolutely living for his expressions of pleasure—his pinched brows, parted lips, heavy breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut as he held himself there for a moment, offering you time to get settled. You didn’t need time. He had opened you up plenty, and your wet channel practically swallowed him with need.
“Alright?”
He breathed, checking to see if you were experiencing any discomfort. You nodded at him and offered a roll of your hips upward, your clit rubbing up against his pubic bone deliciously. He whimpered, pulling his cock out just enough before rocking back into you. You mewled, pressing your face into his shoulder as he repeated the motion, pulling out a bit more each time as he gained confidence and momentum. Soon, he was thrusting into you steadily, each move punctuated by barely audible ‘uh, uh, uh’ sounds from his lips as he lost himself in the feeling of you.
“Yes, Steven, fuck. Fucking me so well, such a good boy.”
That awoke something in him, and his pace faltered just barely, hips stuttering as he let out a high-pitched whine.
“Shit, shit, don’t—you can’t just—I’m not gonna last, Y/N, fuck.”
The look on his face was pained, sweat sheened on his forehead from how hard he was restraining himself. You wanted—you needed to see him fall apart.
“Want you to cum for me, Steven.”
You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and he whimpered, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.
“No, please, not yet, want—want you to cum on my cock.”
He sounded desperate, frantic, but you could feel within yourself that you weren’t going to get there soon, and he couldn’t hold out much longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you as you cradled his face in your hands, forcing his eyes on yours.
“Need you to cum, Steven, please—please, please, need you to cum for me—”
You clenched your muscles, walls clamping down on him, and with a sharp cry of your name, his cum spilled deep inside you, cock fully nested in your cunt as his spend coated your walls and filled you with warmth. His hips kept thrusting into you, almost of their own volition, forcing his seed deeper and deeper into you as he grunted with each move, face contorted in a look of sheer bliss.
Your hands were stroking his back, fingers tracings patterns on the soft skin as he collapsed on top of you, burying his face in the crook on your neck, his cock still sheathed within you.
“Good boy.”
You whispered repeatedly, lips pressed to his temple as he caught his breath and tried to slow the rapid thumping of his heart.
“Such a good boy.”
He let out a sigh, nose pressed into the side of your neck as he closed his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to sit in the moment and really feel it. The softness of your body beneath him, the comforting swirl of your fingers on his back, the quiet hum of praise eliciting from your lips. He wanted to live in this moment forever.
You shifted, just slightly, from beneath him, and he immediately jumped into action. He pressed a chaste peck to your lips before pulling out of you slowly, taking a second to appreciate the view of his cum leaking out of you before he made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a warm wet washcloth to clean you up. When he came back, he just had his boxers on, but the toned taupe of his skin still made you blush. His eyes regarded you warmly, reverently, as he wiped away both of your combined arousals from your folds, touch gentle and careful. When he was done, he reached onto the floor to grab his jumper, sitting back up and offering it to you. You smiled graciously, holding your arms in the air like an expectant child as Steven slipped it over your head, pulling your arms through and straightening it down over your body.
God, you looked good in his clothes.
He crawled beside you, nestling in next to you, body curling to fit the curvature of your side. His head found its place in the crook of your neck, the smell of your skin sweet, and he hummed in contentment, relaxing into you. You smiled softly, reaching up to stroke his hair.
“Is... Is this what you’d normally do after sex?”
You asked carefully, hesitantly, afraid to lose the intimacy of the moment. Steven bristled at your words, just slightly, before he sank further into your embrace.
“I mean... in what little experience I have, yeah, I’d say so.”
He offered, voice laced with grogginess, his eyelids drooping. You giggled quietly at his sudden exhaustion, finding the sight quite endearing.
“So you want me to stay, then?”
He lifted his head at your question, worry reflecting in his big brown eyes.
“Did—do you not want to?”
He asked hurriedly, preparing himself for your rejection, but you shook your head defensively.
“No, no! I’m just—this is about you, and what you want out of sex. Do you... I mean, would you expect me to spend the night?”
Steven’s stare was reminiscent of a puppy as he looked up at you, seeming almost lost. Hesitantly, he nodded his head, confirming that he wanted you to stay with him. You smiled softly, pressing a kiss atop his forehead.
“Great—then I’ll stay.”
He relaxed back into you, eyes closing almost immediately, his breaths slowing. After a few minutes, you’d assumed he’d fallen asleep, but then his voice called out softly in the silence.
“M’sorry, by the way.”
Your brows furrowed.
“Sorry? For—for what?”
A long sigh. He buried his face further into your shoulder, hiding himself.
“I didn’t get to—I mean, you weren’t able to—I wanted you to, you know—before me.”
Oh.
His innocent avoidance of vulgarity melted your heart, as it was obviously something he struggled to speak about regularly. You pulled your head back, turning to face him, and he lifted his eyes, cheek smushed against your collarbone. You smiled at him, a hand coming to stroke his cheek.
“Don’t be sorry, Steven. It was perfect.”
You assured, and although he would normally never believe it, something in your eyes was genuine. His lips turned upward at the corners.
“Yeah?”
He asked, excited at the prospect of your validation, and you laughed shortly, smiling wide.
“Yeah.”
With that, Steven let his body meld against yours, finally allowing himself to relax completely and relish in the feeling of being so close to you.
Your mind was already racing with ideas for tomorrow’s trial.
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POINTS OF CONTENTION:
- being open to unconditional care without obligation of reciprocation
- feeling adequate and worthy of affections
- accepting praise and compliments without denial or doubt
TREATMENT: - receive without giving - deserving of everything and anything (should not have guilt over being pleasured) - high praise and validation
Twelve hours, that was the deal. You needed at least twelve hours apart before you could begin the second phase of research. Partially to record the data you needed and begin developing a profile, but mostly because you knew that both the boys and you would need time to recuperate before going at it again.
Especially Steven.
Standing outside his apartment door, you were somehow more nervous this time around than you were yesterday. You’d spent the night with him, wrapped in each other’s arms, and you’d left early that morning, promising to return in the evening after the appropriate time had elapsed. You’d showered, eaten, relaxed, but mostly, you’d planned. The key to this study, you’d realized, wasn’t actually the sex at all—it was about challenging the alters, exploiting their vulnerabilities. Exposure therapy.
Sexual interactions are intimate. They are reflective of some of our deep-rooted, unconscious desires, and are significantly related to events that occurred in our childhood that shaped our attachments styles. Certain sexual preferences, turn-ons, fetishes, and kinks, are indicative of different cognitive dispositions. You were trying to figure the boys out—using what they wanted to get to what they needed.
You had predicted Steven’s diagnosis from the start.
When the door to his flat swung inward, his eyes were crinkled at the corners from his smile. He looked soft—rosy pink cheeks, mussed brunette curls, baggy sweats—almost as if he’d just woken up. You returned his grin, slipping past him and into the threshold of his flat.
The door slammed shut behind him, and you turned to him, surprised to be met with a slow, deep, passionate kiss, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment before he pulled away.
You blinked.
“Wow.”
You whispered, slightly reeling. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Steven looked down sheepishly.
“Oh, goodness, I don’t—m’sorry, love, I wasn’t really thinking, I just—missed you, s’all.”
He confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck bashfully. His words pulled at your heartstrings and you walked into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your chin on his chest so you were looking up at him.
“No, don’t be sorry, just—took me by surprise.”
You smiled.
“Hell of a welcome, though.”
He smiled, letting out a nervous breath.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You nodded, tilting your head upwards to capture his mouth with your own again. He hummed against you, one hand coming to cup the side of your face and the other pulling you in closer by your waist. His tongue swiped at your bottom lip, and you immediately submitted, parting your lips to grant him full access. He started walking backwards towards the couch, but you pulled away to stop him.
“Bed.”
You whispered, your fuck-me eyes almost making him feel faint. He nodded obediently, kissing you again, and changed direction, guiding you to the other side of the flat. The back of Steven’s calves collided with the mattress and he fell backwards into a sitting position onto the bed, but you stayed standing between his parted legs.
“What’re you doin’, love?”
He asked, laughing almost nervously. You just smirked down at him, leaning over to capture his lips once more. You hands were on his shoulders, traveling down his back and around his neck. His found your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there as you continued your passionate making out. Finally, you pulled away, but stayed close, nose still brushing his. His eyes were closed.
“Steven.”
You whispered, and he hummed in acknowledgement, an expression of contentment on his face.
“Are you ready?”
His eyes fluttered open, his gaze focusing in on you. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, as if contemplating something.
“Ready? For... for what, exactly?”
You leaned a bit away from him, standing up to your full height. You looked down at him, stroking his hair comfortingly as you addressed him.
“We’re—I’m gonna try something, okay? But I need you to know that you can stop me at any time. Do you know the stoplight system?”
His big brown eyes looked up at you, and he shook his head.
“It’s a technique for safe words. So if I’m doing something and you want me to stop, you say red. If you need me to slow down, you say yellow, and if you’re doing okay and want me to keep going, you say...”
“Green.”
He finished for you, slightly breathless with anticipation. You nodded down at him proudly.
“Yeah, you’ve got it, good boy.”
You heard the way his breath caught in his throat at your praise, and you pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips.
“So—are you ready?”
The way he looked at you—eyes filled with such wonder, such reverence, such infatuation—filled you with so much pride and confidence. God, you wanted to ruin this man.
“Gods, love, you’re makin’ me a bit nervous.”
He admitted sheepishly, but his breathing stuttered as you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in between his legs, placing one hand on each thigh and coaxing them farther apart. He was watching you intently.
“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart, it’s okay. But remember—you just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
He slowly nodded, waiting earnestly for your next move. You reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it off of him and tossing it to the side. His pants followed shortly thereafter, leaving him only in his boxers. You could see just how hard he already was for you—excitement bubbled in your stomach.
He reached for your shirt, but you tutted at him condescendingly, gently guiding his hands away from you.
“No, sweetheart—this is about you.”
You whispered, returning to your position on your knees in between his legs. He was leaning back, his arms stretched out behind him as he held himself up, watching you. Your fingers were stroking at the skin of his upper thigh, where the leg of his boxers ended. Slowly, your fingers passed over his bulge with a barely-there touch, and he hissed at the ticklish sensation, the muscles of his thighs rippling with strain.
While his head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, you took advantage of his temporary distraction and leaned forward to place opened-mouth kisses on his cock through his boxers. The warm heat from your breath passed over him and he groaned, watching as you finally reached up to remove the final barrier between you.
He shifted his hips up to help, and you pulled his boxers down his legs and off of him completely—now, he was completely naked before you, and you were fully clothed.
Perfect.
You settled back in between his legs, fingers slowly creeping up his inner thigh and towards his weeping length. You looked up at him through your lashes, where he was waiting with bated breath.
“Listen to me—you’re gonna cum whenever you want to, whenever you’re ready, okay, Steven?”
He whimpered in response as your fingers skirted around his base. When he didn’t verbally answer, you stopped.
“Okay, Steven?”
“Yes, yeah, alright, yeah.”
He nodded frantically, acknowledging your instruction, and you rewarded him with a grin.
“Good boy.”
Your fingers finally wrapped around the base of his cock and he sighed, groaning as he watched you lean forward and allow a string of spit to dribble through your lips and down onto his awaiting length. You coated your hand with the slickness and started a slow, steady pace, pumping him with a slight twist of your wrist. He whimpered, particularly sensitive when your thumb stroked at the sensitive head at the end of your long up-and-down strokes.
“Shit, Y/N, oh, Gods...”
He whined, his hips slowly starting to react to your pace by thrusting upward into your fist.
“There you go, Steven, doing so well.”
You praised, speeding up the pace of your hand a bit. His lip was pulled between his teeth, as if focusing intently, and you let your other hand come up to cup at his heavy balls. This earned a low groan from him, his hips jolting with each twist of your wrist.
“Shit, shit, you’ve got to slow down, or else—oh, fuck—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I wanna see you let go. It’s okay.”
You whispered sweetly, maintaining your speed but tightening your grip just slightly. The muscles in his abdomen were visibly straining, and you could tell he was close.
“Come on, sweet boy. Cum for me.”
He let out a breathy whine, and you could feel the tightening of his balls as his stomach clenched.
“Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Y/N, oh, mmmmh—”
You kept pumping him as thick spurts of white spilled from his tip, dripping down the sides of his pretty cock as he throbbed beneath your touch. You allowed his spend to drip over your fingers and knuckles as you continued stroking him, pace slowing just slightly, but not entirely.
His head was thrown back, still reeling with aftershocks, and—fuck.
He jolted when he felt the hot sting of your lips, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, cum still dripping over your hands as your wrist twisted around the base. He cried out, hips thrusting upwards, his legs spasming involuntarily as you began bobbing your head up and down repeatedly, eyes on his face as you watched his face scrunch up in pain.
“Oh, Gods, fuck, fuck, what are you—oh, Gods, s’too much, I can’t, stop, please—”
His hands were fisting at the blankets atop his bed, trying his best not to bury his fingers in your hair as you pulled off of him with a gasp, but your hand kept going.
“You gotta use your words, sweet boy.”
You reminded with a sympathetic tone.
“If you want me to stop, use your words.”
You leaned forward to clean up his release from the sides of his cock, tongue gliding at the same speed as your hand. He was hissing through his teeth, legs still kicking every once in awhile with overstimulation. He wasn’t responding, so maybe you should stop, maybe—
“Fuck, fuck—green! Green, I’m—it’s green.”
He cried, and you wrapped your lips back on his cock, starting to bounce your head once more. The cries that were escaping him were delicious—pathetic whines and whimpers, begging incomprehensibly as you tried to keep his cock hard beneath your touch. It was working, because you could see his abdomen clenching again, and each of his panted breaths was paired with a short grunt.
“Oh, fuck, I don’t—oh, gods, it’s—m’gonna cum again, oh, shit, oooh—”
You pushed down on his cock as far as you could take him, and the second he hit the back of your throat, he felt his orgasm rock through him. His legs curled around your back instinctually, holding you in place as his hips thrusted into your mouth. This was different, though, this—his muscles were contracting, balls tightening, but it wasn’t accompanied by his cum down your throat. You gagged on him and he practically yelped, one hand finally reaching up to grab at your hair. He pulled you off of him, and you gasped for air. Your face was red and there was spit smeared across your cheeks and down your chin. When you looked up at Steven, his eyes were red and there were tears in his eyes. Your hand was still on his cock, pumping slowly. His legs were still twitching.
You stood up, finally releasing him, and he collapsed backwards onto the bed, arms eagle-spread on either side of him, panting. But then he heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, and when he looked up at you, you were undressing.
He stared at you incredulously, and you smirked at him, discarding your pants and panties simultaneously, leaving you completely bare. You approached the bed again, swinging your leg across Steven's waist to straddle him. You held yourself up just a bit so you were hovering over his cock.
“What, you think we’re done already?”
You teased, sinking down to rub your dripping folds over his still half-hard length. His hips jumped at the feeling.
“No, no, I can’t, not—”
He whimpered, and you leaned forward to shush him, giving him a quick kiss. His bottom lip quivered.
“Such a good boy, Steven—you can give me one more.”
You nodded encouragingly, and he whined, his head pressing back into the mattress with frustration. Your hand reached to stroke at his chest.
“Words, Steven. Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
You offered, suddenly serious, and he took a few deep breaths, tears trailing down his cheeks. When he opened them again, he looked wrecked, but he met your gaze.
“Green.”
It was barely a whisper, but you heard it. You reached down to wrap your fingers around his slick length once more, stroking him to coax him back to full height. He was still mostly hard, as his second orgasm had occurred in the midst of his refractory period, so fairly soon, his tip was prodding at your awaiting entrance and you stifled a mewl.
“There we go, sweet boy. You ready?”
His brows were pinched, but he nodded, and you slowly, carefully sank down on him, burying him into you all the way to the hilt. He was crying now, sitting upright to wrap his arms around you and hold you close against him as you gave him a moment to adjust. His face was pressed into your shoulder.
“Doing so, so well, for me, Steven. Just give me one more, okay? Whenever you want, whenever you’re ready, give it to me.”
You encouraged, lips pressed against his ear, and you slowly lifted up your hips, sinking back down onto him as he whined into you.
“Oooh—oooh—”
“Shh, shh—I know, sweetheart, I know.”
You cooed, cupping the back of his head with one hand as you continued to roll your hips, grinding back and forth against his lap. You were entirely focused on Steven and helping him reach his peak, but still, the way the tip of his cock prodded at something deep inside you was addictive.
“Such a big cock, Steven, fills me up so good.”
He was panting, you could feel his thighs trembling beneath you as you bounced on him, picking up your speed.
“Being such a good boy. Can you give me one more, huh? Think you can?”
He was sobbing, hips jolting every time your weight came to settle back down onto his balls, skin sticky with sweat as you held him close to you.
“Oh, please, please, please, I’m so close, oh fuck—please, I can’t—”
You bounced on him harder, feeling the ripple of tension in his shoulder blades as his body was wracked with sobs.
“Oh, yes, gonna cum, gonna cum, Y/N, gonna—oh, oh, oh fuck, fuck, fuck fuck—”
His teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder as his cock pulsed within you, and you granted him the kindness of stopping the roll of your hips so he could thrust into you, his seed painting your walls and filling you with warmth. You could feel the hot, wet tears from his eyes against the skin of your shoulder, and you held him close to you, cradling his head against you and rocking him gently.
“Good boy, Steven, so proud of you. Did so, so well for me. My sweet, sweet boy.”
You peppered kisses to the crown of his head, burying your face in his curls as he clung to you desperately, and you stayed there until you felt the drumming of his heart slow and his breathing even out. You slowly, carefully peeled yourself away from him, his softened and sensitive cock slipping out of you as you shakily got to your feet. He whined at the loss of contact, reaching for you, but you shushed him.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
You followed his lead from yesterday, cleaning yourself up in the bathroom before bringing a damp rag to wipe away the arousal that was drying against his thighs. He hissed at your touch, but you gently cleaned him up, returning to the bathroom again. You considered slipping his jumper on, but for some reason, you felt the need to be as close to Steven as possible. You’d pushed him to his limit, and you wanted to be there for him in every sense of the word.
When you came back to the bed, you gestured for him to crawl up towards the pillows. He obliged, albeit a bit shakily, and you pulled the covers back for him as he curled up beneath them. You joined him immediately after, fitting your body to the curve of his back and wrapping your arms around his warm abdomen. You pressed a few gentle kisses against the back of his neck, the top of his spine, across his shoulders. He hummed in response.
“You feel okay?”
You asked quietly, words muffled in his skin. He scooted away so he could turn to face you. His eyes were red, but there was a glimmer of calmness in them—the high-strung Steven looked truly relaxed.
“Feel floaty.”
You laughed at his drawled words, hands reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs stroked against each of his cheeks gently, soothing.
“You really did so well, Steven. Thank you.”
Your eyes were soft, and you saw the way his lips quirked at the corners at your approval.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to—I mean, if you’d still like to—”
You sent him a glare, and he immediately silenced himself, gaze casting downward and away from you.
“No. This was about you, Steven, about you feeling good and that’s it. It was perfect. I loved it.”
His eyes brightened.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You assured, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He sighed, shutting his eyes briefly as a warm, fuzzy feeling overtook him.
“S’just—wish I’d gotten the chance to—”
“Next time, Steven, okay?”
You regarded him carefully, tone gentle. His brows furrowed.
“But—my turn’s done. S’just—Marc and Jake, and then—”
“Next time.”
You reiterated, and when your words finally sank in, the smile that lit up his face was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, embracing you tightly like he never wanted to let go.
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TAGS: @kezibear143 @gingermous
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flightlessangelwings · 5 months
Text
My Knight in White
Marc Spector x fem!reader
Word count- 4.3k
Dialogue prompt- “ that was for saving my life. “ Action prompt- [ KISS ]: after having been saved from immediate danger by the receiver, the sender, in a state of intense emotion and relief, kisses them to express these feelings.
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), protective!Marc, mutual pining, minor violence, minor character death, harassment of reader (not Marc), damsel in distress, unprotected piv, no use of y/n
About this reader- she is smart but not physically badass, works with Egyptian artifacts but I left it vague so you can fill in for yourself exactly what she does, no specific city where they are is stated either so it's open for you to imagine wherever, no physical descriptions other than body parts
Notes- Posting my October Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023 a little late because of kinktober but I'm so excited to share this! This is expanding on an idea that @melodygatesauthor had months ago who wanted to see a damsel in distress reader and Marc saving her!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!
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~
“You’re here late,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.
You blinked, refocusing your eyes to the world around you. Looking around, you didn’t even realize how long you had been hunched over your desk, studying and cleaning the artifact that had recently been brought in. “Marc…” you breathed as you stretched, your back aching as you became aware of reality again.
He smiled softly as he uncrossed his arms, “You work too much, you know that,” he leaned against the doorway as he watched you. 
Marc loved to watch you work. He loved to watch you do anything really, but when you worked, you became so focused, lost in concentration. You handled the old artifacts with such care and respect, he couldn’t help but linger his gaze on your hands. He had never met anyone smarter than you, and he loved to listen to you go on and on about any topic you found interesting. Marc took it upon himself to watch over you, making sure you were always safe even if you never truly knew just how much he looked over you.
“I lost track of time,” you replied as you gathered yourself and packed everything away, “I didn’t realize it’s after dark.”
“And the fact that everyone else left hours ago didn’t clue you in,” Marc smirked.
“Hey,” you playfully chastised him, “I can’t help it, I just got in the zone, you know. Besides, these new artifacts are so fascinating I just can’t tear myself away from them!”
It suddenly occurred to you that you and Marc were completely alone. He was right- everyone else left hours ago. As you stood up and made your way over to him, you took in his handsome features once more. And the way he leaned against the door made your thoughts run wild. The two of you had known each other for some time now, but you kept your true feelings to yourself, afraid of damaging your friendship or losing him.
Marc looked you up and down, “Want me to walk you home?” he offered as he followed behind you, watching you flip the lights off and lock everything up.
“I’m alright,” you suddenly felt nervous. Marc has been to your place many times, but the shiver that ran up your spine made your heart race, “I don’t live that far.”
He furrowed his brow, “You sure?”
“Yeah,” you replied with a soft smile, “Thanks, though,” you stepped in front of him before you turned back, “Good night.”
Marc watched you walk away before he whispered a hushed, “Good night.”
He watched you as you made your way down the street in the darkness until he couldn’t see you anymore. Marc had already decided he was going to follow you anyway, watching over you from afar, but when he saw a group of sketchy-looking men with wicked grins sneer and tail behind you, he knew he had to do more to keep you safe.
You wrapped your arms around yourself as you made your way down the street. You didn’t make it far from Marc when you noticed that a group of men started to follow behind you, and though you couldn’t make out their exact words, you knew they were talking about you. In that moment, you wished you took Marc up on his offer to walk you home, but you couldn’t turn around now. All you could do was hope you got inside fast before they caught up to you.
“Hey sweet cheeks,” one of them called out to you.
Too late.
You glanced over your shoulder and found that they were even closer to you than you thought, and you quickly bolted down the street without a word. That only egged them on more, however, and you heard them laughing behind you as they sped up as well.
“Oh come on, sweetheart,” they sneered, “We just want to talk to you.”
A gasp escaped your lips as you turned down a street, hoping to lose them. But, your plan immediately backfired as you found yourself trapped in an alleyway at a dead end. And you failed to shake them off your tail.
“Please,” you breathed as fear pulsed through your veins, “I’m just trying to get home.”
The men surrounded you, darkness shading their features, “We’ll get you home, sweet girl.”
The others chuckled as they started to reach for you.
“Please leave me alone,” you tried to sound more assertive, but you knew you didn’t intimate them at all. They were all very muscular and taller than you, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance even if you tried to fight back. But that didn’t mean you were going to go down without a fight.
You screamed when one of them grabbed your arm, and you swung your fist into him as hard as you could while digging your feet into the ground. Gritting your teeth, you tried your best to yank yourself from his grip, but tears of frustration filled your eyes when you realized it was useless.
“No!” you cried out as you tried again, your pleas drowned out by their cackling laughter.
Suddenly, your luck changed.
Out of nowhere, something yanked the man who helped you back and he yelped as he found himself flung against the wall of the alleyway. The other men all looked up as a hooded figure in all white descended down and immediately went on the attack against them.
You gasped as you scurried back out of the scuffle, pressing yourself against the opposite wall as much as you could as if you tried to phase through the wall and disappear. Your eyes went wide as you watched the mysterious hero fight off the men who attacked you, beating and punching them down until none of them moved.
The figure then turned to you, and time froze for several moments.
He raised his hands in surrender, “I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice from under the mask said.
You couldn’t help but feel like the voice was familiar. But, you stayed silent.
“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” your rescuer asked as he stepped closer to you, looking you over.
Your hands trembled, but not from fear this time. Taking a deep breath in for the first time in what felt like forever, you finally replied in a hushed voice, “No,” you whispered, “I’m alright.”
As he stepped close enough so you could reach for him if you wanted, you studied his outfit more. He wore all white, but as he got closer, you noticed it looked like linen wrappings, almost like a mummy. A crescent moon symbol adorned his chest and a white cloak covered his head. You could see the muscle definition even through the thick wrappings, and it made you swallow hard.
You had no idea what came over you at that moment- perhaps it was the adrenaline- but without a word, you reached out for him, grabbed him and pulled your bodies closer as you laid a kiss on his mask where his mouth would be.
It caught him off guard, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he cradled you close, holding onto your waist with one hand and your arm with the other. It felt warm, comfortable, right.
“What was that for?” he asked with a smirk in his voice.
You smiled at him, “That was for saving my life,” your voice was still hushed, your breath taken away, “Thank you.”
He cupped your chin affectionately. Through the mask, he studied you up close. Everything in Marc screamed to take it off and tell you who he was, but he also knew that knowing his secret would put you in danger. And Marc would not allow that. For now, he would be satisfied knowing you were safe, and that he was just in time. He only nodded, not saying anything else before he broke away from you and leapt up into the air, disappearing into the night just as mysteriously as he appeared. 
You watched in bewilderment as it took your brain several moments to process what just happened. You touched your lips as you realized that you kissed a total stranger, and one who you didn’t even see his face too. But, as you looked around and saw the men laying on the ground, the adrenaline ran through your veins once more and you ran out of the alleyway and quickly made your way home.
The whole time, Marc watched from the rooftops until you were safely inside.
*
In the following weeks, you threw yourself completely into your work to cope with what happened that night. A mix of emotions constantly filled your head, and you found that pushing them away with the distraction of work was the easiest way to deal with them. There were days where you hardly looked up from your desk, so deep in concentration that the rest of the world was a blur around you.
Marc kept a watchful eye over you the entire time. He knew why you were like this, but when others asked he feigned ignorance. No one had to know what happened to you, and it wasn’t up to him to tell anyway. Instead, he chose to keep an eye on you from afar, like he always did. 
Vaguely, you were aware of Marc’s presence in the shadows… and it felt familiar to you somehow. He always kept an eye on you, but after that night it somehow felt different. But, having him close was one of the few comforts you had after your attack. Yet, your mind also wandered toward the mysterious hooded figure who rescued you… 
“Hey,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. 
You looked up with a startled gasp, not realizing how late it got. Again. “Marc,” you breathed. 
He looked worried, “Everything alright?” Marc asked, “You’ve seemed… off lately.”
Your eyes darted from his face to your desk a few times as you felt nervous suddenly, “I’m fine,” you knew you didn’t convince him, you didn’t even convince yourself.
Marc sighed your name as he settled down next to you, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here for you.”
Heat rose in your face, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you exhaled deeply, “Besides, you’d just make fun of me.”
“Never!” he exclaimed, acting playfully offended before he turned serious, “What’s on your mind?”
The comforting tone in his voice and the warmth of his presence allowed you to let your guard down, “Ok…” you took a breath, “The night I was here late a few weeks ago,” you started, “A group of guys tried to jump me,” your voice quivered and you felt Marc’s hand over yours, “But I was saved by…” you paused as you looked at him sheepishly, “A guy in a hood and something that looked like mummy wrappings.”
Marc’s face lit up as he grinned knowingly at you.
You nudged him playfully as you erupted into a fit of giggles out of pure embarrassment, “See I knew you were going to laugh at me!”
“No, sweetheart I’m not laughing at you,” Marc raised his hands defensively, “I swear!”
Something changed in the air between you as you stared at each other. The light atmosphere shifted and it felt like something heavy lingered between the two of you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized just how close Marc sat to you, and your breath caught in your throat as you studied his features. Not to mention that was the first time he called you anything affectionate like that…
“Marc…”
“Listen, I…,” he started, interrupting you.  
Leaning in, you were entranced by him and you hung on his every word. Just being near him and laughing like this made all your troubles melt away. You felt safe here, with him. 
But, before Marc could continue, a loud crash cut him off. 
Both of you jumped up, and you let out a soft shriek. Marc immediately went into defense mode and every muscle in his body tensed. It was late, and the two of you were the only ones in the building. He made sure the doors were locked too, so he knew whoever broke in meant trouble.
“Marc?” your voice shook.
“Listen to me,” he turned to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I need you to sneak out of here. Take the back exit and hide somewhere. I’m going to distract them and get a path for you to get out.”
“But the artifacts,” you whispered as you glanced over at the old objects on your desk that you spent weeks cleaning and studying. The first thought in your mind was that these are robbers looking to steal and sell them, and you didn’t want that to happen.
“Things can be replaced,” Marc sounded urgent, “We can get them back. I’m more worried about getting you safe right now.”
Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, stunned. Just as you were about to reply, though, another crash made you jump and Marc pulled you in close to keep you calm.
“It's gonna be alright,” he murmured to you, “Just trust me. Ok?”
You pulled back to look into his eyes again, “I trust you.”
He nodded as he pressed his lips together, “Ok,” how Marc sounded nervous, “Stay low. Stay in the shadows. And just get out. You hear me?”
Swallowing hard, you nodded. Then your brain caught up with you, “What about you?”
Marc smirked, “I’ll be alright. Just trust me.”
There was no time for explanations as another crash echoed in the room- they were getting closer. Marc ushered you out of the door and down the hall before he ran in the opposite direction towards the intruders. You glanced over your shoulder at his retreating figure before you made your way down the hall, crouching low and out of sight as you did so. 
As you made your way to the back door, however, you noticed that it was blocked- one of them already made his way there.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you changed direction. Instead, you went up to the roof in hopes of finding a place to hide until Marc did… whatever he was planning to do. 
But that plan also quickly backfired. 
You ran up to the roof and into the open area there, but you were met with yet another thug who blocked the opposite entrance from where you were.
“Well look what we have here,” he said with a dark grin on his face.
Letting out a gasp, you tried to run back where you came from, but another sinister shadowy man blocked that path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.
“Please,” was all you could whimper as you felt them close in on you. 
The men just laughed as they stepped closer, reaching for their guns as they did so. But, before they reached you, one of them was yanked back, slamming into the wall. You looked up and saw the same hooded figure that saved you before swooping down from seemingly nowhere.
More of the thugs appeared from the doorway and they yelled as they pulled out their guns and started to fire on both of you. The hooded figure rushed over to you and wrapped his cloak over both your bodies, shielding you.
You covered your head out of instinct, but as you felt a warm presence, you looked up and found yourself face to face with your linen wrapped savior once more.
“It’s you,” you gasped in relief. The ringing of the guns suddenly sounded distant.
The mask started to peel away on its own, revealing none other than Marc. He breathed your name, “Are you alright?” 
“It’s you!” you sounded stronger that time, in total shock that it was Marc the whole time.
“I told you I wasn’t making fun of you,” he flashed a quick smile before he turned serious again, “I don’t have time to explain now,” he said, “I’m going to fight these guys off. You need to hide somewhere until they’re dealt with. I’ll come find you when it’s safe, I promise.”
The intruders and the guns were more pressing at the moment, so you swallowed and nodded. 
When Marc found an opening, he pushed you towards the door, “Go!” he shouted as he turned back to the intruders and fought them off.
You ran. 
Running on pure instinct, you bolted down the hall and turned a corner into a closet. Luckily, no one was around and you hid yourself well. You crouched in the corner as you listened to the grunts and gunshots in the distance. At one point, you covered your mouth to stifle a scream, suddenly scared for Marc. You fought back tears, swearing to yourself that you wouldn’t cry. 
Just as you squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath, the fighting stopped. Silence filled your ears but you didn’t dare move. Your hands trembled slightly against your face as you strained to hear the one voice that would bring you comfort.
And then you heard it.
Marc called out your name as he stood in the hall, frantically looking for you, “Baby it’s alright. You can come out.”
You let out the breath you held, all your fear escaping with it as you leapt up and out of your hiding spot. Down the hall, you saw Marc standing there, his knighty suit still adorning his body but his face exposed. “Marc,” you breathed in relief as you ran towards him.
“Sweetheart,” he sounded just as relieved as he ran towards you with open arms. 
The two of you crashed together in a messy embrace, emotions getting the better of both of you. He rested a hand on the back of your head while the other pulled you in as close as he possibly could. Tears flowed from your eyes as relief washed over you, yet the pulse of fear still ran through you after everything that happened. Vaguely, you heard Marc whispering soft words of encouragement and reassurance in your ear. 
“Come on,” Marc said, “I’m getting you out of here,” he slid his hand in yours.
“But…” you tried to protest, not wanting to leave any of the artifacts alone.
“It’s ok,” he gave you a soft smile, “They’re dealt with. Right now I want to make sure you’re safe.”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to process everything. So much happened in such a short time, and you weren’t sure how to react to it. Time passed in a daze as you found yourself at Marc’s place, settled comfortably on his couch with a mug of tea in your hands. You felt safe with him, of course, but you felt like you were outside your body.
The two of you talked for what felt like hours. Marc told you everything- all of his secrets that he kept hidden for so long. He promised you that he would always protect you, and he explained why he didn’t tell you before. As he talked, the sound of his voice calmed you, like an embrace of your heart. Your eyes moved from where they stared at the mug to meet his gaze.
“I promise you, baby,” Marc cupped your face, “Nothing’s ever going to happen to you. I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”
Heat rose in your face, and you were sure Marc felt how warm you were. But, as you stared into his eyes, you felt your heart flutter and his charming gleam sent a rush of fresh emotions through you. Without a word, you closed the gap between your bodies, crashing your lips together. Muffled groans echoed between you as you climbed into his lap and Marc instantly helped you closer. Deepening the kiss, you felt a tingle on your skin as you tasted him, and you felt the reverberation of his moan against your body.
“What was that for?” he asked in a whisper, “Not that I’m complaining.”
You smirked against Marc, “I wanted to thank you properly,” you breathed, “With a real kiss this time.”
Marc cupped your face as he gazed into your soul through your eyes, “Baby…” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for another kiss.
This time, it felt different. It was desperate and heated, but there was also the warmth and passion behind it. You moaned into Marc’s lips as you rocked your hips against his. He tightened his grip on you as a rush of need pulsed through his veins, and he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched underneath you.
Breaking away for air, Marc saw the look of wanton need in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking, “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
You cupped his face, brushed your fingers along his dark curls, “I’m sure,” you whispered as you kissed him again, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you paused before you sheepishly added, “I’ve wanted this so so long…”
Marc grinned, his face lighting up, “Then let’s do this right.”
Shifting your bodies, Marc stood up and extended his hand. You eagerly took it and allowed him to lead you over to his bed. Excitement bloomed between you and before you even made it to the bed, your hands were all over each other. Kisses decorated your steps as you each tugged at the other’s clothing until you were bare.
You and Marc crashed into his bed, and he quickly laid overtop of you. He paused for a moment, breathless as he took in the sight of you bare underneath him, “Fuck you are beautiful,” he breathed.
“So are you,” you sighed in pure admiration as you grabbed his face and yanked him in for another kiss, “We can take our time later,” you murmured between kisses, “I need you too bad right now.”
“Fuck,” he groaned as he rocked his length along your folds. It didn’t go unnoticed that you mentioned a next time either… But your moan broke Marc out of that thought, and a shiver ran up his spine as he felt his cock against your pussy, “Wet already,” he smirked.
“Please Marc,” you pleaded. 
“I’ve got you, baby,” he moaned as he lined himself up with your entrance.
Slowly, carefully, Marc pushed himself into you, causing you both to gasp at the same time. You clawed at his arms, holding on for dear life as the slight burn of his cock stretching you out went jolts of pleasure through your body. Fresh tears filled your eyes at the sensation, and you never felt more alive, more pleasure than ever before.
“Marc…”
He groaned your name as he bottomed out inside you, “Fuck,” he breathed. Marc cradled your face as he rocked in and out of you, slowly at first, but the more you moaned the faster he moved, “You’re perfect,” he moaned, “Shit…”
“Fuck… Marc… You feel so good,” you moaned as you saw stars every time his cock slammed into you.
It didn’t take long for you to feel the tingles of your approaching climax. Your legs trembled on either side of Marc’s body as he thrust into you over and over again and you dug your nails into his soft skin as you clung to him. Incoherent praises flowed from his lips as both your moans grew louder and louder as you lost yourselves in each other.
“Marc… I’m…”
“I’ve got you, baby,” Marc repeated his words from earlier.
Skin slapped against skin as Marc felt his own climax apparach. But, he was determined to send you over the edge first, and with just a few more thrusts of his hips, he got what he wanted. With a loud scream, you came hard, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. And fuck you had never looked more beautiful to Marc.
He kept up his pace as long as he could, watching the show you put on just for him and savoring every second of it. But, Marc’s eyes started to roll back as he felt his orgasm quickly build, egged on by the way you clenched your inner muscles around his cock. And with a groan of your name, he came right after you, spilling himself into you as he did so.
Marc collapsed on top of you, completely spent. But, after just a few breaths, he shifted himself, pulling out of you with a hiss before he laid next to you. You let out a whine at the loss, but quickly curled yourself up in his embrace as Marc held you close. You closed your eyes as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heartbeat against your ear.
“Marc, I…”
“Shhh,” he gently hushed you, “Just rest now baby,” Marc cradled your head as he placed a soft kiss, “I’ve got you.”
You hummed contently as sleep quickly took you over. Between the excitement, the danger and the rush of emotions, you suddenly found yourself exhausted and in no time you feel sound asleep in Marc’s arms.
Marc stayed awake for some time, listening to the sound of your heavy breaths. He knew exactly what you wanted to say, and as much as he wanted to hear you say those words, he knew it was better to wait. He gave your body one extra squeeze before he whispered to your sleeping form, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart… I love you.” 
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charnelhouse · 2 years
Text
while we untangle
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Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.
Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.
It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.
“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.
“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”
Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.
Who? What? Where?
You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.
Who are you? Who are you?
Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”
He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.
“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.
“I’m - do we know each other?”
He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.
“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.
“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.
“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”
You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.
He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.
***
He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.
“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.
“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”
Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -
“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.
***
He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.
He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.
“You okay?”
He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.
That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.
“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t know what else to say.
***
His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.
There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.
He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.
“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.
You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.
“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.
Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.
They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.
You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?
You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.
And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.
“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.
He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.
There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.
His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”
You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”
He should question that. Who?
You know who.
The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.
You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.
He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.
“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.
He wants to feel this.
He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.
It feels familiar.
His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.
He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.
His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.
You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.
He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.
Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.
At some point, they get naked.
You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.
You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.
That voice that’s like his voice, but not.
He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.
“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”
“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.
You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.
You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.
You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.
“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.
You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.
You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.
Ours. Ours. Ours.
That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.
This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.
He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.
Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -
He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.
He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -
He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.
He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.
You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -
He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.
His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.
He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.
11K notes · View notes
writingsoftheloser · 3 months
Text
Walk you home
Pairing: Steven Grant x reader
Summary: The one where Steven would never let you walk home alone.
Words: 821
Warnings: swearing maybe? it's just a short fluff piece!
A/N: It's been a long time, isn't it? So let's ease into posting with this short piece that was primarily inspired by Pink's song. It's also part of the "Things I can't say out loud" Anthology and well, it's basically all fluff! Let me know what you think about it!
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Steven Grant was not really a man of his word - or so he was considered. He used to forget things, always being late and miss parts of his life. Since he made peace with Mark and Jake, though, Steven had actually started being his best possible self, never forgetting one thing ever.
He used to hate his routine, never being able to follow it, but that has changed too; he now loved it, especially because as of late it involved a very specific person: you.
Obviously Mark and Jake had a huge part in it too, but there was one specific moment of every day that it was reserved for just you and Steven. It had started casually: you finding yourself closing the bookshop at the same time Steven left work. You had sent him a text, not to disturb him, but your phone had started ringing right after.
“Hi love,” the voice on the other end of the phone greeted you.
The smile appeared immediately on your face, “Hi, I just got out of work and-”
“Me too,” was his quick answer, “Wait for me, I’ll walk you home”
That day you hadn't had time to tell him that it was fine, that you didn't have a long walk, and watching with how much enthusiasm Steven had approached you, you didn't have the heart to tell him no all the other times he offered to do the same.
Also, who were you to say no to being walked home by Steven regularly? You were going to soak up all the possible time with that man and his sweetness.
It had slowly evolved into you and him working around your working time to actually being able to walk home together. Steven always telling you of some new notion he had learned and you telling him about your day; the light of day slowly fading away and Steven’s warm hand in yours.
Winter time’s darkness became more bearable with his warmth next to you, and spring time became more funny with his lines and the way he used to swing back and forward your linked hands.
One day Steven was unusually late for your walk. You waited for him in front of the bookshop, checking your phone more frantically by the minute.
“I hope everything’s alright” you muttered under your breath, knowing of Steven’s alters and their job with Khonshu. You had no new messages, nor missed calls.
You swallowed, anxiety growing and phone almost at your ear to call him, when a breathless and disheveled Steven called your name from the other side of the road. He waved, calling your name again.
You waved back, confused but happy to see him ok and in one piece.
Steven ran across the road, barely avoiding cars in his rush. “I’m sorry,” he panted, curls falling all over the place, “Donna had me working late, but I told her then- I told her I needed to go-”
“Love it’s fine,” you interrupted him, caressing away the couple of rogue curls that had fallen on his forehead, “You should have called that you weren’t able to make it, you didn't have to run all the way here”
Your smile was kind and loving, but Steven felt upset anyway: he would never let you walk home alone.
“No,” he said, straightening up. For a second you thought you had Mark in front of you, but no, it was still your Steven. “I would never do that”
A bit baffled, you shook your head. “It’s ok-”
“It’s not,” he said, grabbing your hand. “This is my favorite moment of the day, I’ll never give it up-” he paused, tilting his head, “Well, unless it were for more time with you, obviously, but that’s not the point! The point is that I love our walks, because they’re ours and it’s you and me and they’re important to me”
One of your hands moved to your chest, your smile widening as you looked at the intensity with which Steven was defending this small moment. You knew he cared, but you were always a bit taken aback by how much he truly cared.
You’ve never experienced a love like that, one that cherished even the smallest things.
Spurred by the onslaught of feelings, you leaned up and kissed Steven soundly. He let out a soft surprised sound and his lips froze for a moment before they started moving with yours.
“I do love you, Steven Grant” you muttered against his skin.
He giggled, embarrassed. “I love you too”
Your hand, who was still clasped in his, squeezed. In your eyes there was a sparkle as your other hand gave his cheek a last caress. “So, do you want to walk me home, love?”
His smile widened. “With great pleasure, darling”
Giggling, you both started towards home, knowing with every step that your true home was actually walking next to you.
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bits-and-babs · 2 years
Text
Chocolate || Steven Grant X Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> Word count: 6.1k!!!
-> After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.
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Gif credit belongs to @paper-n-ashes !!!
TW/CW: long ass fic. Handjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex. Relatively tame for me 👀 Not proof read, ain’t nobody got time for that.
His voice fades out as you gaze into his eyes, sparkling in excitement as he explains the mummification process to you for what must be the fifth time since you joined the museum staff a few months ago. They’re as deep and dark as the chocolate bonbons that had been pushed across the desk towards you. Melting, oozing a happiness that makes them appear even sweeter. The kind of sweet delight that made you buzz for hours on end and eventually fall into a sugar coma.
The crisp cold of the London air permeates through the stone walls of the museum's halls as if echoing Steven’s earlier sentiments that ‘even the summers in London are freezing’. It even seeps through the stitching of your cardigan as you sit in the storage room of the gift shop, helping your colleague sort through the miscellaneous gift-shop inventory, goosebumps rising on the skin of your arms as the draft floats under the heavy-set wooden doors.
However, you can’t feel the cold at all, the warmth that settles deep behind your sternum from hearing Steven talk excitedly about his interests is enough to combat the chill. It’s truly endearing, the way the exhausted man with such a mild temperament comes alive when he notices you listening to his ramblings- or rather tried.
“... and so Apep swallowed Ra’s boat, causin’ an eclipse!” He concludes with such vigor it jolts you from your trance and back to reality to find that you had been sitting with a small Anubis toy in hand for god knows how long, staring dorkily at the poor man who just wanted your attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, so enraptured by his storytelling that you manage to escape his scrutiny, or rather his disappointment that you hadn’t been as enthralled with his knowledge as he perhaps thought you were.
It wasn’t always this way. Upon your arrival to the museum at the beginning of spring during the new economic year, you loved his enthusiasm, the way he had toured you on his induction day despite the rambling of your boss Donna, insisting that he would never be a tour guide as long as he struggled to maintain a consistent timecard. While it wasn’t the most romantic of experiences, Steven so eager to explain how the Egyptians would push a hook through the nose of the nobility and Pharaohs, removing their brain in the process, but it certainly endeared you to him.
Drawn to his polite and mild temperament, you found yourself spending more time with him than you could really afford. Somewhere between traveling one more bus stop in order to continue the riveting conversation about the latest mummified crocodiles archaeologists had unearthed on the banks of the Nile and staying an extra thirty minutes after your shift to help Steven with the work that he had managed to rack up after three days away with little to no explanation as to where he had been, you found yourself struggling to maintain your focus on his narration.
Boredom wasn’t the cause of your affliction. No, worse than that. It was finding yourself tracing the bow of his upper lip with your line of sight, contemplating what it would be like to kiss it. Considering how soft his ebony curls would be to pass your fingers through, and how his long lashes would tickle your skin as he pressed his own lips to the expanse of your skin. Perhaps it was an understatement to claim that you would pray to every God and goddess, Egyptian or otherwise, for an opportunity to brush your fingertips against the grain of the shadow of his beard on his chin, It consumed your every waking moment, not unlike Apep swallowing the boat that Ra traveled upon so he could ride from the East and raise the sun.
You use the pause in conversation in order to switch the topic onto something he was less keen on, needing respite from the way your mind kept falling into the depths of desire, twisting like a pit of vipers in your stomach, before you managed to embarrass yourself beyond measure. “Where are these chocolates from, Steven, they’re very good.”
The bonbons that sat on the tabletop between you both were encased in a crimson-red love-heart box. You hadn’t allowed your own to go into cardiac arrest when he had entered the office holding it, convincing yourself that it couldn’t possibly be for you. Steven had never shown enough interest in you beyond his co-worker or friend to truly indicate that he would be willing to buy such a gift for you.
“Ah-” Steven stumbles over himself, a little eraser in the shape of a scarab beetle falling from his hands and clattering to the table. He’s swift to grab it again, shoving it into a basket after scanning it with a shaky hand. “It was in the- uhm, the reduced section in Tescos… I just thought they looked good and that someone might want to share!” His voice is so insistent, promising that there wasn’t an ulterior motive. It doesn’t ease the way your chest stains under the weight of your disappointment as to pick up another circular chocolate, noting the colorful sprinkles on top.
“That’s kind of you,” You say quietly, cheeks tingling with heat at the knowledge that you had been correct in your suspicions all along, that he could never really want you. It was no secret that women found him attractive, some other co-workers making that very clear on a ‘work night out’ in the local pub, in which they rambled about the way he had shamelessly flirted with them and how charming he had been. While you certainly hadn’t experienced this side of Steven, your own Steven shy and jittery, you envied those girls that held his attention in a way you seemingly failed to achieve.
“Yeah, it’s just… Sharin’ is carin’ an’ all that!” He laughs nervously, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and suffocating you. Were you really that inept in the way of seduction that he felt uncomfortable around you, yet somehow seemed to flirt blatantly with every other woman that worked in the building?!
You exhale shakily, focusing more on the items in your basket as you worked through them, scanning the barcodes and setting them in their pile with a little more force than you intended thanks to your renewed exasperation with yourself. Perhaps the dark circles under his eyes had nothing to do with the lack of sleep he consistently commented on, and rather had everything to do with the boredom he felt spending so much time with you.
“You feelin’ alright?” You hear him question cautiously, having noted the short fuse you seem to have developed within a matter of two sentences.
“Peachy,” you mumble, throwing another toy in the basket with a huff. You know you’re probably coming off as rude, and it’s cruel to give the poor, nervous Steven something else to worry about, but you can’t help feeling a little ridiculous, pining over a man who didn’t like you. He probably knew that you were, and thought poorly of you because you couldn’t control your feelings for him despite him showing not even a small amount of affection for you.
Deft fingers take out another chocolate as he watches you, holding onto it for a moment while he seemingly thinks of something to bring the mood back up again.
“… Have I ever told you the story of Isis and Osiris?” Steven asked, his voice quiet as those mahogany eyes gaze at your face, no doubt scanning your expression for any refusal to listen. But how could you? How could you turn him away when he was looking at you with a level of desperation you’d never seen on him before, wanting to please you, to make you happy again.
You shake your head silently, eyes settling on his face as he sat back in his chair to ready himself for the story. The chocolate pinched between the pads of his thumb and forefinger is melting under his body heat, caving in slightly as the solid chocolate began to liquefy down to the middle.
“Then I’ve done you a disservice! How could I not ‘ave told you the greatest love story in mythology?” He asked you with a nervous grin, pushing aside the toys he was supposed to be sorting through to one side in order to begin his theatrics.
Despite your efforts and your utter frustration, your lips stretched into a smile at his enthusiasm. How could you not? It was endlessly charming. He’s sitting up, his free hand laying his palm across the tabletop and fingers splayed wide. They’re tanned, large. The veins on the back have a blue tint, protruding and appearing more intense under the lighting. Perhaps if you stopped staring, you would have noticed the years of built-up scarring across his knuckles.
Immediately, your mind begins falling into the bad habit that it had developed over the time you and Steven had spent together, producing utterly obscene images. His palms cupping and grasping at your breasts, thumbs torturing your nipples. His fingers pushing into your dripping cun- No no no STOP! Stop it!
How ridiculous it was, that you were so invested in a man who wasn’t at all interested in you. So overcome with need for him that you couldn’t even focus on his voice without wanting him to bend you across the tabletop-
“Well,” Steven begins, the chocolate he continued to pinch beginning to cave in from the heat between his thumb pad and fingertip, “Isis was married to the King of Egypt, Osiris, and she supported him with his rule.” His eyes are set firmly on your face, ensuring that you still wanted to listen to him ramble. It meant you simply couldn’t allow yourself to drift into the realm of daydreams, because he would notice as soon as your eyes glazed over.
Seeing no disdain for his voice, Steven continued, a grin spreading across his face as he allowed himself to get excited about his storytelling.
“Isis helped the women of Egypt with skills, teachin’ them how to weave and bake and brew beer. Both she and Osiris were loved, and this caused Isis’ brother, Seth to get jealous, and so he hatched a plan.” He’s sparkling, his keenness rolling off him in waves. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem so stark, and he didn’t stammer as he spoke, driven by his love for Egyptian myth.
“Seth trapped Osiris in a wooden chest, which he covered in lead and threw in the Nile. With Osiris out of the way, Seth became King of Egypt- Oh, bugger“ he paused, finally having noted that the once circular chocolate bonbon was flat between his fingers, coating his fingers in sticky, melted chocolate.
He was swift to rectify the problem, lifting his thumb to his mouth with a mumble of ‘sorry’ and ‘pardon me’, wrapping his lips around it and sucking the chocolate from his skin. You watch as his upper lip drags across his knuckle, Steven’s eyes closed as he relished the taste of the chocolate against his tongue. It was torturous, like someone had lit the touch paper in your abdomen and the fire was spreading through your veins, crawling up your spine. The pink of his tongue slips from his lips, pulling across his fingerprint and collecting the chocolate left behind.
As if he knew your mouth was watering as you watched him, his bronze eyes lift to find your own. Looking through his lashes at you as he slipped his finger into his mouth too, cleaning his fingerprint with his deft tongue. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole in your chair. Was- Was that meant to look so erotic?!
“Mhm, so as I was sayin’,” he continued as though he hadn’t just single-handedly flooded your panties, oblivious to your internal struggle. “Seth became the King of Egypt, and Isis was devastated.” Despite your best efforts, his voice was fading out, and you found yourself just staring at the man in front of you. You studied his dark hair that fell in tight ringlets in front of his forehead, his deep, emotive eyes, and his sharp cheekbones. He was just stunningly handsome, it was no wonder he felt so confident flirting with girls he actually liked.
It was during this assessment of his face as he continued to talk about Isis’ revenge that you noted the chocolate spread on his lower lip. Utterly exhausted from trying to push away the filthy daydreams that flashed into your mind's eye, you let them run ragged. You’d sacrifice yourself to the Egyptian Gods if it meant you could run your tongue across the expanse of his lip, tasting the chocolate against his skin. Though, you were entirely sure that he would taste much sweeter-
“There somethin’ on my face?”
You startle immediately, eyes so wide you can feel your eyelids strain. It’s like ice water had been thrown on your blazing body, a panic settling in now that you have been caught. When your mind catches back up with your line of vision, you see Steven gazing at you with an innocent look of confusion, his brows pulled up in the middle.
“Ah- y… Yeah, you have chocolate on your lip,” you admit weakly, pointing vaguely at his mouth with a shaky hand. Steven laughs nervously, shaking his head in his embarrassment.
“Silly me! Can’t even feed myself properly!” His comments are strained as he wipes the pad of his thumb across his mouth in an attempt to remove the sticky residue. The veins in the back of his palm are prominent still, catching your eye. Your brain stills entirely. It’s infuriating, watching him struggle so much to remove the stain, somehow managing to miss it entirely every time he passes his digits over his lips.
“Steven,” you whisper, a little breathless now as you feel your blood boil under your skin with arousal.
“It’s alright, I got it. Stubborn bugger!” He laughs again, the sound lacking humor in his mortified state.
“Steven-“
“Why can’t I ju-“
Scraping the legs of the chair you had been sitting in across the hard flooring, you stand in a violent fashion, stunning Steven into silence when you reach across the tabletop and grab his chin with a firm grip, forcing him to look up at you.
“Sit still,” you insist, desperate to ease your devastatingly hot arousal by taking away the distracting variable. Swiping your tongue over the pad of your own thumb mindlessly, you apply pressure to the affected skin and clean the chocolate from his mouth with a few passes.
Steven sits perfectly still for you, almost stiff in your palm as your fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks as you hold him in place. If it wasn’t for the heat radiating from his skin, you’d think he’s been mummified into this position.
Glancing up from his mouth into his eyes, you feel your heart stop at the view. Steven is looking at you through his lashes with almost a needy look. There’s an intense longing to his eyes that almost has your knees buckling, his jaw slack as he gazes up at you. Rose spreads across his cheeks, a pink tinge that explains the feverish feeling to his skin underneath your hand.
“Steven,” you whisper, heart in your throat as you gaze back at him. Surely you weren’t imagining the tension prickling in the air between the two of you? You couldn’t describe it in any other way other than a gas leak. The invisible, volatile gas lingering in the air, laying in wait for the slightest drag of friction to light a spark and ignite the museum and everything in it. It was suffocating, burning your lungs.
Did he look at the other girls like this? The ones that bragged about how charming he was when he flirted with them in the entrance hall or wooed them on lunch break in the form of a compliment about their hair. Did he look at them with such a clear and defined need for them to climb across the table and kiss him?
Trembling fingers ease their grip on his jaw, slowly pulling away to slump back into your chair. Your heart is thumping so loud it’s like thunder in your ears, drowning out the shaky exhale that you release as you finally break eye contact with Steven and turn your attention back to the task at hand- whatever it was, you can barely remember why you were even here anymore.
“S-Sorry to interrupt,” you stumble over your words a little, motioning with a flick of your wrist for Steven to carry on, refusing to look up from the ankh necklace that you had blindly picked up from your basket. It was a cheap metal, not at all heavy, with a simple pendant. Though the Ankh was a symbol of life, you needn’t wear the charm as proof of living- the pulse of blood that you swore you could feel through every single extension in your veins made your condition evident enough.
Much to your utter dismay, Steven didn’t continue talking, the pressure in the air pulling your lungs even tighter. He just gazed at you with hooded eyes and parted mouth. It was utterly disarming, the way his tongue swiped across his lip as if to taste the area you’d touched.
“Steven, I really didn’t mean to be rude-“
“You can’t just be doin’ that,” he spoke on an exhale, sounding positively wrecked.
“I know, I’m sorry, I really di-“
“No no, you can’t be doin’ that and leavin’ me like this!” He insists, in a pleading tone, pitchy and almost whiney. You don’t know what to do as you stare at him, and you swear you must look like a fish out of water due to the way your mouth opens and closes as you try to form a sentence in response.
Maybe it’s the combination of pining after Steven, a late night, and scanning barcodes for hours on end, but you swore you could feel the dynamic between you shift significantly. As though it was no longer Steven that held the power to change the kind of relationship the two of you shared. It was as if he had relinquished that power to you, and now he waited for you to make the move you had been silently begging Steven to make for many weeks now.
Silence drags between the two of you like nails on a chalkboard, the lack of sound devastatingly uncomfortable. Steven’s muscles are bound tight, seemingly ready to spring from his seat but awaiting your orders with an expectant expression.
It’s not clear to you what exactly snaps the tension between you, but all of a sudden you find yourself leaping into action. You push aside the baskets of merchandise you’d both been sorting through, which clatter to the floor and empty themselves as you climb across the table clumsily. With shaky hands, you take Steven’s face into your palms, catching a glimpse of his wide eyes just before you press your lips to his messily.
A moan rips from Steven’s throat and into the kiss, a broken, wrecked sound. The soft, plump flesh of his lips settles so perfectly against your own and yet the way they move against each other is clumsy. Nervousness shared between the both of you makes it hard to time the kiss just right, noses bumping and teeth clacking against each other, yet you’ve never experienced such mind-numbing relief.
Stumbling swiftly to pull away, to lower yourself from the table, you find your body moving itself without the receptors of your brain even having thought it up. Your leg hooks over the expanse of his thighs, settling your hips in his lap and resting the weight of your body against the muscles there. He fumbles with the syllables of your name like it’s a foreign language as you wind your fingers in his hair, taking a firm grip of it and pulling his face towards your own.
Inexperience coats his every action like thick honey that Steven can’t shake, but it emboldens you. Somehow this new position bridges the awkwardness of your first kiss, and your lips mould against his in a much smoother, precise way. You’re able to part his mouth, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the cocoa that had settled there. Judging by the hum of pleasure that ripples in his chest, Steven can taste it also. His scalp is warm underneath your fingertips as you wind his ebony locks around your digits, getting a firmer grip of the strands as you push his face impossibly closer to yours. This proximity isn’t enough. It can’t ever be enough.
Tearing your mouth from his before you lose yourself to it, your exhale sounds pitchy and wrong to your own ears. Almost as though it had pained you. Regardless, your lips busy themself on his jaw, pressing firm kisses along the length of the skin stretching across the bone there before trailing down his neck. Goosebumps seem to litter his skin in the wake of your ministrations, his head tilting backward slowly in an attempt to expose more of his throat to you.
His pulse is heavy as you take the skin above his jugular between your teeth, sucking the skin there so perfect hues of purple and red blossom throughout his tan. His palms settle shakily on your thighs and he digs his fingertips into the flesh so it dips to his will, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he unsuccessfully swallows down a raspy ‘Fuck’.
It’s his turn for those deft fingers that haunted your every waking moment to spread through the strands of your hair, stroking across your scalp as you drag your tongue along the expanse of his skin, moaning as his scent imprints itself permanently upon your brain. The scent of cut grass on a rainy day, clean and soft. You’re quick to blow a soft flow of air from your lips across his skin, the area in which you had focused your tongue growing cold under the draft you produced.
“O-Oh god, god darlin’- darlin’ that feels so good,” you can faintly hear him gasp over the rush of your blood through your ears. Tracing the buttons of his shirt, feeling each of them catch on the knuckles of your fingers on your hand's journey down his chest, you hum in agreement, sucking more marks into the junction of his neck and shoulder.
His skin is released from the pressure with a pop upon the sensation of your pinkie brushing the coarse leather of his belt. A weak moan falls from your mouth, eyelids heavy as you watch his head crane to the side to follow the movements of your fingers.
“Steven,” you whisper, tracing the cold brass of his belt buckle as you maintain eye contact with him, “We need to be quick.” You’re breathless with the speed in which this little make-out session is progressing. The wanton desperation that has lingered on your end for so many weeks was making it hard for you to think clearly and maintain a level of decorum. Your hands seem to move of their own accord, hips grinding achingly slow against the tense muscle of his thigh without thought.
“Y-Yeah? Oh- Oh god yes,” he practically wails, hands pushing aside your own as he unhooks the leather strap from the brass tong shakily. “Yes, we do.” Both of your movements are almost feverish as Steven lifts his hips from the chair, accidentally grinding his hardening cock against your aching, clothed cunt while you pull his belt from the loops of his pants.
Whimpers bubble in your throat, chest tight as you swiftly throw his belt to the floor and struggle to make quick work of the button on your own pants. Your hands are so shaky, the bones in your fingers almost like jelly as you flub getting ahold of the pesky metal circle.
“F-Fuck, Steven I-“
“Come ‘ere,” his husky voice soothes the impatient panic bubbling under the surface of your skin. Your hands busy themselves in his curls one more as you watch his fingers easily slip the pesky button from its loop, easing the waistband of your pants. He doesn’t stop there, pinching the zipper between his forefinger and thumb and dragging it down. The sound is as loud as gunfire in your ears, your heart thrumming violently against your sternum with the adrenaline of the moment.
The exhale that seeps from your lungs is shaky as you use your knees on the edge of the chair to sit up and slip your pants from your hips, thumbs dragging over the flesh of your hip bones and tracing the lacy material of your panties. You find yourself praising Isis that you’d chosen a nice pair to wear today as he stares down at them, a mixture of lust and anxiety swirling in the coffee color of his iris’.
It’s your turn to unbutton his pants, somehow managing to ease your own nerves to open them up without a hitch before undoing his fly. Your breath is a little heavy with excitement as you palm the bulge. Once again, Steven’s head dips back with a low groan as you slip your hand inside his boxers to wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his cock. His hips jut slightly against your touch, the grip his fingers have on your thighs almost bruising now. There’s precum beading at the tip, you can feel it smear underneath your thumbprint across the silky smooth head.
“Oh-ohhhh fuck,” Steven chokes, hips jerking up under your touch to gain further friction. You can feel his cock twitch underneath your palm, can hear shuddering inhale and exhale of his lungs as he attempts to ease the taut muscles in his thighs. You can make him feel even better. You want him to feel better-
Sinking slowly from his lap to the floor, you settle your torso between his thighs as you continue to ever so lightly stroke your fist over the length of his cock. He’s so pretty, the rosy skin is such a deep red it’s almost purple.
“Darlin’ where are you goin’-?” His lazy, slurred question cuts suddenly into a gasp, his head snapping up from its relaxed position to show his startled expression in response to the flat of your tongue tracing the slick precum leaking from his flushed, swollen tip. You swear you can see his dark eyes, almost black as a result of his dilated pupils, roll all the way back into his skull as you take him hot and heavy, further into your throat. His hand immediately jumps into your hair, gripping tightly in an attempt to steady himself against your ministrations out of concern that you’re working him far too quickly.
Your cunt pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling in your shoes as you focus your attention on sucking his cock. He’s deep in your mouth, head pushing against your palette as the tip of your tongue traces the ridge of his veins on the underside of the soft flesh. His cock twitches again when you moan around his length, the vibrations shooting down his cock and settling at the base of his spine with an unintelligible moan.
“I c-can’t, darlin’, I can’t! I can’t-‘ The fingers wound deep into the strands of your hair pull you off his cock quickly, the rapidly increasing pressure threatening to burst forward in his shuddering abdomen. Your own intake of oxygen is heavy and unstable, the sight of him gazing down at you with utterly fucked out eyes almost enough to drive you to the edge.
Quick to your feet, you drag your eyes over his sensitive body. The leaking tip of his flushed cock, the hardening nipples underneath the fabric of his shirt, it all makes your cunt flutter around nothing as it begs to be filled. It’s impossible to hold yourself back now, body moving on its own as you straddle his lap as you had before, settling your palms on his shoulders to steady yourself.
Much to your surprise, nervous Steven doesn’t need direction. He appears to also be working in his own form of autopilot, eyes hypnotized by the way your eyelids flutter when his digits slip between the soft flesh of your thighs and trace the inside with a gentle touch. You could be imagining it, but you’re certain his fingers are a little shaky as they stroke your slit through the crotch of your panties, stopping just shy of your clit underneath the lacy fabric.
Whimpering at the lack of friction just where you need it, you grind your hips slightly into his fingerprints. Steven is quick to gently shush you, hooking his fingers into the crotch of your panties to pull them to the side. The cold air against your soaking folds causes you to grip at the material of Steven’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric with creases you swore he’d never be able to iron out.
“A-Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Soft Steven, lovely Steven checks in with you. Ensures you’re not engaging in something you’re uncomfortable with. It makes your heart yearn for him, more than you have these past few weeks of locking yourself in the bathroom and gazing into the mirror with pained expressions after his fingers brushed yours when taking a pen he’d asked to borrow, or when you would hold your mobile to your chest at the end of a phone call that was about as something as mundane as his shift hours.
“Steven, I want nothing more-“ you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly. It catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. Steven grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly at a loss as to where else to hold you. His eyes are flickering all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.
A chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. He stretches you deliciously, not too big as to hurt- he’s just perfect. Perfectly filling. It’s like you lose all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. Your hips must stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel Steven thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap until he’s bottoming out in your slick pussy.
“Oh- Oh fuck-it feels so good, Steven,” you groan, finally sitting down on his length with your full weight. Your quads are already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure that simmers between them, but the desire to chase the feeling is enough to get them to lift despite the effort it takes.
Rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your head. You don’t mean to, truly you don’t, but you pause before you sink back down. Like this, you see the almost pained look in Steven’s hazy eyes as he gazed up at you through his lashes that were damp with pleasured tears. You never want to go without seeing that view for even one day.
“God, please darli- Yesss, oh yes!” He chokes as you rock your hips for him to slip straight back into, his voice cracking under the pressure that builds at the base of his spine. You find that slow and steady pace that tortures you both, pleasurable but teetering on not enough, teasing the embers of a building orgasm but not stoking the fire.
The slippery sound of your cunt being filled over and over echoes and brunches off of the stone museum walls, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared exertion. You can barely hear Steven’s whimpers, your pulse thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.
There’s tension in your forehead, no doubt from your eyebrows arching in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning between your thighs. Your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but Steven doesn’t want you to stop. His hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same lazy pace you had set.
The legs of the chair you’re both sat in strain under the pressure of Steven’s movements, but neither of you seem to notice as he continues to brush against that part of you that just obliterates any coherent thoughts. You’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that could probably secure a conviction if they were used as evidence of your activities.
Despite the slow, even pace, Steven looks entirely fucked out. His curls are messy and falling into his perfectly pink face. His tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips mindlessly, eyes settled on the way you take his cocks so well. At this angle, he thinks he can see the tip nudging up against your stomach from the inside. That’s all he needs to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts.
It winds you, the brutal pace that he sets, and the gentle smolder is exacerbated into a churning, broiling sensation that rips through you within seconds. Your thighs are tight against his own as you sob out wordlessly, desperate in your attempts to prevent your orgasm from coming too fast. You’ve waited so long, you don’t want this moment to end.
Oh, but Steven is so eager to please. His fumbling fingers are quick to blindly search for your clit as he rocks violently into your soaking wet cunt. It sparks through you like white-hot lightning when he catches the sensitive bundle of nerves, and your reaction must make it obvious he’s found what he’s looking for because he focuses all of his attention on that one spot that has your vision going white.
His cock sinks deep inside you, head continuing to spear that impossibly sensitive spot inside you as he traces your swollen clit with imperfect circles. You barely notice it until it’s surging forward so quickly that you don’t have the time to brace for it. The wail of Steven’s name that escapes you would probably wake the mummified dead on the floor above when your body tremors with a pleasure so annihilating that you’re gushing, flooding around him and streaming tears from your eyes. Your toes curl almost painfully, gripping onto him so hard your knuckles go white.
The extra lubrication and easiness in which Steven is able to sink into your sopping heat must tip him over the edge alongside you, because even through your blinding relief you can feel his back arch slightly as he settles as far into your cunt as he can possibly go, emptying his load with a pitiful groan that melts all of your nerves. He’s slurring your name with each of his final thrusts, keeps going and going until he can’t take it anymore and he’s too sensitive to move.
Boneless, you slump against his heaving chest with a sob. The silence that follows is almost deafening, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to breathe evenly to steady the erratic slamming of your heart against your ribcage.
Massaging his fingers through your hair, Steven lets out a nervous laugh that causes you to burst into a fit of giggles through your exhaustion. Maybe it’s delirium that makes you find humor in the situation or the relief of so many months of pining for this one man. Regardless, it’s freeing. Your body feels lighter, though that could just be you floating after what is easily the best orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life.
“… Oh fuckin’ hell,” Steven is breathless, speaking over your laughter to point at the corner of the ceiling. “The fuckin’ camera.” Of course. This whole museum was covered in CCTV. Though, you hadn’t considered that when he’d practically begged you to make out with him.
“Oh well,” you breathe, sitting up to look him in the eyes and brush his curls from his face with a gentle stroke and a cheeky grin. “I’m sure J.B will love the view.”
END
🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @mylifeisactuallyamess
13K notes · View notes
wysteria-clad · 2 years
Text
Our little thing
paring: Marc, Steven, Jake x fem! reader; established relationship.
warnings: none, domestic fluff.
a/n: soft moon bois <3
summary: you have a specific thing with each of them. It's not like you don't do it with other two, but you do enjoy a little act of intimacy that is special to each of them.
a/n: Can we appreciate Oscar in the first gif? I'm looking disrespectfully Also, I believe the third one is Jake.
gif credits: @nightofthecreeps @kingjackless @waititi
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Marc:
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Shaving his beard.
"So serious" he smiled at the sincerity on your face. Your eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration, your fingers slowly glided the razor down his left cheek with one hand, your other hand cupping the other side of his face for support and fingers casually resting on his neck. You were sitting on his lap, facing him.
You stopped, glancing at his playful eyes with a glare. "Stop, smiling" you chided him playfully. "What if i cut you accidentally?", you asked, putting down the razor.
When you playfully asked him if you could shave his face one day, he nodded sincerely, warming your heart in a new way you didn't know was possible. It was a subtle act of trust, the way he trusted you with a sharp blade near his throat. And it implied 'I want your touch even when I'm doing mundane things'. Your heart fluttered at the thought of sweet intimacy. Soon enough, it became a little routine for you and him. Everytime he wanted to shave his face, you did it for him.
A sweet little gesture between you and Marc.
"I can't help it, baby. The serious pout on your lips is cute"
"Yeah, yeah. If you don't stop talking, I'm gonna cut your handsome face" you carefully swiped a dollop of shaving cream off his cheek and smeared on his nose.
He wasn't a very playful guy but around you, he couldn't help it. With you, happiness came easily. Every laugh of him was unrestrained, so natural and carefree. You brought out that side in him often.
Few seconds passed. Marc's eyes glinted with mischief. Already knowing him, you tried to move back and get off his lap, but he had faster reflexes. He grabbed your face and pressed his cheek all over face, smearing the shaving cream on your nose, cheek and forehead from his face.
"Marc!" you laughed. You grabbed his chin pulling him closer for a kiss. One, two. And you went back to work. "That's your bribe, now stay still" you fixed him with 'I'm serious, now, babe'
"Yes, ma'am"
You couldn't help but smile at that. You managed to finish shaving his face, but not without exchanging few more kisses inbetween as bribe.
Steven:
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Him sleeping on your chest.
The moment he walked into the bedroom, you knew something was up. You watched the gloomy expression on his face, which made your heart sink.
"Hey, what happened?" you lowered the book you were reading, closing it and placing it on the table next to you.
"I'll talk about it later. Y/n, love, can I have a hug?"
The way he asked you was soft. His voice was painfully soft.
"Come here, honey" you adjusted your back into the pillows for a better and comfortable position. Your open arms invited him, which he gratefully accepted.
His legs made way to the bed, he lied down next to you, burying his face between your breasts.
You wrapped your arms tightly around him, your fingers stroking his back in comforting manner. "It's alright, it's alright, darling" you began to gently run your fingers into his soft curls. "I've got you" you pressed a light kiss on his head.
You felt him relax under your touch and comforting word. His grip around your waist tightened, you felt him shake and shudder.
Is he crying?
Your heart hammered faster. "Steven, honey...hey, it's alright, it's alright, baby", you threaded your fingers into his hair. You hated seeing him like this.
Whatever made him feel like this...you wanted to rip it off and shred it.
"Bullocks, I must be some sight to see, huh?" he tried to joke but his voice was strained, threating to let out a cry.
Gently taking his face between your soft palms, you placed a kiss between his eyes. Another one on his nose, and one on his lips, shushing him and wiping his tears away with a gentle swipe of your thumb.
His breathing became regular, his body once again relaxed in your warm presence and gentle couch.
You continued whispering sweet nothings in his ear, playing with his hair, until you could hear his steady breathing. He fell asleep. You smiled down at him. You didn't dare to get up with him sleeping on your chest. Very carefully and slowly, you moved one arm to grab the book on the table.
With him finally calmed down from his breakdown, you resumed playing with his hair and continued your reading, occasionally pressing a soft feather kiss on his forehead.
Jake:
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Showering together.
The particular mission was rough.
Jake Lockley wanted nothing more than to run into your arms, have a couple drinks and sleep.
He wasn't the one to openly admit his needs and wants. You were aware of that.
Tonight you wanted to take care of him and make him feel extra special and loved.
You decided to have a warm shower.
"Jake" you kissed his lips. "Walk with me?" you took his hand, leading into bathroom.
A tiny smile eased into his face.
Victory. You cheered mentally. Keeping your eyes fixed on his dark ones, you slowly discarded your clothes. When he wanted to do the same, you grabbed his hand. "Let me take care of you tonight" you whispered in his ear.
"Princesa, I-" you cut him off with a passionate kiss. And began to undress him. "You always make sure I'm adored and taken care of, let me do this for you tonight, yeah?"
He reached out his calloused hand to touch your cheek. You smiled, leaning into his touch.
"Whatever you say, mi corazón"
How can he say no to you?
.
Your hands rested behind his neck. "Come here"
At your command, he craned his neck, his face hovering centimetres away from yours. "You are cute when you are bossy, Y/n/n"
"Gods, you are so damn handsome"
The hot steam from the water and the water droplets dripping off his hair, face only confirmed your statement.
You leaned closer, brushing tip of your nose against his.
Many men shuddered at the mere sight of him. But with you, he melted. The very source of his love, his sweet, sweet love.
He wasn't used to being taken care of. When you uttered those sentence, it felt strange to him, alien even. But he trusted you. He would do anything for you. He would move the stars if you asked him to.
You squeezed the shampoo bottle into your palm, lathering the shampoo into nice foamy texture. You moved your hands into his hair, slowly and gently massaging his scalp and washing his hair.
He repeated the same to you.
The hot water was soothing to his sore muscles.
"I want to kiss every part of you" you admitted, moving your hands down reaching his chest, peering at him through lashes laden with water drops.
"What's stopping you, mi amor?", with a wanton smirk plastered on his face, he picked you up bridal style and carried you out of the shower and towards bed.
Jack Lockley did not have drinks that night, but he got something way better—you.
Sometimes it was baths, sometimes it was showers, but quickly it became your little thing with him.
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starks-hero · 9 months
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Little Runaway
Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader
Summary: “You heading home, carinõ?” “Not exactly.”
You decide to run and leave everything behind you, but the cabbie you've hailed to drop you to the airport might just change your mind.
Word Count: 2.3k
a/n: I'm not saying that you should listen to this song whilst reading but it definitely gives off the ~vibe~
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It was raining and you hadn't packed a jacket.
You hadn't packed much of anything, really. A heap of clothes, your passport, and what little cash you had. You had no clear idea where you were heading; you'd decided you'd figure that out as you went.
The pavement was already beginning to flood, water seeping into the soles of your shoes and dampening your socks. You cringed, readjusting the bag on your back. Your arm, which had been extended to the road in a desperate plea for someone to take pity and pick you up, was growing heavy.
The sky rumbled above you, an unpleasant preview of the deluge that was to come. You huddled in on yourself.
The screech of rubber against gravel split the air as a blue Honda Civic made its entrance at the end of the street. It spun from one side of the road to the other in flamboyant turns, and its radio blared so loudly the windows vibrated and quivered.
You took your chances and raised your arm. You'd take a lift from Ghostface at this rate if it meant getting off this godforsaken sidewalk.
The car sped up, frighteningly so, and your stomach dropped. It swerved towards the path, purposely speeding through the puddles collecting in the gutter. The small wave of water drenched the legs of your pants, from your knees down to your shoes. The blaring music barely drowned out the hysterical laughter from inside the car as it sped off.
You stepped away from the road and the squelch of your wet socks almost reduced you to tears. You folded your arms across your chest and started walking. You weren't even sure you were heading in the right direction but anywhere would be better than here.
Five minutes into your trek and drenched to the point it was a miracle your skin hadn't turned blue, a car horn sounded. You turned to the road.
A cab emerged from the heavy curtain of rain, black and sleek. Its tires were deathly quiet against the gravel and you questioned if it was a figment of your psyche. An imaginary savior.
It slowed as it pulled up beside you, tires kissing the pavement. The paint job was so prestine you could see your reflection staring back at you.
You were a pitiful sight.
The tinted window rolled down painfully slow and you squinted your eyes against the rain to catch sight of the man who sat inside.
Dark brown eyes regarded you from under the fraying edge of his cap. His stare was stern but not judgmental, looking you over with something close to pity.
"You need a ride?"
You oddly found yourself speechless. Blinking twice then once more, you surveyed the car again before looking back to your knight in clad leather. His hand tapped against the steering wheel in an uneven beat, an action you might have mistaken for impatience if his expression was an inch less friendly.
You shuffled your feet, the small puddles of water collecting in your shoes making themselves known. This was exactly what you'd been hoping for but the reality of getting in a car with a stranger was daunting.
"I don't bite, carinõ." He said suddenly. "Look–" he leaned forward and tapped twice on the taxi sign and (albeit run-down) fair counter on the dashboard. "I'm the real deal. I'll take you anywhere you need to go."
He motioned to the back of the car. You inched forward, then fell back on your heel.
"Look, I'd do anything for a pretty face but I don't have all day, are you coming or going?" Despite the nature of his words, his voice was still low, even; you'd dare say kindly.
Throwing caution, (as well as your memory of every murder mystery film you'd ever seen) to the wind, you slipped into the back of the car.
It was an instant relief. The warm air from the heaters kissing your skin and heating your cheeks. Even the heavy scent of cigarettes that clung to everything inside the taxi was somewhat comforting.
"Coming, then," you heard your driver muse as he pulled back onto the road.
You'd given him your destination, (the nearest airport, railroad or dock) and then you were off. Watching the world fade into a blundered mix of grey's outside the car's window made what you were doing feel far more real.
A few minutes of silence passed, followed by a small handful spent trading small talk, mostly about the weather. You supposed that it was all part of his job.
"You heading home, carinõ?" he asked casually and you supposed it was a fair question to ask.
"Not exactly," you answered, choosing to leave it at that.
You caught sight of his nod in the rearview mirror. He was quiet in contemplation for a moment. "Anywhere in mind?"
A laugh of disbelief, mostly at your own actions. "Anywhere away from here." In all honesty, you hadn't planned that far ahead. Your destination largely depended on which ticket was cheapest.
Another hum of thought from your chofer. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you're not going to tell me what it is you're running from, no?"
You crossed your arms over your chest and huddled in on yourself. Your clothes were still dripping and the heating was doing little to fend off the chill now.
"Then you'd guess right."
The car lulled back into a gentle quiet. The rhythmic sound of the tires gliding over the road, the occasional bump throwing it off its rhythm. The rain pattering at the roof and windows, and the persistent beating of your driver's hand against the wheel.
You shivered again, a rebellious droplet having fallen from your damp hair and sliding down your back. You missed the look the cabbie gave you in the mirror.
He slowed the cab, just enough for him to lean across and open the glove compartment without having to worry about ending up in an unplanned game of bumper cars.
A large, brown jacket was tossed to you, the faux fur lining the neck feeling heavenly between your stiff fingers.
"Warm yourself up." His eyes were already back on the road.
You slipped the coat over your shoulders. It swallowed you up in warmth and you sighed, pulling it taunt against your damp frame. It smelled of ash, cigarettes and gasoline, an unusual cocktail that somehow screamed comfort. Given where he'd produced it from, something told you that giving his coat to strangers wasn't all part of your cabbie's general service. You sank into the item of clothing a little more.
You thanked him and comedically he tipped his hat to you. The small smile you managed made your cheeks feel warm.
The rain let up if only a little and the radio took its place as the dominant sound in the car. It was a quiet, dreary song playing; one you'd expect to hear from the front porch on a Sunday morning. Soft and gentle, easy to listen to. And the Spanish singing was ethereal.
'Tuvo compasión, más allá del sol, más allá del sol, yo tengo un hogar, hogar bello hogar.’
You let your head fall back against the rest, shoulders slumping and a gentle hum passing your lips.
Your cabbie lifts his brow in the rear view mirror and oddly you don't feel patronized under his gaze.
"The song," you say instead. "I like it."
In a beat, he reached across and turned the radio dial. The song flowed through the speakers with new strength. His gentle raps against the steering wheel fell into tune with the ballad on the radio, and his features softened.
"En la turbación, más allá del sol, más allá del sol."
His singing was nothing like his voice, the gruffness vanished and the rough edge softened. It was light and gentle, soothing and rivaling the artist on the radio. It was homely.
"Yo tengo un hogar, hogar bello hogar."
You weren't sure where or what you were running to, but you thought that whatever it was would, maybe, feel like this.
A warmth sat in your chest now, not just in place of where the rain had left its chill but where a deep void had been, a cold emptiness that had driven you to run in the first place.
This, you realized, was the feeling you were chasing. You just hadn't expected to find it in the back of a stranger's cab.
You pulled off the main road and turned onto a smaller street. The curbs were flooded and the traffic lights shone dimly through the downpour. You cringed at the thought of leaving your little haven, with its calming music, warm coat and absolute enigma of a driver.
"Here's fine," you said, gently tapping the seat in front of you twice in case the sound of rain against glass had drowned out your voice. You caught his gaze in the mirror again, his brows were pulled together, concerned, but he complied and pulled over all the same.
Within a moment of the car slowing to a halt against the path, he turned fully in his seat to face you.
The airport was at least another twenty minute drive and it was a half an hour to the nearest train station. But you'd watched the red numbers on the fair counter as they went up. This was as close as your money could get you.
You shrugged off his coat, the act sluggish and slow with hesitance. As you attempted to hand it back, he pulled away, raising his hands like the item of clothing would burn him.
"Keep it, carinõ. You need it more than me."
You rushed to refuse, practically tossing it back to him. But your fight was short lived and in the end your cabbie reigned victorious.
You reached for the door handle, catching sight of him resetting the fair counter to zero without your payment. He hadn't expected you to see so you decided not to comment.
"There's nowhere else I can take you?" He asked. His voice was so soothing you almost wanted to say yes just to spend more time with him.
You opened the car door, hoping he didn't notice you slipping thirty pound into the pocket of the backseat. It took several attempts of carefully crafted sentences topped with faux confidence to convince him you were fine being left where you were.
“Thank you,” you said, buttoning up his jacket and sending a stiff wave his way. “You've really helped me out.”
Then you were gone, disappearing into the worsening night. And the rain had gotten heavier.
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Jake had always prized himself for his indifference; His ability to stumble upon something and, for the most part, decide that it wasn't his problem.
But as he pulled back onto the road and left you stood on the sidewalk, something that felt an awful lot like guilt settled in his stomach. He didn't know why, he'd done his job; ferried you from A to B. And he'd been generous even at that, given that the rain on your clothes had soaked into the leather seats.
But the way you'd sat huddled up and looking impossibly small in the back seat, it stirred up something in Jake he'd dare call an emotion. He'd offered you his jacket, yes, but that was just being gentlemanly, he assured himself.
The car slowed to a halt at the command of a red light, the rain seeming almost louder now that the car was stationary. Jake turned up the radio. There was an angry rumble of thunder in the distance.
"Ay dios mío." Jake drove through the traffic lights and swerved into the other lane. The worsening weather thankfully meant no one was in attendance to attest to his horrific violation of traffic safety.
A minute of backtracking and you finally came into view, battling your way through the wind and rain, his coat serving as pretty useless armour.
You looked like the human personification of misery.
He stopped the car beside you and rolled the window down, raising his voice over the sound of the rain.
"Get in."
You stared at him as though you'd just experienced the strangest bout of deja vu.
"What?"
"You spend another minute out in this and you'll catch your death and personally I don't want to be responsible for you dying of pneumonia."
He was your cabbie. He shouldn't feel responsible for anything about you. Except perhaps for the fact that he was down twenty-one pound in fairs.
Almost to emphasize Jake's point, you sneezed, sinking into his coat as you did.
God give him strength.
He muttered under his breath, before leaning over his armrest and opening the passenger-side door.
"Come on, don't make me beg."
You regarded him again, much like you did when he first took pity on you and pulled over and Jake suddenly remembered that, yes, this definitely wasn't something regular cabbies did.
"Carinõ, if I had murder on my mind I would have done it back on Leyfield Road." He smirked. "You getting in the car now just lets me have a good night's sleep tonight."
You were skeptical, he could tell. But the feel of his jacket sat heavily against your shoulders seemed to remind you that his intentions were good; or not bad at the very least.
As you stepped off the curb and back into the car, Jake took an unburdened breath for the first time since dropping you off. As he kicked the cab back into gear he stole a glance at you, now sitting to his right.
You were shaking, hair drenched and droplets of water falling down your cheeks and dripping from the end of your nose. He felt like he'd plucked a drowning kitten from the gutter and put it in the front seat, all bundled up in his clothes.
You thanked him and Jake nodded, glad that you hadn't asked for an explanation for his sudden change of profession; from cab driver to protector of the traveller's of the night.
"What now?" you asked instead. A fair question. Jake sighed.
"How do you feel about coffee?"
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thank you for reading!
moon knight tag list: @bakerstreethound @yoditopascal @moonlighy @linkpk88 @spideysimpossiblegirl @noahspector @malaanii @ineedmorejakelockley @drmeowingfangirl @loonymagizoologist @othersideoftheparadise @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife
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babyjackdaniels · 28 days
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soonknight · 8 months
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season 2 spell like to charge reblog to cast
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scarletttries · 10 months
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NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)
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Steven Grant + Lingerie: (prompt list here)
- Steven Grant could have gone his whole life never considering women's underwear any further than knowing Bridget Jones's were apparently on the frumpy side (a closet rom-com fan, Steven has seen all the British classic a dozen times over in his so-far-uneventful pursuit of his own dramatic romance.) That is until you came into his life, the first person he had ever had the enormous privilege of falling in love with.
- It may have taken longer than you were expecting from a man you found endlessly handsome and charming, but after a run of almost perfect dates, Steven's nervous clumsiness aside, you were finally straddling his lap on the middle of his plush couch, guiding his hands the buttons of your dress so you could finally show him what you hand on underneath. Fumbling with each and every movement of his hands, and trying desperately to focus on your buttons as his head swam with the intoxicating taste of your lips on his, eventually he undid the final clasp allowing you to shrug off the velvety fabric and reveal the dark red, lacy, matching lingerie set you'd picked out hoping you'd end your night in this position.
- Steven's eyes would be wider than the moon taking in your exquisite beauty, the way the dark colours held your curves, the shimmering flesh peaking through the gaps in the lace, the slight outline of your nipples hardening against the fabric. He was in heaven. He didn't even realise people could look this beautiful, this otherworldly, this completely stunning, and in even more disbelief, that someone this gorgeous would be perched excitedly on his lap, leaving a trail of eager kisses down his neck that almost threatened to have his eyes flutter shut, if he wasn't so afraid to miss a second of this view.
- His hands skim over your thighs, toying with the frilled edges of the lace, a strangled moan erupting from his as you buck your hips against his, bringing his attention to the uncomfortable throbbing between in his legs as his manhood pushes against the tight fabric of his corduroys. It isn't hard to tell that Steven is a huge fan of you wearing a little less, but you start to get the picture as you experiment with different pretty little sets you own, figuring out exactly which ones drive Steven to the edge the quickest. The day you wore a sheer light pink set, complete with suspenders, Steven spent the whole night with his head buried between your thighs, too embarrassed to admit he'd cum in his boxers the moment you kissed him.
- Steven would want to get you some nice lingerie as a gift, but the moment he walked into a London lingerie store he got so flustered he walked into a scantily clad mannequin, knocked it over, apologised, and then sprinted out of the shop and straight home. Thankfully there are more than a few places online to order such a gift, and in fact browsing the range of options available opens up a whole new world for Steven. He never knew bras could come without straps, picturing how much easier it would be to slip his hands inside and let your boobs spill over the top where he could press his lips against them. But why stop there when he could buy you a pretty little bralet with two slits in the fabric exactly where your nipples would sit, meaning Steven could slip his fingers under your shirt and start teasing your sensitive tits, picturing all the fun he'd have getting you worked up as you tried to watch a movie resting against his chest.
- This would lead him to the holy grail of his latest obsession; crotchless panties. When he didn't think there could be any better feeling than slipping your wet lacy thong to the side as he worked his fingers into your greedy entrance, here was the perfect solution. He found himself scrolling through the whole collection, picturing you coming to visit him at work in one of your pretty summer dresses with a pair of these underneath, letting him pull you onto his lap while he stretches you with his hard length, watching you squirm as his colleagues walked by and commented on what a cute pair you were and how much happier Steven seemed these days. Before he's managed to place an order his trousers are down and his hand is wrapped around his aching cock, picturing you in the matching set on the screen, beautifully adorned in lace but with all your most sensitive areas exposed for Steven to play with. His hand starts to move faster as pictures you panting and moaning as he plays with your pretty little clit, chest bouncing as your nipples spill out of your bra, no choice but to let him touch every single part of you. He's picturing the sticky mess he'd leave dripping down the front of your panties when he can't hold back his release any more, the thought of his cum dripping down your thighs with no fabric to stop it sending him over the edge. By the time he goes to bed he's paid for next day delivery and invited you over for 'movie night' tomorrow.
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astroboots · 2 years
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Red Flags
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CO-WRITTEN WITH @thirstworldproblemss
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)
Summary: Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way.
Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations, bondage/restraints, cunnilingus (face sitting), safe sex; unsafe relationship choices.
Word Count: 9.2k (ahahahah please don't look at me)
Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist
[NEXT]
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The warning signs were written all over him like a marquee outside a theatre, lit up in gold and bright flashing red neon. 
On the first date you were supposed to have, he stood you up, only to call you four days later on a Wednesday night. Closer to midnight than dinnertime, oblivious and confused and asking where you were with a slight panic in his voice. 
“Date’s tonight, yeah? Saturday at seven?”
Un-fucking-believable. 
That was the first red flag. The point at which you should have done the sensible thing and told him to piss off and lose your number. 
He’d clearly lost the plot, and you’ve never been the forgiving type. You have a tendency to nurse your grudges like little houseplants by your windowsill, feeding them with pettiness that always simmers in your chest aplenty. 
But there’s something about Steven. Something you can’t quite put your finger on that won’t let you leave well enough alone. The friend who was with you when you’d approached him and asked for his number, had laughed and rolled their eyes. 
“Of course, you’d be into him, he looks like the saddest stray dog at the shelter. The one nobody wants.” 
Which is true you suppose. But he’s also charming in a geeky, unconventional sort of way. Surprisingly handsome, even if it is hidden underneath dishevelled hair better suited to a mad scientist and sleep-deprived black circles under his eyes. He’s got the sort of beautifully defined jaw that belongs on a marble sculpture and gorgeous brown eyes that you want to drown in. 
Besides, dating prospects in London can be grim. Even with this colossal fuck up, Steven was still the preferable option when compared with Ben on Tinder, whose profile photo showed him in a tux with his (hopefully ex-)wife standing next to him in a wedding gown. Or unsolicited dick pic numbers 1-3 and 5-12 (you were saving the possibility of number 4 for a rainy day).  Or another dreary night home alone in your tiny flat.
So despite your better judgement, you take the tube to Leicester Square, slipping down the crowded alleys of Chinatown and into a tucked away dim sum diner with dimly lit walls washed in cracked red paint.
He’s waiting for you at a cramped table in the corner, still looking like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. Hair unkempt and frazzled, much like the man himself. His entire body is bowed and hunching in on itself like he’s afraid of taking up too much space—the whole of him one big apology for even existing. He’s nothing much to look at, not until he looks up and sees you, and then his whole face lights up with amazed delight. 
There’s something about his hopeful, nervous smile that tells you this isn’t a ploy or misguided attempt at negging. Not some weird power game to show you that he’s just not that into you. Something about those big round puppy-dog eyes, filled with awe and gratitude for your presence, tells an entirely different story: he’s the one who thought he was being stood up tonight. For whatever reason, this man genuinely seems to believe it’s Saturday. 
Those eyes are the reason you don’t bother to act indignant or inform him tartly that today is not Saturday. Instead, you let it go with a polite smile as you sit down across from him. 
High cheekbones flushed pink, he seems discombobulated that you’re actually here, reduced to a cluster of wrecked nerves and completely unable to hold down a conversation. And God, it would be cute if it weren’t so fucking awkward. You fiddle with your cheap wristwatch, pulling at the band until it comes loose the way it always does just so you have an excuse to put it back together. The silence between you echoes so loudly that you can practically hear the seconds tick-tocking away.
“How’s work at the gift shop?” you ask finally, straining to keep the pleasant smile on your face. 
“Not too bad.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but his fragile nerves are etched on every line of his face, and instead his mouth clamps down tight. 
Three words. Apparently you get three words only. Then it’s back to silence, and you want to bang your head against the surface of the table. Maybe you should have gone with Ben from Tinder after all? 
God, you just need to find a topic of conversation. Any topic. You can’t do this deafening awkward silence anymore. 
So you open your mouth and wind up nattering on about the banal details of your day: the delay on the tube that almost made you late; your coworker’s birthday celebration; your failed eBay auction attempts for a particular edition of The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain.  
“It was a limited release, sold out at every book store in town, seems like.” It’s a topic that you regret embarking on as soon as you open your mouth. Still, you keep prattling on, sure that you must be boring him to death, because you don’t know what else to talk to him about. 
Miraculously, he shows no signs of boredom. Instead, he follows along, taking in your every word with rapt attention. He even manages to stutter out a question or two. Intelligent ones, at that. And he actually seems to care about your responses. You can’t remember the last time any man had listened to you so attentively. It’s flattering and leaves you feeling flustered and flushed.  
By the time the date ends an hour later, you’re feeling marginally warmer towards him, though he’s barely managed two dozen words of his own.
It’s absolutely pouring when you exit the diner, and you realise with dismay that you’d not thought to bring an umbrella.
“I’ll walk you to the tube, yeah?” he offers, popping open his own umbrella, and holding it out for you to step under. Carefully keeping it slanted your way when he joins you a moment later. 
You're both quiet on the walk, but the silence feels less awkward than it had in the restaurant, a bit friendlier. He’s still nervous and ill at ease and watches you surreptitiously the whole time, his eyes darting furtively in your direction when he thinks you aren’t looking. 
It’s not until you reach your station that he finally speaks. 
“Can I see you again?”
You hesitate, thinking of the miserable hour you spent sitting in the diner alone on Saturday—the real Saturday. Of the awkwardness tonight. The way you were there together for over an hour, but you still know next to nothing about him. 
You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, but your eyes are drawn to the soaked patch on the right shoulder and arm of his jacket where the coverage of the umbrella missed him entirely. Your own coat is dry, not a drop of water on you.
For the life of you, you can’t explain why you say yes, but you do.
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You make plans to meet up again the next weekend, and this time, he actually makes it to the restaurant venue at the proper date and time. You spot him from outside when you arrive. He’s wearing an outdated, ill-fitting suit, and you watch through the front window as he fiddles nervously with his tie.
When he sees you, he lights up just the way he did on the first date. Pure unbridled excitement, as if he can’t believe you actually showed.  
This time, when you ask about the museum, he proceeds to word-vomit an encyclopaedia’s worth of knowledge about ancient Egyptian history. His passion and zeal for the subject are incapable of being contained until it spreads and lights up the entire restaurant with it. And even though the extent of your interest and knowledge of ancient Egyptian history had started and ended with watching Brendan Fraser in the Mummy, you find yourself captivated by the conversation. 
Once he relaxes a bit, you find him to be disarmingly sweet and harmless, things the men in your past have not been. It’s why you find yourself letting down your guard, and despite the poor first impression, you genuinely enjoy yourself as you work your way through an otherwise unimpressive meal. 
It’s also why you end up saying yes to a third date. 
He beats you to the appointed location again, and when you show up, there’s a black shopping bag in his lap. He holds it out to you as an offering when you approach the table, watching you like an eager puppy waiting for approval as you unwrap the content. At the sight of the gold-gilded purple hardcover, the limited edition of ‘The Prince and the Pauper’, your stomach flutters, and it’s like being a child at Christmas all over again. 
“How on earth did you get a hold of this? It’s sold out everywhere.”
“There was a store in Peterborough that still had one,” he answers, sounding quietly chuffed with himself.
“Steven, that's hours by train. Did you go all the way up there just for this?” 
“Nono— I was passing by for a work thing.”
It’s a transparent lie. 
You almost ask him why on earth a gift shop vendor for a museum would need to go all the way to Peterborough for work, but you don’t. 
“I’m just really happy I gathered up the courage to ask you on a date that first time,” he confesses with an open-mouthed smile, his joy so contagious that it almost makes you miss what he said. 
Then you stop and consider it, and your smile turns wooden.
Because that’s not right. 
He didn’t ask you out. You were the one who approached him and initiated things. 
That’s the second red flag. But you ignore it despite every dating rule in the book that has been ingrained into your skull since you were a little girl.
Instead, your mind turns to Peterborough and what a miserable journey that must have been on National Rail. You can’t help but google it. Two hours on crowded trains, at least half an hour walk to get to the bookstore, plus the return journey.  
Who goes to such lengths for a throwaway comment on a first date? You only mentioned it to begin with as a way to fill the unbearable awkward silence. 
The gesture is so sweet it warms you from inside out, making your cheeks tingle with heat, even against the February cold. 
Later, with the benefit of hindsight, it will be easy to see the idiocy of your actions. But as you sit here now in front of this sweet, eager man, it’s simpler to turn a blind eye to the things that don’t quite add up. What’s that thing your friend always says?
When you’re looking at someone through rose-tinted glasses, all the red flags are just going to look like flags. 
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After that, it’s lunch dates at the Great Court under the Museum rooftop and breakfast at Cafe Babka before work almost every day of the week. Steven dates you like he is trying to court you, flowers and chocolates and wide adoring eyes.
It’s not a perfect relationship by any means. Steven has quirks. And not just the, oh he’s cute and clumsy and says awkward things when he’s nervous, sort of quirks. Sometimes he misses dates without warning. Sometimes, like that first time, he’ll be gone for days. When he returns, he’ll act like he’s just seen you the day before, cocking his head like a confused puppy when you try to ask where he’s been. 
On one occasion he disappears for weeks. No contact save for a few brusque texts that sound uncharacteristically professional and put together. Your calls go unanswered. That is until they don’t, and then he’s back. Your sweet Steven with the same shy smile, tired eyes and non-explanation as ever, apparently oblivious to the missing window of time.
It’s nothing serious between you—not to the point that he owes you an account of his time. And yet… If you’re entirely honest with yourself, it bothers you. Of course it does. Because you care, despite the fact that you shouldn’t. 
The inconsistencies (red flags) continue to mount: The two of you always meet outside. He never invites you to his place, and he never stays the night at yours. The excuse is insomnia. Always the same line about how he 'doesn’t want to keep you up and rob you of a good night's sleep' murmured on his way out the door. He’s good at deflecting and prevaricating. It’s not until you ask to meet at his, that he refuses point-blank. 
“No!” 
He says it with his whole chest. Bitten off like a curse, leaving no room for discussion. It’s so forceful and unlike him that it shocks you. 
It hits you all at once like a painful blow. A man who can’t be reached for days at a time. Never introduces you to any of his friends. Won’t let you visit his home. It’s a fucking bouquet of red flags if you’ve ever seen one. 
The realisation rolls in hard and fast, punching the air out of your lungs.
“Oh, God. You’re married.”
Of course he is. Probably has a family that he’s hiding from you too. You’re his weekend fun. Meanwhile, he has kids and a dog waiting for him at home. It all makes so much sense now. Every little oddity. All the things that didn’t add up. The disappearances. The gaslighting. The Wednesday that was supposedly Saturday. 
Red-hot anger rises to your cheeks, and your ears burn as it claws at the walls of your throat. Fucking hell, you can’t believe you didn’t see it until now. 
“No! What? No,” he insists, his hands scrambling to grab hold of yours. “I’m not married!!” 
In front of you, those charcoal pupils blow wider than you’ve ever seen them, black eating into the dark brown ring with his panic. But you’re not moved by it this time. 
“Don’t give me that crap, Steven. Why else do you never stay the night at mine? Why have you never invited me to yours? Why else would you disappear for days and pretend you don’t remember anything?”
“Sorry, sorry. I can see that I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. But I’m not married, alright? You can come over. It’s fine. You can come over to my place.”
Crossing your arms, you lean back in your seat, trying your hardest to ignore the onlookers at the cafe whose interest you have peaked with your lovers’ quarrel. 
“When?” you ask. 
“I don’t know. Tomorrow? No, no. Saturday!”  
Like hell you’re going to give him the opportunity to choose a day when the wife and kids are conveniently out of town so he can sneak you in like a dirty mistress. 
“Now,” you insist. 
“Now? As in today?”
“What’s wrong with today?”
“I need to clean first.”
You’re not doing this.
“Goodbye, Steven.” You rise from your seat, but his hand shoots out, grabbing hold of yours to stop you before you’ve even so much as taken a step. 
“Today,” he relents. 
“Now.”
He nods, shoulders slumping in defeat as his eyes flicker away from your scathing glare.
“Now,” he promises. 
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“Just a sec.” 
The moment his front door is unlocked, Steven shimmies through the opening, blocking your view, then runs forward into the flat. It’s suspicious, to say the least. 
He’s running zig-zag through the flat, moving as fast as you’ve ever seen him. Knocking over everything in his path and causing a loud commotion left and right as he shovels armfuls of books, boxes of crumpled up tape and old maps out of sight. It takes you a few seconds before you realise what he is doing.
He’s tidying. 
Steven wasn’t lying. Not about this at least. Despite what you thought was damning evidence, there is no wife. No kids. Hell, the only pet he has is a sad-looking goldfish with one fin that he’s named Gus (when the much more apt name, Nemo is available). 
Also, he definitely did need to clean the place up. 
You can understand why he was self-conscious. Now that you see it, you almost feel bad for imposing on him. Almost.
Without waiting for an invitation, you walk into the middle of the flat, looking around. 
While the place is a dump, it’s also ridiculously spacious, tucked up under the eaves, with lots of windows and a wide open floor plan. You could probably fit three of your flat in here. And it’s located by Whitechapel, smack in the centre of London. You've clearly chosen the wrong career. Museum gift shops must be where the money's at if Steven can afford a place like this.
The noise around you has ceased, and you realise that Steven has stopped moving. You can feel his gaze following you in the room, eyes darting nervously as he pretends not to be observing your every reaction to his home, looking for approval. 
“Sorry for the mess. I don’t get many guests.” He offers the apology meekly, then resumes tidying as you walk around the flat. 
There are books everywhere, not just on the bookshelves. They’re on the desk and on the table and on the floor. Dusty hardcovers and paperbacks are crammed into every nook and corner of the flat, stacked in piles and piles on top of each other. 
Occupied as you are in taking in the… eccentric decor aesthetic of your surroundings—the oversized fishtank in the middle of the flat; the maps, pictures, and copious notes tacked onto cork boards; the hieroglyphics hanging all over the walls—you fail to watch your step. Your boot connects with something solid, and you stumble, nearly losing your footing. The thing goes skittering off with the sound of metal scraping against the wooden flooring. 
Bending down, you peek under the edge of the bed. It takes you a moment to figure out what you're seeing, then a wash of heat prickles in your cheeks. You’re not sure what you were expecting to find, but it sure as hell wasn’t... this. 
There’s a padded cuff under his bed. Your eyes follow the long cable that connects it to one of the wooden beams nearby. 
It’s always the quiet ones. 
Restraints by the bed in a dilapidated attic flat that looks like it is straight out of The Silence of the Lambs is a bright red flag flashing in screaming neon. Yet, there’s no trepidation. No spike of fear. It’s like you have no survival skills to speak of. Instead, you’re more amused than anything else. Intrigued, even. So this is what he was trying to hide: a messy home and a sex kink. You can work with that. In light of the possible alternatives, you’re almost relieved.
“Steven,” you call out, holding out the incriminating restraints for him to see. 
His eyes flicker downwards, then widen in alarm. The moment he spots what you’re holding, blood rushes to his cheeks, colour flooding his face until that pale pallor on his cheekbones turns dark crimson. 
“It– It’s not what you think.” He’s mortified, and it’s adorable.
“No?” Your lips quirk into a smile. You never can help but tease when he makes it so easy. “You don’t want to tie me up, Steven?”
"What? I mean, no! I mean– Those are for me.”  
You quirk an inquisitive eyebrow. “For... you?”
And uhm… Wow. You had not expected that. Though, well, maybe you should have. With his timidness and nervous disposition, you’re not surprised to discover he prefers for someone else to be in control. 
“I– Sorry. Not that I– I mean– " He’s stuttering, wringing his hands, completely at loss for how to dig himself out of this latest accidental confession, and there must be something wrong with you, because you find him incredibly appealing like this.
His high cheekbones are flushed a deep red, eyes impossibly large as he bites down on his full bottom lip. 
The sadist in you thinks he looks gorgeous.
You walk towards him, and with every step of your advance, he retreats backwards, step by step, inching ever closer to the unmade bed behind him. 
“Show me.”
He’s so taken by your request, he seems to have completely lost awareness of his surroundings. Despite this being his flat, he startles when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, awkwardly fumbling his way into a sitting position on the edge of bed. 
Still standing, you slot yourself between his thighs. Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t help his attempts to form a coherent sentence at all. 
“Show you? Sorry, I don’t—” 
You grip his chin between your fingers, interrupting him mid-sentence, and tilt him up to meet your eyes. This close up, you marvel at how ridiculously sharp his jaw truly is, the edge of it so honed you bet it could cut through steak. 
“Yes. Show me. Show me how it’s for you. Show me how you use it on yourself.” 
He swallows convulsively, Adam's apple bobbing, unable to control the nervous physical reaction to you. But then he nods obediently, and takes the cuff from your hands. He stares down at it for a moment before inhaling deeply, as if to gather his courage, then leans down, and you take a step back to watch him fasten it on.
Fitting the leather around his ankle, he threads the end of it through the buckle, pulling until it’s a tight fit then inserting the prong through the hole to secure it. There’s no fumbling. No shaky hands, even as you stare at him with rapt attention. He does it all with the practised ease of a man who does this routinely.
It has your stomach tied in excited knots to see him in his element for once. 
As if by habit, he gives the cable tethering his foot to the wooden beam a firm tug. It rattles against the wood, sending a spike of excitement up your spine, simmering along every nerve ending until it’s enough to make your fingers twitch. You become keenly aware of how your neck prickles with heat. 
Then he stops and straightens up, looking up at you expectantly as if to signal the end of the show. 
“Where’s the rest of the set?” you ask. When his brows draw together in confusion, you clarify, “For your wrists and the other leg?” 
“Uhm, it’s just the one… Sorry.” 
Oh for God’s sake. Who on earth only has one ankle restraint to be tied up for sex? It’s truly a ‘one sandwich short of a picnic’ deal going on here, isn’t it? Adorable as he is, you can never make heads or tails of Steven.
You shake your head with a sigh, trying to gather your wits. It’s the intention that counts, you suppose. 
You step in close again, and Steven draws in a sharp breath when your leg makes contact with the inside of his thigh. 
Maybe you don’t even need to tie down the rest of him to get him excited. 
You nudge your thigh forward where it brushes against his, a slow press, testing the waters, and you’re rewarded with his immediate rapt attention. His eyes dart between his legs, gaze fixed on your encroaching knee; his hands hover uselessly in the air around you, not quite daring to touch; and his chest heaves as you continue your slow advance, not stopping until your thigh meets the visible bulge that is starting to strain against the denim. 
His mouth parts, the pressure eliciting a sharp gasp, and he stares up at you with wide, dark eyes. Your whole back tingles with excitement. Fuck, he’s pretty. 
You let your bag drop to the ground with a muffled thump, wanting your hands free to touch without impediment.
Steven jumps at the sound. He looks from you to your bag on the ground and back again, then shudders and slumps forward like he’s unable to keep himself upright. He presses his face into your stomach, and the warmth of his breath seeps into the fabric of your jumper. It seems to spread from there, stretching down your thighs to the curl of your toes. 
It has you wrapping your fingers around the thick column of his neck to turn his face up to yours. You’re not at all prepared for the sight of him, eyes rolling back and those gorgeous long lashes fluttering. His pulse jumps excitedly against your fingers as if it’s trying to meet your touch. It ratchets up another notch when your hands come to his collar and you pop the top button open, easing the tight constraint against that long, graceful throat. 
Then you work open the rest of the buttons, dragging down his oversized shirt. You barely have time to admire his naked form, before you stumble across a much more worrying revelation. Black-blue bruises marring his smooth golden skin in large patches across his shoulder. There are barely healed cuts, running parallel down his chest. You trace the lines with your fingers with a frown, and Steven turns his gaze downward, shame-faced. 
“How on earth did you get these?”
“I—I dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
“I have a sleeping disorder. It’s what the restraints are for.” 
And that’s another red flag, isn’t it? Practically waving right in front of your nose. But… You let your eyes roam over Steven’s chest. There are other things that you want to focus on right now. Things like the friendlier revelation of just how in-shape Steven is. 
He never seemed like the type to go to the gym, more like the type to get winded running after the bus. Your first (apparently incorrect) impression was that a gust of wind could probably knock him off his feet. 
But his form tells a different story. Running your hand over the well-developed muscles of his shoulder and down his toned bicep, you find that he’s much bulkier than you had expected, given how small he holds himself to be. Underneath the unsightly button-down, Steven is cut like a marble statue, all firm muscles and smooth flesh. Always full of surprises, this one. 
Dipping knee-first onto the mattress, you move to straddle him, one knee on each side of his hips.  When you settle your weight onto Steven’s lap, his pink tongue darts out nervously, wetting his lush bottom lip until it glistens with saliva.  The sight sends a thrill up your spine.
Flattening your hand against his solid chest, you apply firm pressure, and Steven lets himself be guided by you easily enough, as if he truly believes your strength is a match to his. Allowing you to push him backwards until his back is flat against the mattress.
“Is this–?” Steven starts nervously, “Sorry, are you sure that you–?”  His voice cuts off when you lace your fingers with his and show him just how sure you are.  
You drag your interlocked hands down your sternum and further to slip up under the hem of your skirt. You watch his face as you press his hand against you, letting him feel how wet you are for him, soaked even through the double layer of your underwear and tights.  
He groans when his fingertips find the proof of your arousal, and he stares up at you, awestruck, dark eyes wide and dazed, almost disbelieving.
“Oh. You're...? Oh, fuck.”  Then he’s pulling his hand away from yours, scrambling to get it under the waistband of your tights.
You gasp at the feeling of his fingers wiggling into your knickers, and your body jolts forward with a shock of pleasure as they slide down over your clit. Moving down to press deeper, those thick fingers tease at your slick, sensitive entrance, and you can hear how wet you are. 
Steven must hear it too, because he groans again, a desperate needy sound.  His touch trails back up and over your clit again before withdrawing entirely, and you moan at the loss. You expect him to try to pull your tights off, maybe go for the zip of your skirt, but he doesn’t. 
What is he...? Oh.
You watch slack-jawed and burning with arousal as he shoves his slick fingers into his mouth, tongue and throat and jaw working clumsily as he sucks them clean. Moaning with something like desperation as he swallows you down like a starving man.
“Sorry, sorry. Had to taste you,” he slurs out around his fingers. The words are distorted and hard to understand, and it should be ridiculous, but instead, it’s just hot. “Can I–” “Yes,” you answer, not even waiting for him to finish the question, and his eyes light up the same way they always do when he first sees you, like he can't quite believe you're real. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, leaving you staring at the way his lips are pinker than before, shiny with a mix of his saliva and your slick. 
“Can I– can you just—” He doesn’t finish the request, but his hands move to your hip and thigh, tugging gently, urging you to scoot up his body. 
You nod and start to shift yourself to help him, but his hands wrap around you, fingers digging in, then you’re moving. 
He drags you forward with surprising strength, your tight-covered knees scraping against the bedding. As he pulls you up his torso, you realise you’re still wearing your boots. “Wait, my shoes!” “S’fine.” Steven doesn’t even pause, dragging you the rest of the way up to straddle his chest. Then his hands move to the underside of your thighs, and you yelp as he lifts you up. You're nearly toppling forward before you brace yourself with a hand on his shoulder, but Steven doesn’t waver, holding you steady, supporting you without apparent effort until he can settle you with your bum on his chest, your knees framing his head.
You stare down at him, more than a little affected by that impressive display of strength, but Steven isn’t even looking at you. Instead his eyes are heavy-lidded, a blissful expression on his face as he turns to the side, craning his neck until his lips can press a kiss onto your inner thigh. 
When you don’t pull away, he mouths at you through the material of your tights, biting down and gently worrying the sensitive flesh between his teeth until you’re sure it will leave a mark. You hope it does. 
He pauses, then. Unlatches his teeth, and just stays there for a moment. His fast, panting breaths are warm against your thigh, but cold where they ghost over the wet spot he’s left on your tights. The contrast makes you shiver. His hand skates slowly up the back of your thigh, hesitant, like he expects you to scold or stop him. When you don’t, he curls his arm around your leg, pressing it greedily to his mouth so he can leave an identical mark right next to the first one. The action is hungry but somehow still reverent, almost worshipful. The only descriptor that comes to mind is touch-starved. 
For a moment you wonder how long it’s been for him, this man who seems to have no family or friends to speak of, alone in a city of nine million inhabitants, and how lonely he must be, lost in the clustered sea of anonymity. Because he touches you like you’re the first sign of life on an abandoned planet and wants to reassure himself you’re real. Devoted fingers fan over your ribs, palming over every inch of skin he can reach, kneading and grasping.  
You don’t get a chance to revel in the thought, before he drags his nose upwards against the ticklish inside of your thighs, tongue trailing a wet streak across your tights as he goes. You claw your skirt up around your waist and out the way so you can keep watching him, and you can’t help the blissful sigh that parts your lips when he gets to his destination. 
He noses at the damp crotch of your tights, but it’s not enough to actually give you any friction. You can hear him suck a long breath in, his chest rising under you with the extended inhale, and then the warmth of his breath gusts over you as he releases it. He does it again, another deep inhale, and a wash of heat rolls through you at the realisation that he’s smelling you. That’s… that’s just… 
You spear your fingers into that messy hair, and drag his head forward, pressing yourself against him. You groan at the contact, and he groans with you, mouthing at you desperately. 
“Can you– Can these come off?” he says into you, the words barely intelligible between biting kisses and half-licks. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you forward, helping you to ride his face. “Oh, fuck. Can I taste you without these? Please?” 
“Rip them,” you say without conscious thought, and he does.
He leans back marginally, chin tilting down at a sharp angle to see what he’s doing, and his hands sneak up under your thighs to grip the fabric of your tights on either side of the crotch, fingers digging in, pulling until the material gives way with barely a whisper of sound. His fingers fumble at you again, and there’s a moment of unexpected pressure. Your knickers dig into your hip almost painfully before there’s a much louder rip, and you realise he’s torn them too. You have half a second to be glad they weren’t your best pair, then his mouth is on you.
You expect him to be tentative, the way he is in so many other parts of life, clumsy even. Instead, Steven is all enthusiasm and hunger. There’s nothing shy about the way he works you open with his mouth. 
It starts with a long slick drag of the flat of his tongue down the seam of your cunt. Leaning back slightly, you brace a hand on his firm chest and roll your hips forward into his waiting mouth. He meets your invitation with a groan that makes his whole chest shudder underneath you, lapping at you with a fervour that you would never have expected from him. 
A slow, sweet ache unfurls from between your thighs, spreading and twining steadily outward, until the pleasant warmth climbs its way up your chest, and you smile down at him indulgently. He’s greedy for you, shifting underneath you and dragging his mouth against your cunt, his hungry moan muffled into your thighs. The bump of his nose nudges against your clit, and white-hot pleasure streaks down your limbs as his tongue curls, licking into you. 
The familiar rasp of a zipper fills the room. It’s followed by a slick wet sound attracting your attention that makes you turn your head, twisting awkwardly to look over your own shoulder. And fuck, are you glad that you did. His fingers are wrapped around the girth of his cock, slowly stroking himself up and down, slick and shiny with copious precome dripping down his painfully-erect-looking cock. 
"Touching yourself, Steven?" 
His hand abruptly stops, whole body freezing in alarm at being caught. He drags his mouth just far enough to resurface with an apologetic murmur. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm—" it’s slurred and drunk, a thickness caught in his throat from your slick. 
“Don’t be sorry.” With the way his mouth is working you, he has nothing to apologise for, and you press your hips down flush against his face, shutting him up quite handily. “You look so fucking good like this, keep touching yourself, fuck, keep going. You’re doing so good,” you encourage as your fingers brush away the errant locks that stick to his forehead with perspiration.  
The deep groan rumbling from his chest is nothing short of grateful as he grabs a firm hold of you with his free hand. There’s nothing tentative about his touch anymore. His fingers dig into the plump flesh of your hips with a surprising force, holding you down against his mouth, forcing you to grind down on his tongue much harder than you would have on your own out of fear of hurting him. 
The strength of his hold is entirely unyielding. It’s depraved with how you’re grinding down on his mouth. Debauched in how he lets you fuck yourself on his tongue. It has you bucking and writhing, the pleasure of it so overwhelming that you lose orientation. 
You need to anchor yourself because fuck, your legs are burning from the exertion, giving under and you’re not sure you can keep yourself upright. Your hands grip the nearest surface, clamping down against the wooden shelf above the bed hard enough that your knuckles ache. 
And oh crap, you should not have done that.
The books start to slump sideways, collapsing against one another like dominoes. Dazed as you are by the pleasure of his mouth on you, it doesn’t occur to you to try and catch them until a whole mess of books and papers and other clutter tumbles down, spilling across the corner of the bed and onto the floor. 
“Fuck! Steven, your books!”  You belatedly lurch forward, but you don’t get far. Steven groans into you, a feral snarl of sound, and his arms curl tight around your thighs, locking you in place. 
Yeah, okay, the books can wait. 
You thread your fingers into his hair, gripping the heated, sweat-damped curls until you’re sure that it must hurt. But the only response you get is an enthusiastic groan, as his mouth moves more eagerly than before. 
And God, it’s good. Heat spreads down your trembling thighs, shivering under your skin. The sweet ache of it builds with each press of Steven’s tongue until it feels almost too big for your body. There’s nowhere else for it to go, and for a moment you are almost worried that you are going to burst open with it— And God, you’re nearly there— almost, just a little bit more. 
Steven must be able to feel it because he makes a muffled noise of satisfaction against your cunt. His fingers dig into your thighs even harder, his nose sliding against your clit as he holds you flush to his mouth, and that’s all it takes to shove you over the edge.
You come hard, grinding down harshly against Steven’s face as waves of fierce pleasure ripple through you, searing and endless. He doesn’t protest, just holds you even more solidly against his hungry mouth.
His tongue slows but doesn’t still. A soft, lazy drag, working you through it as he fastens his mouth around you, swallowing like he can’t bear to let a single drop of your slick go to waste. And... and... fuckohfuck—he’s not stopping. 
Your first orgasm doesn’t even have the chance to fade away before he is somehow, unbelievably, building you up to a second. The piercing sharp pleasure rides on the fine line of too much. He is mouthing and licking every inch that his tongue can reach, even as you’re trembling and convulsing on top of him, not sure if you want to get away or press yourself closer to the overwhelming touch. 
You can’t make sense of the space around you, everything narrowing inwards, until the concept of sound and colours no longer make sense to you, your vision blurring. It is all heat and sparks that steals your breath with it. Every muscle in you locks tight, the tension streaking out along your limbs to the curl of your toes until you are sure you are going to snap from it— 
And then you do.
You come with a hoarse shout, eyes slamming shut from overstimulation as your world crumbles around you and everything fades into nothingness until your mind is blank with it. 
It’s all a blur and you barely register the lazy, soft licks of Steven’s tongue as he’s drawing out your pleasure. Barely able to catch oxygen into your lungs, before you realise he’s still going. And oh fuck, he can’t be serious— “Stop, Steven stop—wait! too much—”
You lurch up, trying to get away, even the gentle touch of his tongue suddenly too much. Grabbing his locks tightly, you use one hand to try to pry him away from you, slapping your other hand down hard against the muscled arm that’s keeping you pressed against his face.
That, finally, is enough to make Steven loosen his hold, and he lets himself be pulled away from you as you raise yourself on trembling thighs, barely managing to scoot yourself back to sit back on his chest. 
For a moment you worry that you are resting your weight on him and how uncomfortable it must be for him, but there’s not a trace of discomfort in his features. His face is one of bliss. A sweat-soaked curl falls across his forehead and it makes him impossibly beautiful. Your eyes meet, but his are glazed and distant, entirely lost and still on a different planet. 
You move down his body, until your chest is pressed up against his and the drum of his heartbeat is pounding against your skin. You’re sated and exhausted, and grinning from ear to ear as you press your lips against his. He tastes of you, sweet and tart on his tongue as you kiss him, and he kisses back, moaning desperately into your mouth. 
He’s still hard. His straining erection pressing against your stomach with nowhere to go. Hot and aching, as it jerks against you, slick and dripping from the precome leaking from him. Fuck, you want him inside of you. 
“Get my bag,” you instruct him breathlessly, still coming down from your high, and he looks at you but makes no sign of moving out from under you. “I have condoms in my handbag,” you clarify. “Get one.”  
That seems to do the trick, snapping him out of his trance. Within a fraction of a second his eyes have refocused and he’s scrambling towards the end of the bed to grab your bag from where you had haphazardly dropped it. There’s a moment of silent hesitation, then the rattling of keys and lipsticks being pushed to the side as he searches frantically for his prize. 
While he’s busy with that, you take the opportunity to finally undress. Two orgasms in and you haven’t so much as removed your boots. Unbelievable. You make quick work of them along with the rest of your clothes, dragging off the tattered remains of your stockings and knickers just as Steven makes a small triumphant noise. 
You hear the rip of the metal foil, and press your knees together at the ache between your thighs to stave off your own excitement. But then it’s followed by silence. You crane your head to see what the hold up is. Steven is holding the condom up to the bedside lamp, flipping it over then over again, apparently unable to determine which direction is up. God, you do not have time for this, not when you want him inside you this badly. 
Impatience brings out the worst in you. You know you’re being unfair, not even giving him the benefit of a few seconds in this dimly lit space, before you snatch the condom from him. 
“Trousers off,” you order, and he scrambles to comply.
Turning your attention to the slippery rubber in your hand, to the sting of your pride, you’re struggling with it much in the same way that Steven had. It’s too dark in this bloody room, and you can’t see if you’re holding it up or down. It’s truly a humbling moment when you find yourself scooting closer to the nightlight and holding it up for a brighter view until you finally make sense of the thing. 
Next to you, Steven is struggling with his one single item of clothing. It’s clumsy to say the least, not helped by the trousers being tangled by the ankle restraint no matter how much he tugs at it. Until he finally gives up and turns back around to stand in front of you and wow— beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it. 
Hidden underneath mismatched clothes, and an inability to comb his hair, it was always obvious he was a looker. It’s the moment of reveal in a rom-com where the girl loses her glasses and the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen graces your screen. Right now, he’s all tousled curls, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. You can’t remember the man with the gangly gait, looking like he’s a kid wearing his father’s oversized clothes. Gone is the pale face that hadn’t touched the sun for years. 
You beckon him forward with the curl of your finger and he follows obediently, climbing back into the bed until he’s sat in front of you. Your fingers curl around the thick girth of him and it twitches and jerks in your grasp. From the way he stiffens, and stills, you swear that he stops breathing entirely as you easily roll the condom down his length. 
Raising your knees, you seat yourself into his lap as you’re aligning him against your slick and aching cunt, until the fat tip is resting inside you. 
Then you take your time as you ease down on him, inch by slow, sweet and aching inch as he fills you for the first time. Every nerve ending in you is thrumming with electricity. You can’t remember who was supposed to be in control anymore when you feel him, thick and warm, seated inside you to the root of him. 
It’s a struggle to move, every nerve in you alight. He feels so good inside you, incendiary, and you have half a mind to stay just like this. 
You start a slow grind of a pace that has him groaning in response to you. Tilting your hips up to drag your slick cunt over the length of him before squeezing down on him again. 
Lunging forward, Steven’s mouth latches onto your throat, kissing fervently. Tongue lapping against the salty perspiration, teeth nibbling down your collarbone and downwards until he’s mouthing at your breast, sucking at the pillowy flesh. Touch-starved, you think to yourself again. 
You try to raise yourself again to keep the momentum you have started but, God as good as he feels inside you, despite the sweet gorgeous ache of the slide of his cock, your legs are numb. The muscles in your calves are screaming out in exhaustion still wrought from the earlier exertion and the torrent of overwhelming pleasure that you can’t quite seem to climb down from. Not when you can barely find the strength in you to sit upright. And as much as you want to keep riding him, you can’t— 
"Fuck, I can't-- God, Steven, help me."
It’s all you need to say before his hands are already moving to grip the underside of your bare thighs. He lifts you up and off his cock before bearing you down on him until you are grinding down on his cock. Again and again. He moves you like it’s an easy feat, and you are reminded once again of his deceptive strength. 
It doesn’t take long at all before that too familiar heat is simmering deep in the pit of your stomach. Slow at first but insistent all the same as the aching pleasure spreads and blooms along every fibre and nerve of you. 
You can’t hide from it, don’t have the strength to chase after it on your own. All you can do is surrender yourself to it, to the pace that Steven has set for you both as he holds you down and rolls his hips up and into you. The sensations course through you, God it won’t stop— he won’t stop. God, please you don’t want him to stop.
And he doesn’t, he plants one foot on the mattress for leverage, lifting you off of him, making you whine at the loss, before he thrusts into you deep and hard, and God—fuckshit, you’re coming for him again. 
This time your climax slams into you all at once. The pleasure of it is blinding, until all you can see are glimmers of white sparks in the darkness as if you are staring up into a vast night sky. The world around you slows to a crawl as the only thought you’re capable of is how the blissful high pushes through every single one of your cells, blanking your consciousness until you lose sense of time itself. 
Except, there are soft moans close to your ear that send shivers down your back. A firm grip on your hips that tethers your consciousness to this world. A sturdy weight pressed along your thighs. When you come to you find yourself with your back on the mattress. Steven pressed alongside every inch of you. 
You don’t know when he took command like this, controlling the momentum. Or when he flipped you over to your back, until your legs were wrapped around his waist, your body still clenching around him as you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.
He looms above you, supporting himself on his forearms as he stares down at you, sweat-slick curls bouncing across his forehead with the force of his body driving into yours. Strong, deep thrusts, unmeasured and almost wild, as he bucks into you.
You can see that he's getting close by the way his jaw works then goes slack, but his gaze never falters. Even as his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, his eyes, dazed and feverish, never leave your face, taking you in like he’s worried you might disappear if he looks away for even a second.
Steven gasps out your name, then stills, buried deep inside you, and fuck, you can feel him come.  You always thought that was just a thing made up by romance novelists who seem to get paid by how ridiculous and unattainable their sex scenes are, but you swear you can actually feel his cock pulsing inside you.
Watching the pleasure break across his face is a revelation. You’ve always known Steven was handsome. Had thought you recognised the depths of his attractiveness seeing him naked and aroused in the low light, but this is something different. This is Steven transcendent. The desperate need and constant pinched nervousness have been washed away by pure pleasure, and you realise that Steven might just be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. You’re still recovering from this revelation when he goes limp, collapsing onto your chest, and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He slurs out a “Sorry, sorry. I hope that was alright, yeah?” and you have to laugh a little to yourself as you shush him, running a soothing hand through his hair, overcome with tenderness because yeah, that’s still your Steven. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.
After a long moment, he shifts, reaching between you to hold the base of the condom, and you both gasp as he pulls out.  He pauses there, hovering over you, and you grin happily at each other. You feel giddy and lightheaded, your whole body buzzing with endorphins. God. Shy, meek little Steven who could barely manage more than a handful of words on your first date somehow just made you come three times in one night. 
He rolls to the side, and you marvel all over again at the solid strength of him. The muscles of his arms flex and stretch under the skin as he knots the condom, tossing it into a bin across the room in an impressive display of skilful accuracy, before flopping over and nuzzling back into your neck. 
The cable on the ankle restraint jingles with the movement, bringing it back to your awareness, and you start to reach for it, but Steven makes a noise of protest, hugging you tighter to him.
“The cuff...,” you remind him.
“Keep it on, yeah?” he murmurs, sleep thick and heavy in his voice. “I don’t want to go anywhere.” 
Maybe it’s because you’re spent and exhausted. Maybe it’s because, with Steven, you have permanent blinders on, but you ignore the statement for the red flag it is and let it go. Instead, you curl into his pleasant warmth, tucking in your legs between his firm thighs and fit yourself into his welcoming arms as you let yourself drift to sleep. 
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When you wake, it's pitch black. There's no light at all, and you can't see anything in the total darkness blanketing the room.
Reaching out your hand, the spot next to you is cold and empty, any residual heat long gone from the sheets. You're alone in the bed.
"Steven?" you whisper.
There's no immediate answer, and your heart thrums painfully in your chest.
You sit up, wrapping the quilt around your naked torso and carefully adjusting it to make sure all the important bits are covered. Perhaps it's silly to worry about your modesty after the events of last night, but the back of your neck prickles uneasily in the silence, and you keep it on regardless.
"Steven?" you call out, louder this time, your voice echoing through the emptiness of the flat.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” comes the response from the dark. 
The endearment rings false in your ears. Steven’s never called you that before, and while tonight might be the perfect occasion to extend the list of firsts between you, there’s something not quite right about his voice too. His pronunciation is off somehow— like an imitation of an imitation. 
Another red flag, and for the first time since you met Steven, it has alarm bells ringing loud and clear in your brain. 
Keeping your face pointed in the direction the voice came from, you reach over to the end table and flick on the nightlight.  
The amber hue illuminates his form as he emerges from the shadow into sight. Black curls fall across his forehead as those familiar pitch-dark eyes gaze back at you, framed by the hollowed cheeks you know so well. 
But something’s still not right. 
You can’t put your finger on it at first, but it comes to you slowly as you keep your eyes locked on him, heart beating in your throat. His stance is different. His whole demeanour is different. Shoulders straight, chest puffed out with confidence and pride like it’s second nature to him. This is no puppy dog, this is a wolf. In the dark empty space of the flat, his presence looms instead of cowers.
As you look up at him, the alarm echoes through your head louder than ever, pounding at your eardrums until you are nauseous with the clang of it. You can clearly see all the red flags you’ve ignored up until now, easily visible where they were dotted along the path that led you to this moment. 
The person standing in front of you might carry Steven's face, but this isn't him. This man is a stranger to you. Your Steven has left the room.
~ Continue ~
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Dedication & Credits:
So after seeing the first episode of Moon Knight, I passed out and entered into a horny fugue of a state that I have yet to recover from. I started writing this on Saturday with my most beloved @thirstworldproblemss and just— I'm unwell.
Ok Christ, the dedications for this one is going to be a doozy. Apologies beforehand to those that make it a habit of reading these. 
----
First and always foremost in my heart and soul (and you can quote me on that no matter what my husband says to the contrary) to @thirstworldproblemss who co-wrote this and made this one of the most fun writing experiences I’ve had in a long long time. There is nothing like hanging out in a google doc together writing with a friend who is like an extension of your own brain— not knowing the scene and then having them go “what about this” and that is exactly what you wanted. There is nothing like waking up in the morning and seeing them staying awake (way past sleepy bussy time) still in the doc, and going to sleep with them still in the google doc. There is nothing like you, and I’m so happy I have you, for everyday the last year (and then some). 
To @frannyzooey for her time. You always give so much of yourself to others and you are one of the kindest and bestest people I know. Thank you for being so supportive and keeping me company and talking me through the weirdest and some of the scariest life changes I’ve had in the past few months. 
To @jazzelsaur for being such a whore. That’s it, that’s the dedication. WHORE. I love you don’t tell anyone. 
To my beautiful comic geek @radiowallet for reassuring me that I wasn't going to fuck it up but also for being one of the sweetest, kindest and best people on earth. Always there with a kind and supporting word, and virtual hugs and being the absolute best person alive, always. 
To @songsformonkeys because she was the one who kept whispering like the snake of Eden about how I should be writing Moon Knight fics. 
To @the-ginger-hedge-witch for being an absolute rock in listening to me having constant meltdowns about how I’m so horny for this man. But also for being a fucking riot and one of the funniest human beings that has graced this blue planet that we call earth. I will never stop giggling about "yes girl he's married kill him".
To @yespolkadotkitty who after watching the first episode of Moon Knight texted me that “I was thinking CiCi had already written 55 smut fics in her head” and she was RIGHT. But also for her invaluable advice and precious time to make sure I didn’t fuck up the Britishism too much (despite having lived on and off in England for the last oh Idk 14 years of my life (I’m mess what can I say). 
10K notes · View notes
projectionistwrites · 11 months
Note
moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?
hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!
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IMPLODING THE MIRAGE
Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)
You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?
RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)
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imploding the mirage — the killers
i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining
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He was the moon, and she was the stars.
It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.
The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.
So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.
He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.
Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.
He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.
“Where to next, Moon Boy?”
She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.
He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.
“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”
Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.
“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—
“Jesus Christ!”
You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.
“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”
Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”
“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”
He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.
“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”
You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.
He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.
You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.
You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.
“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.
“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”
You frowned.
“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”
“Hell of a time for that to happen.”
He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.
“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”
Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.
“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”
Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.
“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”
Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.
“Of course Steven made you.”
A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?
You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.
You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.
“Do you mind if I—”
“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”
You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.
She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.
Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.
“Fuck, Marc.”
She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.
“Want you—need you so bad.”
“You’re doing it again.”
You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.
“Shit, I—sorry.”
You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.
You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.
“It’s nothing, Marc.”
You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.
He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.
“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”
There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.
“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”
You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.
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Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.
“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”
She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.
“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”
She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”
He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.
“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.
“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”
“Why do you push me away?”
She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.
“What do you mean?”
“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”
He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.
“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”
He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.
You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.
You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.
You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.
You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.
“Are you going to tell them?”
Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.
Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.
“No.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.
“What?”
Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.
“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”
The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.
“I—you?”
He glowered playfully.
“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”
That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.
“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”
Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.
You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”
You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.
Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.
“But what about how you feel?”
His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”
Anger flared within you.
“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”
Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.
“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”
“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”
You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.
Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.
“No, nena. I’m sorry.”
You turned away.
“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”
You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.
“What if he breaks my heart?”
He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”
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The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.
She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.
He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.
“G’mornin’, darling.”
He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.
“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”
He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.
“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”
She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.
“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”
She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.
“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”
“G’mornin’, darling.”
The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.
“Steven! Shit!”
You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.
“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”
You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.
“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”
You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.
“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”
There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.
Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.
He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.
“There we are—good as new.”
He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...
Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.
“Bon apétit.”
You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.
“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”
He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.
You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.
“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”
He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.
“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”
She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.
“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”
“S’there somethin’ on my face?”
Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.
You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.
“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”
He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.
“What were you thinkin’ about?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”
You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.
“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”
“Yes.”
You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.
He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.
“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.
“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”
She’s lying.
Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.
And how do you know that?
Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.
What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?
Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’
But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.
He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.
“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”
You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.
Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.
You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.
“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”
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There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.
The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.
He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—
Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?
Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.
Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?
You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.
You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.
hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x
It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.
What if this was from his latest mission?
It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.
You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.
“Where is it?”
A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.
“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”
To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.
“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”
He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.
“I just wasn’t alone.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.
“Looking for this?”
She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.
Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.
When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.
“Thanks.”
Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.
Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.
“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”
He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.
“Marc. I mean it.”
He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.
“Yeah, I know.”
She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.
“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”
Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.
Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.
“Wake up, little star.”
Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.
“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—
“Wake up!”
With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.
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When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.
He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.
“Marc?”
You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.
“Drink.”
He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.
“I—what happened?”
You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.
“What do you remember?”
He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—
“Was I kidnapped?”
You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.
“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”
He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.
“What do you mean?”
You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.
“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”
“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”
His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, don’t.”
His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.
“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”
You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.
“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”
“Stop!”
He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.
“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.
“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”
“What did you just say?”
Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.
“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”
His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.
“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”
You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.
“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”
“At least we’d be suffering together.”
It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.
“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”
“See you?”
He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.
“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”
You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.
“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”
Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.
“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”
His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.
“I—what?”
“I—”
You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.
“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”
He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.
“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?”
You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.
“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”
Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.
“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”
“But that’s not true.”
He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.
“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”
“But you told me—”
“Well, I lied.”
He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.
“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”
Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.
“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”
“I know.”
He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.
“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”
“I’m a big girl, Marc.”
You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.
“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.
“I know.”
It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.
“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”
You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.
“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”
Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.
“He—he did?”
Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.
“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”
“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”
Marc’s brows furrowed.
“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”
You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.
“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”
Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.
“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”
“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”
You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”
You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.
“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”
“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”
His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.
“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”
You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.
“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”
“Hey, it’s not stupid.”
He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.
“It’s just not true.”
“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”
She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—
“Hey. Where’d you go?”
It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.
You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—
“Sorry.”
You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.
“What were you thinking about?”
Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.
“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”
It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.
He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.
When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.
“Wait—wait.”
You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.
“What’s wrong?”
He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.
“I just—”
You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.
“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”
He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.
“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”
You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.
When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.
“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”
You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.
You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.
“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”
You felt a small smile find your face.
“Really?”
He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.
“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.
“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”
You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.
“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”
He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.
He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.
“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”
He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.
The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.
“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”
You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.
“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”
You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.
“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”
He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.
“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”
Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.
“You want my cum, baby?”
You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.
“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”
You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”
Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.
“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”
He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.
“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”
His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.
He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.
You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.
It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.
“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”
Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.
“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”
Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.
“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”
His attempt at a joke fell flat.
“That’s not what I mean.”
You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.
“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”
Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.
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You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.
Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.
“Told you so.”
Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.
“Yeah, I guess you did.”
You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.
You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.
“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”
You nodded.
“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”
You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.
“And you called me estrellita.”
You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.
“Estrellita?”
He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”
You explained, and he shook his head.
“I know that, but I—hmm.”
His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative
“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”
You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.
“He fucking what?”
Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?
Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.
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melodygatesauthor · 10 months
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Marc Spector - Random Horny Thot #1 - The (almost) 40 y/o Virgin
NSFW
——
Marc doesn't want to tell you he's a virgin because he thinks it's embarrassing. He's a grown man, approaching his 40s, and he's never had sex before. Something about the thought excites you to no end.
You’re hovering over him while he’s on his back. His normally stern face looks (very slightly) desperate, like he’s begging you to just fuck him already. You can feel his needy cock twitch between your thighs. He’s leaking precum down his cock and you think he might come before you even have the chance to feel him inside of you.
His hands are on your hips, and he’s trying not to push you down because he wants you to have control. He’s never done this before and doesn’t want to go to hard or too soft. He doesn’t know what you like. Marc doesn’t even know what he likes.
You finally get yourself down so just the fat tip of his heady cock is inside, and already he’s trembling. His breathing is shaky, rapid and so fucking pathetic. You love it. You drop a little lower, his head flies back and almost cracks open on the headboard. He moves his hips upward ever so slightly, unable to help himself.
“F-fuck honey, sorry I just, fuck I want it so bad.”
“Sh, baby I know, be patient,” you tell him.
You’re able to lower yourself down once. One. Single. Time. Before Marc Spector is choking on the moan inside his throat and holding onto your hips so tight you think he might break you in half. His entire body shakes with his orgasm while his cock explodes and he empties inside of you.
He looks at you, so embarrassed that lost himself so early, face rosy and flush, but you just smile and kiss him softly.
“Let’s go again, this time you’re on top.”
——
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