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#steven grant x f!reader
pimosworld · 3 months
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Bad days
Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.
Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.
CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.
WK-2.4k
A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.
Not beta read
[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]
You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner. 
It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement. 
Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.
  For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items  in the gift shop. 
  He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you. 
  Ask her now
  It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known. 
  He’s right, ask her
  It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop. 
  “I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?” 
  You said yes before he could even get the words out. 
  That was a few months ago. 
  ****
  Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened. 
  I told you to just give her a key hermano 
  Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you. 
  You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that. 
  He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs. 
  Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder. 
  ****
  “I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys. 
  “It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys. 
  “Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping. 
  “Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.” 
  Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first. 
  He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other. 
  “There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms. 
  “Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.” 
  He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 
  I would do what she says if I were you. 
  He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.
  ****
  Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions. 
  You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him. 
  His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong. 
  Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him. 
  The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs. 
  “What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside. 
  “I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer. 
  “Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.
  Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.
  “Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.
  Say yes Steven
Say yes Steven
  It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would. 
  “Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying. 
  It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires. 
  You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times. 
  He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him. 
  The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind. 
  The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted. 
  He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop. 
  Fuck
  Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine. 
  You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The  dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven. 
  Put your hand on the back of her head
  “What?” He rasps out above you. 
  You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow. 
  “I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud. 
  Idiota
  “Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—
  His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little. 
  “Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping. 
  Listen to me and don’t say anything 
  Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray. 
  Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements. 
  You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it. 
  You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer. 
  “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least. 
  You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. 
  It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions. 
  The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain. 
  You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually. 
  “I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.” 
  Cállate y déjale
  “It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest. 
  You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face. 
  The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon. 
  “That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin. 
  “I’m glad I could help.” 
  The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax. 
  “Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on. 
  He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment. 
  “You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life. 
  “I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.” 
  I love her 
Ella es perfecta
  You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch. 
  “I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it. 
  He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying  to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food. 
  His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands. 
  “Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. 
  Smooth
  “Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”
  “Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.” 
  You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it. 
  “Eat up, before it gets cold.” 
  Before I take the body and eat my own
No me parece 
  He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you. 
  ****
  Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work. 
  Steven: where are you love?
      On the bus I just left work, how was your day?
  Steven: It was quite dreadful 
           I’ll be home soon to make it better 
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated
Tagging a few who might be interested
@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents
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I Didn't Know You Smoked
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Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •
Summary: Steven has a secret habit.
🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜
A/N: Everytime I write something I feel myself putting on the clown make up more and more.
Warnings: Use of ‘fag’ as the British and Australian slang for cigarette, reader doesn’t smoke, blow job, fingering, p in v sex, cream pie, maybe kind of a cream pie kink from Steven if you look closely, swearing, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 2741
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The scent of smoke caused you to pause midstep. You shrugged off your backpack and hung it up on the side as you walked to the kitchen and put down your shopping bag. You’d been able to start cooking when you realised you were missing a few key ingredients and had made a quick dash to the corner shop. 
The smell of smoke hit you again, and even though it was very clearly cigarette smoke your mind quickly spiralled to smoke from a fire. Shit. Had you left a candle on in the bathroom? 
You’d lit one when you had a bath after work, the image of the flame somehow catching the towels and running up the walls burst into your head. 
You rushed to the bathroom, yanking open the door with such a force that the hinges groaned under your exertion. 
Steven practically jumped out of his skin, whipping his head around to look around at you, his eyes wide. “What the fuck?” He yelps.
“Shit, Steven, sorry, I thought I’d left a cand…” You pause, and truly take in the scene before you. 
He’s stood on the toilet, crouched a little so that he can reach the tiny top part of the window that actually opens. There’s a cigarette in his left hand. You can just see it from your angle. Steven’s hand outside in the cool evening air.
“You’re smoking?” There isn’t any judgement in your voice, just surprise. 
“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” he turns to hastily blow smoke out of the window, practically trying to shove his whole face outside before he grabs the old jar from were he had propped it on the window sill and stubs out his cigarette hastily. He puts the butt in there after and screws on the lid. 
You’d seen that old jar on his desk plenty of times. Just assumed it was filled with odds and ends. You didn’t realise it was his secret ashtray. 
The sight of him blowing out the billow of smoke is kind of… nice actually. Despite his obvious panic there’s something about it you can’t quite put your finger on. You shake your head. 
“No, don’t worry, I just… didn’t know you smoked?” 
Jake smoked, you could set your watch to his cigarette breaks; they were so precise. But he would always, without fail, go outside. Rain or shine, freezing cold or oppressive heat. He didn’t seem to mind if the lift was broken or not, outside he would go and the butt would go in the bin on the street after. Never on the floor. Jake was a stickler for that, had got into more than one verbal (and physical) fight with strangers who just flicked their fag onto the pavement. 
Marc had smoked, several years ago. But had quit and never touched another one since. It always used to puzzle him when he had the craving for one after not smoking for over a decade. 
Most other ex-smokers he spoke to talked about being revolted by cigarettes once they had fully stopped for a few years. Now that he knew about Jake, and his continuing habit, whenever the urge got too strong he just tapped out and let Jake go for a cigarette. (Marc still argued that smoking was bad for them, while Jake countered that technically Khonshu’s suit healed any damage every time they wore it. Which had led to a very lengthy debate over if Jake’s true reasoning for serving the moon god was so that he didn’t have to quit his nicotine fix.)
They didn’t smoke often, and Jake went more than out of his way to minimise any smell that clung to them. But it meant that you never found it puzzling if they smelt like smoke. It just meant Jake had had one. 
Steven had never mentioned smoking himself, in fact he often scolded Jake for it. 
“I don’t smoke, I mean,” Steven blushed a little, his shoulder slumping. “Well, that’s a lie, innit? I smoke… sometimes?”
“Sometimes?” You repeat with a small smile.
“Sometimes… just sort of,” he shrugs. “Feel the urge sometimes. I used to… before I met Marc and Jake, once or twice a month, just one fag, you know? I hid a packet under the sink.” 
“Under the sink?” You laugh kindly and Steven smiles and nods. 
“Yeah, here,” he gets down off the toilet and points at a little space under the taps. “And then I’d smoke out the window so I didn’t set the alarm off or stink out the place. I tell you, I used to always get confused because sometimes I would smell a bit like smoke, even though I hadn’t touched them in weeks.” He shrugs again. “I thought that’s just what happened.” 
You chuckle. “And you still sneakily have a fag every now and then.” 
He nods and grins bashfully, “every now and then… I know I should be good and go outside like Jake does but… it’s like, part of the ritual now. You know? Stand at an awkward angle and half hang my head out of the window. Wouldn’t feel right otherwise… plus sometimes I just can’t be fucked.” 
You laugh loudly and he smiles, glad that his little joke amused you. 
“Marc and Jake don’t know…” He says shyly. 
You nod and mime zipping your lips and he grins again. 
“Thank you, love.” 
You lean to give him a quick kiss but he pulls back a little.
“Sorry, I mean, I definitely taste like smoke, disgusting, you don’t want that do you? No.” He shakes his head. “I’ll brush my teeth.” 
You screw your face up a little in what Steven at first assumes is agreement at not wanting to kiss him while he tasted of cigarettes. 
You let out a little grumble and take hold of his cheeks, holding him firmly as you place a kiss on his lips. 
Even though the action is brief he does taste like smoke. And it’s kind of… nice again. A strange little spark of heat begins to grow in your belly and suddenly you can’t get the idea of fucking Steven with a cigarette dangling between his lips out of your mind. 
The way you know he would writhe and whimper, biting down on the butt to try his hardest to stop it from slipping out of his mouth. 
He moans low against you as you slide your tongue against his, spreading that smokey flavour across your taste buds. 
“Hmm,” he pulls back just a fraction to speak, even though his hands slide to your hips to pull you closer. “What’s gotten into you, love?” He grins.
“Nothing,” you mumble and kiss down his jaw, running your teeth over his neck and leaving sloppy bites.
Steven shivers, a little gasp of air hitching in his throat as he urges you even closer. You bump against his quickly hardening cock and he groans, bucking his hips forward to rut against you. Kissing his neck was always his weak spot. Practically guaranteed to get him hot under the collar at a second's notice. 
He whines a little as you move away from him for a momentarily, his fingers tighten instantly against you, trying to keep the space between your bodies to a minimum. 
“Here,” you grab at the cigarette packet on top of the cistern, and pull one out before you offer it to him.
Steven raises his eyebrow at you. 
“Just, erm, can you put it in your mouth?” 
He pauses for a second, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “I don’t want to smoke in front of you love, if I’m messing up my own lungs then-”
“No, no, you don’t have to light it… just…” 
His eyes widen ever so slightly and a small smile pulls at his lips. “You like it, huh?” He teases softly. 
“No.” Heat burns at your skin but you can’t help but laugh lightly. “...yeah.” 
He chuckles and takes the cigarette, nuzzling into your cheek. “Alright, but… let’s not tell Jake about this, yeah?” 
You raise your eyebrow at him this time. “And why is that?” 
“Oh,” Steven shrugs, moving the cigarette between his fingers in an almost hypnotic pattern, “no real reason.” 
“Really?” You grin.
“Hmm,” he smiles playfully, “Jake gets lots of things.”
“Does he?” 
“Yeah… and maybe I want this to be my thing.” He kisses you quickly before he puts the cigarette in his mouth and leans close to your ear. “I bet if I stuck my hand down your trousers my fingers would come back soaking, wouldn’t they?” 
“Steven,” you try to chastise but your voice comes out all whiney and desperate. You can’t take your eyes off the way the cigarette just hangs from the corner of his mouth, bobbing with every word. 
He chuckles, taking it from between his lips so he can kiss you roughly, and hold the back of your neck with his other hand. 
You lick hungrily into his mouth and push him back against the wall, trying to regain some control over yourself and the situation. 
He lets you, in all honesty he always lets you do whatever you wanted, smiling the whole time when you pull back like the cat that got the cream. “Never thought you’d have a smoking kink, love.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth.
“It’s not a smoking kink,” you scowl playfully and drop to your knees. 
“No?” He teases lightly, pretending to take a long drag. 
“No.” You unbuckle his jeans, pulling down the zip and relishing the sound of his contented sigh as you palm his cock. 
There’s a little wet patch of precum already soaking into his boxers from the tip, a visual cue of how desperate he is despite his quite commendable effort at seeming calm. His dick twitches as you touch him, as you languidly push his trousers and underwear down his hips and take his length in hand. 
“No,” you repeat, “I have a you smoking kink.” You give him a little smile as you look up at him before you run the tip of your tongue along his velvet warm length.
He shivers, letting out a small cry of satisfaction as his eyes close and eyebrows pinch together. The sight of him pressing his head back against the tiles with the cigarette at the edge of his mouth sends a sharp thrill down your spine. 
You lap at his slit, board, flat licks that have him shaking and squirming in no time as you lightly squeeze and pump him from the base. 
He tries to stay still, to let you play and tease at your own pace for as long as possible. But his self control is rapidly dissolving. 
By the time you suck his bulbous head into your mouth he’s practically crawling up the walls. He groans low in his chest, glancing down so he can watch you slowly bob your head back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper each time. 
You moan around him, trying to open your jaw and take him further but he’s so thick it’s nearly impossible. 
Heat burns distractingly at your core and you can’t sit still, shifting on your knees to rub your legs together to try to relieve a fraction of that maddening ache. 
He wants to grab you by the back of the neck and force his cock down your throat, wants to buck and trust and cum so deeply until he spills from your lips. 
Instead he bites his teeth together, almost severing the cigarette in two and claws at the tiles as bliss twists and grows in his stomach. 
You manage to take him a fraction deeper, your throat aching as you pick up the pace, squeezing his thighs and swirling your tongue around his tip as if your life depended on it, as if his pleasure was the only way for you to breathe. 
His stomach muscles clench, balls contract and you can tell he’s painfully close by the little whimpered moans that slip past his lips with every breath. You’re about to-
Suddenly he grabs hold of your chin, pulling you back off him and groaning at the trail of salvia that connects him to your mouth. He pulls you up and into his arms with a rare show of his strength and kisses you deeply, the cigarette falling to the floor. 
“Steven,” you moan, the sound muffled by his lips. 
“Off, off, off,” he mutters, undoing your trousers and pulling off your top and bra. He strips you so fast it makes your head spin, and then he’s sitting on the toilet lid and pulling you down onto his lap to straddle his thighs. 
Your hands fly to his shoulders and you have just enough time to tug his t-shirt over his head before he presses two thick fingers into your entrance. 
You moan, keening as he curls them, the sensation like lightening along your nerves and Steven swears.
“Oh god, you’re so fucking ready for me,” he mumbles, salivating as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and pushes you down onto his needy, weeping cock. His hips instinctively buck up as his tip notches in your entrance, sheathing himself halfway.
You moan, high pitched and throwing your head back as he stretches you deliciously. You barely have a second to adjust before he grabs your hips and forces you all the way down and it’s perfect. So full and hitting so wonderfully deep that you gasp. You can feel your slick gushing out of you, making a mess of him as he bounces you on his cock. 
He groans, eyes glazed over, blurting out fragments of sentences with every thrust. “Can’t believe you like me smokin’ that much, fucking amazing, so wet, squeezing me so tight, ah,” he moans loudly, pushing his forehead against yours and kissing you messily, so hungry for every part of you. 
You gasp against him, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own and chasing that sweet release so desperately. 
“Gonna fucking smoke everyday, become a chain smoker just so I can always have you whining on my cock, every single second, just keep you filled up and- oh shit!” Pleasure cracks into his being, surprising him with its suddenness and intensity. He moans loudly, rutting against you as he pumps you full of his spend. His skin sweaty, his hair clingy to his forehead as his hips slow and he comes down from his high.
Steven looks up at you with dark eyes, “fuck, sorry.” He kisses you sweetly, still breathing hard. 
“It’s okay,” you stroke his head and he preens up into your touch. Your thighs twitch, your need still thudding hard and making you squirm ever so slightly. 
Steven hisses softly at the movement, overstimulation flooding his mind with both pain and pleasure. 
“Sorry, I-”
“Keep moving,” he groans, pressinging his face against your shoulder and lightly biting your skin. “Cum on me.” He mutters, keeping his left arm wrapped around your waist while he snakes his right hand down between your bodies and rolls your clit between his nimble fingers. 
You gasp and whine lightly. Rocking yourself up and into his touch. 
Steven moans again, mouthing at your skin and the wet mess between your legs as you move. He thrusts upwards shallowly, rubbing you in perfect time. 
“Steven,” you pant, squirming as your legs start to spasm, the pleasure so close it’s on the tip of your tongue. 
“That’s it love,” he whispers so softly, “that’s it.” He looks up at you with his large doe eyes, completely enraptured with you in that moment. “You can do it.” 
You cry out, so, so close it’s driving you mad. The pull of his fingers, the rock of his hips, the fact that he’s still hard inside of you and pushing so deep. 
“You can cum for me,” he bites his bottom lip, his voice like silk. “Can’t you?” 
Pleasure spikes up and overtakes you, blossoming out and hitting every nerve. You moan, quieting yourself ever so slightly by pressing your lips to his and kissing him messily. 
Steven echoes the sound as you cum, your walls squeezing him so tightly and sending an aftershock of deep satisfaction through his veins. 
You breathe heavily as you calm, and he hugs you tightly, grinning and still looking up at you with those beautiful eyes. 
____________________________________
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the-little-ewok · 8 months
Text
Entrée
Marc Spector X F!Reader / Steven Grant X F!Reader
Rating : E / 18+ 
Word count : 1650 (ish)
Warnings : Explicit, Soft Dom!Marc, lil bit dirty talk, PIV, unprotected sex, established relationship, F!oral receiving, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum eating 
Prompts/Summary : Smut prompts : "If you insist", "Make me", "Tell me how you like it." / Teasing Marc while making dinner gets you more than you bargained for. 
A/N : If you like this fic please don't just hit the like button. Hit the reblog button and tell me your thoughts! Support your content creators with reblogs! 
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"Tell me how you like it, Spector," you tease in your most sultry tone, winking as you gesture to the spices you have picked out on the side.
"Will you please behave for just five minutes?" Marc scolds, rolling his eyes as you laugh.
You'd been teasing for a while now, wondering how much it would take to break his patience. Which it turned out, was quite a lot. But you know the last hour you've been getting to him. The pace of his breathing has changed, his temper is shorter, his eyes are darker.
You turn to fully face him, giving him the challenge you hope will break him.
"Make me."
There's a long quiet silence at first, where Marc puts down the knife he's been using to prepare vegetables, wipes his hands and takes a deep breath. For a split second you think you might have pissed him off, but then his eyes flicker up and down your body as he licks his lips, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Well, if you insist."
You turn to run, not wanting to give in so easily, but Marc is quicker. His arms are around your waist, pulling you back, pinning you against the counter before you've fully finished the thought of making him chase you through the apartment.
"We're supposed to be making dinner," you remind him with a victorious grin, as he presses his body against yours, pinning you in place.
"You started it. I'm ending it." He doesn't give you a chance to defend any of your actions, before he kisses you, hard.
Marc doesn't do things by half. He's all or nothing. And right now, when he kisses you, it's all. He consumes you, his tongue hot and slick in your mouth, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging in, his body pressing yours into the edge of the counter, leaving no space between you.
You take it, everything he offers you. You sink into his kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging gently to pull the softest of moans, your body compliant to his wishes, moulding yourself to fit against him.
When he finally breaks away you're breathless, dizzy, hot, and wanting nothing more than to drag his mouth back to yours.
"Take it all off," he commands, tugging at your top before standing back to give you some space.
You open your mouth to tell him to do it for you, to challenge him, but there's a look in his eyes that makes your pussy clench in anticipation.
Leaning over you switch the oven off. Marc laughs softly with a nod.
"Good plan."
"Lucky you got a girl with a brain still in her head," you wink at him, watching him give an affectionate sigh.
"Clothes. Off," he repeats, taking a step of warning towards you. Disobeying his instructions probably wouldn't work in your favour, and for a moment you think of all the delicious ways he might make you pay for it, but that was for another day. You could only wind him up so much, and right now, he's probably had just about enough.
With a smirk, you lift your top over your head, throwing it to the floor. Your bra and pants follow suit.
You slide your panties down slowly, making him wait, slowly removing each leg, before standing with them dangling from one finger. You raise an eyebrow at him and lick your lips.
"This how you like i-," you cut off with a squeak of surprise as he suddenly spins you, taking both your hands and pressing them down against the counter stepping up close behind, pinning you in place.
It sets an unspoken rule. Don't move.
"Think you're clever teasing me all evening?" He asks, his warm hands releasing yours tocaress your ribs, running his palms down your sides, slowly, sensually, mapping you out before he delivers a surprising slap to your ass. It doesn't hurt, but you yelp anyway.
"Can't say you're making me regret it yet," you half sigh, with a cheeky grin, as he presses his lips against your neck. Marc lets out a dangerous laugh, his breath fanning out against your skin.
He only replies with one word.
"Yet."
~
It's been hours, you're sure. How many times has he brought you to the edge — with his fingers, his mouth, his cock — only to stop right before the drop? Too many times.
"Tell me how you like it," Marc growls in your ear, pressing you against the counter, his cock twitching inside you.
You whimper in response. Your body is slick with sweat, the effort of just staying on your feet making your legs tremble. He's held you here, right on the precipice for so long, his questions aren't registering in your hazy brain any longer.
"Tell me," He rolls his hips once more, slow and deep.
"Marc!" You whine, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. He can't possibly think you can formulate a coherent response in this state. All you can think about is the throbbing ache of need in your cunt, the way his cock is stretching your walls, and the warmth of his palm as he squeezes your breast.
"I want you to tell me how you want it, baby." His tone is softer this time, taking a different approach, trying to draw it out of you. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need, how you like it."
You realise he's not going to give up. The only way he'll allow you to cum, is to answer.
"I like it when you fuck me," you slur, trying to remember how to talk.
"I'm already doing that." He gives a breathless laugh at your gasp when he gives a slow roll of his hips, pressing his cock up against that blissful spot inside you, the one that he's too damn good at finding. "You know that's not what I asked."
Marc chooses the exact moment you open your mouth, to give another devastatingly slow roll of his hips, making you choke on your words.
"I can do this all night," he mumbles, stilling again and bringing his mouth to your shoulder, sucking a mark there to join the others already littering your body.
You answer with the only thing you can currently think about.
"Like it when you make me cum," you finally manage to pant out.
Surprisingly, Marc lets out a soft chuckle, leaning his head against your shoulder, bringing a smile to your lips.
"Well, you asked what I liked," you mumble, somewhat shy now about your answer, as it clearly wasn't the one he was expecting.
"I did, and since you answered so sweetly..."
He draws back his hips, until only the tip of his cock remains inside you, before thrusting back in, deep and hard, setting a punishing pace.
You cry out in pleasure, falling forward onto your elbows, thankful for the counter supporting your weight.
"That's it, baby. Taking it so good. This what you needed?" He growls, low and deep in your ear over the sound of flesh on flesh filling the kitchen.
"Yes! Please Marc. Please!" You beg hopelessly, your body taunt and trembling, practically sobbing with pleasure.
It's difficult from your position, but you just about manage to wedge your arm between your body and the counter, pressing your fingers against your neglected clit. Marc's hands are busy, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you steady for each deep thrust.
The touch is all you need to go hurtling over the edge, his name a broken mantra on your lips, your back arching against him, your cunt clamping down, riding out your high in thunderous waves.
Your vision goes white, your body stiffens then goes limp, and you're pretty sure the only thing holding you up through it all is Marc's body pressed tightly against yours. Nothing else exists in the world except the two of you and the overwhelming pleasure.
It takes a long moment to come down from your high, but when you are able to manage coherent thoughts again you realise Marc's cock is still hard, buried and throbbing inside your still pulsing cunt.
He seems to have some sixth sense as to what you're thinking as he leans in, licking a warm trail up your neck as you move your hand back to the counter, trying to support your weight as your legs threaten to give up.
He leans in close, his breath ghosting across your ear, "I hope you don't think we are done yet, baby? That was just the starter."
~
Marc draws it out as long as possible, denying his own release until he can't hold back any longer. He finally gives in, letting out a broken moan as he spills inside you in long, slow thrusts, before he half collapses against your back.
As his breathing slows and evens, he brushes his nose against your back, up between your shoulder blades before he nuzzles your neck sweetly.
"Beautiful," whispers a soft British accent.
"Steven?" You smile, still a little giddy from your… well you don't know how many 'nth orgasms.
Steven hums in answer, his fingers trailing lightly across your ribs, and down to press his fingers to the mess between your legs.
You gasp as he brushes your sensitive clit, bucking your hips against his hand.
"You've made quite the mess," he comments, running his fingers across your slick cunt. "I didn't realise what Marc meant at first when he said I could pick dessert, but I think I understand now."
"Dessert?" You sigh, still on the way down from your recent high, confused when Steven pulls out and away from you.
"Stay there, darling." He instructs gently.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him kneel down on the kitchen floor, taking one of your thighs in each of his hands. You frown, twisting slightly to look at him
"Wha-ohhh!" Your entire body trembles as he buried his head between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste your soaked folds.
He groans as though tasting a gourmet meal.
"Can you go again, love? Give us one more?"
Your body is exhausted, your head in the clouds, thoughts fuzzy and unclear, your muscles ache, the counter digs into your thighs, Steven's fingers against your skin are too much, the dinner spoiling.
"Yes. Yes, Steven."
~
Dinner ends up in the bin, Marc orders take out, then Steven runs you a bath. You offhandedly remark that you still don't have any regrets about teasing them.
Marc promises the night is still young.
-----------------
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moonlight-prose · 6 months
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✧ BODY PAINT ✧
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a/n: i feel like every fic with the moon bois this kinktober is just a little uhinged. probably cause i'm head over heels for them and preparing for fics in november. but i personally want to live in this fic. the title is based of an arctic monkey's song but it's also really obvious in the context of the fic. a massive thank you to @soulores for beta reading this for me babes!
day seven - creampie | kinktober 2023
summary: "his touch brought you to life. that oh so familiar feeling ignited your body in a way that you’d never experienced before."
word count: 1.4k+
pairing: steven grant x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, p in v sex, creampie, being hopelessly in love, desperation, cumplay, the title is exactly what this is, steven paints you in...
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His touch brought you to life. That oh so familiar feeling ignited your body in a way that you’d never experienced before. His fingers slid along your bare skin, soft and gentle, but you knew they’d shift eventually. The part of him that was firm, slightly rough in just the perfect way, was simmering beneath the surface—waiting for your request. For the way your lips would perfectly form around a beg of his name.
“Pretty,” he mumbled, tracing the curve of your breast in the bra you’d worn for him tonight.
Your lips quirked up, eyes catching his as you writhed beneath his hand, wanting more than he would give you. This wasn’t unusual. At least not for the two of you. Steven was the man who would give and give until you were begging for him to take—for it to be your turn to give. And that’s how you would wind up here. Panting beneath him as he built you up until you were nearly gone.
“Touch me,” you gasped, hips bucking up into his—the heaviness of his cock pressing against your thigh made your mouth water.
His lips pulled up into a sincere grin. “I am touching you love.”
“No—” His fingers pulled at your nipple through the fabric and your head fell back. The breath being ripped from your chest.
“What do you want?”
You slung your leg over his bare hip, the slick that practically soaked through your panties no doubt coating his skin as he lay atop you. While he was busy taking his time, you knew that he was on the very brink. Going just as insane as you were. He grunted against your throat when your hips canted up again, grinding against his cock.
The sticky feeling of his precum coated the top of your thigh. He was leaking for you, begging you without words, and that was the final thing that broke you. Digging your hand into his curls you brought his lips to yours, moaning when his tongue slid perfectly against yours. Steven tasted like that singular emotion you could never grasp onto before him. You wanted to call it love, and you’d be right to say it. But there was something more there.
A feeling you’d never believed could have existed.
Some would call it obsession, but you knew they’d be wrong to assume.
“F-fuck,” he gasped, grinding into you as his hand kneaded your breast, lips trailing down your jaw.
“Want you inside me baby,” you whimpered.
His head shot up, eyes drinking in the desperation painted clear across your face—your eyes shimmering with it. Pressing his lips against yours, he worked to push your panties to the side, sliding his cock through your slick. A ragged sound tore from his chest when he felt the wet slide of your pussy against his leaking cock—how you were already so ready for him. You wanted to wrap yourself around him, dig your way into his chest and burrow so deep he would never be able to get you out. But that’s the thing about Steven.
He’d let you stay. Happily.
“You’re so wet,” he marveled, your spit trailing along his bottom lip when he pressed himself at your entrance, his eyes nearly rolling back when he began to sink into you. “Oh fuck love.”
Your mouth dropped open, nails digging into his back at the feeling of him stretching you. The slight sting of pain mixing with the pleasure that struck you like a bolt of lightning. A garbled sob echoed in the room, your head tipping back into the pillow and body pressing into him even further. If you could live in this moment forever, you would. The thrum of your heartbeat quick and erratic, your head fuzzy as he thrusted into you until his hips met yours.
“S-Steven—”
“I’m here,” he gasped, his hand blindly searching for yours. “Gonna—ah—take care of you.”
Originally he wanted to take his time, watch you break beneath his soft touches and gentle kisses. But there was an impatience to both of you tonight. Something tantalizing that tore through every layer of patience you might have had—shoving forward the desire that burned through both of you. You wanted him to take, to chase that feeling that built up in both of you, and Steven was more than happy to comply.
His tongue slid along yours, hand pressing yours into the mattress when he started moving. Thrusting into at a pace that only stoked the fire—driving you higher with each shove of his hips into yours. He moaned, the sound broken and fragmented as he only sped up his movements. Driving into you with a force that had your toes curling; the breath catching in your lungs.
“So good,” he mumbled, biting down lightly on your bottom lip—his brows pulled tight as he staved off the building pressure in his body.
Meeting his thrusts with short movements of your own, you felt his body shudder. The strength he had in his arms now wavering as he felt your pussy clamp down around him. The wet heat of you was too much—addictive in the best possible way. And he wanted more. He wanted to see himself drip out of you—wanted to smear you in him. Paint you until you were exactly how he saw you. The most priceless piece of art in a museum.
“Want to cum in you.”
You gasped, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock. “Yeah?”
He nodded frantically, his fingers digging into your hip. “Wanna—hng—drip out of you. Paint you in me.”
That indescribable feeling pulled at your chest, wrapping you in its heat and you chased it. Urged him on with the soft begging that he loved to hear. Whimpers of please baby, please give it to me were pressed to his jaw, your body floating so high you were afraid you’d never come back down.
“Let me feel it,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around his hips so tight he could barely pull out.
A sound tore from his chest, his body tense as he fought against finishing. But you could see the pure want in his eyes. The need that rose to the surface as he looked at you—traced the curve of your face and lips. He wouldn’t last that much longer, but you knew Steven refused to finish before you. It was like his personal rule. Yet you also understood what you needed more than anything else.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached down in between your bodies—fingers curling around his balls. A choked sound escaped his throat, his eyes slamming shut as you tugged on him gently—shoving him (and you) off the edge within seconds. He cried out, his cock slamming into you so deep it pressed right where you needed when he came. Spurting into you with a ragged gasp of air, his body pressing you fully into the mattress—nearly shoving the breath from your lungs.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasped, your name tumbling from his swollen lips.
But you could barely hear him. Your pussy fluttered around him, body shaking as that burning flame sucked you under. Moaning his name softly, you felt him keep going—thrusting into you at the perfect angle to prolong your release. To keep you right there.
You couldn’t be sure how long you lay there, catching your breath as he softened inside of you, his cock twitching every now and then. But then you felt it. His fingers dipping down to where you were spread on his cock, his cum leaking out and dripping down your inner thighs. He smeared it on his fingers, grazing your clit as he moved and dragging another moan from your chest.
“Stay still,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as he pressed his sticky and shiny fingers to your chest. “I meant it, love.”
Heat spilled into your stomach, eyes tracing the trail his fingers left behind. A shiny slickness of your combined releases. You felt your mouth water—eyes heavy lidded and still cloudy with lust. Steven was ever the man of his word. This was no exception as he slid his fingers back down, pressed into you right along his cock, filling you even further. All to gather that sinful combination and spread it along your skin.
To paint you in it.
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psithurista · 2 years
Text
Stuck
pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, mentions of Steven Grant x F!Reader word count: 4.1k rating: Explicit 18+ warnings: Improper use of contact details in a workplace, brief mention of injuries, mentions of alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), protected PIV sex, brief overstimulation, some scratching. Anything I haven't flagged appropriately, please let me know x
an: My understanding of Marc and Steven's 'system' is that Marc is conscious of Steven's life, while Steven, as an alter, is not conscious of Marc's. This is an expansion of Marc's (maybe slightly selfish) attempts to assist with Steven's romantic life, based on the detail that Marc had apparently tried to set up a date for Steven without him realising. The reader is not aware of their disorder, and Marc doesn’t tell her, but she is aware that he is not Steven when she gives consent.
You stop by Steven's place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.
part two
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Standing outside the door, you consider, once again, that you are not supposed to be here.
You weren’t supposed to work late tonight. You were supposed to leave with everyone else; get home early, get a good night’s sleep for once. You felt good about the decision—so good, in fact, you’d felt the tension melt away from your temples, leaving you free to sink comfortably into the embrace of the stack of didactic labels and exhibition programs spread in front of you.
It wasn’t until the clatter of a vacuum cleaner startled you back to reality that you’d finally looked up from your screen to find the entire office around you had faded to darkness; the rest of the archival team long gone.
In your frustrated subsequent rush to leave, you’d nearly missed it. Just barely managing to juggle your bag, your thermos and your keys, the little white rectangle on the floor leading out to the museum’s exit had looked like a piece of litter; nothing worth paying attention to. You couldn’t say what it was that had made you stop and clumsily crouch to pick it up.
It’s lucky you did. The black lanyard clipped to the top had been camouflaged by the carpet. Turning it over, you’d met the dark, sleepy-lidded gaze of Steven Grant. Of course. Out of every single staff member, he would be the person most likely to drop his ID card.
He’s also the person most likely to hold the door open for you, or stop and help pick up a folder full of dropped papers, or to dash out into the street to give you his umbrella—this being the most recent example, having only happened a few weeks before.
You’d developed something of a crush on him; drawn in by his sweet nature and earnestness—his animatedly bright love for the exhibits that of a first-time visitor, not a man who sees them day in and day out. And, secretly, you’d stifled more than one undignified snort at his cheesy jokes; though nobody else had seemed to find them funny.
You’d shoved it down, trying not to feel too wounded by the nervous, stunned way he’d waved before skirting around you in the halls at work, or stumbled over his words, hurrying off with his shoulders hunched after you’d wished him a good morning one day as you passed the gift shop. He didn’t seem to want to talk to you. And that’s fine. You’d left him alone, even as you still harboured your soft spot for him.
Sweet, absent-minded, gentle…and on his absolute final warning. You’d overheard as much just this morning when Donna was tearing him a new one for inexplicably missing an entire week’s worth of work, while he’d stammered some flimsy apology about being sick in bed.
You should just leave the ID card on the counter of the gift shop. He can pick it up in the morning. Never mind that Donna will probably be in earlier than he will, and find it first…and drag him over the coals again.
You’d stood there, deliberating, chewing your lip, remembering the way he’d looked that afternoon as you’d slipped silently into the break room to make a cup of tea. Slumped sleepily over the table; a library book in one hand, a falafel wrap in the other. Wearing colourful, mismatched socks; a dark, loose curl hanging across his forehead.
So, your second poorly-considered move of the night: breaching privacy policy. Well intentioned or not, you definitely weren’t supposed to access the staff directory to find his home address.
Now, outside the door, you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Looking down the street, you feel cold and nervous. Should you ring the buzzer again? Maybe it’s broken. Maybe he doesn’t even live here anymore. Maybe he’s moved and forgotten to update his records.
Then a click, and a quiet beep. Bewildered, you test the door to the building, and find it’s been unlocked.
Okay. You take a hesitant step forward, then pause. He’s inviting you up. Right? He unlocked the door; he must be inviting you up. The foyer is empty as you step inside, brutally self-conscious.
“Oh, God, Steven,” you mutter to yourself, shut safely in the lift. “Please don’t report me to HR for this.”
By the time the doors open on his floor, you’ve almost convinced yourself to turn around and head straight home. It’s sheer force of will that gets your feet moving, one in front of the other, until you’re at his door. You just need to slip the ID under the gap and leave him to it.
You kneel to do just this, when the door swings open. You’re face to face with a pair of knees, and your gaze travels upward, your face tilting.
He leans his weight comfortably to one side, his arm propped against the doorjamb, a faint smile playing around his lips as he looks down at you. You swallow.
He looks…hot. There’s no other word for it. You can’t tell what’s changed, exactly…he looks no less exhausted, but he seems to be wearing it remarkably well. The shadows underneath his heavily-lidded eyes accentuate their darkness; their depth.
Gone is the hideously baggy jacket he was wearing at work, as is the novelty-print button down. Instead, a dark, form-fitting shirt stretches tight across his chest, pushed up to bare his toned forearms.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You open your mouth, close it again. You hurriedly stand, awkwardly straightening your skirt back down over your thighs. “Um. Hi, sorry, I wasn’t going to disturb you.”
He grins; a flash of white. “You’re not disturbing me.”
You blink, confused. His voice sounds…off. Is he making fun of you? Is that an accent? He’s still considering you, his expression open and vaguely amused. You can’t remember why you’re here. Has he always had such high cheekbones?
“Would you like a drink?”
You stare at him, stupidly. “Huh?”
He tilts his chin, gesturing back into the flat behind him, but his eyes don’t leave your face. “I was about to make a drink. You want to join me?”
This is not the response you’d expected. You swallow again, feeling a little hot. “I. Um. Sure.”
He steps aside to let you in. His flat is dim and cluttered; books and decor piled haphazardly on every surface. It’s not an entirely unpleasant overall effect, you consider, peering around. The warm lamplight makes it feel cosy; almost like a tiny jazz bar.
You plonk your bag on top of a leather-bound collection of translated poetry, digging through it. “I have your ID card. You dropped it. And I thought…well, I didn’t want you to get in trouble again. You don’t deserve the way Donna speaks to you.”
“Thanks, that’s really nice of you,” he says, distractedly. “Just leave it anywhere.”
You drape the lanyard over the back of a chair, and wander off to snoop at his profusion of stuff.
“Old-fashioned? Or G&T?” he says, the top of his curls sticking out from the open door of a low cabinet, half-tucked behind a bookcase.
You turn away from the glowing fish tank in front of you, something tickling in the back of your mind. You step toward him, frowning. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
He stands, and places two glasses on top of the counter. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you said you didn’t. At the Christmas party.”
He nods to himself, as though he’d forgotten, turning and leaning against the counter. You creep another step closer, your eyes narrowed. He’s looking at you with a directness you find slightly disconcerting. You can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the bow of his top lip. His posture, his voice…
He’s not just hot. He’s gorgeous. Exuding confidence. Some shift in his body language; a certain quirk of an eyebrow here, the timbre of his voice there…it’s difficult to believe this is the same guy you once busted crying over a dog video in the break room. He’d denied it, of course, scrubbing his hands over his face, but you’d been able to tell. Even the way he blinks is different; slower, easier, calmer.
It hits you like a freight train. “Holy shit,” you breathe. Somehow…impossibly…this isn’t Steven at all. “Who are you?”
His lips are pressed together thoughtfully, still slightly lifted into an easy little smile. As he speaks, he leans in, tucking a loose wisp of your hair behind your ear. “You can call me whatever you want, beautiful.”
You’re utterly thrown off. “Oh. Thank you. Um. You’re…beautiful too.” You laugh, nervously, swaying toward him. Internally, you cringe. What are you saying? Heat muddles your head; creeps out to the tips of your toes and fingers. You wet your lower lip with your tongue, still staring helplessly at his mouth. “But I don’t understand. Are you…his brother?” I don’t care, you think, dizzy. He called you beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.
“It’s a little hard to explain,” he says, his face close to yours.
You feel like your insides are liquefying. “Okay,” you breathe, your voice embarrassingly weak, “so expla—”
His lips meet yours, and you let out a strange little squeaking noise. He kisses firmly, almost with an insistence, but it’s slow. His lips coaxing yours apart, the heat of his breath, his tongue, softening your entire body.
Your knees wobble worryingly, and he smooths his hand down your back, holding you against him as you bend weakly in his arms. He walks you backward, across the flat, humming a low note of amusement into your open mouth as you stumble over the lip of a rug.
When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, you drop gracelessly onto your ass, panting up at him. “Is this…are we really doing this?” you manage, your face hot.
The extent of your secret daydreams had seen you cosying up with Steven on a cool afternoon, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was reading, or curling your fingers around his underneath the table at that cute vegan bakery down the road from your place, oat lattes in front of each of you. You never got quite this far.
He leans over you, tilting his head, brushing his lips across your jaw. “That’s up to you.”
Your heart is thrumming in your throat, and you reach for him, wanting to feel him under your fingers. He feels solid enough. Okay. “Okay.” You nod, biting your lip, spreading your knees as far as your tight work skirt will allow.
He lowers himself to his knees, catching first one foot in his hand, then the other, coolly easing off your shoes and dropping them to the floor with a pair of low clacks.
You gawp down at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide. But he just continues smiling privately to himself, coasting his hands up the outsides of your thighs, shucking your skirt up, finding the edges of your underwear.
“Do you…want me to help?” you gasp, feeling awkward, unsure whether you should stand up to let him slide them off. He doesn’t answer, lifting your ass in his palms, rolling your underwear off in a fluid, practised movement.
He knows what he’s doing. Clearly. You don’t need to help him out. You didn’t think it was possible to feel any hotter, but with this realisation, you’re suddenly on fire. Your skin prickles; leaving you feeling slick and overly sensitive.
His nose brushes the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs apart. “Oh my God,” you hear yourself say, flopping onto your back. Warm breath fans over your skin, and then his lips; dragging lightly, the feel of his tongue pressing gently into the soft give of your leg.
As he works higher, your breaths grow shorter. He’s barely even started yet, and he has you shifting your legs, squirming into the bed. His hands gently encircle your knees, holding them apart, and you hear the quietly wet glisten as he spreads you open. You make an undignified little choking sound. “Doing alright up there?” he drawls, his strange accent resonant.
The sound of his voice alone has you squeezing your cunt in anticipation. “Um, yeah. Doing…doing well. Thank you. How about you?” You wrinkle your nose, staring up into the shadowy beams of the ceiling, wishing they’d come tumbling down to crush you. He’s too smooth. You’re embarrassing yourself. But he doesn’t seem to mind.
He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I’m good.” Then his nose meets your cunt, and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.
He closes his lips around your clit, his mouth hot and close. His tongue rolls against you, steady and skilful, and you rock your hips unconsciously up to chase his movement, bumping into his nose.
This feels nothing like the clumsy, half-hearted efforts you’ve experienced in the past. This is masterful; attentive, glorious. Better than your own fingers. Better than your vibrator. You’re already seeing stars.
He grips your thighs, pinning you in place while you whimper and gasp. You can feel his jaw working as he drags each little sound out of you; every movement unhurried but deliberate. You crane your neck down to watch; his thick curls tickling at your sensitive inner thighs.
You jolt as you meet his gaze. While the entire lower half of his face is pressed between your legs, you find his attention still fixed to your face; his eyes inscrutable. You have the crazed, ridiculous urge to wave down at him, even as your legs begin to shake and cramp with the tension of holding still. It would be such a Steven move, you think.
He works firmer, and you choke out a tiny curse, grasping fistfuls of the sheets. It might be because your thoughts have drifted, but it’s at that moment you notice the tiny scar just above his left eyebrow. You know exactly where he got it: walking dozily into the edge of a packing crate down in the collection stores. You remember it vividly. You’d even had to write up the incident report for it while he’d dug a bandaid out of the first-aid kit at the security desk.
So…he is? But he isn’t, he can’t be. You’re so confused. You’re too far gone to figure it out.
The pleasure is winding tighter, and your leg jerks alarmingly in his grip as your abdominal muscles tense to the point of breathlessness. Your head swims from lack of air, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath, sucking in a frantic lungful just as time stops around you.
You cry out wordlessly as you come, suspended in the moment, arching up off the bed even as he calmly pins you in place.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…” You don’t even realise you’re saying anything until he’s climbing up over you onto the bed, grinning again, pressing his finger to your lips.
“I know, I know. Shh,” he says, his humour palpable. You can’t seem to get enough air in, and you shake your head at him, your eyes wide.
“Oh my God,” you finish, breathless.
He traces the outline of your breasts through your work shirt, still buttoned to the top. “You want to keep goi—”
“Yes,” you interrupt, already reaching down to yank your shirt from where it’s tucked in under your rumpled skirt. “Yes, keep going, Ste—whoever you are.”
He shifts your hands away, opening your shirt far faster and with more dexterity than you would’ve managed. One-handed, he pulls his own shirt over his head, and you stare at the lean muscle of his torso; scarred and toned and beautiful.
The thought of Steven caring enough to cultivate a body like this seems laughable. His chest muscles flex as he kicks his pants down. So, this is your answer. Your heart lurches uncomfortably. This feels like a betrayal, despite the fact that there’s nothing going on between you and Steven.
And yet, the man now tossing your bra over the side of the bed looks so much like him. You dart a not-very-subtle glance down, and see his cock is hard, flushed, thick. Beautiful. Awestruck and filled with renewed heat, you trace the edge of his bicep with your fingertip. “Do…do you think it’s okay? Doing this? In his bed?”
He shrugs. “Well. Technically, it’s my bed.” He places a strange, ironic emphasis on ‘my’, then stretches up to reach toward the nightstand.
Nothing is awkward about him. Even ripping open the condom, rolling it over the length of his cock, shifting his weight onto his knees over you. Every movement fluid, easy; like that of a man who trusts his body implicitly. It’s unsettling, but it’s unbearably sexy.
He gently cups your face, his thumb stroking across your lower lip. “Still good?”
You nod, and he tilts his hips forward, and you exhale breathily as he slowly eases you open.
“That feels…oh,” you groan, dazed. He sinks deeper, angling himself downward, and you could swear your eyes roll back.
He’s nodding slowly, gently easing himself back before sinking back in, deeper than before. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. God, you’re pretty. No wonder he likes you so much.”
You don’t have time to figure that out before he’s rocking into you again, more smoothly this time. He cups your breast, groaning quietly, and you let your head tilt limply back as he begins to set a steady, beautiful rhythm.
Your bones feel like melted caramel; thick and syrupy and warm. He feels perfect inside you; the ridge around the head of his cock stroking at your g-spot, even through the layer of latex.
Your grasping hands are curling and uncurling in the covers, when you find the edge of what feels like a bicycle chain lock with a buckle at the end. You turn your head to the side to squint at it, shaking it free and finding the other end affixed to the column at the foot of the bed. You blink at it. “Is this…?”
“You should probably ignore that,” he murmurs, covering your lips with his own. He tastes of you, tangy and slippery. You moan weakly into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, reaching up to feel the softness of his hair. The bed thuds hollowly against the bookcase behind it with the force of his movements inside you.
He stays deep. Barely withdrawing; grinding himself inside you. You aren’t sure whether it feels any good for him. But God, it feels good for you. He noses along your jaw, his lips at your neck, gathering your limp body up into his arms to hold you close.
You’d like to be more engaged. Pull your weight a little. Make him feel as incredible as he’s making you feel. But you’re too pleasure-drunk; floppy and lazy and warm underneath the weight of him. The best you can manage is a lifting of your hips to meet his, and he pauses, letting you clumsily work out your own disjointed rhythm. “Can I…? I’d like to…” you trail off, unsure what you’re even asking for.
But he seems to understand all the same. He shifts to the side, gripping your hips and taking you with him as he turns onto his back, until you’re straddling his waist, his cock seated deep inside you.
It’s immediately even better. You gasp down at him, and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, a faint sheen on his forehead. “S’this what you wanted?” he murmurs.
You nod, encouraged, and lift your weight onto your knees before sinking yourself down onto his length. This time, he’s the one who groans. It travels straight to your cunt, and you clench around him, the feeling exquisite.
“Careful with that,” he breathes, his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You’ll make me…oh, fuck—”
You hadn’t meant to do it again, but it’s hard to control yourself. Everything feels incredible. Grinding yourself down onto him, sheathed all the way to the base, where his neatly trimmed dark curls are already stuck damp to his skin with a combination of sweat and your arousal.
You rock your weight back and forth just a little faster; the movement catching at your breath, and your head drops limply forward as you brace your hands onto his chest.
There’s too much blood pounding in your brain. You feel dizzy and desperate, riding down harder, your inner thighs tensing with the movement. You feel as though you’ve been there for hours, but it hardly matters; it’s good, you think, the softness of your breasts rippling upwards with each bounce, it’s so good, so good…
Too soon, you can feel yourself reaching a renewed peak and, needy with the sensation, you chase it down, your legs cramping with your sustained effort. You can feel yourself growing weaker; trembling with exertion and overwhelming pleasure.
You feel as though you’re racing your own stamina toward your release, whimpering brokenly, grinding yourself down. It’s an awful thought; you’re desperate to continue, but your movements are losing their rhythm; too weak to continue. You can’t bear to stop, but you have no choice.
He doesn’t let you.
Seizing the softness of your ass in both hands, he drags you back and forth against him, forcing you to keep riding, even after you’re too weak to move yourself. You could be a toy in his hands as he pulls you onto his cock; thrusting up into you, gritting out something obscene as his cock twitches inside you.
You can tell he’s growing close, and the thought is enough to nearly push you over your own edge again. He fucks you harder now; your head rocking back on your shoulders, and your cries are softer, more breathless as your entire body tenses.
Your orgasm crashes over you, near-violent, and instead of slowing, he speeds up, forcing you toward immediate overstimulation as his hips smack up against your slick skin. You mindlessly sink your nails into his chest, hard enough to break the skin.
His brows draw together and he hisses, long and harsh, and you’re worried you’ve hurt him, but then he curses, his hips stuttering as he empties himself into the thin layer of latex separating you.
Panting, you unpeel yourself from his hot skin, slumping onto your side on the bed. He reaches over, mindlessly stroking his hand along the length of your side, down to the swell of your hip.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say, your attention caught on the way his hair sticks in ringlets around his ears. “I’ve never done that before. Jumped into bed with someone I’ve only just met.”
“Mmm,” he returns, his palm gentle on your skin, dark eyes lazily half-lidded. “Have we? Only just met, I mean?”
You frown at him, bewildered. You don’t know how to answer that.
When you stand, your bare feet hit the cool wood floor at the foot of the bed; weirdly grainy, as though in need of a thorough clean. You shake out your bra before you put it back on, sand skittering out of the cups. He stays reclined, watching as you straighten your skirt and tuck your now-wrinkled shirt back in.
He slips out of the bed behind you, stepping back into his pants, leaving his chest bare. As he walks you to the door, you realise your nails have left painful-looking little crescent moon-shaped cuts in his skin. They’ll probably fade after a few days, you tell yourself, but you feel slightly guilty all the same.
You need the loo, but you’re too shy to ask. You itch to get home and mentally sort through the events of the night. As though in a dream, you turn to leave without saying goodbye. But he catches your elbow, pausing you just outside the door. “He doesn’t know how to show you, or tell you. But he likes you. A lot. Give him a chance.”
It should be a wildly strange thing for him to say, considering what you’ve just done together, but in the context of the entire nights’ disjointed, unreal sense of overall strangeness, you know precisely what he means. Your heart swells in your chest, and you nod, shy, a tiny smile lifting your lips.
“I’ll, um. See you around,” you tell him, not knowing if that’s true.
You wait until you’re back in the lift before you slip your shoes off to shake out the loose grains of sand still stuck to the bottom of your feet.
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inklore · 2 years
Note
omg it’d be so hot teaching Steven Grant how you like your 🐱 eaten. He’d be so subby and eager to hear you moan for him. I imagine he’d be the type to hump the bed while going down on you and he’d LOVE getting his hair pulled 🙈🙈
you know this man would UNDERSTAND the assignment completely, he would show up ready for class eagerly ok!
desirous.
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pairing: steven grant x (f)reader
word count: 733
warnings: sub!steven, cunnilingus, fingering, slight hair pulling, bed humping, cuming in one’s pants (boxers in this case). 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.
i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!
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“Fuck, Steven,” you moan, “just like that.” Your fingers are in his hair, the dark strands spread through your fingers damp from sweat from how long he’s been down there; determination and vigor laced in each movement of his tongue, each command, as you guide him. With each flick of his tongue you can feel him become more daring, more accustomed, more needy. 
You can feel his fingers digging into the flesh behind your thighs as he devours you, as the flat of his tongue runs up your wet folds before the tip of his tongue dives between them to run against your clit, over and over, slow, almost timid until you push the back of his head. Steven getting the hint as to what you want, how this went before; his lips wrapping around your the sensitive nerve sucking on it. 
Your back arching from the mattress, your legs shaking around him at the slow suck that turns hungrier, at the noises his mouth is making against you, your fingers tugging the strands of his hair; the moan he lets out from it vibrating across your clit. 
You can feel the way his hips are moving against the mattress, can feel the heavy puffs of breath he’s letting out as the tip of his nose hits the places his tongue hasn’t reached just yet—adding to the burning pleasure in your lower belly. 
It’s so good, he’s so good to you—for you.
“Can I..” he’s looking up at you, his lips are swollen and wet. His eyes are big and needy, “can I put my fingers inside of you? Is that alright?” His accent thicker when he’s aroused like this.
You can't help the smile that pulls up the corner of your lips, “yes,” you respond, let your hand run from his hair to his cheek. Your thumb skating along his jawline until you get to his chin, his bottom lip. You slip the pad of your finger past his lips and press it to his tongue, “You’re doing so good, Steven.” The whimper he lets out as he closes his mouth around your thumb, sucking it gently—makes your pussy clench. Your stomach fluttering. 
There’s a small “thank you” that falls from his lips as his mouth reattaches to your cunt, his tongue once again exploring your folds, your hole, the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit until you feel two of his fingers press in you; leaving you breathless at how thick they feel inside of you, the filthy squelching noise of him fingering you—first slow, then faster once he gets the hang of it-making your cheeks burn, making your hips gyrate against his face, your moans more frequent and breathy. 
“You taste so good,” He groans weakly against your clit, his eyes rolling back, his fingers only stuttering slightly as he completely loses himself in you, devours you, brings you so close to that edge. You can feel his hips stuttering where they continue to rub against the mattress, you know if you were to look there would be a wet spot on his boxers and the sheets. His cock just as throbbing, weeping, and needy as your cunt. “I wanna make you come.” He’s whimpering between licks. 
You open your mouth to respond, to tell him he’s going to, to keep doing what he’s doing, but then you feel his fingers curve just right at the same time his lips wrap around your clit; your thighs locking around his head as that delirious white hot heat consumes your entire being as you finally reach that precipice, as Steven makes you come undone, a string of moans and profanities slipping out.
Steven letting out his own slew of groans, deep and shaky against your aching clit, his entire body shivering against the bed—and you know without having to ask him, without having to look down and see the large wet patch on his boxer once he’s sat back on his knees, that he came too.
“Was that–did I–do good?” His mouth is still slick, a flush taking over his body. 
You reach for him, pull him down so he’s on top of you, press a kiss to his mouth, slipping your tongue past his lips to taste yourself on him. The both of you moaning, “I loved it,” you press another kiss to his lips, “you were so good.”
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ivystoryweaver · 2 months
Text
On My Knees Part 3/3
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previous | miniseries masterlist | my masterlist
Note: This can be read on its own - you'll just have a touch more context with part 2 especially
Content: f!reader, nsfw, language, hand job, nipple play, allusions to masturbation, reference to oral - f.rec. unprotected p in v, not beta'd
Word Count: 1.9k
PREVIOUSLY on On My Knees...
"I guess I better get on my knees and beg you not to get me fired," you whisper, your nose crinkling with a smile.
He gasps as you climb off his lap, kneeling beside him. You reach between your bodies to tauntingly stroke him before your fingers find the buckle of his belt. "Can I?"
"Oh god, yes, please," he quickly nods, working with you to get his pants open.
Meeting his eyes one more time, you ask, "Are you sure? Once I start I don’t think I'll be able to stop."
☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Maybe you should feel embarrassed that Steven made you come on your office floor without removing one shred of clothing from your body.
But as his cock springs free of his trousers, you lick your lips at the sight of him.
He catches you staring, wondering if this has all gone too far - beyond a wild makeout on your office floor where you came undone for him. Now his cock is right there and you're staring and frozen.
"Th-this alright, love?" His voice softens considerably as his hips shift in anticipation - yearning to be touched, to be fucked, even, but afraid it won't happen.
"Steven..." you gasp, your chest heaving with anticipation, with attraction, with raw want. "Is it too soon to...I want to..." You can't believe the utter mess he's made of you. Forget a brief, wild moment of passion - you want that throbbing, thick cock inside you now.
Reaching for your hand, he pulls you back to the present moment. "Want to what, darling? I'll give you anything you want just please... please touch me."
That lights a fire in you, sending you scrambling across your office carpet back onto his lap, your mouth crashing into his.
With one hand, you grab his jacket and with your other, you wrap your fingers around the pulsing length of him. He groans into the kiss, his hips responding to your fondling caress instantly.
He wants to fuck your hand - he needs friction. You're glowing and satisfied and he's losing his mind.
Maybe you'll let him stay like this, kissing you as you grip him - stroke him - and he can get some goddamn relief from more than his fist in the shower, imagining you just like this…
hungry for him, allowing his touch - his kiss. Too many nights, he's panted your name in his bed, wishing he could kiss his way between your legs and taste the core of you - praying that it could be him making you blossom for him. That he could be the reason your slick coats his lips and drips down your thighs while he eats you out.
You're stroking him tenderly now, but it's not enough. He needs more. After weeks of wishing he was the kind of man who could bend you over your desk, gripping your hips as he molds your desperate cunt to the shape of his cock, he has to have you.
If he could hear his name on your lips...
'Please, Steven, fuck me, fill me up..."
He’s wondered what your flat looks like, knowing you live alone. The thought of it somehow thrills him. Your sheets - drenched in the scent of you. He could only wish that you might plunge your fingers in and out of your sweet hole, furiously rubbing your greedy clit - or maybe stuffing your pussy full of a toy while wishing all along it was him -
'Steven, oh god, Stevennn...'
But you're kissing him and stroking him tantalizingly and he's growing desperate.
Your touch is featherlight. Not tentative - it's sensual. Your fingertips dip down to trace taunting circles over his balls while your tongue torments his own.
"Gods, please," he finally utters, tearing his mouth from yours, his hips messily stuttering as he desperately attempts to create more friction within the smooth palm of your hand.
Those words sound so sweet coming from his mouth and your core clenches, dampening your panties even more if that’s possible after your earlier pleasure.
Rubbing your nose against his almost affectionately, your mouth curls, satisfied that he's panting and chasing more from you.
"What do you need, baby?" You whisper. "This not enough?" You know it's not enough. The alluring tangle of your tongue with his has him chasing after anything you'll give him.
Slowly, cruelly, you withdraw your touch from his cock, pulling an actual whine from his plush, wet lips.
This apparent power switch feels incredible.
“Maybe we should stop. We are working, after all…” Now you’re just being cruel.
A desperate moan rumbles from his chest as he struggles to think coherently. He thought you wanted to go further - maybe at least to touch him - let him come. Gods, he needs to come. How can he dry hump you to orgasm - hear those sweet sounds and see the desire behind your eyes and then stop cold …
Well - you’re the boss.
You’ve climbed off the floor and crossed behind him to the other side of the office. Shaking his head, he struggles to his feet, figuring he misstepped somewhere - was too needy.
“Steven.”
You absolutely purr his name, drawing his racing mind back to the moment. He eases around, stuffing his cock back into his trousers when he sees you standing there in your bra and panties, having shed your blouse and pants when you crossed behind him.
“Had to lock the door,” you smirk, slinking toward him. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t tell my boss?”
Steven gulps, his eyes hungrily raking down the shape of your body. “F-fuck you’re beautiful. Want you so bad.”
You almost make another joke about him getting on his knees and begging, but no more jokes. You want him. Urgently. And he’s right here -flushed cheeks, kiss swollen lips, eyes wild and hungry - gaze boring into yours. You rush at each other like a film. Like something surreal.
He gathers you possessively closely, and steals your breath with the fire of his kiss.
His pants are still undone so you shove them down, with a lowly growled order for him to take them off while you push his jacket from his shoulders.
His long fingers - the ones you’ve stared at, wishing he would push them inside you - press into the curve of your back. Fingertips find the hooks of your bra and you whimper as he pulls the straps free of your shoulders. He pauses long enough to finish riddling himself of his shirt you’ve unbuttoned, kicking his pants off his ankles after his shoes.
Your loosened bra slips down your arms allowing your breasts to spring free.
This is happening. You’re fucking Steven Grant in your office. And it’s not just shoving skirts up and pushing panties aside. You’re completely bare to one another with the unforgiving fluorescent lights illuminating every flaw perfection.
He shakily exhales, wetting his lips before the two of you collide, stumbling your way to the sofa nearby.
He eases down and pulls you by your arms into his awaiting lap - your soaked panties providing the only flimsy barrier between you.
His hands are everywhere as your forehead drops to touch his. His warm breath tickles your face before he kisses you again, so deep, you forget to breathe for a long time, feeling heady and desired and even romanced, despite the clearly naughty series of events unfolding here.
His palm spreads over your back again, while his other hand slides up the softness of your tummy to cup underneath your breast. He caresses you like a lover rather than squeezing you like the other stupid teenager-brained assholes you’ve dated.
His thumb brushes over the stiffness of your nipple - his lips curling in satisfaction as you mewl and arch into his touch.
“You like that,” he whispers. And you hum as he brings both hands to your breasts, working you gently, teasing your nipples. Your head falls back, inviting him in for a taste. His hands slip back around to trace the shape of your back once more.
“Can I suck you?”
Your cunt clenches at such an unusual question - you’ve never really had anyone ask you for permission to suck your tits.
“Yes,” you whisper, even as he’s dragging his tongue teasingly over your stiff peak. He goes on like this for a minute and you realize he’s taking back the power because suddenly, you find yourself grinding down on his bulge like an animal in heat, chanting "please, Steven…" as he sucks you like he’s drinking from you.
“Knew you would sound so pretty if I ever got my hands on you,” he rumbles against your neck, sucking a mark there, pulling a whine from you at the loss of his mouth on your tits.
“I hate you,” you almost giggle as he kisses his way back to your mouth, smirking as he does.
“I’m sure you do,” he teases, “seeing how you’ve soaked right through those panties.”
“Take them off then,” you challenge, gripping his broader-than-they-looked shoulders, standing just long enough for him to yank them down.
His mouth goes dry as he finally sees you completely bare to him - tits gorgeously wet from kissing and sucking - the lightest sheen of sweat on your chest and stomach.
He’s shifting uncomfortably, palms running down his thighs, cock at full attention, weeping mercilessly, purple and fit to burst.
Locking eyes with him, you place one knee on either side of his lap, your hands still gripping his shoulders. Rocking your hips forward, you drag your folds over the tip of his cock - back and forth, letting him feel you. You’ve already come once and you’re desperate to fuck him. Your slick is dripping down his length almost embarrassingly, but you don’t lower yourself, despite how badly you want to be stuffed full of him.
“Please,” he whispers, hands grasping at the curve of your hips. “Can I have you? Fuck, please, please…”
“Yeah, baby,” you breathe, easing down tantalizingly slowly on his length. “Want this cock so bad, Steven.”
Your cunt squelches and he moans desperately at the sound of it, and of your filthy words.
“Fuck, you’re thick,” you hiss, shifting your hips to get him all inside you, shivering as his whisper tickles your ear.
"Darling...you're perfect." He grips your hips and drags you back and forth, thrusting up into you.
"So good, Steven," you pant, your head falling back in rapture as he fills you so fucking full. His hand claw their way up your back, pressing your breasts against his chest before his fingertips dig into your shoulders.
Hot breath falls on your neck, pulling a moan from your throat - the sounds around you growing louder. Skin obscenely slaps against skin as your cunt squelches, greedily milking his cock.
"Mm so close, love," he almost whimpers. Fuck, he sounds pretty like this. "Want you to come for me again."
You're so wildly turned on that it's no tall order. His hand grips the back of your neck, his forehead touching yours. The intimacy of sharing his breath contrasts the hungry slap of skin as you bounce on his cock.
His other hand slips between your folds, rolling your swollen clit between his thumb and finger. White hot pleasure sparks from your molten core, arching your back in ecstasy, euphoria rolling in waves all the way to your fingers and toes.
"That's it, love. Ohhh fuck," he groans as your cunt clenches his cock, your slick, wet channel sending him careening off a cliff of pleasure with a few final thrusts before he releases himself inside you.
You hold onto one another for dear life, sweating, sated and breathless. You start to come back to yourself as Steven whispers how beautiful and perfect you are, littering your cheek and throat with soft kisses.
"Was this your plan when you brought me that piece of birthday cake?" You finally tease, still catching your breath.
"Not exactly," he chuckles, holding you close. "But since you liked it so much, I'll bring you another dessert tomorrow."
☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Steven Grant-Centric stories
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spacecowboyhotch · 2 months
Text
Boy Meets Cat, Boy Meets Girl
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pairing: steven grant x f!reader
prompt: kid fic or pet fic
contents: the feelings that come w/ temporarily losing a pet, meetcute, flirting
wc: 1,334
an: another promotional fic for @moonknight-events! steven is just…one of the sweetest, cutest men ever. written w/ the Marc’s girls server in mind, iykyk!
DISCLAIMER: as a event runner i will not be entered in the drawing for prizes. this is promotional only.
SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist
She’s sitting on the steps one day outside the museum after Steven’s shift. He almost walks right past her, bumbling down the steps with a soft hum. It’s been a long day of being yelled at atop getting sleep that just isn’t restful. He’s exhausted. He’s unobservant.
He’s nearly past her when he hears it— a loud, scratchy meow that catches his attention. Steven stops in his tracks, blinking rapidly.
Had he just heard a cat? On the museum steps? Sleep deprivation really was getting to him, wasn’t it?
He turns towards the sound, sure that there will be nothing there, that he is just hearing things. But there she is, perched on the museum steps as if she owns the place. She looks like a little heap of snow— her fur is fluffy and a stark white color that contrasts with her dark eyes and pink nose. He lets out a little sound of surprise, and then she meows back as if she’s answering him.
He laughs, a bright and cheery sound. “Well, hello there little one. Lost are we?”
She meows again, this time a little softer and if Steven wasn’t mistaken, a little sadder. He softens, taking a few cautious steps toward her so as not to spook her. When she does seem skittish, staying in place despite him closing the gap he simply sits beside her on the steps.
“Do you have a name, little one? Can I look at your collar? Promise I’ll be gentle,” He says, reaching his hand out to her.
She leans forward on her front paws, sniffing at the back of his hand before giving out a soft purr. She bumps his hand with the top of her head, nuzzling.
Steven takes this opportunity to reach under her chin, scratching gently before he leans in to peer at her collar.
“Iris— what a pretty name for a pretty cat.”
Another meow as Iris bulldozes her way into his lap. Steven gives her a series of pats, setting off several purrs that he feels vibrating through her spine. She's so fluffy, so soft. He could pet her for all his days. It’s nice to have this companionship, even if it’s just a cat. Hell, it beats talking to the statuer at the fountain in the park and Iris hasn’t spoken a word.
You know for a moment there, I wondered if you were the goddess Bastet,” He whispers playfully, like he’s keeping a big secret. Iris simply meows, using her paws to slip down and lay across Steven’s thighs. “Aren’t you cold? Is that a silly question given your fur coat?”
Steven lets himself sit, idly petting Iris as he watches the sun slowly disappear behind the London skyline. He’s completely charmed with this cat, with the peaceful feeling her company brings. Part of him selfishly thinks about taking her home and keeping her as his own. But, he knows if he’s this fond of her in a short period of time her owner is probably grief-stricken to be without her. He’ll take her home for the night and use his off day to pursue leads on her owner. Perhaps Marc could help with the tracking. For tonight though, he has some company and the idea has Steven rising to his feet, Iris in tow.
“How’s about we head on home and watch a movie? Are you a fan of Meerkat Manor? Or will seeing them scurry about get you revved up?” He whispers, ignoring the weird glances he’s getting from passersby.
As expected, Iris simply gives out a soft meow, snuggling further into Steven’s hold. He grins, raising a hand to pet her head as he rounds the corner, effectively running into someone.
“Iris! There you are. Oh my god, thank you. Thank you,” You gasp, reaching out to squeeze his arm.
If Steven thought he was charmed by Iris, he must come up with a word that holds more meaning at the sight of you. Your cheeks are tear-stained, eyes a mixture of happiness and guilt. Your brows are pinched together, and he has the urge to reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between them. The urge to soothe you. Even during the short walk, Steven had imagined his reluctance to give Iris back to her owner, but that’s all melted away now that you’re right in front of him. So, so beautiful.
“You’re Iris’ mum?”
“Yes. Fuck, thank you so much. I can’t– I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I owe you.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I simply stumbled upon her outside the museum after work. I was gonna start looking for her owner tomorrow, imagined it was too late. But look at you, as diligent as ever.”
“The museum? What were you doing there?” You ask Iris before looking up at the man to whom you practically owe your life again. He’s very handsome, a little tired-looking but his eyes are warm, and his hair is fluffy curls. She’s everything to me,” You explain, squeezing Iris to your cheek, doing some nuzzling of your own.
Iris has clearly learned her affectionate manners from you.
Steven’s mind quickly wanders, wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of your affection. He bats the thought away, flushing. “I can imagine, she’s a little charmer. Plopped herself right in my lap.”
“I’m surprised she got this close to you, she’s incredibly picky. She must sense that you’re a lovely person.”
“Well–I– I’m glad to live up to Iris’ standards. She seems to have good taste. Animals sort of choose their owners don’t they?”
“Thanks,” You murmur shyly, feeling your own cheeks fill with warmth. “I know that folks can say being a pet parent is cringy, but I really am lucky to be her mom. She has such an energy to her.”
“Warm. Calm,” Steven supplies, reaching out to pet Iris’ head, if only for the last time. She nuzzles into his hand and he smiles.
Your eyes track his hand, still a little surprised at how easily Iris is letting him pet her. She had hated almost every person you’d brought back to your apartment except a handful of friends. But, any romantic prospects had quickly made themselves scarce given your mean, overprotective cat.
“Exactly.”
“Well Miss Iris, I guess we won’t be getting to watch Meerkat Manor after all will we? Perhaps your mum could show.”
“Meerkat Manor?”
“It follows a little family of meerkats through the desert. Their struggles, their connections, their enemies. All sorts of things.”
“I’ve always been a fan of animal docs.”
“Yeah? I could recommend you loads of them.”
“I would really like that. I don’t think I got your name?”
“Steven.”
“Steven,” You repeat softly before giving him your name. “It’s really lovely to meet you. This is bold of me but…maybe we could see each other again?
Steven’s mouth drops open, eyes wide in surprise. “Really?”
“I told you I owe you and well– Iris seems to like you a lot. Maybe I could make you dinner as repayment and we could watch some meerkats live their lives.”
“I– yeah. Yeah, alright, I would love to.”
You and Steven quickly exchange contacts. He gives Iris a few more pets before rocking back and forth on his heels.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Sound alright?” He asks, voice hopeful.
“Sounds great,” You confirm.
You shift Iris into the crook of your elbow, and to Steven’s surprise, wrap him in a one-armed hug as you whisper him a soft thanks. His response is delayed but he hugs you back, surrounded by your warmth and soft scent. After a few beats you pull away, giving him a smile as the two of you exchange temporary goodbyes. Steven makes his way back to his flat with a wide grin, grateful that Iris had brought the two of you together. Cat in arms, butterflies in stomach you walk home feeling much the same.
moonknight taglist: @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch,  @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb , @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh
123 notes · View notes
thecitysgraveyard · 7 months
Note
Hiiiii I saw ur requests were opennn- how about some softdom! Steven Grant smut? Specific in which he calls reader "poppet" because that pet name is so cute!!!
oml yes yes yes a thousand times yes for that and thank you for requesting <3
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okay well just imagine steven has been fingering you and making you come so many times that you've forgotten the number
you're so sensitive that any touches you get around your entrance you immediately moan or whimper, as he fingered you his other hand traced circles on your nipple and his mouth was on the other nipple
he's just been making you come over and over again mercilessly, he has a slight grin on his face as he hears your small moans and whimpers
he absolutely loves and i mean loves to tease you so much and honestly he'd love to tease and edge you all night long
he leaves a small trail of love bites from your chest to your neck and he feels you tighten around his fingers
"come for me poppet, last time i promise" he says and kisses you, you moan into the kiss as you come around his fingers
okay and well he was most definitely lying when he said that this would be the last time
<3
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steven grant taglist - @dweffairy @amy-mxrch @pxgeturner
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millerscoffee · 7 months
Note
Hi! Congratulations on your 500 followers!! 🥰🎉
I would like to request “All I can think about is kissing you when I shouldn’t,” A confesses. “You aren’t mine.” with Steven Grant ❤
Thank you! 😘
thank you SO MUCH! yes! absolutely! i haven't written anything moon knight related yet, so i hope this is to your liking! ♡
confession
630 words | steven grant x reader
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warning: fluffy fluffy fluff fluff, first kiss, friends to lovers trope, no use of y/n
A/N: this is part of my 500 followers celebration running until 9/9 ♡
This isn't the first time Steven lingered at the embrace of a hug with you, but it was the first time you called him out on it.
“Feeling needy, are we?” you joked, but it didn’t land.  Not the way you wanted it to, not the way that brought a smile over his otherwise exhausted features.
“Oh, sorry – I just, you know, you smell really nice, and…,” Steven trailed off, leaving you to tilt your head.  Not in confusion, but in suggestion for him to go further.  “And?” you pressed, pulling back to get a good look at him.
“It’s silly, really.  Rather just leave it,” his strong nose scrunched up with a shrug of his shoulders not far behind.
But you’ve never been one to hide from each other, even at the understanding that he wasn’t always himself.  You knew a lot about each other.  So why hide now?
“Kind of hard for me to just leave it when this happens all the time,” you looked over your nails – it was hard for you to be vulnerable at times, and Steven knew that.  Like he was rooting for you, cheering you on, every step of your way.  And you wanted to do the same, just… in the way you knew how.
Steven brought his hand at the base of his neck in contemplation, really deciding if he should just tell you or if he should run away.  Not that he would, but it'd be a bit easier to deal with that way, wouldn’t it?  You saw the wheels turning in motion when he decided to just go for it.
“It’s just… Please don’t laugh, alright?”
You nodded emphatically in an effort to let him know you were there for him – eager to find out just what it was giving him such trouble.
Steven’s eyes flashed shyly to your lips, then straight back to your eyes like he did something wrong.
“Love,” he started off.  This wasn’t new, the pet name, but there was something about it that made the air feel different, “all I can think about is… is k-kissing you.  I know I shouldn’t, I know you aren’t mine.”
The end of his sentence left his eyes to the ground, but you stared at him with your mouth slightly agape.  But you couldn’t just leave him to wonder, not for a second longer.  You found him, your hands on either side of his neck, lips chasing – searching – for the other set.  He’s as sweet as you thought he would be, and more eager than you anticipated.
His tender mouth first fumbled over yours, but quickly found its rhythm in satisfying you.  It left soft noises to escape from you both, like an offering up to each other.  That you both were found out by each other, for each other, in the moment.  “Steven,” you whispered, mouth still ghosting against the other set, “if I’d known.  If I’d known, Steven.”
“Shh, it’s alright.  It’s here now, innit?  We’re here, it’s alright.”
His words were enough to soothe you.  Bringing your forehead to meet his, you laughed and so did he and it felt perfect.  If only for a moment, it felt like everything aligned to perfection.
“You are so brave, you know that?”  You praised him, leaving him to blush under your gaze.
“It’s easy when it’s you we’re talking about,” Steven deflected, wrapping his arms around your middle before he could give you a chance to argue.
You lingered in silence for what felt like forever as he held you, and you held him.  “I’m not yours?” you challenged, finally letting your words come back into the room.
You had a feeling that would all change.
Your connection with Steven, your places in each other's lives.
All of it.
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lavendertales · 2 months
Text
dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader
summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.
word count: 3.8k
A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️
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You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.
What are you feeling exactly?
You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.
And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?
And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.
Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.
You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.
He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...
Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.
Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.
Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.
By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.
She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.
“Oh, hi.”
You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.
“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”
“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”
You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.
Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”
“They are, yeah.”
“The music’s nice too. The food is—“
“Nice too?”
You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”
“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”
Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.
“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.
“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”
“For a third glass maybe?”
Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.
He’s flirting with me.
He’s actually flirting with me.
“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”
“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”
It’s tempting. Too tempting.
You shouldn’t.
But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.
“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”
Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.
There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.
“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.
Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.
“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.
“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”
“No, it’s—“
“Nice?”
You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.
“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.
“I really like—“
No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.
“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“
“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”
That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.
 It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.
The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.
“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”
You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.
Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.
“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”
“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"
You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”
Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?
All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.
“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."
“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.
You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.
“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.
Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?
“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”
Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.
“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”
“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”
This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.
“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”
You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.
“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”
Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.
What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.
Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.
Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.
“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”
“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.
You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”
You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.
And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.
Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.
You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.
“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.
“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”
You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.
“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.
Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”
With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.
Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?
You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.
Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.
And it scares you as much as it thrills you.
"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”
And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.
Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”
He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.
Naked.
Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.
“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.
“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”
“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”
Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.
“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”
Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.
“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.
“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”
“Full honesty?”
“I usually appreciate it very much.”
He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.
“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”
Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.
And what he said is… well.
“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.
Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.
But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.
You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.
After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.
“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?
Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.
“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”
Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”
Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.
“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.
“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”
“How so?”
“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”
“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”
Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”
“Sorry! I'm sorry.”
But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.
And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.
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pimosworld · 2 months
Note
Happy 700 Followers!!!!
For you celebration: 💌, a little fluff with any of our moon boys?
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(live footage of Steven telling you how brilliant you are)
You said any of the moon boys so I decided on all
Pairing-Moon Boys x reader (Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake lockley x reader)
Summary- What’s Valentine’s Day without a little friendly competition
CW-Fluff,Fluff,Fluff inaccurate depictions of DID
WK-838
A/N- A little self indulgent because don’t we all secretly want them to spoil us
Not beta read
Three of hearts
This might be the coziest feeling in the world. It’s warmer than usual in the flat and it feels like you’re enveloped in a cloud of softness and fluff. You don’t feel the hard press of your boyfriend's body on you but for some reason your movement is restricted. 
  It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the morning light as you stare directly into the beedy eyes of a large stuffed animal. You rub your hands along the plush brown bear with a red bow wrapped around its neck. You’re certain there’d be no room for anyone else with the way the bear takes up half the space. 
  You sit up slightly trying to move your legs under the weight of the covers. Something long and lime green is draped across your feet as you struggle to pull it up to you. It's soft in a velvet way and it has pink spikes across its back. You think it resembles some kind of dinosaur or lizard…you aren’t entirely sure. What you are sure of is that it has an adorable name tag around its neck, LEONARD is etched in bright pink font on a heart shaped collar and you can’t help but giggle to yourself. 
  Something falls against your back and you’re momentarily startled as a large pink trunk hits your shoulder. You roll the Dino-lizard off you to turn around and inspect the baby pink elephant that looks about the same size as you. You rub the shag material on your face as you clutch it in your grasp. It smells like lavender and has the cutest smile on its face. 
  “Told you.” 
  Jake's voice brings your attention back to the room as he stands in front of your floor length mirror. He’s still shirtless in his boxers with his hands on his hips and the most smug look you’ve ever seen in your life. 
  “Told me what?” You say as you pat the small space of bed left next to you. 
  “Nothing mi amor.”
  He quickly obliges, gently taking the stuffed animal from you and delicately placing it back against the headboard. He urges you to scoot back as he crawls up your body leaving feather light kisses along your thighs and over your stomach. His breath is hot against your shirt and you're in sensory overload. The soft animal against your back, the smell of him and the lavender lulls you into a sense of calm. You don’t even notice the switch when Marc nips at your neck. 
  “Tell him he’s wrong.” He husks into your ear and wraps his arms around your waist. He tosses the elephant to the edge of the bed with a little too much force and replaces it with the giant stuffed bear. Your body falls as he lets you go and you land with an oomph. His signature smirk is painted on as he leans back on his heels. “That’s much better.” 
  “Is someone going to fill me in?” You look at him quizzically and his eyes roll back before he can answer. 
  He tuts and swings his feet off the bed. “He sat on Leonard on purpose, I know it.” Steven when frustrated is quite possibly the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen as you try to hide your smile. He picks up the-“ He’s a dinosaur you know.” Dinosaur like he weighs nothing and lays him next to you. He taps on the collar with the most delighted look on his face. “You can tell them they’re both wrong love. You can’t own a pet animal without a name, it’s just ridiculous.” 
  You can’t decide if you want to laugh or cry at the absurdity and thoughtfulness of it all. They made a competition out of everything and something as innocent as a Valentines Day stuffed animal would be no different. 
  He’s standing in front of the mirror again, same stance as Jake but laced with much more annoyance. “Well then tell me their names.” He snaps his fingers. “Exactly what I thought.” 
  You clear your throat and his eyes widen in the reflection. “Sorry love, forgot to say good morning.” He bounds back over to you, tackling you into the softness of your bed as he kisses your lips softly. You can taste the mint and a hint of something else that says he lost the battle this morning of coffee or tea. 
  “So?” He says against your lips, eyes looking at you expectantly. You cup his face in your palms and tilt your head in silent question. “Which one is your favorite?” 
  “Oh no no no, you know I’m not going to choose.” You squirm out from under him and put the elephant in its rightful place next to the rest. “I love them all equally.” You place a kiss on each one and move to exit the bedroom, as his large hand grabs your wrist throwing you back onto the bed. 
  “That’s fine cariño, we have ways of making you choose.” 
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated
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Hear me out.... Steven with a praise kink 👀
You jokingly call him a good boy (because I call him my human golden retriever) and BAM. Confused boner! You take advantage of it and keep teasing him.
(Marc and Jake would never let him live it down, either)
Ijcioajfidi HELP. THIS. AHHH. I’m not sure why chess playing came into my brain. But here we are, reader likes and plays chess and is pretty good at it.
(Side note: in one typo I wrote ‘chestboard’ instead of ‘chessboard’. You just know my subconscious is thinking about Steven’s boobs.)
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Good Boy
Steven Grant x F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Warnings: INSTANT BONER, p in v sex, teasing, swearing, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!
Word Count: 2147
_______________________________________
“So, think about how you would stop me.” You said as you looked from the chessboard to Steven. 
His brow was furrowed in concentration, his glasses pushed high on his nose. A few rough curls dangled over his forehead as he bit softly at his thumb in thought. 
“I could move here?” 
“That’s really good.” You smile. “Excellent move, because you’ve also stopped my bishop.” You point to the piece on the board. 
Steven smiled. He liked chess, played against the computer occasionally. But it wasn’t much more than a way to pass the time. 
However when he found out that you had won some amateur competitions when you were in school, and that you still played regularly, his excitement at the prospect of playing a game with you was so completely heart-warming that you instantly said yes. 
In the first game, you’d been determined to go easy on him. Just to get a feel of Steven as a player. You’d accidentally won in less than ten minutes. 
There had been a small tinge of panic, a worry that, like some of the previous partners you’d had, he would be annoyed. Instead Steven grinned, thrilled that you’d beaten him and sung your praises until you were so positively overwhelmed you had had to kiss him repeatedly to get him to stop. 
This was your second game. He had asked in that delightfully enthusiastic way he had if you could play again, “if it’s not too much trouble love, and you want to of course, don’t want to be annoying, do I? No. But I’d love it if you could teach me some strategies?” 
“So I’m going to move here,” you picked up your knight and moved it slowly. 
Steven frowned. “But then I can take it?” 
“I know.” You grinned. 
He paused and looked at you, unable to stop himself from smiling at your glee and then nodded. “Okie dokie, there’s something I’m not seeing then.” 
“Is there?” Your innocent tone didn’t fool him for a second. 
“There definitely is.” 
You chuckled, looking back to the board. “Good boy. Look, take your time, but don’t worry if you can’t find it, I’ll explain.” 
There was a long pause. You frowned a little and glanced back to him. His eyes were a little wide, his cheeks dusted with pink. He was sitting stiffly now, his hand clenched into a fist with his knuckles pressed against his mouth. 
“Steven?”
“Hmm.” The sound was too quick. He didn’t look up from the board.
“You okay?” 
He nodded, a short sharp and very un-Steven-like movement. 
You paused for a second, looking at his features carefully as you wondered if Marc or Jake had fronted suddenly. Though, why they would try to hide it from you, you weren’t sure. 
On further inspection you were pretty sure that it was Steven. 
“You sure you’re okay.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled and swallowed, looking through the board and not seeing it. 
“Okay…” You swallowed, watched him for a moment longer before you pointed at your rook. “If you take my knight, I’m going to take your pawn with my rook and you’ll be in check. You can’t take the rook with your queen because then you’d be in check here. So you’d have to move your king like this, and then I could move my other bishop and you’d be in checkmate.”
You looked up at him, chewing your bottom lip. Had he had enough? Was he bored? Fed up of your explanations? 
“Okay. Right. So I won’t do that, I’ll move here.” He spoke quickly, still not looking at you. 
You nodded, watching his move. “Good, so…”
The moment ‘good’ left your mouth Steven sucked in a breath, shuddering. 
A sound you very much recognised. 
Oh.
You quickly thought over your previous conversion: move this piece, are you okay, take your time, good boy-
Good boy. That was it. 
A small smile stretched across your lips. Steven was still staring, fixated, at the chessboard and didn’t notice. He moved his piece silently. 
You waited a beat before you spoke. “That’s a great move Steven, good boy.” 
He shivered straight away, his breathing hitched. He tried to cover the sound with his hand as he closed his eyes.  
“What’s wrong Steven?” You teased slowly. 
His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and embarrassed. 
“Don’t you like being called a good boy?”
The smallest groan grumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing. 
“Or, is it that you like it a little too much? Hmm? Being my good boy?” 
His skin flushed with heat as he glared at you. His eyes dark. 
“What?” You bit your lip as you grinned. “A good boy would answer questions when asked.” 
“Please.” He whispered.
“Please what?” 
“Please stop. Marc’s taking the piss.” 
You frowned, the playful tease dropping from your tone. “Why’s Marc taking the piss?” You’d done kinker stuff with all of them, Steven liking being called a ‘good boy’ wasn’t really something to write home about. 
Steven sighed, pouting a little as he closed his eyes and took his hand away from his mouth. “Because I’ve got a hard on.” 
You bit back the giggle that wanted to spill from your chest. Something about him having to close his eyes to say it was just so perfect. “So?”
“It happened the second you said it.” 
“The very second?” 
“Hmm.” Steven kept his eyes closed. Interesting.
“So literally, I said it, instant boner.” 
“Yep.”
You couldn’t resist one playful tease. “So, if you’re in a park and you hear some say good boy to their dog, is it bam, erection?”
Steven shifted a little as you said those two words, trying his hardest not to moan. His cock was pressing, painfully hard, against the stiff material of his jeans. “No.”
“No?”
“It’s never happened before. And now- Marc, shut the fuck up.” His voice was a little needy until it came time to address his alter.
“Marc behave.” You said kindly. “So… it’s only ever happened now?”
“Hmm.”
“When I said it?”
“Yeah.”
“What happens when I say it again?” You whispered. 
Steven squirmed a little, even the thought of you saying it getting him hot under the collar. “Feels… nice. Sort of.” He pushed at his throbbing cock with the heel of his hand and opened his eyes, his head slightly drooped. 
“Sort of?” 
“Yeah, like… you know, he jumps to attention every time you say it.” He blinked heavily, his cheeks burning. God, you must think he was a right little freak.
“Good boy.” 
He groaned, unable to stop the sound in time and looked up at you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice that you were making fun of him like Marc and… oh. 
Realisation dawned. You were biting your lip and smiling. You liked it. A lot. 
Steven swallowed audibly. 
Slowly you stood and walked around the table to stand beside him. Steven pushed out his chair a little, angling it so that he was facing you. He went to stand but you gently pressed on his shoulder. He followed your command and stayed sitting down, looking up at you with pleading eyes. 
He played at his jumper sleeve nervously as you watched him. His dick hard and pulsating with need, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. 
He swallowed again. “Love-”
“Good boy.” 
He moaned softly, screwing his face up as his cock twitched at your words. 
You bent down quickly, grabbing hold of his cheeks and kissing him deeply. Using his brief surprise to slip your tongue into his mouth and push him back against the chair. 
Steven whimpered against you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders and the back of your neck as you ravaged his mouth and robbed him of his breath.
“Good boy.” You muttered between the kisses, swallowing his hushed whimpers and soft moans. Revelling in the way he pulled you tighter, needy and desperate for anything you’d give him. 
You brushed your hand against his groin, squeezing the outline of his cock. 
“Fuck!” Steven hissed, clawing at your top and thrusting up into your touch. The rest of his words were lost as you kissed him hard and lightly bit his bottom lip. 
You trailed your lips down to his jaw and neck, sucking at his pulse point and pushing him even further back into the seat. 
His breathy moans sent a wave of heat along your spine to your core, twisted in your belly and overwhelmed every thought. 
You squeezed his cock again, the heat of him radiating through your hand. “Good boy.” 
The words barely left your lip before Steven answered you with an accompanying groan, his length twitching against your palm. 
You moaned, so dizzily high with the sounds of his pleasure. Without thinking you undo his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling his trousers and boxers down to his calves in a hurried motion with a little help from Steven as he raises his hips. His cock springs free, needy and weeping with need. 
You take him in hand, stroking him twice before pulling his jumper over his head. He whines at the loss, chasing your mouth and kissing you urgently the second the material is off and on the floor. 
With your lips desperately pressed to his you pull down your own trousers and underwear, kicking one leg free and not bothering about the other as you take his length back in your hand and straddle his thighs. 
Him being so worked up, so desperate for you when you hadn’t even touched him is a stronger aphrodisiac that anything you’d ever experienced.
You don’t even give him a second to react before you’re lining him up with your already soaking entrance and slowly sinking down. “Such a good boy Steven,” you breathe, your voice rising in pitch at the end as he inches deeper, his thick cock splitting you so wide. 
He moans headily, pressing his face into your chest and mouthing at the tops of your breast through your top. 
“Love, you’re so wet.” He bites his bottom hip, his fingers pressing against your waist hard enough to leave bruises. 
You pull at the back of his hair slightly, scratching your nails along his scalp as he finally bottoms out. He pulses within you, twitching and aching and so, so close already. 
“You’re my good boy, aren’t you Steven?” 
He whined against you as you rocked your hips, quickly starting to lift yourself up and sink back down, setting a brutal pace as you began to bounce on his cock.
“Such a good boy letting me use you like this.” 
Steven moaned, chasing your hips and thrusting deep. He was drunk on you, needed you. Every moment, every word you said sent waves of pleasure through his body and made his head spin. 
Even in his intoxicated state his muscle memory kicked in, bucking up into you perfectly to make you see stars. Each spot that would break you apart memorised and stored deep within his very soul. 
He fucked up into you harder, growling with his desperate need. His leg kicked out and caught against the table's edge, rocking the chessboard and knocking pieces over. 
The sound just loud enough to register in his mind. “Sorry, I-“
“Doesn’t matter Steven, please,” you moaned. At this angle the head of him constantly pressed so deep, rubbing consistently over that special spot and not even giving you a chance to breathe. No pause or reprieve from the oncoming onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overtake you. 
“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whined, your thighs shaking and thrusts growing sloppy. 
Steven growled, grabbing hold of your hips and pistoning upwards, not allowing your pleasure to dip. “Please, please, please, cum on my cock, please love, please. Tell me I’m your-”
“You’re my good boy.” You came dizzyingly hard, your fingers digging into Steven’s shoulders and leaving marks. 
But he didn’t care. Couldn't care as you squeezed and fluttered around him, moaning ‘good boy’, and shaking as you fell apart in ecstasy. 
Steven gasped, the air catching in his throat, the pleasure so potent it was like his heart stopped. He came deep, hot and thick, his hips still thrusting to prolong your high and to fuck his spend deeper into you. 
You held each other tightly as you recovered, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin. It was only then that you pulled off your top and bra, discarding them on the floor with the rest of your clothing. 
Steven nuzzled into you, softly kissing along your collarbone as you stroked his hair. 
He chuckled suddenly and you moved back every so slightly to look him in the eyes. 
“What?” 
He grinned, dreamy and love sick, up at you. “Marc’s changed his mind. He’d quite like you to call him ‘good boy’ too.” 
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Thank you for reading!
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moonlight-prose · 7 months
Note
I love all of the prompts for your Sinful Soiree! It's so hard to choose one!
May I please request 💕 Steven Grant 💕 with the prompt: 🌹 "i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." 🌹
I picked what I think would fluster him because i have the feminine urge to make that man ✨blush ✨
Thank you, love!
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SUBTLE THINGS
a/n: when i say i meant to finish this within the first week of me doing the event. i had half of it written but steven's inspo vanished for some reason. honestly this fic is just porn very little plot. i tried to add some, but i don't know if i was entirely successful. given that it's steven being needy and a little bit greedy. i hope you enjoy it darling! (also yes that gif was entirely necessary. it shut off my brain seeing it so i had to use it).
summary: "steven wasn’t greedy by nature. but something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer."
word count: 1.8k+
pairing: steven grant x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, teasing, steven being hopelessly in love, fluff, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cumplay, masturbation, slight sub!steven vibes.
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He was never subtle about the way he looked at you. Stealing glances as if he couldn’t get enough—addicted to the sight in front of him. Date night was a regular occurrence when it came to your relationship. A small routine to give yourselves something to look forward to.
If anything it gave you a chance to leave the flat for a change; most nights spent curled up on his couch in pajamas. You cherished moments like that, but you relished in times like this. Where you sat across from him done up as if it was the first time you were doing this, the sparks flying between you stronger than that night.
The same night he walked you to your place, only to come back an hour later per your request.
You smiled, sipping on the wine he picked and delighting in the fruity tang of it. Wishing more than anything that you were tasting it off his tongue. He watched your throat as you swallowed, his tongue peeking out to swipe against his lips as his fingers drummed on the table. He seemed antsy, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
Steven was first nervous when you were together, wanting to please you however you wanted. But then things shifted. He gained confidence in how he could render you speechless with just his touch alone. How you lost your breath with a single look in your direction. Except there were still moments when you were able to bring back that stuttering man you fell in love with—watching his eyes dilate, chest heaving with anticipation.
“Dinner was delicious,” you said, pushing away the now empty plate of food.
He nodded, his lips pulling up into that precious grin. “I found this place in a guidebook. A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself.”
“Old fashioned is good though.”
His smile grew, mouth opening to continue telling you the details of the guidebook in particular, but your foot running up the length of his leg caused him to freeze. You could practically see the words die on his tongue as his eyes widened, his breath stuttering in his chest. There were only a handful of times where you acted this brazen out in public—this needy for his attention. His affection.
Steven could replay them in his mind with ease—each moment burned into his brain.
“Love…”
“I have a little detail of my own,” you stated as if you were about to tell him the most mundane fact known to man.
“Yeah?” he asked, breathless to the way you ran your finger along your bottom lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick that was there. He found himself wanting to lick it off your mouth.
You nodded with a sly smile. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” He choked on this spit and you watched in glee. His chest heaving as he coughed—cheeks flushing a dark red. “Thought you’d like to know.”
“You’re…” His eyes dropped to the part of the table that covered your lap and you could practically see the gears in his head moving.
Steven thought for a second his heart would burst out of his chest. The knowledge that you were sitting there, bare for him to touch, to taste. He was a reserved man. Believing that you deserved the utmost respect when it came to where you two made love. But there were nights when he felt himself slip—desire overcoming any sort of sense that might have been running through his brain.
Before he could get a coherent string of words together, you stood from the table. The words bathroom and be right back being uttered. Except he wasn’t paying attention, eyes focusing on the slight sway of your hips when you walked. His thoughts immediately fell to what you looked like beneath your dress. Were you wet for him? Were you dripping down the inside of your thighs?
He was standing abruptly and following you before he could get a hold on himself.
Thankfully he was always one to be prepared. Paying for the bill before either of you finished your meals, because he knew you weren’t one to have dessert at the restaurant. Too invested in the thought of finally getting home where Steven spent the better part of the night between your thighs. He could practically taste you on his tongue, see your head tilted back in bliss as your thighs shook around his head.
His fist was rapping against the wooden door of the women’s bathroom in mere minutes. Waiting for you to open it for him.
“Took you long enough,” you practically purred, tugging him in by the lapels on his blazer.
He was pushed against the door, your lips sliding against his in a way that had his body going lax, a whine building up in his throat. In a quick haphazard move, he managed to lock the door before grasping for your hips—walking you back until your waist met the sink. His tongue licked into your mouth, your wet needy moan muffled as he took and took and took.
Steven wasn’t greedy by nature. But something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer. He pushed the skirt of your dress up, his chest heaving as he took in air like he’d never get it again. And there it was. The truth of your little detail all shiny with your slick—your inner thighs practically coated as well.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes snapping up to see your lips spread into a smile, your hand grasping onto his wrist to tug him closer.
He groaned when his fingers slid along your cunt, the warmth of you practically seeping into his palm. There was no doubt now that Steven wouldn’t wait until the two of you got home. Not when you were willing and ready for him to take you now. Finding your clit with ease he grinned when your high pitched moan echoed off the walls of the bathroom. You canted your hips against him with a fervor he shared, your lips parting with small gasps of air.
“S-Steven,” you begged, teeth coming out to dig into your bottom lip.
“I’m here.” He wanted to devour you. To drink down the taste of you as if you were the best fucking dessert in this restaurant, because to Steven…you were.
“I need—f-fuck—need you baby.”
He nodded and before you could stop him, he was falling to his knees and spreading your legs wide enough for him to fit. With a dazed look in his eyes, he watched his fingers spread your slick up to your clit—his cock twitching painfully in his pants. What he wouldn’t give to spend hours right here, but you had a limited amount of time and he wanted to get you home.
Licking a broad stripe up to your clit, Steven felt the control snap inside of his body. Your hand slapped against your mouth effectively muffling your cry as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Two fingers dipping into you and curling as if on instinct. For him this was exactly that. He knew where to touch, what to do to bring you right to the end and back again.
He wanted to drive you to the edge and watch you fly off. The sight had become an addiction to him ever since the first time he saw it; now adamant on witnessing such beauty over and over again.
You dug your fingers into his curls, your hips rolling over his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft moan reverberating against your cunt as he licked at you, fingers pumping in and out at a rapid pace. He was drunk, desperate to have you entirely spread on his tongue. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Sucking your lips into his mouth, he let them go with a pop, a wide grin spreading across his lips when your whole body jerked—a cry echoing behind your hand.
“Taste so good,” he mumbled, curving his fingers even more—watching in awe as your thighs trembled.
Words evaded you at that point. Your mind, a mess of nothing but Steven and the building pressure in your torso. He dove back in, doubling down on his efforts to have you cum into his mouth—your taste, something he wanted permanently stuck on his taste buds.
It’s when you began to rock your hips along his tongue with reckless abandon, moving him how you wanted, is when he felt it. The painful throbbing in his pants. Unbuckling his belt with one hand he managed to wrap his hand around his cock—alleviating some of the pressure. It wasn’t enough, but Steven didn’t care. His sole focus wasn’t on getting himself off tonight. No, he wanted to watch you crumble.
To scream his name so the whole restaurant heard you.
“Steven—” you gasped sharply, head falling back. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”
He dragged his teeth lightly along your clit, pressing down on your g-spot and you shattered. Sobbing his name as your fingers tightened on his curls—pain blooming in his scalp and shoving him right over the edge with you. He grunted, hips thrusting into his hand as he spilled over his palm. A bright heat flooded his body, your slick now gushing into his awaiting mouth, and Steven felt like he’d ascended into pure bliss.
There was no bringing him down from this cloud, no saving him from you consuming him whole.
“Ah fuck love,” he grunted, biting into your thigh as he pumped his hand to reach that delicious point of overstimulation you usually brought him to.
“Did you…” Your face was fucked out, eyes hazy and blissed out, but still you watched as he continued to touch himself in front of you.
Something about the sight of Steven on his knees, so desperate to have you he couldn’t wait, shifting your entire mind. You bit your lip, tilting his head back as he gasped in pleasure—his cheeks red and flushed. It happened before you understood entirely what you were doing.
“Look at you baby,” you cooed, spreading your legs a bit more to show him the mess he made of you. “Open wide,” you breathed.
He followed your words without hesitation, his mouth parting. Sliding your fingers through your cum, you pressed your now shiny digits into his mouth, moaning when he sucked them clean. His whole body responded to you as it always did.
“Take me home Steven.” You wanted him inside you—aching to have him fill your now dripping cunt.
Getting to his feet, he tucked himself back into his pants and gathered you close. Pressing a deep kiss to your lips, licking into your mouth and spreading your own taste along your tongue. That familiar heady feeling returned, flooding your entire body until you practically hummed. He wasn’t subtle in the way he touched you, how he made it clear how much he wanted you.
Yet that’s what made you love him even more.
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psithurista · 2 years
Text
Slipped
pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, secondary Marc Spector x F!Reader word count: 6.4k rating: Explicit 18+ warnings: Co-worker relationship, mentions of food and eating, fluff, angst, smut, handjobs, use of sex toys, protected PIV sex an: This is very much a case of "I wrote this for myself, but you can read it too if you want." It's a bit of a departure from the first part (tonally, stylistically, etc.) in that it's a fairly heavy-ish free-form drabble. Please be advised that this part delves just a little bit more seriously into certain psychological themes, and I've included additional notes at the end which go into more detail if you’re interested.
part one
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It starts with coffee.
The morning after returning Steven’s ID, you stop by the gift shop on your way in to work. You’re late, and harried, and you don’t usually go this way; preferring to slip into the loading entrance and sneak up to the office as quickly as possible instead.
There’s a reason for this.
You shrink as a raucous tour group shoves past behind you, trainers squeaking loudly on the polished floors. The sun bounces too-bright up off the marble, into the high white ceilings, around your tired head. Nobody pays any attention to you, and you pretend to be fascinated with a stack of jigsaw puzzles while Steven serves an elderly man who appears to be inexplicably buying the gift shop’s entire stock of pens.
He’s saying something about point size and ink opacity, and your lips turn up as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You aren’t sure whether your hair looks as nice as it did when you left home, but you hope it still looks at least halfway-presentable to make up for your excruciatingly difficult wakeup. Though you’d been home well before midnight, you still hadn’t gone to sleep until the early hours of the morning.
The man shuffles out of the way, glossy paper bag clutched in his hands, and you completely lose your nerve. You’re already turning to make your escape when Steven spots you.
“G’morning!”
It is inordinately difficult not to drop both coffees in your hands all over yourself as you turn back. “Hi, Steven,” you manage, too shy to look him in the eye, staring instead at the buttoned cuff of his shirt.
“If you’re after a pen shaped like an obelisk, I’ve got some bad news.” You glance up to see he’s watching, still smiling. He looks as tired as you feel; his eyes shadowed and creased, the edge of his glasses sticking out of his jacket pocket.
You return the smile. “Yeah, I saw that. Think he knows they’re rubbish pens? The corners make them impossible to hold long enough to write anything.”
“Nah, he’s here every week. Reckon he doesn’t care. Probably selling them on eBay, yeah?”
You snort out an undignified little laugh, then swallow it back as quickly as it escaped. You don’t think you’ve ever been this self conscious in your life. You thrust one of the coffees out, and he stares blankly at it.
“I brought you this.”
“Oh, that’s great. Really, thank you.” He wraps both hands around the paper cup, briefly ducking his head to breathe in the smell.
“It’s two shots, on oat. I wasn’t sure whether you have sugar or not.” You nearly drop your own coffee again as you fumble the little paper sachets out of your jumper pocket, leaving them on the counter.
He looks a little dazed, his eyes on your face, a faint hint of silver glinting through the curls messy around his head. Then he’s scrambling for his own pockets. “Yeah, right. I should have enough to cover it if you don’t mind shrapnel.”
“Oh, no. No, seriously, please don’t.” You lay your hand over his, pausing him. “You can get me back another time. I already owe you.”
He’s staring down at your hand, a strange expression on his face, as though he’s mentally committing your fingertips to memory. “You…do?”
Sheepish, you shrug one shoulder. “So, confession, I guess, but I might’ve been sneaking a cup of your oolong from the break room here and there.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” he tells you, glancing up, his lips still parted in a shy half-smile. “That’s why I’ve kept bringing it in.”
You’re stunned into silence, your heart emptying itself painfully into your chest. Far from seeming annoyed with your petty thievery, he seems almost embarrassed to have been caught facilitating it. Like he hadn’t wanted you to know that he knew. The image of him bringing in a fresh tin of tea and leaving it on the counter, secretly knowing you’d been pilfering it from him, blankets your thoughts.
You realise belatedly that your hand is still resting on top of his and, face burning, you draw it toward yourself. “Well. Anyway. Like I said, you don’t need to pay me back.”
Someone clears their throat behind you, and Steven nods over your shoulder. “Alright?”
You hurriedly step to the side to make way for a woman attempting to wrangle three children all dashing in different directions.
“Just the bookends, please, can you gift wrap them? Thomas, if you don’t put that bloody statue down I swear I will clip you round the ears in front of every single person in this museum.”
“I’ll see you later,” you stage-whisper, inching away.
“Yeah, alright, cheers! For the coffee,” he tacks awkwardly onto the end, waving it at you.
By the time you make it to your desk, you’re far too hot. You clumsily strip off several outer layers before sitting down, letting out a held breath. It could’ve gone worse. Could’ve gone better, too, but there’s no use dwelling on that.
He’d given you absolutely no indication that he remembered spending last night between your legs.
The memory rolls fresh heat beneath your skin, and you dart a quick glance around the office, as though your thoughts are loud enough to expose you to the room.
You aren’t sure whether this confirms your current working theory, or whether it just makes things muddier. But just a little too much is lining up for it to be the latter. You stifle an exhausted yawn; your eyes still burning from hours spent scrolling through page after page of journal articles on your side in bed last night.
There’s another question, though, and this is the one sitting heavy in your stomach. He’d seemed happy enough to see you this morning. But that doesn’t mean a thing; he’s always lovely to everybody, even Donna. As always, you’d been too shy to really extend anything meaningfully searching of your own.
Steven-who-isn’t-Steven’s words drift back to you, drawled calmly through a smooth accent, clenching between your thighs.
“He doesn’t know how to show you, or tell you. But he likes you. A lot.”
There’s a little part of you that finds this terribly unfair. You don’t know how to show him, either. You’re paralysed with nerves when it comes to things like this. But you like him a lot, too.
So it becomes a ritual.
Every morning, you wake up just a little bit earlier, paying close attention to your appearance in the mirror before leaving for the day. Sometimes, he’s busy serving, or down in the store room, and you dawdle around the gift shop while you wait for him to return. Other mornings, he’s there early, tired-eyed but smiling, wearing a thick-knitted cardigan. Sometimes he isn’t there at all.
Slowly, shyly, a tiny space opens up around the two of you. He asks about your work. You ask about his. You tell him about your project accessioning a collection of fragmentary artefacts; historically significant, but deemed too small, obscure and unexciting to be publicly displayed. You’re heartened by his giddy enthusiasm. You’d never imagined anybody other than you would care this much about tiny, broken pieces of pottery.
Leaning across the counter, you listen, rapt as he describes what he’s been reading. He tells you he reads late into the night in an attempt to avoid sleep; tearing through stacks of pages faster than you’d imagined possible. You’ve never met anyone with such eclectic tastes as his; reading and re-reading ancient poetic works in every translation he can find while working on his own translations, studying language and classical mythology and archeological theory all at once, broken up in between modern literary criticism, paperback thrillers and Regency romances.
“Might be overdoing the thrillers,” he muses ruefully, scratching at the curve of his earlobe. “Dreams’ve been getting a bit weird again.”
You never know quite what to say when he describes his dreams to you. Strange, confusing, hyper-realistic dreams, occasionally lasting days, supplanting unconscious actions with real-world consequences; sometimes mundane, like ordering groceries in his sleep and waking up to find the delivery bags still jammed in his bin, and sometimes less so, waking up with split lips and bruised knuckles after dreaming of wild, panicked fights.
“Once, I managed to break my own nose in my sleep,” he tells you, laughing at himself. “Dunno if I punched myself or if I walked into a wall or what. S’just mental, my sleepwalking.”
You tactfully withhold your commentary, opting for sympathy instead. “Must be awful,” you offer quietly. “Not knowing where you’ll wake up.”
“Yeah. It is. Terrifying, to be honest.”
The take-away coffee graduates to lunch breaks spent at the cafe connected to the Boots on the corner, sitting outside when the weather’s nice, surrounded by uni students. It’s not intimate, or romantic; the tables are graffitied and buses stop directly out the front, spewing exhaust, but it is the single brightest point of your day. When he laughs, he has a wide, deep dimple on one side.
One warm day, you sit out under the sun and watch the seagulls swoop tourists for chips. He holds his hand over his mouth as he speaks, full of eggplant kofta. “Well, it just fell straight out of her hand, didn’t it? Shattered into a million pieces. Poor kid’d already started crying before it hit the floor, probably thought she’d be in trouble. Can’t blame her for being interested, anyway; Sekhmet’s one of the coolest-looking.”
You lean back to lift your face to the sky. “You didn’t need to pay for it yourself. You could’ve just written it off as accidental damage. Not even Donna could’ve blamed you for that.”
He sits half-hunched, his elbows on his knees. Something in his posture is always just a little turned-in; a protective gesture. He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully; clearly disagreeing with you, but too nice to say it. “Yeah. Maybe.”
You shake your head. “Why do you put up with her? Not like the pay’s any good.”
He smiles slightly as he answers, like he’s humouring you; like you’ve told a joke he doesn’t quite get. “Because I love my job.”
You take turns shouting the other’s lunch, and every time Steven loses track of whose turn it is, you shrug, assuring him it’s definitely yours, sliding your bank card over.
Now that you’re looking for it, you see it constantly.
The inexplicable absences. The big ones: days and weeks away from work, unanswered messages, vague excuses. And the small ones: mid-sentence, easily missed, a slipping-away, his attention flickering before returning to your face, having misstepped in the conversation and in need of re-orientation. For the most part, you can gently lead him back; prompting him to continue where he’d left off.
But once or twice, only very briefly, you catch glimpses through. All teeth and easy, smooth words; palms on the shop counter, his shoulders squared, hooded eyes sharp on your face as he ducks away, suddenly in a hurry, his jacket in his hands.
You start to become painfully conscious of the time you have with him, afraid it’s shortening as the sunlit hours shrink crawling closer to the winter.
-
“You off daylight savings already, Stevie?
Donna has had a layer of acrylic applied over her nails. She taps them against the counter; a rhythmic plastic-toy pale pink crackrackrack.
You’ve both bundled back in from lunch nearly a half-hour late; wrapped up in layers against the biting wind outside. She hasn’t seen you yet, her attention hard on Steven as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck.
He opens his mouth, but you interject before he can speak. “Sorry Donna, my fault. Steven was helping me down in storage.”
She turns, looks you up and down, then smiles. It isn’t a nice smile. “Oh. Well. Didn’t realise he was doing something important.”
You aren’t good at this. You shrink from confrontation. Disagreements make your eyes burn. Once, at the shops, you’d grabbed the last trolley seconds before a towering woman reached the bay. She didn’t even need to say anything; just the look on her face had you apologetically letting go of it, telling her it was fine, really, you were only getting a few bits anyway—a lie you’d regretted when a jar of satay sauce shattered all over the floor after slipping out of your overloaded arms.
Donna clicks her tongue, relishing your obvious nervousness. You’re about to lower your eyes, but then you catch sight of Steven. Kind, earnest, gentle Steven, under her thumb daily, crushed and remonstrated for his passion. Heat rolls up your neck. You lift your chin. “It was, actually. Important. Part of getting things organised before that internal review. Which reminds me: Alan said they’ve been talking about restructuring middle management. Cutting the fat, you know. You might want to find something important to do, yourself. Don’t want to be walking around looking dispensable.”
The smile shrinks from her eyes, though her teeth remain bared. A beat passes, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head; shifting for a response. But in that length of time, another moment has already passed by, and it’s suddenly just a little too late for her to say anything at all, so she turns jerkily away.
You stand dumb, your arms at your sides. You can’t believe you just did that.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Steven bursts out, grinning so widely you can see the tiny gap between his incisor and canine.
“Oh, God, neither can I,” you manage, feeling nauseous, grasping the edge of the counter for balance.
He steadies you, his hand on your shoulder. “It was brilliant. You alright?”
You laugh shakily. “I don’t know. I’d better get back up to my desk before I’m sick all over the stuffed hippos.”
“Let me buy you dinner after work. Please.” He blurts it out all in one breath, and then stares at you in apparent shock at his own words, as though he isn’t sure they came out of his mouth.
Your head snaps up. If you’d had any scrap of suspicion that this was no more than an extension of your companionable lunches together, it’s laid to rest immediately by the startled, cautious way he’s looking at you. Like your answer could burn him. Like you would.
Even as you accept, you can feel him slipping. “Okay.”
-
There are almost never stars in London, but on clear nights, there is the moon. Steven is looking up at it when you arrive, wearing the most subdued shirt you’ve ever seen him in; simple, black, the little Star of David at his throat glinting. The cheap jonquils in his hand are only slightly wilted.
“Are those for me?”
He stares dazedly at you for a moment, his mouth open, before a slow smile breaks over his features. “Hi. Wow. You look nice. Obviously,” he adds, scoffing nervously, making a face at himself. “You always look nice.”
You duck your head, trying to hide your stupid smile. “So do you. Shall we go in?”
The waitress is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. Floral tattoos are marked out over her shaved head, reaching all the way down her neck and peeking out of the ends of her sleeves. She brings water, then slides a plate of ziti onto the table, turning away face-first, her body following the movement like a dancer.
It’s dim and warm, and gentle music plays under the hum of voices. You’re both shy to start with; removed from the context of your familiarity and suddenly strangers. It isn’t until you show him the pictures on your phone you’d taken at work that afternoon that you tumble easily back into each other again.
“These panels weren’t even listed in the record. I probably wouldn’t have known to look if you hadn’t suggested it,” you say, your elbows on the table, chin in your hands.
He pinches the photo to squint at it. “Ah well. Not your fault, is it? Shoddy archiving from the last team. This’s dead cool, actually; looks like the first part’s about the Feast of Opet; it’s talking about Amun and—here, see, that’s about Mut, and their son being carried through Thebes.”
It seems wildly unfair that he interprets the hieroglyphs more fluently than some of the paid translators you work with. You’re so caught up in listening to him that it takes you a few seconds to register that something’s wrong. He sways, sucks in a breath, blinks down at his hands, then up around the restaurant.
“Steven?”
He frowns at you, then reaches for his water glass, distaste curling his lip. “Is that tempeh?”
You register the accent with a prickle. “Marc.”
He pauses, his eyes darting between yours, searching. “I didn’t tell you that name.”
You shake your head, feeling dizzy. “Steven did. He’s been telling me about his dreams. He thinks he’s going crazy. But it’s not that. It’s…a disorder. It’s why he keeps losing time, and has those weird dreams, and the blackouts; ends up in weird places. That’s when you…take over. Isn’t it?”
He raises his glass to you, his expression tight. “Very clinical.” He gulps a mouthful of water, swirling it around his mouth and through his teeth like mouthwash before swallowing.
You don’t smile. Someone at the table behind you laughs: a loud, grating sound. “Can I have Steven back?”
“Nope.”
“Are you going to…talk to him about this?”
“Nope.”
You swallow. “I think you should. It’d help him. He’s confused. He needs to get some answers.”
He barks out a short, hard laugh. “You went home and read the fuckin’ DSM after we hooked up and now you’re gonna tell me what I’m supposed to do?”
Your cheeks feel hot. You slump back in your chair, embarrassed and crestfallen. He considers you, his thick brows furrowed. When he speaks again, his voice isn’t unkind.
“Listen, sweetheart, believe me when I tell you that I know him better than you do. This’ll stress him out. He won’t handle it well. You try to talk to him about this and you’ll trigger a panic attack. Probably just end up back with me.”
“You could try,” you whisper, your eyes welling. His hooded gaze touches on your face.
“I don’t wanna put a stop to this. I’m all he’s ever had, and I’m not exactly the best…” he cuts himself off, his mouth set in a hard line before continuing. “You’re good for him. You make him feel happy, and safe, and that’s why the second you try to start this conversation, you’re gonna freak him out. I don’t think that’s what you want.”
“You’ve been watching us?” The thought of him silently observing your awkwardness, your crippling shyness with Steven; every word, every moment, after what you did together…
“Is that a problem?” He tips back the rest of the water in one mouthful, then stands.
“Where are you going?”
“I got a few things I need to do.”
He walks out, leaving you alone in front of the barely-touched ziti. The couple at the table beside you fall silent, and pointedly avert their eyes.
He misses the rest of the week. And then comes Monday, overcast, and he’s back at the counter of the gift shop; looking newly exhausted, wincing as he reaches into a drawer.
“Feel like I finished a bloody triathlon and then got run over by a tractor. I slept the whole weekend. I’m really sorry. I can’t remember much of our dinner.”
You spent the entire weekend with his words circling in your head. You force your lips upwards as you lie. “It was lovely. Really. You were really sweet. Walked me to the bus after and everything.”
“Yeah?” He’s looking into your face for reassurance, and you give it, though you know this ultimately isn’t constructive. It doesn’t help him. But just for now, it avoids hurting him. He smiles back at you. “Well. I can walk you to the bus again tonight, if you want.”
You take it for no other reason than to gather a few more grains of his time into your day.
So, another routine.
You rarely work late anymore, always in a hurry to get down and meet him at the bottom of the steps. Some evenings, you wander about before heading to the bus stop; walking to a bookstore to run your hands over the spines, or watching Covent Garden light up with street performers. Steven drops coins in every single hat that he walks past, pointing out fire-jugglers, stopping for a one-sided conversation with a living statue he seems to knows by name. You hook your fingers through his as you walk, and you watch for flickers.
Marc doesn’t always speak to you, but you always speak to him.
The first time Steven kisses you, it’s almost an accident. It’s pouring, and freezing, and you’re huddled together laughing under the same umbrella. The wind sheets the rain against your bodies at a slant, rendering your cover useless.
You turn your face, and bump into his lips. He doesn’t move away. You shiver against the wind as he leans in, and his lips meet yours again.
He’s hesitant. His hand hovers over your skin before he touches your neck, drawing you closer. You can smell him in the rain; a sharp, rich, warm cologne you already know he’d never have bought for himself. A surprise, you imagine; an unfamiliar bottle he’d found in his bathroom cabinet one day after a blackout period.
When the bus pulls in, your shoes squelch as you dash inside, your jacket over your head. Steven waves to you from under the umbrella, and as you lurch and rattle away, you feel as though you’re leaving your heart behind with him under that rain-lit street lamp.
-
It hits midnight and neither of you want to go to the bus stop. You walk in circles around the subject, your hands in his jacket pocket for warmth.
“You could come back to my flat,” he says, quietly, shyly; his eyes sleepy, teeth showing.
You want to, desperately. “Steven. I need to tell you something.”
A flicker, but a small one. “Alright?”
You aren’t sure where to begin. “I spoke with Marc.”
He stops walking. “What d’you mean, you spoke with Marc?”
“A couple of times, actually. I wanted him to speak with you. But maybe it’s not up to him.”
He shakes your words away, his hair bouncing. “That’s…that doesn’t make any sense.”
You feel him pulling away, and he runs his hands roughly over his face. You watch him, noticing for the first time the way the bottom of his earlobe curls out; the edge of his jawline a straight line down to his neck. His eyes are red-rimmed, and you know they must be aching with exhaustion, from nights spent endlessly forcing himself to stay awake.
“I think you should get some sleep,” you say, softly.
He nods, his face still in his hands, taking the out you’re offering. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”
You get home, and you don’t follow your own advice. You lie awake, your phone glowing in your face, anxious and longing.
The next morning, you nearly walk smack into Donna as she comes out of the gift shop’s store room. “Where’s Steven?”
She scoffs, shouldering past you with a boxful of photographic art books. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Useless sod. Least he called in sick this time, instead of just not showing up at all.”
You eat lunch alone at your desk. You can’t keep your leg still, jiggling your foot so hard it sets the air plant on your desk rattling. The afternoon drags as you watch the time, and when five o’clock finally ticks over, you practically launch yourself out of your seat. The security guard calls out after you as you dash down the stairs, asking where the fire is.
Your mind conjures a million different scenarios in the time it takes to get to his building. None of them are good. You should have listened to him. You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have let him go home alone. You press the buzzer, hold it in for far too long; the sound aggressively loud.
“You right, love?” You turn to see a tiny old woman peering up at you, her powdery round face creased with concern, her bag clutched close to her chest.
“Hi, can you let me up, please? I’m worried about my—my friend. He missed work today. I think he might be sick.”
It might be the sheer frantic desperation in your voice, or just the fact that you’re still dressed respectably for work, but she seems to decide you’re trustworthy enough to be allowed inside. You hardly wait for the lift doors to open on his floor before you’re hurrying out, catching your toe on the edge of the landing, stumbling down the hall.
“Steven? Steven, are you in there? Hello? Marc?” You knock with the flat of your palm, smacking the painted wood, your heart in your throat.
You pause to listen, and hear nothing but the blare of a football game from the gap beneath a door farther down the hall. Every word you’ve read comes crashing back, sickly sharp.
You sit in the hall for hours, your back pressed to the door, your head on your knees. One of Steven’s neighbours passes you with a rubbish bag tied in a knot. “He’s not here,” he says, pausing, his tracksuit emblazoned with trefoils. “Funny bloke. Keeps odd hours. But he hasn’t been back today, least not that I’ve seen.”
You press the heels of your hands to your tender eyes and thank him.
When you arrive at work the next morning, there’s a pretty, smiling young woman standing at the gift shop counter; wearing a khimar the exact same shade of blue as the sky. Donna stands beside her at the till, pointing out product codes on the keypad. You feign a headache and go home.
Several days pass, and you move numbly through them. Your flat feels too close and still, so you open the windows and let the cold fumes from the street drift inside. You can’t seem to focus on one thing at a time, and it isn’t until you find yourself standing vacantly over the kitchen sink that you realise you’ve let the tap run for too long, flooding the counter.
You feel as though you’ve made a terrible mistake, accidentally given away something important you can never get back; donated a pile of old books with a secret letter tucked inside the pages.
Night falls. You’re sitting cross-legged on the sofa eating dry cereal when there’s a knock at your door. You’ve been waiting for someone to come and look at the radiator, and you’re already across the room and turning the lock before it dawns on you that it’s Saturday, and it’s late, and the building manager is in Mallorca.
He stands just outside your door, blinking drowsily. You exhale in a rush, feeling close to spilling tears. “Hi. Hi, Steven. Oh, God. Sorry, I’m a bit…hi.”
His teeth meet his lip, and he smiles nervously. “Sorry. I know this is really dodgy, but I checked the staff system for your address a while ago. Just in case.”
You laugh despite yourself, and a tear escapes hot down your cheek. “Don’t be sorry.”
He reaches a hand out toward you, then drops it. “Can I come in? Please?”
You’re too overcome with emotion to care about the mess in your flat. He steps past a table piled with unwashed mugs and a discarded bra draped over a chair’s armrest, saying nothing, looking instead at your potted plants.
“This one’s nice. S’like peas, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s called a string of pearls. I’ll give you a cutting if you want. You could put it over Gus’ tank to brighten it up.”
He slips off his shoes before he sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, laying his hands on his thighs. “Yeah. He’s been looking a bit flat. Might need to change his food.”
You stand looking at him while a silence stretches out. “He didn’t want me to tell you.”
“I know,” he says. “We’ve been talking, sort of. Figuring some things out.”
You step over a pair of your discarded shoes to sit cross-legged, facing him.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, quietly. “I should’ve told you as soon as I worked it out. I just didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t know what to do.”
“S’alright,” he says, wrapping his hands around yours, pulling them into his lap. “You were just doing what I told you, yeah?”
He’s letting you off far too easily. You take in his rumpled clothes; his chain glinting against the unshaven shadow of his throat. You can feel his eyes on your face as you look at him. His neck is beautiful. His hands are warm.
Slowly, he unwinds his fingers from yours and raises them to your face. He clumsily traces the edge of your chin, the softness of your cheek.
“I thought I dreamt it. When you came to my place, before. But…I could…I could smell you—your perfume; on my pillow, after I woke up. I sat in bed, and Googled whether you could hallucinate smells.” You turn your head, and kiss his fingertips. “Am I dreaming now?”
“No.”
He leans forward, and you hold your breath as he brushes his lips against yours. A delicate, tingling softness starts at the nape of your neck and you let your fingertip trace the side of his jaw as he breathes into you.
His hands are in your hair, gathering you close. He presses his face to your neck, unmoving, exhaling shakily. You sigh silently against him, leaning back, and he moves lower, his lips at your throat, then at the softness at the top of your breasts, his strong brows furrowed over closed eyes.
He takes his time learning your skin. You fall back, your heart beating so hard your vision closes with each fresh rush of blood through your body. He pulls your clothes away to kiss your nipples; gently sucking at your skin, his palms underneath the small of your back. When the gentle hook of his nose brushes your stomach, your skin lifts in shivers, and when he turns his face you feel the rough scrape of his unshaven cheek.
You turn to face him as he lifts himself up alongside you, his eyes heavy, lips parted. He kisses you again, his hands on your thighs, between your legs; uncertain, searching.
When you palm his cock through his pants, he breathes your name like a confession. You can feel him swelling hard as you cup the outline of him, and harder still when you slip the button free to slide your hand down against his skin. Dark hair gathers below his navel and thickens to curls at the base of his cock.
Gently, carefully, you wrap your hand around the length of him and stroke in time with his lips’ movement on yours. His cock twitches in your palm, and his fingers stroke the outer side of your labia. You don’t correct him, too concerned with the hot smoothness of him in your hand. Unconsciously, he rocks into your hold, his kiss falling out of focus; holding his open lips in a gasp against yours.
He seems unsure of his own movements, but not self-conscious—as though he knows you’ve seen enough of him, now, not to mind.
“Stop,” he breathes, his hand coming down to still yours. “Stop, I don’t want to…”
You slip your hand free as he kicks his pants off properly, pulling his shirt over his head, getting it momentarily caught around his pendant. Your own shirt is tangled below your bared breasts, and you yank it off, tossing your underwear to the side, your knees together as he crawls up over you.
“Have you got…?”
“In the drawer,” you say, and his cock hangs heavy between your bodies as he leans up and opens it. He pauses for only a moment before he’s back on his knees over you, square foil packet in one hand, your vibrator in the other.
Your face heats as he turns it around, searching for the controls. “I’m not totally sure what I’m doing,” he admits. “Can I use this, though? Would that…be good? For you?”
With anybody else, you’d probably be embarrassed with such a proposition. It would be simpler; more exciting to pretend at your own easiness, as though your body’s demands are nothing, really—you don’t want to be a bother. But not with Steven. He asks openly; just as endlessly earnest as always. You realise in that moment that you think you might love him.
“I can show you,” you offer, reaching for it, turning it on. He watches your face and you watch his as you part your legs and bring the low rumbling toy to your clit. He lays his hand over the back of yours as you hold it in place, settling into your pleasure. You gasp as he kisses your breasts, your neck, watching you.
Distantly you’re aware of the shift of movement as he rolls the condom over his cock and gently strokes his length, his attention fixed to every hot, subtle flex of your body. The sheets feel damp beneath your legs as your empty cunt squeezes, your toes curling.
“Can I…?” he breathes, and you nod, reaching up for him.
He stretches inside you slowly, with a weak groan. He’s careful not to jostle the hand still holding the toy to your clit. The pressure of his thickness fills you, and the pleasure is immediately overwhelming as he sinks deeper. You wonder whether he can feel the vibrations through his cock, as your breathing hitches.
Your free hand winds into his curls as he presses into the hot, close suck of your cunt, barely withdrawing before he’s rocking back against you. Everything about him fills your senses. He’s all you can smell, all you can see.
Your cry is muffled as your cunt squeezes him, your thighs tightening around his waist. Your orgasm melts up into your stomach, filling your entire body, dragging your eyes closed. You pull the now-too-much toy away, thumbing it off, dropping it over the bed.
He holds himself still while you clutch at him, and it isn’t until you suck in a grounding breath that he resumes his filling push-pull drag inside you. He lays his weight lower over your body now that there’s nothing between the two of you, and your hands cup his head, his neck, anchoring him close to you as his hips’ movements begin to stutter out of time.
He comes with a long, low, broken sigh. With his chest pressed to yours, you can feel the race of his heart as though from inside your own chest.
You don’t really want to move. You’d like to keep him inside you until he softens, and stay even after then; until you both slip away. But discomfort sets in, and he lifts his weight from you; your skin muggy-stuck together. He stretches out on his side next to you, his arms lifted, the dark hair beneath his arms damp with sweat as you step out of bed and pad to the toilet.
You’re splashing water on your face when he appears behind you in the mirror, knotted condom in hand, looking dazedly at himself for a moment. “Can you stay?” you ask, meeting his eyes in the reflection.
He frowns, and for a moment your heart lurches as his gaze sharpens. He takes in your bare breasts; your swollen lips and damp hair, as though only now registering what’s just happened. Then he blinks, and nods, and you lead him back to bed.
His thigh slots between your legs as you lay curled face-to-face like nesting dolls; your hands against his chest, his body around yours. Your eyes are growing heavier with every breath, but his attention doesn’t drift as his thumb traces the edge of your lower lip.
“Go to sleep, Steven,” you whisper, your eyes closing.
“I can’t,” he says, quiet. “I might not be here when I wake up.”
“I will,” you tell him. “I’ll be here. And I’ll wait. However long it takes. Until you come back again.”
-
You dream about sand dunes shifting and lifting in the wind. Enormous birds wheel in the sky, with strange silhouettes, but you can’t see them; the sun is far too bright for you to turn your face up, and they move too quickly to follow.
Pale, foggy London light beams in through the windows overhead. The bed beneath you is soft, and warm, and you breathe in the gentle smell of his skin on the linen as you stretch your hand out to curl around his.
But his side of the bed is cold. Cold enough to tell you that he’s been gone for some time. You turn over and find the covers rumpled and pulled down.
You sit up too quickly, and your head spins. His clothes are gone from the floor beside the bed, as are his shoes. The flat is empty save for you and your dirty dishes, and the undisturbed motes of dust suspended in the slant of light piercing the room.
You don’t get up straight away. There doesn’t seem much point, and movement seems impossibly heavy anyway, as though your limbs are filled with stones.
But then the door clicks open. He turns as he steps inside and hangs your key back on its hook. His dark curls are damp with rain, and he’s balancing two take-away cups in his hands. He stands strangely straight; no hunch to his shoulders. Despite the chill, his sleeves are pushed back from his forearms, and his teeth glint as he offers you a slightly-lopsided smile, his dimple standing out. “Hey.”
Draped in nothing but the sheets, your heart soars. “Hey.”
Additional notes:
While I was reading about some of the challenges commonly experienced by DID patients when entering into romantic relationships, I found quite a lot of discussion around knowing "who" to listen to in situations where alters disagree or expect different things from one another/in conjunction with their partners. Psychiatrists recommend holding the entire system to account for the actions of one alter, which I can imagine would make for some pretty difficult conversations.
Also, I've avoided using any specific terminology around the treatment-based concept of integration, and while I'm not necessarily alluding toward that direction with my ending I just thought it worth mentioning here. I've seen the writers, producers and actors involved with Moon Knight use the word numerous times in interviews when discussing Steven and Marc, to the point where I don't believe it's accidental. I understand integration is hugely sensitive and controversial for people with DID, and obviously we don't yet know for certain where the series will end up, but I've tried to leave this open-ended purely for my own sense of comfort based on whichever direction it goes (and, hopefully yours too).
Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate all comments, rbs and feedback, and would love to hear your thoughts x
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boredzillenial · 5 months
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Day 17: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!
Steven accidentally discovers a new kink with you.
Themes: SoftDom!Steven, praise kink, f!reader, established relationship, bit of Somnophilia - oral (Steven receiving), pinv, creampie
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Morning light filters through the open shades as you wake. You stretch and turn to see your sweet boyfriend sleeping soundly. Though you’d moved in for a month now your heart still flutters when you see Steven like this. Curls tousled across his forehead and lashes resting against his cheeks.
As your gaze grazes over him you notice the tenting of the sheets around his cock and hear soft whimpers escaping his lips. You continue watching, enjoying his little sounds till you hear him moan your name and roll his hips. Your resolve to sit back and watch snaps in that instant and you slowly pull the sheets back.
His cock springs free with copious amounts of precum smeared across his soft stomach. Heat pools in your core as his girth pulses and jumps, desperate for touch. You shift slowly over him and glide your tongue from the base of his length to the leaking tip, earning you a wrecked groan and sending Steven writhing. You take him into your mouth and work him deeper and deeper until he nearly hits the back of your throat.
“S-sweetheart?” He stammers, his breathes already ragged as he comes to with your mouth around him. You swirl your tongue around his tip then take him deeper again. He leans his head back, neck straining in what you could only assume as his attempt to hold back his release.
“S-so good.” Steven shudders as your mouth works over his length. “Such a good girl ah-“ he whimpers as you moan around him. That moment of praise sending lightning through your nerves as the vibration sent a shiver up his back. “O-oh shit,” he gently pulls you off him, your lips giving a soft pop as you come up and smirk. He returns it with a sleepy smile of his own as he caresses your cheek. He quirks up a brow and squints a bit as his soft gaze peers into yours, as if he’s searching for something. He smiles and pulls you forward, soft warm lips meeting yours as his hands caress your sides.
Your hand comes up to grip around his girth and you start to stroke until his stops your movement. “Already been so sweet to me love.” He says against your lips. “I wanna make you feel good.” He nips your bottom lip playfully and shifts until your back lands against the mattress.
“But I was gonna -“ he stops your protest with a rare stern gaze. You put your hands up in surrender as surprise lights up your grin. “Yes sir.” You giggle.
His voice drops into something a bit rougher, “Good girl.” His words sent your mind swimming in a lusty haze as you work hard to keep still. Your minute squirms are exactly the tell he’s looking for. “Oh someone like that huh?” He grinned.
You shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “I guess.”
“No no don’t do that. You can be honest with me love. I won’t tease you like Jake would you know that.” His hands stroke up your thighs and pulls them open, rubbing slow circles around your sensitive bud. “And if he tries to tease you later I’ll handle it.” You bite your lip to stifle your moan as your hips move in time with his caresses.
“P-promise?” You ask in a soft shaky tone, the hint of embarrassment melting away with every stroke of Stevens thumb.
“ ‘Course.” His thumb presses a bit harder and his movements roughen as your breathing changes. “Tell me what you want.” He says softly.
“Wanna feel you.” You groan. He follows your plea immediately. Taking your ankles and placing them on his shoulders as he lines the fat tip of his length against you.
He begins rolling his hips to work into you but loses control and slides to the hilt in one go. Your mewls and whimpers stir something deep in his heart as you writhe against the stretch of him. “Take it for me, know you can.” Your legs tremble as he leans forward, pushing further still into your heat as he adjusts to a new angle.
“Steven, baby, please I -“ your hands grip onto his arms as your walls flutter around him.
“You’re doin’ so good.” He trembles, dark curls furling over his brow as he ruts into you. “So good f’ me.” Your core tightens around him at his praise earning you another groan. “Fuckin’ hell.” He squeezes his eyes shut and slows down. “Gonna make me cum before you do. Can’t have that.” His breathy laugh sending butterflies through you as he stops, remaining fully seated in your pussy.
He leans back, keeping your legs where they are pressed against his torso but opening you up to reach your clit. “Need you to come for me darling. I know you can do it.” His touch is once again firm on your aching clit. The combination of the stretch of him buried deep in you and the quick movements across your bundle of nerves has your orgasm crashing over you before you realize it. “Such a good girl, know you can give me one more.” His touch doesn’t slow and overstimulation begins shooting lightning through your nerves.
“Steven!” You cry out and reach for his wrist to slow his movements. He only take your hand with his other and intertwines his fingers.
“Shh, just one more.” He starts to churn his hips in time with his thumb. Your whimpers and moans fill the cluttered flat space as your second orgasm comes crashing over you. “Good girl that’s it.” Your legs shudder as he slowly moves them to wrap around his waist. “Just breathe love I’ve got you.” He whispers as he leans in, slotting his lips against yours.
You wrap your arms around him and hug him against you as he pumps his cock into your soaking channel. “Gonna take it for me? Gonna hang on tight and take my cum?” He whispers against your lips as his hips begin to stutter.
“Yes, fuck Steven fill me please.” You groan into his mouth as you kiss him again. Between the roll of his hips and the eagerness of his tongue as it slides into your mouth you were edging close to your third climax. “Please, please.” You plead between kisses.
“You beg, s-so well darling.” His breaths come in pants as he loses control again. “Gods, so good f’me.” The final praise has you crashing in time with him. His cock pulses thick ropes into your fluttering pussy as you cling to one another.
You nestle your face into the crook of his neck as his hips slow to a stop. You relish in the feeling of his girth continuing to pulse cum into you as his breathing slows. “T-thank you.” You whisper into his tanned skin as you hug him tightly.
He peppers your face with kisses drawing out giggles from you. “Anything for my good girl.”
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Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
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