fictionbooksandbeyond

Latest Posts by fictionbooksandbeyond

day 7: bath sex - rick flag.

warnings: f!reader. 18+ ONLY. i mean... the obvious - bath sex, unprotected p in v, the way this man physically makes me clench

a/n: 747 words. obviously not day 7 but we're rolling with the punches coz life. haven't written for ricky in a long while so this was nice. enjoy! x

The floor is probably flooded by now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. How can you? He feels too fucking good, all thick muscle and hot, slick skin sliding against yours with every move of his body.

His broad frame covers you and pushes you back into the side of the tub, each heavy thrust into you causing the remaining warm water to slosh up against the edges and spill out onto the tile floor. God, there's barely any water left—

He shifts your leg, hitches it higher on his hips and thrusts deeper, his cock hitting somewhere so deliciously deep within you it physically tears the breath from your lungs.

You don’t fucking care about the water.

All that matters is the way he fills you, stretches you; the way he feels, muscles rippling under your hands and the way his groans melt into your tongue.

“Yeah, this really isn’t workin', darlin’,” Rick breathes into your mouth, teeth tapping lightly against yours as an indulgent grin spreads across his lips.

It’s not the most comfortable of positions, and he’s damn sure your back will have something to say about the way you’re laying in a few hours. The tub barely fits him, let alone the both of you…

You make a noise of denial, your brows coming together as your nails drag along his shoulders in an effort to bring him closer, swallowing down the pleased groan that falls from his throat.

“It’s—fuck, baby—it’s fine,” you babble, lost in the way his cock rubs against your walls and desperate to keep him right where he is. “This is fine –”

“‘Fine’?” He teases in a low growl, nipping at the tender skin of your throat and pinning you firmer against the ceramic, his hands curling around the icy cool edges in an attempt to find purchase.

He drags his hips against yours with an upward thrust, his pubic bone rubbing along your aching clit and bringing a flood of fire along your nerves.

“Good,” you spit through a moan, the unforgiving pressure against the swollen nerve causing your walls to clench and flutter around him. “So good, so fucking good—”

“Yeah?”

The gruff rumble of the word dissolves against your lips as his mouth captures your own, his tongue sweeping along your lower lip and sliding languidly along yours before something hungrier takes hold.

He consumes you, practically drinks you down like a man starved and the ferocity of it settles hot and heavy in the pit of your stomach, increasing the already out of control fire raging through your system.

"God I've missed you, missed this—" he groans roughly, breaking away from your mouth to look at the way you writhe and moan with each drive of his hips.

You nod along to his words despite being barely coherent, your fingers grasping at the slick skin of his back as his large, calloused hand splays at the base of your throat. There's power behind his touch as it moves up along your skin, his fingers briefly flexing around the width of it before it meets your jaw.

He smooths a thumb over your mouth, rolling the soft flesh of your lips beneath his touch, almost to commit the plush feel of them to memory.

Lips soon replace the rough pad and you lose yourself to another earth shattering kiss, relishing in the feel of his tongue dragging along yours and how it has your cunt tightening around him as he slams into you.

"M-missed you... gone so long—"

"I know," he soothes into your mouth, his deep tone like molten honey. "You've got me all weekend... will you let me make it up to you, darlin'?"

He's already doing a damn good job of that.

With a mastered precision only your focused Colonel could have, every thrust he focuses on your throbbing clit and hitting that wickedly sweet spot deep within your walls until stars start to frame your vision and the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh starts to bounce off the tile walls.

You're so fucking close and he knows it, his lips turning up against your throat.

"Gon—fu—ck... gonna make you work for it, Flag," you moan brokenly, each and every muscle winding and tightening in anticipation as he drags you further and further towards your blissful end.

His chuckle melts into your ear, "Is that right? Well you know I like a challenge. Come on, baby—show me what I've been missin'."

-

Reminder: taglists will not be used for kinktober. I’m tagging every fic with #foliskink22 if you want to follow along for the ride!

Lighthouse for a Lost Comrade

Pairing // Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon’s perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir’ kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they’re hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

Keep reading

safe house

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader Wordcount: 3.1k Warnings: semi public sex. rough smut. pain kink. size difference. ghost is a simp. sex on a couch. cum play Summary: “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.” Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Of all the risky shit you've participated in, deciding to sit with Ghost post-mission takes the cake. Things just happen. Out of your control.

You can't not listen to him.

Even your teammates give you nervous glances when Simon barks at you to come see him for a "debrief."

You're screwed, lass.

Eat a dick, Soap.

So here you are, forced to brush shoulders with your hulking lieutenant while the others shower or scrape cold chili out of cans in the tiny safe house kitchen.

Everything is secure.

Ghost smells like fireworks. There’s snow still melting in his boots. He’s managed to remove all his gear aside from his gun on the coffee table, but he’s just as enormous. Burly. Rippling with that animal aggression, he can’t shake off after a mission. 

“You should shower,” you suggest sweetly. You’d gotten first dibs, but you’d been unable to scrape off the blood wedged under your fingernails and mud crusted to your hairline like sea barnacles. You feel dirty, as if the job had left you withered and full of dust. There’s the particular flavor of guilt clinging to the underside of your mouth. 

“You didn’t listen to a direct order,” Ghost utters in a voice so quiet it could flicker into smoke. He was screaming at you earlier, demanding that you return to him instead of toward the USB drive with the intel. Red Fox. You take one more bloody step, and I’ll suspend your ass.

“It would have been for nothing had we not gotten it,” you protest. Deny. Deny. Double down. Invent excuses, even though the scariest man alive is speaking to you like he may just break your neck. 

He shifts on the couch. The sounds of your teammates seem very far away, although they’re only in the next room. Simon is angry, and it’s not the familiar hot-headed fury he favors. No. It’s chilling. He’s holding himself back. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gloveless fingers curl around the edge of the couch. They’re enormous hands. They can wrap entirely around your bicep, the nape of your neck, or the crown of your skull.

He leans back, thighs spread open, stealing space and shoving you toward the end of the couch without even moving a muscle.

“I’m sorry,” you offer rather pathetically. Your voice is audibly weary, utterly subservient. Ghost runs a tight fucking ship, and everything can collapse if you step a hair out of line. 

He presses his arm against yours, lowering his head closer to your ear. “I don’t give a fuck.” 

His hand finds your hip, and before you realize it, he’s got one arm banded around your chest while keeping you pinned to his front. Hee slides behind you until you’re both horizontal, your legs tangled together, his covered mouth puffing warm air against your jaw. You could be spooning if his embrace wasn’t so carved with aggression. 

“You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders,” he growls as he shoves your sweats down your thighs.

“Wha-”

You choke on a gasp as the muscular forearm around your cotton-covered tits squeezes, sealing you into him until you can’t budge an inch. You can hear him fumbling with the button on his pants. There’s blood on his boots. The denim and his sweatshirt irritate your bare skin. You’re damp from your shower, and he’s coated in a thin film of battle. “Simon,” you warn. “They’ll - they’ll come in.”

Unbothered, he continues, and you can feel him, heavy and hot against your lower back. “What did I tell you?” he mutters into your hair. “Before we left...when I had you on your knees?”

Your mind is sprinting on overdrive. The blood rushing under your skin is flaring to an almost unbearable heat. Yesterday morning? You’d snuck into the bathroom with Simon...gotten on the cold tile floor, and sucked him off until he’d nearly punched a hole in the cheap plaster wall. He’d been surprised. It’s not like you hadn’t screwed before, but anytime you ever gave him pleasure when it was only about him, he’d get totally weird. 

Like he didn’t deserve it even though he -

Without warning, he breaches you with a thick finger. You bite down on your lower lip, swallowing a grunt. Your sweats are caught around your knees, and his tree trunks for legs spread you open and stretched like you’re latched into an intricate web. He lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt, drawing his finger out to the tip before sinking it back to the knuckle. 

“Jesus, Riley,” you moan, and the arm across your breasts lifts just enough so he can cover your mouth with his hand. 

“What did I say, love?” 

Your brain isn’t working. Your entire focus has narrowed to the overwhelming sensation of him finger-fucking you from behind. It is a rare show on his part. It’s risky, but Simon Riley is a super soldier, and his hyper-fixation is now firmly on the task of ruining you.   

He lowers the hand from your lips to allow you to speak.

“Swallow it?” you try, and he pauses before an unsettling, baritone noise reverberates within his massive chest and he withdraws his finger only to bury two inside you. 

You jerk, keeping silent but dangerously on the brink of a damn orgasm. You’re drenched, and Ghost’s slow, drawn-out movements squelch with every perfunctory pump of his hand.

You can feel the hard shell of his mask against the crown of your head. “You’re going to be the death of me, kid,” Ghost sighs.

He sounds...exasperated. Perhaps, you had, admittedly, fucked up. You shouldn’t have done it. You should have listened to him. Escape had been narrow and made even more narrow by you wasting precious seconds to grab the intel. Even if Ghost had the countenance of a bull shark, he cared more than most. He was staunchly loyal. He wouldn’t lose people under his watch. 

But you aren’t just people.

Fuck buddy? Sure. 

More than that?

You weren’t entirely oblivious to how he touched you outside their secret trysts. His gaze lingered, his presence curled around you like an oversized shadow. 

What had he said yesterday morning?

“Stay alive,” he husked as his palm enveloped the top of your skull, those sleepy, ink-filled eyes searching yours. His thumb traced your cheek as you rested the side of your face against his thigh. The salt of him coated your throat, the nape of your neck still tingled from his iron grip when he finished in your mouth. “Please.” 

Gingerly, you tug an arm free to grasp the hand silencing you. You pull it away, and Ghost, Simon, allows it. Shooting him a desperate, aching glance over your shoulder, you press your lips to his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll stay alive for you.” 

You give his words back, hoping it’s enough. 

See? I was listening. I was listening as you throat-fucked me. 

Pleased, he murmurs your name as he presses closer before you force two of his fingers into your mouth and suck. He goes rigid, and the other set of fingers inside you become still as if he’s trying to assess this startling development and figure out the next strategy. It is only a moment, a few seconds, and then he draws away from your cunt to grasp the underside of your thigh. He eases it up before shifting his hips forward, and there he is: his thick, unforgiving length crudely gliding through your folds. The pleasure comes in bursts. Tiny pricks. Stars. Each time the head of his cock grazes your clit, it sends sparks unfurling in your belly. You shove your ass back into him, demanding and needy. 

You started this, you want to say when you know he’d turn it around with: You did when you didn’t fucking listen. 

His hand returns to your hip, his thumb rubbing small, tight circles into the flesh. “Desperate, are we?” His voice is rough - all gravel and artillery smoke and so low it sweeps like a tongue against the seam of your pussy. “I thought you were scared the others would see us?”

You release his fingers with a slick pop, and he, once again, wraps his forearm around your chest in order to anchor you to him. You can just imagine the scene the team would walk in on. 

Ghost, fully clothed, with his tattooed arm snug around your tits. You’re in a flimsy tank top with your sweats tangled around your knees. His mask-covered face is notched over your shoulder. To anyone, he’d look untouched while you were ruined. Bare thighs glistening with your own arousal. Humiliating.

“Do you care?”

He chuckles, and it vibrates against your back. “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.”

You shiver, involuntarily clenching around nothing. “Right,” you croak as you feel his hips draw back again, the fingers holding your thigh in the air, are digging into your skin. Blunt nails. Dirt. “Because...because then they’d know I’m yours.”

That must do something to him because he sucks in a breath and suddenly, without hesitation, slides into you until his groin is nestled against your ass. You black-out. Your vision swims and blurs until you can’t distinguish between the dark fireplace and the shitty armchairs. His cock is too big. That’s a stone-cold fact. The first time he’d fucked you had been more than a challenge. He’d prepared you with his tongue, fingers, spit and lube you filched from Soap, but it had still been difficult. 

He’s breathing steadily as his heart thumps against your back. His hand falls to your stomach, where he can, undoubtedly, feel the head of his cock nudging one of your internal organs. You feel full - crammed to the brim and feverish. Sweat collects at your hairline as you endure the pressure of him inside you. The girth. The weight. Every time Ghost fucks you, it’s a lesson in endurance. He can go for hours, and you take it like his well-trained soldier. The two of you are an HR nightmare.

You squeak when Ghost presses his balaclava-covered mouth to your neck. “Good girl,” he soothes, clucking his tongue. “Good girl...just take it like you are. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Well-endowed fuck. 

It’s only painful in a good way. Your body accommodates him, allowing him to squeeze an inch deeper as his hand slides down from your belly to your clit. He presses it gently before drawing circles. He retreats, his cock dragging through your walls until he’s halfway out before he plunges back in. The pace is unhurried. He’s grinding into you as if he’s savoring every part of your pussy. He cups your tits, grasps your throat, and explores the sensitive flesh stretched around his enormous shaft. 

You’re never having anal. 

Unless he asked really nicely. 

“I want to mark you,” he muses through long, deliberate strokes. “If I come in that lovely cunt, you’d keep me in there, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, even though you sound like you’ve been drowned and spit back onto the beach. You’re so sick with him, overwhelmed and a little in love and how did this fucking happen? “Anything you want, Luitenant.”

He delivers a sharper thrust that nearly propels you off the couch, but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. His strength. His presence. He smells like sweat and packed dirt and a forest fire. “You’re bloody obedient when I’ve got my cock in you.”

Obviously. 

“I know,” you murmur as you bite your lip again when he strikes something tender. He’s rubbing your clit in time with every snap of his hips, dick pistoning inside you as your lower muscles buckle, your thighs quivering as your pleasure hangs precariously over a steep drop. His legs wedge yours open, keeping your cunt spread as he manipulates your body like one of his precious guns. If I move this, what will this do? Let me make it better.  

“I’m so - so fucking easy,” you slur. 

“No,” he grits as his pelvis begins to stutter against your ass, his breathing ragged. “No, you’re the most difficult thing I’ve ever had beneath me - ever - ever had to fuckin’ handle.”

God - that has double meanings. You’re his subordinate. You’re his lover. You’re on your knees for him, but it goes both ways. It had been Ghost who had turned the lights off the first time and removed his mask. He’d trusted you enough to shut your eyes and let him lick your pussy until you were in tears. 

I wouldn’t look, Riley. That’s something I won’t take unless you give it. 

You had felt his face, though. In the pitch blank, you had touched his full lips, the defined lines of his cheekbones. You’d felt his thick, silky hair and the bumps of various scars. 

You feel sexy.

You’re trying to butter me up. 

The sounds from the kitchen startle you. The men are taunting each other. A pan clatters. The volume turns up, and you suddenly realize that you and Ghost are making quite a bit of noise. The couch is creaking. Your cunt indecently squelches with every spear of his cock. He’s grunting into your hair, the skin at his groin smacking the full flesh of your ass as he bottoms out. 

“They’re going to hear us,” you warn. You’re on the cusp of exploding, breaking into fragments. 

“They probably already do,” he quips before fucking you harder. Your hand flies up to clutch at his burly forearm, your other hand rises higher to grasp the back of his head. You want his hair, you want to fist it and hurt him just a little. “Easy, love,” he urges. “Relax...relax...you’re getting too tense.”

He’s right. Your orgasm has fluttered away because now you’re fully aware that your teammates have probably created a racket to drown out their Lieutenant, their stiff, cold enigma of a Lieutenant, railing their comrade into the couch. 

“Focus, kid,” he orders bluntly as if he was chastising you on a mission. He ducks his head and nuzzles your cheek to coax you back into his fold. “They won’t come in,” he drawls in a low, piercing rumble. “They won’t say a goddamn word because they know I’d murder every one of them if they tried ripping me away from this cunt.”

Holy. Fuck. 

Everything has climbed up your throat. Your head is on backward. The pressure of his cock, his fingers on your clit, and his massive body wrapped around your own is causing the air to crackle. 

“Simon,” you gasp as he readjusts his grip and forces you forward. He shifts his hips so he’s thrusting down, and it’s impossible to know when he’ll be done. He rides your ass until his pace falters and his cock twitches and throbs before he abruptly settles, douses out the fire, and continues at a more even, lazy rhythm. 

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he encourages softly. It’s dipped in a tenderness that surprises you. His voice remains deep and gruff, but there’s a gentleness behind it. You’ve never seen his face, and the intimacy with which he handles you is nothing you have ever experienced. It is too much. 

Ghost gives you his history in patches. There are brief moments where finishes and rolls off you, and you both just stare at the ceiling, fingers brushing in the dark. “There’s this pub by the Irwell that I think you’d fancy,” he remarks. “Jesus knows if it’s still around, but I reckon you’d like it.”

It’s not just sex. This is not just sex at all. 

Stay alive. 

Please. 

You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders.

Simon is coaxing you into your climax. He’s buried so deep that you can feel the tip of him nudge against your womb. You feel swollen and raw, and his muscles twitch against you. You’re throbbing like an open wound as he maneuvers your ragdoll body on his cock. It should be overwhelming, but his fearsome rough voice is full of yearning when he motivates you to find your pleasure. 

The tang of your climax builds until there’s nowhere else for it to go. It roars forward, jolting through your limbs as it forces you to curl into a fetal position, but Simon is right there. He holds you in place, his mask grazing your cheek. “C’mon, love,” he says. “That’s it. Good girl.” 

As his palm clamps over your mouth, you erupt, and you bathe his cock in your climax. Hot and flooded as the punch of a tropical storm. “Bite me,” Ghost demands, instinctively thrusting into your soaked, fluttering heat. “Do what you need, love. Take it out on me.” 

He groans when your teeth nip his palm. You bite harder, and he nearly chokes.  

You don’t understand how this has gone from him enraged to riding you to a full gallop to allowing you to use him for your own pleasure. As he fucks you through it, jamming into the searing, wet clutch of your spasming sex, he hits his end. His hands on you tighten as he makes a deep, grating noise from his chest, filling you up. It’s warm and somewhat soothing. Shuddering, Ghost has to brace his arm on the couch to keep himself from collapsing on top of you. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters as he buries his face into your neck. “Jesus.”

He slips out, and there is only emptiness. You’re aching and sore, and he pets at your cunt, pressing his come deeper so it doesn’t drip. You shift onto your side to face him, his hand still nestled against your pussy, his eyes black and heavy-lidded as they regard you with subtle affection. 

“Keep me in there,” he reminds you. 

Hesitantly, you snag the edge of his black ski mask and slowly lift it. He stops breathing, his heart beginning to thump wildly as his gaze widens. However, he doesn’t stop you, and it’s a test you predicted. 

“Red,” he warns. Your call sign. The bite of his authority rippling between you. 

You hitch the mask just a centimeter above his top lip. You sit up awkwardly, your sweats still knotted around your knees, your lower half gone to jello. You grasp his stubbled jaw and kiss him tenderly. He stiffens, making a startled noise in the back of his throat before he decidedly returns it, licking into the cavern of your mouth as he forces you onto your back and wedges himself between your legs. The pointed edge of his skull mask digs into the top of your cheek, but you’re past caring. You can feel his cock filling against the crease of your thigh. 

Again? You can’t go again. You’d surely split in half. 

“Don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind. “I just want this.”

Just this. The couch, the safe house, and their teammates only a room away. 

He breathes against your mouth, the sliver of his secret skin scratching your own. You nudge your thumb along a scar and kiss him harder. 

Jake Lockley NSFW Alphabet (Reposted)

A/N: This fic kept on glitching whenever I tried to post it and I just kept getting mad about it. I then forgot about it and decided I might as well post it now. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,374

Warning: This is Smut! Minors DNI!!

A = Aftercare (What They're Like After Sex)

Jake is pretty chill after sex. He likes to smoke and hardly ever covers his lower half with a sheet. He doesn't care for modesty in truth. Jake will hold you close and whispers sweet nothings in Spanish. Jake also licks you clean and tells you that he loves fucking you. Jake lowkey wants to tell you he loves you but can never voice it. 

B = Body Part (Their Body Of Theirs and Their Partner's that they like) 

Jake is very proud of his hands. He loves seeing them covered in blood, and he loves when that blood gets onto your tits. 

Jake loves your thighs and legs. He's always staring at them; given the chance, he will always have his hands on your thighs. Jake especially loves thick thighs. He can spend hours kissing your thighs before he decides to even attack your pussy. 

C = Cum (Anything to Do with Cum; basically, I'm Nasty)

FUCK! JAKE LOVES CUM! He can eat it all day. He loves to overstimulation you and just watches the come leak out of you. He can spend hours watching your beautiful cunt leak his come. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty Self Explanatory, A Dirty Secret of Theirs)

Jake wants to impregnate you. But he'll never admit it, and he pretends to hate kids. In reality, he does want kids and would love to see you bear his future children. 

E = Experience (How Experience are They? Do They Know What They're Doing?)

Hell yeah, Jake knows what he's doing. Jake practically invented sex! Jake has had a lot of sex. 

F = Favorite Positions (This Goes Without Saying)

Doggy style, sixty-nine, and reverse cowgirl. These are Jake Lockley's all-time favorite positions to fuck you in. 

Doggy style is unique because Jake feels so primal and feral that he will runt into your pussy like he's going to die in the morning. He will come all over your sheets and won't stop until y'all are completely soaked. 

Sixty-nine. He loves oral. Jake loves getting his cock sucked and eating your pussy out. It is a fucking wonderful experience. 

Reverse cowgirl. Jake loves watching your ass glide back and forward. He loves gripping onto your hips and telling you to go faster. 

G = Goofy (Are They More Serious In The Moment? Are They Humorous? Etc.)

Not really goofy. It's more like it's very serious. I don't think Jake can be goofy unless he's making a sex joke, not during sex. Jake is just usually very serious during the moment. 

H = Hair (How Well Groomed Are They? Does The Carpet Match The Drapes? Etc.)

Jake doesn't buy into that manscaping bullshit. He prefers to let his secret hairs grow out, and he loves when you pull on them. 

I = Intimacy (How Are They During the Moment? The Romantic Aspect)

Jake is almost always romantic during the moment. He's a flirt, and it's in his nature to pleasure his s/o with sweet words and physically. Jake usually lights candles for his beloved and rubs lotion on them after sex. He spends a lot of time rubbing lotion on your tits. It's his favorite place to put lotion. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Jake usually jacks off in his cab. It would be in private cause if he did that with someone in the back of the cab, that'd be shitty. He has this spot he usually stops at when he's feeling aroused. It's a parking lot that no one uses. He typically watches a video to get him in the mood. Or he facetime you and jacks off.  

K = Kink (One or More of Their Kinks)

Dom Daddy and little girl and teacher (him being the teacher) and student (you being the student) are his favorites. He's a very dominant guy in the bedroom, and he hates not being in control. He loves calling you baby girl and will constantly tease you. 

L = Location (Favorite Places to Do the Deed)

Mainly in his cab or at your apartment. Jake will fuck you wherever, whenever. But he does like some sort of privacy because he doesn't want to share you or have other men look at your naked body. Honestly, Jake wants to kill your exes because they've seen you naked, and that just pisses him off cause he doesn't like the idea of anyone knowing what you look like naked. That's for him to know and others to wonder about. He's pretty possessive. 

M = Motivation (What Gets them Turn on, What Gets Them Going)

Jake is always horny. He is just really good at hiding it. If you're horny, he's ready to get freaky. 

N = No (Something They Wouldn't do, Turn Offs)

Jake doesn't let people watch y'all fuck. If he finds out Steven was watching, he gets hella pissed. (I headcanon that Steven and Jake hate each other, but one day they become buddies. Kinda like what happened with Marc and Steven. But with more yelling and more Spanish swear words. Plus, more death.) 

O = Oral (Preferences in Giving and Receiving, Skill, Etc.)

Loves giving and receiving oral. Jake wants to die while eating you out. 

P = Pace (Are They Fast and Rough? Slow and Sensual? Etc.)

Jake doesn't have a speed. He'll go whatever speed you want. But he does love it rough. 

Q = Quickies (Their Opinion on Quickie, How Often, Etc.)

Y'all usually fuck before Jake goes to work. He typically sleeps in, so y'all usually fuck in the shower. It's always rushed, and for the most part, you're putting shampoo in his hair while he's pounding into you. 

R = Risk (Are They Game to Experiment? Do They Like Taking Risks? Etc.)

Jake fucks in his cab all the time; of course, he loves to experiment and take risks. He loves the idea of being caught but will be cautious to not get caught. 

S = Stamina (How Many Rounds Can They Go For? How Long Do They Last?)

Jake only gets tired after fighting. Otherwise, he'll be fucking you for as long as you want. I think he can last five rounds in a day. Maybe nine rounds. But he can't do nine again the next day because that pushing it. 

T = Toys (Do They Own Any Toys? Do They Use Them? On A Partner or Themselves?)

TOYS! JAKE LOVES THEM! He loves cuffing you, tying you up, and using vibes and dildos on you. He likes using toys more than having them be used on himself. 

U = Unfair (How Much Do They Like To Tease?)

JAKE LOVES TEASING! He typically ties you up and makes to come until you beg for him to stop. He's always putting his fingers in your pussy when y'all are watching Netflix. At family dinners, he'll fingerfuck you while telling your crazy aunt off about how her political opinion is incorrect. 

V = Volume (How Loud They Are, What Sounds They Make. Etc.)

Jake will grunt a lot during sex. He only speaks Spanish in the bedroom and will growl when you come around him. Everything about sex with Jake is loud. 

W = Wild Card (A Random Headcanon For The Character)

Jake probably asks Khonshu to watch y'all fuck. Even though Jake hates the idea of anyone watching you fuck he allows Khonshu to watch each time. This is because Khonshu is his buddy and wants to brag about how well he can dick you down. Khonshu is usually speechless while watching. Sometimes, he'll suggest to Jake that he should eat you out more. Or tell him to switch positions. 

X = X-ray (Let's See What's Going Under Those Clothes)

Jake is thick. He is very gritty, and his cock makes your mouth water each time you see it. 

Y = Yearning (How High Is There Sex Drive?)

VERY HIGH! Jake loves fucking and is ready whenever you are ready. 

Z = Zzz (How Quickly They Fall Asleep Afterwards)

Jake has terrible insomnia. He hardly sleeps; when he does, it's typically restless sleep full of nightmares. He just prefers to hold you and smoke for hours after sex. 

wild child, i want you.

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

stranded all in love

Pairing: Jake Lockleyx F!Reader Wordcount: 2.16K Warnings: Explicit AF. Rough smut. Gore. Public Sex. Oral. Marc has srs issues with him. squirting. Summary: And then he’s lunging for her, pinning her underneath him, tongue already in her mouth as he rips the blankets and sheets down and there is nothing between them. A/N: title from kings of leon's closer

Jake’s jealousy can be venomous at times. It can overwhelm him - shudder throughout his body while he tries to swallow the fact that Marc and Steven are the ones appropriate for the daylight. Jake does not do well with normalcy. He doesn’t fit into cafes or restaurants or long walks around a park. 

The jealous can be subtle. It can infect and nip and pierce. It grows until he unleashes on something or someone. Not her. Never her.

But, the people that Khonshu wants dead?

They’re fucked.

He doesn’t return to her often. He’s a moment - a flash of a man in between sleeps. Sometimes, she’ll wake up with him hovering over her. There will be the ripe smell of death. Jake's head is cocked to the side and the remnants of whatever fight he’d been in burns across his face. It’s like injury looks good on him. It’s like violence is his second skin. It belongs there.

“What is it?” she murmurs as she feels his hand on her. He pets her arms and shoulders. He squeezes her wrist. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

When Jake says this, she knows he’s being truthful. Steven will pretend like he didn’t intend to disturb her sleep when he absolutely did. He doesn’t like to go under alone. Marc will just lie on top of her until she kicks him and then he’ll fuck her to exhaustion.

Jake enjoys the simplicity of watching her. He enjoys the quiet after whatever hurricane of violence he has doled out earlier that night. Of course, he’ll also bury himself inside her if he has the opportunity.

“It’s okay, Jake,” she says before he lunges forward.

He pins her underneath him, tongue already in her mouth as he rips the blankets and sheets down and then there is nothing between them. 

“Was it bad?” she asks against the bite of his teeth.

“Not now,” he growls. “Later.”

She knows that he will tell her. He will confess like she’s his priest though he is his own God’s servant.

He’ll probably go into detail. It is nothing for him to kill. He shrugs his shoulders and jokes about how he’s going to get the blood out of the roof of Marc’s car or remind her that they’re gonna need a lot of bleach for the downstairs bathroom. 

***

“He’s a fucking monster,” Marc declares one night. “He-He isn’t right in the head.”

It befuddles her. He can make peace with Steven and yet not with the darker side of himself - a piece of him that is as essential as anything else. His heart. His brain. His bones. 

Jake shares his body. Jake shares her. 

“He does what’s necessary,” she reminds, fingertips trailing over the hard line of Marc’s brow. “I know it’s so easy for you to love Steven because of his goodness, but Jake handles what you can’t.”

There’s a distinct twitch in Marc’s eye. A glimmer around the iris as he regards her with an unreadable expression. She frowns as he watches her, as a muscle in his jaw flexes. He looks as if he wants to say something - tell her she’s wrong - tell her she’s naive - but then it clears. 

It is nothing and everything at once. Marc’s face disappears completely to reveal Jake. 

“You’re really on my side, huh?” He leans back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Trying to convince big daddy that I play nice?”

She rolls her eyes and, in a flash - a pop of a second, Jake’s hands are on her waist. He spins her around until she knocks up against the edge of the table and forces her onto it. Her breasts are crushed into the wood, her cheek flat on the surface. An orange rolls from of the arrangement at its center. A lime bounces out and hits the floor with a thud. His fingers trail down the curve of her spine, skimming the width of her waist. 

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

Jake can be blunt. He barely speaks at all unless he finds his head too loud - too messy - then all of it bursts out of him: spilling, frothing, turning to spittle.

I can’t stop. 

It feels good. 

What day is it? Where am I? What’s on the docket? Where are the knives?

The sex is furious. It is rough and frantic because he never knows when the other two will rip him away. He kisses her with such aggression that she tastes blood. His teeth slip across her throat. He stares down between them as he fucks her, his gaze locked on the place he’s disappearing inside the slick of her cunt. 

He can be almost clinical about the act at times. He enjoys seeing how her body reacts to the things he does. It is the same feral look he gets when he’s murdering someone slow. Curiosity etched across his handsome face. His brows lifted in surprise when she whimpers or clenches just as they lift when whoever he’s breaking shudders or screams.

“That feel good, yeah? What if I add a third? Would you take it for me? C’mon, sweetheart….princess…lift your hips a bit higher.”

“No-no, Jack! Don’t fucking die on me too fast. We’re just getting started. Let me try and fit my fist in there.”

He is awful and he is not. He wraps himself around her as a dragon would with its mountain of treasure or its golden eggs. She has never seen anyone kill with the kind of precision he does. He has the same make-up of a shadow, flickering between spots of light, breaking apart into the dark corners of old rooms.

He comes to her with his hands still bloody. He cradles her cheeks - his dark, luminous eyes half-mad and still his. His lashes flutter as he drops his head to crash their mouths together like it’s the last thing left for him. 

This. This. This. Just this. Just you and me. 

***

There are times, she’s in danger and it’s not Marc or Steven who can handle what has to be done, but Jake. “Did he hurt you?” Jake asks as his gaze scrutinizes every part of her body. The hood and the mask are gone. His expression is contorted in a rage that she cannot reach or touch. She is the one thing he has and when someone touches her, then God help them. It is so much of Marc’s doubt and guilt that is locked in the fury that burns inside Jake. Jake takes it. Jakes absorbs it all and he shoves it back at the world tenfold. 

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. He always thinks the worst.

“You’re not,” he replies flatly before turning around, walking quickly toward the man in question and slicing through his jugular. The blood spurts on his hands, his wrists, it makes a fine mist across the white front of his armor. A quick job because he has other things on his mind. 

He doesn’t give the man a second look. He kicks his head away before returning to her. He advances, grabbing her firmly around the wrist and tugging her into the black cavernous space of the alley behind them.

“Jake,” she protests. “It’s too dark.”

He scoffs, flashing her a disarming grin. There’s blood on his lip. “Like I’d let anything touch you now…no….I wouldn’t….I”d never…” his words roll and tumble over each other as he begins to speak to himself. Her chest grows tight. Is this how he handles everything? There’s no Marc or Steven for him to vent to…they’re far too weary of him…there’s only her and she doubts even that is enough…

He’s got his gloved-hands on her shoulders as he pushes her back against the brick wall. She thinks he’s going to fuck her - ruin her - splither apart on his cock until things make sense for him, until everything returns to living-color. He doesn’t. He looms over her. The shadows make patterns across his sweat-damp face. A shock of a curl fall across his eyes. He grips the hinge of her jaw and lifts her mouth to his and he kisses her gently - tenderly - soft as the tickle of his lashes against her cheek.

“What are y-?”

“Shh,” he warns before his tongue traces the seam of her mouth, caresses her own tongue in something that should feel dirty, but is not. He draws away from her, peppering kisses across her chin and throat before stepping backward. He appears bigger with the suit - the broadness of it - the packed chest. 

He smirks before lowering himself to his knees. He grabs her by the ankle and hitches her knee over his shoulder and then shoves her skirt up and wedges his face between her legs. 

She can feel him. He inhales her crudely, his nose nudging against the lace of her underwear before he uses his fingers to tug it aside so he can access the wet flesh of her cunt. “Does seeing me save you get you soaked?” he chuckles, though it’s muffled against her skin. He uses the tip of his nose to trace the seam of her sex, up and down and down and up before he latches to the nub of her clit with his talented mouth. 

“Jesus,” she blurts out as she curls inward, as she fists his hair in surprise. He smacks her thigh - a hushed tut tut tut against the swell of her pussy. Each warm breath against her  sends sparks driving up her belly.

“Stay open for me,” he mutters before he licks into her. The muscle of his tongue splits her. He thrusts it deep before easing back so that he can lap through the fever-hot slit of her folds. She jerks, shudders, and he loves it. He groans and grunts like an animal in heat. He eats her for what feels like hours - the lewd noises of his mouth working on her, his enjoyment of the whole act.

He finally pulls himself away just enough so that she can see that the lower half of his face is coated in a glossy sheen of her. 

His gaze is hungry - unsettling, even - and he takes two of his fingers and plunges them into his mouth, wetting them with his own saliva before sinking them into her. He sits back on his heels as he does it. He studies her face as he pushes them inside with the same brute force he does with his cock. He twists his hand so that his thumb can reach her clit. He circles it tightly while his fingers rock into her - massaging her - stretching her apart. 

“Fuck my hand a little, princess,” he taunts. “C’mon - it’ll feel good.”

She does. She can’t help it. Her hips chase his stupid thick fingers that are pumping into her. It’s all too fucking much. His handsome face alight with that slightly maniacal adoration he has for her. There’s blood on his suit. There’s blood in his hair. It makes his teeth white as the coin-silver circle of the moon above them.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs more to himself than to her. His eyes are directed at her cunt and his fingers moving inside it. Her dress is rucked up around his hand so he’s the only one who can see. She can feel it though. He’s making her too slippery - too fucking scorched. She can feel heat behind her nose. Her chest stutters - grows tight. Pressure building building building too damn high as he begins to fuck her faster - fingertips brushing the furthest part of her that’s its own knot of sensation. 

“I’m - I’m gonna -”

She can’t breathe. She can’t swallow right. He stares at her, his lips twitching into a half-smile. His eyes so big and round as they jump from her stuffed pussy to her blissed-out, edged-out expression.

“Get it all wet,” he rumbles - his voice deeper than she’s ever heard it - as if it’s coming from the bottom of him. “Do it for me.”

He’s thrusting thrusting thrusting before he rips his fingers free, forcing a slip of liquid from her. She doesn’t scream; she makes a sort of choked-off noise because her tongue has gone numb. She hears it though. The sound of her bursting like an over-ripe fruit, her skin burning with a shame that Jake no doubt finds exquisite.

Don’t you dare look away from me. I wanted you to come like that. I wanted it and you did it like the good girl you are.

“Fucking Christ,” she whimpers - slightly embarrassed and slightly desperate for it again. He strokes her leg that is still hitched over his shoulder. He turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of her knee. 

“Poor baby,” he husks. “Was that too much?”

She glares at him. She knows that he did it a bit out of spite. 

Does Steven make you squirt like that? I highly doubt it. 

Marc’s too stiff - too locked up. 

You can let go with me. You can let go because I’m already gone. 

Jake inches forward, lifting the skirt of her dress to savor the quivering, puffy flesh between her legs. His slippery tongue is like a lighter zapping her skin with tiny flicks of flame.

“I can’t,” she murmurs - flinching - trembling to pieces and she should know better. Jake fucking loves that - loves when she’s docile and pushed to the edge and brought to a climax that vibrates throughout her hull.

“You can,” he encourages as he licks her again - the tip of his tongue flicking her clit and making her twitch. “You can take it. You can always handle me.” 

There’s still a dead man at the corner of her eye - a man he’d brutally murdered for her. All acts that he would do on repeat because it’s what he knows. Sex and death and her. He nuzzles into her thigh - his mouth making soft, coaxing noises. 

“Let me, princess,” he croons. “Let Jake help you feel good.”

A long night // Moon knight ☾

Relationships: Steven grant x f!reader / marc spector x f!reader / jake lockley x f!reader

Summary: It wasn’t often that you saw all three of them in one night. (I’ve been desperate to write something like this all week)

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, switch reader, sub!steven, soft dom!marc, hard dom!jake, rough sex, love making, choking, blow job, spanking, crying, overstimulated, multiple orgasms, handcuffs, oral sex, riding, pet names, after care, daddy/sir kink, squirting, intense orgasms, creampie

Word: 5.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Keep reading

Good Boy

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Request: What if reader edged Steven until he was nothing but a whimpering begging mess.

Author's notes: thank you so much @noodlecupcakes for this request! I usually don't write a dom!reader, so this was a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed :3

Word count: 902

Warnings: Nsfw, smut, sub!steven, dom!reader, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, sex toys, facesitting, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex.

"P-Please, darling..."

"What's that?" You looked up from your position between Steven's legs, your tongue teasing the tip of his cock as your hand tightened around the penis ring adorning the base of his erect, dripping length. Steven gasped, his hips bucking against your hand.

"Please, I-I can't...I can take anymore," Steven begged, his voice raspy and his breath coming out in shaky groans.

"Aww...well, that's too bad, baby. Cause you're gonna have to take it until you've made me come. Besides, I'm not done playing with you yet," you said, smirking as you took him into your mouth, gently sucking on the head of his cock while looking up into his frantic eyes.

Steven gasped, drops of sweat glistening on his forehead as he stared down at you, his eyes wide and fluttering. You worked him slowly into your mouth, taking him deeper and deeper until the tip of his cock pushed against the back of your throat. Steven bit his lip, his hands clenching into the sheets as he watched your plump lips glide up and down his swollen, veiny cock. He'd never been this hard before, the use of the ring was an agonizing pleasure he knew he could get addicted to. The same with giving up his control to you. There was something particularly arousing with letting you be in charge, to completely surrender his body and mind to you and just be in the moment.

Steven whimpered when you sucked one of his balls into your mouth while you stroked his cock slowly in your hand, used your tongue with perfection to make him a shaky, sweaty mess beneath you.

"F-Fuck, p-please," Steven puffed out and you glanced up, saw his red face and clenching jaw, and decided to let him rest for now.

Kissing your way up his muscular stomach and hard chest, you straddled his face and smirked down at him.

"Be a good boy and make me come."

Steven stared up at your waiting sex, face flushed at the thought of tasting you. He grabbed your ass, gently spreading your cheeks and admiring your swollen folds parting to reveal your damp, pink interior.

Steven pulled you down to his waiting mouth, instantly feeling his lips covered in your warm wetness and his cock twitched with anticipation to be buried inside your tight, wet pussy. He pushed out his tongue and started licking your swollen pussy lips in long, lingering strokes, then brought his tongue up to your throbbing clit. You moaned as he slid his tongue across your clit, pleasure shooting through your core as he flicked it lightly before flattening his tongue and pulling it through your folds. Steven pulled your sex down on his face, buried his mouth in your dripping pussy, extending his tongue inside your opening before licking his way back up to your clit, where he began to focus his attention. He pulled you closer against his flattened tongue and rotated his mouth in small circles, grinding his tongue against your clit.

"Oh," you moaned. "Oh fuck, baby. Ohhh fuck! You're gonna make me come."

"Mmm," Steven groaned into your pussy as you moved your hips and pressed yourself down against his face.

You moaned deeply, your back arching and body trembling as your climax tore through you. Steven grunted, held your hips down as you shook, and came hard on his mouth, soaking his face with your juices.

"Fuck, you're such a good boy, Steven," you panted as you climbed off his face and crawled down his body, wrapped your hand around his cock, and lowered yourself onto him.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Steven gasped when his overly swollen, leaking cock slid into your tight, wet pussy. He grabbed your waist, biting his lips as he watched your breasts bounce while you rode him. His fingers dug into your flesh as pleasure kept rising in his core while the ring around the base held back his orgasm. It was the most exquisite, agonizing pleasure he'd ever experienced.

Steven was a panting, writhing mess underneath you, his face red and sweaty and you knew he couldn't take much more. Climbing off of him, you pulled the ring of his twitching cock.

Steven cried out, his eyes flying open as he had the most intense orgasm of his life. Pleasure erupted through his core, his cum spurting out of his cock like a fountain the second you removed the ring. Steven collapsed on the bed, panting heavily as he stared up at the ceiling, unable to perform a single coherent word.

Giggling, you laid down next to him, wrapping your arm around his waist.

"I told you it would be amazing," you mused, smiling up at him.

"Oh, it was. It really, really was," Steven panted and let out a breathy, joyful laugh before turning his head to look at you. "I love you, y/n."

"I love you too, Steven," you replied and looked up at him to meet his gaze, both of you smiling as he leaned down and kissed you. The deep kind of kisses that left little room for thoughts. There was only feeling and wanting. It was so easy to get lost in him, in those kind, brown eyes of his. It was only you and him, lost in this connection between the two of you where the world, the universe, ceased to exist.

*

Taglist: @noodlecupcakes @skvatnavle @lucy-sky

Too Good To Be True | Steven Grant x F!Reader

| Gif — @raggedy-dxctor |

Word Count — 6k

Summary — Steven Grant has a crush on an event coordinator at the museum who is too pretty. With no place to stay for the night, he invites her to spend the night at his place.

Warnings — Graphic depictions of s*x, mast*rbation, virgin!Steven, sub!Steven, slight dom!reader, female!reader, unprotected s*x, oral (female and male receiving). Let me know if I missed anything!

18+ Only! Minors DNI

A/N — Steven is basically the biggest simp for you in this lmao

With a dazed glossiness within the dark eyes of Steven Grant, he absentmindedly listened to the blurred words falling from your rosy lips. His chin was pressed against the palm of his hand, his elbow propped on the counter as you discussed the timetable of the gala occurring in less than two weeks. Your hand was clutched on the plastic clipboard, intently scribbling your erratic thoughts and circling possible concerns with a black pen. The employees of the museum orbited around you as you assigned everyone to temporary positions. With each name announced, you wrote a small check beside the inscriptions. Truth be told, Steven wasn’t entirely certain what the purpose of the gala was. He remembered you mentioning the theme—Egyptian Moonlight—and his brain mushed together as he heard the softness of your voice. He presumed the purpose was to raise money for another exhibit he overheard Donna stressing over. 

“Steven Grant,” His name danced across your tongue like golden honey and the sound warmed through him. Your soft eyes moved from the clipboard and found his dazzled gaze. He was distracted with the sheen of your hair and didn’t notice you were patiently waiting for a response. You paused for a moment and raised an eyebrow as he didn’t acknowledge the inquisitive glance. Someone beside him nudged him and he snapped from his daydream. He straightened and glanced around him. His tan cheeks flushed as he realized everyone was expecting a response. Returning his frantic gaze to you, he warily smiled. The embarrassment burned through him like a wildfire. Your eyes remained on him for a brief moment, your lips curving into an amused smile. “Steven Grant,” You repeated, “Tour guide.” He blinked and an overwhelming thrill-filled him as the title ‘Tour Guide’ processed through his head.

You continued onward with your presentation and the small smile reserved for him seared through him. Sure, there was a portion of him completely mortified from being caught with a lovestruck expression, but you didn’t scrunch your nose with glaringly obvious aversion. You moved through the swarm of employees and concluded the presentation with an enthusiastic expression. 

The swarm dispersed and their indistinct conversations disappeared. The moonlight from the night sky poured into the panels of windows. He hadn’t known this much time had disappeared during your presentation. Your voice reverberated through the vast museum marble walls as you spoke with some of the museum's official representatives. You were an illustrious event coordinator and he, admittedly, searched your name on his computer months prior when you were planning the grand opening of an exhibit. He scrolled through the online collections of your other exhibitions and festivals. There were a large variety of themes, some were sultry and oozed with sensual darkness and there were some illuminated with bright colors and flashing lights. Regardless of the theme or requirements, you designed venues perfectly. He always stared at the photographs with you in them, smiling brightly standing beside politicians and celebrities with extravagant gowns. Ever since then, you were recruited by the museum repeatedly and each gala was better than the previous one. 

Steven gathered his belongings and his thoughts wandered to meaningless things like if he should purchase Gus another brand of fish food and if he was going to take the bus on time because there was construction happening a few blocks away from his apartment. He was so emersed in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed you emerge from around the corner. A gasp escaped your lips as he collided roughly with you and your collection of messily stacked papers slipped from your grasp and onto the floor, your lukewarm coffee spilling onto your clothes. 

Steven was overridden with remorse as your exhausted expression drooped as you glanced at the dark brown stains seeping through the fabric. Your eyes closed as you exhaled a small and frustrated breath. A string of apologies fell from his mouth as he dropped to the floor, reaching for the scattered papers. You mimicked him and released a feeble curse as your forehead smacked against his. Steven’s cheeks burned as he reached for your forehead before quickly retracting his arm. “Shit, I am so sorry!” His voice was shaky as he muttered another string of incoherent apologies. 

Your eyes fluttered open and you couldn’t refrain from chuckling airily as your hand brushed against the skin beside your hairline. His face loomed across from you, his eyebrows furrowing with concern as his gaze flickered across your kneeling form. He was going to apologize for the twentieth time when you positioned your delicate hand on his that was gathering the papers. “Don’t worry, it’s my fault.” You reassured with an embarrassed smile. He froze when the warmth of your hand shrouded his much larger one. “I wasn’t paying attention.” Much to his dismay, you pulled your hand away and began restacking the papers. He snapped from his daze and began doing the same, occasionally sneaking a glance at the concepts you constructed. Unsurprisingly, they were exceptionally drawn. 

With the color-coordinated papers messily stacked, he pushed himself from the floor and brushed his hands on his thighs before extending his hand outward. His breathing hitched as you peered upward at him through the thick rim of your eyelashes, your eyes glittering from the romantic lighting of the exhibition. Your knees were pressed against the marble floor, his crotch mere inches away from the softness of your lips and his knees nearly buckled at the spectacle. 

You interlaced your fingers with him, groaning as you straightened and wiped the palms of your hands on your sheer leggings. “No, it was my fault! I’m a knob and wasn’t paying attention—” The fusion of your florid fragrance and the syrupy coffee filled his nose as you dismissed his frantic concerns with a wave of your hand. 

You brushed the loose strands of hair away from your face. “Steven, it’s fine.” You pulled your phone from your pocket. “I was pissed because my roommate is having someone over and asked me to give them the night. So I was looking for a hotel around here and didn’t even see where I was going.” Your frustration seeped into your words as you spoke, the weariness oozed from you as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. I’m ranting, aren’t I?” 

Steven shook his head and clutched the strap of his bag until his knuckles blanched. “No worries, I don’t mind.” His eyebrows scrunched together with uncertainty. “You know my name?” He glanced down at the breast pocket of his jacket, confirming the nametag wasn’t there. He thought you didn’t acknowledge anything other than your clipboard as you strolled through the corridors of the museum, triple-checking everything was adequate for the gala. Steven was one of the several people awe-struck every time you stepped inside the same room as him. 

You chuckled as you shoved the stack of papers inside your large bag. “Of course, I know your name.” You spoke as if the suggestion of you not knowing his name was ridiculous. “You were one of the first people I met when I was recruited by the museum.” 

No, that couldn’t have been accurate. He would’ve remembered the interaction because if there was a time when you spoke with him and him only he would have seared the interaction deep inside his memories. He scratched the nape of his neck. “I’m afraid I don’t remember that.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised,” You said, readjusting your bag’s strap. “You were far too invested in guiding a group throughout the museum. I joined the group and I don’t think I’ve ever learned that much Egyptian mythology from an actual tour guide here.” You continued onward, motioning for him to follow beside you. “You were my first choice to be the banquet’s tour guide.” 

He attempted to disregard how the assertive statement made his stomach flutter. As you both neared the exit of the museum, you muttered some farewells to a few of the staff members. The light breeze of the night chilled you as you descended the large stairs. “Steven, do you know of any decent hotels around the area?” You had briefly searched on your phone, but they were all rated extremely low.

He glanced around the desolate streets. “I know some, but they’re a bit rubbish, honestly.” 

Ask her, Steven. Invite her over.

“You could save some money and spend the night at my place. It’s not too far from here and I won’t charge you.” He suggested apprehensively as he fiddled with the strap of his bag. He glanced around, intentionally avoiding your inquisitive gaze. You raised an eyebrow and chuckled at his awkwardness. “I really hope that wasn’t as creepy as I thought it sounded.” He added after a moment.

He followed you as you continued your stroll. “Most blokes invite me to dinner first.”

His eyes widened with mortification. “N-No, that’s not what I meant!” He hadn’t even noticed your teasing tone and lighthearted expression as he shook his head frantically. This was exactly why he typically ignored Marc's suggestions and ideas. “You would sleep on the bed, of course! I’d take the floor and I would never—“

You squeezed his shoulder and giggled. “Steven, I’m teasing you,” You reassured with a lovely smile. “I’d actually greatly appreciate that. I can drive us to your place?”

He nodded, his cheeks blushing. “Lead the way.”

Steven fumbled for his apartment’s keys as you stood beside him, glancing around the rickety corridor. Muffled voices were seeping from the closed doors of the other tenants, music echoed from the streets below and the hinges of the elevator squeaked the double doors eventually closed. He unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing you a wide entrance inside. The floorboards creaked as you casually walked inside and your doe-eyes eyes glanced at the cluttered mess with subtle allure. He noticed your wandering eyes and scratched the nape of his neck. “If I had known I was going to have company, I would’ve cleaned.” He said nervously. As you continued onward, you glimpsed over the disarray of his disordered books. Most, if not all, were about Egyptian mythology and the pages were folded and the spines were cracked. 

You peered over your shoulder and smiled as he attempted to organize some of the piles of papers and opened books. “No worries, my place isn’t any better.” You admitted, your eyes moving across the passages of the large textbooks. The paragraphs were underlined and highlighted, some were circled and crossed out with a thin line. His erratic movements across the room stopped, his hand carrying a white trash bag as he tossed his takeout from the night before. “My kitchen is covered with color theory and different fabrics for the table covers. It’s much worse than this, believe me.” 

Your lighthearted words reassured him, easing the tenseness of his shoulders as collected the last of his trash. He nodded even though he knew you couldn’t see him as you ventured further inside his apartment. “I can’t make coffee very well, but I can make you some tea?” He was already fumbling through his cabinet of unorganized boxes of tea, some of the packets strewn around. The stovetop clicked and the blue flames flickered as he brought a silver kettle from the washed pile of dishes. 

You closed the book you were scanning and dawdled across the room. “That would be lovely,” The warmth of the flames gradually filled the kitchen. “Steven, do you mind if I borrow some clothes?” The question crashed through him like an icy wave. He whirled around and his nervous eyes glanced at the stained apparel. He didn’t remember you were soaked with chilly coffee, his thoughts were ransacked with the warmth of your skin as you stood beside him within the confines of the unstable elevator. He wasn’t entirely processing that you were standing between the fading walls of his cluttered apartment. This was something he thought of, an unrealistic daydream as he fiddled with a multi-colored Rubix cube at night. But here you were, staring at him with an unsure softness and leaning against his countertop. 

“Of course!” He stumbled as he scampered across and pulled his dresser open, unfolding a freshly washed t-shirt. The fabric was much larger than your frame, but he didn’t think the size difference mattered much. “Can’t have you sleeping in your dirty clothes.” He yanked open another drawer and pulled out a soft pair of loose sweatpants. He closed both drawers and the kettle released a faint whistle. “In that incredibly tight dress.” He muttered to himself. Your dress was tight, a black turtleneck dress where the fabric ended mid-thigh and your sheer pantyhose exposed the smoothness of your legs. “I can make the tea and you can take a shower if you’d like? There are spare towels inside.” 

Blatant relief colored your expression as he mentioned the shower. “I’ll be quick,” You declared and rushed to the opened door across the apartment. The door closed and he closed his eyes as he placed his blanched palms on the edge of the counter. You were inside his bathroom, undressing and allowing the warm water to splash against your bare skin, the fragrance of his soap was going to linger on your skin and within the strands of your wet hair. The hazed image of you scrubbing your breasts and the length of your legs with the suds of his soap were enough to have him struggling to regulate his hitched breathing. His jeans tightened as he continued to think of you touching the peaks of your breasts, your small fingers moving within the tightness between your thighs. 

Come on, Steven. She’s in there. Naked.

Steven closed his eyes tighter as Marc’s voice echoed through his frantic mind. He was convinced Marc appeared from the darkness of his head with the sole purpose to make him keep his composure around you practically impossible. Every time you stepped inside the museum, he emerged from the shadows and highlighted the tightness of your clothes, the way your breasts bounced as you rushed throughout the corridors, and your glittering eyes as you smiled when speaking with the museum officials. You had dropped your pen once and Marc, though Steven would never admit it, he also stared as you leaned forward and grabbed the pen from the floor, your panties peeking from beneath your skirt. Steven couldn’t move from behind the counter for a few minutes as Marc continuously remarked about ripping the thin fabric—

If you’re not gonna make a move, might as well rub one out before she comes out. 

He shuddered as his thoughts brimmed with you and his cock hardened beneath his uncomfortable jeans. He brought his palm onto the throbbing bulge, a small whimper falling from his mouth as he pressed down. There was a pulse of dull pleasure as he rubbed himself over his clothes, drawing his lower lip between his teeth to muffle the threatening sounds. Steven mulled over the suggestion, wondering if you were going to open the bathroom door and see him frantically jerking himself over risque thoughts of you. 

With a wavering breath, he fumbled for his buckle and unzipped himself, pushing the material of his briefs to his thighs. His hand wrapped around himself and there was dreary relief as he slowly pumped himself. You were merely a few feet away from him, a shower curtain and bathroom door preventing you from seeing his leaking cock wrapped by his shaky hand. He brought his palm to his mouth, his tongue gently licking his hand before he continued pulling and tugging. His moans seeped from his opened mouth, gentle breaths, and whiny whimpers as his other hand clenched around the corner of the counter. His hips jerked and he threw his head back, dragging his tongue against his bottom lip. His mind wandered to the image of your fingers sinking inside your tight pussy as the shower’s waterfall drenched your skin. He thought of the sweet moans you would make as he kissed the softness of your breasts, his tongue memorizing your taste as it flicked against your nipple. His rough hands would squeeze your ass tightly after sucking on your fingers, relishing the taste of your pussy as his tongue moved across your soaking fingers. He wanted you clenching around him as you pulled the curls of his hair, his name slipping from your flushed lips as he—

“Steven?”

His eyes snapped open as your voice tore through the thick air. There was a second where he thought of running from the kitchen to the hallway of the complex. He yanked his jeans from his thighs and a horrifying string of apologies escaped him. There was a searing humiliation burning through his veins as he struggled with the zipper. His zipper was stuck, the fabric of his briefs lodged between the metal. He couldn’t believe he allowed Marc to convince him this was something he could do. You were probably disgusted, going to resign his position as a tour guide, and he didn’t even want to think of all the remaining consequences of his actions. 

 He fumbled with his zipper as you slowly drew nearer. You stopped beside him, the warmth of your skin warming him as your eyes glanced at his unsteady hands. You tentatively grabbed his hand from his loosened buckle and his eyes opened, his eyebrows scrunching together with clear confusion. As his eyes fluttered open, he refrained from admiring you wearing his oversized t-shirt, the fabric drooped and flared at your thighs. Your hair was wet and he could already smell his body wash emitting from you. This certainly wasn’t helping his situation.

With large, calloused hand wrapped with yours, you brought his palm to your mouth and he gasped as your tongue moved across his skin. Your eyes closed momentarily as your tongue moved from his palm to the lengths of his fingers, slowly moving them inside the tenderness of your mouth. His eyes followed every assured movement of yours with flared pupils. With his fingers inside, you opened your eyes and sucked the remnants of him and—My God, you moaned. His knees buckled as the small, feminine sound hummed through you. Your eyes were dazed, siren-like as you pulled him from your mouth. “You taste so good,” He was painfully hard as your words processed through his empty mind. You unzipped the small portion he managed to do and he nearly knocked over the glass mugs on the counter as your hand touched his clothed cock. “Can I taste some more?” 

Steven, you better say—

“God, yes.” The words escaped his reddened lips before he could even think of what was happening. Your hand was palming him through his briefs, his fingers were slick with your mouth, and your pretty mouth was looming closer to his. Your gentle lips touched his, brushing against them teasingly as you squeezed him. He released a breathy moan and you closed the distance, relishing the flavor of his lips and his moans. He closed his eyes, unsure of how to move or of where to touch. His hands apprehensively moved to your cheekbones, your face held by his timid grasp. His thoughts were erratic as he eventually moved against you, tasting your lips and hesitantly caressing your tongue. He was kissing you and you were kissing him. He was kissing you, entangling his fingers in your hair as you touched his cock. This was unbelievable. This couldn’t actually be happening. This was too good to be true. 

He almost whined as you pulled away from him. Your forehead rested against his, his nose brushing against yours as your flushed lips curved into a small smile. He almost begged for your mouth to return to his, but when you lowered to your knees, the air left his lungs. Your corrupting gaze remained on him as you pressed small pecks onto his hip bones, then onto his outline. He’d never done this before, he had definitely thought about this more times he could count, but as you stared at him through the rim of your lashes like you were desperate to taste him, he knew he wasn’t going to last very long. You pulled the waistband of his briefs and the cold air nipped at him. Your eyes widened as his cock emerged from his clothes and your collected expression faltered as he twitched achingly. You wrapped your hand around the base of him and his hips jerked at the sudden contact. The heat of your hand was different than his own, entirely different yet exceedingly better. Your tongue erotically licked the tip and he moaned, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the counter. Your eyes gleamed with a hypnotic eagerness and he knew he was done for.

You dragged your tongue from the base to the tip, sucking on the peak to taste the pre-cum seeping from him. You opened your mouth and brought as much of him as you could manage, hollowing your cheeks. The moans he let out were pathetic whines, throwing his head back your mouth moved around him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He forced himself to stare back down at you, to keep his eyes open to watch the spectacle of his cock disappearing inside your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes as you gagged and he shouldn’t have enjoyed the sound as much as he did. With wavering hands, he wiped the cascading tears from your cheekbones and there was a small portion of him that didn’t like seeing you cry, but the majority and remaining portion of him savored the sight of you on your knees, gagging as the saliva dribbled down your mouth. “Love, I-I’m going to—” Your tongue swirled around his tip and your hand fondled his balls while the other gripped whatever of him couldn’t fit inside your mouth. “I-I don’t want to…Not yet, but—God, that’s so fucking hot.”

His hands tangled your hair as he gently pulled and the feeling erupted a faint moan from you. You pulled away from him and as the crashing waves of pleasure stopped, Steven could finally breathe properly and wasn’t seeing stars. You wiped the sides of your mouth and looked up at him with hungry eyes. “You can come more than once, can’t you?” His eyes widened, breathing shakily as you teasingly licked his cock, still caressing his balls and he wasn’t sure he could even stand anymore. 

“I don’t know,” He admitted, his eyes fluttering closed as you sucked the tip of him again. This was torture, agonizingly lustful torture he would give anything to experience again. “I haven’t done this…with anyone before.” He almost didn’t want to say the bashful words. He was worried you were going to view him differently, but you kissed the base of him and smiled reassuringly. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Your voice was low, silk-like as you dragged your fingernails across his thighs. He shuddered and wanted nothing more than to hear you gag on him again. “Looks like I’m not stopping until you cum again.” Your eyes were determined, ravenous for him and he nearly came at the sight of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen famished for him. His cock vanished inside your mouth and Steven moaned, high-pitched and completely wretched. 

Holy shit, she can’t be real. She’s some kind of sex demon or—Oh, fuck!

Steven groaned as he came inside your mouth, his cum filling your mouth and he couldn’t even think of feeling embarrassed at the pathetic sounds leaving his mouth. His body shook and twitched, he lost control of himself and tugged on your hair, his eyes closing tightly he jerked his hips against your mouth again and again. He was fucking your mouth, relishing the sound of your gags, and couldn’t even feel guilty. “Shit, shit, shit.” He moaned the words over and over again in breathless whispers and your name was mixed in between.

As his movements slowed, you pulled away from him and wiped the corners of your mouth, sucking whatever dripped from your mouth. His chest was heaving, sweat lining his hairline as you stood from the floor. Your lips were swollen, flushed, and wet and he could’ve came again with how you were staring at him. This wasn’t real, you couldn’t have just swallowed his cum and seemed eager to do it again. Marc was right, you were unreal. “Are you going to be a good boy and fuck me, Steven?” He wasn’t aware a simple sentence could physically devastate someone, but those words and the filthy nickname had him crumbling. 

Steven was speechless as you grabbed his loose hand and pulled him away from the kitchen. He didn’t protest or resist, merely obliged as you dragged him to his unmade bed. With a slight nudge, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you with wide eyes. Across from him, you removed the t-shirt slowly. Your slow movements were dreadful, and when your bare breasts were mere inches away from his watering mouth, his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. His hands reached outward, desperate to squeeze and pinch, but he drew back. “P-please, can I touch you?” His hardened cock twitched as his eyes traveled over your naked body. 

Touch her, Steven. She’s waiting for you. 

You loomed closer, running your fingers through the mess of curls. He leaned into your touch. “You can touch me wherever.” He nodded eagerly and his hands reached for your breasts, squeezing the mounds and a boyish smile rose on his lips. Tentatively, he softly pinched your nipples and froze when you gasped, fearing he had hurt you somehow. However, when he looked up at you, your expression was plastered with unfiltered bliss. His hands cautiously caressed your stomach, your hips, then your thighs. He was memorizing the way you felt, he didn’t want to forget the texture of your skin when you inevitably departed from his room tomorrow morning. His fingers stopped above your pussy and his eyes glittered with elation. He glanced upward at you again, silently asking for permission with an innocent gaze. You nodded frantically. 

His finger moved across the bottom of your pussy and his eyes widened as your slickness covered his fingertip. He examined the evidence of your dripping arousal before bringing his finger to his mouth. He licked it, then sucked, whimpering softly as your taste filled his mouth. He reluctantly pulled his digit from his lips and mimicked his earlier action. His finger dipped inside you and the obscene moan seeping from your mouth was nearly pornographic. His movements started as gradual as he experimented with the way you tightened. He pumped faster, exploring what movements of his made you moan louder and your body twitch. He inserted another finger and the sounds you were making were enough to have him desperate for some relief. “You are quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.” He muttered, his breath tickling your skin. 

Steven retracted his hand from you and you whined at the loss. He dragged his hand across your slit, your juices pooling on his palm. With his other hand, he moved your leg over his shoulder and you gripped his arm to steady yourself. The sudden movement shocked you, it was unlike him to make such a bold move, but you weren’t going to complain. His mouth devoured your pussy and with one hand coated with your juices, he jerked himself with your arousal and his other empty hand pinched and played with your nipple. Steven didn’t really know what he was doing but he had watched enough videos to have an understanding of it, and the way you tugged on his hair and moaned his name, he thought he was doing a decent job. 

You glanced down at him touching his cock with your juices, his hand moving quickly and the slickness made indecent sounds. God, he was jerking off with your arousal and devouring you like he was a starving man. He needed your clit on his tongue, he needed your cum filling his mouth, he needed you to unravel because of him.

His hand moved across your stomach, his calloused hands caressing your hip before he inserted two of his fingers inside your pussy. A strangled gasp escaped you as he pumped his fingers while flicking his tongue across your clit, gently sucking as you throbbed on his fingers. You tightened your grasp on his messy hair as he curled his digits. Your breaths fastened as the overwhelming pleasure intensified. “Steven, I’m going to cum,” Your voice was breathless, barely above a whisper as he continued to consume you. “Fuck, don’t stop. Just like that, just like that.” Thankfully, he listened to your pleas and his movements and pace didn’t falter. 

His confidence soared as you moaned his name like desperate prayers, nearly begging with dwelling tears as your body moved against him. You tasted like the forbidden fruit, dangerously intoxicating and he would have fallen to his knees every night and begged whoever answered prayers to taste you again. You clenched around his fingers and his name was the only thought filling your mind as you unraveled around him. He was relentless as he proceeded to flick against your clit. You weakly pushed him away and when he didn’t stop, you pushed him slightly harder. He reluctantly pulled away and his doe-eyes peered heavenward, a shy smile rose. “You make the prettiest sounds.” His voice was hoarse and his lips were blushing pink, covered with your cum as he licked them.

With a hazy smile, you removed your thigh from his shoulder and his hand movement slowed to a complete stop. You tugged on the hem of his shirt, discarding the fabric aside as he kicked away his jeans and briefs. Your dazed eyes traveled over him, the flexing muscles of his arms and abs. He was handsome, something written from a romance novel, and yet here he was, looking away from your intense gaze and cowering away. You lightly gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. “You are beautiful,” The words were laced with blatant adoration and his expression brightened, his dark eyes gleaming with bliss. He didn’t want to admit how much that affected him; hearing the woman he liked tell him he was beautiful. “You hear me, Steven Grant? You are handsome and you are more than enough.” He nodded and there was a sheen gleaming in his gaze. He almost cried at the reassurance and you lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “I need you to say it. Use your words.”

“I am more than enough.” His voice was air-like, desperate for your approval. The words were foreign, tasted strange against his tongue, but the surge of self-assurance was internally welcomed by him   

You smiled and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Good boy,” You whispered and he would have bruised his knees falling to the floor to hear you call him that again. You leaned toward him, nibbling on his earlobe. You smirked as he exhaled shakily. “Do you want to fuck me, Steven Grant?” He eagerly nodded, grasping onto your hips as you kissed his neck, licking the small marks coloring his tan skin. “Get on the bed.”

He almost stumbled over his own feet as he hurried to the softness of his bed, swallowing the lump lodged within his throat as you crawled toward him—a ravenous predator stalking her helpless prey. Such a beautiful sight. 

You touched him and goosebumps scattered across him. Your mouth stopped inches away from his cock and he could feel the warmth of your breath caress his member. “Tell me, Steven. Do you think about me often when you touch yourself?” He couldn’t even answer your question as you spit onto his cock and moved forward, placing your thighs on both sides of his hips. His tip brushed against the slit of your pussy and his body jolted. Your face looked inches away from his and the look in your eyes said a million words. You were waiting for approval, waiting for him to give you a confirmation. He whispered a weak ‘please’ and you obliged, lowering yourself onto him. 

His head crashed against his bed frame as he blissfully stretched you. You clenched around him, gorgeously warm and tight and the moans escaping his rosy lips filled the thick air. But you didn’t move and he opened his eyes inquisitively. “I asked you a question,” You said firmly and you didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to know you weren’t moving until he answered. 

“Almost every night since I’ve met you,” He answered timidly. He couldn’t even concentrate on his thoughts as you grinded on him. He watched the way your body flowed against him, your feminine moans beautifully filling his ears. “I can’t help myself. Look at you,” You rode him as he kissed your exposed neck, grabbing your breasts with both hands. He thought of you constantly whenever he tightened his hand around his cock. He came with your name on his tongue in the shower, when he couldn't sleep, and there was one time at work in a supply closet when you smiled at him while wearing a low-cut blouse. “You’re bloody gorgeous and you wear those tight, short skirts and—Fuck, just like that. Ride me just like that. Yes, yes, yes.” 

His voice was rough, his breaths shattering as you and your breasts bounced right in front of his face. “Tell me I’m your good boy, p-please, baby.” This was pathetic, he knew, but the praise was an addiction he didn’t know he had until it fell from your cum-soaked lips. He licked your nipples, sucking like you were the answer to his starvation. He was so needy, desperate for you. 

You encircled your small hand around his neck and he groaned. “Beg for it.” Was all you moaned as you sprung on him. The sound of your skin slapping against his and the wetness dripping from your pussy was fucking filthy and he was never going to forget it. This was permanently seared into his mind. 

His hand gripped your hair. “Please, please, baby.  I promise I’ll be good and—shit, you feel so good.” His bed creaked and he was certain his neighbors were going to complain tomorrow, but he didn’t care. “Tell me I’m your good boy, please. P-please, don’t stop.”

Your thighs burned but the pleasure was mind-blowing as his cock filled you, and you were certain there were going to be finger-shaped bruises on your hips and ass. “Fuck, you’re my good boy,” You whined, “You’re doing such a good job, baby. Fucking me so good, Steven.” 

His movements grew sloppy and fastened, he was roughly pounding into you and each thrust tore the breath from your lungs. “Y-yes, say my name. Say my name, baby. Say it.” He growled through clenched teeth and you couldn’t even see through the stars he was giving you. You mumbled his name loosely and you sounded drunk as you blindly repeated his name. “Can I cum? Please let me cum, please let me cum.”

Steven was begging to cum and you wordlessly nodded, already nearing your own release. “Open your mouth.” He didn’t hesitate and you dragged your fingers across his tongue, using his saliva to rub your clit. “You’re gonna make me cum—“ 

Steven moaned as he guided your hips and he filled your tight pussy with his cum. He thought coming in your mouth was the best feeling he’d experienced, but this was otherwordly.  He couldn’t think and the pleasure didn’t stop as you came seconds after. You tightened around him and basically milked his cock until he was certain you were trying to ruin him. 

He savored the sensation of him filling you with his cum, the way your body twitched and your chest heaved as you reveled in your glowing high.

Composing yourselves, you pushed your hair away and kissed him as you pulled him out of you. He groaned into the kiss and you smiled as he sighed happily. He was utterly content and nothing could ruin his mood as you laid beside him, wrapping your leg over his and pressed your head against his chest. He glanced down at you and you looked ethereal as you breathed peacefully against his chest, your eyes closed with a faint smile. He leaned and kissed your forehead. “I don’t suppose I can take you out on a proper date now?” 

You laughed and opened your relaxed eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.” You dragged your finger across his skin in random patterns. He almost pinched himself, somewhat convinced this hadn’t been real. You looked so pretty with the moonlight pouring into his room. 

“Work is going to be a lot more fun now.”

Hiiiii I love your Steven x reader fanfic u really deserve all the followers, it’s really well made.

Well I wanted to see if I could request a smut, since I’ve fell practically in love with the character of Steven, I wan te d to ask if u could write a fanfic where he is really submissive and shy, and the fem reader is more like dominant and teasing with him.

Nothing more, I will let you do the rest, I know u will amaze me either way. Thank u so muchhh

Devotion || Steven Grant x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> Word count: 2.8k

-> Steven’s late night routine of solving the Rubik’s cube has become somewhat of a guilty pleasure of yours. [ I hope that you enjoy this fic that I wrote! Thank you so much for your support and love on my previous fics, and entrusting me to write this idea. Big thanks to @foxilayde for beta reading and editing, I love you! ❤️]

TW/CW: Can you tell I have an Oscar Isaac hand kink? Sub!Steven and SoftDomme!Reader. Fingering, use of the word ‘Mistress’. Yet another relatively mild fic for me!

Shk, shk, shk.

The sound pulls your attention from the poetry book that you borrowed from Steven’s shelf of miscellaneous works to keep yourself busy. It wasn’t often that your concentration was compromised by noise, after all, you had been sitting beside the fish tank. The buzzing of the filter and the trickle of running water pushed to the back of your mind as you read through each sonnet.

Usually, when you participate in something you enjoy, such as reading, you find it hard to shake your undivided attention. Steven once commented that “bombs could blitz London for the first time in almost eighty years, and you would still insist upon finishing the page”. He certainly wasn’t wrong- there is a discipline to your leisure time. It’s not often you can carve out a moment of peace for yourself.

The sound of Steven solving a Rubik’s Cube over and over though? That is something you simply can not ignore.

Perhaps it’s obscene for you to find such a mundane thing so intensely *erotic*. You can’t help but be captivated by the way his nimble fingers rotate each layer of colored blocks with such practised speed. His gaze is intense as he navigates the cube, though you know he doesn’t need to study it so closely: Steven’s skills are such that he can solve it without even looking.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t control the urge. Your eyes leave the pages of poetry that had captivated your attention, and instead focus on something a lot more aesthetically pleasing and less mentally taxing. Your pupils seem to drag your vision towards the scene in front of you entirely against your will. To the shk shk shk.

Upon seeing it though, you can’t exactly say you regret yielding to your compulsions. Steven’s head rests back against a navy blue pillow, sprawled across his bed in a white cotton T-shirt and grey boxers, bathed in the silver moonlight that leaks across the mattress from the window that he had left open in order for you to read- despite you insisting that the light from the fish tank was sufficient enough. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks absently at the ceiling, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The sight is stunning, but your eyes zero-in on something even more engrossing. Steven balances the edge of the Rubik’s cube on the meat of his right palm, holding the little puzzle and solving it single-handedly. The joints of his fingers bend and crease as he reaches across the width of the plastic cuboid; tanned knuckles turning a pale shade with the stretch and the pressure as he turns the selected row to its desired position.

In the low lighting, the veins in the back of his hand are a pale greeny-blue colour against his olive skin and they stretch down to the joint of his wrist. His metacarpal bones protrude under his skin with certain movements, before disappearing back into his flesh upon his return to a less strenuous hand position.

Upon completing the puzzle, Steven’s stunning coffee-colored eyes glance down at the cube. He pinches opposite corners with his thumb and forefinger, rotating the game with his middle fingertip on an axis to assess and ensure that each of the colours are settled in their relevant groups. When satisfied, he undoes all of the work, scrambling the rows, this time with two hands, and beginning again with his head settled against the pillow as he stares at the beige ceiling.

“Steven?” You sound his name. It feels odd in your dry mouth, as though the syllables don’t fit between your lips. There’s a pulse thrumming in your chest and between your thighs as you feel your composure begin to slip.

Steven doesn’t hear you, your voice barely surpassing the volume of a whisper. Instead, the shk, shk, shk of the cube rows falling into place answer you in your expectant silence. The pad of his thumb strokes down the ridge of the cuboid with gentle precision and it’s enough to push you over the edge.

“Steven.”

The springs of Steven’s mattress creak slightly as his body jolts upright, shocked out of his concentration. There’s nothing on earth that could prevent him from focusing on you when you use *that* tone of voice with him. The kind that ramps up his blood pressure tenfold and straightens his spine to attention.

“Yes?” He responds cautiously, not entirely sure what he had done to deserve that timbre of voice. His eyes settle on your face, searching for some understanding of just how he had turned the atmosphere in the room without even realising it.

“Are you intentionally teasing me?” You ask him, tone even once again as you close the book that had settled in your lap. You don’t bother to bookmark the sonnet Steven had ‘interrupted’, the poem abandoned amongst the pages as you return to its rightful place on the bookshelf. Like a child with a Christmas present in April, it no longer held your attention. You’ve been gifted something far more fun to play with.

The panic that settles into Steven’s expression makes you feel as though your blood is fizzing beneath your skin.

“Tea- No! No, I wouldn’t dream of it, I- Have I been doin’ something wrong?” He stumbles over his words as he tries to justify a crime he didn’t even know he was committing. He drops the Rubik’s cube blindly on his bedside table, unintentionally showing his utter devotion to pleasing you. You know that Steven would throw himself at your feet and praise you until his knees bled if that was what you desired.

Standing with effortless grace from your chair, you’re careful to articulate that preeminence throughout the subtle movements of your body as you pass the floor towards the bed. The barely-there sway of your hips that makes Steven’s eyes follow the motion with his eyes left and right like a pendulum is how you know you’ve got him.

“I think… you got tired of me not paying attention to you, so you decided you were going to show me how quick those fingers are. I think,” you reach his side of the bed and bend slightly to rest your hands on the duvet. “You were trying to show off.” You point out with a playfully accusatory tone. Steven sits up in bed, staring up at you with painfully innocent eyes.

“No, I- just the puzzles, help me stay up…” Steven is quick to try to correct the record, motioning haphazardly around the room when he trails off, as if wordlessly filling in the gaps left in his answer: that staying awake keeps Marc at bay.

“Oh, they help you… stay up, huh?” You teasingly muse, eyes dragging down the length of his body in an attempt to make him even more jittery. It works.

“Oh no- bollocks- not like that!” You love seeing him struggle to form the words, to explain himself. You know it’s because he’s thinking of all the things you could do to him if he said yes. His words won’t leave his throat because pictures of you have infested his mind make him slow to form coherent sentences of explanation.

“Then what? Tell me, Steven. What is it like?” You whisper, quickly shifting the mood of the room again by taking hold of Steven’s face. His chin is cupped by your palm, perfectly manicured fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his cheeks and forcing his lips to purse. He looks adorable this way, owly-eyed and cheeks flushed as he hears your voice drop an octave.

His cheeks radiate heat and his eyes are cast low, down in his lap, as he finally answers. His voice is soft, words a little slurred and mispronounced with the awkward grip you have on his face, pushing the inside of his cheeks into the sides of his teeth. “‘S whatever you like, Mistress.” It takes you a little by surprise, the readiness Steven has to submit to your will, so much so that a long moment of silence washes over the two of you.

In the quiet, Steven doesn’t move an inch, eyes stuck to his lap as he impatiently awaits your answer. His body is board-stiff like his spine has been glued in place, and his face burns a light mahogany. It’s hard not to become engrossed by the image, to want to take a photo of the way his lips are smushed together in your grip. He’s so pretty like this.

“Mistress can think of a much better use for your fingers. Don’t you agree, Steven?” You ask, loosening your fingers and brushing your thumb against the curve of his cheekbone, allowing him to nod in earnest. You’ll forgive him for not responding verbally, for not using honorifics. This time. His eyelashes flutter as his iris’ flick back up to your face. He looks at you like you’ve offered him a winning lottery ticket when you release your grip. “Get to work, then.”

Steven reaches for you swiftly, nodding his head with enthusiasm as he anchors his hands on your hip bones. He doesn’t pull you towards him as you had expected, instead he pushes you back, forcing you to take a few steps in order to put some space between you and the bed.

“What are you doing? I asked you to use your fingers.” You question gently, and Steven climbs from the mattress onto the sandy, hardwood floor. He’s on his knees in front of you as he pulls the waistband of your pyjama shorts down over your otherwise naked hips and helps you step out of the discarded clothing. The realisation that you’re not wearing any panties causes him to whimper and the sound causes heat to pool in your abdomen.

Failing to answer immediately, Steven’s fingers wrap around your calf. He massages the muscle while gently lifting your thigh over his shoulder. Your heel is pressing into his spine and his other palm is careful to steady the foot on which you are balanced by resting a firm hand just above the back of your straight knee. “I wanna watch what I’m doin’ Mistress.”

Before you’re even able to fully digest exactly what Steven had meant, he’s sweeping those deft fingers through your hot, slick folds. The pleasure that rips through you so suddenly makes your quiet moan of bliss sound so distant. Your knees tremble as he drags the length of his index finger, tip to knuckle, across your clit, and you find yourself scrambling to grab ahold of his curls in a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

“Ohh~” You gasp breathlessly, head tilting backward as the spark of ecstasy skits down your spine from the base of your neck to the tips of your toes. Steven’s fingers are delicate, his finger joints adding an extra layer of sensation as they pass over your clit with an effortlessness akin to the way his fingers work that fucking Rubik’s cube.

“This good, Mistress?” Steven asks softly as he daintily sweeps the tips of his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingerprints before using the lubrication to circle your clit in quicker, smoother circles. He knows how you love it when he calls you that, always using the softest, neediest voice when he speaks each syllable.

You struggle to think of a response, as though every possible answer, verbal or otherwise, has entirely slipped your mind. The hazy defocusing of your vision is disorientating- your eyes are crossing and you no longer know north from south, left from right.

Steven craves verbal validation, you know this well, but you can’t grant him a “good boy”, not with the way his fingers twirl you with a shk shk shk and undo you like a puzzle.

The only thing you have to offer him in return for his skilled efforts is the validating grip of your shaking hands in his ebony locks.

Under any other circumstances, Steven’s face being so close to your cunt without eating you out would be embarrassing. But when you glance down at him, double vision slowly focusing on his expression, you can’t help but note the reverence that blooms in his irises as he gazes at your pussy. He is watching with rapt interest- your clit, your folds, your puffy throbbing flesh, all gleaming with slick in the moonlight.

Steven always manages to make you feel worshipped without uttering a single prayer (though he is on his knees now). His eyes are evidence enough of his utter devotion and admiration. He would never allow you to think for even a second that you were not divine.

“St-Steven,” you gasp as his finger continues its steady, circular motions that pull your pleasure tighter, “Inside.”

There’s a hesitation in the repetitive sweep of your clit.

“In... side- what? In- I don’t…”

His halting voice voice drops slowly like syrup dripping from a pot as you take ahold of his wrist. He’s playing with you, acting innocent, and you don’t have a single fuck to give that he’s flipping the game, flipping you like a cube in his palm, You tilt his hand by pushing on the meat of his palm with your thumb, angling his fingers just right where you’re soaking, where his fingertips slip inside of you to feel the source of your need.

“Oh-… Ohh. Yeah- You mean…”

You swear, you swear you see a self satisfied smile behind Steven’s eyes as he works his fingers inside of your cunt ever so slowly, teasing the give of your walls around his digits. He can feel your cunt flutter around him, your quads trembling under his palm where he continues to hold your unsteady body upright.

Hips rocking forward onto his knuckles, you whine softly in a wordless attempt to tell Steven ‘yes, just like that, you’re doing so good’. Spurred on by the little noises that leak from your throat, he curls his fingers inside you, searching for that spot that sparks stars behind your eyes, the spot that he knows is going to buckle your knees.

“Like this?” He asks softly, looking between your eyes and your glistening cunt. You know he doesn’t need to ask, the bliss is written across your expression in the form of your mouth pulled into a weak ‘o’ shape and your eyes rolling back into your skull as the bone of his knuckle presses up against your clit weakly. He’s being cheeky. You’ll remember this.

For now, though, you’re entirely helpless to the swell of your orgasm that he raises so easily from your cunt. The slip of his fingers through your folds, the wet punctuating rhythm is violent in your ears as you teeter on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm. Breathing raggedly at the ceiling, your head tilts back, bending your body in a half-heart arc and your toes curl into the delineating sand.

“S-Steven-“ you gasp weakly, thighs beginning to shake as he eases the orgasm out of you with such practised elegance- that it feels like a complete separation from his nervous, innocent personality. It’s moments like this, with his thumb pressed to your clit, and deft strong strokes twisting inside you, that you thank Marc for Steven’s subconscious skills because you’re cumming.

You’re cumming, and it’s blinding. White flashes across your eyes, almost like tv static as the image of Steven watching you come apart between your knees blurs before you, then doubles. It’s impossible to tell in the throes of your orgasm, but tears are building and spilling from your eyes. Steven’s fingers are drenched as they work you through each wave, the wet sucking sounds of his fingers guiding your cunt through the gates of heaven bounces off the walls of the moonlit flat.

Realisation that his free hand had been the only thing to keep your feet steady sinks in as the roiling pleasure fades to a simmer. Steven presses his palm to the small of your back, no doubt stopping you from falling backward in your rapture. Perhaps you should expect nothing less, but the small action makes your heart swell at the knowledge that he’ll always look after you.

“Hah…” Your chest heaves as you chase air with the expansion of your lungs. Each dose of oxygen adds to the afterglow that seems to settle so deep in your body and coats your bones like honey. “Aren’t I more fun to play with than some puzzle cube?” The joke makes Steven grin, his eyes crease in the corners the way they only do when he hears or sees something he truly finds funny.

“More easy to solve, too.” he chuckles, stroking his knuckles down the insides of your thighs in a gentle action to ease you down from the clouds he had catapulted you to. He looks so pretty for you like this, on his knees with a soft blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose-

Wait. What?

You slap his shoulder playfully, limbs limp with exhaustion. “Take that back!”

He kisses the top of your thigh tenderly, “Only joking, mistress.”

The way he runs his nose softly along the top of your thigh is a stark contrast to the bulge in his boxers and the wet patch in the fabric where his cock had leaked precum: the side effects of taking you apart and putting you back together again.

“I think it’s my turn to play with you.” You murmur softly, caressing the curve of his cheekbone and pushing your fingers through his curly locks with a smile. “On the bed, baby. Let’s see if Mistress can’t make you cum one-handed too.”

END

🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart

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.

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!

“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.”

— citrus light.

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader (mentions of marc)

genre: pwp, smut

word count: 1.6k

warnings: glove kink, exhibitionism (they do it on the roof but no one sees), vaginal s.ex, dirty talking, rough s.ex, reader is aware of alters and moon knight, creampie, dom!steven, sub!reader

a/n: because i'm obsessed with mr knight

steven grant playlist

You love the city especially at night. 

The way the cold wind brushes the loose strands out of your face, the way it rouses goosebumps across your skin. You love the lights, they remind you of the stars but instead of the sky they decorate the very earth you walk on. You look down on the city from the rooftop, everything seems so tiny. 

It’s rare for Steven to let you join him on a mission, so you savor every bit of it. You generally help him with collecting info, whereabouts and then you just watch him capture the poor fools who think they can escape the vengeance of the moon. Honestly, it’s better than TV. 

You feel his presence and turn on your heel to face him. He’s breathing heavily, a bit of blood scattered across the white gloves of his knuckles. A shudder runs up your spine, Mr. Knight was certainly something else. You’ve met his Moon Knight persona as well; Marc Spector. His costume is also intriguing but it doesn’t make you feel the same way Mr. Knight's clear white suit does. Maybe it’s just because the fact that you know Steven is underneath. Maybe you just have a thing for suits. But whatever the reason is, you were certainly feeling the pulse of your arousal between your legs. 

“Enjoying the view, darling?” 

You swallow and quickly hide your emotions underneath a grin. 

“Maybe,” you roll your tongue. “You got dirty this time,” 

“Happens to the best of us love, can’t help it when they try to run,” 

With that, the stains of blood fade into his suit. Steven walks up to you, backing you against the stone railing of the roof. Your breath catches in your throat when you stagger back, but you have little to worry when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his body. He looks down at you with those bright glowing eyes, you can’t read his expression under the mask. You hate it, but you also love it. Without thinking you raise your hand and place a palm against his covered cheek, he presses his face into the inside of your palm but his eyes never blink. 

“‘Missed you today,” he says, words muffled. “I’m glad you enjoy our little adventures,” 

“Of course.” your hand slides down from his face to his chest. You feel the soft fabric under your fingers, your lips parting with a silent whine. “You know how much I love seeing you in a suit,” 

“I sure do, why else would I bring you here? I need to show off or else what’s the point?” 

“Saving people?” 

“Ah yes, of course. That too. Saving people is always nice,” 

His hand glides down your waist and gently squeezes your ass. He shoves your hips together, you gasp, face feeling hotter by every passing minute. Steven presses his forehead against yours and groans, it’s an animalistic groan, strong enough to have you shaking. His gloved fingers dig into your clothed flesh. He grinds his hips, the feeling of his semi-erect cock against your aching cunt electrifies your every nerve. 

“Collecting the spoils after is als very nice though,” 

“Oh is that how you see me now?” you coo. “A prize to be given after battle? How 33rd century of you, Steven Grant. And here I thought you were better than most,” 

“I am, love,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m simply telling you how beautiful I think you are,” 

“I’m not convinced, you should prove it to me,” 

A choked laughter rips from his throat, he slightly pulls back to get a better look at you. 

“Prove it to you? As in prove it to you right now?” 

You simply bat your eyelashes at him, he seems to understand you perfectly. 

“Oh, naughty,” 

Your world suddenly shifts and you find yourself staring at the city once more. Steven rolls his hips, clothed cock rubbing against the curves of your ass. You brace yourself by putting your hands on the rail but you feel like your knees might give in at any moment. The heat of your bodies pressed together is enough to have you moaning his name, his one arm snakes around your waist while the other travels up your body, his gloved fingers squeezing the sides of your chin. Obediently, you open up and he presses two fingers down against your tongue, feeling the wetness of it between them. 

“Close,” 

Your body shudders at the comment but you obey anyway. Slowly, you close your lips and swirl your tongue around the digits, the taste of leather coats your tongue. His chest rumbles as he breathes. 

“I don’t want you making a lot of noise, love. So you keep sucking on them nice and good, yeah?” 

Steven swiftly tugs down your pants and you groan at the cold air touching the warmth of your legs. He pushes his fingers further down, a warning to be quiet. You take in a sharp breath and swallow around them. Steven presses the blunt tip of his cock against your entrance and teases you by gliding his length between your wet folds. You squirm, the voices coming from your throat becoming louder. 

“Want me to fuck you like this, right here in the open?” he asks, but you know he’s not actually waiting for an answer. “You really like the suit, don’t you? My kinky little princess,” 

Steven pushes in without warning and has you making a mess both around his fingers and cock. Spit drools down the corners of your mouth as you cry out, teeth digging into his fingers. He stays still inside, waiting for you to adjust to him while your cunt twitches and flutters around his length. 

“That’s my good girl, so good for me,” 

He begins to move. 

Steven is a tease in every part of his life but this habit of his becomes ten fold during times like this. He sets a hard, yet slow pace, grinding into you at every third or fourth thrust. He doesn’t rush, making you feel every inch and curve of his cock deep inside of you. Every movement he makes, he makes for you– Your pleasure. The arm he has around your hand slides up and he grabs your breast, squeezing it so hard that you’re screaming but every sound you make is muffled by his fingers. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes across the roof, the pounding of his hips becoming faster, harder. Slick drips down your thighs and leaves dark marks on the ground underneath. Your eyes roll back, your breathing frantic as he pants heavily right next to your ear. You want to kiss him, want to feel him against your lips. Your cunt tightens around him and you begin to make inconhendarable noises so loud that he pulls his fingers out. Steven grabs your chin and turns your head slightly so that you can see a bit of his face, despite fucking you sensless on top of a roof, he was still thinking of your neck. Ever the sweetheart. 

“What is it?” he rasps. “What do you want?” 

You choke out. 

“A kiss, I want to kiss you,” 

The mask suddenly disappears and you see Steven in all his glory– The sheer coating of sweat, the lust in his eyes, the parting of his lips. The mere look is enough to elicit a moan from you, he smiles as he grinds his hips, watching the way your eyes roll back and lips parting even further. He takes this opportunity to press his tongue against yours, you imagine this is what ambrosia tastes like, the food of the gods. He tastes impeccable, he tastes like a dream. Steven sucks your bottom lip and pulls away, then he pushes his fingers right back between your lips. 

Steven begins to slam his hips and your eyelids flutter, your vision becoming blurry as he drills his cock into you. You feel the fabric of the mask against your ear again, his fingers finally leave your mouth and you feel the wetness of them circling your clit. Your thighs tremble, he draws quick circles around the sensitive nub, shots of pleasure shooting throughout your body. A string of curse words falls from your lips, he’s fucking into you quick and hard now, every time your pussy clenches around his lenght, his breath stutters. You’re both so close– 

The coil inside of you snaps, waves of pleasure washing over you as you sob, fat tears rolling down your face. Your hips jerk, cunt gushing out around him as he continues to thrust into you. He works your oversensitive cunt, rocking his hips until he’s the sole thing holding you up– With one more thrust he’s spilling in to you, filling you up as a moan of his own tears away from his lips. His cum comes out in thick ropes, and there’s so much. Your whole body is quivering. 

Steven slowly pulls out of you, cum dribbling down your thighs and making a mess out of your legs. He pulls up your trousers and turns you so you would face him, strong arms wrapping around your figure as he brings you in for a tight embrace. 

“You’re just…so perfect you know that right, love?” 

“I do now,” you chuckle, resting your forehead against his broad chest. “I feel the same way about you too, I hope you know that,” 

“I know,” 

He says that but his voice is hesitant. You decide not to say anything about it, you still had much to do in order for Steven to love himself as much as you loved him. But that’s alright. You have all the time in the world. 

“Want me to take you home now?” 

You nod. 

“Yeah, or else I might just dose of right here,” 

“Well we can’t have that now, can we? You’ll catch a cold.” 

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum​ and turn on notifications✨

MIRROR'S EDGE

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant

Summary: You offer Marc a trade: something you want for something he wants, but you quickly realise you may be in for more than you can handle.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: Pure pornography, edging, orgasm denial, Marc’s dirty filthy mouth, cunnilingus, overstimulation, Steven being a loveable cock blocking meow meow, established relationship.

Word Count: 6.4k (all of it porn)

[Tag List and Masterlist]

Marc can be intense. Overly-serious. Intimidating.

There is that semi frown, a grim, set line of his lips that never breaks into a smile. Narrow, scrutinising gaze set across rich, expressive eyes. His expression is permanently serious. Grumpy and surly even. But for all of his brusque mannerism and frosty behaviour, Marc, in his own ways, can be surprisingly indulgent with you. 

Tucking you in, up to your shoulders with the quilt to shield you from the cold when you’ve fallen asleep on him. Leaving you small gifts, odds and ends he thinks you’ll like that appear at random, no note or card, no credit taken even if you confront him directly about it. Making repairs or doing chores surreptitiously, when you’re not looking.

He wants to indulge you without the flourish or the attention. It’s probably why the only place and time he openly pampers you without restraint is when he has you naked and bare. When his mouth is drowning between your thighs or his cock buried into you to the hilt of himself. 

In those moments, it’s always about you. You and your pleasure as he pulls orgasm after overwhelming orgasm out of you. It’s almost as if any pleasure that he allows himself to have in the moment is only if it’s incidental to yours. As unrelenting as he can be, when his hips snap into you with a demanding pace, you also know that he’s going easy on you. 

You see it in rare flashes in that dark hungry gaze. In the moments leading up to your orgasm, those suspended seconds where you’re hanging by a balance on the edge of tipping over. You can see it then, how there’s something more he wants, before he snaps out of it with the shake of his head and pulls himself out of the trance as you fall apart before him. If you could, you would want to prolong that moment for the both of you, when his eyes are bare and open, honest with his needs. Because it’s like he’s always holding back with you. Scared that if he takes you apart the way that he wants to, you’d break like fine porcelain in front of his very eyes. 

You see that same look in his eyes now, as you pull back momentarily from where you’re straddling his lap on the sofa, sharing heated kisses. That guilty, greedy look, like he wants more than you’re giving him, but won’t let himself take it.

“I won’t break,” you tell him. He looks up with a plastered on confused gaze pretending he doesn’t know exactly what you mean. “Whatever it is you want to do to me. You can. I won’t break.” You swear you can almost see him emotionally withdrawing before your eyes, so you press on, “You get to ask me for things too. You know that, right Marc?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, mouth set in that familiar downturned line that says you won’t get anything more from him. You probably should have expected this reaction. Marc never asks you for anything for himself. Not ever. You think he feels like he doesn’t deserve to ask for anything. He guards his needs like a secret inside a penitentiary. “What if....” You scramble for something to offer that might get him to agree, “What if we trade? You tell me what you want from me in bed, and I’ll tell you something I want from you.” Marc's eyes narrow in an attempt to look sceptical, but not before you catch the flash of almost-predatory interest.  

“...and I'll even go first," you offer to sweeten the deal, praying he'll take the bait.

He doesn’t agree. But he also hasn’t said no yet, which, from Marc, qualifies as a confession in your book that he wants what you’re offering. It won’t take much, just a little push in the right direction, and you'll have him. 

"There is something I want to try with you," you stall, watching him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction for interest. You don't have to fake the heat that rises in your cheeks when you can see Marc's hands flexing at his sides. Dragging your eyes up from those thick fingers that so often bring you so much pleasure, you look up at his face from under your eyelashes just in time to catch him licking his lips. 

"Tell me," he demands. He's leaning in, gaze focused and intense in a way that sends a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Not unless you promise you'll go next."

His eyes soften for just a moment, and the corner of his mouth hitches up just a hair, which from Marc is almost as good a full laugh. You feel a flash of triumph because you know he’s going to agree even before the words leave his mouth.

"You drive a hard bargain, pretty girl. Alright. Me next. Now tell me." 

“It’s... um... Well I– That is...” You fidget with your hands in your lap. Now that you’ve lured him into agreeing, you realise that you didn’t think this through. What are you going to ask for? What could you possibly want that Marc and Steven haven’t already given you? Especially when they’ve given you pleasure above and beyond your wildest dreams already? Marc seems to mistake your floundering for hesitance, and some of the sharp focus in his gaze fades into an open expectant expression (well, as open as Marc’s expressions ever get anyway).  He reaches out and takes both your hands in his larger ones. 

“You can tell me. Anything you want, baby. Just tell me and it’s yours.” His eyes and hands, both warm.

“I… um…” And God, he really does mean that, doesn’t he? Marc is less openly affectionate than Steven. Less open period, but you know he’d move heaven and fucking earth to give you anything you wanted. He does it every day and won’t even let you thank him for it—pretends it wasn’t him if you try. That’s just what he’s like. 

You look up at him, into those big brown eyes, and you get a flash of those very same eyes staring down at you, feverish and greedy, as he brings you to the brink in bed. You can almost hear the low, eager rasp of his voice as he asks you if you’re close. That suspended moment when you can see the leashed hunger, the need for something more in him. And you know what you want. 

“I want you to edge me.”

Silence. There’s silence. The intense focus is back. You can feel the weight of it on your skin, the heat of his burning gaze. The way Marc’s staring at you it’s a wonder you don’t spontaneously combust. You almost feel like you could. “You want me… to edge you.” His voice is neutral, but his body language is anything but. You can see the tension in his body, in the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way the muscles of his jaw flex. You nod. “If… if that’s alright with you as well?” You hate how uncertain your voice sounds all of a sudden. Not sure where this sudden timidity has come from except that his gaze is stripping you bare, exposing you until you are unable to hide from him. “Yeah,” Marc huffs out with a laugh. An actual, honest to God laugh. “Yeah. That’s alright with me.”  The corner of his mouth is turned up as far as you’ve ever seen it, but his eyes are all dark heat and promise as they bore into your own. 

“But if we do this? I’m not gonna let you off easy. You understand?” His voice, low and rough, burns its way through you along with the realisation that he wants this. That you were right.

You’ve finally figured out some small corner of Marc’s wants beyond just you, and you get to give it to him. Or, rather, let him give it to you. The knowledge thrills you, makes you want to give him even more.

“I don’t want you to let me off easy, Marc. I want you to ruin me.” 

He groans, deep in his chest, and you think you hear a muttered, “Fuck. Gonna ruin me,” before his lips are on yours, desperate and devouring.

With far too much ease, he slides a firm strong arm around your waist to pull you to him. His other hand urges you to wrap your legs around him, helping you to lock them around his waist, and then he’s lifting you up in his arms and carrying you across your flat into the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. 

Before you know it, Marc is lowering you onto the bed and following you down. The reassuring weight of his body settles over you, holding you down, pressing you into the mattress. 

Popping the button open on your jeans, he drags them down your legs and off. His firm, calloused hand skates a smooth path along your skin on the way back up, dragging along the outside of your calf to your knee, then your thigh before he gently spreads your legs for him. 

The broadness of his palm covers your mound, cupping you through your knickers, and you become acutely aware of just how wet you are. The touch feels heated, intoxicating, even though he hasn’t really done anything to you yet. From the curved smile on Marc’s lips, you're sure he can feel the way you’ve already soaked through the cotton fabric of your knickers. 

The heel of his hand grinds down against you, and the pressure is delicious, relieving the ache that’s already built for him between your legs. You can’t help wantonly canting your hips up, seeking more contact, more friction, just more of him. But his hand is already moving away. His fingers find the edge of your knickers, trailing along the ticklish skin there, and then he’s pushing them aside. 

The tip of one finger parts your soaking folds, sliding a slick line to your clit, and your whole body jolts at the electric contact.  

“Fuck. So wet already. You always get so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs against your neck, mouth sliding hot and open against your skin as he makes slow precise circles over and over on your clit. Then his hand dips lower, sinking two thick fingers into your cunt, in a perfect filling slide. It punches the air out of you, leaving only a sweet ache in its wake. Your mind feels raw around the edges, fuzzy with the sharp spike of heat spearing through you. The heel of his hand rests over your clit as his fingers curl into you, unerringly finding all your sweet spots at once. 

He could make you come like this after only a few moments—has done just that many times before. This time he draws it out, instead, fucking you slow and thorough with his fingers, as though determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of you. And God, he is. 

You’re panting, as wet as you’ve ever been. So wet you’re probably dripping down his fingers to his wrist, but you’re too far gone to even be embarrassed because it feels so fucking good. Your body curls into his touch as he fills you just right, two talented fingers working inside you. 

The pleasure is devastating. Your leg kicks out, toes curling into the sheets. You’ve foregone all sense of shame, grinding yourself up up up against his palm in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge that’s dangling just out of your reach. 

You’re close, so fucking close. Your impending orgasm searing through your spine like it is ready to burn a hole through your flesh. You just need a little bit more, and Marc is giving it to you perfectly… Until he isn’t.

Marc stops.

He pulls his hand away, the full thickness of his fingers slipping out of you and leaving you empty and needy, and it’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head.

Oh right, edging. You asked him to edge you.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, breath panting as your lungs squeeze painfully tight in your chest. His fingers are glistening with your slick in the light, as he puts them to his plush pink lips and slips them in between to suck them clean. 

“That was a close one wasn’t it, baby?”

Pulling down your knickers from your legs, he drags them off your ankles, before leaning down against you. He starts from your chest, pressing, burning kisses against your breast and the ends of his curls tickle your heated, sweat-slicked skin as he makes his way down your stomach, tongue sliding down your hips as he dots kisses to your thighs, spreading your legs even wider for him. 

He stops there, holding himself above you, so close, the tip of his nose is nudging against the apex of your thighs. There’s a beat of a second, an excruciating wait for you. You don’t know what he’s doing until you hear the inhale of a breath, his shoulders rising as he’s breathing you in, inhaling the scent of you. Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath ghost over your oversensitive clit, until he finally puts his mouth to your pussy. 

You can feel the way his jaw tenses as his mouth works you open. His tongue is a slow obliging slide through your slick folds as he hums into you. Soft and wet as he parts you. 

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, scraping his chin against the inside of your leg, until the stubble burns pleasantly against the oversensitive skin. It’s an overwhelming, visceral sensation that makes your body jolt, stomach clenching. You nearly kick him in the face, but Marc is way ahead of you, hand firm on your leg as he pins you down. 

“Easy. Easy there, baby. We’re just getting started.” 

It’s so slow and so insistent as he laps at your cunt. The bright flair of pleasure and pain that shoots through you is unbearable at this point. Your fingers dig and grip into those soft curls, pulling them tight until it must sting against his scalp, just the way Marc likes it. Hoping it’ll spur him on and drive him to distraction and just let you come. 

Your thighs are shaking. Your stomach too and every muscle in your body is trembling, pulling taut like you are at the end of a race and can finally see the goal before you. The pleasure is almost painful, and you forget to breathe, seeing spots dancing in your vision. 

“More, Marc, please—oh fuck, just like that, please don’t stop, I’m almost—”

But he doesn’t give you more, just keeps to the sedate pace he has set for the both of you. A spike of dread shoots down your spine as you now realise what you’ve actually signed up for. 

White, hot bliss spills through you with each move of his mouth, but your climax remains just out of reach, promising to be so ripe and sweet that you can nearly taste it on the tip of your tongue. No matter how much you writhe and squirm against him, Marc doesn’t let up, holding you firm against the mattress, until you’re right on the trembling edge.

And then he stops. God, this is so unfair, you can’t—Oh God, you can’t—fuck. 

He hushes you, a sweet cooing sound into your ear as he rubs your inner thigh soothingly to let you climb down from the precipice. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs. You’re not stupid enough to believe for one second that it’s altruistic of him, its only purpose is to let you calm down just enough for him to wind you up again like a tight bowstring holding back just enough so you don’t snap. 

Everything aches, splinters burrowing under your skin. Somehow, Marc knows, he soothes the sting with his soft lips, pressing them against your skin until it subsides. The edge of his teeth skirts against the inside of your thighs before biting down. Replacing the ache with an even harsher sting that has you arching into his mouth for more. 

You can no longer tell time anymore. Time is just an abstract concept, as Marc repeatedly leads you by the hand to the brink of orgasm, climbing up that white peak only to abandon you there, pulling away from you to admire the view. 

It’s torture and pleasure all wrapped up in one confusing overwhelming parcel. He takes you to the edge and pulls you back twice more with his hands alone before he adds his mouth into the equation again. Everything is a blur after that, you can't feel the mattress pressed to your back, and you swear you are floating out of your body.

The pleasure slows again, hot and molten until it drips syrupy sweet between your legs onto his tongue. You’ve already given in, don’t try to move without his permission, no resistance left in you and you don’t know why he still hasn’t let you come yet. 

“Marc– Oh God. Please! Just let me—” 

He cuts you off before you’re able to finish your nonsensical blabbering. It’s just as well, in your current state of mind you’re hardly able to string up anything coherent. 

“You asked me, remember? What I wanted. This is it.” Those expressive eyes are burning into yours, predatory and hungry like he is about to devour you whole. “This is what I want. Want to have you falling apart from my fingers. In my mouth. On my cock. Begging.”

All you’re capable of is whining in response, and he keeps talking with that low rasp in his voice. 

“Beg for me, pretty girl. Beg me to make you come.”

You do exactly that. You’re well beyond the point of shame or inhibitions. The only thing left in you that passes for a higher function is your need to come. 

“Fuckfuck, Marc, please. Please just let me come. I need it. Oh God. I need to come.”

"I don't think you do," Marc says, lips curving upwards, as he raises himself onto his knees, "Not yet."

You make a high pitched noise of denial, reaching for him as he moves away, but he ignores you.

"You knew what you were doing when you asked for this." Those deft fingers make quick work of his belt, and he shoves his trousers down over his ample hips before dragging them off entirely. "You came to me, not Steven."

In the mirror, you can see the carved muscles of his arms and back flex as he pulls off his shirt, and then he's naked in front of you, all smooth tanned skin that looks almost golden in your bedroom light. 

"Warned you I wasn’t gonna let you off easy." 

And God, he did. But you can't bring yourself to care when he's looming above you, wrapping one hand around his hard cock that's slick and shiny-wet with pre-come dripping from the flushed tip. You’re practically salivating at the sight of him.

"And I’m not done with you yet.”

Strong fingers circle your ankles, and he yanks you down toward him, under him. Dropping down to cover your body with his, Marc notches the fat tip of his cock at your slick entrance.

You brace yourself for penetration, already anticipating the sweet stretch of him, but it doesn’t come. You roll your hips up, desperately seeking the angle that will get him inside you, unable to understand why he’s not already fucking you. 

“Did you want something, baby?” Marc smirks down at you as you writhe underneath him. He’s clearly enjoying himself, the bastard. “Maybe you should try asking nicely.”

“Please,” you manage to pant out, more needy whine than actual coherent sound.

“Please what?” Marc demands.

“Marc, please,” you whimper.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.” He’s still wearing that fucking smirk, and he’s gazing down at you expectantly. If you didn’t know any better you might think he really doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but his next words remove all doubt. “You want my cock in you? You’re gonna have to say it for me.”

“Your cock. Want your cock. Need you to fuck me. Need you, Marc. Please.” You force the words out, half pleading, half almost annoyed, but his eyes light up as soon as you start speaking, gleaming with something like pride, but darker, more urgent. The look on his face is captivating.

“That’s my girl.” And then he pushes into you, and you forget about everything except the weight of him inside you.

The first slide as he fills you up with his cock is fucking heaven. A sweet aching stretch that sends pleasure singing out along your every nerve. Your thighs tremble where they bracket his hips, nearly numb with the tingling heat that’s spreading quickly outward. 

You can’t stay still, your body arching against him without any input from you, clenching down around the delicious girth of him, and you swear your eyes roll back in your head, your vision flickering. 

With that infuriating control of his, Marc lets you writhe on his cock for a moment before he pulls back, nearly all the way out. Your hands fly to his shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep him close. All you hear in your ear is a dark chuckle, and then he slams himself back in. It’s so mind-meltingly good your vision darkens and you swear you see fucking stars from it. 

He doesn’t stop. He drives himself into you with harsh, deep thrusts. The pace is hard and fast. Pleasure rockets through you with each press of his hips into yours. It spreads up your stomach, twining along your legs and up your stomach and wrapping your chest in warmth, coalescing into a tight knot of bliss that ratchets tighter with every stroke. You can feel your orgasm building, and you arch up to meet each of his strokes, straining for completion. 

Then he stills. Thrusts deep and holds there, and it’s almost enough. 

Almost...

Would be enough if he would just–

But he doesn’t, and your orgasm starts to slip away. As close as you had been, it feels like torture, and your breath comes out as a sob. You think… you think you might actually be crying this time, tears stinging your eyes at the loss. Anger sparks in your blood. Never mind that you asked for this, wanted this. 

You need to come. 

Your cunt clenches and squeezes around the hardness of his cock and it twitches and jerks in response. Those beautiful eyes of his slam shut, as he bites out a curse. It’s the closest to a loss of control you’ve seen from Marc all evening. 

So you don’t stop doing it, fuck, you don’t think you could will yourself to stop squeezing around him even if you wanted to. Muscles contracting and clutching down in a way that’s beyond your control when you’re rewarded with a half-aborted thrust. You’re not sure if you’re trying to tempt him into fucking you again, or if you’re just that desperate that you think this alone can make you come. Either, both, you don’t even care, too blitzed out on adrenaline and the withdrawal of pleasure. You don’t care how you get it as long as you get to come. 

It’s maddening, your hips are desperately trying to seek some friction that will be enough to push you over, trying to chase your orgasm. Almost—fuck, almost, pleasure shoots through your stomach, sparking along the line of your spine. Even if Marc doesn’t help, you’re sure you can get there by yourself. Your muscles lock tight, and the pleasure hums and sings through your veins. You’re gonna, fuckfuck, you’re gonna— 

Before you can, he pulls out of you, and you cry out, your empty cunt clenching around nothing as you shudder and pant your way through the aching loss. Every nerve screaming for the release he’s denied you. 

"Oh no you don't. That's cheating, pretty girl. You don't get to come that easily."

A sob tears through you, and you don’t even care how pathetic you must sound. “Please, please let me have your cock.” You sound like an actress in a bad porno, but it doesn’t matter how ridiculous you sound if it gets you what you want. 

It seems like your desperate attempt was all for nought. Marc doesn’t move any closer. The look in his eyes, the mischievous curl of his lips tells you that there’s no chance in hell he’s going to give into you. 

"You gonna be a good girl for me? Hold still while I give you my cock?" 

"Yes, Marc. Yes! Please just..." 

"I don't think you are.  Only good girls get fucked like that. Show me you can be a good girl. Show me you can take more for me."

His eyes burn into you, pupils blown so wide that they’re almost pitch black in their intensity. As much as you need to come. As much as you’re sure that you are going to die if he denies you again. You want this more. To be the centre of this man’s attention, the object of his devotion. To have his intense gaze fixed on you like you’re the only thing that exists to him in this moment, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You don’t ever want it to stop. 

You think you understand it now. Why Marc wants you to beg for him this desperately. Why he refuses to let you off easy and won’t give in, stringing out these moments when you are on the precipice of your orgasm, desperate and floundering. Why he’s driving you to this unbearable point only to withhold it from you again and again, even as you’re shamelessly begging for him until your voice is hoarse, each cry burning and scratching in your throat. 

What is begging if not a desperate declaration that you need him? That when you’re both stripped of overthinking, down to your most basic self, until only need and want are left, you need him. 

That’s why he wants to hear you say it now, when he’s worn you down to the point where you have no filter. 

He won’t believe it otherwise. 

Because deep down, Marc fundamentally views himself as someone who is unwanted. This is the one moment, when you’re shameless, needy and blissed out of your mind, with no pretence that he can allow himself to accept otherwise. 

So you meet his dark, greedy gaze, and you give him what he wants.

“Fuck. Marc, please. Want you.” Your panting, barely coherent, but somehow you manage to get the words out. “Please! I need you. Need you to make me come. Please please please, Marc. I want you. Just want you. Please.” 

"I know you do, baby.” He pets a hand across your hair, his eyes soften, and you can see that he actually believes you. “Know you do.”

Pleasure strikes hot and deep as he thrusts back into you. And it’s fucking perfect. That sweet burning ache builds immediately, deep and consuming, and you only want more. You’ve grown addicted to it. To him.

He’s not stopping, hips thrusting into you, and blissful pleasure swirls tight and insistent somewhere deep in your belly. 

This is it. You’re sure of it now, this is it. Marc is going to let you come.  

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed to keep them open as you let the sensation take over. 

And then it stops. 

Again. 

Oh God, you can’t. You’re going to die. This man is actually going to murder you with orgasm denial.

"One more time. Just one more time for me, then I’ll make you come. You can take it for me, baby." His voice is gentle, coaxing. The softness in direct contrast to the way you’re crying and begging now, nearly hysterical. 

“Nononooo, Marc, please. I need– Oh God. I can’t– Please. Please!!”

Despite his promise, he doesn’t move. Holds there, locked deep inside you. You don’t even have it in you to resist or be angry anymore, because you are sure that you have already died and this is hell and you are being punished by some malevolent god. 

Instead, his warm hand comes to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing against the apple of it.

“You alright there, love?”

That’s different. The intonation is different from Marc’s flat one, a valley that rises and falls. You blink. Eyes fluttering open to gentle brown eyes filled with open adoration and so much love. 

Steven… Steven’s here in Marc’s place. 

“You sounded… a bit not good... Did Marc take it too far?” There is genuine worry for you in his eyes as he looks down on you, even though you both know that Marc would never do anything to hurt you. And oh bless. Your sweet Steven heard you begging and crying and has swooped in to save you like a white knight. It makes you wonder how desperate you must have sounded, how loud you must have been crying out for him to think you were truly in distress. 

“Want me to make you come?” Steven asks with such sincerity it makes your heart swell with affection. 

If you weren’t so keyed up, you might stop and explain the situation. If you weren’t so out of it, legs aching with muscle strain from your exertions of being denied over and over again, you might refuse his offer and ask for Marc back.

But you are pushed beyond the point of rational thought. Marc’s stripped you of every conscious thought, until your prefrontal cortex has incinerated any brain cells that may have once been there. Your decision-making skills are shattered. All you care about, all you can think, taste, feel, is your desperate, consuming need to come. 

So you nod, instinctively saying the only word you are capable of saying throughout this evening. 

“Please.” 

Steven breaks out into a beaming smile, boyish and sweet that lights up the whole room with it. 

You reach up and tangle your hand in his hair, pulling him down to you so that you can kiss him hard.

“Steven,” you pant into his open mouth, “Need you to move.”

“Right.” He says decisively and starts to pull out, but then he gasps and his hips immediately stutter into you with an abortive half thrust. He shivers and drops his head down against your collarbone, panting hard, only to raise it again a moment later with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs apologetically. “A bit far gone, at the moment I guess. He was closer to the edge than I thought. But let’s see what I can do for you, love."

His hips pull away and a whine leaves your lips, before he thrusts back in—your half-whine turns into a choked dying sound as you feel him deep and hard, filling every inch of you. 

“Fuck, fuck, Steven.”

He groans, hips adjusting his angle, hands pulling greedily into your thighs as he lifts you to him, until he strikes something devastating inside you that has your muscles locking tight in euphoria. It’s like he knows, because he thrusts into you, just like that, again and again with a hard and rough pace. 

His pace falters only for a second as his head whips into the direction of the mirror, catching his own reflection and then he frowns. 

“Just a tick,” Steven mutters, and for some unfathomable, unthinkable reason he slips out of you, moving away from you, one leg already climbing out of the bed. 

The sound that comes from you is inhuman, as you claw and dig your fingernails into the meat of his arm hard enough to break his soft skin. “Steven! No. Don’t stop.”

“Sorry, love. I’m sorry, just— Sorry. Just give me a moment.” He climbs the rest of the way out of bed, and you don’t understand what he’s doing or where he’s going, refusing to ease your grip as he pulls the sheets to drape it over the silver surface of the mirror. 

If you were more coherent, you might spare a moment to consider why Steven is covering up the mirror, but you aren’t. Your mind solely focused on the fact that Steven is going to satisfy the desperate aching need that burns hot in your stomach. To finally give you the climax you’ve been denied so many times. 

He climbs back into the bed hurriedly, almost snagging himself against the covers. Then he’s back, notching himself at your entrance and slides all the way inside, until he’s flush against your hips. The reassuring heat of his skin pressed alongside every inch of yours as he grinds his cock deep. Sparks of heat lick your spine as he grinds into that perfect spot. 

It doesn’t last long. Edged as you have been, brought to the precipice of your orgasm again and again until you’ve lost your mind with the pleasure and torture of it, it doesn’t take long at all. You can already feel the telltale sign of warmth pooling in your belly, spreading outwards. 

Steven doesn’t stop. You know he won’t. Steven is always desperate to please you, doesn’t have it in him to deny you of anything, and you love him for it. His hips slam into you, again and again, with a frantic pace, deep and indulgent, just like you need him to.

You want to tell him that it’s good. Perfect. Praise him for always taking care of you, but you can’t form the words. All you can do is cling to him as everything inside you ratchets higher, tighter, so much more intense after being denied for so long.

Pleasure spills and spills, flaring out against every inch of your skin, flooding your senses. It’s chaotic and too much, bright spots blinding your vision as you come, harder than you ever have in your life. 

Steven still isn’t stopping, pushing deep into you as his thrust doesn’t slow its momentum. You try to ride out the pleasure, bucking your hips as you grind up against him, but it won’t stop. Oh fuck—it’s not stopping. “Steven, Steven—I’m… fuck I’m—” The blinding bliss spikes through your blood, hot and piercing. You’re not sure if it’s the start of a second more intense orgasm or if your first just never ended. It’s all blissful heat and sharp-edged pleasure, spearing throughout your body until it erupts in your veins. 

It’s pitiful the way you’re sobbing, whining and keening for him, as he continues relentlessly with his strokes, until you feel him spill into you with a broken gasp. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so completely overcome or maybe you’ve lost your sense of time, but it feels like he comes for ages, body tense and heaving above you. Finally, he stills, collapsing down onto you, and you lay there like that for a long moment, panting into each other’s skin. 

Eventually, Steven bestirs, lifting himself up on an elbow to grin down at you.

“That was… Wow. I mean, that was amazing, is what that was. You’re amazing.” He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead and lips and then moves away from you. 

Even as over-sensitive as you are, you barely flinch as he withdraws. Instead, you feel sleepy and sated, reality gone blurry and faded at the edges, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

You blink, and then Steven is there. He has a warm, damp cloth that he uses to gently wipe you down, murmuring quiet praise and affection all the while. You drift off with the cotton-soft sound of his voice in your ears.

By the time he rejoins you in bed, you’re dead to the world.  

You wake up to the morning sun filtering through your bedroom window. Muscles still aching from the previous night, you stretch and open your eyes, only to meet dark eyes bearing down on your sleeping form. 

Marc does not look happy. 

His eyes are narrowed, brown drawn with more than just his perpetual semi-frown. His gaze is intense. If you didn’t know him as intimately as you do, you would describe it as intimidating. 

“Took you long enough to wake up,” he says, with an unmistakably sarcastic drawl that tells you you’re in trouble. “Steven must have really worn you out.” 

Climbing out of the bed, he walks over to the mirror, movements brusque as he tugs the sheet off. Once the silver reflection reveals itself, he turns back to you, pulling at your ankle to drag you to the end of the bed, before he settles himself back onto the mattress. 

With one strong arm, he lifts you up and into his lap, handling you like a weightless ragdoll to position you where he wants you to be. He manoeuvres you until you’re sitting in his lap, leaning back against his chest, and pulls you back until he’s pressed tight against your back and you’re both facing the mirror. 

His hand wraps around your throat, and even though there’s hardly any pressure, your pulse jumps excitedly to meet his thumb resting against the hollow of your throat. Tilting your face to his, he licks into your mouth, claiming it thoroughly. Possessive, hard. He doesn't let go until you’re out of breath. 

“I wasn’t done with you when Steven interrupted. Guess that means we have to do it all over again, baby.” He narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror. “And I’m not tagging out this time. You hear me, Steven.” 

You can see Marc observing you in the mirror. That dark hungry gaze reflected back at you. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to snap himself out of it. Fully allowing himself to give in to the bare primal need in him without restraint. 

“You remember what I told you last night?” he whispers into your ear, and his breath fans hot and burning against your hairline. “Still not gonna let you off easy.” 

One hand skates alongside the inside of your thighs, nudging your legs with his knees as he spreads you open, putting you on a debauched naked display for the mirror.

For Steven.

For Marc. 

“Make sure you beg real pretty for Steven and me this time,” he taunts, and his fingers part your slick folds, spreading you wide and glistening in the mirror and making a depraved display of you.  

Excitement buzzes in your blood. You knew full well there was going to be a consequence when you asked Steven to make you come. That you weren’t going to escape without repercussions. But that’s alright. You’ll take whatever punishment that Marc deemed fit. No holds barred, nothing but joy and excitement singing in your veins as Marc decides to take from you exactly he wants. 

It’s just what you wanted. 

Dedication and Credits

To my eternally suffering co-pilot @thirstworldproblemss for spending her incredibly busy time clowning around with me and my horny self. For being the best co-writer any gal can ask for. For being the absolute best partner ping-ponging ideas, sharing one single brain cells and sharing brain-wave transmission. For looking at a wonky sentence I wrote that I am about to yeet out, and knowing exactly what I actually wanted to say (even though that's not what I wrote) and fixing it with her sheer brilliance and genuis. For just being shrimply the best.

To my no.1 comic gal, @radiowallet with her endless support and advice. Your big beautiful brain is my favourite encyclopedia and you are the best. Check out her amazing story Funny Girl, featuring Dieter Bravo from the Bubble, a pitch perfect that makes me feel like I am on the set of SNL.

To my dinowhore @jazzelsaur as I am serenading Goodbye to you by Michelle Branch for her departed puth. Check her insanely, envy-inducingly good masterpiece Stay on the Screenplay featuring Dieter Bravo from the Bubble. It is Hollywood angst at its best.

To my parachute buddy @the-ginger-hedge-witch for the encouragement and helping me fix my tattered pieces. Her legendary: The Crush featuring everyone's favorite emotionally blocked DEA agent Javier Peña are the things that dreams are made of.

Fit to Burst

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant

Summary: Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: Marc's dirty filthy mouth, Steven's over-eager mouth, Marc is wee bit jealous, cunnilingus, overstimulation, refraction period? — we don't know her, established relationship.

Word Count: 3.5k (I have no excuse, pure self-indulgent filth)

[Tag List and Masterlist]

“Does that feel good, love? Think you can come for me again?” 

You don't know how many orgasms he's pulled from you already. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. You can't tell if it’s Marc or Steven fronting right now. If it's Marc who is talking to you, or Steven, taking you apart inch by inch, one devastating orgasm at a time.

Love. He called you love. Steven calls you love. This must be Steven.

Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs. 

“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.

You can’t help but give him what he wants.

You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.

There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.

“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”

Fucking hell. This man…  

He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it. 

"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.

As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you. 

The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you. 

He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.

“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for. 

The only thing you can do is nod.

“You say stop if it gets to be too much,”  he rasps out as lines himself up against you. 

The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb. 

And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth. 

"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."

He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming. 

A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?” 

His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do. 

"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."

He stills. 

From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven. 

You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again. 

The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you. 

There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out. 

“Fuckohfuck, Marc!” 

“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”

Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob. 

"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands. 

You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit. 

“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"

His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge. 

It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"

That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed. 

There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does. 

If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair. 

“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”

Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.

Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone. 

"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"

His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop. “That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.  

He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done. 

Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute. 

When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.

Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.  

The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him? 

Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven. 

You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling. 

He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.

“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”

You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it. 

You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again. 

The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear. 

“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.” 

You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs. 

“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.” 

This man is the devil. 

You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you. 

You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.

He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.  

Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...

"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.

"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.

You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to— 

“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”

His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.

It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.

When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real. 

Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you. 

Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin. 

In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.  

As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high. 

Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming. 

Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…

“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face. 

In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."

At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness. 

“Good. That’s good, yeah.” 

Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness. 

“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.

“Do you think we could go again? …please?”

Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse. 

You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride. 

Dedication and Credits:

@krissology for chasing her dreams with such boundless courage and gumption, I'm forever proud to have a friend like her who is so absolutely fucking fierce and fearless. She's one of the most talented writers I've come across and she is publishing her debut novel Forget Me Now, available for pre-order here. Go support this brilliant human being, you won't regret it.

@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.

@frannyzooey for succeeding to make me cry on a Tuesday afternoon in the office with her kind words and support. You're someone that I'm endlessly proud to call a friend, for your humour, your kindness and your warmth. You are just one of the best humans and I hope you wake up everyday and know that and if you don't, I will remind you everyday.

venus, planet of love

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut with plot, mentions of marc and khonshu, mentions of therapy and brief panic attack depiction, all the fluffy feels, mutual pining, idiots in love, inexperienced!steven and reader, the l-bomb and lovey dovey sex, aftercare, about 9k word count teehee, friends to lovers

summary: art models are surprisingly hard to come by in london. maybe they just don’t want to work with you. maybe they’re intimidated. steven thinks you’re pretty and marc thinks it’s time to act on it. who knew steven grant would be up for a portrait?

note: first moonknight fic!!! here’s to many more :) feedback and reblogs are 100% appreciated, thanks!

- masterlist - steven grant playlist

“It just looks so smooth, like I want to touch it.”

“What? Her arse?”

The Rokeby Venus stands out as striking against the patterned red wallpaper of the gallery. The painted depiction of Venus is a stark paste of white, sensual and vividly nude as your eyes follow the curvature of brushstrokes on her backside. The soft greys, reds and creams compliment the fleshy paraphernalia of the painting; your starry eyes wander in a mixture of awe and engrossment, while your fidgeting friend beside you finds his gaze on another work of wonder.

“I’m appreciating the art, Steven. Not the arse.” 

The corners of your lips tweak into something in the sorts of regale as you deliberately scribble onto your notepad, the sound of the number-two pencil against paper filling the eerie solitude of the museum. Steven’s attentive stare follows the tiny scrunching of your nose and soon, he finds himself amused at how your expression slowly shifts into unmistakable concentration. 

It’s endearing. 

Especially when he sees the tip of your tongue poke out from between your lips, nestling against the bottom of one of your front teeth. 

Adorable. 

“Oh, you’d loathe the ancient Egypt exhibit then. Not a tad bit of arses there.” Steven finally catches your eye, your head lifting from hunched shoulders to listen to him. His comment draws a quiet chuckle out of you, to which you motion for him to go on. He doesn’t hesitate. “Well, I mean, nudity had a proper place and time then. The Egyptians prided themselves in — in fashion, in jewels and beads, fabric and linens. Really, nudity was practically associated with work or oftentimes, social status. Royalty loved to dress up. You don’t see many naked ushabti, yeah?”

The strewn sentences leave him with a deep exhale, mouth parting as he gauges your reaction carefully. You’ve always adored his bursts of passion. Youthful, exciting, like the first tall flame of a new candlelight.

Steven makes an effort to ignore the image of Marc harshly rubbing his temples in the golden frame of the painting.

“I don’t think Velázquez intended nudity to be the central theme.” You mindlessly tuck the notepad into the tote bag on your shoulder. The movement causes your elbow to brush against Steven’s forearm, and he gulps roughly at the tingling of his skin. “Nor do I think it’s completely about Venus.”

“Whaddya think then?” 

You quirk a brow at his question. “I think… I mean, it’s obviously an allusion to sexuality and the aesthetic of it. But not sex. More like—”

“Beauty.”

You glance at him briefly, voice getting caught in your throat as you lose your train of thought just by looking at him.

“Yeah. Beauty, women, attraction, it’s all very speculative…” 

His side profile is something you’ll never get used to. The singular curl that unravels down his forehead knocks the wind right out of you, the dark chocolate strand begging to be wrapped around your finger and the rest carded through your palms.

Sometimes, you think he deserves a museum exhibit of his own, dedicated to his constant busy mind and to the soft yet simultaneously roughened details of his face. 

Maybe most of the time, actually.

Steven doesn’t notice the stumble in your body language, too swept up taking the painting in for what feels like the hundredth time but really, his mind can’t stop replaying how ‘sex’ had rolled off of your tongue so beautifully, and now how Marc won’t stop fucking pestering him about growing some balls and manning up tonight.

His watch beeps and pulls you both from your respective trances while Marc sends him a hard glare through the reflection of the watchface. “Oh, bollocks.” Steven sighs out, jaw clenching as anxiety takes over the tranquility of his features. 

You turn to him with knitted eyebrows. “Problem?”

“Yeah, think we’ve got to run.” He frowns, gesturing for you to follow him to the front of the exhibit. “Donna’s gonna have my head tomorrow for bringing you ‘round again, love.”

“S’not like I’m breaking and entering.” You playfully smirk at him as you clutch your bag, jutting one foot in front of the other as he hastily takes you through the employee exit and resets the alarm on the door. “And if I did want to rob this place, I would’ve done it by now. No offense.”

“None taken.” He breathes out through a winded laugh, fiddling with the zipper at the bottom of his collared jacket. He treads carefully beside you in the alleyway. “Mind you, as long as you leave the gift shop out of it, yeah?”

The streetlamps cast shadows over your face, but he finds himself gazing at you even through all the darkness.

A lingering stare. An appreciative smile. A mirroring in how you both tilt your heads to the side ever so slightly. But Steven sees the second hand embarrassment on Marc’s face transcend into the golden swirls of puddles on the cobblestone, his eyes screwed shut as a pained scoff leaves him.

Could’ve kissed her right now, Steven. 

Your toothy grin is all in one airy and lighthearted. Despite Marc’s unmistakable jabs, he’s proud of at least one thing: 

Making you smile.

“Of course, silly.”

No one really expects a friendship between an art student and a gift shop-ist from the National Gallery to work in a manner that is so effortless, so easy, as if it were like clockwork.

Except, the hour hand and the minute hand will never line up. 

Because you’re semi-convinced that Steven doesn’t harbor any sort of attraction towards you, nothing more than feelings of friendliness and a dash of awkwardness. But then there’s that other part of you, the part that notices the stolen glances, how he looks at you all doe-eyed and regardful even when you have nothing to say, how he remembers your breakfast order every single day despite having trouble with his own, how your number is the only other emergency contact in his phone besides his mom who hasn’t called him back once. Hell, you’ve even been friends long enough to earn an alligator emoji beside your name. What a rarity.

Just friends. That’s all it could and should be. 

Steven thinks you’d never date a bloke like him. Marc is sold on the idea that you have feelings for Steven, in which the tension, he states, is painfully and terribly obvious. It’s difficult to watch, even from that other dimension. And Khonshu, well, that guy just thinks that the three of you are all bloody idiots. 

You try to push down the odd fluttering of your stomach when Steven opens the door to your car for you. He always does. You’re used to the chivalry, the old-fashioned kindness, but something about how he’s doing it tonight — hand hovering over the small of your back, then over your head as you dip into the driver’s seat while he watches you intently, wrinkles smoothing over his tan skin and eyes softening.

You look up at him before he shuts your door. “Tea at mine?” 

“Only if I get to make it this time.”

You scoff in offense, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he comes around to the passenger side then buckles himself in. “What was wrong last time?”

“Honestly, Y/N?”

“Yes, honestly!” You slightly turn up the radio, raising your brows at Steven as he immediately changes the station.

He sputters through a chuckle before he can even finish his sentence. “Tasted absolutely rubbish, I tell you!”

“Piss off!”

Abruptly, you both laugh heartily at that, shoulders bouncing as Steven recalls the memory of how awful it not only felt in his mouth, but how awful the brew looked in general. He finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from your face. Unable to stop replaying your sweet giggle that he drew out of you over and over again, and how his name falls from you like a bubbly chant as you reach over the console and slap his arm. Unable to stop his fingers from twitching against his thigh because he just wants nothing but to reach out and tuck that annoying wisp of hair behind your ear and tell you how much you truly mean to him.

The moonlight looks pretty on you.

Steven likes the comfort of your flat more than his own. There’s something remarkable about seeing a bed without ankle restraints and chains, or having sand stuck to the soles of his feet as he pads around the kitchen for once. Just you, him, an ugly red sofa, and the mess of unfinished canvases on your floor. Your lips twitch when he reaches around to help you get something off of the top shelf in your cupboard, his large palm gently pressing against your upper back when he pulls away to hand you a porcelain cup. 

You pour from the teapot. Steven adds an acceptable amount of milk. One long sip. Sigh of relief. Another sip. Then, smile at each other behind your delicate cups.

Like clockwork.

His kind voice feels warmer than the tea in your hands. “I enjoyed today.” Steven admits, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles as he speaks into his cup. 

You study the sincere tenderness in his dark irises. “I did too.” For a moment, the silence is nice. It’s comforting. You’re a safe haven, even as he fidgets nervously, drumming his fingers against the cool surface as you reluctantly look away from each other. Yet the longer you linger in the quiet, the louder the thoughts in your mind get. Your pinched voice comes out rushed and unsure. “Are you still seeing that therapist?” Steven tilts his head, unable to recognize your tone. 

“Seeing her? What do you mean?”

“Like, um, the sessions and stuff.” You chuckle softly, waving a dismissive hand at that with widening eyes. “Not in — in that way. I mean, are you?”

Why is she asking?

“Oh, goodness. No. Absolutely not.” Steven‘s dark eyebrows shoot upwards. His hold on the porcelain teacup tightens, knuckles tensing. “Why’s that?” 

You blink rapidly. “Just wondering.”

“We weren’t compatible. Professionally.” He sends you a close-lipped smile. It’s demure, and for some reason, nostalgic. “She had this — this big, caged bird in the room with us. Like a bloody parrot or something.” Then, he shrugs, eyes darting across the room with what seems to be an amused smirk as if you’re supposed to understand this implied sort of inside joke. “Wasn’t very soothing. Probably gonna find someone else in the time being, you know, hopefully with a… nicer therapy animal. Preferably one that doesn’t repeat everything that I say.” You nod slowly, taking another sip while he clears his throat. “And you? How’s your project coming along, dear?”

You snort. “Haven’t even drawn a single thing.” Your shoulders deflate as you sigh dramatically. “Due in a week, not a single idea in mind, canvas still as empty as ever.”

“You’d think it would be easy to find a model. Plenty of nudists in London.”

“Yeah, well, none of them want to be painted.”

“Then they must be intimidated.”

A tiny clink fills the air when you set the cup of tea onto the table behind you, arms crossing over your chest as you tuck your hands by your hips. The flat feels chilly beneath the illumination of the kitchen lamp. Steven feels too far away. But at the same time, he’s here. Here, in the tiny room, by the stove, dark circles beneath his lower lashes like he hasn’t slept in years, muscles straining against his jacket.

“And why would they be intimidated?”

If Khonshu could swallow him whole, this would be the perfect time for it. If Marc wanted to take the body, he’d let him. But the alters stay out of it, and for once, Steven longs for their interference. He can’t escape the way you stare at him, innocently chewing on your bottom lip as you await his response patiently. You don’t prod, just let time pass. Steven doesn’t know which is worse. The fridge rumbles. The shower next door shuts off. The cars outside whizz by. The moon peeks out from the blinds. There’s a wailing siren in the distance, but nothing is louder than the heartbeat drumming against your chest as Steven swipes a wet thumb over his mouth and gazes out the cracked window above your sink.

“Because — well, you’re a talented painter. You’re good, good at what you do and you — you’re intentional.” He locks eyes with you in the midst of his ramblings. “You’re purposeful in how you study people, how you look at them, memorizing every flaw and every detail between. You capture beauty, um, that — that I can’t even see and I don’t know how…” He lets out a nervous laugh, jaw clenching under the weight of gritted teeth. “I don’t know how anyone can just sit there and watch you paint without melting on the spot.”

Keep going.

“Steven…”

“You intimidate because you’re beautiful. And beauty makes people nervous, Y/N.” He clasps a hand over his heart, not because the words strike him deeply, but to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.

You collect your weight from the table, using your heel to slowly push yourself towards Steven and stand in front of him. You curiously toe at his white sock with your own, avoiding his gaze as you uncross your arms from your chest and entangle them behind your back with a frown.

“Do I intimidate you?”

Khonshu isn’t even in the kitchen anymore, and Marc is speechless. He can’t even watch.

At first, Steven’s voice comes out as small. And had you not been watching the parting of his lips, it easily could’ve been mistaken as the wind knocking against the walls. “Yes.” 

“Is it because you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re more than that.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I am.”

Steven chuckles, shaking his head. His pupils are heavily dilated, darker than normal. “Trust me, you are.”

“Prove it.” You pick a stray thread off of his shirt, goosebumps erupting across his soft skin as your cold fingertips leave him. His eyes follow the motion before they flicker back to your face. “Sit on that sofa and let me paint you.” Steven can’t pinpoint the emotions behind your words. Close to playful. Far from joking. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious, but you’re grasping at paintbrushes with a glowing smile and quickly tying an apron around your waist that leaves him blushing shamelessly. 

“You do not want to paint me.” He awkwardly huffs out, raising his hands at you before you’re pouting at him. “Y/N, it would just be a waste of canvas.”

“And why would I not wanna paint you?” 

You pull your hair up into a ponytail, ignoring how Steven’s gaze trails up your exposed arms and the curve of your shoulders. You inhale deeply, and just from the way your throat flexes in the shadows, Steven suddenly brings himself to sit on the mass of pillows atop of the velvet couch. He watches you drag an easel out from your closet, placing it right by the footrest and the swiveling stool across from him. There’s a cart filled with discarded jars of scotch, tubes of different paint mediums and a wooden palette marked with an array of clashing colors beside you, an attest to the acrylic staining the Persian rug beneath your feet.

“Because I’m just me. Just Steven.”

Your eyes pop out from over the canvas.

“Well, I think ‘just Steven’ is perfect.” 

He winces, lines creasing together on his forehead. “So what do I do now? Just — just pose, or…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, teeth making indents on his bottom lip. “Do I smile? What do — what do your models usually do?”

“Well, most of the time, they’re usually half-naked and tend to be as still as a statue.”

“Oh.”

You peer back at him again, gaze full of sincerity and concern as he self-consciously situates his position on the couch. “But you don’t need to follow the naked part. Just the latter, okay?” 

“Alrighty then.”

He can feel the warmth of your smile radiating even from six feet away. “Relax your jaw. Don’t look so scared, the more natural the better.”

His pupils dart around the room, taking in your flat as if it’s the first time he’s been here. He can’t look at you. He can’t. Not when you’re concentrating on him like that, scouring the details of his features, the lines and moles that mark his face, the exhaustion, surveying the slump of his spine like that was meant to be beautiful to you.

Would you capture all his flaws and blemishes then turn them into compliments?

“I told you I’m intimidated.” Steven quips, squaring his shoulders when he sees your paintbrush take the first glide across the blank canvas. 

“And I told you that there’s nothing to be intimidated about.”

“You know, I quite hate it when you get down on yourself like that.” He glares at you with a heavy shrug. Even when he’s clearly upset at you, Steven has a certain calmness to him. 

He’s the striking resemblance of lightning without the explosiveness of thunder. 

You don’t say anything, just swirl a mixture of colors onto the battered palette as you return back to the painting. He can see your tongue prodding against the inside of your cheek, rumination coating your mind in the same manner that hues of beige, black and pink coat his portrait. Steven lets the silence talk. He lets you bask in the quiescence for the sake of your art, for the sake of peace and his embarrassing desire to get this over with. But at the same time, he doesn’t want this to end.

Sure, he hates the fleeting eye contact. But come tomorrow, you won’t be staring at him like this — won’t smile at him with such tenderness and intention, won’t let your gaze wander for longer than a best friend would. Come tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast together while an ABBA record echoes from the living room, then you’re driving him to work with morning road rage and leaving for a nine a.m. lecture as if domesticity didn’t have an effect on you like it did on Steven. 

There, you won’t study him like he’s the most interesting creature on the planet. But come tomorrow, he’ll continue to read you like you’re the rarest text of Egyptian lore. 

“You intimidate me too, you know.” 

Could you hear the cogs in his brain? Was this an answer to all of his speculations? Curiously, Steven turns his feet towards you. His ears perk up, full brows raising at your unanticipated statement. “What?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. 

“Now why would I do that?”

This time, your face is completely blocked by the easel. You make it purposeful so he can’t discern your expression, even as the brush moves in slow and heavy strokes against the canvas. 

“I suppose for the same reason you find me intimidating.“

The sound of wet paint dabs onto the surface and drowns out your shallow breaths in the midst of Steven’s surprise.

“You find me… pretty?”

The scoff at the end of his question makes you cringe. Maybe you’ve said too much. Maybe you’ve stepped a line, or maybe he thinks this is all too odd. 

Your lips flutter upwards solemnly as you repeat his exact words from earlier. 

“I think you’re more than that.”

His heart could absolutely burst from his chest right now. He’s helplessly pinching at the bridge of his nose, unsure where to put his hands and why his hair suddenly feels so flat against his head. The couch beneath him is stiff, uncomfortable against his arse as he realizes that he’s been sitting in the same spot for too long. And now, Khonshu is simply leaning over your shoulder to look at the easel, thrumming with critique and amusement as the God towers over your hunched frame on the stool.

“Damn it.” Steven groans, placing a fist over his chest as he fidgets erratically. His eyes narrow, lips pursing together as he tries to blink back the chaos in his mind and fights off the urge to hand the reins to Marc. “God, I think I’m having a panic attack right now.”

“What?” You immediately place your brush down, peeking around the side of the canvas as Steven tries to even out his breathing. The stool nearly clatters to the floor when you stand and take long strides to his aid with wide eyes. “Do you need some air? I can — I can open a window, or — water? Water would be good?” He nods feverishly, tearing his gaze away from you and directing it to the stained carpet. You rush over to the sink, flicking on the tap and clumsily filling up a mug that Steven had given you from the gift shop. “Okay. Here, here.”

The dinosaur pun on the front isn’t so funny anymore when water sloshes over the rim as you hand it to him. He takes loud gulps as you cup your hand below his chin and catch the excess from the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — are you okay? What happened back there?”

You called me pretty, he wants to say. You don’t think I’m awful-looking, he wants to say. You think that I’m worth a second glance and worth all those lingering stares that I thought were parts of my imagination, he wants to say.

But instead, he saves those remarks for another time, and settles on one that seems fitting for the moment.

“I got intimidated.”

And you laugh. It’s brief and small, yet large enough to mend the brokenness of Steven’s haywiring brain when you set his mug down on the footrest and look down at him from where he sits awkwardly on your couch. The overhead light creates an unconventional halo behind your crown of hair, your shadow embracing the sunken essence of Steven’s face as he quietly admires you.

You send him a lopsided smile, dimples creating crescent moons around your lips and the bulb of your nose as anxious fingers twitch at your sides. “I’m no Venus.”

“Goddess or planet?”

He draws another chuckle out of you.

“Goddess, I think.”

“Well, Y/N, gods and goddesses are fairly overrated anyways.”

You bite your lip. “And if I’m a planet, then what does that make you?”

Steven lets his stare drop from your face, curls dropping against the shine of his forehead as he dusts away the lint on his pants. You study his distracted form, leg brushing against his bent knees as your stance hovers over him. He sighs shakily at the sensation, but then your fingers shift to wrap around the roughened hands that are interlocked together in his lap, thumbs hesitantly ghosting over his knuckles with a shyness he’s never seen on you. 

The notion causes him to ever-so-slightly lift his head. Those big, brown eyes meet yours in the humming of your living room, and the hand that’s wrapped around his own slowly travels up to the underside of his jaw. You can feel his muscles move beneath your gentle touch when his warm cheek leans into your palm, staining his skin with paint. 

“Must make me the idiot who sits in the observatory all day, all night, watching in awe through a telescope.” He closes his eyes when your fingers trace his skin, shifting higher and higher until you languidly card your nails through his dark curls. His head tilts back submissively with the soft action, nose pointing up at you as bliss falls upon his features. “Sounds a bit creepy now that I say it out loud.”

“You know people say that Venus is hellish, right?”

His eyelids flutter open, long lashes tickling you. “You’re pretty hellish to me.”

“I’m offended.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, resting his hand against your outer thigh. 

Both of your heads follow the motion, as if his body had betrayed what he was trying so hard not to do — touch you, feel your heat against his, let his touch wander where his mind shouldn’t. But he can’t rewind time, and he certainly can’t stop how his palm stretches over your upper leg until it rests upon your hip. 

“Steven…” You stroke his cheek with amorous yearning, smudging the space underneath his eye with a shade of pastel pink. 

“Don’t — don’t say my name like that, love. Please, don’t.” Air escapes from his nostrils, his words fall from his lips in a longing tone laced with subtle desperation. But nothing is subtle anymore. Not with how he looks up at you like you’re the brightest star in the universe, staring at you like how you stare at famous masterpieces in a museum or even the works of art that never get noticed, but when they are, everything just makes sense. “You say it like…”

Now this all makes sense.

“Say it like what?”

“As if it’s more than my — more than just a bloody name.” Steven’s eyebrows furrow deeply, yet somehow he looks softer. 

“More than just Steven with a V?” He laughs at that, a deep rumble that vibrates through his belly and throat as his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, I like saying your name.”

Your fingers against his bottom lip bring him back to this painless reality, and the tension isn’t so unbearable when you stain his sun-kissed skin blue in the dull light above the sofa.

“No… not that.” Both of your hands cup his cheeks, ears tucked into the spaces between your curling digits as you caress his chin with your thumbs. Your pupils lull him into hypnosis, and he finds himself unable to stop gazing at the constellations in your irises. “You say it as if you like me.”

Fucking hell, Steven.

His hands tighten around your hips, anchoring you. 

“I do like you.”

“No, like — like more…”

“More than a friend?” 

“Yeah.” His blinks grow rapidly while his face contorts into something of shock and perplexity, teeth on display as he shoots you a panicked look. “Do you?”

“Do I? Steven, I’ve…” An exhausted chuckle racks through you. 

A pathetic noise of protest bubbles out of him when your palms leave his jaw. The cold isn’t so welcoming, and neither is the rest of your flat when you turn your back on him to tousle your hair with pent-up frustration. Meanwhile, Khonshu lingers in the hallways and curiously sorts through your vintage records. Marc wants nothing to do with this and resorts to plugging his ears.

Steven, here and now, is alone — alone with you and a giant, undeniable problem with the word ‘FEELINGS’ stamped right on top of it. He’s been decent about how to deal with emotions. He knows where his heart is, what makes his brain light up and what grows butterflies in his stomach. And even when you pace the room in worrisome, dizzying circles, all of the above outweighs the anxiety that shelters his bones.

“Y/N, dear, will you please sit down?” You don’t listen. He allows you two more laps around the couch and footrest until he beckons to you again. “Y/N.” Another two, then Steven himself is trailing behind your haste steps. “Y/N, what is the matter with you?” He takes the liberty of grabbing your wrist, pulling you back before you can escape once again. He squeezes your arm. Once, twice, till he understands that you’re fully listening. “Stop it, you.”

Normally, he’s the one running. But something about the way you look at him makes him want to stay, something about how your lips part and how you roll your bottom lip between your teeth then let it bounce back to its natural position makes him all hazy-eyed and helpless when your own eyes flicker to his mouth. You don’t know where to look, yet you strive to take in every single detail of him because you’ve never stood this close to one another.

You’re breathless, while his chest rises and falls steadily. You’re stepping on Steven’s toes, but he doesn’t mind. The hand around your wrist travels up your elbow, keeping you anchored when his other one does the same to your opposite arm. “Stop.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face as he shakes his head at you. 

“You stop.” Your eyes gravitate to his mouth again, plump lips pouting with temptation as you subconsciously take a step closer towards each other. 

Does he want this as much as you do? 

His knuckles run along your cheek and your droopy eyelids grow heavy at the tender feeling.  Steven’s fingers find that annoying wisp of hair from earlier, and he takes it upon himself to tuck it behind your ear. You try to stifle a moan when his nails card along your scalp, mirroring your gesture from before. But a whimper eases its way out of you, followed by a shaky sigh when your voice denounces you. His movement stills for a moment, but then both of his hands are cupping your face and his forehead is pressing against yours in a manner that is so indescribably intimate, you can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’re so pretty.”

There’s that desperate whisper again. 

Your mouth reaches for his. You can feel him holding you by the back of your neck, lips unmoving and lacking confidence against yours. It’s a short kiss, nothing too heated, but when you try to pull away through mumbling apologies, he can’t help but grab you by the chin and bring you back to him for seconds. 

You gasp into his mouth, the button of his nose resting against your cheek when you regain your self-control and hold onto his shoulders for leverage. “I’m sorry.” You blurt out.

“No, no,” He kisses you again, pupils wide and hands grasping at your belly when realization washes over. “Forgive me, I don’t — I didn’t mean to—“

“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” You smirk. The teasing grin is immediately wiped off of your features when Steven pulls you closer and tighter, almost as if you’d slip away from him anytime soon. “Are you going to do it again?”

“I think I want to, unless you don’t want me to, Y/N.”

“Of course I want you to. I want you, Steven.”

He chuckles in disbelief. “You do?”

“Well, I kissed you back, didn’t I?”

He gets lost in your eyes for the millionth time tonight. His accent draws out thick and frustrated when he finds the courage to pull your lips back onto his. 

“Oh, fuck it.” 

You moan instantly when his fingers undo your ponytail and tangle through your hair, flawed palms grabbing at each other’s clothing like you hadn’t felt the touch of someone else in ages — like you hadn’t felt Steven touch you in a fashion that is so sexual, so passionate and needy as if he’s been needing you all his life.

You kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he casts against your ear when you near his throat. He pinches himself when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder. It’s real. You’re real, with your hot tongue against his neck, with your chapstick molding him into shea butter and beeswax, with your paint-stained fingers dancing across the hem of his jacket like a tease. It’s real when his arms wrap around your frame, and your back immediately arches in response to his embrace while he ponders the skin beneath your shirt. 

“You can touch me.” You whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. He sighs at the consensual phrase, coffee-colored eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. “S’okay, Steven.” 

“Are — are you sure?” 

“I am.”

The couch creaks beneath him when he reaches over and gingerly holds you by the jaw, thumbing at your earlobe with hopeless adoration. It feels like two teenagers kissing each other for the first time. Awkward tangled limbs. Noses accidentally bumping and twitchy eyelashes poking at sensitive flesh. But it feels so natural, especially when your body reacts to Steven’s affections as if it has always known him.

He kisses you. A lot. 

And he kisses you some more until you’re practically sliding off the couch and resorting to becoming labyrinths of desperation on your rug.

Your shirt rides up as Steven drags a large palm over your ribs, tracing the bone beneath your titillating skin. His head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re eager for his mouth again. “You’re unreal, Y/N.” He groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you roll on top of him and straddle his lap. “Two years of my life I’ve spent pining after you.”

You giggle, “Try three. I win, yeah?” 

“Oh, so now it’s a competition?” 

“I’m just saying maybe you’ve been Venus all along.”

He smirks playfully, shrugging from where he lays on the floor. “I think we both know I prefer ancient Egypt over ancient Rome.”

“Planet.” You breathe out, fighting off the urge to close your eyes when his hands finally make contact with your lower back. “The planet, not the goddess.” 

Steven’s arm extends upwards, pushing your hair away from your face when you look down at him with a dreamy gaze. 

“Goddamnit, you’re so pretty.” You sigh in content at the praise. “My Venus.” 

The pet name nearly makes you melt.

No artist in the world could replicate the masterpiece of your skin against his. No artist could etch every detail of you and depict it in a manner so accurate or perfect — every mole, scar, freckle and fold as if you were carved from Venus’ hip at birth. No painting could hold the same beauty of Steven nervously taking your shirt off, unable to capture the quiet chuckles when your head gets caught in the fabric. Venus’ figure can’t compare to Steven’s tawny chest, faint abs rippling under your nails and lips as you kiss your way up to his pecs. 

Surrounded by pools of each other’s clothes, your burning bodies lay beside one another as sensual messes on the floor, rutting against each other gently and needily as Steven hikes your leg over his hip. You grind your mound against his crotch, gasping into his mouth when he holds you there.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He remarks, gripping onto your waist before he suddenly looks to you for guidance. “I-I really… fuck, I really do want you.”

His touch is featherweight, flightless but not even close to fleeting when he takes the time to voyage the muscled wings of your back. 

“In what way?”

He exhales shakily, wetting his lips. “All of them.” You tuck your head under his chin after pressing a brief kiss to his temple. His voice rumbles against your body. The richness of his accent drops to a deeper octave when you reply in a high-pitched moan, hips grinding onto his front when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear. “Teach me how to take care of you, love.” 

“Touch me. Just touch me like you won’t ever stop.” Steven studies the desperation in your glassy eyes and nods softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. Yet, past the swirls of loving lust in his expression, you recognize that something’s bothering him. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” He says almost too quickly. “Yeah, I am. Are you? I just, um…” He laughs sheepishly, stroking the side of your head. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You haven’t?”

“I never… got to that point, really, with anyone.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” You shift closer to him, resting your forehead against his as you look at him through your lashes, “I’ve never had someone inside me.” And Steven moans. Loud, deep, desperate. You would’ve clenched your thighs together had Steven not hoisted your leg higher over his hip. “I’ve done stuff, but… never been fucked. Never been…” You sigh blissfully when his fingers trace the curve of your buttock. “… properly filled up by anyone.”

“You’re going to k-kill me, love.” He glances down at your clothed core, fingers begging to reach for you.

“I’m sorry, I know. I know.” You kiss him, earning a needy groan from the man. “Go on then, touch me, baby.”

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong. Tell me if it’s not what you want.” 

Agonizingly slow, his digits dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your cunt. The gentle notion makes you gasp once more, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit. His middle finger circles leisurely over the sensitive nub with feathery touches.

“Steven,  fuck… yeah, that’s it.”

His voice hitches in his throat as he gauges your reaction. “Oh, love, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?” You guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your slick against your wet entrance. “Y/N, you gorgeous, gorgeous thing.”

“Feels good.” You scratch at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. Your eagerness spurs Steven further and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. “Tease.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing and you’re calling me a tease?” He smirks proudly, repeating the gesture until he’s drawing a moan out of you each time. The outline of his dick protrudes against his boxers, and only then does he realize how hard he is for you. “It’s good, yeah?”

You’ve never seen him so smug.

Yet you like it, and you can’t fucking help but want more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, it’s — it’s… oh, Steven.”

Your sentence is interrupted midway when he pushes his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretching sensation. He inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. You shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. He hums at your facial expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his jaw.

It brings an innocent smile to his face thinking how he’ll have to show up to work tomorrow with remnants of you all over him. 

Steven mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his fumbling kisses. You rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own pleasure against your skin.

“You’re so perfect.” He groans, fucking his digits in and out of you. The noises that leave your cunt and his throat are sinful, but nothing beats the image of you resting your head on his arm, his hand cupping your mound while he fingers you on the floor impatiently. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, dovey? God, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to.”

“Steven, your fingers...” You watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. You nearly sob from the intensity. “You get me so wet.”

“That’s good, Y/N. That’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that.” You clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you. His touch is generous, obviously eager to satisfy you, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. “Can I tell you something?”

Your voice comes out broken, mind fuzzy as your cunt tightens around him. “What?”

“Those… those two years, I…” He moans in tandem with you when you nibble at his bottom lip. “I, fuck, it wasn’t just pining, Y/N.”

“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I — I think I’m in love with you. And not just because I’m…“ He laughs. “… inside you right now, but I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment you spoke to me and — and fuck, being able to hold you like this only confirms it.”

And just like that, you come undone all over his thick fingers.

“Oh, fuck! S-Steven!”

You cry out into his chest, bite marks tattering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax. Your body shivers from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, which usually never happens from anyone else’s hands other than your own. Steven’s confession hangs heavily in the air even as he coaxes you through your high, fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you. 

Soft praises leave him in whispers, and he shares his affection for you with gentle pecks to your temples. 

A couple minutes pass by until you’re able to catch your breath, or at least, compose yourself.

“Was I imagining that or did you just say you love me?” You look up at him with big eyes, voice hushed and fearful as he wipes the sweat away from your brow with his thumb. 

He gulps, lashes fluttering dreamily when you cup his cheek with a shaky hand. “S’real.”

“Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“More than best friends?”

Steven adores the childish glimmer of curiosity in your innocent gaze. He chuckles quietly, nodding. “Best friends included and more.”

“I love you, best friends and more.” You rub your nose against his before your stare drifts to his swollen lips. “But the next time you confess shit like that, don’t do it when you’re fingering me.”

He flashes you a weak smile. “Alrighty, miss.”

Although, Steven is unprepared for when you untangle yourself from his arms and settle between his thighs, nails raking over his muscled calves and mouth grazing over the bulging front of his boxers.

Your next words simultaneously fill and take the air from his lungs.

“Do it when you have your cock inside me.”

Marc nearly takes control of the body himself at that exact moment, and Steven immediately thinks he’s going to pass out when you tug his boxers down his hips to free his aching prick. His reddened tip is already leaking with pre-cum, thighs jolting beneath your slow and open-mouthed kisses to his skin. 

“You really are hellish.” He whines when you wrap your middle and ring finger along the middle of his cock, lips suctioning around the base. A long moan drawls from his throat as he rests his head back against the rug, eyes screwing shut when you run your warm tongue along a prominent vein. 

“Am not.” You chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the head.

He stifles a groan, forearm coming up to cover his eyes as you take just the tip of him into your mouth. “Oh, my god, Y/N. F-Fuck, yes.” You hum in amusement, the back of your throat sending the vibrations right to his cock. “That’s good. Really fucking good. Oh, fuck.”

You grin widely, but remain careful not to use any teeth on him. “You’re very needy, you know that? But, oh, you’re just doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

The mocking tone of your phrases make him squirm. He’s gripping onto a fistful of the Persian rug, wrinkling it with scarred knuckles. 

“Please.”

“Please?” 

“More. Touch me more.” He shakes his head at you, chin pressing against his chest as he stares down at you with a defeated expression. “Please, love.”

You’d be lying if you say that the way he looks at you doesn’t make you wet. You’re practically a puddle of desire, and Steven is melting jelly in your hands when your head quickly bobs down his thick length. 

He’s sputtering out a string of swear words, cursing more than you’ve ever heard him in your years of friendship. You can tell he’s trying his best not to cum prematurely, not that you’d care anyways, but with how his soft stomach ripples and flexes with each deliberate swirl of your textured tongue, you know he’s struggling.

And just when you’re about to give him that moment of release, you feel Steven pulling you back by the hair. Disappointment flashes over his features briefly when your mouth leaves him, but the boyish longing on his face quickly shifts into attentiveness when he catches a glimpse of the confused glint in your eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Your hands find his face once more. It becomes so natural in this new, sudden dynamic together — touching him, feeling him against you like you’ve always wanted. “Was it too much?”

“No, no, it was amazing.” He assures you, fingers pushing back the matted hair on your cheeks. “You’re amazing. I just don’t — I don’t wanna finish and leave you unsatisfied.”

“You could never leave me unsatisfied, silly.” You bite your lip feverishly, thumb stroking his chin for comfort.

He smiles. The tension of the conversation seems far from innocent now, especially when a near-indiscernible side of Steven appears as the words leave him confidently:

“I want to be your first, though. The first man inside you.”

“Steven…” 

“Only if you want, Y/N. Whatever you say goes, no matter what.” His hands grab yours, sweat sticking to each other’s skin. “It would be nice to have you be my first. And me as yours. I mean, it sounds so juvenile to want no one except you, but it’s the truth.” He lazily kisses across your knuckles, paving his way around the tendons with his lips. “I want to have sex with you, and I want to remember it.”

“Is he here right now?” Steven freezes and his jaw goes slack at the question. He can tell you’re nothing but concerned once your eyebrows knit together deeply. “Is Marc here?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked about Marc Spector without Steven bringing him up on his own account.

“Why? Did you want — do you want him instead?” 

“No! No, I don’t. Not for this.” You smile with brief panic, tracing the bridge of Steven’s nose to put his worries to rest. His frown gradually fades with the soothing motion. “I just want to make sure it’s you. Everything we do here, I want it to be with you.” You ruffle his hair teasingly once he sits up. “No offense to Marc, by the way.”

Steven chuckles, “I’ll give him your regards.” 

“Well, he has yet to talk to me.” You shrug casually, grabbing onto his biceps as he pulls you onto his lap. 

“He’s just shy.” He grins against your lips. His palm travels up the swell of your breast until he’s softly kneading the ball of flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your breathing quickens, eyes fixating on his hardened erection. “Shyer than you?”  

“Oh, incredibly.” Steven jokes, shaking his head. 

He can just imagine Marc’s downturned expression of disbelief. 

“Tell him…” You nip at his earlobe, moaning against his cheek. “… that I’m already spoken for.”

“Are you now?” He’s abrupty cut off by his own gasp when your arm reaches behind and you wrap a fist around his dick, pumping him slowly in your firm grasp. “Rude. I was talking.”

“Were you? I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

She thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she?

“Stop a-apologizing and…” He hisses when you twist your hand, grazing the pad of your finger over his slit. “F-Fuck, Y/N.”

“There we go…” You grind against his tip, pre-cum smearing across your folds. “What do you want?”

“Want you to use me, darling. However you’d like.”

“So eager for me, Steven.” You breathe into his mouth, noses nudging against each other as you line his cock up with your entrance. “You haven’t even fucked me and yet you’re practically begging for more.”

“God, you talk so filthy for someone with such a gorgeous face, yeah?”

“I guess I truly am hellish.” 

And yet nothing about this feels like hell. 

Especially once you sink down onto his length, the heavy tip of his cock ready to stretch you out. It’s only slightly painful — a brief sting, the awkward shifting of bones so that Steven can sit back and have your thighs on either side of him, the echoing of your quiet whimpers beneath the soft light as you take every inch of him into your core. Your slick spreads onto his thighs and balls, wetness coating his digit as he instantly reaches for your clit like its become second nature.

“You — you’re really tight.” He groans, looking down at where your cunt swallows him whole. 

You laugh wryly, whimpering when his hips subconsciously rut into you. “And you’re really big.” 

Steven tilts his head back and looks up at you with a hazy smile, raising your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. For a split second, you think it’s Marc — the darkness in his eyes, the sudden dominance dripping from his tone, but it’s a big mistake on your part to second-guess him once he finally thrusts into you.

“Say it again, love.” 

It’s completely Steven — his wandering hands, grasping and grabbing at flesh, grounding you, feeling every crevice and fold of your body like it’s a sanctuary that he’s been dying to enter.

“You’re so big.” Your mouth gapes, eyes widening when you submit to his touch and let him take you. “Oh, fuck. Steven, please.”

“Yeah?” He grunts gruffly into your neck, teeth marking the virginal expanse of your throat. “You like it this way? My lovely Y/N enjoys getting fucked on the floor of her own flat?”  

“I love it.” You meet his strokes halfway, tits bouncing in his face as he leans forward on his knees and wraps your legs behind his back. “Oh, s-shit. Mmm, right there — right there feels so — so good, Steven. Fuck!” 

Steven bites down onto your shoulder when he lays you down onto the rug, cock burying itself deeper inside your cunt while he puts his weight on top of your body. His whiny moans are muffled, gasps and slaps filling the ambience of the messy living room. You’re sure that the neighbors below your studio can feel every force of Steven’s hips pounding into you — hard, slow and full. 

You scratch down his spine, red marks drawing angry lines across his tanned muscles. Juices are running down your inner thighs and cream coats his cock as he fucks you needily. While his skin is stained with paint, your skin is littered with his stinging handprints. He spreads his palms over your ass, carefully maneuvering you up and down his length as you sob into his chest.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re everything I could’ve dreamed of.” Steven pants out incoherently, nipping at your jawline. “This pretty cunt… jus’ wrapped ‘round me. I could get used to this, you know that?” 

Your throat feels raw from your mewling, the exhausted and desperate need to cum written all over your features. “You can have me anyday and anytime. I want you to…” You swallow roughly. “… fill me up, Steven. Take me whenever.” Your tone grows hushed, breathy whispers ghosting over the shell of his ear. “I wanna see how drunk you can get off of my pussy.”

“Holy f-fuck.”

You laugh together, even during the heated moment. “You love it when I talk dirty, don’t you?”

“I just love you. Anything you say, anything you do, it just absolutely riles me up.” His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you to him till your foreheads are touching and your naked bodies beg even harder for release. “God, dovey. You’re a perfect work of art. 

“Mmm, I-I’m close.” You gasp out, nails digging into his shoulder blades when his cock begins to hit that unforgivable spot inside you. 

Steven takes a moment to pull out of you, running himself against your folds until he dives right back in. His tip prods and prods at your walls, your wetness leaving his prick damp with each deep stroke. 

“Fuck, Y/N. S’good, I can’t — oh, hell, I can’t think anymore.” He whines, arms resting on either side of your head as he pounds into you. 

“Stevie.”

He shushes you tenderly, thumb sliding across the corners of your eyes to wipe away the brimming tears. “I know, darling. I know. I’ll get you there, promise.” His breath fans out across your lips, and you take advantage of your proximity to reel him in for another drowning kiss. 

His thrusts grow sloppy, hips losing their graceful rhythm as he continues to snap into you. He beckons your name like it’s a song on loop, while your tiny whimpers turn into loud wanton groans of lust. He pulls you back into an embrace and sits up again, hooking his arms under your knees so that they’re bent and your ass hovers over his lap. 

The position leaves you vulnerable when you hold onto his torso for dear life, fluids making a mess between your bodies.

“I love you.” You croak out, opening your eyes to gaze into Steven’s dilated pupils. “Best friends and more.”

“And I love you.” You moan in tandem, feeling yourselves near your orgasm. “My sweet, perfect Venus.”

You clench around his hard cock, cumming intensely on his length as he cries against your neck. His hands are everywhere, but all you can focus on is the way your cunt contracts around him, tugging and milking him till he discovers his own high. This time, Steven doesn’t shy away from moaning and allows himself those deserved minutes of relief as you ride out your orgasms together.

“Oh, my god.” 

Momentarily, neither you or Steven move from the rug. He keeps you on his cock, too scared to face the emptiness that’ll come once you leave him. But it seems that you share the same sentiment, sighing against his bicep as you draw circles on the back of his hand. 

He decides to break the comfortable silence.

“I do okay?” 

Steven can feel your smile form against his skin, eyes sleepy and droopy from where your head lays. “You did so good.” 

“You wanna get cleaned up?”

“Please.”

With ease, Steven helps you off of him, already missing the comfort and warmth of your core as you both shakily rise to your feet. For a split second, it’s awkward — your palms shift to cup your naked breasts, while his limbs fumble to fetch you a quilt from the couch till he realizes his own indecency.

But then you share another bubbly laugh and offer the other half of your quilt to Steven, who doesn’t hesitate to cozy up beside you and have you lead one another to the bathroom. You take him under your clothed wing, ankles bumping together clumsily as he finds the light by the sink and quietly flicks it on.

He unravels himself from the quilt first and sits by the edge of your bathtub while he waits for the water to heat up. You watch him lovingly from the doorframe, tired and hair matted, but nevertheless, Steven thinks you look ravishing.

“Come on now.” The Londoner makes grabby hands towards you, taking the blanket from your hickey-covered frame and folding it neatly by the bathroom counter. 

You sit with him in the tub — back to his chest, his back to the tile, your hands interwoven amongst the soapy suds and lavender, chamomile-scented bubbles. 

A soft sigh. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. An adoring chuckle as your lover brushes his nose against your ear and tells you stories of how the sun loved the moon.

Like clockwork.

Steven is everywhere. On your lips, the scent that wafts through your closet, your bedsheets and the Persian rug in your living room, in how you make your tea, in what mug you drink water out of, what songs you play to start your morning.

But most of all, he lingers in the unfinished painting on your easel. Jaw sharp and nose prominent, eyes youthful yet wise, lips pillowy and inviting. 

He is in the shades of brown, pastel pinks and the added hue of orange from how his marked skin glistens in candlelight.

He is your Venus.

Not the goddess, but the planet.

Either way, neither of them are able to truly equate your love for him.

jjk boys with a crush on you

pairings: yuuji, megumi, toge, satoru & sukuna x gn!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst

itadori yuuji

an absolute mess. this boy cannot contain himself around you. he probably thinks he’s being slick, but with the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, it’s no surprise that everyone knows about his little crush. including you. how could you possibly miss it when he’s always flashing you his overexcited grins and sputtering a greeting that’s either way too loud or not at all audible to the human ear.

Keep reading

Upping the Ante

Rick Flag (DCEU) x Reader

Summary: Rick keeps his promise. Follow-up to A Betting Man.

Word count: 2,129

A/N: This fic is dedicated to one of my beta readers, good friends, and fellow CEO of Simps, Inc. whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy birthday!

Warnings: Vaginal sex, rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, masturbation (male), overstimulation, dirty talk, a bit o’ praise kink

While you adjust your dress, Rick tosses the condom into the nearest dumpster and refastens his pants. He grabs you by the hips and pulls your pelvis flush against his. “Wanna make another bet?” he asks.

You narrow your stare at him, intrigued. “Depends on the bet.”

He tightens his grasp. “Come home with me tonight and I’ll fuck you ‘til you can’t see straight.”

“That’s not a bet, Rick.”

“No,” he drawls, stroking his thumbs over the dip of your waist. “But it is a promise.”

You stumble over the threshold and into Rick’s apartment, tongues twisting, breaths exchanging, and hands a blur as you tear at each other’s clothes. It’s a flurry of fabric, garment after garment dropping unceremoniously to the ground.

The front door slams. The lock automatically slides home as it shuts. Rick flicks on the light switch to the left of the door, and a standing lamp posted at the opposite side of the door frame blinks on.

“I swear, I never do this,” you mumble against Rick’s lips, walking backward as he leads you deeper into the apartment. You kick off your shoes and unzip your dress as you go. “I’m not usually the sleeping-with-strangers type.”

“Me neither,” he says. “Tell me something about you.”

Your words fall into his mouth as you prattle off a few facts about yourself: your last name, where you’re from, what you do, and so on. Rick unbuttons his shirt and strips it off his broad shoulders while he tells you a similar set of facts about himself.

“Flag,” he says. “Actually, Colonel Richard Flag, Jr., if you wanna get specific. Born in D.C., but I spend most of my time in Louisiana these days. Don’t ask me what I’m doing there, though, because if I told ya, I’d have to kill ya, and that’d be a real fucking shame because you are so fucking hot.”

“You flatter me,” you snicker.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.”

Rick brands the shape of his mouth across your neck, his lips hot and wanton on your skin. He bends slightly at the knee to tug off his jeans and boxer briefs, then straightens to his full, towering height and punts the clothes across the room.

He stalls and breaks the kiss.

Rick’s movements are slow as he grazes his short fingernails over your back, following the V-shape of the open zipper cascading down your spine. He hooks the tips of his fingers under the parted seam and drags the dress down over your shoulders, middle, and hips so it falls in a heap around your bare feet.

The light from the standing lamp near the door washes tantalizingly over your nearly naked figure. You reach behind your back, flick open the clasp tight against your upper back, and drop your bra to the floor.

You take a staggering step backward.

You salaciously scan Rick’s body: sculpted, carved, chiseled. He gleams under the warm lamplight, his skin kissed by sunset. Shadows shade the defined ridges of his muscles. Shoulders pulled back and chin raised, he holds himself with confidence, with strength, with power. His toned stomach shudders as he sucks in a breath.

His pupils expand the longer he stares at you. He trails his eyes over every curve, every edge, and every dimple of your body. He stares and stares and stares, until he can’t resist it any longer. He charges toward you, cups your cheeks, and draws you into another passionate kiss.

Your hands mirror the other’s as you skim your fingertips lightly down each other’s abdomens to the apex of your respective thighs. Rick dips his fingers between your folds and you wrap your palm around his stiff cock.

You exchange sighs, mimicking movements. You pump your fist in time with the steady pace of Rick’s fingers furling and unfurling in your pussy. Then, his thumb brushes against your clit. Your head tips back. You moan.

“Oh, fuck, Rick.” You bring your head back to center. “Will you please fuck me already?”

“Ma’am,” he drawls, “it’d be my pleasure.”

Rick coils his palms around the backs of your thighs and lifts you into his arms. As he carries you toward his bedroom, you claw at his shoulders. You rake your fingernails across his scalp and nip at his neck. A growl thunders in his chest as he kicks open his bedroom door and sits on the side of his bed, straddling you across his lap.

Rick turns on the lamp and blindly rifles through the drawer in the bedside table beside him. He pulls out an unopened box of condoms. He yanks open the box, rips one from the chain, tosses the box back into the bedside table, and shuts the drawer. His nimble fingers move quickly as he opens the wrapper and rolls the condom down his shaft. His eyes meet yours.

“Ride me, sweetheart,” he says.

With one hand, Rick lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, and with the other, he guides you up onto your kneecaps, then down onto his shaft. You groan in unison as he bottoms out.

You start slowly, allowing yourself to feel every inch of the man inside of you—rock hard and demanding attention. You link your arms firmly around his neck and pin yourself even closer to him, welding your bodies together with the sheen of sweat dampening your chests.

Rick helps you ride him. His hand stays anchored at your waist while the other roves over your shoulder and around to your collar, his thumb brushing across your clavicle. He braids his fingers in your hair and pushes it out of your face so he can see you.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says.

Fucking hell.

You slam your lips against his and knot your fingers in the mop of sandy hair at the back of his skull. You hasten the drop of your hips.

“Oh, fuck,” Rick groans as you clench around him. “Jesus fucking Christ. You gotta… You gotta stop that, sweetheart, or I’m gonna come too soon.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” you tease.

“Yeah, but I told you I’d fuck you ‘til you can’t see straight,” he says. “Can’t do that if I come before you do. At least…” He pauses, a sly smirk gracing his face. “The first time.”

Your lighthearted laugh rings through the thick air around you. “Well, you sure seem like a man with a plan. So, why don’t you show me what you got in mind, Boy Scout?”

Grinning, Rick snaps upright and pivots. He lands you on your hands and knees at the edge of the mattress. You feel his calloused palm smooth over your ass and ghost down the ladder of your spine. You shiver under his surprisingly light touch, and cry out at the contrast to the harsh thrust he delivers seconds later.

His skin slaps loudly against yours as he rails into you. The obscene, percussive sound mixes with your high-pitched whines and chiming whimpers, in harmony with Rick’s guttural groans. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls it taut at the root, adding just a little bit of delicious pain to your overwhelming pleasure.

Rick snakes his other hand around your hip and between your legs. Still plowing into you, he strums your clit feverishly. You feel your orgasm stir in your core. Burning bright, hot, and insistent, it grows as Rick maintains his frantic pace. He can tell you’re nearing the edge, on the cusp of release, and he speeds the motion of his fingers on the center of your pleasure to get you there.

The orgasm crashes through you in tidal waves of ecstasy, a monsoon of bliss. It floods your senses, washes away all tension, and cleanses you of the worry and anxiety that you usually carry in your muscles.

Your cunt flutters around Rick and he comes moments after you do, emptying himself into the condom. He lays his chest over your back. You listen to the heavy sound of his panting breath in your ear.

He inks a soft kiss into your shoulder, straightens his spine again, and pulls his softening cock from your pussy. You expect him to collapse onto the bed next to you, but instead, you feel his palm running down your calf to your ankle.

He yanks your leg out from under you and flips you onto your back. In shock at the magnitude of his bodily power, you meet his ravenous stare.

Rick slides down your body, eyes shining with hunger. He stamps winding kisses into your abdomen as he goes. Then, he lowers to his knees, spreads your thighs, and brings his face to your cunt.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the head of the man buried between your legs. His shoulder blades roll, ropes of muscle sliding over the harsh angles of his bones that comprise his rugged frame: a rippling sea of raw masculinity.

The bedside lamp’s yellowish glow casts over Rick’s head, dyeing his brownish-blond strands pure gold. You comb your fingers through it and let the shimmering locks tickle your knuckles. Rick hums pleasantly against you, enjoying your touch as much as you’re enjoying his.

Rick takes his time, unrushed in the privacy of his own home. He moves his tongue languidly, savoring the taste of you and the sweet noises flowing past your lips. Your elbows buckle beneath you when he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you crash flat on your back into the mattress again.

You’re unaware of the words coming from your mouth, ignorant to everything other than the unwavering heat of Rick’s tongue on your pussy.

“So good,” you pant. “Rick… so… so good.”

“I know, baby. I know,” he says.

Rick urges the orgasm from you with the slide of his tongue and urgency of his mouth. He doesn’t subside after the first; he continues, just as he had earlier that evening outside the bar.

Arms spread wide—a sacrificial pose—your fists tighten in the sheets. Your head lolls from side to side. Your eyes flutter shut and your jaw drops. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure, white-hot and unrelenting. It consumes you, controls you, crushes you. You are at its will, and the will of the man delivering it.

With each lap and lick, feeling wanes from your limbs. It starts in your fingertips, a noticeable tingling, then moves up your legs, leaving them gelatinous, useless, and weak.

“Rick,” you slur, “I can’t. I… It’s too much.”

Rick glimpses up at your slackened face.

“I made you a promise,” he says, “and I intend to keep it.”

Gone is his lethargy. He returns with an insistent vigor that strikes through your limbs like an electric shock, and rips one last climax from your boneless body.

White flashes across your vision, then black, before Rick’s ceiling comes back into focus.

“Holy shit,” you wheeze. “Holy shit, Rick.”

Rick stands, one palm pumping his cock, hard again. He wipes the back of his other hand across his wet mouth.

“How was that, sweetheart?” he asks. You wheeze a laugh and bob your chin lazily in response. Rick speeds the pace of his fist around his shaft and takes a step toward you.

His eyes flash. “Tell me how good I made you feel.”

“You made me feel so good, Rick,” you say. “Never felt that good before.”

Rick’s chest heaves as the praises tumble freely off your tongue.

“You made me come so hard. God, you’re so good.”

His hand hastens. His abdomen contracts. His breath shortens. You watch his cock pulse under his grip.

He comes with a loud grunt, splattering streaks of cum across your tits.

Wracked by his orgasm, Rick keels forward, but catches himself with his palm, rooted to the mattress beside your head. His panting breath wafts over your face. He smears his fingertip through the warm lines and brings it to your lips. You taste him, hot and bitter, on your tongue.

With his gaze glued yours, Rick curls his free hand around the nape of your neck, tilts your head, and kisses you once more.

+ + +

On Sunday, you’re greeted at brunch with a squealing chorus of your name and a round of bone-crushing hugs from your friends. As you settle into the remaining vacant seat, someone thrusts a mimosa into your hand.

The former birthday girl says, “We missed you after we left the bar.”

“I know,” you apologize. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come over.”

“Tell me you had a good rest of your night at least,” she says.

You smirk against the lip of your glass.

“Don’t worry,” you assure her, “I did.”

+

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

Joel Kinnaman Characters Smut Masterpost

Recommended: Unlikely Heroes, Part 1 (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader)

Want to join my taglist? Drop an ask, message me, or comment on this post.

Perma-list

@justanotherblonde23 @lisas-stuff-and-junk @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @kirsteng42 @xoxabs88xox @a-reader-and-a-writer @stardust-galaxies @averysblog @weallhaveadestiny @hawsx3 @dear-fifi @heresathreebee @knivesareout @lacontroller1991 @kingtwhiddleston @phelan-jaeger @riddikulus-obsessions @lunarxeclipse @moonlightstormrain @alainabooks143 @loverhymeswith @inthetikiroom @diehades @rachelh1992 @mattymurdocksbitch @primadxna-girl @jad3djay @kjlo-worldly @soggyjohnlemons @haileyromanoff @dopeqff @buckybarneshairpullingkink @yespolkadotkitty @phoenixhalliwell @nerdgrrlramblings @se-fucking-hun @bbwithaknife @stinkytootsies

“Flag-list”

@waspswidows @wariowap @goldiesworld @fairchildflag @dangelus @sweetlittlegingy @my-name-is-alice-ayers @rexorangecouny @torchbearerkyle @cluelessnitwhit

Kinnaman Characters Taglist

@strangunddurm @twinklelilstarkey @wxr-zxne

Touch Me There | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! This is my entrance for @yarnforbrains and @late-to-the-party-81's 300/250 follower celebration! Congratulations to both of you :)

Also, shout out @breakablebarnes for this song! It's so fucking good.

Send me your comments, requests, and/or submissions!

Tag list @beefybuckrrito @everything-burns-down @shadytalementality @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @glxwingrxse @psychoticmason @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @jamesbarnesjr @duchessoftheheart

A/N: New lingerie

Warning: P in V sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), bondage, praise kink

"They say I'm too young,

but boys my age are dumb,

and I'm so fucking done.

Cause I need more than fun,

a man to tie me up,

and give it to me rough."

Bucky was in the midst of a complex discussion with Torres, planning on how to access the Flag Smashers archive, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. His vibranium hand pulled out the phone and he threw a quick glance at the screen, doing a double take when he saw it was a message from you. The two words you'd sent him made his mind go completely blank:

"Need you."

Quickly, Bucky fired a message back: “Like you’re in danger? or in a sexy way? Either way, leaving now. See you in 20.”

He came up with a quick excuse and hastily left the briefing room, almost running to his bike. His phone buzzed again and when he checked the message, all he saw was a photo of your legs in fishnets. Anything related to Torres or the Flag Smashers was pushed from his mind completely as he thought of you needily waiting for him at home. His tires squealed against the concrete as he peeled out of the parking garage in your direction. He weaved through traffic on his motorcycle, breaking all kind of laws without caring.

When he finally got home, he found the door unlocked. The apartment was empty, quiet, still. He’d half expected you to be sitting on the floor in front of the door with your legs already spread for him, and was only slightly disappointed when you weren’t. Just as he was about to call out for you, he heard it- the click, click, click of your heels on the hardwood floor.

The sound got closer, but you were moving way too slow for his liking- delaying him the privilege of seeing you in whatever sultry ensemble you’d decided to put on display for him.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Finallly, you rounded the corner into the living room and stood confidently before him. His eyes raked over your form, making him desperate with need. You stared at him from across the room, clad in fishnet thigh highs, lacy black panties, a black leather bustier with a matching garter belt, and his favorite black stilettos.

“Hey, Sarge…” you called, innocently toying with his dog tags that had found a home between your breasts.

Bucky had no words. He was rendered utterly speechless at the sight of you, his best girl, dressed like that.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue, Buck?”

You knew Bucky was going to be shocked when he feasted his eyes on you, but not this shocked. He hadn’t moved a muscle since you entered the room, which was not what you’d expected. You thought he’d have his hands on you in no time, ripping through your garters and bustier like his life depended on it- but he didn’t. He’d never seen someone so alluring, so mouth-watering, so perfect in his one hundred years of life, and simply didn’t know how to react.

You decided to take matters into your own hands. Slowly, you made your away across the room toward him, never breaking eye contact. The click, click, click of your heels made Bucky’s chest-and his jeans- tighten as he watched you approach. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so still…” you teased as you dragged a finger down his chest. Knowing the effect you had over Bucky was intoxicating, and a devilish smile crept across your lips.

“You like my new outfit…?

The sensation of Bucky’s cold, metal hand wrapping around your wrist made your words catch in your throat. His eyes grew dark as he stared down at you with a wild lust. “That’s enough of that…” he muttered. You took that as a challenge, pressing your free hand flush against his chest with a smirk. A dark chuckle rumbled out of Bucky’s chest, vibrating beneath your touch.

“Wow. Bold today, aren’t we, doll?”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about…” you quipped as you let your hand drag down Bucky’s chest to his abdomen. He groaned a little as you ghosted your fingers under the hem of his Henley, but there was no way he was going to let you forget who was in charge. In an instant, he had both of your hands captured with his metal fingers. He pressed you against the nearest wall with his mouth only millimeters from your hammering pulse. “Do you need me to remind you…” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting across your skin, “who you belong to?”

You threw him a shrug and an innocent smile, muttering “who exactly is that?” Without warning, you were thrown over Bucky’s metal shoulder. He let out a dark chuckle as he strode confidently toward the bedroom with your ass inches from his face. “Oh, don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna remind you”, he growled as he landed a smack to your ass.

You loved making Bucky feel like he was in charge. Sure, you were submissive to him, but you had him wrapped around your finger. All it took was a two worded text to get him to leave work, and a new leather bustier to make him crazy for you.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you quipped, earning you another spanking. Bucky threw you down on the bed and leaned over you, grazing his teeth against you neck and making you whimper.

“Both.”

He leaned under the side of the bed and retrieved one of his favorite things in the world: a set of leather restraints. “You remember your colors, right, baby?” he asked as he grabbed one of your legs and pulled you toward the foot of the bed. He let his lips trail from your knee to your ankle before securing the leather cuff to your ankle and fastening the other end to the bed post. He stared up at you, waiting for you to answer his question, but all you gave him was a “hmmmm”.

A sharp sting made you hiss, and you looked down to find his teeth marks on your thigh. “I said, do you remember your colors?” Innocently, you repeated the system the two of you used: “Green is all good, yellow is slow down, and red is stop”, you murmured as he secured your other ankle to the bed post. Slowly, he crept up your body, pressing deep kisses to your skin as he did so. “That’s right. Such a good girl for me…’ he whispered, “gimme those hands”. You did as you were told and presented Bucky with your hands with a giggle. He pressed a kiss to each palm before restraining them to the headboard.

“Color?”

“Green. So green”.

He hummed in approval as he ran his mouth down your arm, nipping and kissing at the skin until he reached your shoulder. “One more thing…” he murmured as he reached into his bedside table. In his vibranium hand sat a black silk blindfold.

“Well, this is new…”

“Yeah…” he murmured, “thought you might like it. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to use it.”

“Now. Now is good”, you whispered eagerly. He leaned over you and put the blindfold in place, securing it so that you were in complete darkness. “Color, baby?’

“Green green green”

With that, he crushed his lips against yours, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip as his hands roamed your body. A distinct ripping sound caught your attention, and cool air suddenly pricked at your skin. “Bucky…you did not-” you huffed, but he didn’t let you finish. His lips encircled one of your nipples while his fingers found your other one, giving it a pinch that made you yelp. His tongue flicked against your nipple, making you mewl beneath him.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked as he gave you another pinch.

“You…”

“I’ll buy you a new one…actually, several new ones,” he teased as he threw the remnants of your bustier to the floor. Another ripping sound, and your panties and garters were gone as well. “How we doin, baby?” he murmured as he trailed his hands down your abdomen.

“Greeeeeeeen”, you purred. His fingers found your clit and ghosted over it, making you buck your hips in search of more friction. He stroked along your cunt, admiring the slick gathjering on his fingers. He circled them against your clit, pulling away every few second just to tease you. It was torturous and unfair, and you loved every second of it.

“Remind me, who do you belong to, baby?”

“You, Buck…”

When his tongue flicked across your clit, you could’ve cried. The warmth of his mouth pressed against you, sucking your clit into his mouth made you crazy.

He pulled back taking in the sight of you absolutely dripping for him. “Already so wet for me, doll…” he teased, “almost like you’re begging me”. You nodded eagerly, wishing you could reach out and grab him. The restraints clattered against the headboard as you desperately tried to touch Bucky, and he yet again asked for your color.

“Greengreengreengreen just fuck me. Please, I am- I am begging you”.

His fingers plunged inside of you, making you cry out as he stroked your smooth walls. “So gorgeous when you beg, baby. You’ve been so good for me”, the sound of his zipper caught your attention, making you giggle with excitement. He wriggled out of his jeans and shirt, throwing them to the floor next to your ruined panties.

The head of his cock circled your clit as he whispered, “who do you belong to?” The moan that fell from your lips was dirty and deep, but you still managed to breathe a “you”.

At your words, he plunged deep inside of you. His hands found your hips and gripped you tight, digging his fingers into your flesh. A chorus of moans filled the air, and you weren’t sure who they belonged to. Bucky slowed his pace, making sure he rubbed against your g-spot with every stroke. “How’s my girl doing?” he asked breathlessly. He picked up his pace an made you scream, your arms making the restraints clash against the headboard. “G-oh fuck, green!” you screamed feeling every muscle in your body beginning to tense up. Bucky pressed his thumb against your clit, circling it until he pushed you over the edge. You clenched around Bucky’s cock, making his orgasm follow close behind yours.

He caught his breath and pressed a kiss to your neck before swiftly removing your blindfold and freeing you from your restraints. He swept you into his arms and held you against his chest, murmuring praises to you as he stroked your hair. “Well, that was…” you whispered against his chest, “that was something”.

Bucky laughed and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Clearly, I have a thing for you in leather…” he quipped as he eyed the ruined garment sitting in a pile on the floor. He made a mental note to buy you about a hundred more pieces of leather lingerie, and your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Hey, new kink!” you teased. He rolled his eyes at you and left a gentle kiss on your lips before murmuring, “yeah, and I think you’re gonna like what I have planned…”

Loud and clear- Rick Flag

Fandom: DC, suicide squad

Pairing: Rick Flag X F!Reader

Summary: after almost getting killed, you and Rick need to hold each other again

Warnings: smut, 18+, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, choking kink, praising kink, lots of dirty talk, Rick being pretty dom, cursing, like lots of it. Overall read at your risk

WC: 5.4k i really just hate myself for this

A/N: I'm really just in love with this man huh? 2 rick fics in less than a week? That's a lot coming from me. But yeah, I just couldn't get scenario out of my head after I wrote Bloodbath, so its kind of a continuation of that fic, but can be read independently since it only briefly mentions reader get shot. I'll link it here just in case. So yeah, hopefully youre enjoying this spam of rick flag content.

Bloodbath

“Uh… the hell are you doin'?” Rick’s voice caught your attention, making you take your attention away from your current task, which was staring very intently at the soldier, more specifically at his arms and chest through that ridiculously tight yellow shirt.

“Huh?” You hummed, barely lifting your eyes away from his tattooed arms, the same ones that were just threatening to rip right through the fabric of that stupid shirt. I mean seriously, who got him that shirt? You got front row seats to the sight too, since you had been shot and not properly cured, your wounds started bleeding and of course, Rick had to force you to sit down and let him cure and clean your wounds. So there you were, sitting in a shitty makeshift chair somewhere in that resistance camp, and Rick sitting right in front of you, really damn close.

‘You’re just starin' at me like you’re plotting to kill me in my sleep. So what is it?” He asked straight up, momentarily lifting his gaze from the gauze he was putting on your collarbone to meet your eyes and he didn’t know if he should be worried by the look in your eyes. You couldn’t help but smirk slightly, biting your lip and you shook your head.

"Nah, that's not it. It's just that damn shirt." You clicked your tongue, biting your lip as you shifted on your seat and narrowed your eyes at the shirt, like there was something wrong with it. Rick scrunched up his face, furrowing his eyebrows and opened his mouth to question you, but you continued, “like damn, that resistance girl really couldn’t have given you a tighter shirt, huh? That shit doesn’t even look like it’s your size.” You drifted your attention to the muscles in his chest and broad shoulders, where the fabric was tightest, even going as far as tilting your head to get a better look at it. You heard Rick sigh dryly, and you knew he was rolling his eyes at you.

“Seriously, what the hell are you on about?” He sighed, watching you get all up in his chest and start to poke and tug at the shirt, as if you were trying to see if it’d stick right back to him, which it did. “Y/N—”

“I gotta give it to her, if I was a girl from this island and I saw this big and tall, blonde soldier with broad shoulders and a pretty face, I’d probably wanna put him in a tight shirt too.” You said mindlessly, your mouth speaking the random and racing thoughts that went through your head as you casually started to lift his shirt until the fabric got stuck under his arms. He actually reacted this time, visibly flinching and shifting, eyes wide.

“Hey, Y/N, stop it already. What the fuck are you doin'?” His tone was sharper this time, his voice slightly rising as he frantically looked around for anyone that might be around. His hands wrapped around your wrist, as a warning to stop before he made you stop.

“Nothing, I’m just trying to see something.” You said innocently, biting your lip as you ran your hands over his stomach and abs, feeling him shudder under your fingers.

Even though he had a tight grip on your wrists, he didn’t actually stop you, he just stared at you and exhaled sharply. When he didn’t actually say anything about it, you rested both hands on his chest to brace yourself as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his neck. You weren’t really sure why, but suddenly you really needed him, you needed to feel him, hold him, touch him everywhere you could. And you needed him to do the same. You didn’t care if that meant he had to fuck you up against a tree, or on the fucking ground, right in the middle of this damn jungle, you just wanted him. The thought of losing the other always made you like this, it made you restless, desperate and needy. God bless the soul of anyone that had to be around you and Rick after a risky, low chance of survival mission. And after what happened at the beach, you knew he felt that way too, and that’s exactly why he hasn’t stopped you yet.

Sex after a mission was like your way of saying 'I'm right here, can you feel me? I'm not going anywhere'

“You’re tryin' to see what? How fast I lose my patience and fuck the lights out of you?” He spoke hoarsely through gritted teeth, slightly tilting his head back in an attempt to keep his composure. But when you quietly moaned at his words, he fucking lost it. The hand that was clasped around your wrist quickly grabbed a hold of the back of your hair, pulling your head back enough to look at him. And the damn near dark look in his hazel eyes and his hard expression as he held your hair left your jaw hanging open.

“Wow, look at that Colonel, you’re pretty and smart. Makes me wonder what’s taking you so long.” You pushed, knowing the more you retorted and talked back, the quicker he’d lose his shit. Because fuck, the way he was just staring at you, jaw tight and eyes narrowed with that dark look, it was just making the ache between your legs stronger.

“Sweetheart, don’t fucking play with me right now.” He exhaled heavily, his voice dropping so low and getting so rough it made you slightly rub your thighs together. You bit your lip and shook your head, silently moving from your seat on to his lap, you instantly felt the hard line of his cock straining against his pants press right against the ache between your legs.

“I’m not. Fuck, I’m not playing with you. I thought I lost you and I just— Fuck Rick, I just need you so much right now. I need to feel you’re here with me, please.” You said so desperately it almost sounded like a whine coming out of your mouth.

You didn't even give him a second to speak, you crashed your lips against his, gripping his short hair as you kissed him with a fervour he of course, matched perfectly. You moaned against his mouth when you felt one of his hands sneak behind you, squeezing your ass under his fingers and his other hand came to grip your jaw in a possessive manner. That sound only riled him up more, because the mere sound of you made him pull you in more, kissing you in a damn near pornographic way as he held you jaw in place, his fingers being enough to damn near close up around your throat. No matter the situation, where, why or who actually initiated the encounter, he always ended up taking charge and manhandling you like you wouldn’t allow anyone else to do. Because fuck, who wouldn’t want this man to throw them around like a fucking ragdoll?

“Oh trust me baby, I need you too. Like so fucking bad. I wanted nothing but to grab you and bend you over somewhere when I saw you again. I thought I lost you and—” Rick took a deep breath, his fingers brushing right under your pulse as he looked up at you, a wild look in his eyes, much like your own. “I just want to fuck you ‘till you feel me for fucking days. But I don't— eh.. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes falling on the bandages on your shoulder and collarbone, right when he had just cured your wounds.

How was it that this man, the man that had you soaking through your pants with some kisses and some grabbing, could also be the sweetest and most caring guy you’ve ever met? He was so painfully hard under you, you could feel it every time you shifted, he was tense and stiff as fuck like it was fucking painful so sit there, with you on his lap. And yet, he’d rather stay that way just so he wouldn’t hurt you any more.

Fuck this man was going to be the fucking death of you.

“Rick I don’t fucking care. Hurt me, make me fucking scream, I don’t care. Like please fucking do. I just want you to fuck me ‘til I cry, please.”

You were sure that man actually rolled his eyes back and a sharp breath left his mouth like something had just fucking snapped in his head. You felt him shudder and his cock actually twitched under you, and when he opened his eyes again, his mouth was on you before you could even breathe. He kissed you so hard it actually took your breath away, but you happily matched his intensity. You gasped when you suddenly felt him stand up, with you wrapped around his waist and large hands squeezing your ass as he held you. You had no idea where he was going, you guessed he was just getting away from everybody because he didn’t stop until you were merely surrounded by trees and the lighting from the camp was faintly illuminating from afar.

“I’d hate for any of these dumbasses to walk in on this, because there’s no fucking way I’m stoppin' until you’re coming around my cock.” He rumbled against your mouth, his lips moving down to your neck, sucking and kissing the tender skin there, not satisfied until he knew he left a pretty good mark to admire the next morning. To say that you were absolute puddy in his hands was a fucking understament. You were aching for him, so much that the little friction that you got from brushing against his front was enough to make you whine.

“Fuck,” you slurred, a shiver slightly prickling your skin when you felt your bare back hit a tree. And with you back being pressed against it, Rick could easily press himself against you, chest against chest, and fuck if only he’d stop brushing the hard on behind his pants against your center, it was driving you insane.

“I swear to God Y/N if you ever do that to me again.” He grabbed your jaw again, drawing you into yet another desperate and frenzied kiss. It was different, earlier it was you that was being desperate, needing to feel him, but this time when he kissed you, you felt that same exact desperation, need, hunger, hell even anger, you felt it all in one. It was like the realization that you could’ve died had just hit him, and he didn’t know what to do with that. “For as long as I am your commander you are not leaving my damn sight. Ever. You understand?” He used his Colonel voice on you, pulling away from your mouth to look dead at you, as if he needed to emphasize his words with the hard look in his eyes.

“Yeah.” you breathed out, already breathless and disheveled. “Loud and clear, Colonel.”

“Good girl.” He praised you in a way that made you pool in your underwear even more. Fuck did you love that.

Rick tapped the side of your thigh, signaling you to let go and without a word he set you down on your feet, quickly working with the zipper and belt of you pants, fumbling with them for a second before popping them open. He slid his hand inside, slipping right into your underwear until his hand was cupping the pool between your legs. Your mouth hung wide open and your eyes rolled into the back of your head when you felt one of Rick’s long and thick fingers slip through your folds, gathering the wetness there only to spread it over your clit.

“Damn, you’re dripping all over my fingers and I’ve barely touched you. You got all wet from a little kissin' and a bit of dirty talkin'?” He chuckled smugly, his words coming out low and dirty as watched the way your face contorted when he slipped a single one of his thick fingers into you. He almost growled when he felt your walls tighten around the digit, he could only imagine how it would feel when you were wrapped around his cock instead.

“Fuck baby, look how you’re already so tight. You’re gonna take me so well aren’t you? You’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock, hm?” He drawled, leaning down to speak his sinful and filthy words right into your ear in a way that just made your knees fucking weak.

You couldn’t get yourself to breathe right, let alone speak. You choked out, nothing but a pitiful moan leaving your lips in response as another wave of wetness pooled out of you, seeping right into his hand. And he fucking laughed, so proud of the reaction he knew his mere words got out of you.

“You like it when I call you a good girl? Because you’re my good little girl, aren’t you?” He continued whispering smugly into your ear, knowing it was making you tremble right under his fingers. You merely nodded feverishly at his words because right then, he slipped another finger in and began scissoring them. His wrist snapping each time he thrusted his fingers into you despite the restraint of your pants. You were nearly seeing fucking stars then.

“You know I’m the Colonel’s good girl.” You barely moaned out, eyes rolling so far back into your head that he probably only saw white when you felt his thick digits brush against your most sensitive spot, starting the recoil in the pit of your stomach. So close. So fucking close, if only he—

“Fuck yeah you are.” He chuckled smugly, pride taking over his features when he saw the utter look of ecstasy in your face, only to take it away merely seconds before you could see stars.

The look on your face was fucking priceless too. You felt your whole soul leave your body when his fingers suddenly left you, leaving you empty and chasing for a high that never came. You were breathless and wide eyed, staring at Rick like you were going to rip his spine out. He had to press a long kiss to your pouty lips because he knew you’d slap the smug smirk off his face if he didn’t.

“Don’t hit me.” He laughed against your lips, his smug but cheeky smile almost made you want to forgive him. Almost.

“The hell was that for? Fucking asshole, you can’t leave a girl hanging like that.” You scoffed loudly, raising your open palm but he dropped to his knees in front of you before you could actually do anything. Oh.

"Who said I was going to leave you like that?" He smirked like he had a devilish plan in mind. And he did, because in a matter of seconds he was pulling your pants and underwear clean off your legs, leaving you pretty much bare. "If you were absolutely dripping with my fingers, I fucking need you to drip on my tongue like that."

And suddenly you were no longer angry. Anger? The hell was that? All you knew was being a fucking shaking mess for Rick Flag.

“Rick wait—” you shuddered when you felt him fan his warm breath right against your clit, making your knees slightly buck under your weight.

“Hm?” He hummed as he looked up at you, casually grabbing your ankle and throwing your leg over his shoulder. Fuck that sight of him, on his knees, with his head between your legs and hazel eyes turned brown staring up at you. It made you so weak you could barely get your words out.

“Rick uhm, maybe you shouldn’t uh, y’know, here, the others and uhm-”

“You’re getting shy on me, Y/N? You’re scared these idiots might see me with my head buried between your legs? Or hear you moan for me? Is that it?” He asked almost mockingly, making fun of how you were suddenly shy, when you’ve probably fucked just about everywhere possible. Public or otherwise. “You know I won’t do anything you don’t want. I’ll stop if that’s what you want, baby.”

Was it really?

Was the sudden feeling of shame and shyness from being out in the jungle and the squad of misfits being within earshot enough to make you want to throw away the sight of the Colonel with his head between your legs? When you could be dead tomorrow and this could be the last time you felt this man take you as he pleased?

Fuck no. Fuck shame, fuck shyness. This man was worth it.

“Fuck no. Do whatever the hell you want. I really need you.” The way this man actually bit his lip when he looked down and caught the sight of your dripping cunt had to be fucking illegal. LIke no man should ever look that hot. The sight alone made you want to scream.

But you’d be screaming soon enough. Before your mind could register anything, Rick was diving forward, his mouth closing over your heat as he licked a long stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The tip of his tongue circled expertly around the bundle of nerves before his lips closed around it, sucking hard. The cry that he incited from you echoed throughout the trees, anyone within 20 feet of you probably heard it, but you did not fucking care. Your hand instantly flew to his short hair, gripping at whatever you could get hold of as he worked with his tongue. He alternated between long licks, smooth kitty licks and sucking on your clit, anything to drive you wild. Though as if you weren’t already. You had no idea how you were even holding yourself up because your legs were shaking so much. Your sense of reality had long abandoned you, hell, you couldn’t even think about anything other than his tongue and how good he was making you feel.

“Fuck— God fuck Rick.” You choked out a moan, not even being able to get the sound out. You knew it wouldn’t take long before you were seeing stars again, I mean, you knew Rick wouldn’t stop until you did. That was his mission, and Rick Flag always accomplished his mission. He just wasn’t holding back, he worked with his mouth like a starved man, lapping up your juices as he continued to flick his tongue.

For a moment his thumb came to replace his tongue, spreading the wetness around your clit with quick and sharp circles. He used that moment to catch a glimpse of you, and he swore he felt his cock twitch at the sight of you, jaw hanging open, eyes screwed shut, legs shaking, knowing you were so close.

“Did I ever tell you just how fucking pretty you look from down here? And you look even prettier when you come for me. You gonna do that baby? You gonna be a good girl and come for me?” Goddamn his words were so filthy, his voice was so low and raspy you wanted to come right there and there. Hell, you were going to, your whole body was on fire, you were hot and sweaty, you were a shaking mess as you tried to chase your high. You couldn’t really respond verbally anymore, you didn’t even remember what words were. So you simply nodded desperately, tugging at the longer strands of hair, not so subtly telling him to get his mouth on you. With a low laugh he did.

Before you knew it, Rick was diving in again, gripping the thigh over his shoulder, fingers digging deep into the skin as his mouth closed around your clit and his expert tongue flicked eight figures around the sensitive bud. You were so close you were even bucking your hips, trying to get as much friction as you could. Rick chuckled when you did, sending short vibrations right against you. Just a bit more.

You completely lost it when he started shaking his head from side to side, hot tongue flicking non-stop, and that’s when you really saw stars. Your vision became blurry, your jaw dropped, a loud cry of his name escaping your throat as your whole body trembled under his fingers. He had to hold you then because when your body stopped spasming against the tree, the leg you were standing on slightly gave up and your knees buckled.

“That’s it. Good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me.” Rick praised as he pulled away from you wet center, pressing small kisses to your inner thigh until you came down from your high, breathing short and heavy. When you opened your eyes, you looked down, and you were met with the filthiest sight ever. The wetness from you was smeared all over his chin and mouth when he pulled away, and you caught him wiping the glistening slick with the back of his hand before his eyes caught yours, and that filthy and mischievous look in them was always so rare to see. He’d save that side of himself for when he was with you. Thank fucking God for that.

“Looking as hot as you do should be fucking ilegal.” You muttered as you watched him stand up to his full height, all 6’2 of him. Damn, he looked even taller when you were slouched against a tree like that. He caught your comment, and he laughed, slightly licking what remained of you on his lips, damn near feeling proud of himself.

“Yeah, I can say the same. That sight from down there? Fucking criminal, no wonder you're on my team.” He caught your mouth again, you could taste yourself in his tongue, but you didn’t care, you kinda liked it actually. As his mouth worked against yours, you took that time to fumble with his belt, you were still shaking but you managed to unbuckle it, the zipper quickly following, undoing it enough so that you could tug them off his hips. When you did, only leaving his boxers in the way, you pulled back, finally tugging that ridiculous shirt off his body.

“Literally fuck that shirt.” You groaned softly, leaving lingering kisses across his chest as you sneaked your hand down and palmed him through his boxers. And he was hard as hell. You had no idea how he managed to get you through an orgasm and not lose his shit in the process. Well, you figured he would now. Because the second he felt your hand, his cock twitched under your touch and a guttural groan rumbled in his chest.

“Don’t fucking play with me.” He growled, his tone suddenly dropping as he grabbed your wrists, the way his whole demeanor suddenly change making you shudder, “baby I swear to god if I don’t fuck you right now I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.” The urgency in his low, raspy voice was enough to make you nod quickly, not another word leaving your mouth. Well, aside from the gasp that left your lips when he turned you around and pressed your front right up against the tree, your only embrace being your own hands.

Before you knew it, you felt him press his bare chest flush against your back, a hand on your hip, while the other rested just above your uninjured shoulder blade, and you knew you had to brace yourself. Damn right you did, because without a warning or even a heads up, he slid right into you, your walls instantly tightening around his thick length. Your eyes instantly rolled into the back of your head, mouth hanging open as a broken cry left your lips, feeling him bury himself to the hilt, not giving you time to adjust or anything. Not that you needed to, you were used to his size, still it always took you a minute to get used to. He always knew you needed a couple of seconds to adjust, so he stilled inside you, chest pressed against your back as he buried his face into your shoulder blades, lips dragging along your skin.

After a second or two, you nodded, reaching behind you to tap his shoulder, signaling he could start moving. You didn’t even have to say it, because right then, he pulled himself almost all the way out, making you feel empty for just a moment, but it was only a second because he quickly snapped his hips, nearly making you scream when he bottomed himself out. He gave you a moan of his own, a low, deep one, right into your ear when he felt your walls clenched around him again.

“Goddamn,” he cursed through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut as he found a pace, hips snapping with every one of his thrusts, “you’re so fucking tight. Fuck.” He let the words out in a low groan, voice raspy in a way that probably made you squeeze him harder.

Eventually Rick found a rhythm, a quick pace where each thrust dragged along your walls, bottomed him out and started it all over, over and over again. His jaw was hanging wide open, eyes opening and closing as he pounded into you forcefully, each time he had to hold you tighter so your body wouldn’t scratch up against the tree and potentially hurt you. He was doing most of the work. You? Well, you were trying to focus on bracing yourself against the tree without falling face first into it from the forcefulness of Rick’s thrusts. But it was really hard to focus on keeping yourself upright when Rick’s cock brushed perfectly against your most sensitive spot each time he buried himself to the hilt.

You did your best to meet his thrust, pushing back against him, your back was arched against his chest and the sound of slapping skin filled your ears in a way that was almost intoxicating. It left you squirming, shaking so much as the feeling of it all overwhelmed your senses, it was just so much, and it felt so good you knew you wouldn’t last long, especially not with the way Rick’s thrusts only got more precise and rougher. You couldn’t even keep up with him when he picked up speed, so then you were just along for the ride.

“Fuck,” you choked, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut, “fuck Rick, don’t stop. God, please, please, Rick, don’t fucking stop.” You basically begged, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach again. You had no idea what that man saw, or heard, or what went through his head then, but he let out the most erotic and guttural moan you have ever heard as he slipped the hand from your shoulder to your neck, long fingers closing around your throat and he fucking squeezed, knocking the air out of you. You opened your eyes in shock, only to let them roll into the back of your head, choked out cry barely leaving your throat. You must’ve squeezed him hard because his jaw completely dropped and his own eyes rolled back, a damn near pornografic moan coming out his mouth.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it huh? Is that what my good girl likes, hm?” He did it again, his fingers tightened around your throat, damn near leaving you without air, and fuck did you like it. The way he could absolutely manhandle you and cause you pain mixed with the way he pounded into you like you were just a ragdoll, that really threw you over the edge.

You wished you would have warned the poor guy, but the minute he squeezed your throat again you lost it, you came hard, a choked out version of his name leaving you lips over and over until your throat closed up and you were nothing but a shaking, shuddering mess. You were absolutely fucked out, breathless, you body nearly gave out then, but a muscular arm wrapped itself around your middle and pressed your back flush against his chest as he held you down on him, the feeling of you clenching so tight around him triggering his own release and he went rigid, stilling inside you as he spilled himself into you. You felt him shudder against you, a low and damn near erotic moan of your name fell on your ear like a broken record as he came.

You were both so breathless, your sweat slick skin sticking to each other as you both took a couple of seconds to come down from your highs, the pleasure of it always being so much you could barely function properly after. You didn’t know about Rick, but you were absolutely spent, fucked out and exhausted. He probably was too. After all, you’ve gotten shot, tortured, thrown around and now fucked, you didn’t know how either of you were still standing. But hey, at least you were both together, in each other’s arms for another night, because tomorrow? Who knows.

Though as much as you loved being held by the pair of muscular tattooed arms, you figured you had to pull away from each other eventually, to clean up at least. So after trying to get his breathing back to normal, Rick unwrapped himself from you before pulling out you, a sharp whimper leaving your mouth when he did so. You had to embrace yourself against the tree as you turned around, because you could not trust your legs to keep you up.

“You look like someone just fucked the lights out of you.” Rick laughed lowly, proudly eyeing the mess he made of you. I mean, your face was flushed and slick with sweat, hair completely disheveled and messy, then there was your neck, man your neck. He had to linger on those, there was a very visible print of five fingers around your throat, his fingers, he did that. He was honestly kinda proud. “That looks good on you, by the way.”

You brushed your fingers over your neck, slightly wincing when you touched the tender skin, you couldn’t help but shoot the soldier a glare, knowing those fingerprints would not go away anytime soon. You flipped him off before you grabbed your pants and underwear from the ground, not bothering to clean your mess yet, you’d do that when you weren’t bare assed in the middle of the jungle. You quickly pulled them up your legs, Rick did the same. But when you looked up he was still shirtless, looking for that damn shirt. Shame, you would love it if he just stayed like that.

“So here I was, trying to be a gentleman and not hurt you, and you wanted me to choke you. Good to know.” He notted to himself. When you turned around after finding his shirt on the ground, you saw the huge smug smirk on his face, he looked so proud too. You couldn’t help but blush in plain embarrassment that he’d call you out like that.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t you dare say that out loud ever again.” You huffed, throwing the shirt right at his face. He caught it, but he bursted out into laughter. And loud, like he found it really fucking hilarious. But you sure as hell didn’t.

“I’m serious Rick, if you ever tell anyone I’m gonna shove shards of glass in your ears while you sleep.” You threatened, narrowing your eyes at him, trying to sound as intimidating as possible, but this man literally fucked the shit out of you mere minutes ago, you were not intimidating him.

“Yeah, alright sweetheart ” He laughed, shaking his head at you dismissively as he got the shirt over his head. Your eyes instantly landed on his tattooed arms for a second while you could still see them, that always being a part of him you always found yourself admiring. And of course, he caught you staring. “C’mere.”

You pouted and sighed heavily, rolling your eyes but did as he said anyway, hugging his middle and resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. He wrapped an arm around you as leaned down, pressing a long loving kiss to your forehead before he spoke.

“I hope you know I meant it when I said you’re never leaving my side again. I can’t lose you, I don’t want to. I want to be able to hold you in my arms like this as long as I’m alive, and I can’t take any chances of some sons of bitches taking you away from me. And if that means I have to find a way to get you off this fucking task force, I will. Is that clear?” You knew he was being serious, he was using his Colonel voice, his eyes were hard, but at the same time they had this fond look in the, like he was looking at the most important things in the world to him. More important than serving his country, more important than any threat your squad was sent to take care of, you were more important than any of that. And if keeping safe meant standing to Amanda Waller, Rick would do it in a heartbeat. And you knew that

“Loud and clear, Colonel.”

ease into it;

pairing: rick flag x female reader warnings: sexually explicit lang (oral sex, female and male receiving, fingering) swearing, ummmm, it’s smut<3  wc: 3.4k

an: He’s got you in his bed now, might as well do something to pass the time! (this acts as a part two to easy does it, but can be read separately!) 

Keep reading

easy does it;

pairing: rick flag x female reader warnings: sexually explicit lang, swearing, they’re dumb :/& in love wc: 1.9k

an: you’ve been flirting with rick for a while now, i guess ya’ll just gotta fuck or something i dunno:/

Keep reading

acts of service.

Rick Flag x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Trapped inside an underground bunker during a snowstorm, the supply of Omega suppressants is running out. Your heat is coming fast, and with three Alphas around, things can go from bad to worse. To save the situation, Rick makes a call. 

To satiate your heat himself.

Explicit Sex. Alpha!Rick. Omega!Reader. A/B/O/Dynamics.

WARNINGS: Explicit Sexual Content. A/B/O. Vaginal Sex. Rough Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). Use of the word ‘cunt.’ Choking. Biting and Scratching.Creampie. Blood. Use of Suppressants. Mentions of Contaception. Slight Breeding Kink Elements. Not Beta Read.

Word Count: 5.4k

CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs​

Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

A/N: I’m struggling to figure out if this is the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever written.

Keep reading

acts of service.

Rick Flag x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Trapped inside an underground bunker during a snowstorm, the supply of Omega suppressants is running out. Your heat is coming fast, and with three Alphas around, things can go from bad to worse. To save the situation, Rick makes a call. 

To satiate your heat himself.

Explicit Sex. Alpha!Rick. Omega!Reader. A/B/O/Dynamics.

WARNINGS: Explicit Sexual Content. A/B/O. Vaginal Sex. Rough Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). Use of the word ‘cunt.’ Choking. Biting and Scratching.Creampie. Blood. Use of Suppressants. Mentions of Contaception. Slight Breeding Kink Elements. Not Beta Read.

Word Count: 5.4k

CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs​

Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

A/N: I’m struggling to figure out if this is the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever written.

Keep reading

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

Rick has a praise kink, but for when his person is praising him.

like when when he’s balls deep, you tell him how good of a job he’s doing and how good he’s making you feel.

that makes him damn near blow his load right then and there.

but when he’s taken his person on a date night and they tell him he’s real pretty when he smiles like that…well that just makes his insides go gooey

-💗

Praise Kink Drabble

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x Neutral!Reader

Warning(s): Language, smut, cum

[ A/N: Anon do you have the keys to my heart because all my switch!rick fantasies are informed by this beautiful thought from now on. ]

You've found that Rick reacts better when you're murmuring your praises directly in his ear.

"You look gorgeous smiling like that." You pull away to see the corners of his mouth quirk up further, his head dipping down to tuck that smile away, there in public. But you mean it— "So fucking pretty." And you run the pad of your thumb along his lower lip. Watch them part for you.

At home, you tell him to rest on his knees at the foot of the bed, while you sit there and run your hands through his hair.

He wants to please you more, to earn your praise some more, so he's inevitably nuzzling at your lap, and you tell him he's so good for knowing just what you need. So good for you. You tug at his hair and make sure to tell him what he wants to hear: "Yes, just like that. Fuck, yes, yes—" You vocalize what he's making you feel— How he knows just how to make you come.

He's nearly in pieces by the time he's entering you. His breathing is shaky, his hips stuttering as you shower him with affirmation; he tries to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

You moan in Rick's ear instead, "So good. You know just how to make me feel good." He thrusts into you faster, desperate for you to carry him over the edge with your voice.

Rick has been built and broken to take orders— He's made a life of taking orders from everyone, and of knowing only the reward of a mission accomplished— There aren't any thank you's when there's no record of what you've done. He doesn't need a thank you. It's not why he does what he does.

But he needs this. To hear you moan, and to know that it's him that's pleasuring you, making you come. To please you. You tell him how he's so perfect for you— How he's the one for you. Rick shutters.

You feel how enflamed his skin is to the touch now, how your words have flushed him hot and pink from his glistening chest all the way up his throat.

The sounds of him coming apart at your ministrations, how you wrap your arms around his head and scatter kisses along his jaw, leave him in ragged breaths against your neck.

He'd do this all night if you told him to— But he's so gorgeous like this, so close to the edge and so soon. You think he could come with just a little more talking.

He asks you— Begs you— To tell him where you want it. You grin. You tell him you love it when he paints your stomach; And he's pulling out of you, planting down a knee to run his hand up and down his cock eagerly. So close. You tell him you love seeing him so undone like this.

"That's it. You're my good soldier, aren't you, baby?" And he's groaning, coming onto your skin— thick white ribbons marking you from your belly up to your chest. His cum mixes with your beading sweat.

Rick Flag is panting slowly, his half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of you. You draw him back down after you wipe his seed from your stomach.

You wrap your arms around his large body, pulling him to yours as he lies beside you. You stroke Rick's hair as he comes down from his high, that subspace of his own pleasure where he's allowing your words to wash over him in earnest.

You run your fingertips lightly over his chest, over the smile still on his face as he drifts, spent. Its the kind of sleepy, open expression he hardly ever shares— One you consider you've earned, in a way.

He really is pretty like this.

c.m. ceasefire.

Rick Flag x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You’re not quite sure what it is about Rick tonight. Maybe it’s an effect of the alcohol or the strobe lights - and definitely not the glaring yellow t-shirt or cowboy hat - but it doesn’t matter. All that you know is that you can’t keep up this pretense of hating him any longer.

So, when he holds up his hands in surrender, you soon find yourself atop him on a dingy back-office desk.

Past Enemies to Lovers. Explicit Smut. TaskForceX!Reader. Rough Sex.

18+ ONLY.

WARNINGS: Suicide Squad (2021) Spoilers. Explicit Sex. Cursing. Vaginal Fingering. Biting and Scraping. Vaginal Sex. Spanking. Rough Sex. Alcohol. Hair-Pulling. Unprotected Sex. Creampie. Peacemaker Being a Bit of a Creep. Not Beta Read.

Word Count: 4.5k

CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs

Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

A/N: I’m sorry. This is debauchery but Rick Flag is just too fucking sexy.

Keep reading

one last trip.

Rick Flag x F!Reader

SUMMARY: On a dark and quiet morning, you say goodbye to your husband as he leaves for his next assignment.

Melancholy Fluff. Dad!Rick. Mom!Reader. Possible ‘The Suicide Squad (2021)’ Spoilers. Slight Angst.

CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs

Words: 1.2k

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated.

He stands silhouetted by the gentle light of the morning. It’s grey outside. The sky churns with the wound burden of storm, and an undercurrent of chill passes through everything. Leaning in the doorframe, you adjust your robe a little more firmly around your body, watching him in silence.

Rick doesn’t seem to feel the prickle of your eyes against the nape of his neck, nor the cold that the air holds. Your eyes trail down the tattoos on his back, admiring the lean lines of muscle that you’ve come to know so well. They lift when a fist - small and chubby and definitely not his own - rises past the set of his shoulders, and waves clumsily in the air. A soft coo breaks the silence, and your lips twist into a sad smile.

Keep reading

acts of service.

Rick Flag x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Trapped inside an underground bunker during a snowstorm, the supply of Omega suppressants is running out. Your heat is coming fast, and with three Alphas around, things can go from bad to worse. To save the situation, Rick makes a call. 

To satiate your heat himself.

Explicit Sex. Alpha!Rick. Omega!Reader. A/B/O/Dynamics.

WARNINGS: Explicit Sexual Content. A/B/O. Vaginal Sex. Rough Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). Use of the word ‘cunt.’ Choking. Biting and Scratching.Creampie. Blood. Use of Suppressants. Mentions of Contaception. Slight Breeding Kink Elements. Not Beta Read.

Word Count: 5.4k

CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST BLOG: @clints-lucky-reblogs​

Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

A/N: I’m struggling to figure out if this is the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever written.

Keep reading

Abba (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Request: Definitely in the mood for something with a Daddy Dom Alfie and a Little, obedient reader who’s always trying to please her Daddy 🤤😍  ; As the anon who requested Daddy Dom Alfie, I suggest the scenario be Alfie having the reader tied up and just using her to blow off some steam 🤤 she’s not allowed to cum, and when she does by accident, he punishes her with the overstimulation and has her orgasming repeatedly and she just has to lie there and take it for her Daddy omgggg 😍

Warnings: Smut; Mentions of cancer (First paragraphs only.)

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble, but I got carried and now it’s almost 4k words  (almost exclusively smut)😂😂 Hope you enjoy it! (I’m not a smut writer, but I tried.) Let me know what you think!

  Abba

Everybody knew Alfie was sick. A couple close people told him to have a break, advising him to quit working so hard and make an effort to take care of himself, but he just wouldn’t listen. At least when he was swamped with work, he wouldn’t think about his deteriorating health as much as when he was home alone.

Cooking was difficult for him and his house was a complete mess, but honestly he no longer cared if he was living on a shit-hole, or about himself; he’d always refuse to let any of his sisters help him, considering they had their own families to worry about. He never wanted to be a burden, especially when he was sick; it would only make him feel even more powerless, which was something he frankly hated.

His sisters were, however, deeply worried about his condition and whether he would be well enough; if he kept dragging himself to his own circle of self-pity and self-condemnation, trying to keep everyone away from him, he probably wouldn’t. Whether Alfie liked it or not, they had come to a decision: they would hire a housekeeper to help them keep an eye on him.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been easy at all. You had to be extremely careful when dealing to him; not only he had a filthy temper, his trust was hard to earn and he would rarely let someone see the man inside. He didn’t get involved with people, he wouldn’t want to; that was only until you walked into his life. When you came into his life, it changed for the better; somehow, you brought him hope.

It wasn’t long before your relationship was beyond the professional realm; you both maintained an unusual physical and emotional bond that provided him all the comfort he could ask for, making him feel rejuvenated. You cared for each other on a genuine way.

Alfie saw you as his little girl and that was the only reason that kept him going. It had two sides; he loved to pamper you, make you feel special, protect you… But within four walls it was a complete different story, as he also loved to be strict and punish you, having the dominance he craved for.

Keep reading

⛈🍞💵🏝🛡🌀🛡🏝💵🍞⛈

Emoji spell for Puerto Ricans and Floridians to be shielded and safe from Hurricane Dorian and get resources they need. Like to charge and reblog to cast.

First day of life up until 6th grade 

Jumped all the way to Freshman year of High School

Then I cut my hair Junior year, why did I do that

Slowly it started growing back and then….

I finally felt comfortable to express myself (the picture on the left was my debut)

At this point in my transition I am 6 months into HRT

A year on HRT

Over a year and a half on hormones. My transition hasn’t been the clearest path but I am so happy that I am on it.