d e v o n
todays bird
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
AnasAbdin
🪼
Origami Around
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Kiana Khansmith
tannertan36
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
macklin celebrini has autism
Claire Keane
tumblr dot com
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we're not kids anymore.
Jules of Nature
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
seen from Ukraine
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@bunncentric
do you ever just-
You know what let's start a marathon
For every badonkers ass = more braincells restored
Continue.
It's truly unreal how round his ass is.
Ofc Soap gotta check him out.
My first CoD reblog of 2023 shall be the 141 arses.
Bread and Butter
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (no Marc yet)
Summary/Context: The one in which opening a bakery garners you a rather interesting friendship with a certain gift shoppist.
Rating: Semi-explicit
Warning/Content: Dub-con (both parties are drinking), non-graphic smut, fem!reader, no beta we die like Harrow
Word Count: 845
Author’s Note: The first fix I’ve published since 2018. I feel like someone’s ma trying to be down with the young crowd.
-
Steven is far too shy to ask the lady from the baker's for dinner, so instead he finds a way to meander into your shop as often as he can. It becomes almost a routine, a reason to interact with you.
He is all nerves and awkward angles, though you never seem to mind. Your face lights up when he walks in, and if the shop is not too busy, you will talk for a bit. "Oh, Steven, I have something for you to try," you told him once before scuttling over to a small paper-wrapped basket. "It's a new recipe. I got inspired by one of the stories you told me."
"Me?" he inquired, shifting in his seat. "How... wait, no... I didn't think I could do that."
Your laughter rings in his ears - gentle, amused by his words but not at the cost of him. "I feel like that sometimes, too." And yet, you grin impishly as you set the basket on the counter before him. "Try them, please?"
Steven takes one triangular bit between his fingers, feeling the semi-sticky coating. The bake is fragrant - fruits, nuts, cinnamon - "Is this a honey cake?"
Your excitement is palpable, so sweet against his senses. Eyes bright and that soft lower lip caught between your teeth as you watch him take a bite. "Yes! It's a tiger nut honey cake! I might have done some Googling and changed it slightly."
He can't stop the small noise that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a grunt, derived solely in pleasure. "Bloody hell, that's a fine bake." You’re smiling so brightly at him - he wonders if you taste as sweet, if you'll melt against his tongue -
Steven coughs, almost choking on the next bite, ears warm with shame.
"Oh, no. Do you need some water?"
He needs many things, none of which he can have.
-
As days turn into weeks, the tension between the two of you only grows. Often, late in the night when Steven finds himself fighting sleep and staring up at his ceiling, he is plagued with thoughts of you. Scenes of a possible life together seemingly just out of reach - dancing in his flat, introducing you to his mum.
But what is worse is the impropriety, the thoughts that have his heart racing and his cock throbbing in the confines of his trousers. He knows it is depraved, and yet he cannot stop himself from indulging so often.
-
The tonal shift happens somewhere in between friendship and the unspoken question of ‘What are we?’ The now-familiar tension between you two snaps when the you invite him to your little apartment above the bakery for dinner. A bit of wine turns into a bit more wine, amidst shared stories and laughter that leaves you gasping for breath.
Steven is listening to you talk about your ‘old, pre-Blip life’ in New York when he realizes the pair of you have almost entirely finished the bottle. He is warm, flushed, but he cannot bring himself to care as his gaze lingers over your lips, soft and pinkish and wet as your tongue peeks out. He swallows, downing the rest of his glass in hopes of keeping his hands to himself. "Woah there, Stevie," you giggle, leaning close, hand on his shoulder. "Don't wanna get sick!"
He can smell the wine on your breath, fermented grapes alongside the flowery scent on your skin. The air grows thick between them, breath coming heavy as each gazes at the other. And yet, in all his nervousness, it is Steven that moves first - lunging forward to press his mouth to yours, hands clamoring for purchase at your waist.
The kiss is rough, rife with inexperience and want. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans into your pliant mouth. A gasp works its way from between your teeth when he pulls you closer by your skirts, those flighty hands grasping the fabric without mercy. Your legs tremble when you stand, and he gasps as your bodies part, seemingly surprised.
"Oh, bollocks," he groans, voice thinning in shame. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have - "
Your response is a soft noise, almost a whine as you untie the front of her dress with deft fingers. Words die on his tongue at the sight of her bared chest, gently-heaving breasts donned in soft lace. " - oh - oh my."
"Touch me, Stevie. Please."
And later?
When your intertwined forms tumblr in your poor bed, and he's between your thighs, every moment a sacrament as you lose yourselves in each other's bodies. He touches you as if he is afraid it will end, desperate and filthy, a worshipping all its own. It aches, how badly he wants to tell you that he loves you, but he can settle for pouring that emotion into you flesh. He could die there a happy man, surrounded by you - breathy moans and slick flesh and grasping hands and the squeeze of your cunt around him with each movement. He thinks he just might, suffocating in the intensity of it all.
-
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like something that I wasn't written d a late-night binge of Mitski? Drop me an ask!
rly good show marvel, thank u
#in light of some disgusting news
Dogma (1999) dir. Kevin Smith
If I were a security guard for a person who’s being targeted by assassins I simply wouldn’t devote my entire attention span to every single noise I hear.
Why do I care if there’s a random noise in this out-of-the-way dark corner? My post is right here.
But… but I threw a rock there. Y-you gotta check
If I hear a noise I’m gonna throw a flash grenade in that direction.
MY EYES AND EARS
“Got a neutralized assassin in gate 17.”
“Did they try distracting you by throwing a rock?”
“Yeah, they did.”
“Fucking idiot.”
4 years of community assassin college for nothing
Isn’t community assassin college is 2 years?
honestly if tumblr unbanned NSFW we could enter like a golden age
fuck you fuck you nothing bad happened on that boat. nothing bad at all. they spent the whole time tossing watermelons at taweret and watching her obliterate them mid air with her huge fucking hippo mouth. fuck you
Was expecting: Jake Lockley
Received: pain, sadness, depression, grieve and tears, lots of tears
the actual dialogue:
i see no difference
keep your vigils on the road
Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector x F!Reader, a third pairing ;) Wordcount: 4.2K Warnings: Explicit AF. Rough smut. Gore. Oral. Mental Health Strugs. Choking. Summary: They're on the run. It's kind of a vacation. A/N: potential spoilers for Moon Knight and future episodes if my guess is correct.
Steven’s on the run.
He should have known that it was going to lead to this. His life is in tatters. It has erupted quite spectacularly. He’s wanted for multiple murders that he didn’t commit.
The thing is - Marc didn’t either.
“Wear this,” you instruct, passing a baseball cap into his hands. Your voice is gentle and soothing as rain. He misses the London rain. He misses those lush hilltops of England. The sand here is baked. The air is dry and smells like toasted crackers. He’s wading in deep water here.
Then again - he never thought he’d be in America. He never thought he’d be driving cross country with a girl so completely out of his league it’s almost silly.
“Treat this as a vacation,” you advise him. He’s positive you’re telling Marc something else. He’s positive you are trying to keep him from the truth about how dire their situation is.
All he understands is that you have deep pockets and connections in high places. You’re able to get them fake passports and bundles of money. There are safehouses dotted across the USA that they are burning through. “We have to keep moving,” you sigh as you scroll through your phone - as you chew your lip when you read another mysterious message. “No more than two weeks per spot, maybe three if we don’t cause a ripple.”
“How would we cause a ripple?”
“Murdering more people.”
“Alright,” Steve nods. “Well - we’ll be on our best behavior, yeah?”
“I’m not worried about you, Steven,” you remark in such a way that it makes his heart flutter. He doesn’t really think about the implication that his other would - indeed - murder more people.
Their landscape changes continuously. The mountains to the desert. Oceanside. Lakeside. A forest. A canyon. Hot springs. Waterfalls.
“Never thought I’d see any of this,” Steven murmurs as they watch the orange sun spill down the back of Mount Rainier. It turns the snow the color of juice. “Mental,” he adds as an afterthought - after his fractured brain puts together all of the events that have led him here. The Jackal and then Egypt and the failed mission and then all the death and coming to drenched in blood that was so thick it felt like syrup. He had left a trail of bodies in his wake. A nest of limbs and blank, slack faces. I’m sorry, he thought. I’m sorry I didn’t-didn’t -
And then everything hit him. The corpses. The scent of iron and cordite and piss. There was a distinct aroma to death. Steven never thought’d he’d have to learn that and yet…
What’d I do? What’d I do? What - how? Marc?
It wasn’t me! Fuck - this is not good. This - this is really -
It was you who had jumped into action. “Calm down,” you ordered in that firm, kind voice you had. “I’ve got this.”
You had whisked Steven off into some back room under a Cairo hostel. “Trust me,” you assured him. “Trust me. I have people I can call.”
He doesn’t remember the flight to the states. The journey flickered between Marc and him and it was the first time he wished that he didn’t have the body. Instead - Steven was stuck swallowing his own tongue and heartbeat as the tiny plane you ordered bounced and jerked.
Five hours in, Marc finally reappeared in the plane’s bathroom. He was eyeing him over the sink, his figure blurred by multiple fingerprints.
“Finally showed up then?” Steven spat. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”
Marc ignored him. “I’ve been going over this - over everything.”
“Yeah. And?”
“There has to be another.”
“Another what?”
“Another us.”
***
In America, Marc calls you baby. For him, this really is a vacation.
Khonshu has been unnaturally quiet, bubbling at a low hum in the depths of his body. The mission failed. He failed and Khonshu has nothing more to say. He’s brooding. He’s out of ideas. It does not matter. He does not have to think too fast about how to fix the cracks. He’s been alive for thousands of years. He is good at waiting.
There are no people for Marc to fight. There are no sewers he must climb down or villains to defeat in alleyways. He’s running for his life and yet it is so much better than the day in and day out curse of being Khonshu’s fist of justice.
Plus - he’s playing outlaw with you. He’s a fugitive with you. They’re mostly fucking around rather than laying low, which is probably not a good idea, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters that much anymore.
You and Marc go to a rundown bar called Black Kettle in Carmel and makeout like hormonal teenagers. The music is all from eighties hair bands and the regulars keep to themselves, actively trying to ignore the way he gropes you. You’re nearly in his lap and he keeps slipping on the peeling leather booth. His hand clasps the nape of your neck as his tongue slides warm and deep into your mouth.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he growls between kisses and under the shriek of Axl Rose and Woah-oh-oh-oh! Sweet child o’mine. He senses Steven watching them in the reflection of a butter knife. He doesn’t really mind.
The ceiling is covered in a vine-tangle of Christmas lights. Paper stars hang from rafters. He touches you over your jeans - pushing his thumb against the zipper as you grind into it. “Don’t tease,” you pout, your nails skating the back of his scalp - catching in his mop of curls. He hasn’t cut his hair in an age. He’s barely shaved and his stubble rasps across your chin and jaw leaving your skin chafed to a near-ache.
“Bathroom?” he asks because he’s so hard that he might just blow before he gets inside you.
“Beach,” you counter and then they’re out of that bar and flying down the street. He’s got his hand in yours as he drags you toward the dark band of the coast.
The sand is white-soft. It feels like walking on silk. He is careful with you. He is nothing like what he usually is. He’s not rough or demanding. He coaxes. He seduces. He tugs off your pants and underwear and lifts your pelvis to his mouth where he slicks his tongue through the seam of your sex. He laps and suckles as you writhe and cry out. His hands cup your ass. He feeds himself all the while murmuring how good you taste and how stunning you are and how he is happy.
He plants his forearms on either side of your head. He braces his weight as you grasp around his cock and guide him inside you. It’s tight and burning hot. You are soaked from his tongue. He fucks you first in shallow thrusts - three inches in before he draws all the way out. You cling to his shoulders, your thighs framing his hips.
“Please, Marc,” you beg. Your eyes wide and striking beneath the cool sheen of a crescent moon, the continuous crash of the surf not far from his feet.
“More?” He drops his head and noses at your cheek and then into your hair where he smells sunscreen and salt water taffy. They ate so much ice cream earlier that you’d had to lie down for an hour and what a blessing it had been - to have the ability to do nothing. “Do you need more?”
You nod frantically - desperately trying to raise your hips for more friction. He grins as he delivers a sharper stroke - one that seems to hit the back of your cunt and force an oh from your throat. He crushes his mouth to yours until his breath is your breath - until your whimpers are his - and every sheathe to the hilt stretches you - molds your body around his shaft. You’re mine. You’re ours. He plucks your clit and your walls go unforgivably tight - so tight his release bombards him - shatters him, causing him to finish before he can pull out. It’s over - oozing from your pussy and rather than panic, he just uses his fingers to plug it back in. A strange feral sort of marking.
“Not smart,” you chide.
“I’m an idiot,” he says before lowering his head to taste himself and how you flavor him.
***
Marc talks to Steven in the mirror or Steven talks to Marc. Just depends. There’s blocks of white space between them, you see? There are definite moments where they are both blind and deaf to whatever their body is doing.
There’s a third alter. A third man. The same one who had to have committed all those murders back in Egypt and then London and then Turkey.
“Why don’t we just ask her?” Steven hates being in the ether - the muddled world between reality where he must wait. It’s gotten easier. It’s gotten less heavy, but it’s still unpleasant.
Marc wraps his fingers around the porcelain rim of the sink. His knuckles turn bone-white. “I don’t know. She hasn’t brought it up so maybe she doesn’t even realize it’s someone else.”
“A little fucked if she thinks that we killed those people, innit?”
“She’s - she’s just a very forgiving person.”
It’s true. You have a whole life that they really don’t know about. They don’t even remember how they first met you. You had simply slipped into their routine - not even blinking at the fact that he was a vigilante in a moon-bright cape and Steven worked in a gift shop, but could decipher ancient texts in under a minute.
You had resources. You had numbers to call. He woke up covered in blood from a new slaughter and you simply pulled him into the shower and washed it from his skin.
Marc stares down at you as water sluices between your tits - dampening the soft curls above your cunt. He notices the water cling to your lashes and catch on your bottom lip.
“Hold still,” you order as you drag a wash cloth across his chest, down his arms, between his fingers and legs. He stares in wonder - in shock. You glance up at him, pausing as you register the look on his face.
“What?”
“Why are you here? Why are you doing this? You should get out…I’m…fuck I’m dangerous.”
You drop the cloth and cradle his cheeks. You tug him down and he goes willingly and the kiss is dirty and innocent at the same time. His mouth move furiously against yours. Your nails dig into his face. He lifts you up with all of his magic strength and holds you against the wall and with one quick thrust, he’s inside you.
“You’re not dangerous,” you sigh and he fucks you harder.
***
Steven doesn’t mind the safehouse in California. They’re in a place called Riverside where the air is stamped with the scent of citrus. There are lemon trees. Orange and tangerine trees. Old Spanish style architecture. Mexican fan palms that brush up against the powder blue sky. Bougainvillea the color of magenta and peach-pink. The buildings here are newer than in London. Nothing like Egypt.
It doesn’t seem to matter though. He spends his days in the house with you. He goes hours with his mouth on your pussy and yours on his cock in some yin and yang position where they curl around each other. The house is secluded away in the hills. One-story. Easy escape routes.
He sleeps well here when he’s in control of his own body. He enjoys wrapping himself around your back as the air conditioning ticks and rumbles. The heat is unforgiving. The sand is closer to dirt and it sticks to his tongue and in his nose. His skin goes golden brown. You pick up Yorkshire Gold and it reeks of home.
Still - he would rather be here with you.
He holds you in the shower, his cheek resting on the rounded curve of your shoulder. He’s already hard, cock nudging against your inner thigh. The shower is lukewarm as it pelts them. The humid wet-air inside this tiny tile box smells like your fancy jasmine shampoo and eucalyptus and ivory soap. You thread your fingers through his curls, gently tugging on it as his hands coast down your back and then the hump of your ass. He knows every part of you now. He knows how deep he can sink his tongue. He knows how to curl his fingers just right. He knows how to kiss you and it’s not how Marc kisses. He uses less tongue and more pressure.
He wouldn’t mind living in you. He wouldn’t mind devouring you in some pseudo-Kronus way or maybe you could devour him and he could be your rib. After all, he has never felt safer than when he is with you. You always have the answers. You always know what to say when his world gets disturbingly small.
Should he ask you about the third man? Would that break the spell of this? You letting him hold you under the sheeting spray of cool water.
***
Marc comes to with blood in his mouth. He scans the room where there is absolute wreckage. Broken furniture. Wispy white stuffing spilling from tears in fabric-covered cushions. The tv is a smoking mess as it lies silently on the floor. The screen cracked.
Something burns in his palm and when he glances down, he grimaces. There’s a gun in his hand, his thumb idly stroking the barrel. He drops it abruptly and it clatters.
There’s a dead man on the floor. The top of his head blown clean off. Red is soaking into the cheap linoleum. He shouts your name, panicking.
“Here,” you call from behind. Your voice is weak and hoarse. When he turns, he finds you huddled against the wall. Your hand rests on your throat, your lashes fluttering.
“They broke in,” you explain. You are very far away. Your stare is somewhere else. The dead man is not a policeman. He is not FBI. He’s in all black with a red emblem on his chest.
“They?”
“There are - there are two more in the bedroom.”
“Did they hurt you?” Marc’s tone is blisteringly harsh. He is both confused and pissed off. He doesn’t like this. His hands itchy with blood and the house covered in a thin film of dead bodies.
“No,” you say and he knows you’re lying. There’s subtle swelling beneath your eye, but he won’t point it out. At least, not tonight.
He gazes down at the body. Just a body. Just an unknown. There are others after them, then. He puts that much together. He isn’t just running from the law or the government or - whatever
“That wasn’t me,” Steven announces from his reflection in the shattered television screen. “Must have been the other one.”
“Must have been,” Marc says under his breath.
“This place is compromised.” You rise up on unsteady feet. You square your shoulders and shove yourself away from the wall. It’s quick - a flickering shift in your expression that now means you are ready to plan and strategize and move forward as opposed to back. You never go back. You never think of what they have left in their wake. “I’ll get the car ready. You pack.”
***
You drive fast. Rubber squealing and burning underneath the tires. They’ll have to ditch this vehicle for another. It’s never really an issue. He knows that you carry credit cards that are connected to a mystery source. Infinite funds.
You punch the radio on and it’s The Wallflowers. It’s Third Eye Blind. It’s James Taylor. It’s Donna Summer. In the rearview mirror, Steven mutters about wanting Coldplay. Marc twists the knob to another station and something ruthless and jerky spills out. Something modern. Alternative.
“Who is he?” Marc finally asks.
You lift one perfect eyebrow as you shoot him a sidelong glance. “Who?”
Your fingers are clenched around the steering wheel and you’re flooring the gas as they go into the deep blue-black horizon of another territory. There’s another mountain range. There’s cacti. There’s sand. There’s husk-dry craters where there once were lakes. There’s a new city. A gas station. There’s the moon.
“Don’t play dumb.”
You are silent for what feels like hours, but is probably just a minute. You inhale sharply as if you’ve been stabbed before you release a long, winding breath. “Jake.”
“Jake?” he repeats before he starts wracking his brain for any sort of memory of a “Jake”. How can he be unaware? How can he not know about another person in his head or in his body or in his bones?
“He was the first,” you tell him. “The first one I met and then it was you and then it was Steven.”
That explains the rest. How easily you picked up after “Jake” tore a violent hole through various countries. How you adapted to Marc and Steven.
“He’s a killer,” Marc says.
You bristle. “Pot. Kettle.”
“I kill bad people.”
“He does, too,” you snap. Your gaze is still hard on the road. “He might just be a bit…reckless.”
There’s nothing else to say. Marc settles into the passenger seat and keeps glancing up into the rearview mirror, in case “Jake” decides to make his appearance.
You drum your fingers over the steering wheel. The headlights burn neon-streaks across the shadowy highway. It’s desolate out here. It’s empty. He opens the window, he needs some air. The wind burns its mouth across his cheekbone - it ruffles his hair. His chest is tight.
Finally, Marc lifts his arm and touches your cheek. “Are you safe with him?”
He’s seen what Jake can do. He’s seen the broken things he has left in his wake. “Yes,” you reply, leaning sweetly into Marc’s palm. “He’d never hurt me.”
His hand slides from your cheek to your hip to your thigh. You’re still in a sundress because it’s spring in the West. There’s a spot of blood under your eye from those three corpses now rotting in their Riverside house.
Was it a house though? Was it their home? For a minute, perhaps. Now home is the road and the car and you sitting beside him.
The hills are dark and bald. The sun has not yet risen. You spread your legs and he moves his hand further until his knuckles meet the cloth of your panties. He curls three fingers around the crotch of the fabric before tentatively grazing his fingertip through the slit of your sex. He is murderously slow. He is lazy about it. He watches your face as he strokes your cunt. He gloats at the way you bite your lip and the furrow between your brows and still - you do not beg him.
“Just fucking do it!”
A ragged, coarse voice - not Steven’s - bursts from the rearview mirror. Marc jerks and he looks up, but there is nothing there aside from the reflection of the dark night at their backs.
He frowns and then glances at you. There’s recognition in your expression. There’s a knowing. Did he come to say something? Did he come to speak to you, Marc?
Marc glares before leaning forward and latching his mouth to your throat, he shoves two of his fingers inside you and your foot goes down on the gas. It jolts them both and he does not let up. He finger fucks you ruthlessly - your pussy making wet, sucking noises with each thrust. Your hips buck and your head falls backward and he bites the vein in your neck. Low, broken noises sound from his chest as he fills you up - as he jams himself inside you to the knuckle.
“Let me make you come,” he grunts. “Let me make you feel it. Pretty fucking baby. I love how tight you are - how wet you get.”
You gasp softly - elegantly - like a maiden. A wisp of a moan. You’ve got your hands on the wheel and your foot nowhere near the brake and it’s all calm on that front aside from your pussy clamping down on his fingers.
“She likes it when you twist your fingers up and rub that patch behind her clit.”
It’s that stranger’s voice in his head - in the mirror. Marc doesn’t look.
“C’mon, Marc. Make our “pretty baby” come.”
It’s mocking. It’s mean. Still - he does what it says and the effect is instantaneous. You break out with a high-pitched oh and then you’re wetting his hand - the seat. You’re gushing like a fountain and Marc can’t quite believe it. He draws his fingers from you and puts them in your mouth. It’s an act he’s never done before and yet he feels as if he has. You wrap your tongue around them - taste your own salt.
Afterward, you fuck him in the backseat and you’re still shivering from the climax. You’re warm and cold at once. You hold his head to your tit and, at some point, Steven takes over. He rests his cheek above your nipple that he’s sucked raw. He listens to the subtle thrum of your heartbeat.
“Don’t leave,” he pleads as you ride him, hips rolling back and forth on his thighs and his cock buried balls deep. “I couldn’t bear it.”
You pause and stare down at him. “Why would I leave you?”
It’s because there’s a new wrench thrown into the mix. This other. This Jake. Steven knows the world with Marc. He gets Marc. But this other one is something entirely different. Scary.
“I don’t know,” he says - averting his eyes. “I have a bad feeling.”
You sigh, gripping his face between your hands and kissing him so hard, their teeth click. “I wouldn’t. I’d never.”
Steven has never felt so physically present in his life than right then. He’s got you around him hot and tight as a fist. He’s got your softness and your kindness and your love if he dares to dream it. You had told him once - in the very beginning - that you had found him both utterly sweet and oblivious. Totally harmless.
It had hurt him initially. It was obvious that you saw Marc as a worthy partner while Steven was forever characterized as the bumbling fool. The worm.
“I thought that,” you continued. “I believed that until you’d start speaking in French or Mandarin and then solving ancient Egyptian puzzles. How you spoke of the stars and history and it was - fuck Steven - it came out of you with such conviction and it was so obvious how special you were.”
Steven isn’t sure when this journey will stop. He isn’t sure when he will return to London and the warmth of that loft. The hundreds of books. The pages crisp and lined. His thin mattress and ankle restraints.
He deepens their kiss. He doesn’t mind going North. He doesn’t mind at all. He stops fretting about the lack of rain.
***
They see flashes of Jake. They see him with you in mirrors. He is tense and angular. He is a bit laissez-faire except when it’s just easier to kill someone than leave them to the crows. They never have full conversations. He seems to only really come front and center to speak to you or fuck you or both.
Does he not like us? Steven grumbles. Bit of a bastard, yeah?
Marc agrees.
Marc and Steven watch as he bends you over the sink in the shitty motel bathroom. His pupils are pitch dark as he meets their twin glares in the mirror. His hips snap against your ass with the inexorable sound of sweat-slick flesh meeting flesh. Again and again. You groan as his hand grasps the nape of your neck like a collar. He uses it to anchor you - to hold you still as he continues to ram into your pussy - filling you up. Sometimes he tugs your head back so he can kiss you slow and rough with his eyes wide open and directed at Steven and Marc.
Fucker.
He is silent. He is always silent. Haughty and smug as you come on his cock. He spreads the lips of your cunt so he can flick his thumb over the tiny bundle of nerves. You go boneless, collapsing into the sink and he wraps his arms around you, hauls you to his chest.
“It’s alright,” he coaxes as he carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on the ugly, flowered bed. “It’s alright, princess. Jake’s got you.”
And then he kisses you all over, stretching you, kneading you, licking you messily beneath the mirrored ceiling in the trashiest room they could find in Nevada.
“Stop antagonizing,” you finally chide once you are limp and sated. You roll away from him and onto your stomach. He grabs your hips and lifts them so that he can stuff his face between your legs from behind. He inhales crudely. His eyes glinting at the ceiling while the others stare down.
***
You are an obsession for Jake. You are a lover for Marc. A dream for Steven.
You are not easy to possess because even when one of them does have you, you are still split into thirds One slice for each of them. Now, it is a group of three (and Khonshu) trying to make peace in one skull.
They are still on the run. There is an invisible monster at their heels and most of the time they forget because they’re concentrated on the journey. The leather passenger seat. The landscape. The horizon line. Their fingers inside you. Street tacos shared on an empty beach.
Just this long road of cracked asphalt and scorched earth as they go straight West. As they go North or South, but never back East where the world is still waiting.
“Don’t question it,” you tell Marc and Steven about Jake. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him in under control.”
“Okay,” Steven relents. “Alright - as long as he’s treatin' you as he should.”
“I don’t care if you have it taken care of,” Marc rumbles. “He seems like a fucking mess.”
“It’s fine, baby,” you singsong as you ride shotgun. “Let’s go”
It's probably not fine. But Marc has learned that you're stubborn as a fucking mule and there's no changing your mind when it's set.
Just chill. Just relax. We've got the time.
You roll the windows down and he drives 100 miles an hour. It’s all dry desert air until they hit the coast and then it’s balmy. You crank the music up until the volume shudders and pounds and it’s some band that Marc doesn’t know, but Steven does and so Marc let’s him take over because why not?
They’re on the run and it’s the happiest he’s ever been. No justice to deal or alternative lives he has to keep balanced. It only seems to be a matter of avoiding whatever is chasing them. Maybe - Khonshu will fill in if the danger truly gets rough.
Marc tucks his baseball cap down over his nose and grabs your hand as they walk down some nameless avenue near the bay in another silver city. They go to bars and motels and diners and safehouses on quiet suburban streets.
He could live at the ends of the Earth and be content if it was just like this.
They speed out into the dark, following the egg-shell stream of headlights and yellow road paint and the concrete median. Marc laughs. Steven laughs. Jake is silent. It all comes out at once. He thinks he’s probably ignorant - oblivious - that there is something coming that could end this for all of them. He doesn’t really care. He swings the wheel and goes faster. You lean over, pressing your face into his shirt. You call him beautiful.
BRB. Crying, screaming, drowning in the waning and ragged pit of emotions this piece has given me.
Knight At The Museum - Moon Knight 🌙✨
Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, but Marc is simping too 🌝
Genre: Little bit of Action 💥, Smut 🌝, Fluff 💛
Summary: You are a frequent visitor of the museum who quickly befriended the kind hearted assistant of the gift shop. One day after staying a bit too long there, Steven offers to walk you home, but things take a dangerous turn when you two get attacked by a group of criminals.
A/N: Layla doesn't exist in this. I like her, she's badass, but I won't allow her to cockblock us 🌝😆
Warnings: Violence, Marc annoys the shit out of Steven. Mr.KnightSuitOn!Sex! 🥵🥴 (minus the mask), hinting at Steven having a hair pulling kink and praise kink 🌝
'Oh-oh, I think she's pissed.' - Marc whispered, despite knowing only Steven can hear him.
The latter quickly busied himself rearranging some of the mints and candies on the counter and cleared his throat when the heavy clicking of a pair of heels stopped next to him.
"Just because you manage to get here right on time in the past few weeks, doesn't mean you can slack around. Go to the customers and sell these crap!" - Donna said while chewing her gum.
Steven stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He did look around though and when he saw that the whole shop was empty, he sighed.
"To who?"
"To the people who leave without buying anything!"
Steven winced at the annoying tone of her voice. He kinda wished Marc didn't delete the security footage when he managed to destroy the whole restroom area about a month ago. At least if that was the case he wouldn't have to listen to her biting his ass.
A new customer entered the shop and Steven turned to them indifferently, but his expression lit up when he saw who it was.
"What are you standing there for? Go on and-! - Donna's harsh whispering turned to a stunned silence when Steven walked around her and right up to the woman.
"Good evening, miss! How can I help you?" - Steven greeted you with a cheerful voice.
First, you looked at him with a confused frown, but then you saw as he subtly gestured behind him with his head and rolled his eyes.
"Oh! Hello-!" - you narrowed your eyes and leaned close to his chest like you were reading his nametag. "Steven!" - you said his name loud and clear, making him bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. He knew you did that because he's always complaining to you about his co-workers not being able to remember his name. - "I am actually looking for a book about Egyptian Mythology. Can you help me with that?"
"Right this way, miss. We have several books about that. Do you want to buy it for yourself or are you more interested in books for children?" - Steven asked, clearly overplaying his act as an assistant.
He quickly looked at Donna as he led you in one of the aisles and she winked at him while giving him a thumbs up before she walked out of the shop.
"Oh, I want to buy one for my nephew! Can you also give me something I can murder this bitch with?" - you asked as you pointed with your thumb to her disappearing figure.
Steven laughed out loud and held up a children's book.
"This hardcover book about pharaohs will equally satisfy your nephew's thirst for knowledge and your thirst for blood!"
You giggled and held up the bag you were carrying between you.
"So I see your day was shit." - you acknowledged as you opened it and bit your lip when Steven's eyes lit up.
"Yeah, but I have you to make it better!" - he said as he reached inside and pulled out the see through tupperware box.
When Marc saw what it contained he had to forcefully hold himself back from taking over the control of the body he was sharing with Steven.
'Apple pie?! Eat it! Just one slice, I beg you!'
"I shouldn't do this now, but I can't resist my inner demon." - Steven said as he opened the lid, pulled out a slice and took a bite with a satisfied hum.
'If you don't marry her, I will.' - Marc groaned as his senses were also filled with the delicious taste of the pie.
Steven almost choked hearing that, and you panicked.
"Oh, god, is it that bad? Is it too dry? Do you want me to get some water?" - you asked hitting his back several times, while he coughed.
Steven shook his head and he quickly eat the remaining slice, licking his fingers.
"No, it was fantastic, don't worry, darling!" - Steven said as he walked back to the counter.
Your heart did a jump, hearing the nickname. It wasn't the first time he called you something like that, but it had the same effect on you every time. You tried to quickly shook off the giddy feeling though, Steven was just being his friendly, sweet self and he was glad he managed to get rid of Donna with your help.
"You're quite late today, it's almost closing time." - Steven said as he put the box on the counter and leaned on it as an excuse to be closer to you without making you feel uncomfortable.
He wasn't sure what made you talk to him almost daily, but he was glad you showed up so often, because you were literally the reason he walks into this museum with a smile on his face.
'She keeps coming back, because we're handsome.' - Marc said smugly.
Steven shook his head a little in a failed attempt to make Marc shut up.
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that, my boss was an asshole too and made me stay another hour. Then I made this for you, because I know you like it." - you gestured to the box of apple pie a little sheepishly.
'See that? We're making her flustered. Ask her on a date.'
"Aw, you know you shouldn't have! My day is brigthened even when you just come here for a few minutes."
You giggled again and leaned with your elbows on the counter too. Steven's smile widened and he felt his cheeks get hotter at how close your faces were.
"So did that harpy put you on inventory tonight too?"
"Nah, inventory is tomorrow and thankfully the new guy won that one, Donna's going to teach him how to do it."
"Bet you he's gonna quit in the morning."
"More like half an hour into inventory."
You let out a small laugh again as you turned your head towards the entrance to see if you can catch a glimpse of Donna harassing other employees of the museum.
As you were doing that Steven looked at your face feeling his heartbeat picking up. You were so pretty and he had a hard time keeping himself from watching you with adoration clearly written on his face.
'Ask her on a date, pussy.'
When you turned back, you smiled at him, then looked at your phone to check the time and when you saw how late it was, your smile faltered. You really got here late.
"So you're not working tomorrow?"
"Uh, no, I work on Friday."
"I guess we'll talk on Friday then, I should get going now, you're closing in 4 minutes."
'Daaateee.' - Marc whined in Steven's head.
"Okay." - Steven nodded with a shy smile.
You hold back a giggle at the little blush that was covering his cheeks.
When Marc saw that you turned around to walk out of the shop he snapped.
'Listen here, Steven, if you don't ask her on a date or offer to walk her home right fucking now, I'm gonna take control and ask her myself, and believe me when I say she's gonna scream MY NAME when I'm filling her up with my c-!'
"Wait!" - Steven pratically jumped out of the counter to hurry over to you.
"Yes?" - you turned around and bit your lip when you saw how out of breath he looked.
"I uh, you uhh..."
'Jesus, you have it bad for her. So do I, so be a man and say something!'
"Wait for me? Just 20 minutes, then I walk you home? We can have dinner... I mean if you're hungry, if you're not, we can do something else... Anything you want." - Steven rambled, and the corner of your mouth lifted up watching his nervous but hopeful expression.
"Yeah, okay. See you outside." - you agreed and walked out with a little bounce in your steps, leaving Steven standing there with a lovestruck smile on his face.
'There you go, Romeo.'
"Would you just calm down, mate?! I already have a hard time concentrating when I'm near her, and you're not helping!" - Steven hissed as he walked back to the counter and counted the money in the cash register.
'I've noticed you're having a hard time, every morning when you think about her.' - Marc taunted.
"Yeah? I don't know who rubbed one out yesterday night at the image of her kneeling in front of us in the shower."
'Oh, yeah, that was a good one!' - Marc grinned back at him with a content smile in the reflection of the monitor.
Steven sighed and continued closing.
"Just stay put and let me handle this on my own, okay?"
'Sure. Guess we're going home with massive blue balls.'
"It's not like I wanna have sex with her on the first date."
'Bro, you wanna... You're just too much of a gentleman to actually do it. Just promise me if she initiates anything you won't back down.'
"What if I freeze?"
'I won't.'
"That's actually quite disturbing to know." - Steven said as he went to the breakroom, grabbed his messenger bag and walked out the front entrance.
'You'll thank me later, when she's bouncing on our di-.
Steven cut him off with a loud groan.
You turned around when you heard him and smiled as he walked down the steps to you.
"Donna was biting your ass again?" - you asked with a smile that made it hard for Steven to breathe.
"Nah, it was another arsehole this time."
"You really don't wanna find another job?" - you asked as you two started walking on the street.
"Sometimes I'm thinking about it, but on the other hand I really like the job itself."
"You should be a tour guide. I learned a lot when you were showing me around and I liked listening to you more than the other guides."
At that Steven grinned widely.
"Really?"
"Yeah, the others know stuff too of course, but you can tell they are only doing this because it's their job, but you are genuenly excited about history."
"I am."
"I know. I love the expressions you make when you talk about it. It really shows how much you love that place." - you gestured back to the museum.
Steven smiled at you with a surprised expression. That must mean that you really pay attention to him to be able to notice the changes in his behaviour when he's speaking. No one else does. They don't even remember his name. You really see him, unlike others.
The thought made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You love the expressions he's making. Does that mean you like him? You were visiting the museum for months now and even the first time you entered the gift shop you gave him a bright smile that felt like time had stopped around him. You were kind to him from day 1. Well, you didn't know about his 'sleeping disorder' that made him arrive late to work for weeks in the past.
Suddenly Steven grew worried. Marc and him found a schedule now that they helped Khonshu save the world from Ammit and Harlow. Moon Knight and Mr. Knight protect the London streets at night, but in order to balance that with their work, they go to sleep for a few hours right after work, so they can roam the city at night, and they go home around 3 or 4 am to rest again.
The healing armor helps them with the wounds and now that Steven has one too, he doesn't really feel that exhausted anymore either.
When they have free time, Marc teaches Steven how to fight, in case something happens that makes it difficult for him to front. Steven is learning quickly, he shares the body with Marc so muscle memory really helps him to improve fast.
But you don't know anything about that. You don't know about Marc, about Moon Knight, about Mr. Knight, about him being some kind of a superhero. The protector of the city. Well, you probably knew about them from the news. People are talking about some hooded and masked figures, guiding the innocent who travel at night to safety. There are a few blurry pictures of both of them in white suits. But you didn't know they were him. No one else did.
Suddenly Steven felt as his chest tightened and he started rubbing the spot to ease the feeling. He was sure you will ran away screaming once you find out.
'Easy there, Steven. We're just walking her home. Nothing bad will happen.' - Marc tried to calm him down. - 'We don't have to worry about those things yet. Maybe she'll think you're too lame and stops visiting us before any of that comes to light.'
Steven rolled his eyes at Marc's 'encouraging' words. He missed those days when he didn't hear him.
'Pff. Dude, without me you wouldn't even be here right now. Show some gratitude.'
"Everything alright? You became really quiet." - you said softly. You hoped he didn't regret offering to come with you.
Steven looked at you like you pulled him out of a deep thought.
"I'm fine, sorry. I'm just, uh, enjoying the peace after today's rush in the museum." - Steven smiled.
"Do you wanna sit in somewhere? Or we can go to my place and eat there. I have a balcony and it's really peaceful there on the nights and mornings. - you offered. - "I mean, if you wanna." - you added sheepishly while you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and your kind eyes traveled from his to the ground before you while a nervous smile grew on your lips.
Steven heard Marc growl lightly.
'She's so sweet I could eat her. Maybe I will.'
Steven let out a longing sigh as his eyes wandered over your form. Marc may be a fucking pervert, but he was right when he said that you were sweet. He doesn't want to go in a restaurant, he wants to go to yours, where it's just the two of you, where it's intimate, where the only noises that could be heard is your soft voice telling him about your day, where your warm eyes are not distracted by a sudden movement from another table or waiter, but they are fixed on his, watching him, like he was the most important thing in that moment when he's speaking. He likes that. When you make him feel that way. He hopes he's making you feel that way too.
"Can we go to your place? It sounds wonderful." - Steven said.
You smiled brightly at him and nodded, moving just a little bit closer to him while you two were walking.
It was Marc's turn to sigh when Steven (of course) haven't noticed the tiny sign.
'Take her hand.'
Steven looked in confusion at his reflection in a store's dark window and saw as Marc rolled his eyes as he gestured wildly with his hands.
"It's just another block from here." - you told him as you two rounded a corner.
"No wonder you come in almost everyday." - Steven smiled at you, but he frowned when your eyes widened in fear.
He followed your line of sight and he felt himself tense up. The two (well three) of you entered an alley which wasn't well lit by the lamps like the other streets. It wasn't a run down place by the slightest, but a group of intimidating looking men were sitting on the stairs leading up to the entrance of one of the houses and a few bottles were scattered around them. They were talking and laughing loudly, clearly drunk.
Steven saw that you were scared, so he put his hand on your back gently.
"It's okay." - he told you quietly and guided you to the other side of the street to continue walking.
Just when you were about to walk past them, you heard as they got up from the stairs and you just knew some name callings were about to happen.
"Hey! Why did you walk to the other side of the street, huh?! We're not good enough for your upper-class bitch?" - one of them yelled and the others snickered.
Steven closed his eyes and let out a sigh. These poor bastards clearly didn't know who they were fucking with.
When you felt him slow down, you grabbed his hand and pulled him with you. He surely didn't want to talk back to five drunk men?!
"Steven!" - you whispered harshly when he turned around, but he was keeping you behind him. - "It's okay, just forget it!" - you pleaded.
"I only let this one go, because you are clearly drunk, fellas. Why don't you go home and get some sleep, yeah?"
The men laughed again and they started walking towards you, making your heart sunk into your stomach. This is not good, this is gonna end fucking bad. Before you knew it, they were in front of Steven, and when they tried to circle him to get closer to you, he took a few slow steps back, straightening his posture and rolling his shoulders, shielding you with his body.
"Well, you know what? Maybe we're gonna go home... Yeah, we're gonna go home, right 'fellas'? And we're gonna take your bitch with us!" - one of them said loudly as he tried to reach for you.
Steven quickly let go of your hand and pushed you further back by your shoulder. Your eyes widened and a gasp left you when you saw as he grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it then roughly pulled on it, holding it behind the man's back who cried out in pain. Steven kicked the back of his right knee and he fall to his knees, then he punched the back of his head and he fall to the ground unconscious.
'Nice.' - Marc commented.
The other guys first looked at Steven in panic, but then they yelled and all four of them jumped him. You cried out in panic and watched as they started kicking and hitting him, and he fell to the ground. When you saw that, you tried to punch one of the men, but he turned around, forcefully grabbed your upper arm to yank you to the side and then he hit you across your cheek so hard that you fall to the ground with a cry of pain.
When Steven saw that he let out a cry of rage and within a blink of an eye the four men were flying across the air to every direction. You gasped when you saw as a masked man in a full white suit was standing where moments before Steven was.
He walked to one of the men and grabbed him by his shirt to pull him up. He threw him into one of the guys who were about to stand up and they both fall to the ground like ragdolls.
"You wanna go home now or you want some more?!" - Steven asked angrily while he gestured wildly with his hands.
All of the men pushed themselves up to their feet in panic and quickly ran away.
When the masked man turned to you, you whimpered and started crawling backwards in fear as he hurried to you.
"Oh, right." - he said and in a blink of an eye his mask was gone, revealing Steven's face. - "Are you all right?!" - he asked as he crouched down next to you.
He was holding his hands like he wanted to touch you, but you were looking at him in utter shock.
"It's me." - Steven whispered as he slowly reached towards you. - "You're okay now. It's me." - he hushed you quietly and your whimpers died down as you let him touch you.
"Steven...?" - you asked in disbelief.
He nodded, then gently put one of his gloved hand on your knee, and used his other to softly turn your face more towards his, so he can inspect your wound.
'Those fucking assholes...!' - Marc cursed whe he saw the reddening bruise on the left side of your cheek.
"Bastards." - Steven growled. - "I'm so sorry, I should have fought harder, I shouldn't have let them reach you, I should've been faster!" - Steven rambled angrily after he pulled you to your feet.
He was a fucking idiot, why didn't he let Marc front so he can fight them, he was still more experienced, he surely would've been able to defend you properly?! Why was he such a fucking loser?!
Just before he turned mad because of his thoughts, he felt as you gently touched his shoulder.
"Thank you."
Steven looked at you in disbelief. You were hurt because he wasn't good enough and you were thanking him?
"But... but you're hurt..."
"It would've been worse if you weren't here."
"But..."
"Steven." - you said firmly as you cupped his cheeks with both of your hands and he was forced to look into your eyes. - "You saved me. Thank you."
And before he could protest some more, you were kissing him.
Steven's eyes widened and he looked at your face to make sure this was really happening. Your eyes were closed, your warm hands were on his face and when he started to believe that this wasn't a dream, his eyes closed too, he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer, and when you let out a small gasp he pushed his tongue past your lips and kissed you back with all the adoration he was feeling for you.
When he thought that this couldn't get better, your hands moved to the back of his head, your fingers sneaked their way into his hair, while you pushed yourself more into him as you deepened the kiss, stealing his breath away. When you pulled on his locks needily, Steven let out a low growl, which travelled through your body, revibrating in your core.
"Take me home." - you demanded in a whisper as you pushed your forehead against his.
"Yes, ma'am." - Steven nodded out of breath and a few minutes later you stumbled inside your apartment while Steven was leaving love bites all along your neck.
You walked backwards and when you were both inside Steven kicked the door shut with a loud bang. You giggled and he looked at you with a love-struck smile. You bit your lip as your hands wandered down his chest marveling at the beautiful white suit he was wearing. You took off his jacket, but when he reached up to take off his vest, you stopped him.
"No. I want you to wear it." - you breathed.
Steven's eyes widened a little.
"You want me to...?"
You nodded as you hopped on the drawer behind you and pulled him closer by his tie.
"I want you to fuck me while you're wearing this. You look so fucking handsome." - you purred and kissed him passionately again, making him moan.
'Fuck, Steven, when a woman tells you how to fuck them, you fuck them, and don't ask questions!' - Marc growled.
Steven could do that.
He was hard as a rock and as you pulled him closer with your legs around his waist you moaned when his bulge rubbed against your heat.
"Please, Steven... please... please...!" - you begged in a barely audible whisper. Your mind was fogged by lust, you didn't even care how pathetic you sounded, you wanted his dick inside you as soon as possible.
"As the lady commands." - Steven breathed in your ear and a smirk grew on his lips when he felt you shudder in his arms.
All of his insecurities flew out the window when he heard your begging. It boosted his ego, and reassured him that whatever he's doing, he's doing it right.
He quickly pulled off your cardigan and shirt and he groaned when he looked down at your bra covered breasts.
You moaned loudly when he didn't bother taking them off but pushed them up and when your tits bounced free he captured one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked on it. You arched your back to push yourself more into him and your hands flew into his hair again, pulling on his roots.
Oh, Steven loved when you did that.
He switched to your other breast, but this time he bit the inside of it, then licked the spot to soothe the pain before sucking on your hard nipple.
"Need you... Now." - you whined and Steven didn't waste more time.
He grabbed your pants and panties and pulled them down your legs as you quickly kicked off your shoes and socks.
"You're beautiful, love." - Steven whispered and kissed you again, slower this time.
You smiled into the kiss and helped him free his cock from his pants and boxer briefs.
Despite being rather needy until now, you loved the way he slowly pushed himself inside you, watching each others faces as both of your eyes widened and low moans escaped your throats at the incredible feeling of finally being connected.
"Oh, fuuuck..." - Steven breathed and he rested his forehead against your shoulder as he slowly pulled out and pushed himself deeper inside you with a needier thrust.
He felt as your pussy hugged him tightly and he moaned, while he lifted his head and cupped your face with one of his hands while with his other he was gripping your hip tightly.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" - he asked as his dark chocolate brown eyes bored into yours.
"Fuck no, it feels so good. You feel so good." - you moaned and your words made him thrust into you rougher.
It made you cry out in pleasure and Steven grabbed your hip with his other hand to keep you steady as his fucking gained speed.
Your hands were gripping his shoulder and he started kissing your jaw and neck.
"Pull my hair." - he wishpered against your skin.
You smiled and did as you were told, pulling on his locks while you made sure your cries of pleasure were directed right into his ear.
Steven was in fucking heaven. He had a hard time remembering when was the last time he did this. Or if he ever did this at all. But it didn't matter now, because even if he imagined this a thousand times before, it felt even better right now.
The way your walls hugged his cock, the sloppy noises your pussy made as he was fucking you, the way you were hugging his waist with your legs, your hands in his hair, pulling harder and harder as he was taking you higher and higher on the clouds of pleasure. The sounds you were making: moaning and hissing and whining and especially the way you cried out when some of his thrusts hit that spot that made you see stars.
Steven lifted his head from your chest and looked at your face, his fast beating heart did a jump in his chest as he saw pleasure written in all of your expressions.
"Look at me."
It wasn't a demand, it wasn't a command, it was a plea and you happily opened your eyes to look at his handsome face and into his gorgeous eyes. His forehead became sweaty, just like yours and your brows furrowed when you saw something deep in his eyes, like he wanted to say something, or ask for something, and you bit your lip trying to figure out what it was.
You pulled on his hair harder, and you saw as his eyes rolled back as he moaned deeply.
You smiled at his reaction and kissed his jaw, licking your way up to his ear.
"You're fucking me so good, Steven." - you whispered and to your absolute delight his thrusts became even more wild.
You opened your legs wider and took him with loud cries of pleasure. Fuck, it felt like he didn't even get tired, everytime you did or said something he liked, he only got faster.
And deeper.
It felt like your moans were never ending when he hit that spot inside you over and over again and you started arching your back to feel him more if it was possible.
"Right there, Steven, oh my god, you're gonna make me cum!"
Your words went straight to his dick and he growled loudly when he felt himself reaching his orgasm too.
"Touch yourself. I wanna see you touch yourself, darling." - Steven said and again, it sounded more like a plea.
And you did. Whatever he wanted. Whatever he asked, you'll give him without question. He had you and no one will ever compare to him.
You leant back a little and with one hand you reached down to your clit and watched as his eyes followed your hand and he moaned again when he watched your fingers moved to pleasure yourself while his dick was moving in and out of your pussy with obscene noises.
"Steven, oh god!"
"Cum for me!" - now it sounded like a demand and after a few more thrusts you experienced the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life.
Your walls squeezed his cock so tightly that it felt like it was trying to suck him in and never let go. Your fingers at the back of his head pulled his hair so hard it made Steven's head roll back. Your thighs were shaking because of the pleasure he gave you and all of these things made Steven's eyes roll back in his head as he cummed so hard inside you that he thought he's gonna pass out.
When he stopped violently rocking his hips into yours, he pushed his face into your neck, inhaling deeply.
When he felt you caressing his hair, he moved his hands from your hips to your thighs and started softly rubbing them while he looked at you.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" - he asked with concern behind his tired eyes.
"Of course not." - you smiled as you kissed him gently, but he looked down at your still shaking thighs with furrowed brows. - "It's because it was so good." - you reassured him, nuzzling his nose and kissed him again when a happy smile appeared on his face.
'Who would've thought that you had it in you.'
Steven ignored Marc and softly kissed your cheek one last time before he pulled himself out with a groan. You slid down from the drawer and pulled out a soft blanket from it and covered yourself with it. Steven followed you into your livingroom as he tucked himself back in his pants then made the suit disappear, leaving him in his normal clothes.
When he saw you wobble a little he closed the distance between you and lifted you up bridal style as you giggled lightly.
"Where to?"
"Balcony." - you answered and opened the balcony door when you two reached it.
Steven looked around and his smile widened when a beautiful display of the city greeted him. He gently put you down on the little bench which was covered with numerous pastel coloured blankets and pillows and when he sat down he happily lifted his arm as you snuggled closer to him.
"It really is peaceful." - he said with a content sigh.
"Told you. You're welcome to come here whenever you want."
Steven looked down at you as he possessively squeezed you harder against him.
"You don't wanna talk about... you know?" - he asked, hinting at the fact that you just witnessed him turn into the city's vigilante.
"We can talk in the morning. We have all the time in the world." - you said as you pushed your face into his neck and Steven smiled, because finally there was someone in his arms who didn't judge him, but felt content and safe in his presence.
🌛✨🌛✨🌛✨🌛✨🌛✨🌛✨
I'm thinking about writing a part 2, where Reader meets Marc too ✍️👀
This fic has me in a chokehold. I am deceased.
steven grant lookin past you into the mirror behind you as you bounce on his cock and you know marc is taunting him because next thing you know sweet steven is grippin' the flesh of your ass, murmuring "s-sorry, love. just-" before hes hammering up into you and rendering you completely cock drunk in seconds.
oh buddy it’s only monday monday
marc spector as cabanels fallen angel
he's not just "some guy" he's "some guy covered in blood" get it right
I've had him for all of one episode and I'd die for his dorky "gift-shopper" ass
Don’t know if you write Michael talking but og kinda inexperienced Michael cums in reader and he whispers raspy quiet sweet things in your ear “oh baby” “feels- so good”
Hmmm...
Silent Michael Myers (asides from his grunts and harsh breathing) is more appealing to me than if he speaks. I don't think there's ever been a moment where he utters any words, so it would be kinda startling if he started talking all of the sudden. 😂
However, I'm a major slut for deep voices so if I could imagine him with one, it would be one of those dark and gravely ones. He would also be a man of few words and not be sweet at all about it.
Just a tinsy little drabble for this, honey.
Change 18+ Drabble
WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, possessive, unprotected sex, Michael speaks (a little)
"Tight." Michael practically growled out the word, hands digging into the fat of your hips as he forced you to take every inch of him.
Your ass was pressed firmly against his pelvis, a gasp of pain leaving you at the bruising hold he had on you. Clutching the edge of the table you were bent over on, you pulled your body forward, hoping to escape from Michael's grip.
Noticing this, Michael pulled you flush against him, a scream leaving you when he threatened to penetrate through your cervix with that one thrust. Cries left you when he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed a breast with another.
"Mine." Michael muttered into your hair, his chest pressing on your back to keep you immobile beneath him. Your squirming only made him harder, your channel clenching involuntarily around him and making his cock throb angrily.
"Please, let me go." You tearfully hiccuped. You didn't know how much longer you could take this. Michael was not a kind man, the red marks and bruises scattered across your body proving it. Even as you pleaded with him, he was never once gentle with you. Your body trembled pathetically when he bit the nape of your neck.
"No." With that, Michael grabbed both of your pillowy breasts and jerked you back on his broad frame.
Breathless moans left you with every one of his jarring thrusts, your body rocking in tandem with his motions. Before long, you could feel the pressure build on your stomach, thighs starting to quiver as your orgasm neared.
With every wet smack of your hips clashing, Michael could feel himself ready to come inside you again. It had been startling to him when he first came, the feeling euphoric and alien to him. However, after numerous sessions with you, it was something he strived for as he worked your body. The way your pliant body rippled enticingly with his brutal assault had him addicted. "So soft."
Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he pummeled away at your wet pussy. You could do nothing but take it. Your arms were caged on either side of you, unable to jerk free from his hold. He adjusted his stance so that your legs were around his, spreading you wide to take him all the way inside you. His mind set on filling you up once more, your screams driving him to completion as he jerked sloppily inside you.
"This. Is. Mine." He hissed in your ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. You only mewled in response, mind clouded with pleasure as slick and cum ran down your thighs.
Michael brought a hand to your lower belly, a pleased grunt leaving him when he felt the swell of him inside you. "You're mine."
