Warnings/Tags: smut, porn with a little plot, subby!Steven, soft dom!reader, loss of virginity (Steven), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv (donât do that in real life pls), dry humping, use of pet names (good boy, etc.), aftercare
A/N: Look, I⊠I donât know what to say for myself. Steven does things to me and I just wanna see him beg, okay? No Moon Knight spoilers, this takes place vaguely before the events of the series, and is also not really canon compliant anyway lol.
Steven Grant is sweet. No word can better describe the man. Heâs shy, kind, a bit of a disaster. You just want to wrap him up in a blanket and give him some tea.
But you also want to make him squirm.
Maybe itâs depraved, but you canât help it. Every time you see him awkwardly wringing his hands together and trying his best to hold a conversation you imagine how he would look and sound under you, desperate and needy. You figure heâs a virgin, the way he can barely look a girl in the eye, let alone ask one on a date. But that doesnât matter to you, you want him.
Your fantasies arenât entirely cruel, though. Yes, you want him whining and begging, but you really just want to take care of him. You know that getting him worked up would make his release feel so much better in the end, and he deserves that. You want him to be your good boy, but you donât know how to make it happen.
The aforementioned inability to form a coherent sentence in the presence of really anyone, let alone a beautiful woman, makes things difficult. You know he isnât completely socially inept, heâd obviously managed to get a job and seemed to have a friend or two, but he has obviously been under a lot of stress recently. Hence your desire to help him relieve it.
You had been building up to it, slowly. Youâd started by just being a friend. You made sure to be patient with him whenever he stumbled over a word, giving him an encouraging smile when you passed him at work.
You moved up to having the occasional lunch together, allowing him to control the conversation, or lack thereof. You didnât mind sitting in silence with him, if thatâs what made him comfortable.
After a few weeks, youâre having lunch most days, enjoying casual conversation. You can still see the stress on his face and in his eyes, but it doesnât seem to be stemming from having to interact with you.
You decide it might be time to take the leap.
âSteven?â He was zoned out, youâd hit a pause in the conversation and his mind had wandered elsewhere. You get his attention, reminding him that someone else was there.
His eyes refocus, landing on your face. He doesnât quite make eye contact still, but he makes an effort.
âSorry, was just thinking.â
âThatâs okay, I just have a question for youâ you reply, trying to keep your tone casual.
His brow furrows, confusion evident on his gorgeous face. Youâd been shocked when you first met him that everyone wasnât falling all over themselves to get a date with this man, he was so pretty. Even though he dressed in clothes that were too big for him and never remotely matched, you could tell he had a great body and his face was like a Greek god. Then youâd had a conversation with him and understood why most people wouldnât want to put in the effort of getting him out of his shell.
You take his silence as a cue to continue.
âI was just wondering if you might want to get dinner or a drink or something after work.â
âOh, yes that would be nice, do you meanâ is this⊠I meanââ
You smile at his hesitance, clearly trying to figure out if this was a date or not but not sure how to ask.
âYes like a date, Stevenâ you explain, seeing his expression change from worried to relieved.
âGreat, Iâll meet you at the gift shop when your shift ends?â You pick up your bag and stand, making your way back to work.
âOkayâ he practically whispers, looking dazed and clearly processing what has just happened.
âOkay, see you later, Stevenâ you reply cheerfully, also excited for the evening.
The rest of the work day feels unbearably long, but you get through it and itâs finally 7, the end of your shift and time to meet Steven. You make your way to the gift shop, waiting quietly as Steven finishes with his last customer. He was thankfully not late or otherwise a frustration for Donna today and did not have to do inventory.
When the customer leaves, Steven looks over and sees you, his face lighting up. You give him a small wave, and he grabs his bag and walks to you. He has both hands holding tightly to the strap of his bag, clearly nervous but not unhappy.
âHiyaâ he gives you a tight-lipped smile.
Since you were done working, youâve unbuttoned your shirt a bit, and you see Stevenâs eyes fall briefly to your more exposed chest, which is exactly what youâd hoped for.
âReady to go?â Steven nods. âThereâs a great place near my flat that has a lot of vegan options, itâs really good but also a casual atmosphere, you wanna go there?â
âSounds lovely.â Stevenâs face flushes a bit, seemingly catching on to the implications of you mentioning the proximity to your place.
You make your way to the restaurant, chatting about your days as you walk. You fortunately get a table tucked away in the corner, not too close to anyone else so you can talk without feeling surrounded by strangers. You and Steven have a wonderful conversation, heâs very excited to talk with you about Egyptian mythology, and you love the way his face lights up when you ask him questions. When the check comes Steven insists on paying, adding to your increasing anticipation of getting him back to your flat.
When you walk out of the restaurant, Steven seems unsure if the evening is about to be over or not. You hold his hand, fingers lacing with his, and he looks at you hopefully.
âWould you like to come back to my place?â You ask, not bothering to think of a reason for inviting him there since you both know what you really meant.
His breath hitches.
âYeah. Please.â He nods quickly.
The walk to your place is quick, as intended, and soon youâre sitting on your couch next to Steven, letting your thigh brush against his.
His nerves had clearly gone up exponentially, and you can tell he wants to say something.
âEverything okay?â You ask gently, wanting to make sure he really wanted this and he didnât feel pressured.
âYeah, I want to do this, trust meâ he emphasizes, eyes scaling your body, âIâve just, um⊠I havenât ever, you knowâŠâ he trails off, his gaze dropping to the floor.
âI donât care about that, Steven. Just follow my lead and let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable okay? Iâll take care of you. Will you be a good boy for me? Let me make you feel good?â You move one hand to his knee.
He whimpers a little at your words, nodding slowly.
âI need you to use your words, love.â
âYes, yes Iâll be goodâ Steven manages, swallowing thickly as we waits for your next move.
âGood. Just say stop if thereâs anything you donât like, okay? Weâll start slow. Can I kiss you?â You had moved your hand further up his thigh, rubbing soft circles with your thumb.
Steven nods, then remembers to use his words, good boy, and takes a steadying breath.
âYes.â
You move your unoccupied hand to his face, pulling him toward you. Stevenâs eyes flutter closed as he leans in to press his lips to yours.
The kiss is a little awkward and stiff right at first, but Steven quickly gets the hang of things and lets himself relax into it. After a moment you coax his mouth open with your tongue and he follows your lead, licking into your mouth with hunger.
His hands had at some point moved to your hips, pulling you closer to him. It isnât quite close enough, yet, so you shift, planting one knee on either side of his hips and straddling his lap. That earns you another small whimper, which sounds even better than you had imagined.
With some effort, Steven breaks the kiss, sliding his hands upward slightly to the hem of your shirt. âCan Iâ?â He looks up at you hopefully, small creases forming on his brow as he searches for an answer.
You canât stop yourself from moving a hand to his face again, gently smoothing those little creases with your thumb.
âYes, baby, of courseâ Steven sighs, crashing his lips to yours again as he allows his hands to slip up and under your top. His hands find your breasts, touching with hesitance at first but then becoming more greedy. When his thumbs brush over your nipples, your hips grind into his slightly, causing him to buck up against you.
Heâs already painfully hard, and you can feel the impressive size of him through his trousers.
You move your lips down his neck and your hands to his chest as Steven decides you no longer need your top, and unbuttons it the rest of the way. You shrug it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground behind you.
You can feel how fit his body is through his shirt, confirming your suspicions.
You suck a mark into his neck, causing him to groan and buck his hips again, getting more desperate.
He moves his hands back down to your hips, trying to pull you against him more, but you resist.
âPatience, sweet boy. No need to rushâ
He whinesâ finally, beautifully. Just hearing the sound youâd been dreaming of for so long sends a wave of arousal through you, breaking through your facade of dominance and allowing your own desperation to seep through.
You stop kissing him abruptly, causing that soft crease to form again on his face, and stand.
âI think itâs time to move to the bedroom, yes?â You ask, grabbing his hand and encouraging him to stand as well.
âYeahâ he rasps, then clears his throat, âyes I agree.â
You make the short journey to your bedroom, watching as Stevenâs eyes scan your belongings to assess your more hidden personality.
You remove the rest of your clothing quickly, refocusing Stevenâs attention solely on you, and help him to do the same.
His length is as impressive as you had felt earlier, throbbing and neglected.
You lay on the bed, legs spread to invite him to you.
He crawls onto the bed, but stops short of where you had expected him, hands resting on your legs and eyes locked on your center.
âFuckâ youâre so wet, love. Can I taste you? Please? I donât know if Iâm any good but Iâll do whatever you tell me. I just want to so badly.â He rambles, asking so earnestly for something youâd never refuse him.
âOf course, sweet boy. Donât think too hard about doing it right, just do what feels good and Iâll tell you if you should do something differentâ you instruct, carding your hand through his hair to encourage him toward where you need him.
He places a kiss on your stomach first, something no one else has ever done before. Youâre not exactly sure why he does, but it feels like heâs claiming you, acknowledging the parts of your body that donât explicitly serve a purpose for his pleasure.
He then moves downward, licking a broad stripe through your folds. Encouraged by the sound you make when he does that, he continues exploring you with his tongue, finding your clit quickly and circling it.
âYouâreâ fuckâ youâre doing so well, Steven. Stay right there, if you just, just suckââ you cut yourself off with a moan as he follows your instructions, wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud and applying just the right amount of pressure.
Youâre basically babbling now, a string of good boys and other praises flowing from you as he gets more confident in his ministrations. Your words clearly have an effect on him, you can hear his little grunts of pleasure as you talk.
You see his hand move down the front of his body, wrapping around his weeping cock to relieve some pressure, but you canât have that.
âSteven, no touching without permission. Donât want you getting yourself too worked up, do we?â You try to use your most stern tone, but it doesnât come out quite as firm as youâd hoped in your state of arousal.
He lifts his head briefly, eyes wide.
âMâsorry, itâs justâ shit, you feel so good I couldnât help itâ
âItâs okay, love, just donât do it again or I might have to restrain those pretty armsâ you tease as he returns his mouth to your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The groan Steven makes lets you know that he definitely liked the sound of your little threat. Next time.
Youâre so close now, for his first time Stevenâs enthusiasm has definitely gotten him far, you just need a little more. You encourage him to use his fingers, telling him how to curl them the right way to hit that one spot inside you.
Once he does that, youâre barreling toward your release, clamping down on him hard.
âThatâs it, good boy. Donâtâ ohâ please donât stop Iâm gonna fucking cum, yes yes yesââ you hit your peak and lose the ability to form a coherent sentence, practically screaming Stevenâs name and holding onto his hair for dear life.
He continues to lick you slowly as you come down, stopping only when you tell him itâs too much.
You drag him back up to your face, kissing him desperately and tasting yourself on him.
âWas that good?â He asks as you pull away, seemingly genuinely unsure as if you hadnât just had one of the best orgasms of your life.
âYes, oh my god baby yes that was amazing, I knew youâd be good at thatâ his face lights up at your praise, and he unconsciously bucks his hips again, and you can feel how hard and desperate his cock is for some attention.
You push his shoulders to encourage him to flip, his back hitting the bed and you straddling his hips again.
You start to grind your dripping cunt over his length, causing Steven to gasp and drop his head back onto the pillows.
âWhat do you want, sweet boy? You wanna fuck me?â You ask, tone almost mocking.
âYes, yes please I need to feel youâ he rasps, fingers digging into your hips as he tries to move you onto his cock.
You decide to push him just a little more, make him complete putty in your hands.
âI donât know, Iâm not sure you really mean it. If you want to fuck me, beg for it. Be a good boy and let me hear how desperate you are for meâ you lean down to say the last sentence right in his ear, nibbling the lobe then pulling back to see the wrecked look on his face.
"Please-- I need you. I need to be inside you, please I'll do anything you ask. Just let me fuck you darling" He begs for you, whimpering and practically gasping for air, pleading for you to give him some relief.
This is what you wanted, all the thoughts in his pretty little head completely replaced with need, totally consumed by you.
âWhat a good boy, asking so nicely for me. Of course you can fuck me baby, wanna make you feel goodâ you soothe, bringing your lips to his again as you lift your hips and gently take his cock in your hand to notch it at your entrance.
As you sink down on him, you both moan, and you can feel him throbbing as he fills you all the way.
Even after he got you ready heâs still a stretch, and you wonder if he really knows how well-endowed he is.
âYouâre so big, love, you fill me up so well.â Steven seems to have lost all ability to form words, as the only response you get is a stifled moan and his hands gripping you a little tighter.
You start to move, lifting your hips up and down slowly, knowing that if you went too fast things could be over pretty quickly given how worked up youâd gotten him.
You feel Stevenâs hands trying to pull you down onto him quicker, and he finally whimpers a small âplease,â asking you to go faster.
You decide to let him set the pace.
âThatâs it sweet boy, take what you needâ you encourage, and he starts rocking into you quickly, at just the right angle to hit the spot inside you that works you up quickly to another release.
Youâre glad to be close again because you can feel Stevenâs rhythm faltering, clearly not able to hold out much longer.
You consider making him slow down, seeing how far you could push him, but you decide thatâs probably too much right now, and you just want him to feel good.
âYou getting close, love? I can feel you. Donât stop, Iâm close too, want you to cum with meâ you say softly, mouthing along his neck and nipping at his jaw between words.
Without having to be asked, Steven moves a hand to the front of you, circling your clit with his thumb, which is just what you need to fall over the edge again.
You place your forehead against his, as your cunt clamps down around his cock, and you feel him throb and release inside you, as he chants your name like a prayer, over and over.
You both tremble as you recover, Stevenâs hands maintaining their bruising hold on your hips.
You brush his hair back, damp with sweat and sticking to his face.
He looks up at you with awe.
You move to lift off of him, not wanting to overstimulate him, but he doesnât release you.
âStay, please. Just for a bit longer?â
âOf course sweet boy, whatever you needâ you whisper as he hugs you close to him.
He eventually lets you go so you can clean him and yourself up, and you take your time with aftercare, whispering more praise and making sure to keep touching him throughout, as he seems to need skin-to-skin contact the most.
You end up back in bed, your back to him as he holds you close.
âAre you okay, Steven? Was that what you had hoped for?â You ask, feeling sleep creeping in but wanting to check in one more time.
âNo, it was better. Definitely better. Thank you.â He softly kisses the back of your head, allowing himself to fall asleep, feeling completely relaxed for the first time in weeks.
Summary: Presumably post-fight Steven needs a little medical attention and a little love as well.
Warnings: oral (I mean....come on). p in v. this is very tame. so tame. sorry. primarily steven being in love with you so if you don't like love (who hurt you?) and you came here for other stuff... we get to it eventually.
AN: I am in love with Steven Grant. I would die for him. I imagine he is a little lost. Please, someone, teach this man how to kiss properly. Also, apologies for disappearing for a while. I happen to be a very stressed very busy very perfectionist aka procrastinating student. I am working on other things. Those other things being a novel and a PhD thesis proposal at the same time. This is my cry for help. Anyway, enjoy.
---
âStop moving so much.â
Steven hisses in pain. âIt hurts. Youâre hurting me.â
âWell, you wouldnât let me take you to a hospital, so this is what you get,â you reply, dabbing at the split across his nose with a cotton ball dipped in rubbing alcohol.
âNo, Marc wouldnât let you take us to a hospital. Donât blame it on me.â
âThis is the last one. Just sit still for one more moment.â
You smooth a plaster over the bridge of his nose as he looks up at your face from his chair. Youâve convinced him to sit long enough for you to stand over him and care for his wounds, but he hasnât taken his eyes off your face for one moment, not even when they narrowed at the pain, his nose scrunching up at your touch. Like this, he looks diminutive; like this, you know he loves you, even if Marc has trouble saying so.
Steven says it with his whole body, not just his eyes. Heâs always leaning toward you, unconsciously into your touch, nearly stumbling over his own feet or sliding right out of his chair. His smile is lopsided, a grin that widens when you laugh and catches your eye from across the room just to make sure youâre having a good time. Steven looks like Marc, and feels like him, mostly, but hunches his shoulders and wrings his hands when heâs nervous. You know he loves you because he lets you hold those hands that he seems so afraid of.
He lets you use those hands. In the shower, you guide his fingers between your legs and into the warmth of your cunt. In bed you grind against the heel of his hand or let them grope you in the dark, placing them on your chest and telling them with your own to squeeze.
Steven is shy. Heâs nervous. He wants to touch you so badly it aches but heâs more afraid to do it wrong than he is excited to do it right. At first it was a game of teaching him what to do, now itâs a game of teasing the sensitive man until heâs so devoured by need it overcomes his fear of doing it improperly. You like Steven when he throws caution to the wind, when he loses all sense of correct and incorrect and does what makes him feel good.
But you canât help but be gentle with the man. Dropping the last bloodied cotton ball on the table, you lift his chin with a finger and give the end of his nose a kiss. The hand of his that rests on his knee, that gripped it tightly through the pain, barely moves, just shifting enough so his fingers brush against the outside of the thigh you have placed between his. Itâs absentminded but timid, the farthest his unconscious mind is willing to go without some encouragement.
âI should go,â you say. In reality, you have no reason to go. Tomorrowâs your day off work. The cat has been fed and she couldnât care less about your presence or absence from the flat. But you want Steven to ask you to stay. You like when he hesitates until the last moment, battling his inner desire with his nervousness, until youâve collected your purse and have your hand on the doorknob. Every time he makes some new excuseâ"it's too late for you to take the busâ or âyouâve had a few drinks, you shouldnât be walking home aloneââand every time you give in. You know before he asks that youâll give in.
You donât really pay attention to tonightâs excuseâsomething about a morning coffeeâas youâre already shutting the door and dropping your purse to the ground again. At this point, you should just move in together, but Steven doesnât have the guts to ask, and youâre too reluctant to give up this flirting game. Youâre afraid the relationship will lose its magic if you do.
Itâs a silly fear. If anything, itâll give you more opportunities to tease him. Maybe itâs the finality of it that scares you most.
Steven lends you a t-shirt, a soft, salmon pink v-neck that was probably bought by Marc, and heads to the washroom while you change. Itâs pointed. Heâs still too shy to openly watch you get naked. The one time he walked in on you showering heâd apologized for a week.
But itâs the little things, you notice, that he likes best. When you nudge him aside at the sink so you can brush your teeth next to him (you even have a toothbrush at his place for Godâs sake), his gaze drops to your breasts in the mirror, like heâs forgotten you can see him in the reflection staring at your nipples beneath the shirt. His methodical brushing slows when you lean against the sink, one hip cocked to the side, your underwear peeking out from beneath the hem, and bare legs crossing in an attempt at a casual manner. Steven does that absentminded thing with his fingers again, brushing them now, lightly, against your bare thigh in a moment of fascination.
Then he recovers his countenance and rushes from the washroom to lay in bed. Steven wonât sleep, at least not much, but you donât mind. You can fill his restless nights with other things.
Heâs fussing at a Rubikâs cube as you emerge from the washroom, solving it and then immediately spinning the faces around afterwards to jumble it all up again, eyes flitting between the colored dots and your figure. You once asked him to teach you how to do it, but it was a process you didnât have the patience to learn.
âCome, get under the covers,â you say, tugging at the sheet until he wiggles awkwardly beneath it. But itâs enough to drag his attention away from the silly cube and onto you, curling up beside him. His fluttering touch is just a little braver in the dark, a little more solid, a little more roving. It starts on the back of your knee, drawing circles until his fingers meander between your thighs and press into the smooth skin they find there. Without knowing it, Steven has you soaking what was a clean pair of underwear. He doesnât put any intention behind it, the way he didnât intend to make contact with your skin while seated at the kitchen table or in front of the bathroom sink. He is only following the path his fingers like best, instinct and subconscious and a little bit of Marc as their guide.
This is how it starts, absentminded, leisurely, hesitant.
Stevenâs fingers dance around your backside and across your stomach. You roll away, onto your back, and his body follows, mirroring, matching, leaning forward and over you. His touch chases his gaze, pointer finger dragging over the clothed nipple he gazed at through your reflection. It pebbles beneath his circling finger, and he watches, fascinated, like your body is a mystery to be explored, new each time he sees it. Every night together seems like the first with Steven. He is good, nowâoh God, too goodâbut he hasnât lost that first-time captivation. You let him explore, let him test and appraise and investigate the physiological changes that overcome you in response to his attention, the quickening heart rate, the shallow breath, the hooded eyes. Your gaze stays on his face, watching the watcher.
Steven takes his job seriously. He hasnât even reached beneath your shirtâhis shirtâto feel your bare skin, simply palms your breast through the soft fabric, squeezing, pinching between forefinger and thumb, rolling. He is archaeologist, discovering, uncovering; he is anthropologist, analyzing, studying. You shudderâit is too much and not enough all at the same time, overwhelming, excruciating, addicting, longingâand he shudders as well, breath stuttering in time with your heart.
âSteven,â you breath his name. He whispers yours in return. You drag him into a kiss because perhaps he can take it a bit longer, but you cannot. Itâs still slow, one kiss after another with a pause for breath between each, but at least he understands your need. You realize that maybe heâs not the one overcome with teased out longing. Itâs you.
You reach blindly in the moonlight of the flatâs narrow windows, find his hip, then the bulge in his thick sweatpants. Youâre not so meandering as him, instead finding quickly the span of his cock and running your nails up the length of it. It twitches and he groans against your mouth.
âYeah? Like that?â you nearly whimper, lips mere centimeters from his. âWant me to do it again?â
If his half-shut eyes are any indication, then yes, he does. But he manages a nod as well and you repeat the motion, down with your nails and back up again. Stevenâs brain has shut down, propped up beside you on one elbow, fingers rolling at your nipple, forehead pressed to yours. You tug at the tie of his sweatpants, tugging it loose so you can slip your hand past the waist band.
âYou want me to touch you, Steven?â you whisper, and he gulps out a yes, fuck yes with an uneven breath. His cock is thick and hot beneath your touch, the head swollen and sensitive. There is an ache between your thighs triggered by the remembrance of just how thick he is, an ache relieved only by him. Itâs not a race to have him inside you but you wish it was. You smear a bead of precum down his shaft, taking care to learn every pulsing vein with the memory of your touch. Steven kisses you again as his hips jerk, bucking towards your hand in an involuntary movement to be even closer, to find friction.
You work him under his sweatpants. He works his way down your stomach back toward your thighs. You donât even wait for him to get there, just spread your legs in anticipation. It hasnât got the smooth confidence of practice, the way he drags the thin strip of lace to the side and finds your clit, but it is full of wonder and admiration, that touch. It finds the heat of your arousal and he glances down between kisses to take in the sight of his fingers gathering the sweet stickiness and dragging it through your folds.
Steven watches as his fingers sink into your cunt, his thumb pressed against your clit. Its slower than you wantâneedâto get off, but this is how Steven rolls. Marc is the fast one, the hard one, loving but always approaching a breaking point. Steven does not break. He is the calm, the reassurance, the steadiness.
He also doesnât last long, and he drags his hips away from your hand because he canât find the words to say heâd rather come between your thighs than in your hand. You donât want to stop touching him. You like the reassuring weight of him in your palm. But Steven wants to taste you, devour you, and you canât deny the poor man his dessert. That instinct comes into play, the same instinct that dragged his hand against your backside and made you slick with a simple touch. Marc doesnât like to share detailsâwhen youâre his, youâre his aloneâbut this, this he did share, your sensitivity, your weakness.
The sheet has goneâŠsomewhere. Youâre not sure where. Thereâs a chill in the air that you feel most against your cunt, amplified by the stickiness of your arousal. It is pleasantly replaced by the heat of a flat tongue and sharp nose, the former dragging through your folds, the latter pressed against your clit. But itâs the hand on your stomach and the addition of two fingers sinking, curling, as he works your clit that warms you from the inside out. Thatâs the detail Marc shared, the trick that surprised you the first time Steven used it, that rolls your orgasm from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
Now it does feel like a race. Steven is dragging the aftershocks from your bodyâhe likes when your back arches from the mattress involuntarily and your thighs twitch and squeeze his headâbut now, for you, itâs urgent, that race to have his cock buried in your cunt. You push Stevenâs sweats down with your feet at his hips and at last, he helps you, the head of his cock still flushed pink and glistening from your earlier attentions. You both scramble in the twisted sheet, finally tossing it to the floor along with the rest of your clothes. Itâs stumbling, this urgency, awkward and unrehearsed. Itâs never like this with Marc; he always knows what to do, how to do it, moving you into place and position. Thatâs nice, but this is nice too, the way you canât move fast enough but the harder you try the harder it gets, your arms tangled in tugging off your shirt. When it's gone, Steven's face is pressed to your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin and asking for permission while you tug less than gently at his curls. Your hips jerk and your legs wrap around the backs of his with impatience, but he has to hear you say it.
"For Christ's sake Steven, fuck me with your cock or I'll suffocate you with my tits."
"Doesn't sound like a bad deal," he says but it works because he presses his cock into you smooth and fast before he comes at your words alone. You choke.
What was a rushed moment has suddenly come to a standstill. Steven sighs in relief when he sinks into you, the warmth of your cunt pulling him in. But you cannot breathe, though your lungs and your head and your heart burn with need. It is so right, it is all things perfect, being filled by him. That emptiness, which felt so urgent a moment ago, completed with a self-satisfied groan.
"You alright love?" he says, worried something's wrong like he always does.
And then your soul rushes back into your body and you practically beg him to move, beg him to fuck you because you need to be one with this fiercely gentle man.
"I got you," he says, barely pulling out. His eyes find yours as you pull him back in, your nails up his back and tugging at his hair. Thereâs a desperation in his voice as he whispersâto you, to himselfâbut he never loses his composure. Not like Marc does. Not likeâ
No. Steven is reverent.
âLook at youââ He stutters over his words. âFuckâyouâre pretty, love. I loveâI love you.â
There's a knot in your belly, pulling tighter and tighter. And then the heal of one hand is back on your lower stomach, fingers brushing over your clit, and the knot unravels.
âI love you too.â
He smiles that lopsided smile and then kisses you as he comes, his lips and his body and his cock all impossibly hot on and around and inside you. His heat penetrates your skin and sinks into your bones and yet somehow you shiver. Itâs probably the way heâs looking at you.
âCold?â
You shake your head.
âYeah, well I am,â Steven says and pulls the sheet back on the bed. Its mangled and doesnât cover you properly but heâs so earnest about it you giggle. And then you wrap your legs around him and hold him there, trap his throbbing cock inside you because you canât let go of the warmth just yet.
âDonât go,â someone says. It could be you or him at this point because both of you are thinking it.
Steven Grant is an artist. Heâs also got a thing for tattoos, and the pretty girl who arrives at the museum gift shop boasting a body lined with them.
Explicit Sexual Content. Tattooed!Reader. Sub!Steven (with some Switch Vibes).
Based on this ask.
Word Count: 4.2k
WARNINGS:Â EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Slight Dom/Sub Influences; Dirty Talk; Steven is One Needy Bastard; Not Beta-Read; Minorly Edited.
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Special Poe hugs and cuddles for everyone who might need them today <3 He would like to remind you that you are beautiful and appreciated and perfect just the way you are <3
Okay so I just got off the phone with them. I talked to a trans girl named Aurora & she was super helpful! She gave me a few doctors to talk to & encouraged me to seek therapy instead of just rushing to get my pills. She literally found a trans friendly therapist in my town & I would definitely recommend giving them a call!
I will be attempting my new C# project that was given to me last week but because I had overdue homework I had to focus on them being done first. Now that I am free, Iâm back to the project!
The Task:
User inputs in a name/parts of a name e.g. Loariya or âriyaâ
Let the program search within the database (SQL) that has the name/parts of the name
Let it return a table populated included with the searched phrase
Basically, I type in a name and it will search if that name is in the database or not. In the table, if the name exists, the table will display:
Full name
Department
Location
Email
Phone number
Job role
Tester Project:
I made a tester project so I don't ruin the company's code, but essentially it looks like this!
This is an actual piece from my work and what the other developers have written in the past and wanted to see if I could do it as well. Lowkey scared but I think I can do it.
The operation really is just the CRUD operation - Create, Read, Update and Delete. There are loads of information about it. This video is literally what I have to be doing.
Warnings: reader is kind of a tease, Steven is painfully a virgin, idk its just romantic and almost smutty
A/N: Itâs me, still on my Steven Grant bullshit. This is pre-show, so no finale spoilers!
âSteven?â You blearily raised your head from the sofa at the sound of the apartment door.
âOh no,â you could hear the instant guilt in his voice as he realized it was today that youâd had dinner plans.
âWell, hello to you too,â you mumbled, arching your back in a stretch.Â
âNo- I didnât mean- Iâm happy to see you- I thought-â
âI know, Steven, itâs alright.â Youâd been annoyed earlier when you thought he was late, but this wasnât new. You were used to Stevenâs- quirks, as you liked to call them. Youâd been encouraging him to see a doctor about the sleepwalking and lost time, but he insisted it wasnât that bad and he could manage it.Â
You laid your head back down on the sofa, throwing a hand out to him, âCâmere.â To emphasize your point, you shuffled forward so there was room for him to climb in behind you.Â
A/N - Hello everyone! Long time no see. Here is a story I wrote for @beautifulbows924â âs writing challenge. Thank you so much for this! <3 Before you start reading Iâd like to say Iâm very proud of this, even if itâs not as good as Iâd like it to be. I had never written such a long story, (and finished it) and obviously not in English. As always, English is not my first language, and this had no beta reader so forgive me and please, laugh out loud if I write something that doesnât make sense. Also, my first time writing smut, please donât come at me.
Also, this fic turned out a bit dark near the end, Iâm obviously against any type of violence. If you need help, thereâs plenty of resources out there for you. Youâre not alone.
 TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, eventual smut, graphic descriptions of sex, blood, mentions of self harm and suicide (they do not happen, they are only mentioned but just in case), dubius consent because DID (?), DID probably not accurate, canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, sleeping disorders, jealousy, alcohol consumption, no beta, probably more warnings but Iâll update if I find more.
PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader.
WORD COUNT - 25k (yes I know, I started writing a one-shot and this happened)
SUMMARY - The arrangement was to become friends with Steven Grant, that was what youâd promised to your lifelong best friend, Marc Spector; but things quickly get out of hand.
Really, Truly (Steven Grant (a hint of Marc Spector) x fem!reader)
Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, cum eating, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, slight praise kink, fucking in the workplace (lmk if I miss anything!)
a/n: im so sorry itâs not my best work um. anyway ENJOY ANYWAY
Itâs been four months since youâve first met Steven Grant.
Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but odd occurrences have a way of drawing people closer. Youâd like to think so anyway. Your entire life is chockfull of oddities, far from normalcyâmakes for interesting stories though. Itâs only right that someone like Steven would wander into your peculiar state of life.Â
No really, he did justâŠwander through your door one evening. Your fault for not locking it, but still. Spooked the fuck out of both of you, so much so that poor Steven thwacked his head into the door frame and nearly broke his nose. You baked him smiley face cupcakes that night, partially as an apology and as a shitty housewarming present. Youâre a firm believer of neighbor solidarity, especially with places like thisâtacky landlords and shitty amenities. Itâs the least you could do for Steven.Â
What you've been waiting for (Steven Grant x Reader Smut)
Summary: Layla sends you to help Steven gear up before you go down in the tomb. Cue an angsty confession, an awkward kiss and other firsts you wish you had a lot more time for.
A/n: The beginning of this turned into self-indulgent angst after ep 5. But here's a little something to take a break from sobbing.
***
You find Steven in one of the tents, bickering with the reflective surface of a table.
"Yeah, I know I'm bloody not alone. I've got Layla and y/n now. They've got my back."
"He's right."
Steven nearly startles at the sound of your voice, but smiles when he sees it's you.
"Trouble with the man in the mirror?" you ask sympathetically.
"Just the usual," he dismisses. He notices the harness you're carrying. "That for me?"
"Layla's still looking for supplies. I'm supposed to get you geared up."
To descend into a bloody death trap.
You push the thought away like you have been doing all night as he gives a quick nod.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead," he leaves his bag on the table and comes to you, a bit unsure what to do next.
So are you, to be honest. You're always a bit unsure what to do when it comes to him, especially when he's looking at you with those big, brown eyes full of trust. It always makes your stomach flutter, and you've wondered more than once how come it's not written plainly on your face in capital letters that you're losing a new bit of your heart to him every time he comes close.
You give him a tight-lipped smile that you're sure looks more nervous than you intend to, again, and fumble with the harness to figure out where everything is supposed to go. Once you do, you get on your knees so he can get his feet through the right loops.
And find yourself face to face with his crotch, the outline of him faintly visible through the fabric of his white jeans.
It takes you a hot moment to tear your eyes away, cheeks flushing when you realize you'd fixated on it a second too long for it to be accidental. And just at the right time, his foot gets tangled in the harness when he tries to get it in.
"Oh- sorry. Just⊠sorry," he keeps awkwardly apologizing as he fumbles with his foot, only making it more difficult for you to help.
"Steven, wait a second-"
"Let me just-"
He hops a little on his other leg, losing his balance, and regains it by grabbing your shoulder.
You make the huge mistake of looking up at him.Â
"Sorry," he mumbles, hastily letting go. But it's way too late. You're already imagining looking at him from this angle while he holds onto you, fingers gripping your shoulder and hair in bliss as you pleasure him with-
The pining is one thing, but the thirst always takes you by surprise with just how intense it is when it rears its sinful little head.
You continue getting the harness on, stubbornly refusing to look anywhere but at the gear again.
"I have to say, I feel like I've been waiting for this my whole life," Steven breaks the uneasy silence that you kick yourself for letting settle. "The adventure, I mean."
"Yeah." You stand up, pulling the harness up to his hips. "Yeah, me too."
He really looks giddy about it. It's a wonder how he can bring about such lewd thoughts in your mind, then make you melt with a single smile. That's how you know you love him - all of him. His body and his heart. Though neither belong to you.
"I'm a bit scared, though," you find yourself admitting, and maybe it's not entirely about getting killed by whatever traps you'd seen in the movies lie about ancient tombs.Â
"We've got each other," Steven reassures you. "And Layla. Oh, hush," he mumbles to the table, and you assume Marc added himself to that list. "We'll be alright."
He sounds surprisingly confident, but somehow, all that does is make you more uneasy. "So, you're not scared at all? That we'll⊠go down there and never come out? Or that⊠one of us won't?"
Because that's what really makes your blood run cold. The scenario you can't stand to even think about, where that 'one of you' is Steven. You don't know what the heck you're doing bringing it up, and the little frown on his face makes you instantly regret it. "I don't mean to make things harder, I justâŠ"
"No, it's alright-"
"It's not."
Oh, no.
You've been doing a decent job - not good, but decent - of keeping that pesky ache deep in your chest under control these past days. All you had to fear before was that someone else might come along who was bolder than you, not second-guessing their every word and move and restlessly wondering if they even deserve to be in love with him, and you'd have to see his eyes light up brighter than they do with you when he looks at them. Now, it seems silly to have feared any version of events where he's alive and happy. All you ever want is to see him happy.
Because, damn it, he's everything. He's everything you ever want and need, everything you can't live without and he doesn't even know it, and it feels like it's gonna rip your chest in two unless you just let it out-
"Y/n, you don't have to do this, you know-"
"I'd rather not get out at all than leave here without you."
Your hands freeze at your own rushed confession. It's like you just detonated a bomb between the two of you.
"Y/n?" he asks, so confused by the months of feelings you just dumped on him with one completely tactless sentence. Tears start to burn behind your eyes.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."
Your voice is painfully small, wavering. You make to turn around and leave the tent before you can cry in front of him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid-
He takes your arm in a gentle hold to stop you.
"Please, don't⊠Will you look at me, love?" he asks softly. He's never called you that before, and the ache in your chest deepens. You don't raise your eyes from the ground.Â
"I am scared," he admits. "But not of getting eaten by scarabs or⊠walking mummies or anything like that. Well, I am a bit, but⊠I'll take any of that over of losing you."
The tears never got to slide down your cheeks, and now they're frozen as you finally look at him. You have to make sure this is real. That you're not just imagining again the longing in his voice, in his eyes.
"I-I don't think you knowâŠ" he stutters.
Your voice is barely more than a whisper.
"Know what?"Â
There's silence for a moment. You can practically hear the gears in his head turning over the pounding of your heart. Suddenly, he puts his hands on your shoulders. His eyes dart to your lips.
You stop breathing.
And then he leans in and kisses you square on the mouth.
It's⊠awkward. His lips are somewhat tense against yours, his hands on your shoulders clumsily holding on. But even so, he smells divine, and you can feels the subtle scrape of his barely-there stubble against your skin as you kiss back, and he's Steven, kissing you with such sweet sincerity your knees almost buckle beneath you. That's the only reason you pull back from it, just to take a much needed moment to remember how to breathe.
You forget all over again when you open your eyes into his and see him smile. Happiness looks so devastatingly beautiful on him, and you realize two things. The first is, you'd do anything for it. And the second-
You're not ready for it to be over.
In a heartbeat, your fingers are tangled in his hair and your mouth is back on his, this time firmly and without restraint. Steven makes a small sound of surprise, but it melts into a moan. And he melts into you, allowing his mouth to move without overthinking, still hesitant but more in sync with yours, willing to follow where you lead. His hands slide from your shoulders to around your waist, pulling you as close as you're holding him. You give his lips the briefest experimental brush with your tongue, and he opens up to you instantly. And then you're tasting him, each other, and his fingers tighten in your shirt as yours tugs on his hair.Â
You can't think past the desperate little voice in your mind begging for more. Your lips drift to the corner of his, then along his cheek, his jaw, and finally, you're kissing his neck, nipping and licking at the skin you've been dying to shower with affection for so long.
Steven whines. A small, almost inaudible sound, but it's right there in your ear. You feel its soft vibration all the way down to your lower belly, where it ignites an instant ache and pools between your legs, warm and urgent.
You pull away with a soft gasp, taken aback by your own visceral reaction.Â
His lips are slightly parted, heavy breath fanning your cheek. He cups it in his hand, holding you like you're the most precious treasure in or outside the tomb. There's a silent need, a desperate plea in the way he looks at you. You know exactly what it is, because you feel it, too.
You take a peek downwards, and you have to bite your lip at the sight. It's no longer just a vague outline - he's hard and swollen, straining against his jeans, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
You can't help it - slowly, giving him every chance to stop you if he wants to, your hand glides down his shirt until it reaches his waist, where you hook a finger into the straps of the harness and tug lightly.Â
"Too tight?" you murmur, looking up at him. Steven is entranced by the sight of your hand at his hip, barely regaining control over his voice enough to speak.
"It's starting to hurt a bit," he confesses. Quiet and needy and a little afraid, just in case he's somehow crossing a line, even though you're the one skirting around it. And it's not like you have the time to touch him the way he deserves, take your time memorizing each and every one of his sounds, slowly discover where and how he likes your fingers, your mouth, your-
Fuck it. You're about to go into an ancient tomb full of men who can't wait to put a bullet in your head. If this is your day to go, you're not going without knowing what he feels like in your hands, just once.
You cup him through his jeans in a hold that's just firm enough he can feel you, gently caressing the length of him. A ragged breath escapes him as his eyes fall shut, and you hold his cheek with your other hand.
"That better?" You're not sure where the sliver of confidence behind your light tease comes from. Maybe it's the way he's leaning into your touch.
"Worse," he says it like it's the most wonderful word in his vocabulary. He opens his eyes, his forehead falling against yours. "I don't mean to ask for⊠you don't have to, but⊠I-I think I might just die if you stop."
You huff a light chuckle. Even through the jeans, he fits so right in the palm of your hand. You wouldn't stop if the whole desert sunk in on itself at that very moment.
"I'll take care of you, love," you promise. "Always."
His breath hitches, but you do release him for the moment. You take his hands in yours, and guide him to a nearby chair. He follows blindly, entranced by the desire written all over you, sitting down as you gently coax him into it with your hands on his shoulders.Â
The way he's looking up at you, nervously grabbing the edge of the chair underneath him, is enough to worsen the light throb in your core. But as much as you want to clench your thighs, you straddle his knees. This is about him. Your sweet, kind, insanely brave Steven who's about to fall apart under your touch.Â
"You think you can be quiet?" you ask, heart racing as you start undoing his button and zipper. Layla's still outside. It takes a bit of effort for him to unglue his eyes from your hands, but he gives you an unsure nod.
"I-I can try."
"And... Marc?"
He glanced at a little broken mirror hanging from a tent pole.
"I think he's giving us a bit of privacy. Said he was gonna smack me if I didn't kiss you just then."
"Good," you smile. His jeans are open and now all you have to do is reach inside. You do - under the waistband of his underwear, taking the gentlest hold of him - and pull him out.
He lets out a soft groan as you leave him exposed to you. Even his cock is pretty. No wonder he looks so desperate when he's already straining with arousal, weeping precum at the tip. You almost bend down to lick it clean, but you want to watch him.
You let go only for the brief moment it takes to lick the palm of your hand - much to Steven's awe as he watches, and he starts holding on to your hips instead of the chair. Then, you finally wrap his cock in the heat of your wet hand again, relishing the hardness of him in your hold as you start stroking it at a slow pace.
"Oh, God," Steven breathes out. His head falls into the crook of your neck as you let the hand that's not massaging his length rest on his chest. The feel of his racing heart is almost as arousing as his ragged breaths on your skin, or his cock throbbing under your touch. It's proof of his desire just as much. His fingers are tightening on your waist, making you let out a light moan of your own. You stroke a little faster, and his soft groans turn to whimpers.
"Shh, easy," you coo when he grows in volume. You gently cup his cheek and coax him into pulling back so you can see his pleasure-ridden face. "That feel good?"
"'s heaven. You're heaven." He threads his fingers through your hair, the light tug sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you-"
He spills over your fingers with the beginning of a cry, which you muffle by covering his mouth with yours. You kiss him sloppily all through his orgasm, letting out a whimper of your own as you feel him twitch with pleasure.Â
Once he stops trembling, you break the kiss to take in the sight in his lap. You brush an affectionate thumb over his tip, wiping clean the rivulet of come adorning it. He jolts slightly, taking hold of your wrist in a silent plea. You release his oversensitive cock, leaving a tender kiss on his cheek.
"I've never felt anything like that before," he confesses, a dopey look on his face as you brush a curly lock of hair away from his forehead.
"Me neither."
And you're still feeling it. Sitting with your legs spread on either side of his, you can't even close them to find some relief for the now painful throb between them. You practically feel yourself dripping in your panties, and know you'll have to just deal with them damp against you all the way inside the tomb.
It's so worth it. But you still grimace at the feeling. It doesn't go unnoticed by Steven.
"You alright?"Â
"Yeah, just⊠that was⊠gimme a minute."
You really should get off him, but your legs feel like jelly. You sit there, holding onto his shoulders, trying to will your body into cooling off.
"LoveâŠ" the way Steven says the endearment, breathless and eyes widening in realization, doesn't help. "Do you needâŠ?" He glances down. "Can IâŠ?"
"There's no timeâŠ" you grunt.
"I don't wanna leave you like this," Steven brushes some of your hair behind your ear, and even that innocent contact is enough to make you tremble. "I want to take care of you, too."
Your toes curl in your shoes. Coming from his mouth, that phrase is more disarming than any kind of dirty talk.
"Oh, fuck. Just⊠quickly." You hastily undo your jeans as he watches impatiently, and then you grab his hand and guide it inside your panties.
You both gasp when his fingers meet your clit, yours over them.Â
"You're so wet," he marvels sincerely, not even meaning for it to sound as erotic as it does. You mewl as he dares a light stroke over the swollen bundle of nerves. "Show me how."
At this point, the ache is so agonizing you could come from the feel of his hand on you alone. But you move his fingers along with yours, massaging your clit in the rhythm you usually set for yourself.
"Like that," you breathe out. Your hand leaves his to grip onto his shoulder, your mouth open as your forehead falls against his. "Just like that."
He keeps imitating the movements you showed him, and God does it feel infinitely better when it's his fingers working you instead of your own. You can't help the little whimpers that keep spilling from your lips as you look down to where he's cupping you so intimately. He has such wonderful hands - he has such wonderful everything, inside and out, and you never imagined you could care for someone this much, that the gentlest of touches from them could ever feel so good.
When you look into his eyes, you find just as much pleasure there as when he was the one being stroked to its peak.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes out, his thumb lightly tracing your parted lips in complete adoration. "God, I love you."
Those words do it.
With a gasp of his name, you fall apart. You slump against him, trying to silence your mewls in his warm neck as you wrap your arms around him.
"Yeah," he soothes, and you can hear the faint smile on his lips as you hold onto him for dear life. "There you go, love."
He lightens his strokes until your tremors subside, then come to a stop. Then, he carefully pulls his hand out of your underwear to wrap his arms around you in return.
When there's nothing but the sound of your breathing, you whisper back, "I love you, too."
-> Steven has tomorrow off work, and now is the perfect opportunity for you to finally share your dirty desires. [ I hope you enjoy this one @dopeqff, this request was the first I ever received so I wanted to get it just right! ]
CW/TW: pegging, masturbation đ thatâs all folks!
Tracing your fingertip over the circumference of the martini glass balanced in your lap, you continue to battle the filthy ideas that had been threatening to consume you for some weeks now. Theyâd started off as an intrusive thought, one that crept into your mind during a boring shift at work before taking root in your brain and settling there.
To put your idea on ice for a while had been difficult, especially when it violently shoved its way to the forefront of your mind at every given opportunity, but you couldnât just spring such a deviant diversion from your typical bedroom antics on Steven at a less than ideal time. Comfortable with you as he was, you still thought that the poor, nervous man would have somewhat of a nuclear-level meltdown at the concept.
But it was late on a Wednesday night, the evening before Stevenâs scheduled day off from working at the museum, and the scheme was taking ahold of you again. It had been somewhat of a miracle that Steven had managed to convince Donna to grant him any annual leave given his appalling record of showing up late to work so frequently- or not at all, but given he was yet to take any scheduled time off it was easy to twist Donna around his finger with a polite smile and promise of coffee runs for the next week.
Seeing him sat at his little reading desk in the cluttered apartment, reading glasses balanced on his nose as he skimmed through a book that he had easily read five times over since the start of your relationship, and knowing you had him all to yourself tomorrow morning, made it very hard to deny the urge much longer. Heâd picked out your favorite button-up shirt this morning, a simple, navy cotton that seemed to fit him a little better than the rest in his wardrobe and you had been amused at the thought that it must be a sign.
âSteven,â you muse quietly, cutting through the quiet of the apartment that had only been punctuated by Gusâ water filter. You watch as he immediately stops scanning the chapter he had taken interest in to look up at you over the top of his glasses frame and give you his undivided attention, ultimately losing his place in the text. Itâs endearing, his undying urge to please you, and furthers your need to finally bring up the idea that had plagued your mind for weeks.
âI was hoping we could try something new,â you broach the subject carefully, noting the way he was already leaning back in his seat with a soft flush on his cheekbones. Your tone, low and drawn out, gave the impression that it wasnât just an interesting hobby that you had planned.
âO-Oh, yeah?â He questions, stumbling over the short answer as he tries to appear a little less intimidated as he obviously felt. âWhat⊠What did you have in mind?â
Open-mindedness was what had drawn you to Steven, the first answer you always gave to that typical question at dinner parties; What is the most attractive aspect to Steven? He made you feel very comfortable in expressing your desires to him, never shooting anything down and always hearing you out. Itâs what made it so simple for you to finally bring it up now you felt the time was right.
âI wanted to try pegging, Steven,â you admit simply, glancing back into the empty glass in your hands. Perhaps it was silly to have preempted an immediate yes or no answer to your proposal, but you find the long silence following your admission a little uncomfortable to sit through. If it werenât for the running water inside the fish tank, you were certain that the room would be deathly quiet.
The excruciating silence drives you to open your mouth, to ready yourself to brush the proposition underneath the sandy carpet in his room, until Steven inhales sharply, as though heâs only just realized heâs yet to answer you.
âSorry, uh- yeah, sorry I just⊠I donât think I expected that,â he laughs nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. Youâd be lying if you said you werenât surprised he knew what it was youâre talking about given his experience⊠or lack thereof. The intensity of the flush on his face tells you he knows it very well.
âYou donât have to, Steven. I wouldnât want you to ever do anything that youâre uncomfortable wi-â
âNo!â Heâs swift to interrupt you, his tone seemingly a little more overzealous than he intended it to be given the way he squints at the volume. âNo, I- Iâm just surprised, is all!â Heâs wringing his hands in his lap, another one of his nervous habits.
Standing from the bed that you had been perched on, you abandon your martini glass on the bedside table to approach your boyfriend. He watches you anxiously, sitting perfectly still in his seat as you pad your bare feet across the wooden flooring. You both donât speak as you settle between his thighs, gazing down at him. His breathing is a little shaky while he watches you, like having you so close still makes him as nervous as the day he met you.
âSo does that mean you would like to try it?â You ask softly, taking ahold of his chin and tilting his head back to gaze into his eyes. The light refracting from Gusâ water tank dances across Stevenâs face in caustic networks, kissing at his eyelids and floating across his lips. He doesnât answer verbally at first, giving a stiff nod of his head given your grip on his jaw.
âI need verbal confirmation, baby,â you whisper gently as you take the arm of his glasses to pull them from his nose. Your fingertips brush the soft skin of his cheek as you do, and you can feel the heat radiating from it thanks to his blush. With a better view of his eyes, you can see his dilated pupils, the black swallowing the rich amber of his irises under the warm lighting of his apartment- youâd insisted on removing the cold, white light bulb for Marcâs sake. Heâd once made a comment that it reminded him too much of a hospital ward.
With a shaky exhale, Steven swallows his nerves to answer you thickly. â⊠Yeah- Uh, yes. I would like you to try pegging me⊠Please.â
âAre you ready, pretty baby?â You murmur softly, teasing your touch against Stevenâs hips to soothe the tense muscles in his thighs. Heâs propped on his forearms and knees against the mattress, head bowed between his shoulders to hide the heavy flush that had coated his cheeks as you undressed him earlier. âIf youâre uncomfortable I want you to tell me to stop.â
âY-Yeah. Yeah, okay,â he fumbles weakly with his words as your fingertips brush over the globes of his ass, his body shaking in apprehension. You take your time to ease him into a secure headspace, pressing gentle kisses along the vertebrae of his spine, one after the other as you skimmed your palms up and down his sides to trace his ribs.
Only when Steven appears comfortable, when his taut muscles relax at your touch, do you line the tip of the plastic toy. Your hands settle on his hips to steady him and slowly inch yourself into him at a slow, easy pace. He flinched at first with a sharp inhale, the foreign and mildly intimidating sensation of being filled surprising him as he grips at the sheets below him.
âIs this okay?â You check in with him constantly, wanting to ensure that Steven is comfortable and that you donât cause any discomfort. The long pause after your question concerns you for a moment until you hear a sudden, shaky exhale of breath.
âIt-Itâs good,â he answers, his voice uneven and cracking with a whimper. Still, you continue the soothing motion of your knuckles dragging across the length of his hips, settling his nerves as you continue to ease the toy inside of him at his own pace.
You see Steven trying to muffle the keens of pleasure that reverberate through his chest by biting at his lower lip, but it does little to hide the blissful moan that tears through him when you bottom out, the front of your thighs pressed flush against the backs of his own.
âLike this?â You question, watching as his body tenses beneath you. Maybe Steven thinks heâs subtle, but you feel the way he rocks his hips back into yours, already begging for more.
âO-Oh⊠Fuck-,â he groans needily, face falling forward into the pillows in front of him. His glutes are twitching, knuckles white as they grip the bedsheets in a vice-like grip. Youâve never heard him so desperate, hadnât experienced him shake for you like this before.
You start out with slow, gentle pushes where you barely slip out of him in order to test the waters. Despite the muffling effect the duck-down pillows give off, you can hear the strangled moan that rips through him as you rock your hips against his own in order to push the toy even deeper.
âCome on Pretty Baby, tell me,â you hum softly, gripping at his asscheeks with gentle, soothing squeezes. âTell me how this feels.â
Burying his face further into his pillow in embarrassment, you can barely hear his slurred mumble of bliss. âPlease- fuck, please go a bit faster, Love- ha~â
Taking a firm grip on his waist for leverage, you begin to rock your hips at a quicker pace, increasing the speed in small intervals until you find a pace that has him sloping his back for you in a perfect little arch.
âMhmm-hm, li- oh fuck - like that, jusâ like that,â he babbles, the fullness he felt made more extreme by the way the tip of the toy brushes against something devastating inside of him with each snap of your hips. You see him reach between his thighs to palm at his throbbing cock, sobbing with bliss as it causes pleasure to burst through his abdomen. Itâs so sexy to see him like this, on his knees in front of you with his face buried in the pillows as he fucks his palm just for you.
Careful not to dig your nails into his skin, you pull Stevenâs hips against the plastic cock with more force. The leverage causes the toy to sink deeper, to push up against that delicious spot inside him that causes his thighs to tremble as he chokes out your name.
âJust there, baby boy?â You hum softly, noting the way heâs practically drooling into the pillowcase as you continue the punishing pace. Steven canât seem to find the words, nodding dumbly while he pumps his leaking cock. Itâs swollen, the tip taking on a deep purple shade as he fucks into his palm with urgency.
Over the rustle of the bedsheets, you can hear the quiet slap of your thighs against his own, the soaked sound of you pushing the toy in and out of Steven at a brutal pace. More frantic wet noises resound between his thighs as he fists his cock, chasing his high with a desperation youâd never witnessed.
Soon, even the thick pillow can barely hide his devastated, incoherent begs. Your own breaths, own moans of need punctuate each of your thrusts as you try to tease him over the edge. âOh god, Steven- baby you look so fucking good! Cum for me baby, wanna see you make a mess.â
With a final, deep thrust of your hips, Steven releases the most pathetic whine of your name, the keen echoing in your mind as he comes undone. Streams of his cum paint his fist, streaking the bedsheets as he practically sinks into the mattress with the intensity of his orgasm. Steven fists the ruined bedsheets so tightly youâre concerned heâll never be able to let go, gently rocking your hips throughout his release and smoothing your palms over his spine to ease him through the acute sensation.
When you finally slide the toy from Steven, when youâre certain he wonât combust from overstimulation thanks to the extra friction, you see his puckering hole clench around nothing, still greedy for more despite his exhausted state.
Thereâs no point in talking, not at first. Stevenâs so overwhelmed with ecstasy that youâre not sure heâs even able to string together a sentence. It takes you a moment to subdue him from the floating sensation that follows with the post-orgasm glow, his curls shiny with sweat as you card your fingers through them when he manages to shift his body onto its side.
Kissing gently at the crown of his skull as you settle into the mattress behind him, you allow him a moment to gain clarity before you begin your questions with apprehension. âAre you okay?â
âMhmm,â he hums, his voice laced with exhaustion, âJust peachy.â His deadpan delivery of a classic, corny Steven-Joke forces laughter from you quicker than you can stop it, your stomach aching when he joins you with a small giggle of his own.
Steven Grant x fem!Reader (Marc and Jake featured)
Rated Mature for librarian by day stripper by night, marc and jake are stevenâs wingmen and biggest fans, nudity, iâm very long winded, stevenâs never been to a strip club before and neither have i and doesnât know how it works
3,369 words
A/N: big thank yous to @aellynera for beta-ing and coming up with a title thatâs the perfect stripper/librarian double entendre (iâm still cackling), and to @dameronology and @foxilayde for answering questions my quick google searches couldnât đ this was supposed to be a quick drabble so idk how itâs over 3k words now but i hope you all enjoy đ„ș
You should really ask her out. Sheâs practically begging you to.
Itâs moments like this that Steven really wishes Marc would shut the hell up.
âThereâs no way sheâs interested, mate,â Steven whispers shyly to the man in the mirror; or rather, the man in the computer screen. Where Marcâs expressions are typically stern and calculating, he actually seems amused right now. His brown eyes are lighter than usual and thereâs actually something of a smile tilting his lips upward.
He could still hardly believe you were real. Let alone, standing in his flat, moving toward his kitchen, with the utmost ease and ecstasy. You were wearing nothing but one of his button-ups â the blue one with the stripes that you once commented on and he now wore most frequently to work. The top few buttons were undone, teasing glimpses of your bare skin as you reached above your head, fingertips brushing the spines of his books. His eyes watched you lazily, blinking only when absolutely necessary, so as to never miss a single movement.
The early morning rays of the sun felt almost familiar as they brushed your legs and wound tantalizing up every part of your exposed body. The light played in your hair, dusting every strand with a golden luminance he craved to sear into his mind for the rest of his life. Every beam of light felt dazzlingly bright in all the right ways, especially as they framed your face with a morning glow he found absolutely perfect. Some part of him recalled this was the earliest he had ever been awake. It felt like some small act of kindness â either from whatever gods above or Marc himself. He mentally reminded himself to thank any and all parties responsible for allowing him this moment of pure bliss.
Your poise was light, almost soundless, as you moved into his kitchen, cradling a book at your hip. His chest nearly burst with affection at the thought of you busying yourself, as silent as you could, to avoid waking him. The small act of kindness â the mere sentiment alone â sent him reeling back into the previous night when your hand rested on his bare chest and your eyes bored into his with so much genuineness he hadnât the slightest clue how to contain himself.
âIf there is anything I can do to help you, please tell me, Steven.â
âRight, yeah,â was all he said, like a sputtering mess in desperate need of a moment to catch his breath. He couldnât help it. Everything about you was so alarmingly gentle and perfect, he still found himself looking for subtle reminders he wasnât dreaming the whole thing.
Not wanting to push him further, you only smiled and dropped a light kiss on his neck. Your next words came as a featherlight caress on his sensitive skin. âOkay, Iâll be quiet now. I want you to sleep, Steven. Just sleep.â
An amused smile played on his lips as you began to sashay your hips, dancing to a melody only you could hear. He was elated to see the joy he was feeling reflected in your every movement. He wanted to expose that he was, in fact, awake, perhaps cross over to the kitchen and boldly encircle his arms around your waist. The thought played out a few times in his head, but he couldnât bear to disrupt the scene in front of him. Some nagging part of him still believed everything to be nothing more than a falsity â a mere fantasy birthed from his desire for you since the moment he saw you step into the museum.Â
You turned abruptly, and, for a moment, his heart leapt and his body nearly froze. He thought that was it, that was the moment you would find him awake and disappear into the thin veil of whatever his mind pulled you from at the request of his months worth of yearning and pining. But you didnât notice his hooded gaze or the obvious hitch in his breathing. Instead, you only placed his book on the counter and began to scan whatever remnants of food and ingredients he had in his kitchen.
Steven was sure he could be so completely enraptured by your presence for the rest of his days, if life allowed it. He enjoyed the soft smile that had been etched onto his face the moment he saw you. It nearly terrified him how easily heâd become accustomed to the slow rise and fall of his own chest â a calm he hadnât had the chance of experiencing in months. If this was a dream, he wasnât sure he wanted to wake.
Finally, wordlessly, he couldnât take it anymore. He needed you. He needed to be near you.
He was soundless as he moved, chasing your familiarity with every cautious step forward. He was going to reach out his arms, pull you against him and revel in your proximity. The thought that he could do just that excited him more than anything. You had told him more than once you were his. He could hardly believe it then, and he could hardly believe it now. Even still, his arms remained at his side as he watched you sit two plates on the counter, moving in an almost rhythmic manner. As if everything you touched of his was yours. Who was he to interrupt?
So he stood there. Like a gullible fool on a botched errand, doomed only to stare at the one good thing in his possession.
The only thing that broke him from his stupor was the way you turned toward him, eyes finally settling on his form. A brief startle settled into intimate ease, eyes alighting and a smile spreading across your features. At your response, Stevenâs shoulders all but sank under his affection for you, especially so when his eyes wandered to the way the colors of his shirt seemed to burst across your skin, drowning you in nearly every aspect of him.Â
Only then did he find himself reaching toward you, hands settling firmly on your hips. A bit awkwardly at first, but, in seconds, his hands found their place just above your waistline. It felt so routine he thought his heart could burst any moment from the way its rambunctious pulses nearly leapt toward you.
âI didnât notice you standing there,â you said, a laugh escaping you as his hands found your frame. âI hope I didnât wake you.â
âRight, yeah.âÂ
Another laugh escaped you as those two words slipped through his lips almost breathlessly. They were familiar, as they were usually the only words he could muster when his heart led him blindly astray. Those same words encouraged your own heart to stumble â impulsively, wildly, irrationally â alongside his.
You were sure Steven had little clue the effect he had on you, as well. The way his eyes trained on nothing else but you, never once breaking contact, was enough to make every rational and sensible thought leave you. He was attentive, eager, and carried his fondness like a burning pot he couldnât wait to rest at your feet. His every action sent you hurling over a canyon of pure adrenaline, fueled by a love and devotion you never thought possible.
His touch was all but disarming. You wanted nothing more than to melt against him, relishing in his affection until your knees went weak and your heart couldnât handle anymore, but, in this moment, you knew better. You had known Steven long enough to see beyond his loverâs daze. His greatest doubts and fears were tangled in the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly as his eyes dragged lazily over your features, dipping low to your lips before assessing your face. He needed reassurance â your reassurance.
Stepping into his embrace, you brought your hand to the nape of his neck, gently pushing him forward until his forehead rested against yours. His hands clutched your sides, fingers digging into your flesh. Not hard or intense â only desperate. The act only made you bring your hand a bit higher, sinking your fingers into his curls. You tried your best to make your touch as soft as you could. Delicate. Tender. You wanted every stroke of his hair to be reminiscent of the safety he already gave you.
âYou didnât wake me,â he assured.
A satisfied hum left you as your free hand rested against his abdomen before sliding around his waist. âBut you are awake now.â An almost imperceptible nod left him, and your heart begged to soothe any remaining suspicions he mightâve had. âIâm glad you are awake, but I was hoping to make you breakfast.â
He laughed quietly. âThatâs alright, love. There probably isnât much food in there anyway, is there?â
âNo,â you said, shaking your head and trying, rather failing, to hide your own laughter. A moment of silence settled between the two of you before you spoke again. âYou know, I have this old radio in my kitchen. I donât even remember where I got it from.â You werenât sure why you were telling him this, but the slight way the two of you began to sway reminded you of the small object. âSometimes I turn it on in the mornings â mornings like this one. Sometimes I dance when I make breakfast. Iâm realizing itâs a lot more fun when you have a partner.â
âWe could spend the night at your flat tonight?â he offered. As if he overstepped, he nearly jerked back, his forehead lifting from yours only slightly. âThat is, if thatâs alright with you. If you arenât already busy, or if you donât have other plans â.â
âMaybe tomorrow. I like it here.â
A smile grew on his face, bright and tangible, one like youâd never seen before.
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