Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found.
Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Rating: Explicit/18+
Setting: Canon compliant. Post-endgame.
Warnings (will be added as the series progresses): Blood drinking. Pining. Biting. Sexual tension. Mentions of past abuse. Explicit smut.
Hey y'all! This is one (4/5) of my submissions for @renhoeku's Rengoku Birthday Month Collab. This is also the sequel to my other submitted fic, "Imagining" (Highly recommend you read that first before this!)! If you wish to join, then please check out their post regarding the collab!
Thing to know: AFAB!Reader, making out, drunken confession, cunnilingus, fingering, grool (term for female cum), sensual body rubs, rough, spanking, accidental creampie, dirty talk, praise, marking/biting, hair tugging (m. receiving), drunken birthday sex, no aftercare
W/C: 3.2K
Words/Phrases to know: Inari Ōkami - Goddess of Sake (rice wine), Aizen Myō-ō - Wisdom King known to transform earthy desires (love/lust) into spiritual awakening, Contrary Motion - The movement of two melodic lines in opposite directions, Pianissimo - Very soft
Kyojuro didn’t know how this all started. Okay, maybe that was a lie. He knew the actions that led up to it all, but he didn’t know if this was all his imagination or plain old reality. He knew that you planned a birthday party for him at your house, inviting all the hashira and cooking heaps of food for his never ending appetite. He knew that there was alcohol present and that you all played drinking games. He knew that the party ended with Giyuu being carried off by Tengen, everyone stumbling out wishing him a happy birthday and their farewells. He also knew that he stayed behind to help with cleanup as well as pack up any leftover food to bring home.
What he also knew was that he was absolutely enamored with you; the strong and passionate emotions he had towards you made it difficult to even focus on sweeping your kitchen floor. He always had a thing for you, always staring at you when you weren’t looking, memorizing every detail from how you purse your lips to a bad smell to the folds in your hands whenever you balled your fists. Before the current events unfolded, he was sweeping over his feet, too distracted by how your back arched when you stretched after picking up trash. He wondered how it would look beneath him, his rough digits going over your spine and between your shoulder blades.
It wasn’t until the sweet, silver jingle of your laughter broke him out of his trance, pointing out his less than adequate sweeping. Of course, not wanting to give himself away, Kyojuro simply chalked up his terrible cleaning to the alcohol still coursing through his veins. Now, Kyojuro knew that was absolutely true. But, that’s what makes it a bit fuzzy for him. He knew the drinks were to blame for what happened. He knew that the drinks were why you got closer to him, your enchanting eyes peering up into his own nervous ones; mind anxious on what you were planning. He knew that the drinks were why his hands carelessly ran themselves up and down your body; traveling down from your shoulders to your plump waist, gliding his hands up and down and feeling the fabric of your kimono ruffling under his touch.
Kyojuro blamed it on the strong drinks for the reason why he was inching his face to yours, telling you absolutely everything. Telling you how much he loved you and how long he felt this way, how he can never focus or do things properly because of you. Even telling you the intimate acts he would do at night when you plagued his mind; how he always wondered what you looked like with his cum oozing from your battered pussy. How he wondered if you liked doing things this way or that. He also blamed it on the drinks for how your lips mashed haphazardly with fervor; the taste of the sake from his tongue intermingling with the taste of the wine from your plump lips and mouth. The way how your nimble arms wrapped themselves around his neck, your hand lightly tugging on his hair and eliciting a soft groan from his throat was all because of the drinks.
There were some intimate things about you that he already knew. Things he wouldn’t confess to you no matter how drunk he was. He knew just how sweet your pleasure filled moans sounded, how your body twitches and convulses when you reach your orgasm and how your pussy squeezed at nothing when you came. He knew that seeing you experience an orgasm caused him to have his own almost instantaneously.
He knew how you both reached into the nearest room; how his hands rushed to strip you naked as you both stumbled from the kitchen and into the room, how he practically tripped and fell on top of you. Like the last time that happened, a sober Kyojuro would’ve immediately gotten up and apologized profusely with a deep red shade on his face. But this time he was too busy trailing kisses on your neck, sucking right at the nook of your neck and shoulder. He knew that somehow you managed to get his clothes off, the fact becoming apparent to him when he felt your cold fingers glide down his chest, moving themselves to his sides before slowly climbing back up to his shoulders; all the while sending tingles throughout his body.
Kyojuro knew for a fact what you looked like when he raised himself up from his barrage of kisses and markings; your eyes saying nothing but “take me”, your spit covered lips parted slightly as your soft pants did nothing but bring life to your desirable bosom. He knew that after tonight, he would forget most things but your face of bliss and anticipated pleasure was something he wouldn’t forget. He would remember how your skin felt against his lips as he kissed inside your thighs, trailing kisses from your meaty flesh to your clit before digging in to his new favorite meal; the taste of your nectar melting and settling on his tongue. He’d remember how soft your hips felt as his hands found a home in the folds of them, your heels slightly digging into his back. He’d remember how his scalp felt when you tugged on his hair and how sweet your noises of pleasure fell onto his ears, encouraging him to keep going.
If what he was experiencing with you wasn’t reality, he’d still memorize how your warm pussy felt around his fingers as he sucked on your sensitive clit; relishing in the wet noises your pussy made and the moans your beautiful mouth released. This was all a memorization test to him, seeing just how much he would be able to recall the morning after, judging on whether or not he’d be able to recall feeling your pussy contract on his fingers as you came, how your grool tasted as he licked his fingers clean, and how his chin felt lathered in your cum.
Now, here is where Kyojuro didn’t know something. In this moment he was staring at your back in all its bare glory; finally seeing your spinal valley and how it curved with your arch, finally feeling just how soft and plump your ass felt as he rubbed it; anticipation bubbling inside of him. He did his best to memorize how your chest and cheek mushed with the floor, your forearms caging your head as your hands stretched forward; reminding him of a stretching cat. What Kyojuro didn’t know is just how good you would feel, sucking him inside your needy pussy. He didn’t know what it would feel like to have your ass slap against his pelvis nor see how it would look as it ricocheted against him. What he did know was that neither you or him could wait any longer.
Lining himself up with one hand while the other stayed on your ass, Kyojuro sighed softly as his tip was kissed by your wet folds, just the minimal touch sending a pulse through his body. Going deeper didn’t pose an issue for him, your already sopping and gaping pussy eagerly welcoming him, however you couldn’t bear with the burning stretch he gave you. The only words you could mumble out being: “S’too much, Kyo.” “Can’t take it...” All Kyojuro could do to ease your discomfort was to plant hot and meaningful kisses on your shoulders and whisper into your ear just how amazing you felt, how your pussy felt so warm around his cock. With his muscled chest flushed against your back, Kyojuro finally bottomed out, ears perking up at your soft moan from feeling so full.
Sighing softly at the newfound sensation, Kyojuro’s rough hands traveled down your forearms, his own arms covering yours and hands intertwining with yours. It was this small act alone that made him realize just how much he enjoyed feeling how tiny your hands were compared to his. A soft whine left your lips as you felt him kiss your neck again, giving you time to adjust to his size. Soft kisses moving from your shoulder to the back of your ear; his breath fanning on the shell of your ear. Slowly raising himself up, Kyojuro made sure to drag his hands up your arms, over your shoulders and down your back before settling down on your plush waist; ensuring his fingertips left you with a tickling sensation.
He truly wanted to savor this night, the possibility of you waking up sober tomorrow and no longer wanting to deal with your newly changed relationship frightened him. He would, of course, respect your decision to put space between the both of you, but right now he was trying to change your mind before you even got the chance to think about tomorrow. This was his audition, and you were the evaluator.
Pulling his hips back slowly, Kyojuro couldn’t help but groan at the feeling of your pussy hugging him tightly, trying its best to stop him from going back; only wanting him to go deeper. The primitive, carnal part of him spoke to him, demanding that he stop restraining himself and prove to you that he can do a better job than your fingers. That you won’t have to touch yourself with your door ajar anymore.
That insatiable part of him only came out on the occasions he palmed himself in the dead of night, when his head would be full of the delusion of you bouncing on his cock, of you bringing him to his release. It scared him a little bit, how a distinguished and respectable hashira such as himself had such lowly desires. But despite the voice beckoning him to hurry up and breed you, he pushed back in slowly; flaming eyes taking in how your body slightly shifted forward as his pelvis met your warm ass. A soft moan you let out into the air was all he needed to continue with his lewd actions.
Continuing on with his slow and languid thrusts, Kyojuro’s mind began to muddle a bit more. He genuinely couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol doing that or if it was the euphoric feeling of your tight pussy. Regardless, Rengoku Kyojuro was in nirvana and he didn’t want the moment to end. He knew that your moans were like music to him, but he didn’t know just how enchanting they could be when he was the reason for them. He knew that if his fantasies were to come true, he would be lost in it all, but he didn’t expect to be so lost that his eyes would roll back a bit.
It was as if there was a ticking timer in his head, counting down to when Kyojuro could finally let go and abuse your pussy like how he always imagined when he pleasured himself at night in his room. Every time he would interrupt his slow rhythm by pushing as deep as he could and staying there for a second, the timer would fast forward a lot. Every time his hand came crashing down to your ass, smacking one side and then the other before kneading it entirely with his large hands as if it was clay, the timer leaped forward. Every whine and groan you gave out with every thrust and stinging slap sped up the timer, the internal buzzing mere seconds away.
“Y-You’re so perfect..fuck..” Was all he could say as he squeezed your waist, treating it as a stress ball as his eyes drank in the sight of his cock dawning on a nice coating of your grool; the sight finally evoking the loud buzzing in the flame hasira’s intoxicated head. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as his hips finally snapped and hit your ass with fast and rough precision; your moans getting louder and matching his pace. His incandescent eyes were enthralled by how your ass moved like rippling water, the sound alone filling his partially deaf ears.
Plap.Plap.Plap.Plap.Plap.
The sticky sound of your ass and his pelvis making bruising contact echoed in the room, drowning out your weeps and cries of pleasure. Moving to a one leg kneel position, both you and Kyojuro couldn’t help but moan loudly at the newfound depth; causing you to instinctively push your ass back to the best of your abilities despite the bruising hold he had on you. Kyojuro watched in awe as your grool decorated his cock even more, thick lines of it filling the grooves of his veins and trickling down his heavy balls, with some of it even drenching his dark fuzz; the sight most definitely needed the most space in his buzzed mind.
“Sh-Shit, Kyoou..feels s-so good..” You slurred out, your dirty praise sending shockwaves into Kyojuro’s body and a low moan to rumble from his chest. You arched your back more, trying your hardest to mush your stomach to the cool floor, causing some of Kyojuro’s fingers to get squeezed by your hips. His rough hands backed up and gripped your ass, slightly pushing it up and apart as he tried to get a better view of your creamy and stretched pussy. It was as if one of the greats painted the view itself; the lewd mixture of pre-cum and cream being pulled into thin ropes with every pull back before collapsing on themselves with every wet connection of skin.
“H-Hah..doing so well f’me..” Was all Kyojuro could mutter in his sake and lust filled state of mind before snaking his arms under your armpits; warm hands raising you up close to his chest, one wrapping itself over your torso while the other simply held your neck gently, slightly tilting it to give him access to your already marked-up skin. With this new position, it was as if Kyojuro’s carnal side of him took over completely. Deep and guttural groans filled your ears as Kyojuro gave in to his long held lust, teeth grazing and biting on your tender neck, each nibble sending pulses to your stuffed pussy.
“I’ve always thought of this..a-always wanted it. You pro- hah fuck, probably never even noticed how much I’ve wanted you..” Kyojuro confessed into your ear, his flushed face hiding behind your shoulder as he pressed a scorching hot kiss to it, groaning at the feeling of your hand traveling through his blond tresses and tugging. In that moment, Kyojuro could've sworn he felt the maddening powers of Inari Ōkami and Aizen Myō-ō flowing through his veins. He was telling the truth, all of it. Honeyed words of longing desire and admiration poured from his mouth as he felt your pussy begin to squeeze on his dick; your nonverbal signal of your fast approaching orgasm.
Calloused fingers lowered themselves to your clit, squeezing and rubbing the sensitive bud while Kyojuro could feel his pot begin to bubble over. Kyojuro was sure, no, absolutely positive that none of this was real. He wasn’t actually pistoning into you with all the stamina and energy that he had left in his inebriated state. He wasn’t marking you as his and sinking into your every mewl and moan of pleasure. You weren’t actually holding onto him for dear life, using him for your sexual release. This all had to be one drunken dream of a pervert. There’d be no way that you, an esteemed ally and friend, would be currently pleading for him to delve deeper and harder into your sopping pussy.
But yet, despite him believing it all to be fake, it all felt too real to him. You felt warm under his touch, your lips felt velvety against his own with every sloppy and open mouthed kiss. He could practically feel your own private emotions towards him radiate off of your body and seep into every kiss and hair pull you gifted him. Dark eyebrows furrowed in restraint as Kyojuro felt your pussy squeeze around him once more, his mind subconsciously bracing for the long awaited moment.
Feeling your orgasm wash over you with the strength of a tsunami, your hand instinctively gripped the arm that still held a vice grip around your torso; your pelvis jerking with each thrust and pulse of your release. Now, this was where Kyojuro’s mind truly blanked. Just like last time, to his own pleasant surprise, you reaching your own release, your own peak and reward of sexual intimacy, only made the poor flame pillar come undone in mere milliseconds. However, this intimate discovery came with a daunting catch that was only made apparent at this moment. Having your orgasm be the key to his own, as enthralling as it may be, meant that Rengoku Kyojuro would cum instantaneously…even when he didn’t mean to at that moment.
Kyojuro’s torrid eyes rolled back in his skull with blurred vision as his own release arrived; his cock pulsating in your gummy walls with every spurt of hot seed. Your fingers gripped his arm tighter as you sank into the pleasurable feeling of his cum filling you up, the addicting heat of it feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced. The contrary motions of your airy moans and his baritone groans carried out into the humid air of the room; your drawn out voices being the final and ending note to the sexual music piece of the night. Pulling out slowly, Kyojuro’s lips lightly grazed your shoulder as you released a soft sigh; feeling the cum slowly ooze out and begin its journey down your inner thigh.
The standing ovation from the chirping crickets outside intermingled with the heavy pants that puffed out from you both; fatigue hitting Kyojuro like a train as he slowly collapsed to the floor, dragging your tired body with him with relative ease. It didn’t take long for Kyojuro to succumb to slumber, his pianissimo snores escaping him. Resting your head upon his slightly damp and muscular chest, you allowed the steady drumming of his heart lull you into the realm of sleep. In his head, Kyojuro didn’t fall asleep, leaving you to your devices. No, in his head he was giving you soft and passionate kisses, reaffirming every word he said in the heat of the moment. He was giving you a proper, less lewd, confession of his love; a confession that he had practiced in secret for months.
But in reality, in the reality that he had trouble accepting, he was sleeping peacefully with his muse of romance. He was experiencing something he had always imagined and dreamed of; something he always assumed was out of reach from him. The crickets were chirping just outside the pleasant sight of two lovers in a slumbering embrace, a soft blanket of tranquility and ease covering them while a small seed was planted between them with so much young and newfound love. However, there was a reality steadily approaching the lovers, a reality that couldn’t be denied with inebriated minds. A reality of a train’s whistle was being polished, getting ready to leave its short retirement; getting ready to change fate forever on its iron tracks.
Please don’t translate, steal or repost as yours, all rights goes to potofstewie™ 2023
— summary: ao'nung calls you the way neteyam usually calls you, which makes him feel jealous and insecure, but that finally pushes him to confess something he has been feeling for too long.
— pairing: neteyam x female!na'vi!reader
— word count: 2k
—warnings: pure and comforting fluff, ao'nung being ao'nung (an idiot), love confessions, jealous!neteyam, neteyam being the purest and most beautiful angel.
* Neteyam is aged up, for obvious reasons, of course; he is 19 years old.
* Sluyang means flower.
neteyam's playlist i made for inspo
writer's note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
You liked to observe the beauty that Eywa gave to Pandora, you were still surprised by how beautiful the forest and the places it could hide, even after having grown up there and having been all those years among its leafy trees, even so, the forest hid secret and beautiful places, worthy of being seen and found by only those chosen ones.
Your mother was sure that you had a special connection with Eywa, practically since the day you were born and opened your eyes for the first time, green as a pair of emeralds. She told you that you had come into the world for a purpose, that you were Eywa's chosen one, in fact, those were her last words to you before she passed away in your arms, haunted all her life by an illness from which she never got better. And since then, Jake and Neytiri had taken care of you, accepting you into their family as if you had always been one of them. You soon became close to their children, especially with Neteyam, as you were close in age.
And because of that special fascination you had for the forest and nature in general, Neteyam made a habit of always bringing you things from his many explorations and hunts, things that reminded him of you; flowers, leaves and even rocks, bright and beautiful, out of the ordinary, that stood out among everything else, just like you.
“You don't have to, 'Teyam.” You always said every time he came to you once again with a new gift. But he would simply shake his head, offering you a charming and gentle little smile, ever so kind, ears slightly bent and gaze so bright every time he met yours that it seemed to dazzle you, leaving you completely mesmerized.
With a coy smile you tried to avert your gaze from his, analyzing the object now in your hands. “Really, it's not necessary.”
“I like to do it.” He would simply reply, seeking your gaze with his big, captivating, coaxing eyes, as if it were something insignificant, something that didn't matter, something that wasn't like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. And you would do nothing but grin at him. You couldn't stop smiling, your cheeks felt almost numb, but you were happy, content, he made you happy. And you knew that this, in the long run, would bring serious consequences, not so good, you supposed.
And now, in the huge ocean, when you thought nothing would surprise you anymore, Eywa seemed to turn every assumption you had upside down. Jake had taken you with him and his family to the place where the Metkayina Clan lived, leaving the Omaticaya behind, leaving the shelter that the forest offered you, to now be surrounded by the ocean; salt water and sandy land.
They had been kind enough to accept you into their home and to show you their ways, noting the great difference from your own, but, apparently the younger members of the clan were not as friendly to strangers as the older ones.
Ao'nung had been rather harsh with you, especially Kiri, whom they had addressed as a freak, as they had nicknamed her, and from there, the problem grew larger, for you and Lo'ak had taken up against them in her defense.
“Look at her.” Ao'nung called out, following Kiri like prey, looking at her with big, disgusted eyes. “Is she a freak or something?”
“Don't call her that.” You stated in a not at all friendly tone, scowl and defiant eyes looking up at the chief's son, pointing at him with your index finger and thus causing him to move backwards. “You have no right to call her that, did you hear me? The Chief's son or not, I'll kick your ass.”
With a tilt of your head, you stated the threat, making him snort ungraciously, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.
“For such a pretty little girl, you sure have a big mouth.” His big eyes narrowed as he spoke, demonstrating a smug attitude as he heard a couple of snickers from his little friends at his words. “You are one of us, little flower. Why you waste your time hanging out with these aliens?”
“Hey!” Lo'ak exclaimed, appearing at your side, fists clenched and face angry. “Don't call her that, get away from her!”
“Please, leave us alone.” Kiri grumbled behind your back, hearing how now, you were the target of annoyance from the little group.
Your mouth hung open wide, totally offended now, feeling the fury shake your body from head to toe, your tail wagging angrily as you lunged at him at the same time you heard an 'oh uh' from Lo'ak.
But your movement was halted as you watched as a body larger than yours stepped between you and the bully, leaving you in view of nothing but a broad back you knew all too well and blocking Ao'nung's smug, sneering face from your view.
“That's enough.” Neteyam said in a stern tone, deep voice and tense body, always as diplomatic and calm as ever, braids moving under the command of the wind and his head, which rose slightly, giving him a more stern and much more menacing stance. “As long as we are here you will treat my family with respect and call no one by other than their names.”
His head moved so that he could look at the faces of the little group that had formed, friends of Ao'nung, as silly as he was, apparently, but who, in Neteyam's presence, seemed to have been brought back to reality and put back in their places. They were not so foolish after all, they knew that against him they would have no choice but to flee. Cowards.
“(Y/N) is just fine for you, got it?”
“Whatever.” Ao'nung replied, rolling his eyes and starting to walk, bumping his shoulder against Neteyam's as he walked past him, his eyes met yours for a couple of seconds and he offered you a smirk, making you grunt and by the time you could take a step towards him, a hand found itself on your forearm, stopping any act of violence you had planned to do.
“Cowards.” Kiri spat, rolling her eyes.
When you looked back, Neteyam was looking at you with eyes, dark, but now filled with concern, his fingers barely caressing your skin before he pulled away from your arm.
“Are you okay, syulang?”
You rolled your eyes, sighing heavily. “I'd be better if I'd beaten that skxawng—”
“Hey.” He interrupted you, noticing how your ears were still bent and your tail twitching behind your back and he laid both of his hands on your shoulders now, in an attempt to reassure you, giving you delicate petting strokes. “It's okay, it's all over now.” His gaze traveled to his siblings behind you, moving his head and face transforming to one of authority, chin up. His voice came through loud and clear, almost scolding. “Home, now. You've had a lot for today.”
Lo'ak lifted his hands, looking incredulous. “But they were bugging-”
Neteyam was quick to interrupt him. “Home. We will talk to father later.”
The younger boy let out a snarl and without further ado, began walking back to where his family was staying, followed closely by Kiri, who kept a glum face, arms crossed over her chest.
And now, all of Neteyam's attention landed on you, as it naturally did, as his body always seemed to do instinctively, even though he didn't even intend to, he always focused on you, as if you were the center of the universe, the sun of his world, the core of his heart, the magnet of his mind and the horizon of his eyes. He saw you. He had always seen you. And practically everyone in his family knew, perhaps everyone on the whole planet, except for you, of course.
Neteyam had expressly refused any offer or even, even idea from his parents to find him a Tsahik as his position as the future leader of the clan, it was his duty and it behoved him to follow to the letter the duty that rested on his shoulders as the future chief, but now, all that had been left behind with his leaving. Now all he cared about having was you. All that mattered was you.
With a beautiful sunset behind him, he began to speak to you once again, hands gently running over your shoulders and arms, becoming more attentive, affectionate, but still concerned. His brow furrowed slightly and you knew immediately that a scolding was coming now. “What were you thinking, hm? Fighting them all?”
He was always like that with you, especially when you were alone together. Neteyam never felt he was enough for his father, and he too never seemed to be satisfied of him, let alone see all that his son did for his family, for his siblings and for him, but with you, with you everything was different, he could be different, he could be himself and he knew that was enough for you, you made him feel enough, you made him feel special.
“If that's what I had to do for protecting Kiri, Lo'ak and their family's honor, of course.” You answered immediately and with your words, sounding so sure and affirmative, Neteyam felt his heart be flooded with a most familiar warmth, an emotion quite well-known to him whenever you were near him and said things such as those, always putting others before yourself, putting the welfare of his family before yourself.
A smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, admiring you with bright, big eyes, his hands trailing down your shoulders, sliding down your arms to your hands, taking them between his own tenderly, fingers toying with yours absentmindedly as he watched the clear size difference.
“He called you little flower.” Neteyam stated after a silence of a couple of seconds, twisting his head. His jaw was clenched and ears barely tilted back. “I call you that.”
You bit your lower lip, holding back the smile that threatened to curve your lips at his clear display of jealousy. He was upset about it and you had to reassure him. Your fingers caressed his wrist, tracing imaginary lines down his forearm. “I like it better when you do it.”
“I sure hope so.” He smiled again and tugged on your hand, inviting you to walk with him, both of your hands tangled between his arm, and he didn't waste a second in drawing you to him. “I want to show you something.”
. . .
Neteyam had found the spot walking along the local beach, it was a bit far from the place where his family was staying and it was far from the town in general, but that made it a perfect location. It was a small bay, surrounded by coastal vegetation, a couple of palm trees and soft silky sand, but what was really amazing, was the glows of bioluminescence under the clear ocean water, algae of all colors, small animals swimming, with the sunset light bathing exquisitely over the turquoise sea.
It was beautiful, of course. But your reaction at the sight of it was even better; mouth half-open, eyes huge and amazed, face in wonder.
“'Yam… it's beautiful.” You murmured in a soft, barely audible tone of voice, but he was right next to you, as close to you as possible, so he could hear you perfectly. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he pulled you with him across the sand to the perfect place to sit.
“Yes it is. I found it as I was passing by... I immediately thought of you.” His gaze lowered with a hint of embarrassment flashing across his pretty face. “I know how much you love nature, all the things our great mother has given us, so, I thought, you would like it.” He stated and then shrugged, attitude becoming quite braggy now. “I've seen more beautiful things, though.”
You rolled your eyes, pushing your shoulder against his in amusement as you wrapped your arms around your knees, admiring the scenery in front of you. “Don't lie now.”
“I'm serious.” He laughed, looking up at you, analyzing every expression on your pretty face. “I'm no liar, you know that.”
You raised an eyebrow, turning your head so you could look at him now. “Really, huh? So what have you seen? What possibly have you seen prettier than this?”
Neteyam smiled thinly, stirring his arm lightly, his hand passed down your back, resting on the sand, fingers fiddling with it. “Something prettier than this?”
“Hm.” You hummed, looking at him curiously.
His ears perked up, gaze dropping to his lap, steeling himself inside, trying his hardest to calm the nerves that were practically eating him alive. And then, he moved his eyes up your body, until he met yours. “I'm looking at it right now.”
Your breath hitched and your mouth parted, feeling your body freeze. Your arms fell to either side of your body, adjusting your position.
“Nete…” You whispered in a shaky voice.
“Yes, sluyang?” He tilted his head softly. “I'm being honest.” He swallowed saliva, his hand trailing up your arm, caressing your shoulder and tracing your jaw, down to rest on your cheek, fingers tracing every inch of skin he could, arranging your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “I've always seen you as the most beautiful thing…” His lips trembled, faltering for a few moments. “I see you, (Y/N).”
You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I see you too, Neteyam.”
He closed his eyes too, caressing your face with his. “When that idiot called you flower and treated you that way… like you were nothing.” His hands cradled your face now, and you rose up to face him, completely silent, breathing agitatedly. He was breathing in an agitated way too, looking frustrated, disturbed. “I was furious. They should respect you. Every one of them should know that you are mine and they should treat you as such, as my equal, as my mate.”
You opened your eyes to find his eyes already on you, your fingers stroking his arms subconsciously. Your lips brushed his as you opened your mouth to speak in an agitated voice. “I want to be yours, Neteyam.”
“I can't pretend anymore.” He declared between shaky breaths, gaze traveling between your eyes and mouth as he shook his head. “I don't care what anyone else says, I don't want anyone else. I have already chosen. I just want you, (Y/N)... I was made for you.”
“Then just take me.” You murmured against his lips before joining them with yours in a needy, agitated kiss that felt as if everything at last, made sense, as if life had been created just for this moment, as if you had been brought to life just this moment, for each other.
It felt as if all the constellations had aligned for you, as if you had all the stars just for you, and that was given just once, you knew. Everything made you feel as if Ewya had created you for each other. You were made for each other and perhaps the Great Mother had aligned the whole universe for it, for you.
“I am yours.” He promised. “I always have been.”
Your legs tangled between his as you landed on his lap, being drawn in by his arms chaining themselves around your body, massaging your waist, tattooing his touch on your skin.
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: just saw ur post and welcome to tumblr lol :)) can i request an ellie x reader where they both confess that they love each other? i mean they were best friends at first and there will be a lot of gay panic and embarrasment lmaooo before they confess, just a huge fluff
𝐚/𝐧: babe wake up thelastoflesbians posted their first fic. anywayssss kinda nervous uhhh mixed emotions about this but for the most part i’m pretty like… i’m ?! satisfied. took me about a month to write because i literally could not figure out for the life of me what i wanted to do with this fic, but it’s finally done and i actually kind of enjoy how it turned out all things considered, so. i hope that u enjoy it!!!!!! ummmmmm!!!! first time actually writing like a fluffy moment, my smut is usually a lot more physically descriptive for . obvious . Reasons but yeah ok phew ok um yes read it and tell me if you like it (please im like actually shitting)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff. fluff fluff fluff is the big thing here; lots of gay yearning and longing and “girlfriend or girl that’s a friend” type of vibe. implied smut (it’s implied/explicitly stated that you and ellie have hooked up but there’s no actual smut), cussing, drug use (weed), you and ellie being ridiculously awkward for like 500+ words it’s actually ridiculous. little bit of sexual tension tbh. bad extended metaphors (i used to write poetry and it shows in my fic writing leave me alone). i proofread this three times but i’m also blind so some shit may sound weird
Thrift stores are the best thing that ever happened to my style. It takes some commitment (and a lot of trips because they are always getting new items), but it's so worth it. Goodwill is my go-to because they have everything from plaid pants from the 90s to brand new turtlenecks. Today I visited Re-Uzit and found a belt and like-new grandpa cardigan for a total of only $4.50. New, that would have cost me somewhere around $35-$40 minimum.
It's great when clothes are organized by color, because that way you can focus on your beiges, browns, blacks, and greys.
Find shoes! It's difficult for me to find shoes at thrift stores because I wear a women's 11, so if you have normal sized feet (or not!) embrace it and buy shoes for like $8 instead of $40. Plus, a lot of shoes at thrift stores will be more vintage-y and thus more dark academia.
Make your shorts out of bigger pants. It sounds a little odd, but my favorite shorts are ones that I got as jeans and curdoroy pants at least 2 sizes up. I have a pair of men's jeans that I cut and rolled up and are now the best shorts I have ever owned because they are perfect paper bag fit when cinched with a thin belt.
I've been looking for a leather messenger bag the last few times I've been thrifting, but no luck so far in finding exactly what I'm looking for. Bags are certainly something to look at, though!
Books. I cannot stress this enough. Get books to read. They're like $1. Or, like I did, you can get books to rip pages out of (calm your little head, it's not sacrilege) and tape to your walls. I got an art book printed in the 30s and I tore out some of the paintings to hang up. This also is great for poetry books.
Lastly, boxes and jars. I have found some of the best little wooden boxes in thrift stores and they look like they belong on a mantle in a mansion in the 1800s. I also find some cool apothecary jars that I put dried flowers in.
That's all I've got for now! Feel free to reblog and add on any other tips that you have :)
Summary: It’s been weeks since the night Sherlock Holmes gave you your first impromptu violin lesson, and you haven’t stopped thinking about those hands since. Now, you’re fed up of waiting for him to walk through that door again, so you decide it’s time to pay your virtuoso a visit. (Sherlock x Reader)
Word Count: 6.5K
Warnings: Smut, mild bad language, masturbation (self, giving & receiving), oral sex (giving & receiving), unprotected sex, size kink(?), bottoming out, praise, overstimulation, readers must be 18+
A/N: I received so many requests for a part two of this fic that I just can’t accredit it to one specific request. So instead I’ve accumulated all the suggestions/asks I received and put them all into this piece in some way or another. I also incorporated another request I received for a smut piece where Sherlock was especially ‘well-endowed’. So to the anon that requested that one, this piece is for you too! Secondly, I just want to say I’m so unbelievably thankful for the amount of love and positive feedback part one of Sublime Dexterity received. I honestly appreciate every single like, reblog and reply so much. It truly keeps me going and makes me so excited to share more writing with you all. So thank you, and I hope you like part two just as much.
Three hundred and thirty six hours. That’s how long it had been.
You worked it out on a calculator as you sat behind the counter at work, chin on fist, struggling to think of anything else besides the looming closing time; wondering - as you had done every day for the past two weeks - if today would be the day Sherlock Holmes walked back through that door.
At first, the aloofness of his quick exit had intrigued you, excited you; the way he left you standing there without so much as a goodbye, nothing except the memory of his touch between your soaking thighs. But now, you were just plain annoyed, so frustrated that you couldn’t even concentrate as you served your last customer of the day.
“Is there a returns policy on these?” he asked.
“What?” you replied, your eyes flitting over his shoulder to the door every few moments.
“Like, can I try them out in my clarinet and if I don’t like them I can bring them back?”
You stared at him blankly for a moment. “It’s a pack of reeds…”
“Yeah, and?”
“And you have to wet them in order to try them… with your mouth…”
“So?”
“So no, obviously you can’t return something that you’ve soaked in your own saliva.”
Your tone was a little more harsh than you’d meant it to be, but the absence of your tall, dark stranger for yet another evening had stolen every ounce of patience you had left.
You rang the customer up and waved goodbye as he trudged out the shop, packet of reeds in hand. The bell above the door rang on his way out, making you sigh in disappointment; another day, another entirely underwhelming conclusion.
You locked up and tidied around before making your way into the stock room, shutting the door behind you and leaning back against the shelves with a long, frustrated exhale. Had he really walked out that night and not given you another thought since? Simply seized the moment to show what his hands were capable of; got off on the fact that he could please you in a way no other man had ever done?
Or had this been his plan all along? To give you a taste of him, just enough to make you crave more. To leave the memory of his touch on your skin, like a bruise that wouldn’t fade.
summary: You throw out your shitty ex and Jungkook comes over to comfort you, in his own special way.
tags: smut (18+), angst, neighbors to lovers, non-idol au
warnings: oral (m&f), begging, penetrative sex, nicknames (goddess), praise kink, dirtytalking, creampie!!, unprotected sex*(don't do this), hypnotism maybe, a little rough.
Subconsciously inspired by this edit???
This is the last time he disrespects you.
Standing outside of your previously shared apartment with your ex-boyfriend on his knees in front of you, you toss out his suitcase with good riddance.
"No no no, you don't have to do that, please, fuck, Y/N, listen to me!" He sobs, throwing himself on the ground like a child.
"Why would I listen to you after what you've done to me, after you've never in your life listened to a word I've said?!" You scream at him.
He sniffs with all his might, trying to gather himself for the last time to plead for your mercy. "It's a mistake! This is just a mistake, I'm so fucking sorry," he wails.
And for a moment–
For a second, you question your own judgement.
This could be three years of a relationship down the drain.
It doesn't matter. You need to respect yourself more than to let him in again.
"Fuck off." You slam the door in front of him and lean against it on the other side with your arms folded tight against your chest.
That's when the tears start falling, like waterfalls. In that delicate moment, you realize what you've done to the young love that once existed between you. It is long gone, and so is your innocent youth.
Little did you know that your next door neighbor, Jungkook, was just about to take out the trash when he witnessed the tragic end to your relationship.
Admittedly, he's celebrating inside.
He's always had a thing for you, from the moment you moved in next door to the time you ran into each other on the elevator to when he spotted you around the block, doing errands.
This might be his chance to be a real provider to you. Immediately, he starts conjuring up ideas to ease your pain.
After all, "a shoulder to cry on will turn into a cock to ride on."
He doesn't remember where he got that quote from, but it suits the situation pretty well, he thinks.
Jungkook is a bit of a nerd. He's never been a Casanova or anything, and he's a little shy with the ladies.
He's a computer science major who has basically never felt the touch of a woman, and as embarrassing as that is to admit it also means that he needs an experienced person to show him the ropes.
Your dominance intrigues him.
He was always hesitant to approach women, but you made him feel welcome enough for him to approach you.
You're open and give off a confident energy that he really enjoys. In other words, you seem to know what you're doing.
This is his chance.
With money in his pocket, he grabs a jacket and throws it on to make his way to the grocery store.
He needed to buy something subtle enough so that it doesn't look like he's desperately wanting to get in your pants as soon as your lover is out of the picture, but something straightforward enough so that you know he's willing to lend a hand in your healing process.
You can't go wrong with the essentials, right?
A crying woman needs something to hug, so he stops by the gift aisle and grabs the softest teddy bear.
She needs something to wipe her tears with, so he tosses a box of tissues into his handheld basket.
She needs something to keep her mouth from sobbing, so he buys you some teddy grahams, cheezits, and granola bars just so that you have a variety to choose from.
He gets everything that you might need to heal.
Jungkook pauses in front of the flower arrangements.
There is a bucket full of single roses on display. It's romantic, sweet, and can be seen as a simple gesture of empathy. He decides on a blossoming one and heads to checkout.
Meanwhile, you're wiping your tears with your sleeves, knocking your head against the door, softly. "Why," you mouth, barely any sound coming from your throat. "Why, why, why…"
Your ex has already gone. He should be halfway across town by now.
You dread going to a family gathering without him by your side. The fear of what others may think about your relationship and the blame they might put on you brings you deep shame.
If you gain a reputation as someone with many failed relationships, you might as well be done for.
That terrifies you.
Despite your fears, you must carry on. This is the only way you'll survive to eventually be a part of a healthy and strong relationship. It's what you crave the most.
It is knocking at your door. Literally.
Jungkook knocks jubilantly at your door, with three bags of goodies held by either hand.
You stand up and answer the door, surprised to see Jungkook on the other side. "Jungkook! What are you doing here, isn't it late?"
"I've come to console you, y/n," he says, straightforwardly. "I don't want to see you upset and alone, so I've come with gifts so that you don't have to…do that."
You glance over him.
He's puffing his chest up, making himself look bigger than he is.
His build is naturally a little muscular. You know that he works out a little bit for his own health, but he's pretty skinny, otherwise.
"Yeah– Yeah, Jungkook. Uhm," you wipe your face one more time, with your sleeve. "Fine. That's fine," you sniff.
"Good!" He cheers, placing his bags on your counter. "Can I come in?"
"Sure,, sure. You can come in," you smile, letting him pass and locking the door behind him.
Jungkook looks around the house with subtle curiosity. "This is your place, y/n? It's so much bigger than I thought…"
"…It's a lot emptier than it was a few days ago," you laugh through tears.
"Oh cause that guy moved out, huh?" He says, quietly, as he walks around.
"Yeah,"
"Yeah, well, I never liked him. He was always trying to put you in a cage, huh? Always trying to pin you down and take control of you and you were never about that," he says, casually.
"...Yeah, Jungkook."
How the fuck did he know that?
"How do you…know all this?" You follow him into the living room, watching him inspect your personal items with admiration.
"It's a vibe," he mutters.
"Oh," you let out a sigh.
Jungkook puts down a photograph of you on a shelf and meets your gaze. "Uhm…there's stuff in those bags for you. I thought you'd need someone to check up on you. I wanna be a shoulder to cry on."
"You really don't need to do that. I don't plan on being reliant on anybody but myself right now, it just–" you shake your head. "It's something I need to do myself."
"No, I think you need to listen…" Jungkook hums, smirking a bit as he comes forward.
"After all…" He tilts his head down, inches from your face. "Girls need love too."
"Self-love," you reply, hesitantly.
Jungkook nods, softly. "What can that look like for you?"
You blink slowly, feeding into his soothing tone and his hypnotizing body language. He leans over you in a protective yet delicate stance, open and inviting. "Many things, Jungkook…"
"What do you need right now? What is your body telling you?" He rasps, quietly.
"That you want me," you reply, as if the words were coarsed out of you.
"That I want you?" He prompts
"That I want you," you correct.
He smiles and weaves his arms around your careful waist. "You do," he confirms. "Don't you want to fuck me?" He speaks seductively into your ear, catching your body in his arms as his hands massage your scalp hypnotically.
His touch bleeds seduction, soaked up by your skin as a need grows deep inside of you to take him in ways you don't dare speak.
"He doesn't know how to please you...he never did...you need someone to rely on...and I'll be that for you, goddess…"
You melt into his touch, a medley of sweet lust tainting your perception like a love drug. "Ohhh Kookie~" you sigh, biting your lip. "How long have you seen me this way…"
Jungkook kisses your cheek softly, in a tender act of kindness.
"For a while. I don't remember when I caught feelings, but seeing him treat you like that made my blood boil…" he says, rigidly.
"Treat me better," you ask, taken by his delicate touch.
As if it was his plan all along, he strokes your sides with his wide hands, riding your shirt up gradually.
"I plan to," he hums. "I want you to show me the ropes. How can I best pleasure you, goddess?"
Your eyes flash with lust. "Let me show you."
While sitting on the couch, you dip your hands into his pants and stroke his thighs beneath the cloth, then bring them back up to stroke his torso while maintaining heated eye-contact.
Jungkook hisses softly, smirking as he leans forward for you to touch all of him. "...love the way you touch me…" he slurs, furrowing his eyebrows very slightly.
He kneels below you, his big eyes awaiting your guidance.
You run your fingers through his hair, thoroughly petting and caressing him in a controlled way.
He dips his head between your thighs and squeezes his eyes shut. His wide palms grip them open, his lips resting above your clothed cunt. "Do you need me here?" His voice vibrates against your skin in the most delicious way.
You bite your lip, the blood rushing to your cheeks. Fuck. "Yeah, Kookie~" you sigh.
He smiles and sharpens his tongue before running it from the bottom of your slit to the very tip, pulling your panties to the side so that he can sloppily eat your sweet pussy.
His eyebrows knit together innocently looking up at you, a deliberate devilish smirk hiding behind those eyes. You tighten your thighs around his jaw and he relaxes his tongue, slipping it inside you and pressing up against your g-spot.
His grip on you intensifies, his tattooed fingers tensing as he manipulates your hips into his skilled mouth. "Ohhh fuck, Kookie, so good~" you coo.
Suddenly, he thrusts in, determined.
You gasp, melting beneath him, but he maintains a strong control of you and he won't let you go. You're under his spell.
"Fuck!! Fuck,," you whine.
Jungkook's eyes narrow as he's determined to make you cream around his tongue. He's so fucking hard in his pants but he knows that the reward of having you nice and wet for him is far sweeter than any sort of childish impatience. His focus is set.
He latches his lips around your clit and spits it back out before taking it back in, sucking it hard and letting his tongue roll over it lewdly. You grab a handful of his hair and angle your hips upward, your moans intensifying with every stroke of his hot tongue.
He smirks and spreads it on you, digging his nails into your skin possessively before sinking his tongue back inside your cunt, flailing it, determined to make you cum exactly how he wants.
"I'd do this forever. Your cunt is so sweet. I'll drink it like water," he rasps between passionate kisses against your skin.
You sputter out a whine, desperate to get something back inside of your hungry cunt. "Please~ please– ohh, fuck, please fuck me~" you cry, unprompted.
He's painfully hard against his jeans, and by the looks of it he's the perfect size for you.
He catches you staring, amused. He draws himself away from your legs and works on releasing his cock for you.
"Can I suck your dick?" You pout.
Jungkook raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. "You wanna?"
"Ohhh yeah~" you moan, your eyes softening as you stare at his fingers pulling his pants down to his thighs. "Mmmm~"
With care, he pulls out his cock in his hand, displaying it to you casually. A surge of pleasure overcomes you.
"You're so pretty, Jungkook," you breathe, closing your legs together and rubbing them with need.
Jungkook places one hand on his torso and spreads his thighs apart to better show himself off. "Why don't you come down here and put your pretty lips around my cock, then?"
Soon, your body is laid across your super soft velvet rug with your legs kicked up as your hands grip your neighbor's dick, smiling happily as you take his sticky tip between your lips. He leans backwards on his hands, his head slightly leaned back.
His adam's apple bobs as he swallows in anticipation. He lets out an ungodly moan as you fill your throat with his cock, your tongue spreading against his underside as you hollow your cheeks and thrust him in shallowly, making sure to breathe deeply through your nose.
Jungkook winces, letting a flow of sung moans flow from his throat as you suck the life out of him. A big, relaxed smile spreads on his lips as if he were in a state of pure bliss. "Ah~ ahh- ahhh…ah," he swallows hard. "Mmngh– mmmghhh~"
You use your hands to optimize his pleasure, watching his face contort as you take more of him in your mouth. His breath stutters suddenly, causing his hips to jolt upwards. "Fuck– fuck, I'm going to cum so hard if you don't st– stop," he warns in a panic.
He looks like a Greek God from this angle, his body a work of pure art. You knew Jungkook worked out, but you didn't know he was built like this.
You relent, only so you can scoot up on his thighs and grind your swollen cunt against his shaft.
His eyes widen in surprise, and his reaction is visceral. Jungkook pulls you on to him and catches your lips in a passionate embrace, speaking moans into your mouth as he brings your hips up so he can spear you with his perfect cock.
He penetrates you, tensing his thighs beneath you as he stretches you out so satisfyingly. You let out the most drawn out whimper, your fingers weaving through his black strands.
He pants hard, swirling himself inside of you and adjusting to your shared comfort.
You roll your eyes back, bouncing on him a little in anticipation. "Jungkook please, fuck me…rough, hard…make me cum hard…" you request.
"What my princess asks for, she gets," he replies, positioning you so that he can get the most out of every long, hard thrust. "I can barely stand to be inside you," he whimpers.
Jungkook's body shakes at the feeling of your tight cunt. You clench around him and he sees stars. There's no way he could possibly last fucking your cunt for too long, so he starts thrusting sloppily, resting his thumbs above your ass.
In a quick desperation, he reangles himself and pounds into you, pressing deeply into your cervix as his fingers tease and play with your fat clit.
A dumbified smile spreads on your face as you lower your hips onto him, clenching around his cock with each pound. You feel your body melt around him, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm snap.
You spasm as you take every drop of his cum, feeling him grip your ass with conviction, holding you still so that he can properly fill you. "That's so good, so fucking good, take it all, baby…" he groans under his breath, huffing.
He puts his arms around your torso and pulls you upwards so that your back is against his chest and kisses you sweetly. You lean your forehead against his and ask: "are you an angel or the devil?"
-> Marc relies on your amateur skills to patch him up following a brutal fight. *Please note this fic was written before episode 5 was aired*
Gif credit doesn’t belong to me
CW/TW: PLEASE NOTE THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️ “finally some good fucking food spicy smut” a little bit graphic! detailed injury, mild jealousy, sadomasochism, handjob, p-in-v sex, creampie, reader thinks the moon-knight suit is sexy as fuck. If you don’t like any of these topics, please do not read.
When he stumbles back into your shared apartment, he’s bleeding from a deep gash along his hairline, blood weeping down his forehead and into his eyes.
It’s certainly not uncommon for Marc to come back from his work with Khonsu looking a little worse for wear. You’d never studied as a nurse, didn’t even learn first aid in school bar CPR, but since you had moved in with Marc you’d perfected the art of the lock-stitch suture.
Having pulled your medkit from the kitchen cabinet, you make your way over to the bed where Marc lays sprawled across the bed, eyes closed and emitting a pained groan. Upon first glance, this was the worst you had seen him. A busted lip, cracked head, and a deep gash wound in his stomach. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it sure would leave a mark.
It, therefore, came as no surprise that Marc hadn’t even managed to will away the ceremonial suit due to his focus on getting back to the flat to be seen by you. The gold crescent moon on his chest shone under the harsh lighting, the metal cold to the touch, and the white bandages of the suit itself are soaked crimson with his blood.
“I’m going to start on your forehead.” You murmur quietly, a gentle warning while you work at threading the nylon through the eye of the needle so it is prepped. You’ve straddled his thighs, the position easier than twisting your torso to lean across his body. “Do you have a concussion?”
“No,” was all he answered, voice a little rough from the pain. Even if he did, you knew Marc wouldn’t tell you. As hard-headed and relatively stoic as he was, he never wanted to worry you, never wanted you to fear him leaving that door and never returning.
“Then I’ll start with disinfecting.” You begin by taking up a gauze cloth and soaking the material with antiseptic wound wash. Marc had been swift to inform you the first time he came home injured that hydrogen peroxide was a horrendous wound disinfectant, much to your surprise. It wasn’t like the antiseptic hurt any less, but at least it wouldn’t cause further damage.
Marc watches as you douse the gauze pad with the disinfectant, his chest rising and falling with slightly stronger intakes of oxygen in an attempt to ready himself for the burn that accompanied the press of the material to the cut.
“This is going to sting,” you remind him, just as you did every single time you tended to him. In return, every time he would inhale sharply, almost a ‘you don’t say?’ before you pressed the steeped muslin to the gash on his forehead. He hissed upon contact, hands curling into fists in order to ride out the waves of pain as you swipe along the length of the cut to clear out any debris.
It’s silent between you at first. It usually is, the two of you are usually so focused on your breathing that you both often forget to talk. Marc always had a habit of matching your breathing pattern, following the rhythm of your lungs as you patched up his wounds. It never tended to last long though, the questions bubbling as you took up the needle once more.
“… How did this one happen then?” You murmur, pushing the point of the suture needle through the flesh of his skin with a practiced speed. Marc outwardly cringes, gritting his teeth as he exhaled through the first stitch with a heavy breath.
“Butt of a gun. Just didn’t see it coming,” he answers simply, his response short and simple as always. You had initially assumed the curt nature of his comments was because he was in pain, but you found out relatively early on into your amateur nursing duties that he simply hated giving you more work to do, and was frustrated at himself for returning with worse wounds than last time. You’d learned to recognize it as a form of affection- Marc wasn’t particularly tactile.
Marc’s bloodied skin is hot beneath your fingers, the air from his exhales ticking the skin at the back of your forearms as you lean over his face to piece his skin back together. Being Marc Spector’s personal A&E nurse is an intimate job, often leaning very close to his face as you focus on the splits in his brow or checking in during monthly intervals to ensure his dislocated jaw was healing. You sometimes found those deep, earthy eyes trailing the details of your face and forgetting just how to begin a stitch.
It doesn’t take you long to line the wound and stitch it together, but every second feels as though the world turns a little slower. The burning sensation of Marc assessing your face causes your heart to leap into your throat, focus broken within moments of beginning the procedure. The groans that sound on his exhale as you work your way up the wound blend between pained and aroused, his palms slowly having moved to grip at your thighs.
Truth be told, this wasn’t entirely uncommon for Marc. He’d never bothered to explain it, he was far too prideful for that, but whenever you had helped tidy him up following a particularly nasty fight, Marc’s breathing would quicken and his hands would grope at the flesh of your ass as you worked away at his injuries. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that he, in fact, enjoyed the pain, but found yourself unable to voice your acknowledgment in case Marc would withdraw. However, the resolve that had stood strong for the months you had been aiding Marc was quickly crumbling with the form-fitting suit he wore, how strong it made him look.
Arousal floods your veins as you glance down at Marc’s face. He’s watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, his pupils blown wide as his fingers slowly dig into the muscle of your thigh. Steven looked at you like you were heavenly, a beautiful thing to behold. Marc watched you as though he craved you, as though he was hooked on you like a fentanyl addict, where going with or without a hit was likely fatal. It’s intense, overwhelmingly so.
Finishing up the gash to his forehead, you sterilize the wound a final time despite Marc’s hiss of protest. Perhaps it was a little sick to admit, but you’d grown to enjoy this time you spent together, the intimate sensation of Marc holding you as you piece him back together again, the way he moans and shifts his hips beneath you in an attempt to relieve the need that settles in his hips every time you push the needle through his skin.
Careful to throw away the used material, you begin to set up a fresh needle with new sutures as Marc continues his set gaze on your face. His fingers dig deeper into the meat of your thighs, silently persistent. You know what he wants, that hit he’s wordlessly begging for, but you refuse to give in to him.
“‘S Steven’s fault,” his gruff voice sounds through the quiet of the room, strained as you soak through another cloth to clean the deep lesion on his abdomen. You’re careful to lift the grimy bandage-like material of the ceremonial suit from underneath his golden belt and over the large tear. “He keeps taking the body back without permiss-ion,” he gasps out when you press the gauze to the ripped flesh, the sting that followed causing him to grit his teeth.
The amused hum that resonates in your chest causes him to glare at you. “I won’t have you targeting Steven like this, Marc. He’s confused, a little overwhelmed. It’s unfair to blame him when it’s you that’s pulling him into dangerous situations.” Your tone is teasing, knowing it riles him up when you side with the quiet, awkward yet oddly endearing Steven.
“If he’d stayed out of it like I asked him to, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He could stay at his fucking gift-shop selling scarab erasers to kids or whatever it was he got up to-“ you cut him off by sinking the needle into the flesh of his abdomen, causing him to wince in pain. “Why are you standing up for him, huh? Prefer spending time with him?” His voice is strained as you thread the nylon to bridge the gap and pull the cut closed.
“You know that’s not true,” you tell him pointedly, meeting his eyes with a warning look that informs him you wouldn’t stand for his childish jealousy.
A silence settles between the both of you again as you continue to work, maybe a little less carefully thanks to his bratty comments. Marc flinches under the sharp prick of the needle as it works through the gash slowly. His breathing is heavy again, chest heaving lightly to ease the pain that your ministrations cause. Despite his obvious discomfort, he fails to hide the hard press of his erection against your forearm through the bandages of his suit.
You hesitate for a moment, glancing up to his face. He’s staring at you with an arched brow, his eyes silently quizzing you, asking what you were going to do about it. Marc wasn’t exactly shy, and given you’d challenged him on his petty remarks about Steven he certainly didn’t seem as though he was willing to back down any further tonight.
“Do you like that?” You breathe quietly, knowing you’re playing with raging flames as you finish up the stitch with a perfectly executed knot finish. “The pain?”
Marc doesn’t answer, his eyes flicking down to the scissors you use to cut the remaining nylon thread. He seems almost disappointed that you’d finished up so soon, clearly having gotten far too much practice with how often he’d come to you asking for medical aid. It’s only when you reach to grab more disinfectant that his cock twitches in his pants again, anticipating the burn against the wound.
“You do,” you murmur, answering for him and confirming what you already knew to be true as you arch your brow playfully. Without Marc bothering to neither confirm nor deny your accusation, your arousal at this revelation begins to motivate you to do something uncharacteristically reckless, completely outside of the norm of your relationship dynamic.
The press of the soaked muslin to his wound causes his back to arch from the bed with a gravelly groan, eyes dark as they settle on the fabric. The sting causes his exposed skin to break out in goosebumps, his hips lifting his body into the pressure rather than away from it.
The confirmation of his sexual proclivities causes you to throw caution aside and remove the bloodied cloth quickly. You toss it across the room somewhere in your peripheral, eyes focused on the soft muscular plane of his abs. They’re tanned, exposed often to the Egyptian sunlight thanks to the tasks he was required to complete for Khonsu, delivering justice to those the God deemed worthy. Perhaps he would deem you worthy of punishment for what you were about to do.
Pushing the flesh of your fingertips into the cut causes fresh blood to well into the divots of your fingerprints, the gasp that the pain pulls from Marc utterly wretched as he grasps at the bedsheets below him that are smeared with dirt and dried blood.
“Hah-“ Marc inhaled sharply as you removed your fingers from the weeping flesh. You wipe the blood away carelessly on the material as you push the top of his suit further up his body to expose his chest. He has some bruising along his ribs, purple and angry red from where he had clearly been punched.
“Is this what you’re always thinking about? When I help you?” You murmur softly, gently brushing your nails across the skin stretched against his sternum until they reach the hollow of his throat. He groans shakily, nodding his head as he watches you take control, a little taken aback by this uncharacteristic leadership.
The only sound he produces from his open mouth is a sharp hiss as you dig your nails into his flesh, dragging them down the smooth skin to leave raised, angry marks in the wake of your touch. The red lines welt quickly, blood beading in areas close to the bone.
You can’t help but smirk, Marc’s eyes rolling back slightly when you palm at his cock through the white material of his suit pants. “Help me with these, Marc,” you murmur softly. He doesn’t hesitate, but instead of struggling with the suit, the mummy-esque fabric melts away into his own clothes beneath you. His hands are swift to undo the zipper of his cargo pants, lifting his hips despite the sharp pain in his abdomen in order to push the trousers and his boxers over his hips in one.
His cock is weeping precum when you reach to take him into your palm. Wrapping your fingers around the shaft of his dick, you trace the velvety head to smear the thick fluid across his sensitive skin. Marc’s hips hitch as you focus on the sensitive area, his own hands balled into fists as you begin to rub up and down his length.
There were no more shitty remarks about Steven, no more questions of your allegiance, only the sound of Marc’s uneven breaths as he struggled to swallow down his moans of need. They’re hoarse, made through gritted teeth as you slowly ease your fist up and down his length.
You hum softly as you continue the slow, dragging pull of his cock as you dip the fingers of your free hand back into the freshly stitched gash. Not enough to ruin your work- just enough to cause him pain. He chokes out, body jerking as pain sparks from his abdomen and causes his cock to throb in your hand.
It’s slick, his precum causing your palm to glide across his length with just the perfect amount of friction. Tightening your grip around his shaft, you trail your thumb across the ridge of his cock. His skin is sweaty, enough to make you consider the fact that if you didn’t have his cock in your hand you’d think he was starting with a fever. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you, almost through you as he tries so hard to suppress his moans. It’s not often you get to see him like this, Marc having always held the reins in the relationship and refusing to let them go.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Marc,” you murmur softly, twisting your wrist slightly when your grip reaches the head of his cock. The scraping, fraught sound of a long, broken moans cause your cunt to flutter around nothing, jaw slack as he thrusts his hips up into your palm the best he can with you straddling his thighs.
You speed up the movement of your hand now, realizing that he’s already close to cumming. He’s grasping at the bedsheets, groaning as you push further into the gash you had worked so hard to suture and unravelling Marc in the process. Under your touch, his abdomen spasms, an indication that he’s close to cumming all over your fist-
He flips you. You don’t even have the time to process that you’re lying face-up on the mattress until Marc is tearing your sweatpants down your legs with a snarl. There’s an edge to him, sharp and dangerous as he yanks the thick material from your ankles with an overzealous tug.
“Marc, your stitches-“
“Pretty Thing-” he growls, the syllables sounding as though they’ve been wrung from his lungs. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, he’s yanking the cotton fabric down your thighs with such force you’re certain that he’ll rip them. He doesn’t even bother to remove the soaked fabric entirely, letting it stay tangled between your knees as your cunt wets the inside of your thighs. “Rude little thing.”
The shock of his weeping cock pushing its way through your folds has your back arching off the bed with a broken sob. There’s no easing it in, he pushes all the way down to the base in one swift motion, breaking your unsuspecting pussy open on his width. You know that you’ve pushed far beyond your boundaries, but you find yourself struggling to see this as a punishment when you both feel so fucking good.
“Sir-!” You’re quick to correct yourself with a squeak as the head of his dick pushes up against something brutal inside you. He’s growling again, hot and sharp in your ear as you squeeze so tightly around him. Marc’s furious, in that delicious way that you know will leave him having to look after you by the end of the night, collecting a bottle of water from the fridge because you’re unable to stand up from the bed.
Thrusting deep and savagely inside of you, the push of his hips into yours has you jolting up the mattress from the sheer force in which he rocks into you. You sob out as he punches the sound from your lungs, toes curling into the bedsheets so hard that you swear the muscles in your feet cramp- fuck, you’re drowning between your legs, the sopping sound of him pounding into you bouncing off the walls enough to make your face burn red hot.
“Ha-Ah-Ah!” You can’t help the noises of desperation that sound with each cruel thrust. The springs of the mattress strain under the force Marc exerts on that blinding spot inside you, and your breath catches in your lungs at the way your orgasm already builds tremendously quickly.
*He wants you to cum with him*
“Oh fuck- Oh fuck, Sir- Marc!” You gasp out needily, hands scrambling to grab ahold of his shoulders and dig your nails in simply to brace against the brutal pace with which he hits that mind-numbing area that causes your cunt to flutter around him.
And then he’s switching his tactic, filling you up entirely until you’ve taken him down to the hilt, stretching the limit of how much you can take as he pistons short, sharp thrusts into your most sensitive spot. Your thighs are spasming around his hips, fist pounding against his sternum as he rips stinging hot pleasure up your spine with the stretch of your pussy around his cock.
“Ah- I can’t- I ca-Hah!” You’re hiccuping, nails digging so hard into the flesh of his shoulder blades that you’re certain blood is beading underneath them. His back is working tirelessly beneath your palms, and you swear you can feel the early glow of your orgasm.
“Come on,” Marc grits through his teeth, continuing the brutal assault on your cunt despite your wordless cries of meaningless protest at just how fucking good he’s making you feel. You can’t take it, can’t handle how hot it sparks inside your abdomen as your orgasm arcs up hot and fast-
His fingertips brush your clit and the bedroom comes crashing down around you. You can feel the tenseness in your brow as your eyebrows pull up, your expression no doubt dumbstruck as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Marc has torn your climax from you so suddenly that it contracts painfully, the sharp, dull ache that accompanies the overwhelming pleasure enough to cause you to scream out his name. You’re spasming around him, drenching his cock with your cum as he empties his load into you with the most devastating groan. You have no doubt there would be a noise complaint tomorrow.
In the quiet that follows, you can hear the slick sounds of Marc still slowly fucking into you despite his own orgasm, punishing himself, punishing you until his hips give way. Your body is spasming and twitching under every brush of contact his body makes with your own, overwhelmed by the pleasure he had torn from you.
It’s filthy, the way in which his pupils dilate when he watches his softening cock slip from you, his pearly cum seeping from your cunt. He doesn’t allow any to spill, pushing his fingers into you to shove it all back. Marc refuses to allow you to waste any, even when you’re sore and bruised from his previous efforts.
“The stitches,” you wheeze through your panting breath, palms pushing at his abs to double-check that they held through his brutal pace. His abdomen flexes beneath your touch, but you can feel the nylon fastening the wound just perfectly and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“You can’t keep getting hurt like this,” you halfheartedly lecture him through your exhaustion as he massages your tense thighs in a bid to get your sore muscles to relax. “… But I have a feeling you’re getting into fights on purpose now.”
Marc doesn’t respond at all, eyes set on your legs as he pushes the tense muscles with the pads of his thumbs. His silence is guilty as sin, and you can’t help but laugh at the wordless admission. It will be many months more until you learn that Marc actually doesn’t need you to stitch him up like this, that Khonsu’s suit and the abilities he’s been granted heal him easily- even fatal wounds. Until that time he continues to drag himself, battered and bruised to your doorstep to continue being treated with the sting of the antiseptic and the sharp nick of the needle.
-> After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.
Gif credit belongs to @paper-n-ashes !!!
TW/CW: long ass fic. Handjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex. Relatively tame for me 👀 Not proof read, ain’t nobody got time for that.
His voice fades out as you gaze into his eyes, sparkling in excitement as he explains the mummification process to you for what must be the fifth time since you joined the museum staff a few months ago. They’re as deep and dark as the chocolate bonbons that had been pushed across the desk towards you. Melting, oozing a happiness that makes them appear even sweeter. The kind of sweet delight that made you buzz for hours on end and eventually fall into a sugar coma.
The crisp cold of the London air permeates through the stone walls of the museum's halls as if echoing Steven’s earlier sentiments that ‘even the summers in London are freezing’. It even seeps through the stitching of your cardigan as you sit in the storage room of the gift shop, helping your colleague sort through the miscellaneous gift-shop inventory, goosebumps rising on the skin of your arms as the draft floats under the heavy-set wooden doors.
However, you can’t feel the cold at all, the warmth that settles deep behind your sternum from hearing Steven talk excitedly about his interests is enough to combat the chill. It’s truly endearing, the way the exhausted man with such a mild temperament comes alive when he notices you listening to his ramblings- or rather tried.
“... and so Apep swallowed Ra’s boat, causin’ an eclipse!” He concludes with such vigor it jolts you from your trance and back to reality to find that you had been sitting with a small Anubis toy in hand for god knows how long, staring dorkily at the poor man who just wanted your attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, so enraptured by his storytelling that you manage to escape his scrutiny, or rather his disappointment that you hadn’t been as enthralled with his knowledge as he perhaps thought you were.
It wasn’t always this way. Upon your arrival to the museum at the beginning of spring during the new economic year, you loved his enthusiasm, the way he had toured you on his induction day despite the rambling of your boss Donna, insisting that he would never be a tour guide as long as he struggled to maintain a consistent timecard. While it wasn’t the most romantic of experiences, Steven so eager to explain how the Egyptians would push a hook through the nose of the nobility and Pharaohs, removing their brain in the process, but it certainly endeared you to him.
Drawn to his polite and mild temperament, you found yourself spending more time with him than you could really afford. Somewhere between traveling one more bus stop in order to continue the riveting conversation about the latest mummified crocodiles archaeologists had unearthed on the banks of the Nile and staying an extra thirty minutes after your shift to help Steven with the work that he had managed to rack up after three days away with little to no explanation as to where he had been, you found yourself struggling to maintain your focus on his narration.
Boredom wasn’t the cause of your affliction. No, worse than that. It was finding yourself tracing the bow of his upper lip with your line of sight, contemplating what it would be like to kiss it. Considering how soft his ebony curls would be to pass your fingers through, and how his long lashes would tickle your skin as he pressed his own lips to the expanse of your skin. Perhaps it was an understatement to claim that you would pray to every God and goddess, Egyptian or otherwise, for an opportunity to brush your fingertips against the grain of the shadow of his beard on his chin, It consumed your every waking moment, not unlike Apep swallowing the boat that Ra traveled upon so he could ride from the East and raise the sun.
You use the pause in conversation in order to switch the topic onto something he was less keen on, needing respite from the way your mind kept falling into the depths of desire, twisting like a pit of vipers in your stomach, before you managed to embarrass yourself beyond measure. “Where are these chocolates from, Steven, they’re very good.”
The bonbons that sat on the tabletop between you both were encased in a crimson-red love-heart box. You hadn’t allowed your own to go into cardiac arrest when he had entered the office holding it, convincing yourself that it couldn’t possibly be for you. Steven had never shown enough interest in you beyond his co-worker or friend to truly indicate that he would be willing to buy such a gift for you.
“Ah-” Steven stumbles over himself, a little eraser in the shape of a scarab beetle falling from his hands and clattering to the table. He’s swift to grab it again, shoving it into a basket after scanning it with a shaky hand. “It was in the- uhm, the reduced section in Tescos… I just thought they looked good and that someone might want to share!” His voice is so insistent, promising that there wasn’t an ulterior motive. It doesn’t ease the way your chest stains under the weight of your disappointment as to pick up another circular chocolate, noting the colorful sprinkles on top.
“That’s kind of you,” You say quietly, cheeks tingling with heat at the knowledge that you had been correct in your suspicions all along, that he could never really want you. It was no secret that women found him attractive, some other co-workers making that very clear on a ‘work night out’ in the local pub, in which they rambled about the way he had shamelessly flirted with them and how charming he had been. While you certainly hadn’t experienced this side of Steven, your own Steven shy and jittery, you envied those girls that held his attention in a way you seemingly failed to achieve.
“Yeah, it’s just… Sharin’ is carin’ an’ all that!” He laughs nervously, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and suffocating you. Were you really that inept in the way of seduction that he felt uncomfortable around you, yet somehow seemed to flirt blatantly with every other woman that worked in the building?!
You exhale shakily, focusing more on the items in your basket as you worked through them, scanning the barcodes and setting them in their pile with a little more force than you intended thanks to your renewed exasperation with yourself. Perhaps the dark circles under his eyes had nothing to do with the lack of sleep he consistently commented on, and rather had everything to do with the boredom he felt spending so much time with you.
“You feelin’ alright?” You hear him question cautiously, having noted the short fuse you seem to have developed within a matter of two sentences.
“Peachy,” you mumble, throwing another toy in the basket with a huff. You know you’re probably coming off as rude, and it’s cruel to give the poor, nervous Steven something else to worry about, but you can’t help feeling a little ridiculous, pining over a man who didn’t like you. He probably knew that you were, and thought poorly of you because you couldn’t control your feelings for him despite him showing not even a small amount of affection for you.
Deft fingers take out another chocolate as he watches you, holding onto it for a moment while he seemingly thinks of something to bring the mood back up again.
“… Have I ever told you the story of Isis and Osiris?” Steven asked, his voice quiet as those mahogany eyes gaze at your face, no doubt scanning your expression for any refusal to listen. But how could you? How could you turn him away when he was looking at you with a level of desperation you’d never seen on him before, wanting to please you, to make you happy again.
You shake your head silently, eyes settling on his face as he sat back in his chair to ready himself for the story. The chocolate pinched between the pads of his thumb and forefinger is melting under his body heat, caving in slightly as the solid chocolate began to liquefy down to the middle.
“Then I’ve done you a disservice! How could I not ‘ave told you the greatest love story in mythology?” He asked you with a nervous grin, pushing aside the toys he was supposed to be sorting through to one side in order to begin his theatrics.
Despite your efforts and your utter frustration, your lips stretched into a smile at his enthusiasm. How could you not? It was endlessly charming. He’s sitting up, his free hand laying his palm across the tabletop and fingers splayed wide. They’re tanned, large. The veins on the back have a blue tint, protruding and appearing more intense under the lighting. Perhaps if you stopped staring, you would have noticed the years of built-up scarring across his knuckles.
Immediately, your mind begins falling into the bad habit that it had developed over the time you and Steven had spent together, producing utterly obscene images. His palms cupping and grasping at your breasts, thumbs torturing your nipples. His fingers pushing into your dripping cun- No no no STOP! Stop it!
How ridiculous it was, that you were so invested in a man who wasn’t at all interested in you. So overcome with need for him that you couldn’t even focus on his voice without wanting him to bend you across the tabletop-
“Well,” Steven begins, the chocolate he continued to pinch beginning to cave in from the heat between his thumb pad and fingertip, “Isis was married to the King of Egypt, Osiris, and she supported him with his rule.” His eyes are set firmly on your face, ensuring that you still wanted to listen to him ramble. It meant you simply couldn’t allow yourself to drift into the realm of daydreams, because he would notice as soon as your eyes glazed over.
Seeing no disdain for his voice, Steven continued, a grin spreading across his face as he allowed himself to get excited about his storytelling.
“Isis helped the women of Egypt with skills, teachin’ them how to weave and bake and brew beer. Both she and Osiris were loved, and this caused Isis’ brother, Seth to get jealous, and so he hatched a plan.” He’s sparkling, his keenness rolling off him in waves. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem so stark, and he didn’t stammer as he spoke, driven by his love for Egyptian myth.
“Seth trapped Osiris in a wooden chest, which he covered in lead and threw in the Nile. With Osiris out of the way, Seth became King of Egypt- Oh, bugger“ he paused, finally having noted that the once circular chocolate bonbon was flat between his fingers, coating his fingers in sticky, melted chocolate.
He was swift to rectify the problem, lifting his thumb to his mouth with a mumble of ‘sorry’ and ‘pardon me’, wrapping his lips around it and sucking the chocolate from his skin. You watch as his upper lip drags across his knuckle, Steven’s eyes closed as he relished the taste of the chocolate against his tongue. It was torturous, like someone had lit the touch paper in your abdomen and the fire was spreading through your veins, crawling up your spine. The pink of his tongue slips from his lips, pulling across his fingerprint and collecting the chocolate left behind.
As if he knew your mouth was watering as you watched him, his bronze eyes lift to find your own. Looking through his lashes at you as he slipped his finger into his mouth too, cleaning his fingerprint with his deft tongue. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole in your chair. Was- Was that meant to look so erotic?!
“Mhm, so as I was sayin’,” he continued as though he hadn’t just single-handedly flooded your panties, oblivious to your internal struggle. “Seth became the King of Egypt, and Isis was devastated.” Despite your best efforts, his voice was fading out, and you found yourself just staring at the man in front of you. You studied his dark hair that fell in tight ringlets in front of his forehead, his deep, emotive eyes, and his sharp cheekbones. He was just stunningly handsome, it was no wonder he felt so confident flirting with girls he actually liked.
It was during this assessment of his face as he continued to talk about Isis’ revenge that you noted the chocolate spread on his lower lip. Utterly exhausted from trying to push away the filthy daydreams that flashed into your mind's eye, you let them run ragged. You’d sacrifice yourself to the Egyptian Gods if it meant you could run your tongue across the expanse of his lip, tasting the chocolate against his skin. Though, you were entirely sure that he would taste much sweeter-
“There somethin’ on my face?”
You startle immediately, eyes so wide you can feel your eyelids strain. It’s like ice water had been thrown on your blazing body, a panic settling in now that you have been caught. When your mind catches back up with your line of vision, you see Steven gazing at you with an innocent look of confusion, his brows pulled up in the middle.
“Ah- y… Yeah, you have chocolate on your lip,” you admit weakly, pointing vaguely at his mouth with a shaky hand. Steven laughs nervously, shaking his head in his embarrassment.
“Silly me! Can’t even feed myself properly!” His comments are strained as he wipes the pad of his thumb across his mouth in an attempt to remove the sticky residue. The veins in the back of his palm are prominent still, catching your eye. Your brain stills entirely. It’s infuriating, watching him struggle so much to remove the stain, somehow managing to miss it entirely every time he passes his digits over his lips.
“Steven,” you whisper, a little breathless now as you feel your blood boil under your skin with arousal.
“It’s alright, I got it. Stubborn bugger!” He laughs again, the sound lacking humor in his mortified state.
“Steven-“
“Why can’t I ju-“
Scraping the legs of the chair you had been sitting in across the hard flooring, you stand in a violent fashion, stunning Steven into silence when you reach across the tabletop and grab his chin with a firm grip, forcing him to look up at you.
“Sit still,” you insist, desperate to ease your devastatingly hot arousal by taking away the distracting variable. Swiping your tongue over the pad of your own thumb mindlessly, you apply pressure to the affected skin and clean the chocolate from his mouth with a few passes.
Steven sits perfectly still for you, almost stiff in your palm as your fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks as you hold him in place. If it wasn’t for the heat radiating from his skin, you’d think he’s been mummified into this position.
Glancing up from his mouth into his eyes, you feel your heart stop at the view. Steven is looking at you through his lashes with almost a needy look. There’s an intense longing to his eyes that almost has your knees buckling, his jaw slack as he gazes up at you. Rose spreads across his cheeks, a pink tinge that explains the feverish feeling to his skin underneath your hand.
“Steven,” you whisper, heart in your throat as you gaze back at him. Surely you weren’t imagining the tension prickling in the air between the two of you? You couldn’t describe it in any other way other than a gas leak. The invisible, volatile gas lingering in the air, laying in wait for the slightest drag of friction to light a spark and ignite the museum and everything in it. It was suffocating, burning your lungs.
Did he look at the other girls like this? The ones that bragged about how charming he was when he flirted with them in the entrance hall or wooed them on lunch break in the form of a compliment about their hair. Did he look at them with such a clear and defined need for them to climb across the table and kiss him?
Trembling fingers ease their grip on his jaw, slowly pulling away to slump back into your chair. Your heart is thumping so loud it’s like thunder in your ears, drowning out the shaky exhale that you release as you finally break eye contact with Steven and turn your attention back to the task at hand- whatever it was, you can barely remember why you were even here anymore.
“S-Sorry to interrupt,” you stumble over your words a little, motioning with a flick of your wrist for Steven to carry on, refusing to look up from the ankh necklace that you had blindly picked up from your basket. It was a cheap metal, not at all heavy, with a simple pendant. Though the Ankh was a symbol of life, you needn’t wear the charm as proof of living- the pulse of blood that you swore you could feel through every single extension in your veins made your condition evident enough.
Much to your utter dismay, Steven didn’t continue talking, the pressure in the air pulling your lungs even tighter. He just gazed at you with hooded eyes and parted mouth. It was utterly disarming, the way his tongue swiped across his lip as if to taste the area you’d touched.
“Steven, I really didn’t mean to be rude-“
“You can’t just be doin’ that,” he spoke on an exhale, sounding positively wrecked.
“I know, I’m sorry, I really di-“
“No no, you can’t be doin’ that and leavin’ me like this!” He insists, in a pleading tone, pitchy and almost whiney. You don’t know what to do as you stare at him, and you swear you must look like a fish out of water due to the way your mouth opens and closes as you try to form a sentence in response.
Maybe it’s the combination of pining after Steven, a late night, and scanning barcodes for hours on end, but you swore you could feel the dynamic between you shift significantly. As though it was no longer Steven that held the power to change the kind of relationship the two of you shared. It was as if he had relinquished that power to you, and now he waited for you to make the move you had been silently begging Steven to make for many weeks now.
Silence drags between the two of you like nails on a chalkboard, the lack of sound devastatingly uncomfortable. Steven’s muscles are bound tight, seemingly ready to spring from his seat but awaiting your orders with an expectant expression.
It’s not clear to you what exactly snaps the tension between you, but all of a sudden you find yourself leaping into action. You push aside the baskets of merchandise you’d both been sorting through, which clatter to the floor and empty themselves as you climb across the table clumsily. With shaky hands, you take Steven’s face into your palms, catching a glimpse of his wide eyes just before you press your lips to his messily.
A moan rips from Steven’s throat and into the kiss, a broken, wrecked sound. The soft, plump flesh of his lips settles so perfectly against your own and yet the way they move against each other is clumsy. Nervousness shared between the both of you makes it hard to time the kiss just right, noses bumping and teeth clacking against each other, yet you’ve never experienced such mind-numbing relief.
Stumbling swiftly to pull away, to lower yourself from the table, you find your body moving itself without the receptors of your brain even having thought it up. Your leg hooks over the expanse of his thighs, settling your hips in his lap and resting the weight of your body against the muscles there. He fumbles with the syllables of your name like it’s a foreign language as you wind your fingers in his hair, taking a firm grip of it and pulling his face towards your own.
Inexperience coats his every action like thick honey that Steven can’t shake, but it emboldens you. Somehow this new position bridges the awkwardness of your first kiss, and your lips mould against his in a much smoother, precise way. You’re able to part his mouth, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the cocoa that had settled there. Judging by the hum of pleasure that ripples in his chest, Steven can taste it also. His scalp is warm underneath your fingertips as you wind his ebony locks around your digits, getting a firmer grip of the strands as you push his face impossibly closer to yours. This proximity isn’t enough. It can’t ever be enough.
Tearing your mouth from his before you lose yourself to it, your exhale sounds pitchy and wrong to your own ears. Almost as though it had pained you. Regardless, your lips busy themself on his jaw, pressing firm kisses along the length of the skin stretching across the bone there before trailing down his neck. Goosebumps seem to litter his skin in the wake of your ministrations, his head tilting backward slowly in an attempt to expose more of his throat to you.
His pulse is heavy as you take the skin above his jugular between your teeth, sucking the skin there so perfect hues of purple and red blossom throughout his tan. His palms settle shakily on your thighs and he digs his fingertips into the flesh so it dips to his will, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he unsuccessfully swallows down a raspy ‘Fuck’.
It’s his turn for those deft fingers that haunted your every waking moment to spread through the strands of your hair, stroking across your scalp as you drag your tongue along the expanse of his skin, moaning as his scent imprints itself permanently upon your brain. The scent of cut grass on a rainy day, clean and soft. You’re quick to blow a soft flow of air from your lips across his skin, the area in which you had focused your tongue growing cold under the draft you produced.
“O-Oh god, god darlin’- darlin’ that feels so good,” you can faintly hear him gasp over the rush of your blood through your ears. Tracing the buttons of his shirt, feeling each of them catch on the knuckles of your fingers on your hand's journey down his chest, you hum in agreement, sucking more marks into the junction of his neck and shoulder.
His skin is released from the pressure with a pop upon the sensation of your pinkie brushing the coarse leather of his belt. A weak moan falls from your mouth, eyelids heavy as you watch his head crane to the side to follow the movements of your fingers.
“Steven,” you whisper, tracing the cold brass of his belt buckle as you maintain eye contact with him, “We need to be quick.” You’re breathless with the speed in which this little make-out session is progressing. The wanton desperation that has lingered on your end for so many weeks was making it hard for you to think clearly and maintain a level of decorum. Your hands seem to move of their own accord, hips grinding achingly slow against the tense muscle of his thigh without thought.
“Y-Yeah? Oh- Oh god yes,” he practically wails, hands pushing aside your own as he unhooks the leather strap from the brass tong shakily. “Yes, we do.” Both of your movements are almost feverish as Steven lifts his hips from the chair, accidentally grinding his hardening cock against your aching, clothed cunt while you pull his belt from the loops of his pants.
Whimpers bubble in your throat, chest tight as you swiftly throw his belt to the floor and struggle to make quick work of the button on your own pants. Your hands are so shaky, the bones in your fingers almost like jelly as you flub getting ahold of the pesky metal circle.
“F-Fuck, Steven I-“
“Come ‘ere,” his husky voice soothes the impatient panic bubbling under the surface of your skin. Your hands busy themselves in his curls one more as you watch his fingers easily slip the pesky button from its loop, easing the waistband of your pants. He doesn’t stop there, pinching the zipper between his forefinger and thumb and dragging it down. The sound is as loud as gunfire in your ears, your heart thrumming violently against your sternum with the adrenaline of the moment.
The exhale that seeps from your lungs is shaky as you use your knees on the edge of the chair to sit up and slip your pants from your hips, thumbs dragging over the flesh of your hip bones and tracing the lacy material of your panties. You find yourself praising Isis that you’d chosen a nice pair to wear today as he stares down at them, a mixture of lust and anxiety swirling in the coffee color of his iris’.
It’s your turn to unbutton his pants, somehow managing to ease your own nerves to open them up without a hitch before undoing his fly. Your breath is a little heavy with excitement as you palm the bulge. Once again, Steven’s head dips back with a low groan as you slip your hand inside his boxers to wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his cock. His hips jut slightly against your touch, the grip his fingers have on your thighs almost bruising now. There’s precum beading at the tip, you can feel it smear underneath your thumbprint across the silky smooth head.
“Oh-ohhhh fuck,” Steven chokes, hips jerking up under your touch to gain further friction. You can feel his cock twitch underneath your palm, can hear shuddering inhale and exhale of his lungs as he attempts to ease the taut muscles in his thighs. You can make him feel even better. You want him to feel better-
Sinking slowly from his lap to the floor, you settle your torso between his thighs as you continue to ever so lightly stroke your fist over the length of his cock. He’s so pretty, the rosy skin is such a deep red it’s almost purple.
“Darlin’ where are you goin’-?” His lazy, slurred question cuts suddenly into a gasp, his head snapping up from its relaxed position to show his startled expression in response to the flat of your tongue tracing the slick precum leaking from his flushed, swollen tip. You swear you can see his dark eyes, almost black as a result of his dilated pupils, roll all the way back into his skull as you take him hot and heavy, further into your throat. His hand immediately jumps into your hair, gripping tightly in an attempt to steady himself against your ministrations out of concern that you’re working him far too quickly.
Your cunt pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling in your shoes as you focus your attention on sucking his cock. He’s deep in your mouth, head pushing against your palette as the tip of your tongue traces the ridge of his veins on the underside of the soft flesh. His cock twitches again when you moan around his length, the vibrations shooting down his cock and settling at the base of his spine with an unintelligible moan.
“I c-can’t, darlin’, I can’t! I can’t-‘ The fingers wound deep into the strands of your hair pull you off his cock quickly, the rapidly increasing pressure threatening to burst forward in his shuddering abdomen. Your own intake of oxygen is heavy and unstable, the sight of him gazing down at you with utterly fucked out eyes almost enough to drive you to the edge.
Quick to your feet, you drag your eyes over his sensitive body. The leaking tip of his flushed cock, the hardening nipples underneath the fabric of his shirt, it all makes your cunt flutter around nothing as it begs to be filled. It’s impossible to hold yourself back now, body moving on its own as you straddle his lap as you had before, settling your palms on his shoulders to steady yourself.
Much to your surprise, nervous Steven doesn’t need direction. He appears to also be working in his own form of autopilot, eyes hypnotized by the way your eyelids flutter when his digits slip between the soft flesh of your thighs and trace the inside with a gentle touch. You could be imagining it, but you’re certain his fingers are a little shaky as they stroke your slit through the crotch of your panties, stopping just shy of your clit underneath the lacy fabric.
Whimpering at the lack of friction just where you need it, you grind your hips slightly into his fingerprints. Steven is quick to gently shush you, hooking his fingers into the crotch of your panties to pull them to the side. The cold air against your soaking folds causes you to grip at the material of Steven’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric with creases you swore he’d never be able to iron out.
“A-Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Soft Steven, lovely Steven checks in with you. Ensures you’re not engaging in something you’re uncomfortable with. It makes your heart yearn for him, more than you have these past few weeks of locking yourself in the bathroom and gazing into the mirror with pained expressions after his fingers brushed yours when taking a pen he’d asked to borrow, or when you would hold your mobile to your chest at the end of a phone call that was about as something as mundane as his shift hours.
“Steven, I want nothing more-“ you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly. It catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. Steven grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly at a loss as to where else to hold you. His eyes are flickering all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.
A chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. He stretches you deliciously, not too big as to hurt- he’s just perfect. Perfectly filling. It’s like you lose all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. Your hips must stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel Steven thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap until he’s bottoming out in your slick pussy.
“Oh- Oh fuck-it feels so good, Steven,” you groan, finally sitting down on his length with your full weight. Your quads are already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure that simmers between them, but the desire to chase the feeling is enough to get them to lift despite the effort it takes.
Rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your head. You don’t mean to, truly you don’t, but you pause before you sink back down. Like this, you see the almost pained look in Steven’s hazy eyes as he gazed up at you through his lashes that were damp with pleasured tears. You never want to go without seeing that view for even one day.
“God, please darli- Yesss, oh yes!” He chokes as you rock your hips for him to slip straight back into, his voice cracking under the pressure that builds at the base of his spine. You find that slow and steady pace that tortures you both, pleasurable but teetering on not enough, teasing the embers of a building orgasm but not stoking the fire.
The slippery sound of your cunt being filled over and over echoes and brunches off of the stone museum walls, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared exertion. You can barely hear Steven’s whimpers, your pulse thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.
There’s tension in your forehead, no doubt from your eyebrows arching in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning between your thighs. Your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but Steven doesn’t want you to stop. His hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same lazy pace you had set.
The legs of the chair you’re both sat in strain under the pressure of Steven’s movements, but neither of you seem to notice as he continues to brush against that part of you that just obliterates any coherent thoughts. You’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that could probably secure a conviction if they were used as evidence of your activities.
Despite the slow, even pace, Steven looks entirely fucked out. His curls are messy and falling into his perfectly pink face. His tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips mindlessly, eyes settled on the way you take his cocks so well. At this angle, he thinks he can see the tip nudging up against your stomach from the inside. That’s all he needs to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts.
It winds you, the brutal pace that he sets, and the gentle smolder is exacerbated into a churning, broiling sensation that rips through you within seconds. Your thighs are tight against his own as you sob out wordlessly, desperate in your attempts to prevent your orgasm from coming too fast. You’ve waited so long, you don’t want this moment to end.
Oh, but Steven is so eager to please. His fumbling fingers are quick to blindly search for your clit as he rocks violently into your soaking wet cunt. It sparks through you like white-hot lightning when he catches the sensitive bundle of nerves, and your reaction must make it obvious he’s found what he’s looking for because he focuses all of his attention on that one spot that has your vision going white.
His cock sinks deep inside you, head continuing to spear that impossibly sensitive spot inside you as he traces your swollen clit with imperfect circles. You barely notice it until it’s surging forward so quickly that you don’t have the time to brace for it. The wail of Steven’s name that escapes you would probably wake the mummified dead on the floor above when your body tremors with a pleasure so annihilating that you’re gushing, flooding around him and streaming tears from your eyes. Your toes curl almost painfully, gripping onto him so hard your knuckles go white.
The extra lubrication and easiness in which Steven is able to sink into your sopping heat must tip him over the edge alongside you, because even through your blinding relief you can feel his back arch slightly as he settles as far into your cunt as he can possibly go, emptying his load with a pitiful groan that melts all of your nerves. He’s slurring your name with each of his final thrusts, keeps going and going until he can’t take it anymore and he’s too sensitive to move.
Boneless, you slump against his heaving chest with a sob. The silence that follows is almost deafening, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to breathe evenly to steady the erratic slamming of your heart against your ribcage.
Massaging his fingers through your hair, Steven lets out a nervous laugh that causes you to burst into a fit of giggles through your exhaustion. Maybe it’s delirium that makes you find humor in the situation or the relief of so many months of pining for this one man. Regardless, it’s freeing. Your body feels lighter, though that could just be you floating after what is easily the best orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life.
“… Oh fuckin’ hell,” Steven is breathless, speaking over your laughter to point at the corner of the ceiling. “The fuckin’ camera.” Of course. This whole museum was covered in CCTV. Though, you hadn’t considered that when he’d practically begged you to make out with him.
“Oh well,” you breathe, sitting up to look him in the eyes and brush his curls from his face with a gentle stroke and a cheeky grin. “I’m sure J.B will love the view.”
Summary: Having been against touch all your life, now that you have three loving boyfriends, you’re overwhelmingly clingy. Cuddles, hand-holding, standing so close you’re up against them; but sometimes that’s just not close enough.
A/N: Soooo, I’m probably gonna do a Santi version of this? And Poe of course my space husband. Also this was supposed to involve Marc and Jake, but I couldn’t come up with a good story for them yet… :///
Rating/Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI, light smut, mention of virginity loss, cockwarming, fluff, a little angsty, hurt/comfort, cuddles, touch-starved reader, touch-starved Moon Bois
~🌙 Steven🌙 ~
You heaved a sigh.
It wasn’t enough.
Your life had been one of light touches, 30 second embraces, cuddles only when a small child or when crying– and that you certainly didn’t do often. As you grew older, you became averse to touch. The thought of hugs made you so uncomfortable you visibly cringed, personal space became a large issue for you, and even a mild handshake was enough to have you inwardly squirming with discomfort as if a centipede was crawling on you. Physical touch, you came to feel, was a very, very bad thing.
Until you met them.
Your boys.
Steven Grant, the sweet gift shop worker with a bit of sass, secretly a tough-ass in a tux when night rolls around. Marc Spector, his alter, the soft but rough mercenary who had pushed you away for weeks when you’d first met. And then Jake, the brutal cabbie driver who fronted only rarely, long enough to serve Khonshu or to protect his alters– until he met you. Marc could get past physical touch if necessary, but he didn’t like it. Jake despised it, he still wouldn’t let you within a foot of him at any given time. Steven was the most like you.
Yearning for touch but detesting it, you’d both, slowly, learned to overcome it. It was barely-there brushes of fingers when grabbing something from the other at first, which made you both yank back as if you’d been burned. There was a lot of talking. Unplanned touches sent Steven into a spiral of mild panic and you retreating into your shell. And so, one day, on the couch, you and Steven spent the day literally warming up to each other.
The first touch of his fingertips against yours made you both gasp, and then you remained like that. Hour by hour, you slowly began to increase the contact, until finally, you were holding hands. Many hours later, past midnight, you closed the distance between you in an embrace that left you both breathless with sobs at the contact. It felt unnatural to both of you, to be held like this.
And then, the unthinkable happened.
You started craving it.
He kissed you for the first time that night, and from that night onward you were always stealing kisses from each other. You slept entangled like koalas, facing each other. All those years of wanting someone to love you enough to hold you, and finally, you found him. Them. Because soon, Marc started to hold your hand, too.
It was Steven, though, that took your virginity, and you’re a little embarrassed to say that when you were cuddling afterward, you were quietly sobbing into his shoulder. “Hey… Love, did I hurt you?”
“No,” You’d answered, comforted by him rubbing your back. “Not at all. I just… I never knew…”
“How intimate this would be?” Steven finished softly.
“We’re so close,” You breathed in disbelief, about the fact that he of all people wanted this intimacy with you– this closeness. As close as two people could possibly become. “Please don’t go away. Ever.”
“Never,” Steven promised, sealing it with a kiss.
And while the cuddles, you clinging to him like a human backpack as he went about the house, and the constant entanglement of your bodies on some level comforted you, sometimes, when you were feeling especially in need of physical contact– like now– it just wasn’t enough.
Steven sat on the couch beside you, reading. You were pressed flush against his side, legs thrown over his lap, one between his knees. He had one arm around you, the other on his book, and his head laying on yours. And yet, despite this closeness…
It wasn’t enough.
You weren’t sure how to say this. Not at all. But there were some nights when you slept with Steven that he remained buried inside you, keeping you as close as humanly possible. It’s something you both clearly enjoy, but have never openly stated– so you wonder, what would he think of you saying it out loud? Asking for it without sex?
Of course he notices something is wrong. Maybe it’s the tenseness of your shoulders, or the way you keep shifting as if to get even closer. Steven lifts his head, taking his glasses off as he looks down at you. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Nothing,” You lied, a lie you’d told your entire life. It came easily now, a habit you’d never be able to break.
Steven made a face, carding his fingers through your hair. “Aw, dove. That’s not true. What is it, hm?” You could only shrug. Unsure of how to bring it up. Steven knows that you’re hiding something, but he doesn’t push you. He keeps massaging your scalp, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Alright, then; you can tell me when you’re ready.”
It isn’t until you’re getting ready for dinner that you are.
Steven is reading on the couch; his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you step out of the bathroom in the pretty short nightgown he likes so much, instead of going straight to making dinner with him like you’d planned. “L-love?!”
“Steven…” You say nervously, wringing your hands together. “Can… Can we try a different way of cuddling?”
“Yeah,” Steven answers, eyes raking over your body and drinking in the sight of you. “What’d you have in mind?”
“U-um…” You nervously crawl onto the couch beside him, on your knees as you struggle for the words. “You know how… uh… sometimes after we have sex, you uh… kinda…”
Steven’s quick. He gets it immediately. “You want to be connected, love?”
You let out a whooshing breath of relief. “Yeah.” Immediately after, you added, “I just want to be close to you, and today, it just… Cuddling just doesn’t feel like enough right now.”
“Well,” He leaned over to give you a warm kiss. “Sounds like a bloody good idea to me, dove.” His hand rested on your thigh, massaging the flesh gently. “You alright with me getting you ready? I don’t want to hurt you.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “You mean can I handle it without jumping you?”
Steven laughed quietly, his smile dazzlingly bright. “Yeah.” You nodded, and Steven didn’t waste any time. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his hand up your nightgown. You bit your lip as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slowly working you open and chuckling into your mouth as he kissed you messily. “Aw, love; you’re already soaked. Why didn’t you ask me for this earlier?”
He pulled his hand away and sucked his fingers clean with a soft moan, trying to ignore the fact that your face must have mimicked the sudden arousal you felt. “D-didn’t know how to ask–” You cut off as he guided you closer to him by your wrists. You planted a knee on either side of his hips, hovering there as he untied the drawstring of his sweatpants to remove his half-hard length.
“You can ask me anything,” Steven breathed, letting out a sharp intake of breath as his tip brushed your soaked folds. “Anytime,” He added, although it was more of a growl he started to enter you. Your jaw fell in a silent scream as he guided you down onto him. “That’s it, dove, that’s it– agh–” He bottomed out, stretching your walls to a slight burn; you gasped at the feeling as you involuntarily clenched around him. Your relieved sigh was music to his ears, and it took everything he had in him not to buck up into you– at least, not more than the two times he couldn’t help himself. He forced himself to sit still, and you saw him visibly struggling. Immediately, you felt guilty. Is this too much for him, too little?
“W-we don’t–”
“Just… just gimme a second, yeah?” He whispered, breathing deep to control himself. Eventually, his hands found your hips as he calmed, a sparkle in his eyes as he kissed you. “O-okay; I can hold out now. Feels good for you, dove?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, collapsing forward onto him and relaxing into his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of the waves of your emotions, of the feelings of warmth and safety. Steven wrapped one arm around you tightly, the other coming to rest on your stomach. He massaged your abdomen, making you both moan into your kisses when he nudged that place where his length rubbed against your insides. “There,” He breathed, keeping his hand still. He rubbed his nose against yours, trying to keep his breathing even. “Feel that?” He met your gaze, dark eyes conveying a sense of assurance. “I’m as close to you as I can ever be physically, love.” He eased up on the pressure, which was good, else you never would have lasted with him inside you. He gripped the back of your head as he kissed you, licking into your mouth and tracing your tongue with his. “But it doesn’t matter how close I physically am, does it?” He breathed into you, so softly you could barely hear him. “Because even if we’re apart, I will always be right,” He kissed you again, hand dropping to sit over where your heart was. “Here.”
“Don’t ever leave me, Steven,” You whispered, leaning into his touch.
“Never ever, not in a thousand years. Nothing’s ever going to take me away from you, dove. You hear me? Never. I promise.” Steven pressed his lips to yours passionately, lovingly, as if trying to convey how much he loved you without words. “If you ever need this, darling, just ask. I’d be more than willing.”
“I love you, Steven,” You sighed softly.
“Love you too, darling.” He shifted so that you were lying down. He faced you, keeping your back against the couch, wrapping his arms and legs around you protectively. He pecked your forehead. “With all my heart.” Dinner was forgotten, both of you falling fast asleep.
————————————————————————
Thanks for reading! I’m gonna be doing Marc, Jake, Poe, and Santi probably, eventually. ://
Summary: Having been against touch all your life, now that you have three loving boyfriends, you’re overwhelmingly clingy. Cuddles, hand-holding, standing so close you’re up against them; but sometimes that’s just not close enough.
A/N: Soooo, I’m probably gonna do a Santi version of this? And Poe of course my space husband. Also this was supposed to involve Marc and Jake, but I couldn’t come up with a good story for them yet… :///
Rating/Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI, light smut, mention of virginity loss, cockwarming, fluff, a little angsty, hurt/comfort, cuddles, touch-starved reader, touch-starved Moon Bois
~🌙 Steven🌙 ~
You heaved a sigh.
It wasn’t enough.
Your life had been one of light touches, 30 second embraces, cuddles only when a small child or when crying– and that you certainly didn’t do often. As you grew older, you became averse to touch. The thought of hugs made you so uncomfortable you visibly cringed, personal space became a large issue for you, and even a mild handshake was enough to have you inwardly squirming with discomfort as if a centipede was crawling on you. Physical touch, you came to feel, was a very, very bad thing.
Until you met them.
Your boys.
Steven Grant, the sweet gift shop worker with a bit of sass, secretly a tough-ass in a tux when night rolls around. Marc Spector, his alter, the soft but rough mercenary who had pushed you away for weeks when you’d first met. And then Jake, the brutal cabbie driver who fronted only rarely, long enough to serve Khonshu or to protect his alters– until he met you. Marc could get past physical touch if necessary, but he didn’t like it. Jake despised it, he still wouldn’t let you within a foot of him at any given time. Steven was the most like you.
Yearning for touch but detesting it, you’d both, slowly, learned to overcome it. It was barely-there brushes of fingers when grabbing something from the other at first, which made you both yank back as if you’d been burned. There was a lot of talking. Unplanned touches sent Steven into a spiral of mild panic and you retreating into your shell. And so, one day, on the couch, you and Steven spent the day literally warming up to each other.
The first touch of his fingertips against yours made you both gasp, and then you remained like that. Hour by hour, you slowly began to increase the contact, until finally, you were holding hands. Many hours later, past midnight, you closed the distance between you in an embrace that left you both breathless with sobs at the contact. It felt unnatural to both of you, to be held like this.
And then, the unthinkable happened.
You started craving it.
He kissed you for the first time that night, and from that night onward you were always stealing kisses from each other. You slept entangled like koalas, facing each other. All those years of wanting someone to love you enough to hold you, and finally, you found him. Them. Because soon, Marc started to hold your hand, too.
It was Steven, though, that took your virginity, and you’re a little embarrassed to say that when you were cuddling afterward, you were quietly sobbing into his shoulder. “Hey… Love, did I hurt you?”
“No,” You’d answered, comforted by him rubbing your back. “Not at all. I just… I never knew…”
“How intimate this would be?” Steven finished softly.
“We’re so close,” You breathed in disbelief, about the fact that he of all people wanted this intimacy with you– this closeness. As close as two people could possibly become. “Please don’t go away. Ever.”
“Never,” Steven promised, sealing it with a kiss.
And while the cuddles, you clinging to him like a human backpack as he went about the house, and the constant entanglement of your bodies on some level comforted you, sometimes, when you were feeling especially in need of physical contact– like now– it just wasn’t enough.
Steven sat on the couch beside you, reading. You were pressed flush against his side, legs thrown over his lap, one between his knees. He had one arm around you, the other on his book, and his head laying on yours. And yet, despite this closeness…
It wasn’t enough.
You weren’t sure how to say this. Not at all. But there were some nights when you slept with Steven that he remained buried inside you, keeping you as close as humanly possible. It’s something you both clearly enjoy, but have never openly stated– so you wonder, what would he think of you saying it out loud? Asking for it without sex?
Of course he notices something is wrong. Maybe it’s the tenseness of your shoulders, or the way you keep shifting as if to get even closer. Steven lifts his head, taking his glasses off as he looks down at you. “What’s wrong, love?”
“Nothing,” You lied, a lie you’d told your entire life. It came easily now, a habit you’d never be able to break.
Steven made a face, carding his fingers through your hair. “Aw, dove. That’s not true. What is it, hm?” You could only shrug. Unsure of how to bring it up. Steven knows that you’re hiding something, but he doesn’t push you. He keeps massaging your scalp, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Alright, then; you can tell me when you’re ready.”
It isn’t until you’re getting ready for dinner that you are.
Steven is reading on the couch; his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you step out of the bathroom in the pretty short nightgown he likes so much, instead of going straight to making dinner with him like you’d planned. “L-love?!”
“Steven…” You say nervously, wringing your hands together. “Can… Can we try a different way of cuddling?”
“Yeah,” Steven answers, eyes raking over your body and drinking in the sight of you. “What’d you have in mind?”
“U-um…” You nervously crawl onto the couch beside him, on your knees as you struggle for the words. “You know how… uh… sometimes after we have sex, you uh… kinda…”
Steven’s quick. He gets it immediately. “You want to be connected, love?”
You let out a whooshing breath of relief. “Yeah.” Immediately after, you added, “I just want to be close to you, and today, it just… Cuddling just doesn’t feel like enough right now.”
“Well,” He leaned over to give you a warm kiss. “Sounds like a bloody good idea to me, dove.” His hand rested on your thigh, massaging the flesh gently. “You alright with me getting you ready? I don’t want to hurt you.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “You mean can I handle it without jumping you?”
Steven laughed quietly, his smile dazzlingly bright. “Yeah.” You nodded, and Steven didn’t waste any time. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his hand up your nightgown. You bit your lip as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slowly working you open and chuckling into your mouth as he kissed you messily. “Aw, love; you’re already soaked. Why didn’t you ask me for this earlier?”
He pulled his hand away and sucked his fingers clean with a soft moan, trying to ignore the fact that your face must have mimicked the sudden arousal you felt. “D-didn’t know how to ask–” You cut off as he guided you closer to him by your wrists. You planted a knee on either side of his hips, hovering there as he untied the drawstring of his sweatpants to remove his half-hard length.
“You can ask me anything,” Steven breathed, letting out a sharp intake of breath as his tip brushed your soaked folds. “Anytime,” He added, although it was more of a growl he started to enter you. Your jaw fell in a silent scream as he guided you down onto him. “That’s it, dove, that’s it– agh–” He bottomed out, stretching your walls to a slight burn; you gasped at the feeling as you involuntarily clenched around him. Your relieved sigh was music to his ears, and it took everything he had in him not to buck up into you– at least, not more than the two times he couldn’t help himself. He forced himself to sit still, and you saw him visibly struggling. Immediately, you felt guilty. Is this too much for him, too little?
“W-we don’t–”
“Just… just gimme a second, yeah?” He whispered, breathing deep to control himself. Eventually, his hands found your hips as he calmed, a sparkle in his eyes as he kissed you. “O-okay; I can hold out now. Feels good for you, dove?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, collapsing forward onto him and relaxing into his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of the waves of your emotions, of the feelings of warmth and safety. Steven wrapped one arm around you tightly, the other coming to rest on your stomach. He massaged your abdomen, making you both moan into your kisses when he nudged that place where his length rubbed against your insides. “There,” He breathed, keeping his hand still. He rubbed his nose against yours, trying to keep his breathing even. “Feel that?” He met your gaze, dark eyes conveying a sense of assurance. “I’m as close to you as I can ever be physically, love.” He eased up on the pressure, which was good, else you never would have lasted with him inside you. He gripped the back of your head as he kissed you, licking into your mouth and tracing your tongue with his. “But it doesn’t matter how close I physically am, does it?” He breathed into you, so softly you could barely hear him. “Because even if we’re apart, I will always be right,” He kissed you again, hand dropping to sit over where your heart was. “Here.”
“Don’t ever leave me, Steven,” You whispered, leaning into his touch.
“Never ever, not in a thousand years. Nothing’s ever going to take me away from you, dove. You hear me? Never. I promise.” Steven pressed his lips to yours passionately, lovingly, as if trying to convey how much he loved you without words. “If you ever need this, darling, just ask. I’d be more than willing.”
“I love you, Steven,” You sighed softly.
“Love you too, darling.” He shifted so that you were lying down. He faced you, keeping your back against the couch, wrapping his arms and legs around you protectively. He pecked your forehead. “With all my heart.” Dinner was forgotten, both of you falling fast asleep.
————————————————————————
Thanks for reading! I’m gonna be doing Marc, Jake, Poe, and Santi probably, eventually. ://
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