in you i find solace
pairing: steven grant x fem!reader
word count: approx. 6k
warnings: SMUT, minors dni. piv sex. very brief allusions to mental illness. friends to lovers. nothing too explicit, very soft :’)
summary: thunderstorms are frightening. she finds herself wound up at her neighbour’s flat—aka her best friend’s residence—surrounded by candlelight and words unspoken. maybe the blown fuse was a blessing in disguise?
a/n: new fixation! very happy that i found something to give me a much-needed boost:) very excited to be able to write again!! i’m not sure how i did writing stevens character as accurate characterization isn’t my forte but this character is so. endearing i couldn’t help but to conjure something up :3
Thunder booms from outside and rain pounds the windows of her flat.
The weather is all-too familiar for England, and if she was a native to the British island perhaps she would've become desensitized to the deafening blow of the wind and pound of the rain on her window pane, but as a non-native, a mere nomad in search of adventure, she finds herself trembling with every shake of the building and jumping to every strike of lightning that illuminates her half-painted walls.
Lightning casts eerie shadows on the flat's grey and turquoise finish. The paint combination is obviously quite garish, and she's always hated the gauche seafoam that's adorned her flat's walls, always taking time to indulge in a few hours of painting—but this storm ravaging the old complex? It instilled fear and left behind something ominous in its wake. The irony is comical; for a woman in search of life, usually running from country to country with a bold fearlessness tramping through her veins, it's funny that the one thing she's frightened of haunts her latest residence: the flickering of the lights followed by the ground-shaking rumble of thunder and the absence of light. Complete and utter darkness; borderline perpetual rain.
So, with a candle lit in her trembling hand, hot wax dripping onto her skin due to the unfortunate lack of funds required to buy a holder, she scurries out of her flat and heads to the only true place she finds solace in in this busy city—her neighbour's flat.
"Steven," she whispers urgently, banging on the wooden door. "Can you let me in, please?"
Mere seconds pass by before the door swings open. Steven is holding one of his own candles, and behind him she can see a large array of them scattered around his messy flat. His eyebrows draw into a worried line and his dark eyes soften when they meet hers.
"Y/N? You alright?" he asks, concern laced in his words as his eyes widen slightly.
She ponders for a moment but subsequently decides to ditch the confident facade in exchange for one a lot more genuine.
"Erm," she hesitates, starting to feel a little foolish. She shouldn't have come over. She knows she can't handle the pound of the rain and the all-consuming darkness alone, though—
"Y/N?"
Steve's voice snaps her back to reality. His lips part in worry and the concern in his eyes and the blatant care emanating from his pajama-clad body is enough to induce an unfortunate onslaught of word-vomit.
"Oh, God," Y/N finally starts to pour out, eyes glinting with mania, "I'm not alright at all—the darkness is terrifying and I can't stand to be alone in my flat when I have one single candle to light! I really despise the shitty fuse system-thing in this complex, I swear to God it goes out every time there's a storm but now it's midnight and there's no daylight to spare and if I'm going to be honest with you, I am petrified of the dark and—"
"Y/N, calm down."
Steven's surprisingly even tone interrupts her and he steps out from beneath the threshold, gently placing a hand on her arm. His gaze is calming and his warm touch acts as an immediate benzodiazepine. With Steven's emergence, she can see dripping candles and various stacks of books within the flat: it's undoubtedly messy and covered in paper and notes, but in the plentiful amount of times she has entered—whether it be for an evening top-off after a night out or to grab that sodden bra she had left when the sudden downpour last week forced the pair to scurry back inside—she knew his flat to be an oddly endearing second home.
"It's okay," he continues sweetly, even going so far as to offer a smile. "Come in, if you want," he gestures, "it's a lot darker in the hall, we don't want anything to jump out and attack us, yeah?"
He laughs, but there's a tight and nervous edge to it.
Y/N attempts a smile. Learning to take Steven's bad jokes was a skill in itself.
"Odd joke choice considering the state I'm in," she says. She also tries to phrase it like a joke, but now she can't help but feel as if something is now looming behind her. She looks in behind Steven's stout frame. "Erm, I'll come in now, if that's alright?"
Steven's eyes widen as he stumbles out, "Of course, of course—"
She practically leaps into Steven's flat. Quickly placing her burning candle onto a wooden table already coated in dry wax, she jumps into the bed, shimmying under the cold sheets. He hums as he locks the door. When he finishes up, he turns towards her and starts to walk towards his bed; his eyes aren't locked on hers yet, and his fingers work at the knot at the band of his sweatpants.
"So, be honest," he begins, still working away at the string. The effectiveness in which he works and the way his large pyjama shirt rides up over his torso (exposing his surprisingly defined abdomen) causes a swarm of butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Or, rather, worms—Steven is her best friend, and although others may deem him as odd, it was a blatant fact that he did have a sort of unkempt-handsomeness to him. Steven continues and doesn't pick up on the way her eyes travel down his body. "Why didn't you tell me about this fear? You know I can help whenever you're feeling stressed or freaked or upset."
Y/N's heart warms at the sentiment but she only shrugs and pulls the covers up to her chin. The warmth from the candles and the woody scent of Steven on his pillow only aids in her attempts to relax.
"I'm not sure why I didn't tell you," she says sheepishly. "It's embarrassing, I guess—I act all tough, but something as mundane as darkness terrifies me. It's odd and childish and stupid."
Steven parts his lips to interject, and she suddenly remembers Steven's constant insistence to stop the self-deprecating remarks—she instead follows her sentence with an unconvincing chuckle of, "I guess. I don't really care, though."
Steven raises an unconvinced brow as he walks over to the bed and lies in the empty spot beside her.
"You don't care?" He asks, although he doesn't pose it as a question, but rather a statement. His lip twitches into a small half-smile. "I mean, you seemed to care when you ran in here all bamboozled an' stuff."
Y/N laughs breathily, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, well, sometimes we have to act like we don't care even though there's shit raging beneath the surface, you know?"
Steven's expression becomes distant and his usual warmth seems to fade.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
She picks up on this, but decides not to pry. Although Steven is a wonderful friend and companion, he is oddly secretive—it took her nearly three days out on the town to get him to admit his favourite ice cream flavour, and even with an exasperated throw of his hands in the air and an airy laugh, his answer sounded more like a question. Almost as if he himself didn't know.
Steven's sudden distance sparked a small silence.
Y/N realized that Steven probably felt lonely. Or thought that he would be ridiculed for the smallest, most unimportant things such as ice cream flavour (Steven's is lemon, and although it is questionable for her taste, she would never berate him). He was just a man trapped within a routine and a strong fear of rejection and ridicule.
In this revelation, Y/N's brows furrowed, drawn together with sympathy. She turned onto her side and placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump ever-so-slightly. But when his dark eyes met hers, body rolling over onto his side as well, she smiled and she could sense some of that tension dissipate when his body seemed to slump into her touch.
Tonight, the darkness is scary, but spending it with Steven, bathed in warm candlelight, makes her appreciate it just a small bit.
"You're a good friend," Y/N says. "Thank you for letting me stay here."
Her words are hushed, for she fears for speaking too loudly. Typically the night is an instrument of fear but now the night morphs into something quiet and revered.
Steven's tired eyes seem to glow. A small smile weaves its way onto his face and she swears she sees a peek of crimson pass behind his sharp cheekbones.
"Thanks," he whispers. "You are too—and it's really no problem."
Y/N has to bite her lip in order to contain the wide smile threatening to weave its way onto her face. And for some bold reason she can't really understand, she pushes herself closer towards him with a hum, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She places her head beneath his chin, resting it on his chest, and although she hears his breath hitch, she feels his hands slowly begin to lift the thin material of her blue camisole, caressing the smooth skin of her bare back. The movement is so heady it's nearly unnatural for him. But it results in an overwhelming sense of contentment both parties lack.
Y/N sighs and closes her eyes. She feels his head slowly begin to rest comfortably atop of hers, and it's enough to ignite a crazed fire in her heart. She never knew Steven Grant's warmth could be addicting.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment.
Y/N runs her fingers through his dark, unruly curls and hears him release a shaky breath. Steven does the same. Then, he pulls away ever-so slightly, smiling softly at the small frown turning down her lips before pressing his forehead to hers, gently smoothing his thumb over her cheek. It's so bold and not Steven but it is. She can see her reflection in his eyes and its warm and content, swathed in candlelight and darkness.
Maybe, with Steven, she can learn to treat the darkness as a friend.
His breath mangles with hers and he is unbearably close.
"Y/N?"
He is so soft-spoken. The words are said so quietly the syllables hardly brush past his lips.
Y/N hums and lifts her head, barely nudging his nose with hers. Steven gulps, and although it's a barely discernible noise, it's enough to make her heart race.
"I... I love being with you, Y/N," he says. His eyes flit back and forth between her own. "You make me feel... not alone, anymore. You... you embrace the stupid oddities and quirks and are so loved for it—you are just... God, you're so amazing. Thank you."
Y/N's face crumbles into an expression of sheer elation.
"You really think that?" she whispers, eyes sparkling like crushed diamonds. "You think rather nicely of a grown woman afraid of the dark." She laughs and doesn't fight the urge to run her fingers through his scalp. "You're a funny man, Steven Grant."
Steven chuckles airily and brushes her nose with his. He says nothing. His smile, the overabundance of utter tenderness radiating from him... it's enough to make her heart beat out of her chest. She thinks it might grow wings and fly out into the storm at this point; and hopefully, it can join up with Steven's rapidly beating one too, and perhaps they can manage to fuse that chordae tendineae of the heart or spindle fibres of the cell and create something new.
Something whole.
Something that can embrace the literal darkness of life; something that can learn to fight off the evil lurking within that darkness.
And for reasons unknown, when thunder illuminates the room and the beautiful figure of perpetually exhausted Steven reveals itself to look rested, Y/N doesn't fight the urge to lean closer. Their eyes flit to each other's lips, lips parted in anticipation. Her nose, her lips, her forehead, they brush against his once again and his minty breath mingles with hers—she fights back a smile at the sudden vision of him brushing his teeth with candlelight. Oh, Steven. No one compares.
Perhaps she's waited too long, studying and revelling in the beauty that is him.
"Y/N," Steven breathes for what must be the umpteenth time that night. Y/N feels his eyelids flutter closed and she smiles—damn those enviable long eyelashes. He's so beautiful. Steven's lips barely brush against hers. "Is it alright if I—"
"Yes," she sighs, not waiting to hear his answer before boldly connecting her lips to his.
This kiss is soft and tender. It's unadulterated emotion and the simple placement of ones' lips on another. Y/N feels Steven's eyebrows furrow as he reaches up to gently hold her face, and her throat involuntarily allows a small whimper to pass through her nose. He smiles against her mouth, taking the liberty to gather a handful of hair from the back of her head.
It feels so right. Nothing has ever felt so right in her life.
She melts into his touch.
"Kiss me like you mean it, Scotty," she murmurs.
Steven smiles again, "It's Steven."
"I know."
"God, I love you."
Y/N's heart is surely going to burst now. She's not sure if he even noticed the admittance, but the sudden, gentle touch of his tongue to hers is enough to rid her of all thoughts she's ever had and all the thoughts she will have. She inhales shortly, tentatively swiping her tongue over his bottom lip before entering his mouth. Colours explode behind her eyes and although Steven's kiss is messy and frantic and hidden behind shades of dirtiness and desire, it's passionate and binding and tastes of citrus and mint. She runs her hands through his hair, tugging gently, and his quiet grunt of pleasure is the act that confirms—no longer is Y/N trying to ignore the pulsing growing stronger between her thighs. Embracing his tongue and the messy altering between passion and adoration and frenzy, she throws her leg over his own, lifting herself to straddle his thighs.
Steven's eyes darken and a thin sheen of sweat beads at the top of his forehead. His chest heaves and his mouth is parted in awe as Y/N takes the liberty to sensually circle her hips, moving her hands up her body starting with her torso to her neck, eventually wrapping them around her camisole. She bites her swollen bottom lip and her breastbone also heaves, overtaken by lust.
"Is this okay?" she asks huskily, leaning down to press a series of wet kisses to Steven's neck. As she sucks, she feels him swallow and nod.
"Y-Yeah, it's definitely okay," he sighs, running his hands up the expanse of her thighs and waist with hungry eyes. Suddenly, she has the urge to thank whatever higher power had her absolutely set on wearing spandex shorts to bed. Leaning down once again to press her lips to his, she rolls her body against the growing bulge under his sweatpants, gently biting on his neck. Steven grunts, and she feels the ghost of his hands reach to caress her bum before quickly pulling away. It seems as though he has chosen to lay his hands awkwardly beside him instead of touching her—it's enough to make her smile, because it reminds her that she is indeed intimate with none other than Steven, a respectful yet slightly awkward man.
She peppers a trail of kisses from his collarbone—thank the Lord for his oversized tee—to his neck and then to his earlobe, nibbling on the flesh. She feels him shudder and mutter something under his breath.
"Steven," she hums into his ear, fingers deciding to tangle themselves in his already wild make-out hair, "you know you're allowed to touch me."
He gulps. "I know."
"Then why don't you?" she says lowly, continuing to kiss his collarbones.
"I don't wanna disrespect you." He squeezes his eyes shut and tosses his head back at her touch. "You're too lovely."
Y/N's ministrations cease and her expression softens. She leans back to sit onto his thighs once more, gently grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to her lips, tenderly trying to convey how much that means without using words. And by the look on his face, with his stretched-out collar and wide eyes, she thinks he understands. She places a final kiss to his palm and instead of setting it down beside him he cups her cheek once more, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone.
She sighs and presses another kiss to the pad of his thumb. "You're so sweet."
Steven only smiles in response. He gets it.
He pulls his hands away from her face and runs his fingers over the small design on the hem of her camisole. Aptly rolling up the bottom of the top, his chest begins to heave once more, and he sits up with her still in his lap, whispering, "Move your arms up. Please."
She doesn't hesitate, and the feeling of Steven's fingertips trailing the expanse of her skin is heavenly. He takes the camisole off, leaving her only in a nude bralette; he has seen her shirtless a few times, like with the downpour incident, but in this context, the softness of her skin underneath his rough fingertips is a lot more sacred. Pulling away for a moment, Steven takes the time to admire the whole of her, running his hands up and down her sides. He looks utterly enamoured.
"You're beautiful, Y/N," he praises, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips that has her frowning and chasing his own when he pulls away much too early for her liking. He then leans forward to kiss her neck to make up for it, a sensation so fruitful it has her throwing her head back and tangling her fingers in his hair, letting out a satisfied sigh. Steven pulls away, again too soon for her liking, but only before he runs his fingers against the elastic bottom of her bralette.
His eyes become darker, if possible, and he slowly eases the fabric up and over her head, exposing her bare breasts and the thrumming of her heart against her ribcage.
In past instances, the hunger that glinted behind former lovers' eyes was borderline malicious and animalistic. But, Steven? His stare is drenched in admiration. It's so raw it makes her core throb.
His mouth opens and closes. His hands continue to knead at the flesh by her hips. And for once, she and him both find the eager man at a loss for words. He slowly runs his hands up her stomach, and when he finally reaches her breast, the darkness behind his eyes is all-consuming.
"God," is all he says—no, groans—before suddenly grabbing her by the hips and flipping her over with a grunt, leaving him on top. Y/N smiles and cups his face in her hands, bringing him to her lips once again. Now, the kiss is dirty and longing, and all hints of sensuality are thrown out the window.
Steven pulls away, leaving a string of saliva attached to their lips before going down, down, down, letting out a quiet groan before attaching his mouth to her pebbled nipple. He gently sucks, occasionally nipping, leaving Y/N a writhing mess on his bed, winding her hands in his hair once again. His ministrations are sure to accommodate both nipples, teeth marking the supple flesh of her breasts and lips latching onto any expanse of flesh he can get.
"Steven," she whimpers suddenly, gently pushing his head away, "Can you take off your shirt?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, 'course," Steven says hastily, even though he looks surprised when he glances down to his chest, seemingly forgetting that he had not yet rid himself of the scratchy fabric. He quickly takes it off and tosses it somewhere in the room, facing her slightly debauched form with a wide smile. "Better?"
Y/N's mouth runs dry.
She had seen his defined back through some of his tighter-fitting clothing. However, she had not expected him to be so... shaped. His tanned skin was littered with tiny freckles and old scars, toned abdomen taut and lean. Y/N was never really familiar with the idea of him being a regular gym-goer, but in his god-like radiance, she couldn't find it in herself to think or care about how these magnificent abs came into existence.
"Steven Grant," Y/N gawks, "you're really hot."
Steven smiles almost bashfully before kissing her breast again, using his other hand to knead at the fatty mound. "You're not too bad yourself, Y/N."
Y/N shakes her head and feels a blush crawl up her cheeks as she tries to hold her composure.
"No, I mean like, I would literally shag you at any given moment if I saw you on the street—oh." She throws her head back into his pillows when his teeth graze her nipple. "Steven..."
"Hm?"
She pushes him from her breast and looks him in the face. The shine of his saliva and the redness of his lips and the flush of colour flooding his face is enough to make her orgasm. He looks divine.
"You are beautiful," she says, throwing her arms over his shoulders and relishing in the way his bare stomach feels pressed against hers. "You are very handsome, love." She kisses him. "I mean it."
Steven is silent for a moment.
"Thanks," he whispers. He doesn't say much, but she knows whatever he wants to say has already been said, and he knows that she knows it, too.
Steven kisses her softly, passionately, sensually; he abandons the dirtiness for it is false. He falls back onto his knees, looking at Y/N through dark lashes as he starts to slowly pull the shorts and panties from her legs. Her breath catches in her throat when she is left completely bare.
"Steven..."
"Sh," he encourages, gently pushing her legs open. His eyes look from her bare core to her heaving form, and he spits onto his fingers before thrusting them before Y/N's puffy lips. "Lubrication," he explains.
She obeys, and if anything, the unawareness causes her to get even wetter. The saltiness of his fingers mixed with the sweetness of his saliva is enough to send her reeling. She sucks hard, closing her eyes and humming as Steve's other hand clutches her wet mound. When deemed lubricated enough (even though Y/N's been dripping the entire time), Steve makes a pleased noise and gently taps at her clit. At this she jolts, and without warning, Steve shoves two fingers into her cunt.
"Oh, fuckkkk," she whines, trembling from the absurdity of it all. "Shit."
"Yeah, that's it," he mumbles quietly as he sinks onto his knees, watching her squelching core with fascination. "Doin' so well."
Y/N is reduced to only moans when Steve expertly (she doesn't know where this experience came from, though she does not care to ask) curls his fingers upwards, hitting the spongy spot inside of her that has her seeing stars. She gasps and throws her head back, throwing out a hand to grab any part of Steven he would give to her. With a grunt, he reaches out a hand and she grips it tightly, trying not to make any loud noises.
"Y/N," Steven says from above her, tone sweet, "I want to hear you. Please."
"Mhm," she manages to respond. Tears form at the corners of her eyes.
Steven smiles. "Good."
Y/N trembles at the praise, only letting out a high-pitched whine.
"Oh, God, you're so—FUCK! STEVEN! Oh, fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna come—"
The sudden fondling of her clit without warning is enough to push her over the edge. She gasps and arches her back, feeling waves of white-hot pleasure shooting through her body. She grips the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white and her mouth seems to be open in a perpetual o-shape, glimmering with spit in the candlelight, eyes squeezed shut.
Her pleasure is so visceral it is wordless. Steven smiles. He presses a multitude of kisses to her collarbones and tangles his fingers in her hair, making soft crooning noises as he coaxes her through orgasm.
"That's it, good girl," he whispers innocently, moving his head to allow her to grab onto his dark curls. Suckling on the juncture between her neck and collarbones, eliciting a content hum from her, she realizes that Steven's nature is so utterly caring and nurturing she knows his words aren't spawned from lust. It's genuine, and if anything, it sends another storm of fluttering butterflies to her sensitive core.
The pulsing inside her ceases, and Steven's touch doesn't feel so ghost-like anymore.
She opens her eyes and meets Steven's.
"Holy shit," is all she says. She laughs. "You're a madman."
A small smile quirks up his rosy lips. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she confirms. She moves upwards to tangle her hand in his hair, resting the other one on his back. He presses his forehead to hers and she hums. "You're quite something," she whispers.
Steven sighs.
"You are, too," he responds softly.
Gently, he grabs her hands in his, falling back onto his knees. He guides them to the waistband of his boxers and his eyes are dark.
"Is this okay?" he says quietly. Insecurity but flaming boldness flashes behind his eyes.
Y/N's heart flutters and she nods.
"Of course," she says. She looks up at him and nods once again, encouraging him. "Fuck me, Steven."
A noise gets stuck in his throat at her words. "God," he groans, shaking his head with a small, incredulous smile, "I'm the madman?"
Y/N grins.
And with that, he falls back down on top of her, allowing her to pull down his boxers. The moment it takes to awkwardly wiggle out of them is barely even remembered (besides from Steven's loud yelp when he lost his balance and almost fell off the bed, eliciting an ugly snort from Y/N's naked frame) before she catches sight of his cock: if the thickness isn't the most impressive asset of his, it's the length; Y/N has to hold back the involuntary bulge of her eyes at the sight.
She gulps. She expects nothing less than a staggering gait for the next week.
Steven's eyes are piercing as he lowers himself down, placing his elbows beside her head. He kisses her forehead and mumbles against the hot flesh, "You ready?"
Y/N hums and rubs her hands over his back. "I've never been more ready for anything."
At that, the smile that lights up Steven's face is so soft it can be compared to the finest of cashmeres. Sweetness and adoration is practically dripping from his entire being and when he finally pushes into her, the tip slowly stretching her opening, they both gasp.
Steven grunts and lets his head fall into the crook of her neck. He begins to thrust, setting the pace so unbelievably gentle and slow and passionate it nearly causes her to shudder and go limp. He's grounding. Every ridge of his cock within her walls is perfect, as if the conjoining of their bodies has always been fate; something put rigidly in-line by a higher power. A sense of liberation from earthly conditioning and a taste of destiny.
For a brief moment, she decides that the gods Steven studies so avidly are most definitely real in order to produce a sensation such as this.
Her hands clutch at Steven's back as her mouth falls open, feeling his thrusts pick up in pace.
His lips fall from her name like a prayer and she tugs his hair, throwing her head back into his soft pillow. It's Steven everywhere and it's all-consuming: his smell in his pillows, sheets, the warmth of his skin and the expanse of small freckles on his back. She could get lost in him.
"Fuck," she moans. Steven continues thrusting. She knows he can't speak and she sees the urgency and love in his eyes when every dark curl bounces against the sweaty sheen of his forehead. "You're so good," she continues praising, wrapping her legs around his waist. "I trust you, fuck, I love you so much, Steven."
His groan is guttural. "Shit," he whimpers.
He begins picking up his pace. The sound of moans echoing throughout the flat - one deep and one high-pitched - is a dirty cocophany of raw human emotion. The sound of his balls slapping against her wet heat, the sound of his gasps when she scratches her nails down his back. It's too much yet not enough.
"Harder," Y/N gasps desperately, squeezing him tighter between her thighs.
His head falls into the crook of her neck once more as he manages to groan out, "I don' wanna hurt you."
"I don't care."
Steven's body shudders and he nips harder at her neck. "Fucking hell."
He slowly pulls out and leaves her entrance dripping before slamming back in once again.
Y/N cries out and clutches at the sheets once again, eagerly welcoming the large hand that flies out to grasp it. Steven looks utterly debauched: his murmurs of praise mixed with the sheen of sweat on his body, the contours of his abdomen and his long eyelashes that flutter with every perfect clench of her walls is enough to send her over the edge alone. She always knew he was handsome, but in this state, his attractiveness is nearly enough to make her come.
She squeezes his hand in hers and manages to make eye contact. The sounds have faded into the background and she's only focused on the building orgasm between her thighs and the look of utter pleasure etched into Steven's face.
"Fuck, Stevie," she whimpers. Her cries egg him on and she feels the tip of his cock brush her cervix, sending her into a spiral of loud moans. His dick is so deep she can almost see it through the walls of her stomach. The sight causes her to gasp and throw her head back, arching her back as Steve disconnects his lips from her neck to instead place them on her lips. He kisses her with fierce intensity, swallowing her moans and attempting to cover his own.
"Shit," he whines, causing his teeth to clash with hers, "I'm really fuckin' close."
Y/N pulls away ever-so slightly, a string of saliva keeping them connected. She leans up to kiss his shoulder and cups his face with her trembling hands.
"Let go, honey," she encourages, eyebrows furrowing into a pleasure-filled line. She kisses him again, initiating the dirtiest kiss of the night; she licks his tongue and he nips at hers with a loud whine, pressing his lips to hers, hard. "Come inside of me, Steven—"
"Oh, fuck!"
His cry is guttural and laced with pure ecstasy. He grunts as his thrusts become irregular, and Y/N gasps, pulling his head close to her. She kisses his hair and coaxes him through his own orgasm, hushing him with her own sweet words, rolling her hips up to meet his sputtering cock. He's coating the inside of her walls with his seed and it's intimate and hot and sensational, and Lord, if she didn't come from penetration, this alone would be it.
"That's right, it's okay," she coos, rubbing his back as his grunts start to become deeper in pitch. "You're doing so good."
Steven shudders. The slow roll of his hips cease and he finally stills inside of her, meeting her heaving breastbone with his chest. Y/N continues to whisper as she gently threads her fingers through his unruly hair.
There's a content silence.
Steven then lifts his head up, revealing a pair of dark, hooded eyes clouded with lust and exhaustion.
"You didn't come," he says suddenly.
Y/N is stunned for a moment. She was so lost in his beauty that the idea of coming had completely left her mind, and she can't recount a time that had ever happened. It's quite new. An experience unparalleled to any other. It's something lovely and wrapped in the soft clutches of admiration.
So, all she does is smile, and bring his soft lips to hers.
"I don't care," she whispers. "Just being here with you is enough."
Steven looks unsure. "Are you sure?"
"100%."
"You're pulling my leg."
"No, I'm telling the truth!" she laughs, throwing her hands up as Steven gives her a look. This look is prolonged when he collapses beside her, resting his head on his palm. Y/N turns to her side to meet his gaze, eyes clouded with mirth. "I'm being honest, I truly didn't care - just watching you was enough to satisfy me."
Steven frowns. "What is that even supposed to mean?"
Y/N shrugs, containing a smile with a bite of her lip as she moves her head up to rest on his bare chest. She feels his arms instinctively wrap around her and it sends her heart into a crazed thrum.
"I dunno," she tells him. "I guess it means I like you or something." The admittance is attempted to be said casually, and she hopes Steven takes it as such, but the pounding of her heart beneath her ribs and the hopefulness she exudes is enough to make her combust. She tangles their legs together and says no more.
She feels Steven reluctantly nod in agreement before the movement suddenly stops.
"Wait," he says. Confusion is evident in his tone, "You like me? Me?"
"Yes," she breathes.
And for once in his life, Steven stops talking. Instead, a love-drunk smile weaves his way onto his face as he pulls her naked body closer.
"Interesting," is all he can manage.
"Indeed."
Steven rubs her back and feels her breath against his chest.
"Y/N?" he implores.
She perks her head up, although her eyes are closed, and hums.
"I.. I, uh, like you too. I think." he says quietly.
He feels Y/N's smirk against his skin. "You think?"
Steven is silent for a moment. "Uh, yeah?"
"You're funny," she chuckles breathily after a second. Sleep coats her words like syrup and she finds herself pushing closer into his warmth. And before she drifts off to sleep, Steven feels her lips twitch into a contented smile, and he knows that although he might've phrased his own admittance wrong, she still understands. She'll always understand him, and she'll always relish in his presence, whether it be intimate or strictly professional or nothing other than platonic. And when she finally does drift off to sleep in Steven's arms, the smile he gives her is saturated with every nighttime top-up, every conversation about foreign lands and Egyptology, every tender fleeting touch they both failed to recognize... it's one of utter admiration, and oddly, acceptance; for the odd pair that is Steven and Y/N, two persons in search of contentment and the sense of home—they can finally manage to find solace in each other.
