#steven grant x female reader

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

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[pimosworld]

Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner. 

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement. 

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

  For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items  in the gift shop. 

  He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you. 

  Ask her now

  It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known. 

  He’s right, ask her

  It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop. 

  “I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?” 

  You said yes before he could even get the words out. 

  That was a few months ago. 

  ****

  Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened. 

  I told you to just give her a key hermano 

  Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you. 

  You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that. 

  He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs. 

  Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder. 

  ****

  “I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys. 

  “It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys. 

  “Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping. 

  “Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.” 

  Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first. 

  He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other. 

  “There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms. 

  “Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.” 

  He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

  I would do what she says if I were you. 

  He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

  ****

  Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions. 

  You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him. 

  His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong. 

  Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him. 

  The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs. 

  “What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside. 

  “I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer. 

  “Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

  Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

  “Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

  Say yes Steven

Say yes Steven

  It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would. 

  “Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying. 

  It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires. 

  You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times. 

  He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him. 

  The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind. 

  The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted. 

  He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop. 

  Fuck

  Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine. 

  You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The  dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head

  “What?” He rasps out above you. 

  You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow. 

  “I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud. 

  Idiota

  “Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

  His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little. 

  “Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping. 

  Listen to me and don’t say anything 

  Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements. 

  You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it. 

  You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer. 

  “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least. 

  You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. 

  It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions. 

  The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain. 

  You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually. 

  “I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.” 

  Cállate y déjale

  “It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest. 

  You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face. 

  The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon. 

  “That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin. 

  “I’m glad I could help.” 

  The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax. 

  “Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on. 

  He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment. 

  “You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life. 

  “I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.” 

  I love her 

Ella es perfecta

  You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch. 

  “I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it. 

  He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying  to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food. 

  His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands. 

  “Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. 

  Smooth

  “Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

  “Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.” 

  You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it. 

  “Eat up, before it gets cold.” 

  Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece 

  He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you. 

  ****

  Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work. 

  Steven: where are you love?

      On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

  Steven: It was quite dreadful 

           I’ll be home soon to make it better 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I Didn't Know You Smoked

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Steven has a secret habit.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Everytime I write something I feel myself putting on the clown make up more and more.

Warnings: Use of ‘fag’ as the British and Australian slang for cigarette, reader doesn’t smoke, blow job, fingering, p in v sex, cream pie, maybe kind of a cream pie kink from Steven if you look closely, swearing, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2741

The scent of smoke caused you to pause midstep. You shrugged off your backpack and hung it up on the side as you walked to the kitchen and put down your shopping bag. You’d been able to start cooking when you realised you were missing a few key ingredients and had made a quick dash to the corner shop. 

The smell of smoke hit you again, and even though it was very clearly cigarette smoke your mind quickly spiralled to smoke from a fire. Shit. Had you left a candle on in the bathroom? 

You’d lit one when you had a bath after work, the image of the flame somehow catching the towels and running up the walls burst into your head. 

You rushed to the bathroom, yanking open the door with such a force that the hinges groaned under your exertion. 

Steven practically jumped out of his skin, whipping his head around to look around at you, his eyes wide. “What the fuck?” He yelps.

“Shit, Steven, sorry, I thought I’d left a cand…” You pause, and truly take in the scene before you. 

He’s stood on the toilet, crouched a little so that he can reach the tiny top part of the window that actually opens. There’s a cigarette in his left hand. You can just see it from your angle. Steven’s hand outside in the cool evening air.

“You’re smoking?” There isn’t any judgement in your voice, just surprise. 

“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” he turns to hastily blow smoke out of the window, practically trying to shove his whole face outside before he grabs the old jar from were he had propped it on the window sill and stubs out his cigarette hastily. He puts the butt in there after and screws on the lid. 

You’d seen that old jar on his desk plenty of times. Just assumed it was filled with odds and ends. You didn’t realise it was his secret ashtray. 

The sight of him blowing out the billow of smoke is kind of… nice actually. Despite his obvious panic there’s something about it you can’t quite put your finger on. You shake your head. 

“No, don’t worry, I just… didn’t know you smoked?” 

Jake smoked, you could set your watch to his cigarette breaks; they were so precise. But he would always, without fail, go outside. Rain or shine, freezing cold or oppressive heat. He didn’t seem to mind if the lift was broken or not, outside he would go and the butt would go in the bin on the street after. Never on the floor. Jake was a stickler for that, had got into more than one verbal (and physical) fight with strangers who just flicked their fag onto the pavement. 

Marc had smoked, several years ago. But had quit and never touched another one since. It always used to puzzle him when he had the craving for one after not smoking for over a decade. 

Most other ex-smokers he spoke to talked about being revolted by cigarettes once they had fully stopped for a few years. Now that he knew about Jake, and his continuing habit, whenever the urge got too strong he just tapped out and let Jake go for a cigarette. (Marc still argued that smoking was bad for them, while Jake countered that technically Khonshu’s suit healed any damage every time they wore it. Which had led to a very lengthy debate over if Jake’s true reasoning for serving the moon god was so that he didn’t have to quit his nicotine fix.)

They didn’t smoke often, and Jake went more than out of his way to minimise any smell that clung to them. But it meant that you never found it puzzling if they smelt like smoke. It just meant Jake had had one. 

Steven had never mentioned smoking himself, in fact he often scolded Jake for it. 

“I don’t smoke, I mean,” Steven blushed a little, his shoulder slumping. “Well, that’s a lie, innit? I smoke… sometimes?”

“Sometimes?” You repeat with a small smile.

“Sometimes… just sort of,” he shrugs. “Feel the urge sometimes. I used to… before I met Marc and Jake, once or twice a month, just one fag, you know? I hid a packet under the sink.” 

“Under the sink?” You laugh kindly and Steven smiles and nods. 

“Yeah, here,” he gets down off the toilet and points at a little space under the taps. “And then I’d smoke out the window so I didn’t set the alarm off or stink out the place. I tell you, I used to always get confused because sometimes I would smell a bit like smoke, even though I hadn’t touched them in weeks.” He shrugs again. “I thought that’s just what happened.” 

You chuckle. “And you still sneakily have a fag every now and then.” 

He nods and grins bashfully, “every now and then… I know I should be good and go outside like Jake does but… it’s like, part of the ritual now. You know? Stand at an awkward angle and half hang my head out of the window. Wouldn’t feel right otherwise… plus sometimes I just can’t be fucked.” 

You laugh loudly and he smiles, glad that his little joke amused you. 

“Marc and Jake don’t know…” He says shyly. 

You nod and mime zipping your lips and he grins again. 

“Thank you, love.” 

You lean to give him a quick kiss but he pulls back a little.

“Sorry, I mean, I definitely taste like smoke, disgusting, you don’t want that do you? No.” He shakes his head. “I’ll brush my teeth.” 

You screw your face up a little in what Steven at first assumes is agreement at not wanting to kiss him while he tasted of cigarettes. 

You let out a little grumble and take hold of his cheeks, holding him firmly as you place a kiss on his lips. 

Even though the action is brief he does taste like smoke. And it’s kind of… nice again. A strange little spark of heat begins to grow in your belly and suddenly you can’t get the idea of fucking Steven with a cigarette dangling between his lips out of your mind. 

The way you know he would writhe and whimper, biting down on the butt to try his hardest to stop it from slipping out of his mouth. 

He moans low against you as you slide your tongue against his, spreading that smokey flavour across your taste buds. 

“Hmm,” he pulls back just a fraction to speak, even though his hands slide to your hips to pull you closer. “What’s gotten into you, love?” He grins.

“Nothing,” you mumble and kiss down his jaw, running your teeth over his neck and leaving sloppy bites.

Steven shivers, a little gasp of air hitching in his throat as he urges you even closer. You bump against his quickly hardening cock and he groans, bucking his hips forward to rut against you. Kissing his neck was always his weak spot. Practically guaranteed to get him hot under the collar at a second's notice. 

He whines a little as you move away from him for a momentarily, his fingers tighten instantly against you, trying to keep the space between your bodies to a minimum. 

“Here,” you grab at the cigarette packet on top of the cistern, and pull one out before you offer it to him.

Steven raises his eyebrow at you. 

“Just, erm, can you put it in your mouth?” 

He pauses for a second, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “I don’t want to smoke in front of you love, if I’m messing up my own lungs then-”

“No, no, you don’t have to light it… just…” 

His eyes widen ever so slightly and a small smile pulls at his lips. “You like it, huh?” He teases softly. 

“No.” Heat burns at your skin but you can’t help but laugh lightly. “...yeah.” 

He chuckles and takes the cigarette, nuzzling into your cheek. “Alright, but… let’s not tell Jake about this, yeah?” 

You raise your eyebrow at him this time. “And why is that?” 

“Oh,” Steven shrugs, moving the cigarette between his fingers in an almost hypnotic pattern, “no real reason.” 

“Really?” You grin.

“Hmm,” he smiles playfully, “Jake gets lots of things.”

“Does he?” 

“Yeah… and maybe I want this to be my thing.” He kisses you quickly before he puts the cigarette in his mouth and leans close to your ear. “I bet if I stuck my hand down your trousers my fingers would come back soaking, wouldn’t they?” 

“Steven,” you try to chastise but your voice comes out all whiney and desperate. You can’t take your eyes off the way the cigarette just hangs from the corner of his mouth, bobbing with every word. 

He chuckles, taking it from between his lips so he can kiss you roughly, and hold the back of your neck with his other hand. 

You lick hungrily into his mouth and push him back against the wall, trying to regain some control over yourself and the situation. 

He lets you, in all honesty he always lets you do whatever you wanted, smiling the whole time when you pull back like the cat that got the cream. “Never thought you’d have a smoking kink, love.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth.

“It’s not a smoking kink,” you scowl playfully and drop to your knees. 

“No?” He teases lightly, pretending to take a long drag. 

“No.” You unbuckle his jeans, pulling down the zip and relishing the sound of his contented sigh as you palm his cock. 

There’s a little wet patch of precum already soaking into his boxers from the tip, a visual cue of how desperate he is despite his quite commendable effort at seeming calm. His dick twitches as you touch him, as you languidly push his trousers and underwear down his hips and take his length in hand. 

“No,” you repeat, “I have a you smoking kink.” You give him a little smile as you look up at him before you run the tip of your tongue along his velvet warm length.

He shivers, letting out a small cry of satisfaction as his eyes close and eyebrows pinch together. The sight of him pressing his head back against the tiles with the cigarette at the edge of his mouth sends a sharp thrill down your spine. 

You lap at his slit, board, flat licks that have him shaking and squirming in no time as you lightly squeeze and pump him from the base. 

He tries to stay still, to let you play and tease at your own pace for as long as possible. But his self control is rapidly dissolving. 

By the time you suck his bulbous head into your mouth he’s practically crawling up the walls. He groans low in his chest, glancing down so he can watch you slowly bob your head back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper each time. 

You moan around him, trying to open your jaw and take him further but he’s so thick it’s nearly impossible. 

Heat burns distractingly at your core and you can’t sit still, shifting on your knees to rub your legs together to try to relieve a fraction of that maddening ache. 

He wants to grab you by the back of the neck and force his cock down your throat, wants to buck and trust and cum so deeply until he spills from your lips. 

Instead he bites his teeth together, almost severing the cigarette in two and claws at the tiles as bliss twists and grows in his stomach. 

You manage to take him a fraction deeper, your throat aching as you pick up the pace, squeezing his thighs and swirling your tongue around his tip as if your life depended on it, as if his pleasure was the only way for you to breathe. 

His stomach muscles clench, balls contract and you can tell he’s painfully close by the little whimpered moans that slip past his lips with every breath. You’re about to-

Suddenly he grabs hold of your chin, pulling you back off him and groaning at the trail of salvia that connects him to your mouth. He pulls you up and into his arms with a rare show of his strength and kisses you deeply, the cigarette falling to the floor. 

“Steven,” you moan, the sound muffled by his lips. 

“Off, off, off,” he mutters, undoing your trousers and pulling off your top and bra. He strips you so fast it makes your head spin, and then he’s sitting on the toilet lid and pulling you down onto his lap to straddle his thighs. 

Your hands fly to his shoulders and you have just enough time to tug his t-shirt over his head before he presses two thick fingers into your entrance. 

You moan, keening as he curls them, the sensation like lightening along your nerves and Steven swears.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking ready for me,” he mumbles, salivating as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and pushes you down onto his needy, weeping cock. His hips instinctively buck up as his tip notches in your entrance, sheathing himself halfway.

You moan, high pitched and throwing your head back as he stretches you deliciously. You barely have a second to adjust before he grabs your hips and forces you all the way down and it’s perfect. So full and hitting so wonderfully deep that you gasp. You can feel your slick gushing out of you, making a mess of him as he bounces you on his cock. 

He groans, eyes glazed over, blurting out fragments of sentences with every thrust. “Can’t believe you like me smokin’ that much, fucking amazing, so wet, squeezing me so tight, ah,” he moans loudly, pushing his forehead against yours and kissing you messily, so hungry for every part of you. 

You gasp against him, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own and chasing that sweet release so desperately. 

“Gonna fucking smoke everyday, become a chain smoker just so I can always have you whining on my cock, every single second, just keep you filled up and- oh shit!” Pleasure cracks into his being, surprising him with its suddenness and intensity. He moans loudly, rutting against you as he pumps you full of his spend. His skin sweaty, his hair clingy to his forehead as his hips slow and he comes down from his high.

Steven looks up at you with dark eyes, “fuck, sorry.” He kisses you sweetly, still breathing hard. 

“It’s okay,” you stroke his head and he preens up into your touch. Your thighs twitch, your need still thudding hard and making you squirm ever so slightly. 

Steven hisses softly at the movement, overstimulation flooding his mind with both pain and pleasure. 

“Sorry, I-”

“Keep moving,” he groans, pressinging his face against your shoulder and lightly biting your skin. “Cum on me.” He mutters, keeping his left arm wrapped around your waist while he snakes his right hand down between your bodies and rolls your clit between his nimble fingers. 

You gasp and whine lightly. Rocking yourself up and into his touch. 

Steven moans again, mouthing at your skin and the wet mess between your legs as you move. He thrusts upwards shallowly, rubbing you in perfect time. 

“Steven,” you pant, squirming as your legs start to spasm, the pleasure so close it’s on the tip of your tongue. 

“That’s it love,” he whispers so softly, “that’s it.” He looks up at you with his large doe eyes, completely enraptured with you in that moment. “You can do it.” 

You cry out, so, so close it’s driving you mad. The pull of his fingers, the rock of his hips, the fact that he’s still hard inside of you and pushing so deep. 

“You can cum for me,” he bites his bottom lip, his voice like silk. “Can’t you?” 

Pleasure spikes up and overtakes you, blossoming out and hitting every nerve. You moan, quieting yourself ever so slightly by pressing your lips to his and kissing him messily. 

Steven echoes the sound as you cum, your walls squeezing him so tightly and sending an aftershock of deep satisfaction through his veins. 

You breathe heavily as you calm, and he hugs you tightly, grinning and still looking up at you with those beautiful eyes. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[bit-dodgy-innit]

The Shape of You

Summary: Steven loves your boobs. A story of his devotion to them pre, during, and post-pregnancy as you welcome your first child together.

Pairing: Steven x afab!Reader, with some minor Marc x afab!Reader and Jake x afab!Reader. Reader is married to the system and all three alters are no longer working for Khonshu 

Rating: Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 9.4k (yes, you read that correctly 😳)

TW/CW: Heavy breast and nipple play, lactation kink, some awkwardness and embarrassment around Steven and Reader discovering they share a lactation kink, pregnant sex, breeding kink, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight somnophilia, daddy!Steven (in both senses of the term 😜), breastfeeding and angst about struggling to breastfeed, postpartum hormones, sundress!kink (that’s a thing, right?), public teasing, a smidge of masturbation, public bathroom sex…so exhibitionism? (no one hears or catches them), more fluff than I’ve ever written iN MY LIFE, titty-fucking, come-eating…writing these always make me feel like a dirty ho 😈

A/N: Sorry friends, the OP got flagged...so let’s try this again with a slightly less steamy gif! 

First time writing in second person so please, like Adele, go eaaaaasy on me :) Also I do not have DID, so please forgive and Feel free to educate me if I didn’t nail any dynamics. One more thing - Jake speaks Spanish a bit in this translations will be below

Marc, Steven, and Jake may’ve shared a body, but each alter had a different part of yours that was their favorite. Jake was an ass man, plain and simple. He loved smacking it, biting it, grinding himself between your cheeks…the list could go on. Marc loved your mouth. He never wasted an opportunity for you to suck him off, to feed you every last drop of his cum, to spit into its warm, wet cavern. 

Steven, on the other hand, was damn-near obsessed with your breasts. If it were up to him, his hands would never leave your chest. He’d been shy at first, bashful, citing his relative inexperience compared to the other alters. But the endearingly awkward bumbling phase of your relationship soon developed into its current one: The Steven-Can’t-Stop-Won’t-Stop-Playing-With-Your-Tits Phase.

You remember the first time he undressed you and got to see your boobs in all their naked glory. The expression on his face was so reverent it was almost comical. He looked at you as if you’d taken him straight to the Field of Reeds. 

“Bloody hell,” he’d whispered. 

You asked him if he was alright, to which he nodded frantically and asked, “Can I…can I touch?” 

“Of course baby,” you cooed. 

From there it was off to the races. Steven cupped your breasts, damn near whimpering when he felt the weight of them in your hands, and gave you a gentle squeeze. You mewled, and his gaze snapped up to meet yours. 

“That was a good sound, I promise,” you assured him. “Please, Steven, more.” 

He was all too glad to oblige. He massaged each mound in his hand and swiped each thumb over your nipple, delighting when you shuddered at his ministrations. It emboldened him to experiment further. Steven dropped a kiss between your breasts on your sternum, then tilted his head to mouth at one of them. You urged him on with a breathy cry, and Steven took the signal to suck on your nipple. 

Whereas most past lovers of yours had treated your tits as a fun but brief pitstop on the way to your pussy, Steven lavished ample delicious attention on them. And he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did, if the way he was frantically humping the mattress for relief was any indication. 

Later, after he’d fingered you to orgasm with a nipple in his mouth and you’d rode him like your life depended on it, Steven murmured to you, “Blimey babe, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of your tits.” 

***

So you shouldn’t have been surprised when you got pregnant that Steven became even more fascinated with your breasts. They kept growing, almost vulgarly large, and you’d caught your husband flat-out staring at them many a time . 

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you’d tease him. 

Steven snapped out of it and apologized, “Sorry, love.” 

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you conceded, looking down at your chest, using the insides of your arms to push your breasts together. “Even I can't believe how big they’ve gotten. The baby will be well-fed I guess.” 

Steven watched you entranced, his mouth ajar, a bulge in his pants growing. “Uh huh.” 

Sex was starting to get tricky as you entered your third trimester, but that didn’t stop Steven from fucking you on your side shortly after your little display. He lay behind you on the bed as he drove his painfully hard dick into your cunt, both of his hands on your tits. You rubbed your clit furiously as he alternated between squeezing them and tugging on your taut peaks. 

“Ohhhh, Steven, yesssss,” you moaned. 

“Are you close darling?” his lips were centimeters from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on its shell. 

“Mmmhmmm,” you whined. 

Steven picked up the pace and force of his hips. “Come then love, come for me. Gonna come too, your big titties get me so hard, you feel it, don’t you? So good at taking my cock and growing our baby inside you. Fuck love, yeah.” 

That surprised you. Dirty talk was usually a Marc or Jake thing, but you definitely weren’t going to stop Steven as his filthy words hurdled you toward your climax. 

“Your boobs are so big, gods, I wonder if they’ll get any bigger? Want ‘em to,” Steven was babbling, his thrusts lost their rhythm. “They’ll spill out of your shirt. Gonna have so much milk–” 

You interrupted him with a strangled shriek as your release consumed you. Your pussy spasmed delectably around your lover’s cock, compounded by Steven’s dick pulsing inside of you as he reached his peak. You were so lost in the euphoria, the relief of your orgasm, that you didn’t notice the few drops of fluid that had dribbled out of your left nipple. 

It wasn’t until Steven withdrew his spent cock from you and rolled over to snuggle into his side that you noticed him examining his wet fingertips. 

“What’s that?”

Steven tensed. “It’s…um, not sure how to put this…I think you leaked a little.” 

“Obviously,” you giggled, “The sheets are soaked.” 

His cheeks burned. “Not from there, love.” 

Mortified, your hands flew to your engorged breasts. You could feel it too. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure it’s normal,” Steven tried to assuage you. 

You didn’t answer him, instead, you maneuvered your very pregnant self up and waddled towards the bathroom. 

He followed you, not needing to exert much effort to stop you. He captured your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a bloody miracle, growing our baby inside of you.” 

Steven’s tender words and touch allowed you to deflate some, yet you withdrew your hands from his grasp. “Thank you honey, it’s just…a lot to reckon with. I need a moment to catch my breath in the bathroom. Alone.” 

“Alright love, take your time and I’ll put the kettle on.” 

You kissed him softly, languidly, trying to pour all the love you couldn’t put into words into the liplock. 

But in the privacy of the bathroom, you crumpled. You were embarrassed. You were ashamed. Because why on earth did it feel so good to have liquid trickle out of your boobs and to come at the thought of how much milk they contained? 

Nevertheless, you splashed water on your face and composed yourself, joining Steven on the couch for a cup of tea and an episode of the latest documentary series you were watching together. 

What didn’t you know though, was later that night, long after you went to sleep and Steven had stayed up working on next semester’s syllabus for the course he now taught at UCL, your breasts had leaked again. 

Steven had noticed when he’d called it a night and was situating himself next to you in bed. The t-shirt you wore one to bed, one of the only things that still fit you, and now had twin dark spots staining the loose cotton.  

He didn’t know what to do. Steven didn’t want to wake you, he knew how the discovery would likely upset you again, nor did he want you to awaken and to have soaked through your shirt. He cursed his cock, which had twitched at the previous thought. He tried to ignore the arousal beginning to surge through him, but your tits made his blood rush south. 

The best course of action, Steven (and his dick) had decided, was to take care of it for you. He fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom, then pulled the already stretched out v-neckline of the shirt to reveal one of your tits. Steven gently cleaned the peak of your breast, the warm, damp feel of the cloth making you shudder in your sleep, though not enough to wake you. He switched to the other one, and found a small, perfect pearl of milk right on the tip of your nipple.

Steven didn’t know what possessed him - he certainly couldn’t blame this on his alters - but he swooped down and lapped up the milk with his tongue instead of the cloth. The drop was small, which meant Steven couldn’t taste much when he licked your nipple. So he sealed his lips around the bud in hope of getting a taste of the cloudy milk. Before he could, you rolled from your back onto your side. 

Your husband knew he’d have to call it a night, but that didn’t stop him from shuffling to the bathroom and rubbing one out, imagining what you’d taste like. 

*** 

Any thoughts of sex flew out the window when Nyla was born. All of your husbands had been co-conscious for the birth, the four of you equally in awe of what your love had created.

You loved your squirmy, wrinkly little girl more than you could comprehend, but the first weeks after bringing her home were rough. Nyla was a few weeks early, so your parents hadn't made it to London yet. There was no sleep. There were a lot of attempts at sleep training, but not a lot of sleep actually happening between you, your husband, and your daughter. 

Furthermore, Nyla had problems latching when you fed her. You tried to stay calm, telling yourself that plenty of women went through this with their babies, but you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already failed as a mom. Plus, the wildly fluctuating hormones didn’t exactly help you keep your cool either. 

Steven, however, was a godsend. He never hesitated when he heard Nyla fussing over the baby monitor, he always had a backup bottle ready to go, he even sang silly songs to your daughter while he changed her. Marc and Jake adored Nyla too, yet you’d noticed that Steven had been fronting the most as of late. 

You suspected it wasn’t that they didn’t care for the baby, more that they didn’t trust themselves around a being so small and fragile. The thought broke your heart. You wanted to talk to them more about it…when you had the energy. Which, currently, you guessed would be somewhere around Nyla’s 18th birthday? 

Tonight, you’d actually had gotten Nyla to go down at 8:30. You and Steven silently rejoiced while getting ready for bed as quickly as humanly possible. The two of you had already learned to sleep when the baby slept.  

It felt as if you’d only laid your head on a pillow for a second when you’d heard Nyla crying through the monitor. 

Steven sprung up before you could. “I’ve got it. Keep sleeping.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were just starting to doze off again when Steven re-emerged with a wriggling, still upset Nyla. 

“She must be hungry,” he explained apologetically. “Her diaper wasn’t wet and I tried rocking her for a little.” 

You nodded in surrender, reaching under your shirt to unclasp a cup of your nursing bra, then extended your arms for Nyla. 

Steven carefully placed her in your hold, then announced “I’ll get you a glass of water, yeah?”

“I’m not thirsty right now,” you told him as you tried to get Nyla to latch. Steven was already retreating from the bed. 

“Just in case,” he called from the kitchen. 

You let it go, focusing more on Nyla than the observation you’d made that as doting as Steven had been, he was rarely present for when you breastfed. It could’ve been because your sweet husband didn’t want to add any eyes and pressure given your difficulties with it, but you couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion it made him uncomfortable. 

Nyla wasn’t latching. Again. When Steven returned, he only needed to take one look at your face to see what the problem was. 

“I’ll get a bottle.” 

Your face crumpled, unable to hold back the tears, which of course, caused Nyla to cry as well. 

Steven rushed back in, and scooped your daughter out of your arms. 

“There there, little dove, you’re alright,” he shushed Nyla, expertly feeding her the bottle. 

“You’re better at nursing her than I am,” you lamented. 

“That’s not true, you fed her perfectly for nearly nine months” Steven objected. “We’ll call the specialist Doctor Slater recommended first thing tomorrow.” 

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Sorry, it’s all these goddamn hormones.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he told you, moving to burp Nyla. “You did the hard bit, now let us all help out how we can.” 

“Alright,” you sniffled. 

Steven rose to take Nyla back to her bassinet, kissing you the top of your head on his route. 

You wanted to settle down, you did. You wanted nothing more than to surrender to blissful slumber but a fresh wave of tears came when your breasts began to ache. 

Steven came back and his face fell. “What is it, love?”

“They hurt,” you bemoaned. “They’re too full. It feels like my body’s punishing me for not feeding Nyla.”

“Oh darling,” Steven scrambled for his phone on his nightstand. “There’s gotta be a fix for it, yeah? I’m going to see what Google says.” 

You passed Steven his reading glasses so he could see, privately reveling in how cute he was as he studied his phone screen so intently. It helped distract you from the soreness in your chest. 

“Well, it says the best thing to do is to ‘manually express’ any excess fluid,” Steven read. 

“So milk me? Like a cow?” you spat. 

Steven put his phone down so he could give you his undivided attention. “Hey, hey, I won’t have you talking about yourself like that. Especially since I have Nyla beat at the moment for being the biggest fan of your tits.” 

You cracked a smile. Steven crawled closer to you on the bed, “I know tonight’s been a bit full on, but truly babe, I’d love nothing more than to make you feel better.” 

“Oh yeah?” you goaded, watching Steven’s gaze zero in on your still exposed breast. 

“Uh huh,” he grunted, then looked up at you. “To be honest…you remember that night a few months ago when you first–”

The night you first leaked.  “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve erm, I’ve been curious since then about…about your…tasting you.”

“Oh,” you gasped. That explained his skittishness when you fed Nyla. Steven left because it made him horny. Well, that turned you on rather quickly. Postpartum hormones were a trip. 

Steven gently cupped your engorged breasts, then groaned. “Will you let me try?”

“Oh-okay.” You batted his hands away so could you strip off your very unsexy sleep shirt and shed your bra. 

While you were self-conscious about how the milk stretched the skin of your breasts and puffed out your nipples, Steven looked at them like a kid on Christmas morning. 

He spared one more glance at your face, “Just tell me if it’s too much or anything.”

You consented with a nod and then Steven lowered his mouth to your left nipple. He started by tracing his tongue around your areola, warming you up to his touch, then enclosed his mouth around it. You mewled as he began to suck on your teat, the feeling of liquid being pulled out of you foreign and therefore thrilling in this context. Your eyelids fluttered shut, the sensation of Steven steadily sucking at you was overwhelming. 

Soon the novelty and lingering sheepishness melted into sheer relief as Steven suckled at your tit. You blinked your eyes open, nearly needing to close them again at the sight of your husband resolutely drinking from you. It sent another shiver of arousal down your spine. 

“Feels so good sweetie,” you encouraged him. “Are you–ah! How are you doing?”

In lieu of answering, Steven guided one of your hands to his crotch where you could feel his pulsing length. He was enjoying this too. Good. You gave him a squeeze, which incited a groan that you felt against the oversensitive skin of your weeping nipple. 

Steven used his free hand to pluck at your right peak, gently coaxing milk out with his fingers. You inhaled sharply at the feeling of both your heavy breasts being drained. Keeping your hand molded around your husband’s crotch, you buried the other in the dark curls at the back of his head. 

Steven’s enthusiasm gave you the confidence to ask, “Do you like how it tastes?”

His mouth still around you, he nodded. At last, he pulled off and mumbled, “Why weren’t we doing this sooner?”

A winded chuckle escaped you as Steven massaged your chest. “Might have had something to do with the newborn.” 

“Clearly there’s enough to go around,” he remarked before he turned your attention to your other breast, latching on to your already leaking nipple and going to town once again. 

You stuttered out a breathy shriek, instantly worried that it’d wake Nyla. Luck was on your side however, the monitor remained silent. You resumed groping Steven’s dick through his pajama pants, letting the fabric catch on the wet stain his cockhead had created. 

Steven moaned at the stimulation and switched to flicking his tongue over your nipples, causing you to tamp down on another yell. 

“Ohhhh fuck,” he rapsed, pulling off your breast, “I’m gonna come.” 

Steven began humping your hand frantically while he gathered both your tits in his hands and swiftly alternated licking at each nipples. You mewled at the feather-light shifting touch on your puffy peaks, now hardened into points for a good while now. 

“Yeah, that’s it, come baby,” you urged him. 

No sooner had the words left your mouth did Steven’s cock spurt, soaking his sleepwear and your hand with his seed with a whimper. His head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, and it was in moments like these you understood how your husband and his alters could’ve been avatars for an Egyptian god, because Steven looked absolutely divine. 

Once he came down from high, you withdrew your hand, expecting Steven to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and clean himself up. Instead, he shucked off his pants, and went right back to lapping at your breasts, mopping up the milk that had spilled from you as he came. 

“Sweetie,” you panted, “you don’t need to–”

“You haven’t come yet,” he whispered from the valley of your tits. He nuzzled the two mounds briefly then reclaimed a nipple between his lips and resumed his feverish suckling. 

“Nnnnngh, Steven,” came your delirious reply. 

He pulled off for a split-second to ask, “Can I touch you?” 

You were still a few weeks out from being able to have penetrative sex again, but you gave Steven the go ahead to slither his hand down to your clit. 

Another cry loud enough to wake Nyla ripped from you when his fingers meet your neglected bundle of nerves. You were wet enough to flood the Thames, and Steven wasted no time stroking you exactly how you liked it. Fuck, if Steven sucking on your peaks and playing with your tits felt good, him doing that and rubbing your clit was rapturous. 

You began moaning, a tell-tale whine in the back of your throat that meant you were close. Steven switched teats and redoubled his efforts – your orgasm building to its zenith...then snapping and drowning you in pleasure. One last sob escaped you as your release spread through your body, Steven never detaching himself from your breast until you gently pushed him away from oversensitivity. 

You both laid with your backs flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in sexed out wonder. 

Steven spoke first. “No need to call the lactation specialist, I reckon.”

“Steven!” You exclaimed in a whisper, playfully slapping his arm. 

“That fixed it, didn’t it?” he pointed out. “Your tits feel better?” 

“Well yeah,” you admitted, “but I still want to breastfeed our daughter. You read all the books and journals along with me, I don’t want to deprive her of its benefits.” 

Steven hummed in defeated agreement. You rolled over on your side to caress his face and assure him, “That doesn’t mean you can’t still get your fill.” 

Your husband’s face split into a wide smile and he pulled you into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. It allowed you to taste traces of yourself and your milk’s mild, nutty flavor as you plundered his mouth with your tongue.

Steven cradled you to him, tucking you into his side and the pair of you drifted into the best night’s sleep you’d both gotten since Nyla was born. 

When you awoke the next morning, your husband was spooned against your back. 

“Mmm, we’re naked,” Marc murmured. 

You turned to face him and with a grin, “Fancy seeing you here.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Hi, honey.” 

“Hi, mama,” Marc shifted and groaned, “Any reason why I feel weirdly full this morning?”

You blushed. “Well, Nyla isn’t latching still–”

“Still?”

“Still,” you confirmed, “so Steven relieved some of the…buildup I was feeling. With his mouth.” 

Marc grumbled, “Just when I thought he couldn't be more fixated on your tits.”

Nyla made her presence known on the monitor before you could say anything else. Marc sat up, but you put a hand on his bare pecs. “I’ll get her. You start on breakfast please?”

He acquiesced with a kiss to your temple. 

Marc was in the midst of scrambling eggs and frying sausages when you brought Nyla into the kitchen, “Look who’s changed and dressed and happy to see Daddy!”

Marc beamed, rinsing his hands quickly before you passed her to him. “Hey little girl, I’ve missed you.” 

You took over at the stove as Marc walked his daughter over to the couch. He sat down and rested Nyla’s back on the thick, sturdy expanse of the tops of his thighs. 

“Now, Miss Nyla Spector, I hear that you’re not letting Mommy feed you,” he began with mock seriousness. “Don’t you know her huge boobs are a gift from Tawaret herself?” 

“Marc!!” 

***

Things slowly improved after you began seeing Pippa, the lactation specialist your obstetrician had recommended. Nyla now latched the majority of the time and you learned how to keep calm when she didn’t.

Your parents arrived in London too, which also made the care of your newborn a lot more manageable. They did diaper runs whenever you needed, helped with cooking so you and your husband stayed fed, and would watch Nyla so you each could take showers longer than 30 seconds, even nap. 

The only drawback was it made you and Steven having what you’d codenamed “Parental Time” a lot trickier. They’d gotten an AirBnb flat around the corner from yours, and your mom especially had a pesky penchant for dropping in unannounced, resulting in a few very close calls of her catching Steven’s head under your shirt. 

So you and Steven developed a new routine. On the days he was fronting, after your parents went back to their rented flat for the night, you’d feed Nyla one last time, put her down and then Steven would get his turn at your tits. 

To be honest, it happened a lot when Marc and Jake had fronted that day too. Your parents knew about your husband’s DID and had met each alter, but the men tried not to switch in front of them. They figured their in-laws being so accepting of their daughter being married to three men was already enough of an ask that they didn’t want to alienate your parents further. Therefore, if Jake was fronting when they came over in the morning, he’d have possession of the body for the rest of the day, or at least until your parents left. 

This was a blessing in disguise you found, since it evened out the time each alter spent with their daughter. All that being said, you didn’t exactly protest when Steven would force a switch late at night to get his mouth on your breasts when you were feeling particularly swollen.

“What is it, cariño?” Jake asked when you padded over to the bed after you tucked Nyla in for the night.

“It’s my boobs,” you told him, trying to massage the ache out of them. “Nyla didn’t eat a ton today so they’re feeling extra hea–”

Jake’s quizzical expression changed into Steven’s unmistakably hungry gaze. “Then come right over here love,” he beckoned you over to the mattress. “And let Daddy help you.” 

His naughty words made you whimper and obey him at once. You sat on his lap, where you could already feel his erection growing against your dampening core, and lifted your arms so Steven could disrobe you.

“Missed these titties,” he growled, motorboating his prominent nose in between them. 

“They missed you,” you sighed back as he wrapped his lips around a nipple and began suckling. 

And what are we, chop liver? A disgruntled Marc asked from their bedroom window.

Jake chimed in from the standing mirror. It was my day to front, pendejo.

I’m the only one who wants to do this, Steven countered in his head since his mouth was full of milk, See how much she enjoys it? 

As if to prove his point, you ground down on Steven’s stiff length and squealed at the combination of his thick, hard cock against your pussy and the steady tug of your milk flowing into his wanting mouth. 

“Wanna ride you,” you told Steven. “Need that big dick inside me.” 

Steven groaned and his hips bucked against you. “You sure you’re feeling up to it, babe?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed feverishly. “Doctor Slater said it was okay.” 

Your husband didn’t need to be told twice. He all but ripped off both of your clothes and flipped you back on the bed to prepare you. He slowly fed one, then two fingers into your pussy while he lapped at your dripping tits. After Steven worked you through your first orgasm, you two resumed your position where you sat on top of him. 

The two of you went easier than you normally would. As much as you wanted to bounce on Steven’s cock until the sun came up, your body was still on the mend, and your lovemaking consisted much more of your husband grinding into you, finding the perfect angle to rub his pubic bone on your clit while you clenched around him. And of course, his hands and mouth lavished non-stop attention on your puffed out nipples. 

While Marc had long retreated to the depths of the headspace, little did you or Steven know that Jake had stayed to watch. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to watch Steven drink from you, nor should’ve the way you grasped your breasts to squirt some milk on his alter’s tongue when you came, but Jake was intrigued. 

***

Just before Nyla turned three months, your parents had convinced you to leave Nyla and go out for lunch with your husband, just the two of you. 

You’d agreed at first, positively exhilarated by the thought of an hour or two without thinking about diapers, feeding, and sleep schedules, but now that the afternoon of your lunch date with Steven had arrived, you couldn’t conceive of leaving your daughter, even if it was for a few hours and she’d be with her grandparents. 

“She’ll be fine,” your mother insisted. “Nyla-girl knows us now, and besides, didn’t Steven say you’d go to the bistro on the corner? You’ll be five minutes away tops.”

“But I’ve never left her before,” you protested as you tried to feed her. Nyla wasn’t latching, now a rarity rather than the norm. You used it as evidence to postpone your lunch. “See!”

Your mother took her from you, “She’s only doing that because she can sense you’re stressed. Sweetheart, trust me, it’ll be good for you and Marc–”

“It’s Steven today,” you corrected her. 

“Right, Steven. It’ll be good for you two to spend some time as just husband and wife. Your marriage is just as important as this little one here.” 

“But mom–”

“Now finish getting ready,” she wasn’t taking any buts. “Wear something nice.”

As old-fashioned and misogynistic as the advice seemed, it had been a long time since you’d worn something remotely appealing. It felt good to feel like a human again too. Your styled your hair and applied some makeup too, giggling to yourself that Steven probably wouldn’t even recognize you now that you’d put some effort into your appearance. 

You strutted out of the bathroom in a little sundress and wedge sandals, “I’m ready!” 

Your dad appeared, “Shhh Nyla’s napping.” 

“Sorry,” you lowered your voice. “Where’s Steven?”

“He went ahead to grab you two a table,” he explained. Nyla began to fuss faintly over the baby monitor by the couch, “I’d make a run for it now if I were you.” 

Though it felt like there was a physical tether pulling you to where your daughter was fidgeting in her crib, your parents were only here for a few more days. You and Steven had to make the most of it. So you slipped out of the flat as silently as you could. 

You felt strangely unencumbered as you walked the thousand or so meters to your favorite little neighborhood spot. The few times you and your husband had left the house, it was almost always with Nyla, which meant you’d brought basically the entire contents of the flat with you. At the very least a diaper bag filled to the brim. With only a small purse for your phone, wallet, and lipstick, you couldn’t help but feel like you were forgetting something. 

Any worries you had evaporated when you rounded the corner and caught sight of Steven sitting outside on the bistro’s patio. He’d cleaned up too - his hair brushed and parted to the side like he favored, clean-shaven, and same as you, he’d traded sweats for a pair of trousers and a patterned, short-sleeved button down. 

“Hi, handsome,” you greeted him coquettishly as you sauntered over to him. “Is this seat taken?”

“You’re a bloody menace, you know that?” he fumed.

You played dumb, “What do you mean?” 

You stretched your arms up and over the back of the chair, further emphasizing your cleavage in your sundress. 

The dress was from your pre-pregnancy days. Beyond its fit flattering your post-baby body, you’d chosen to wear it since it also provided solid support in the bust, which meant for once you didn’t need one of your frumpy nursing bras. It was a tight fit however, clinging to your breasts and resting just above where the smooth, creamy skin of your breasts darkened into your nipples. You wore it to drive Steven wild, and it seemed to be achieving your desired effect rather nicely. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” 

“No,” You continued to play coy. “I thought I’d dress up for the first date with my husband after our daughter was born. Feels like a significant moment for us as parents.”

“You want me to say it.”

You leaned over the table to prop your ribcage on your forearms, giving Steven a new, even better view down your dress. “Say what, my love?” 

Steven whimpered, straight up whimpered, a sound you’ve never heard him make outside of the privacy of your bedroom. 

You were on the verge of showing him a bit of mercy when your server appeared. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant, nice to see you! How’s the new baby?” 

“She’s good, thanks” you grinned at them. 

“Lovely. Would you two like something to drink?”

“Yeah, we’re both pretty thirsty,” you replied, kicking Steven’s ankle under the table to tear his eyes off your bosom. “Steven, what would you like?” 

“Uhh, tea, please.” 

“‘Course,” the server noted. You and Steven were regulars so he knew your husband’s order. “With cream and sugar, right?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. It took another kick to his angle to elicit a proper response from Steven, “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“And for the Mrs.?”

“Just water please, and one for him too. Thanks Alex,” you told them with a smile. Once they departed from the table, you turned your focus back to Steven. “Wow, you really like my tits in this dress.”

Steven glared at you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think it’d make you this frustrated,” you apologized. “I thought we could use a break from the baby talk of it all, concentrate on the two of us, remind you of the person who made you and the other boys want to have Nyla in the first place.” 

He took your hand. “You look bloody gorgeous, and yes those were quite instrumental in creating Nyla if I recall correctly.” 

“I can run back home and get a sweater,” you offered, “if they’re too distracting.”

Steven squeezed your hand and rumbled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Then you’ll behave yourself?”

Steven sent you a mischievous smirk and a shrug. 

And for the majority for the meal, he did. While it was impossible for your conversation not to include Nyla, you two did manage to discuss other topics. Steven got your thoughts on the changes he was thinking of making to his course at UCL for the fall semester, you mentioned a new restaurant you wanted to try, and the both of you brainstormed baby-friendly places to spend Steven’s fall holiday if Marc and Jake’s schedules also allowed. 

Throughout the meal however, you noticed Steven barely touched his tea. That was odd for him, since he downed no less than six cups a day. 

“Hon, are you alright?” You inquired after Alex cleared your plates and settled the bill. 

“Never better, why?” 

“You had like two sips of your tea,” you noted, “What, did they change their stock?”

“No,” Steven replied without elaborating. 

“Then what is it? “

“It’s the creamer,” he confessed with a suggestive look in his eye. “I’ve developed a taste for something a little sweeter.” 

You felt yourself flush. “Steven,” you warned him. 

“Come on, babe,” he pleaded, “you can��t wear that dress and expect me to wait until tonight.” 

He had a point. You’d spent all of lunch teasing him. “But where would we go?” 

“Bathroom.” 

“Together?” 

“You go first, I’ll follow you and knock three times so you know it’s me” he instructed. “Then if anyone asks, I’ll say you’re having ‘a new mother moment’.”

“What the hell is ‘a new mother moment’?”

“Dunno, but no one will ask anything more if I tell them that.” 

“We can’t get caught, I really like this place, Steven,” you cautioned, “I don’t want Alex and the staff here thinking we’re perverts.”

“I don’t think anyone will blame me after seeing you parade around in this little dress all afternoon,” Steven pointed out. “Besides, that’s up to you darling, as my mouth will be occupied.” 

You cursed the hot shiver that slid down your spine at his words. You rose from the table. “Five minutes.” 

Steven nodded, a tad too emphatically. 

“Be cool!” you whisper-yelled before disappearing inside the cafe. 

Thankfully it was a small bistro, so they had only one bathroom, so Steven couldn’t accidentally get the wrong door, plus the lunch rush was over, which reduced your chances of being interrupted. 

You locked the door behind you, and found yourself giddily pacing the length of the small loo. After checking your reflection in the mirror, you planned how you wanted Steven to find you. 

You decided to keep your chest covered for now and let your husband ‘unwrap his prize’ so to speak, so you opted to step out of your knickers and tuck them into your purse. Next, you hiked up the skirt of your dress and began touching yourself. Fuck, you were wet. Maybe this little rendezvous wasn’t only for Steven’s benefit. 

Three raps on the door sounded and you lunged to open it as quickly as possible and resume the lascivious tableau you’d created for Steven to discover you in. You managed to swing it, sinking down on the closed toilet seat and fondling your pussy while Steven slipped in and locked the door behind him. 

“Shit,” Steven exhaled at the sight of you. 

“You going to stand there all day and make me get myself off?” you challenged him with a playful lift of your brows. 

Your husband pounced on you, caging you into his grasp and then drawing you into his lap, where you could feel his already throbbing erection. He yanked down the straps of your dress as once, your tits tumbling into view, already dribbling from your lust. He dove right into your cleavage, his tongue tracing the rivulets of milk that had trickled down your skin. 

Meanwhile, you made quick work of his belt and fly, eagerly fishing Steven’s length out of his boxer-briefs and giving him a few tugs. You took a moment when you lined yourself up to sink down on his cock, slipping his head back and forth to feel your slick. 

“Were you not wearing knickers this entire time?” Steven asked before latching onto a nipple. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” you hedged, figuring that the ambiguity would only rile him up more. 

He groaned deeply around your tit when you sank down on him, while you bit your lip to muffle your own moan. You two worked in tandem to draw your bodies together, the force of your coupling causing Steven to have to pull off of your breast. That didn’t stop him from drinking from you however, he simply grabbed both of your tits and contracted his hands to spray your nectar into his mouth. 

It was Steven’s new favorite thing. He liked to switch, drinking a splash from each nipple, and you were a fan of this technique too, since it meant he could talk dirty to you while he consumed you. 

“Taste so good,” he mumbled after swallowing a squirt. “Ugh, wanna milk these jugs into a glass so I can have you anytime.”

You dug your fingers deeper into the meat of Steven’s shoulders and keened. This was some of his naughtiest stuff yet. Getting off on the impropriety of your situation seemed to be doing the trick for both of you today. 

“So bad daddy,” you gave it right back to him. “Looking at my titties all while I’m trying to eat, thinking about eating me.” 

“Don’t play innocent,” he retorted. “Stuffing your big boobs into this flimsy dress. I know exactly what you were trying to do to me. Is that what you wanted? For me to pound my cock into you while I suckle at your tits?”

He punctuated his question by doing just that, flicking his tongue over one of your weeping nipples and latched on to coax your milk into his mouth faster. 

“Yesssssss,” you moaned. You added a swivel to your hips for good measure. “Ohhh I wanna come.” 

“Yeah? Then rub that little bud of yours, come all over my cock,” he provoked you. 

You did just as he said, maneuvering your hand around his that were still attached to your boobs and worked frenzied circles over your clit. Your release hit you less than a minute later, your fingers providing the last push over the edge, where the novelty of the location and desperation for each other had brought you there quicker than usual. 

You kept impaling yourself on your husband’s dick. He was close too, you could tell from the little cries he let out around your breasts that took on a borderline forlorn tone, as if Steven didn’t want to come yet, he didn’t quite want your fucking to be over. 

Steven was no match for the heat of your cunt and the sweet creaminess of your teats however. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and planting his face in between your boobs as his cock gushed inside you. 

A few moments of silence transpired between the pair of you, save for your heavy breathing, then Steven slowly and gently extracted himself from your core. 

“I can’t believe no one interrupted us,” you marveled. 

Steven nodded from where he stood by the sink to wet paper towels to clean you both up. “Lucky, innit?” 

“Thank you honey,” you said softly when we passed you paper towels for your breasts and slit. “We should be getting back.” 

You tried to think of something else to say, but when you and Steven looked at each other, the two of you simply burst into a fit of giggles in disbelief over what you’d just done. 

“You could ask me for anything now and I’d say yes, I reckon,” your husband joked while you two switched spots in the small bathroom. You checked your appearance, smoothed down your hair, and prayed that people wouldn’t be able to see how fucked out you felt. 

“You and the other boys already gave me everything I could ever want,” you turned away from the mirror to gaze straight at Steven. “A beautiful, healthy baby, and a trio of loving fathers to raise her with.”

“Awwww, darling–”

“Jewelry would also be nice,” you swiftly added. You found the idea of a “push present” too transactional, having a baby was both your and your husband’s idea thank you very much, and you knew what you were signing up for.  In fact, you’d fiercely wanted it. But something sparkly had caught your attention recently. “There’s this stunning gem bracelet I saw on the Tiffany website that would go great with my eyes. I’ll send you the link.” 

Steven rose from the toilet seat and crowded in behind you. He sprinkled a few kisses on your neck, then locked eyes with your reflection. “Whatever you want.” 

***

Marc and Jake didn’t protest when Steven mentioned he purchased you the Tiffany bracelet, work had been steady for all three of them, and you had a solid maternity leave package. 

“Besides, think of how much we’ve saved on groceries now that every night Steven eats local for dessert,” Marc quipped. 

Steven had fucked you in full view of the mirror to get back at him for that, using every trick in his book to show how much you enjoyed him enjoying your body. 

Though drinking from your tits didn’t really appeal to Marc (truthfully he had no qualms with it, despite an offhand joke here and there), Jake was different. He hadn’t forgotten the look of elation you wore on your face that time he watched you and Steven fucking while he tasted you. 

His chance came a week after your parents had left. Nyla was soundly settled into her sleep schedule, and things didn’t feel quite as chaotic as they had when you first brought you little bundle of joy home. You two were lying on the couch, watching a trashy reality show after folding a load of laundry while Nyla napped. 

“Ugh, shit,” you swore, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Jake clicked off the TV. “You okay querida?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I leaked again,” you took the pads out of your bra. Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “I’m just pissed because I thought I was done with this.” 

“Lo siento, mami.” 

You rose from the couch. 

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower,” you told him. “Warm water helps ease the ache.”

Jake caught your hand. “Wait.”

“What?”

“No”, Jake barked at his reflection on the dormant television screen, then furrowed his brow. You recognized it as the look he made when he tried to stave off a switch, “I want to help.” 

“You do?” you asked carefully. “You do know what Steven usually does to relieve the pressure?”

“Si mami,” he reiterated. “I figure if Steven likes it, why wouldn't !?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’ve seen you eat two burgers in one sitting and Steven’s a vegan?”

Jake waved a hand as if to swat the implication away. “That’s different.”

You weren’t convinced. “How so?”

“Because Steven and I share a taste for you.” 

“Okay,” you watched him cautiously as you sat back down, “We can stop if it’s too weird for you.” 

“Please,” Jake scoffed, climbing over you and pinning you down onto the cushions. “They’re your tetas and they’re still so big. And you know I’m the kinkiest one out of all of us.”

“Bien bien Papi,” you surrendered. “Show me what you got.”

Your husband hastily rid you of your clothes. When his mouth first made contact with your pearly nipple, a hearty groan resonated in his chest. He’d held the warm, heavy weight of your post-baby tits many a time, but this was something entirely different. 

“Mmm, mamacita, su leche es tan dulce,” he switched to the other peak, already getting drunk off your milk, “no wonder Steven didn’t want to share.” 

***

Your family’s fall holiday came together more smoothly than you’d anticipated. Steven’s students were on holiday, Jake took time off from the limo company he owned, and Marc was between consulting jobs. 

You were still on maternity leave, but planned on returning to your job in the new year. This time was precious - it felt like the end of a chapter, the last hurrah, the eve of “what comes next”. 

So you and the boys rented a seaside cottage in Cornwall. Though you were anxious about Nyla and the four-hour car trip, she was a champ. It turned out that Jake was the one you needed to worry about, nearly veering off the road when he caught a glimpse of you feeding Nyla in the backseat. Apparently your daughter wasn’t the only one who’d gotten hungry. 

It was past the busy season, so the little village you were staying in was quiet, exactly what you’d all wanted. You pushed Nyla’s stroller around the sleepy high street, hoping the serene location would ease the blow of what you needed to discuss with Steven. 

“Solid foods.” 

“Yes,” you confirmed, “We’ve waited long enough to start her on them. I don’t want her to fall behind “ 

“So no more breastfeeding,” Steven spoke slowly, deliberately. 

“Yeah.” you tried to soften the blow. “But not right away, it’s a process.” 

Steven looked at you like a kicked puppy, but ultimately he wanted what was best for his daughter. Trying to look on the bright side, he remarked “Well, there’s always the next one.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, storminess flickering behind your eyes. “This one–” you pointed to Nyla, “--needs to be potty-trained and eating solid foods before any of you–” you jabbed your finger at him “--in there can even begin to think about the next one.”

Steven immediately squeaked out a “Yes ma’am.” 

“I freaked out,” you acknowledged. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright love,” Steven comforted you, affectionately bumping his shoulder with yours. “You have to do the hard bit after all. Feels like it goes without saying, but we don’t want another until you’re ready.” 

“I know,” you exhaled. “It’s been a lot. And as only you could, you turned my struggle with breastfeeding Nyla into a way for us to celebrate being new parents, when it could’ve sent me straight off the deep end. I can’t tell you how much it means…I was so self-conscious about my body after giving birth, and you–Jake and Marc too–but you especially made me feel desirable when I was afraid I never would again.” 

Steven drew you into a misty-eyed kiss. “I will always desire you. If anything, your post-pregnancy self is the hottest version of you so far.” 

You preened from his praise. “You’re a good man, Steven.” 

The week you were spending on the coast also marked your anniversary with Steven (each alter had their own “relationship anniversary” with you, though the four of you shared your wedding date).

As gracious as he’d been earlier, you knew Steven was gutted about you weaning Nyla off the boob, so you intended to do something special for him that night. 

You knew he’d spoil you, and your husband didn’t disappoint. Steven ordered takeaway from one of the nicer restaurants in town, setting up a candlelit dinner in your AirBnb cottage so you two could commemorate the evening without having to leave your daughter with a sitter. The Tiffany earrings that matched your bracelet though were a pleasant surprise though. 

For your gift, you’d encased his favorite photo of him and Nyla in a frame where you also made imprints of her little hands and feet. 

“For your desk at uni,” you’d elucidated when he unwrapped it. 

“Darling,” he whispered in awe. 

Steven’s dinner also included a bottle of very nice wine, which led to you making out like randy teenagers on the couch after your meal. 

“Are you ready for part two of your present?” you queried breathlessly. 

Steven looked up from the spot on your neck he’d been nibbling on. “There’s a part two?”

You assured him with a flirty little nod. “See, there is one more thing I want you to do to me while I still have these.” You grasped your tits and pushed them together with your palms.

Your husband’s eyes widened and his hips jerked underneath you. “What is it?” 

Instead of answering, you climbed off of him and led him to the bedroom. Your gaze kept dropping to the tent Steven’s turgid cock made in the dad-trousers he wore long before Nyla had been born. You found the view just as lewd as it was invigorating. 

Once you hopped back on the bed, you ordered Steven not to move a muscle, and peeled off the rather modest loose-fitting dress you’d worn for dinner to reveal the lingerie you sported underneath. The skimpy set consisted of a mostly sheer bustier that embraced just how obscenely big your boobs remained and a tiny, strappy thong. 

Your husband’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Fucking hell, babe. You look incredible.” 

“I was hoping you’d have that reaction,” your voice was lilting. “Now remember, stay there, and no touching”

“What are you going to do?” he whispered with a mix of crippling arousal and a perhaps a hint of fear. 

You palmed your mounds once again, squeezing them to urge more milk to spew from your teats. Breathy little gasps and sighs stuttered out from your lips as you soaked the thin mesh of your bustier, you wanted to put on a show for him. 

Steven’s hand crept down to his crotch but before it could reach its destination you snapped, “Hey! I said no touching.”

“I thought you meant you,” he whined. 

“Nope,” you quipped, popping the ‘p’. “You’ll get your chance soon.” 

“When?”

“Hmmm,” you glanced down at your chest and rib cage that was now bathed in your own milk. “Think I’m slippery enough?” 

“Uh huh,” came Steven’s articulate reply. 

“Okay then,” you leaned your arms back on the bed, “Now fuck my tits.” 

Steven’s knees threatened to give out. He caught himself and what he said next was a bigger surprise than the earrings. “Alright, mommy. But I wanna get my prick wet in your pussy before I stick it between your knockers.” 

It was your turn for your jaw to drop. Where the hell had sweet Steven gone and how did he learn to talk like this? Two could play that game. You fiddled with the straps of thong. “Then come over here and move these panties out of the way.” 

Steven jumped you, knocking you back on the bed, too impatient to get inside you to properly deal with your scanty underwear so he did exactly as you’d prodded, he pushed the crotch of your thong aside and sunk two fingers into your sopping pussy. 

They went in without much resistance, thus Steven only felt the need to drive them into you a few times, curling them against your g-spot for good measure. He licked off the residue of your desire from his digits and proceeded to tear at his own clothes until he was naked. 

His eyes were wild, wilder than you’d ever seen them, as Steven notched the head of his angry-looking erection at the opening of your cunt and sheathed himself in one fluid stroke. You cried out while Steven groaned, your husband wasting no time to start hammering into you. 

Every forceful push of his hips punched a “uh” from you, his unrelenting pace stringing them together in quick succession. He couldn’t stop watching your tits swing freely and the copious amounts of milk spill from them. His orgasm mounted in his groin sooner than expected, which propelled him to wrench his dick from your folds and grip the base tightly. Steven wasn’t coming anywhere except your tits. 

“Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice gravel as he clumsily scooted up your body to straddle your bosom. 

“Please daddy.” 

Steven advanced with a goddamn growl, positioning his cock between your milky tits and plunging his length in between them as you held your breasts together. It was nasty, your milk mingling with your juices and his precum, all spread across the expanse of your chest. 

Yet the years of love and trust you and Steven had fostered with one another allowed you both to succumb to the kinkiness of the sex you were having without shame. It had taken a hell of a lot of communication and vulnerability for you to get to here, so yeah, you were going to revel in the slick sound Steven’s cock made as it slipped between your tits, the way his face was contorted with pleasure and concentration, how his hands had fallen on top of yours to create the suffocating channel for him to fuck his rock-hard length through. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized this meant you were going to have to be this slutty for all of your husbands’ anniversaries, but the thought was kicked out of your consciousness when Steven removed his hands from the top of yours to pluck at your nipples. 

A primal sound of pleasure tore from your throat that also ignited your competitive streak. You tilted your neck up and opened your mouth so that the tip of Steven’s cock could brush against your tongue on every drive of his pelvis. 

The kitten licks were what did him in, Steven orgasmed with a roar and raised himself higher on his knees at the last possible second to paint your boobs with his seed. 

“Oh. My. Days.” Each word required their own breath from your winded husband, now speaking his normal register once again. 

“Yeah,” was all your scrambled brain could add before you tried to squirm away from Steven’s tongue on your sternum. 

“Please, love,” he nuzzled the one patch of skin on your torso that wasn’t doused in some form of bodily fluid. “Wanna taste us.”

“Fine,” you submitted. “Be grateful I can’t move.” 

Steven hummed happily, getting a total of three sweeps of his tongue across your torso before Nyla’s fussing echoing down the cottage’s small hallway. 

“Perfect timing, as always,” you groused. 

“Ehh, she could've announced herself a lot sooner,” Steven countered. “Hey, you didn’t come.” 

There was your Steven, ever the gentleman and egalitarian in the sack. “Honey, if you go take care of her and let me shower right now, we can call it even.” 

He pecked your cheek and hopped to. “Only if you let me make a cup of tea too.” 

“‘Kay,” you said as he pulled on his, well technically Marc’s, boxers and headed toward the door.  You, on the other hand, set yourself the task of maneuvering to the en-suite without dripping everywhere and being kicked off of AirBnb.

“Hon?’ you looked to where Steven watched you from the doorway, ignoring Nyla’s fussing for one more minute. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am sweetheart,” you assured him. “My pussy’s going to be wet for days after this.”

Steven grinned, remarkably sweetly for a man who’d just come all over your chest. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” you parroted. 

Read the follow up fics : Close Encounters of the Maternal Kind  and First

A/N: Writes nearly 10,000 words of lactation kink and *takes myself to horny jail*. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed! 

Also I wrote this in less than a week, isn’t that terrifying?! Leave it to the moon boys to inspire my to write obscenely long and dirty fics. 

My weird little headcanon on the reader and Nyla’s surnames are the on paper and official documents, you use Spector, but casually and in social situations you use the last name of whoever’s fronting. 

Translations: 

Pendejo - Stupid/Idiot 

Querida - dear 

Lo siento mami - I’m sorry, mommy 

Si mami - Yes mommy 

Tetas - tits 

Bien bien Papi - okay, okay Daddy 

mamacita, tu leche es tan dulce - little mama, your milk is so sweet

[lavendertales]

dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader

summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.

word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️

You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.

What are you feeling exactly?

You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.

And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?

And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.

Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.

You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.

He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...

Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.

Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.

Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.

By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.

She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.

“Oh, hi.”

You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.

“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”

“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”

You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.

Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”

“They are, yeah.”

“The music’s nice too. The food is—“

“Nice too?”

You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”

Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.

“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.

“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”

“For a third glass maybe?”

Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.

He’s flirting with me.

He’s actually flirting with me.

“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”

“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

You shouldn’t.

But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.

“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”

Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.

There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.

“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.

Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.

“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.

“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”

“No, it’s—“

“Nice?”

You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.

“I really like—“

No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.

“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“

“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”

That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.

 It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.

The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.

“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”

You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.

Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.

“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”

“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"

You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”

Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?

All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."

“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.

You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.

“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.

Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?

“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”

Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.

“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”

“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”

This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.

“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”

You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.

“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”

Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.

What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.

Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.

Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.

“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”

“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.

You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”

You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.

And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.

Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.

You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.

“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.

“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”

You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.

“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.

Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”

With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.

Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?

You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.

Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.

And it scares you as much as it thrills you.

"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”

And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.

Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”

He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.

Naked.

Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.

“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.

“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”

“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”

Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.

“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”

Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.

“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.

“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”

“Full honesty?”

“I usually appreciate it very much.”

He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.

“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”

Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.

And what he said is… well.

“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.

Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.

But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.

You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.

After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.

“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?

Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.

“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”

Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”

Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.

“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.

“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”

“How so?”

“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”

“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”

Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.”

But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.

And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.

[spacecowboyhotch]

Breakfast

gif by @paper-n-ashes

summary: marc interrupts you when you’re trying to make breakfast, and steven finishes up.

pairing: fem!reader x marc spector, fem!reader x steven grant

content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pwp, fluff, kissing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex (fem receiving) cum eating

an: i just felt like writing something spicy for the moonknight boys <3.

word count: 1.6k

moonknight masterlist | requests are open

One of your favorite things to do is get up early and sit on the window sill, watching the streets of London while Marc or Steven sleeps. There's something about the glow of the summer sun peeking out from behind the clouds. You don’t sit for long, wanting to make sure they get the rest. Before the sun can flood the space with its golden light you close the window and draw the curtains, heading into the kitchen.

You preheat the oven to keep his food warm in case he sleeps late, and get coffee brewing—decaf only as they already have enough trouble getting enough rest. It’s been an adjustment for you, but you’d do anything for Marc and Steven. With the soft hum of the coffee machine going, you start getting together the ingredients for french toast and hashbrowns.

You’re moving slowly so as not to wake them up though your room is down the hall. Completely immersed in cutting bread and making the mixture for the french toast you don’t hear when Marc opens your bedroom door and pads down the hallway to you.

His hands are on you as soon as you're in arms' reach. A grunt of pleasure comes out of him as he runs his hands over the curves of your breasts before resting them on your hips.

“Morning,” You lean your head back onto his shoulder as he kisses his way down your neck.

“Mornin’,” He whispers between kisses. “French toast, huh?”

“Mhmm,” You hum lazily, dropping the whisk and planting your hands on the counter so that you can press further into him. You know exactly where this is going and there’s no point in resisting. It’s not like you want to anyway.

“Steven’s gonna be jealous.”

“I make it for him whenever, you both know that,” He continues to kiss your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point before he bites gently. “Marc,” You sigh, pressing your ass into his erection.

“Quiet, let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Yes,” You agree easily, breakfast forgotten as his hands make their way up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing.

“You wanted me to come out here and fuck you didn’t you? Is that why you’re dressed in just this?”

“Yes,” You breathe as one of his hands slips into your panties, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wet folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. So easy.”

“Mhmm,”

“Let’s see how easy it is for me to…” He stops talking as his fingers plunge into you. “Only this wet for me and Steven, right?”

“Yes, all yours. All his,” You nod your head feverishly, drunk on the smoothness of his tone and the strength of his touch. Marc always touches you with such weight compared to Steven. He leaves bruises from holding your thighs apart or applying pressure to your throat. His touch is life-affirming, keeping you in a bubble where you only focus on him. Right now he’s all that matters.

“Ours.”

“God, please, Marc? I need you,” You whine as you reach your hand back to run it through his curls.

His hand leaves your breast, turning your head so that you have to look at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he gazes at you, “I need you, too.”

The admission squeezes your heart but it’s short-lived as he wraps his hand around your throat, and rids you of your panties. He kisses you hungrily as he uses one of his feet to spread your legs further apart, bending you slightly so your spread open for him perfectly. He continues to lick into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip as he lines himself up with your entrance, snapping his hips forward so that he’s sheathed completely inside you.

“Baby,” He mumbles against your lips, his dark eyes blown full of lust.

“I know, it's so good, you're so good,” You murmur, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking on it.

Your move almost sends him into a frenzy, the innate need to race to his climax flowing through his veins, but he has to get you there first, “You too.”

He starts slow, focusing on pulling himself out to just the tip before slamming into you. You push all of the ingredients to the side so that you can bend over completely, your nipples rubbing against the cold counter through the shirt every time he’s deep inside of you. His grip on your hips is deliciously tight— it almost hurts, and you know that Steven will grill him for the bruises that'll form in the coming days.

Eventually, he starts to pick up his pace but he doesn't sacrifice the depth, fucking you hard and fast and deep. You're incredibly wet and warm, your pussy practically sucking him in, your trembling under his heavy touch. The kitchen is filled with nothing but the wet squelch of his cock entering you over and over and mingled heavy breathing. You start to rock back against him, effectively pushing the tip of him into your cervix. It's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and you bite down on your arm, hiking your leg back and around his waist so that he can somehow get even deeper.

You wonder what it looks like, him fucking you this harshly, his nails digging into your skin so hard that he might break skin. You know that his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth agape and turned as he concentrates on how warm and tight your pussy is around his cock. His eyes probably are zeroed in where you connect, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

You on the other hand are flush against the cool counter, doing the only thing you can: taking what he's giving you. The pleasure is building in you steadily, as you greedily push your hips back against his.

The softest, filthiest, words of praise leave his lips, “You feel so fucking good, you’re perfect. My perfect little slut, made just for me. I can have you however and whenever I want, can’t I?”

“However and whenever,” You repeat, and he lips turn in a devilish smile.

“You’re everything to me.”

His words take you by surprise, tugging at your heartstrings once more. You open your mouth to say something back but then he bends forward so that his chest is flush with your back, and you clench around him a new threshold of pleasure met from this angle, “Fuck, Marc.”

“You can take it,” He declares, it isn't a question; all you can do is whine beneath him, your words of agreement stuck in your throat as you move closer to your orgasm. “Say it.”

“I can take it,” You murmur, trying your best to keep pushing back against him though there's no space between you.

“Yeah, you can baby,” He praises, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“Will you cum inside me? Please?”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please baby,” If you had the mind to care you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

“Fill you up so much and we can watch it drip out of you,” His voice is low, gravelly in your ear.

The image of him and Steven looking at your pussy while it's messy and full sends a shiver down your spine. “Mhmm,” You whimper, turning your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me first baby, and I’ll fill up this sweet little pussy of yours.”

He continues to pound into you like his life depends on it and before you know it you’re coming undone, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As soon as he hears the telltale gasp leave your throat he snakes his hand between you and the counter, rubbing harsh circles into your clit to intensify and prolong your release. If he wasn’t keeping you pinned between him and the counter you would collapse to the ground, your body turned to jelly from the sheer amount of pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

He doesn’t stop as you clench around him, driving himself as deep as he can get. It's all he can think about, reaching the furthest part of you, so he can breed you thoroughly. Standing upright again he brings you with him, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other one getting you steady as he fucks you brutally. He thrusts into you with a deep, guttural groan before stilling, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to the brim. His hips pull back before he snaps them forward again, wanting to fuck his cum as deep inside of you as possible.

Abruptly he pulls out of you, and drops to his knees, his hands splaying you open to watch his cum seep out of you. With no warning his mouth is on you, sucking at your clit and lapping at your center to collect his own cum. His groans are constant and filled with a hunger that quickly brings you to your second orgasm. This one is quick and just as powerful as the first, your pussy fluttering around nothing, and he continues to eat you until the moans stop ripping from your throat.

Turning you around, he scoops you up bridal style before carrying you over to the couch. His hands rub up and down your arms as he peppers kisses over your face, waiting for you to recover from your second release.

You’re effectively useless, your breathing still heavy. You feel like you’re spinning, up in the clouds, the only thing grounding you is his warm touch. When you finally feel like you’ve returned to earth, you clear your throat and look up at the man before you with heavy lids, “Steven, I know it’s you.”

A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you, “How’d you know it was me, dove?”

“You have that kink, not Marc…at least not yet.”

Steven just laughs before dipping his head to steal more kisses from you. You kiss him back happily for several moments, the kisses wet and slow before you realize that you were doing something before you were interrupted by them.

“Wait, Stevie, I was cooking breakfast,” You pull away, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it dear, you just lay here and I’ll finish it up.”

“But it’s your favorite, I should make it.”

“I think you’ve done enough for us today, yeah?” His hand raises to caress your face affectionately before cupping your cheek.

You nod softly, a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, always. Marc too,” He says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Steven’s love confessions always lift you out of the misty, but welcome fog that is Marc and the way he carries himself. If Marc is intense, brooding, and drawing you in, then Steven is light and airy— he’s bright and clear. They’re the perfect pair, a balance that you’re extremely grateful for.

In your tiredness from the intense sex, you feel your eyes grow a bit teary, your voice thick with emotion, “I love you too, both of you.”

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist, let me know!

moonknight taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch

[boredzillenial]

Day 17: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!

Steven accidentally discovers a new kink with you.

Themes: SoftDom!Steven, praise kink, f!reader, established relationship, bit of Somnophilia - oral (Steven receiving), pinv, creampie

Morning light filters through the open shades as you wake. You stretch and turn to see your sweet boyfriend sleeping soundly. Though you’d moved in for a month now your heart still flutters when you see Steven like this. Curls tousled across his forehead and lashes resting against his cheeks.

As your gaze grazes over him you notice the tenting of the sheets around his cock and hear soft whimpers escaping his lips. You continue watching, enjoying his little sounds till you hear him moan your name and roll his hips. Your resolve to sit back and watch snaps in that instant and you slowly pull the sheets back.

His cock springs free with copious amounts of precum smeared across his soft stomach. Heat pools in your core as his girth pulses and jumps, desperate for touch. You shift slowly over him and glide your tongue from the base of his length to the leaking tip, earning you a wrecked groan and sending Steven writhing. You take him into your mouth and work him deeper and deeper until he nearly hits the back of your throat.

“S-sweetheart?” He stammers, his breathes already ragged as he comes to with your mouth around him. You swirl your tongue around his tip then take him deeper again. He leans his head back, neck straining in what you could only assume as his attempt to hold back his release.

“S-so good.” Steven shudders as your mouth works over his length. “Such a good girl ah-“ he whimpers as you moan around him. That moment of praise sending lightning through your nerves as the vibration sent a shiver up his back. “O-oh shit,” he gently pulls you off him, your lips giving a soft pop as you come up and smirk. He returns it with a sleepy smile of his own as he caresses your cheek. He quirks up a brow and squints a bit as his soft gaze peers into yours, as if he’s searching for something. He smiles and pulls you forward, soft warm lips meeting yours as his hands caress your sides.

Your hand comes up to grip around his girth and you start to stroke until his stops your movement. “Already been so sweet to me love.” He says against your lips. “I wanna make you feel good.” He nips your bottom lip playfully and shifts until your back lands against the mattress.

“But I was gonna -“ he stops your protest with a rare stern gaze. You put your hands up in surrender as surprise lights up your grin. “Yes sir.” You giggle.

His voice drops into something a bit rougher, “Good girl.” His words sent your mind swimming in a lusty haze as you work hard to keep still. Your minute squirms are exactly the tell he’s looking for. “Oh someone like that huh?” He grinned.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “I guess.”

“No no don’t do that. You can be honest with me love. I won’t tease you like Jake would you know that.” His hands stroke up your thighs and pulls them open, rubbing slow circles around your sensitive bud. “And if he tries to tease you later I’ll handle it.” You bite your lip to stifle your moan as your hips move in time with his caresses.

“P-promise?” You ask in a soft shaky tone, the hint of embarrassment melting away with every stroke of Stevens thumb.

“ ‘Course.” His thumb presses a bit harder and his movements roughen as your breathing changes. “Tell me what you want.” He says softly.

“Wanna feel you.” You groan. He follows your plea immediately. Taking your ankles and placing them on his shoulders as he lines the fat tip of his length against you.

He begins rolling his hips to work into you but loses control and slides to the hilt in one go. Your mewls and whimpers stir something deep in his heart as you writhe against the stretch of him. “Take it for me, know you can.” Your legs tremble as he leans forward, pushing further still into your heat as he adjusts to a new angle.

“Steven, baby, please I -“ your hands grip onto his arms as your walls flutter around him.

“You’re doin’ so good.” He trembles, dark curls furling over his brow as he ruts into you. “So good f’ me.” Your core tightens around him at his praise earning you another groan. “Fuckin’ hell.” He squeezes his eyes shut and slows down. “Gonna make me cum before you do. Can’t have that.” His breathy laugh sending butterflies through you as he stops, remaining fully seated in your pussy.

He leans back, keeping your legs where they are pressed against his torso but opening you up to reach your clit. “Need you to come for me darling. I know you can do it.” His touch is once again firm on your aching clit. The combination of the stretch of him buried deep in you and the quick movements across your bundle of nerves has your orgasm crashing over you before you realize it. “Such a good girl, know you can give me one more.” His touch doesn’t slow and overstimulation begins shooting lightning through your nerves.

“Steven!” You cry out and reach for his wrist to slow his movements. He only take your hand with his other and intertwines his fingers.

“Shh, just one more.” He starts to churn his hips in time with his thumb. Your whimpers and moans fill the cluttered flat space as your second orgasm comes crashing over you. “Good girl that’s it.” Your legs shudder as he slowly moves them to wrap around his waist. “Just breathe love I’ve got you.” He whispers as he leans in, slotting his lips against yours.

You wrap your arms around him and hug him against you as he pumps his cock into your soaking channel. “Gonna take it for me? Gonna hang on tight and take my cum?” He whispers against your lips as his hips begin to stutter.

“Yes, fuck Steven fill me please.” You groan into his mouth as you kiss him again. Between the roll of his hips and the eagerness of his tongue as it slides into your mouth you were edging close to your third climax. “Please, please.” You plead between kisses.

“You beg, s-so well darling.” His breaths come in pants as he loses control again. “Gods, so good f’me.” The final praise has you crashing in time with him. His cock pulses thick ropes into your fluttering pussy as you cling to one another.

You nestle your face into the crook of his neck as his hips slow to a stop. You relish in the feeling of his girth continuing to pulse cum into you as his breathing slows. “T-thank you.” You whisper into his tanned skin as you hug him tightly.

He peppers your face with kisses drawing out giggles from you. “Anything for my good girl.”

———————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[creamecafe]

Idk if I'm in my avatar, Miles, Miguel O'Hara, or Steven Grant era

[redahlia-writes]

dream a little dream of me. | steven grant

Abstract: He thought it’d be awkward. He thought the lie would be too much and that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that perhaps his shyness would get the best of him, and though he wanted desperately to try for you, he was terrified he’d somehow mess it all up. But he finds himself at ease, a sense of home he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

Words: 3K

Content: f!reader; fluff, just fluff, fake dating, a little awkwardness, them being down bad for each other, yes it’s november and i’m posting a christmas fic

A/N: is this based on this tiktok i’ve seen months ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about? yes it is. but moving on - (scene is from doctor who’s christmas special “the time of the doctor”)

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

“Emergency, you’re my boyfriend.”

For a moment, he thinks he hasn’t heard you correctly - it’s not the first time he receives a call from you that starts with an absurd statement, question or words that overall leave him confused. He’s almost grown fond of it, though this time it takes him too long to process what you’re saying.

“Ding dong, okay,” he replies, and frowns at himself - what? “I might be a bit rusty in some areas, but -” stop talking. “No, no,” you sound frantic, a clatter in the background followed by a string of curses under your breath before you clear your throat. “You’re not actually my boyfriend, Steven.”

“Oh, that was quick,” you snort, only to return right away to your muttering and swearing, followed by more loud noises that truly make him worry for your safety. “What’s going on? Why do you sound like that?”

“Because it’s Christmas, and I lied to my family, and this bloody oven won’t work and I’m so behind with dinner - fuck,” he knows your phone slipped and fell to the ground - there’s more rattling, a slam, a sigh. “They’ve been setting me up on blind dates for ages until I told them I had a boyfriend, and they said they couldn’t wait to meet him for Christmas - I thought they were joking, but now it’s Christmas and I don’t have a boyfriend and they asked about him for tonight, so I need you to be my boyfriend. Please.”

The last time he heard you so panicked was when a group of school kids had run inside the museum, escaping the control of their teachers. You had fussed and worried about the artefacts in spite of the glass cases, and he’d had to bring you a hot chocolate to calm you down as the children settled back into order, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you at last got up for their tour.

“You do know I’m Jewish, right?” he asks then, and you groan quietly. “Well, mazel tov - you’re still coming to your girlfriend’s Christmas dinner,” he laughs then, shaking his head a little - of course he is, he’s decided the moment he heard your nervous rambling, getting up from the desk to get to the closet and change out of his worn out clothes - he knows it’s play pretend, but his mind still started reeling about the need of making a good impression on your family, and he cannot do that in a washed out white shirt and old trousers with more than a hole in them.

“Alright, alright - so bossy,” he replies, and hears you exhale in relief, a temporary pause that is interrupted by a too loud ding that makes you yelp, quick steps passing by, more noise. “Hey, take a deep breath for me, love, will you?” he calls out - he knows the phone is still on the floor, speaker on, your hands otherwise busy. Later on, once he gets to your place before the rest of your family, he’ll find it there, still.

“Can’t,” you call right back, yelling a little over the sound of running water. “I’ll be there in a bit,” he sighs, and hangs up before you can respond, hoping that, at the very least, your house won’t burn down in the time it takes him to get ready.

To say your family is loud is an understatement. From the moment they walked through the door, Steven’s senses have been assaulted by greetings and laughters and too-tight hugs.

He finds he doesn’t mind it one bit.

He helps you bring the food to the table, keeping an eye on your injured hand - a shallow cut from a broken glass he cleaned and bandaged himself because you refused to lose too much time going to get it checked. Stubborn, he’s muttered under his breath, and you’ve waved a spoon in his direction in mock threat, making him laugh.

He truly doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen so much food, vegan options thrown in the mix he knows for a fact you’ve done last minute when he’s accepted to go along with your lie - he’s thankful for it, for you, for this night.

Your mother is the most curious about him - and where did you meet, she asks, and how long have you been together, and how’s his job, and -

“Mum,” you call just then, loading her plate again with a pointed look. “It’s Christmas, not a job interview. Give him a break, will ya?” “I’m just curious,” the woman shrugs, looking at you and then Steven, then back at you. “You always talk so much about him, I want to hear some of those things from him,” she protests, and for a moment your movements still, face heating up.

“Ma!” you complain, a quick glance in Steven’s direction as he grins - his cheeks hurt for how much he’s been smiling tonight.

He thought it’d be awkward. He thought the lie would be too much and that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that perhaps his shyness would get the best of him, and though he wanted desperately to try for you, he was terrified he’d somehow mess it all up. But he finds himself at ease, a sense of home he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

And it’s not so difficult to pretend to adore you, to be in love with you - it’s not pretending at all, really. So he slips into it, that tugging at his heart that makes him feel warm all over whenever you hug him, or rest your hand on his arm, or talk with him in that enthusiastic way that makes your eyes shine a little bit brighter.

“Well, we met at work,” he clears his throat, pushing the few crumbs that remain on his plate around to stop himself from fidgeting with his hands too obviously. You fill his glass again, a new surge of affection in his eyes when he glances at you. “It was her first day, and I still worked at the gift shop - she bought too much candy right after her first tour ended and accidentally started her second one late because I kept her talking about some of the newest artefacts,” you snort, shaking your head a little - it feels like ages have passed.

He doesn’t talk about everything else - about Khonshu, and Marc, and Ammit. He doesn’t mention the help you’ve been during the whole mess, that you’re most likely the only reason he’s still got a job - and a promotion on top of that - and how you’ve kept him sane in the aftermath just by being his friend. He wants to say you’re probably the most important person in his life as for now, but he doesn’t because his mask would fall then and expose him to everyone in the room, you included. For now, it’s just pretend.

“In his defence, I’m the one who started rambling, and he had to remind me I actually had a job to do, so -” you shrug a little, but the smile doesn’t leave your lips. He’s looking at them too often tonight, he knows, but he can’t help himself.

“Is that why you called him your saviour?” your mother chuckles, and you almost drop the glass in your hands, eyes widening. Steven coughs on his mouthful of wine.

“Did you, really?” he wonders, and doesn’t want to sound amused but truly cannot help it. “I thought you’d said it as a joke,” he still remembers - the embarrassed laugh, frantically reaching for your badge as you walk towards the exhibition area, calling over your shoulder a you’re my saviour, thank you!, quickly hiding the candy in the pockets of your skirt.

“Half joke,” you scoff, bumping your knee with his under the table - that’s just for him, not for the show, and he smiles again. “I reckon I wouldn’t have liked it particularly if I had been fired on my first day.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have liked that either,” he muses, your nose scrunching up with your smile as you lean in a little. “But we’ve been friends since - she also helped me get out of the gift shop, somehow convinced our boss I should do some of her tours.”

“That she told us - spent the whole day complaining about Donna, is it?” both of you groan a little at the woman’s name, then quickly exchange a look that your father, not-entirely distracted by whatever was playing faintly from the TV, notices with his eyebrows raised.

“What she did not tell us,” your mother chimes in again, hands locked under her chin, “is how this,” she gestures between the two of you, a coy smile upturning her lips, “happened.”

“Ma!” you say again, one hand rising to cover eyes and forehead as you sink a little into the chair. At his side, your grandma chuckles, elbowing Steven gently.

“They’re shy, can’t you see?” she tuts, her eyes moving from Steven to you. “Haven’t even kissed once, these two.”

“Come on, leave the kids alone,” your father says, now no longer paying attention to the TV. “What? It’s just a kiss!” the older woman protests, grinning up at Steven. “It’s Christmas after all, what’d you say, young man?”

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, both hands lifted to cover your face. Steven feels his neck burn, words tangling on the tip of his tongue as he glances at you, back at your grandmother, you again, unsure of what to do, say, think. “As long as you drop it.”

There’s an apologetic look in your eyes when you drop your hands and turn towards him - he wants to say it’s fine and don’t worry but he can’t, because you’re leaning in and brushing your lips to his. It’s quick, a peck, a brush of lips that makes his heart flutter, and you’re holding your breath, the tip of your fingers caressing his chin before you’re pulling back, leaving him dazzled, yearning for the taste of wine on your mouth.

“There,” you clear your throat, reaching for your glass with a hand that shakes slightly - there’s a groan at the other end of the round table, and in his temporary haze Steven sees your eyes widen, fingers curling around nothing, a notch away from the glass.

“You call that a kiss?” suddenly you’re wondering if you should’ve stopped bringing bottles of wine when your grandfather refilled his glass for the 6th time, his mood certainly turning jolly. Loud. Boisterous. “Come on, lad. Give her a proper kiss!”

“For the love of -” you look at him and sigh again, shaking your head a little. “Pops, really, it’s not -” you turn to Steven, still apologetic looking.

A split second, and he’s kissing you. Steven shouldn’t be taking advantage of the situation, he knows, but it’s a proper kiss and your grandfather is laughing. And Steven is kissing you, a proper kiss - gentle, delicate, and your hands come up to cup his jaw before you can help yourself, suddenly not wanting him to part from you. His stubble scratches your palm, and you let your eyes flutter shut at last, surprise leaving place to ease.

It’s easy, kissing Steven. It’s soft and gentle and warm all at once, and his hand is on the back of your head while the other rests on your thigh - his fingers trace a pattern over your clothes, and through the small fireworks popping in your mind you manage to discern letters. S-o-r-r-y, the apology on the tip of his fingers as the kiss goes on for longer, his lips parting and yours with them, melting towards him.

You would laugh, if you could remember how to breathe. Instead you’re carefully bringing your hand to Steven’s curls, slowly smoothing them back from his face, and your lungs are burning because you’re supposed to be breathing but really you don’t want this to end, you want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until you’ve grown tired of it and then some.

It’s Steven that eventually pulls away, and there’s an odd noise trapped at the back of your throat as you force your eyes to open, to make it seem as if that wasn’t your first kiss, as if you didn’t feel the ground rock beneath your feet, and your heart wasn’t trying to jump out of its place behind your ribcage.

The tip of Steven’s nose is bright red, as if he stood in the cold for too long, and it spreads across his cheeks like a rosy brushstroke - his lips are a little parted, short bursts of air coming out of it as he looks back at you with his eyes shimmering a little. He looks unbelievably pretty, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you to turn away instead of diving right back towards his lips.

“So, who wants dessert?”

You’ve been looking at him for a while. He’s in the living room, carefully stocking up the empty plates from the table, setting the cutlery aside, the paper crown sitting a little askew on his curls. He’s humming as he does so, and a smile catches on your lips - it’s Dream A Little Dream Of Me, a song you’ve found yourself singing often in between tours, Doris Day’s version constantly stuck in your head.

“I will deal with that in the morning - you’ve already done more than enough,” you tell him softly, reaching his side. He looks up towards you, your eyes meeting for the first time since after the kiss - it still burns on your cheeks, lips, neck, the tip of your ears. “Thank you.”

“I cannot possibly leave you with this mess,” he argues, still gathering what’s left on the table - empty glasses and paper from gift wrappings and Christmas crackers. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” he grins a little, and you laugh, shaking your head. The clock behind his head signals 2:34 AM.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to repay you for what you did tonight,” you reach up to fix the paper crown on his head, and he forgoes the plates and forks to turn to you.  “I enjoyed it,” he’s fidgeting a little, fingers tapping along his thighs. “My family - it’s never been like this, I’ve never had anything like it. It was nice. I’m glad you asked me.”

Steven’s never spoken a lot about his family, or Marc’s family - he’s mentioned things off-handedly, but has always been quick to change the subject, and you haven’t asked, there was no need. Still, the hurt is palpable each time, and it makes you ache for him. For them.

“Well, you’re invited next year as well, then,” you say, stepping a little closer and lifting his hand towards him in offering, the other reaching for your phone in your pocket. “Come, there’s one more thing.”

Steven frowns but obliges, watching as your thumb quickly slides across the screen while you wrap your hand around his, and soon enough soft music starts playing from the speakers - the first notes of the song turn Steven’s lips in a smile as you put the phone away again, looking at him again.

“Not Ella Fitzgerald’s?” he wonders, your now free hand reaching for his shoulder. Tentatively, he places his hand on your waist, slowly catching on on your intentions when you start rocking side by side, following the music.

“My grandma would play Golden Girl all the time when I was with her,” he starts following your movements, albeit a little slower, a little unsure. “I think it stuck,” you shrug lightly, taking a little step to the side, then back - Steven follows, looking down towards the floor. “Steven.” “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking up, then back down. You smile a little, drawing closer.

Once the initial awkwardness vanishes, Steven is great - he finds his footing and begins leading, steps becoming wider, more sure, and you let him move you both around the living room as you hum the words almost under your breath, never looking away - Stars fading but I linger on, dear / Still craving your kiss / I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear / Just saying this…

He’s looking at you, too, and smiling still - for a moment you wonder if there truly was too much wine, because his eyes are shimmering, and his cheeks are still red like right after the kiss, as if he’s still warm all over, and then -

“Mistletoe,” he says, so soft you almost don’t hear him, even if the music is low, even if you have stopped singing for a while. You look up towards the doorframe you’re somehow under, and Steven is unbelievably close, his chin tilted up to look at the small plant hanging above your heads, throat exposed to you.

“Steven?” he snaps out of it as soon as you call his name, gentle, and meets your eyes. “Yes, love?”

You desperately hope you haven’t misread the whole evening. You also hope the wine induced courage won’t leave you right now as your eyes flicker to his parted lips. You lean in, gripping his shoulder a little tighter for balance, and the moment your lips brush his he shudders a little, but pulls you closer right away. He hiccups lightly, dips his head forward, and though the kiss is initially hesitant, it’s true.

It’s somehow softer than the one at the table, slower, gentler, and you both melt into it, into each other, hands untangling only to reach for the other - your arms wrap around his shoulders, and his palm presses gently against the small of your back. Steven sighs into the kiss, shoulders sagging as if in relief.

It doesn’t last long, and when you pull away, he chases the contact for a moment longer, lips searching for yours once, twice, and then he stops, eyes widening again as he looks at you. You feel yourself smiling, hand moving from the back of his neck to brush his curls away from his forehead.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper, the tip of your nose bumping his, and his face splits in a wide grin, holding you a little closer, a little tighter. He won’t let go now - not for the rest of the night.

“Aces.”

[starryevermore]

I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment.

made a right mess ✧ steven grant, marc spector, & jake lockley

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment. - @spider-starry

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector x jake lockley 

word count: 1,032

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, implied smut, little bit of bondage, not proofread

Teasing your sweet, sweet Steven was your favorite pastime. It was so easy to get him worked up. Poor fella was so touch-starved that the first time the two of you had sex together, he came the second that you put your hands on him. Though his stamina did improve, if you pushed his buttons just right, he would come undone in the palm of your hands. And, oh, you relished in it. 

His sweet, breathy moans. The way he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. How he’d beg and plead and whine. Fuck, it was enough to make you come undone, if you were being honest. Your favorite, though, was well—

“Oh no,” Steven would mumble, looking at the mess he’d made.

You wouldn’t say anything at first. Too surprised at what happened. You’d intended to tease him, you meant for him make such a beautiful mess. But he hadn’t done something like this before, not even when he was inexperienced. 

“‘m sorry,” he’d say. When you’d look up at him, you’d see the tears in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks. “I-I—”

“Shh,” you’d finally say. You reached up, running your thumb across his cheek, swiping away the tears. “Love it when you make a mess, Steven. Love seeing how worked up you get for me.”

He leaned in, hiding his face, like he was still ashamed of what he did. “Mean it?”

You kissed the top of his head, reaching up and smoothing out his messy curls. “Course I do, Steven. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” You gave his hair a gentle tug, urging him to look back at you. When his head raised, you nuzzled your nose against his. “You’re my sweet, sweet Steven. It’s my job to take care of you, yeah? And if that means you make a right mess, then I’ve done my job well, hm?”

Steven nodded, his eyes fluttered shut. “Can we…Can you do it again?”

You smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips. “Since you asked so sweetly, your wish is my command.”

It was shocking how easy it was to get Marc worked up. Like Steven, he wasn’t touched very often. Granted, Marc chose not to be touched—always keeping folks at arms length. That is, until he met you. It was a slow build up, him getting comfortable around you. He used to shy away from your touches. Regarded you with that guarded look. You were Steven’s girl, after all. He didn’t think you had any love reserved for him. 

But now, as you straddled his lap, grinding down on his clothed cock, his fingers digging into your hips, head thrown back as he moaned loud enough for the entire building to hear, you knew that he knew you loved him fully, wholly, and truthfully. 

“Mine,” you whispered in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? All mine to use?”

“Yours,” he echoed, head dipping forward. His teeth scraped at the exposed skin of your neck. You grinded down harder. “Just want you, baby. Just wanna make you happy.”

“You do,” you said. You held onto his shoulders to give you a better angle. “You make me the happiest woman in the world—”

“Fuck—” Marc sniffed. He buried his face further in your neck. You paused your movements, pulling back to get a better look at him. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you cooed, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Your neck became wet with his tears. Oh, Marc. Life had been too cruel to him. You lifted a hand, scratching at his scalp. He let out a choked sob, then mumbled, “I didn’t mean to ruin this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” you said. “You’re safe. No one’s mad at you. Okay? I’m not mad at you. I just want you to be comfortable. If you wanna take a break, if you don’t wanna continue, that’s okay. We can pop in a movie, order some greasy takeout—do anything you want.”

Marc was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, “I think I wanna take a break. Just a couple minutes.”

“You can take as long as you need, baby.”

Jake would be annoyed. He didn’t like being teased. No, no, he was the one who was supposed to be the one doing the teasing. He was the one supposed to be making you fall apart. He was the one who was supposed to be making a mess of you. But when you manage to flip the script? Manage to convince him to let you tie him up? Settle on his lap, teasing him like it’s your goddamn job? Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, he’s annoyed. 

So when he cums in his fucking underwear like some teenage boy about to have sex for the first time? He’s damn near pissed. And worse, you start giggling at him. Giggling! Fucking giggling!

“It’s not that funny,” he grunted, pulling at his restraints, trying to get out. “Wait til I get outta here and show you just how funny it is.”

“Awe, baby, it’s okay,” you coo, leaning down, nuzzling your nose against his. You let out another giggle. “Everybody makes a mess sometimes.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled. 

“Mm, I don’t know about that. Don’t think you’d cum in your pants if you hated me all that much, don’t you?”

Finally, Jake managed to break free from his restraints. Before you could even think to react, he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back. You let out a gasp. He held your wrists together in one hand, the other slipping down beneath your waistband, teasing at your clit. You moaned, arching your back against him. But, oh, he was not there to see you enjoy yourself. 

“Jake!” you gasped when he pulled away, just as the coil in your stomach began to tighten. 

“Nuh uh, honey. None of that,” he cooed. “I gotta show you what happens when you tease me, yeah? Gotta show you it ain’t very nice of you to do that.”

And, oh, did he keep that promise. 

[lqversinterlude]

Dance the Knight away (Steven Grant x Reader)

Warnings - None! It’s just pure fluff, and a bit of swearing from the reader. She couldn’t watch her mouth at all!

Pairing - Steven Grant x Female Reader

Synopsis - The reader goes to prom with Steven.

(A/N: the title’s a TWICE song reference, stream their music! And, this is my first time writing a fanfic so, bare with me if it kinda sucks! I hope you enjoy it! <3)

(p.s - this is just a one shot because I’m not into writing lengthy fan fictions yet. :P)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The evening was filled with laughter and joy, the music surrounds the area and the moon shines brightly from above. It’s been weeks since you asked Steven out if you could be his date for Prom Night and you’re hoping to see him during the evening, the big door creaks open and you see him, in his white suit, all fixed up with him carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hand, he searches the area to look for you, he finally sees you and decides to approach you in the middle of the crowd.

“Ello’ love, I’m really sorry it took me time to get here, now, here we are!” He waves at you and manages to stay enthusiastic as he apologizes for being tardy. He suddenly hands you the bouquet he was holding in his hand. “I wouldn’t want to forget about giving you something as my prom date like all the other boys would do if they get asked out by someone.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s okay that you weren’t able to get here on time, at least you’re here with me, at this very moment, and that’s what matters to me. Oh, and thank you for the little gift, I appreciate it.” You smile and take the bouquet from his hand, you weren’t really amused that he had his time mixed up in arriving for the event.

You look at him, oh man, this guy hasn’t gotten any sleep at all, his eyes looking all sleepy and his hair, all messy, yet, that did not stop you from liking him. Although he may be your friend, you still happened to like him, and for unusual reasons, the way you had to think twice on liking a friend just feels different when it comes to him. He just happens to have this different “effect” on you that most of your friends don’t even have.

“Well, shall we start.. Dancing?” He offers you his hand as he looks around to see the people in the venue, dancing together. You take his hand and he pulls you close, he then puts one of his hands on your waist and one on your hand, you hold his hand and shoulder, you two start dancing. Moments after, he suddenly looks at you and asks “Can we take this outside? I’m so sorry but the environment happens to overwhelm me so much.. I just don’t like it when people watch us dance, although its a free space and everyone is free to dance together.” He apologizes yet, he tries to make sure that you don’t get pissed off or annoyed by his request.

You then smile, and take his hand, suddenly pulling him towards the door with caution, “It’s okay, there’s no need to worry because I can always take you wherever you’re comfortable with, so.. Let’s get out of here?” He just stares at you and freezes, you then ask him again as you noticed that he zoned out from all the nervousness that he’s currently experiencing, “Shall we?” He finally snaps out and nervously nods at you and looks back at the venue, the two of you finally leave.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Moments after walking down the long hallway of the building, the both of you finally reach the outer field, as the moon illuminates the field, the both of you run around the field with no one else watching, he then suddenly picks you up, bridal style, and he spins you around the field, he pulls you close and you rest your hands on his shoulders, “You aren’t that heavy as I thought you were, well, honestly, you’re actually that light, I can’t deny.” He playfully chuckles, he then puts you down and points to the Gazebo that’s built in the middle of the field.

“So.. Do you want to go there? Like look, no one’s around except us, it would be bonkers if somebody caught us hanging around here, yeah?” He asks if the two of you can get in the small building, you nod at him and the two of you enter.

The two of you are sat on a small side bench in an open space, “Huh, I guess the moon’s the only thing that’s watching us right now, unless someone’s nosy ass happened to follow us on our way here.” You shrug and point out the bright moon that’s illuminating the wooden flooring of the gazebo. “Well, Steven, listen to me, I have something to tell you, it will definitely sound so fucking weird at first but I hope you understand.” He suddenly brings his head up to look at you as you try to tell him that he hasn’t known for a long time.

“Oh? What is it? Care to tell me? It would be such a blunder if you don’t tell me what you’re willing to tell me at this very moment.” He smiles at you and rests his hands on his knees, he then smoothens out his vest that’s inside of his coat, he tilts his head and raises his brows.

You sigh and slap both of your knees, it took you moments to finally tell him “Steven, I like you, like more than a friend. Ever since we grew closer and closer, my feelings grew as well and I mean that. I was just too afraid to tell you in any other day because I have this really bad experience of getting rejected by my past crushes but, that never stopped me from telling this to you because I knew that I wanted to give romance another chance, again.”

He looks at you with awe, blush creeps up his face, realizing on what you just told him at that very moment, “Well, (Y/N), you’re a really brave one for telling me about your feelings, and it’s mental that you happened to tell me at this very moment, I didn’t expect any of that.” He chuckles.

“You know, it’s funny that I happen to.. Uhm, how do I say this, oh yeah! I happen to like you as well, it may sound a bit of a shocker but I hope that doesn’t overwhelm you as much as it does for me.” He takes your hand and rubs his thumb on top of your hand’s surface, he’s definitely flustered right now, “It’s just that.. It’s surprising that you happened to handle all the things I’ve been experiencing in my life and you happened to be so kind to me, unlike how other girls treat me because they think I was too “nerdy” or “strange” for their liking, not to forget, they thought my accent was too thick for them to understand.” He adds as he looks down on the floor with a saddened expression.

“Oh, forget about that bullshit.” You then pull his collar and bring his lips to yours, he hugs you tightly and he pulls away. “Oh wow, okay, that was nuts. I definitely did not expect that, darling.” He says after the two of you breaks away from the kiss, you definitely haven’t had your first kiss but now, you did, with someone who’s described as a “weird ass guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in days”.

He just sits there, in shock, not knowing what to say. Well, that must’ve gone too fast, didn’t it? It definitely is a crazy thing that you suddenly kissed him, with no hesitation. “You know what, I think my parents will kill me if they knew I kissed you without hesitation, especially my dad!” You joke as the two of you exchange laughters in the gazebo.

“It’s getting a bit late, isn’t it? Do you want to go back to the venue to say our goodbyes to our friends or do you wanna go somewhere else?” He glances at you as he stands up, “Well, Steven, you wanna go to a coffee shop?”, he raises a brow and shrugs, “Oh? What’s up? Don’t have money or something? I’m always willing to treat you, I asked you out on this little date, not you.” She smiles and grabs his hand.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They both leave the area and end up spending time in a small coffee shop that happens to be in a walking distance, the day ends with the both of them falling asleep in (Y/N)’s house, her parents don’t mind as they’re both sat in the couch with Steven laying on her shoulder, the both of them still wearing their formal attire.

> end. <3

[heartthrobin]

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

comment and repost <3 mwah!

[pimosworld]

Read it again- part I

I wanted to start a list of recs that I find myself going back to when I’m happy or sad or just in need of something to distract me from the crazy world we live in. This will be multiple parts so consider this the first installment. These will be old/new/current wips and fics.

Please head the warnings in each fic or series.

Triple Frontier

The devils backbone- @ezrasbirdie

Feed your ego- @whatthefishh

War makes thieves and peace hangs them- @brandyllyn

Messy Pile of Affection Series- @flightlessangelwings

The homecoming series- @astroboots

Awakening Series- @romanarose

Switch to channel 2- @autumnleaves1991-blog

My best friends girl- @tropes-and-tales

Moon Knight

Prized possession- @melodygatesauthor

Third ones the charm-(part I, part II) @missdictatorme

Egg Fried Rice- @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The Jake problem- (part I, part II) @bensolosbluesaber

For science- @projectionistwrites

Joel Miller

Pink- @netherfeildren

The checklist- @thetriumphantpanda

Trick or Treat- @morallyinept

Meet me in the back- @atticrissfinch

Honey do- @kiwisbell

Take care of you- @theidiotwhowritesthings

Javier Peña

It’s never too late- @javierpena-inatacvest

Paranoid heart- @goodwithcheese

Late night texts- @undercoverpena

D.I.Y.- @swiftispunk

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hear me out.... Steven with a praise kink 👀

You jokingly call him a good boy (because I call him my human golden retriever) and BAM. Confused boner! You take advantage of it and keep teasing him.

(Marc and Jake would never let him live it down, either)

Ijcioajfidi HELP. THIS. AHHH. I’m not sure why chess playing came into my brain. But here we are, reader likes and plays chess and is pretty good at it.

(Side note: in one typo I wrote ‘chestboard’ instead of ‘chessboard’. You just know my subconscious is thinking about Steven’s boobs.)

Good Boy

Steven Grant x F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: INSTANT BONER, p in v sex, teasing, swearing, typos,��rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 2147

_______________________________________

“So, think about how you would stop me.” You said as you looked from the chessboard to Steven. 

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his glasses pushed high on his nose. A few rough curls dangled over his forehead as he bit softly at his thumb in thought. 

“I could move here?” 

“That’s really good.” You smile. “Excellent move, because you’ve also stopped my bishop.” You point to the piece on the board. 

Steven smiled. He liked chess, played against the computer occasionally. But it wasn’t much more than a way to pass the time. 

However when he found out that you had won some amateur competitions when you were in school, and that you still played regularly, his excitement at the prospect of playing a game with you was so completely heart-warming that you instantly said yes. 

In the first game, you’d been determined to go easy on him. Just to get a feel of Steven as a player. You’d accidentally won in less than ten minutes. 

There had been a small tinge of panic, a worry that, like some of the previous partners you’d had, he would be annoyed. Instead Steven grinned, thrilled that you’d beaten him and sung your praises until you were so positively overwhelmed you had had to kiss him repeatedly to get him to stop. 

This was your second game. He had asked in that delightfully enthusiastic way he had if you could play again, “if it’s not too much trouble love, and you want to of course, don’t want to be annoying, do I? No. But I’d love it if you could teach me some strategies?” 

“So I’m going to move here,” you picked up your knight and moved it slowly. 

Steven frowned. “But then I can take it?” 

“I know.” You grinned. 

He paused and looked at you, unable to stop himself from smiling at your glee and then nodded. “Okie dokie, there’s something I’m not seeing then.” 

“Is there?” Your innocent tone didn’t fool him for a second. 

“There definitely is.” 

You chuckled, looking back to the board. “Good boy. Look, take your time, but don’t worry if you can’t find it, I’ll explain.” 

There was a long pause. You frowned a little and glanced back to him. His eyes were a little wide, his cheeks dusted with pink. He was sitting stiffly now, his hand clenched into a fist with his knuckles pressed against his mouth. 

“Steven?”

“Hmm.” The sound was too quick. He didn’t look up from the board.

“You okay?” 

He nodded, a short sharp and very un-Steven-like movement. 

You paused for a second, looking at his features carefully as you wondered if Marc or Jake had fronted suddenly. Though, why they would try to hide it from you, you weren’t sure. 

On further inspection you were pretty sure that it was Steven. 

“You sure you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled and swallowed, looking through the board and not seeing it. 

“Okay…” You swallowed, watched him for a moment longer before you pointed at your rook. “If you take my knight, I’m going to take your pawn with my rook and you’ll be in check. You can’t take the rook with your queen because then you’d be in check here. So you’d have to move your king like this, and then I could move my other bishop and you’d be in checkmate.”

You looked up at him, chewing your bottom lip. Had he had enough? Was he bored? Fed up of your explanations? 

“Okay. Right. So I won’t do that, I’ll move here.” He spoke quickly, still not looking at you. 

You nodded, watching his move. “Good, so…”

The moment ‘good’ left your mouth Steven sucked in a breath, shuddering. 

A sound you very much recognised. 

Oh.

You quickly thought over your previous conversion: move this piece, are you okay, take your time, good boy-

Good boy. That was it. 

A small smile stretched across your lips. Steven was still staring, fixated, at the chessboard and didn’t notice. He moved his piece silently. 

You waited a beat before you spoke. “That’s a great move Steven, good boy.” 

He shivered straight away, his breathing hitched. He tried to cover the sound with his hand as he closed his eyes.  

“What’s wrong Steven?” You teased slowly. 

His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and embarrassed. 

“Don’t you like being called a good boy?”

The smallest groan grumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing. 

“Or, is it that you like it a little too much? Hmm? Being my good boy?” 

His skin flushed with heat as he glared at you. His eyes dark. 

“What?” You bit your lip as you grinned. “A good boy would answer questions when asked.” 

“Please.” He whispered.

“Please what?” 

“Please stop. Marc’s taking the piss.” 

You frowned, the playful tease dropping from your tone. “Why’s Marc taking the piss?” You’d done kinker stuff with all of them, Steven liking being called a ‘good boy’ wasn’t really something to write home about. 

Steven sighed, pouting a little as he closed his eyes and took his hand away from his mouth. “Because I’ve got a hard on.” 

You bit back the giggle that wanted to spill from your chest. Something about him having to close his eyes to say it was just so perfect. “So?”

“It happened the second you said it.” 

“The very second?” 

“Hmm.” Steven kept his eyes closed. Interesting.

“So literally, I said it, instant boner.” 

“Yep.”

You couldn’t resist one playful tease. “So, if you’re in a park and you hear some say good boy to their dog, is it bam, erection?”

Steven shifted a little as you said those two words, trying his hardest not to moan. His cock was pressing, painfully hard, against the stiff material of his jeans. “No.”

“No?”

“It’s never happened before. And now- Marc, shut the fuck up.” His voice was a little needy until it came time to address his alter.

“Marc behave.” You said kindly. “So… it’s only ever happened now?”

“Hmm.”

“When I said it?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens when I say it again?” You whispered. 

Steven squirmed a little, even the thought of you saying it getting him hot under the collar. “Feels… nice. Sort of.” He pushed at his throbbing cock with the heel of his hand and opened his eyes, his head slightly drooped. 

“Sort of?” 

“Yeah, like… you know, he jumps to attention every time you say it.” He blinked heavily, his cheeks burning. God, you must think he was a right little freak.

“Good boy.” 

He groaned, unable to stop the sound in time and looked up at you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice that you were making fun of him like Marc and… oh. 

Realisation dawned. You were biting your lip and smiling. You liked it. A lot. 

Steven swallowed audibly. 

Slowly you stood and walked around the table to stand beside him. Steven pushed out his chair a little, angling it so that he was facing you. He went to stand but you gently pressed on his shoulder. He followed your command and stayed sitting down, looking up at you with pleading eyes. 

He played at his jumper sleeve nervously as you watched him. His dick hard and pulsating with need, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. 

He swallowed again. “Love-”

“Good boy.” 

He moaned softly, screwing his face up as his cock twitched at your words. 

You bent down quickly, grabbing hold of his cheeks and kissing him deeply. Using his brief surprise to slip your tongue into his mouth and push him back against the chair. 

Steven whimpered against you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders and the back of your neck as you ravaged his mouth and robbed him of his breath.

“Good boy.” You muttered between the kisses, swallowing his hushed whimpers and soft moans. Revelling in the way he pulled you tighter, needy and desperate for anything you’d give him. 

You brushed your hand against his groin, squeezing the outline of his cock. 

“Fuck!” Steven hissed, clawing at your top and thrusting up into your touch. The rest of his words were lost as you kissed him hard and lightly bit his bottom lip. 

You trailed your lips down to his jaw and neck, sucking at his pulse point and pushing him even further back into the seat. 

His breathy moans sent a wave of heat along your spine to your core, twisted in your belly and overwhelmed every thought. 

You squeezed his cock again, the heat of him radiating through your hand. “Good boy.” 

The words barely left your lip before Steven answered you with an accompanying groan, his length twitching against your palm. 

You moaned, so dizzily high with the sounds of his pleasure. Without thinking you undo his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling his trousers and boxers down to his calves in a hurried motion with a little help from Steven as he raises his hips. His cock springs free, needy and weeping with need. 

You take him in hand, stroking him twice before pulling his jumper over his head. He whines at the loss, chasing your mouth and kissing you urgently the second the material is off and on the floor. 

With your lips desperately pressed to his you pull down your own trousers and underwear, kicking one leg free and not bothering about the other as you take his length back in your hand and straddle his thighs. 

Him being so worked up, so desperate for you when you hadn’t even touched him is a stronger aphrodisiac that anything you’d ever experienced.

You don’t even give him a second to react before you’re lining him up with your already soaking entrance and slowly sinking down. “Such a good boy Steven,” you breathe, your voice rising in pitch at the end as he inches deeper, his thick cock splitting you so wide. 

He moans headily, pressing his face into your chest and mouthing at the tops of your breast through your top. 

“Love, you’re so wet.” He bites his bottom hip, his fingers pressing against your waist hard enough to leave bruises. 

You pull at the back of his hair slightly, scratching your nails along his scalp as he finally bottoms out. He pulses within you, twitching and aching and so, so close already. 

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you Steven?” 

He whined against you as you rocked your hips, quickly starting to lift yourself up and sink back down, setting a brutal pace as you began to bounce on his cock.

“Such a good boy letting me use you like this.” 

Steven moaned, chasing your hips and thrusting deep. He was drunk on you, needed you. Every moment, every word you said sent waves of pleasure through his body and made his head spin. 

Even in his intoxicated state his muscle memory kicked in, bucking up into you perfectly to make you see stars. Each spot that would break you apart memorised and stored deep within his very soul. 

He fucked up into you harder, growling with his desperate need. His leg kicked out and caught against the table's edge, rocking the chessboard and knocking pieces over. 

The sound just loud enough to register in his mind. “Sorry, I-“

“Doesn’t matter Steven, please,” you moaned. At this angle the head of him constantly pressed so deep, rubbing consistently over that special spot and not even giving you a chance to breathe. No pause or reprieve from the oncoming onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overtake you. 

“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whined, your thighs shaking and thrusts growing sloppy. 

Steven growled, grabbing hold of your hips and pistoning upwards, not allowing your pleasure to dip. “Please, please, please, cum on my cock, please love, please. Tell me I’m your-”

“You’re my good boy.” You came dizzyingly hard, your fingers digging into Steven’s shoulders and leaving marks. 

But he didn’t care. Couldn't care as you squeezed and fluttered around him, moaning ‘good boy’, and shaking as you fell apart in ecstasy. 

Steven gasped, the air catching in his throat, the pleasure so potent it was like his heart stopped. He came deep, hot and thick, his hips still thrusting to prolong your high and to fuck his spend deeper into you. 

You held each other tightly as you recovered, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin. It was only then that you pulled off your top and bra, discarding them on the floor with the rest of your clothing. 

Steven nuzzled into you, softly kissing along your collarbone as you stroked his hair. 

He chuckled suddenly and you moved back every so slightly to look him in the eyes. 

“What?” 

He grinned, dreamy and love sick, up at you. “Marc’s changed his mind. He’d quite like you to call him ‘good boy’ too.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love

If you’d like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Sweet as Honey(moon)

A/N: Okayyy let’s escape away to Greece for some sexin, shall we? Just as a reminder these are all part of my little SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: The Honeymoon 😈

Requested by: loveliest of lovelies @dawnsutopia

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Word Count: 9.4k (back to my self-indulgent waysss)

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Rated Tre Explicit, Minors DNI

CW/TW: This is a...how you say...a fook-est? I mean our couple is on their honeymoon after all. We have fingering (f receiving), indecent things with Marc’s wedding bad, oral sex (f and m receiving), p in v sex, anal sex, pool sex, nipple play, lingerie, the boys being co-conscious during sex, dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, a brief mention of “dumbification” (which this fandom taught me about btw so 😳), light spanking, mucho aftercare, teasing, exhibitionism though it’s not specified if anyone sees or hears them, squirting, multiple orgasms, and fluff!

“On behalf of all of us, welcome to Mykonos,” the polite-to-a-fault receptionist said as he activated your keycards, “and congratulations on your nuptials, Mr. and Mrs. Spector.” 

You grinned so widely at the use of your new surname your face could split in half. Despite a turbulent four hour flight from London and being hungover as shit, you were deliriously happy, leaning into Marc’s side —your husband’s side— while you checked into the resort where you’d be spending the next ten days on your honeymoon. 

You two had kept the wedding on the smaller side. The ceremony itself had been incredibly private and intimate, just you, your boys, your parents and a trusted rabbi at a local synagogue. This was so that you could exchange vows with Marc, Steven and Jake each individually. Afterwards, you’d booked the Gallery Room at the ever-so-posh Bluebird in Chelsea to host a reception for forty friends and extended family. 

The more subdued – though still somehow overwhelming to plan – wedding meant that you and your husband could splash out on the honeymoon, which is exactly what you’d done with the resort you’d booked here in Greece. The stunning beauty of the island didn’t hit you until you were being escorted to your room and could take in the stark white walls, ancient stone, clear blue sky, and even clearer, bluer water for yourself. 

Your suite echoed the landscape, eschewing any color or even decor on the walls for crisp white plaster and massive windows that framed picturesque views of the ocean. Everything from the furniture to the linens were warm neutrals and earth hewn materials. The focal point of the space was no doubt the sliders flung wide open led to an ample balcony that boasted a plush daybed and a small private pool. It was a dream come to life as far as you were concerned. 

The bellboy unloaded your luggage and after he left with a tip, you and Marc launched yourself at each other. He tackled you back onto the large plush bed. 

“This is insane,” you managed to pant in between kisses, “it’s even more beautiful here than I thought it’d be.” 

“Good,” Marc grunted, stripping out of his t-shirt and swiftly moving to discard his joggers as well. He was getting right to it then. 

Last night seemed to whiz by in a blur of laughter, alcohol, dancing, and toasts to the happy couple. Unlike the romance novels you’d read as an adolescent, your wedding night was not the raucous night of passion that had graced the pages you’d secretly devoured. You and your husband were exhausted. Though between the three of them, Jake was able to get it up and indulge in some soft, sleepy, tipsy sex in missionary before the pair of you conked out. 

It felt as if you’d only closed your eyes for a few minutes when the car service woke you with their courtesy call to inform you that they were outside, and you both napped on the plane. Now however, it seemed that Marc was rearing to go. 

He rid you of the tacky, but incredibly comfy, bride-themed matching sweats your uni friends had gotten for your hen do as a gag gift and you couldn’t help but giggle while you rolled around together on top of the bed. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Spector,” you echoed breathily while Marc nibbled on your ear, grinding his already rock hard erection into your bare leg. 

“Has a nice to ring it,” he murmured. Layla hadn’t taken his name when they had wed. It didn’t bother Marc, more and more women were choosing not to, and she had her own reasons for keeping her maiden name. But the fact that you’d wanted to, that you were happy to become a Spector despite all the baggage that name held, made Marc’s heart soar.

“Mmmmhmm,” you agreed. “A good thing since we’ll be using it for quite a while.” 

“Forever,” your husband specified, parting your folds with his fingers. 

Your eyes were drawn to the platinum band that now encircled his left ring finger. “Forever.” 

Marc caught you watching him and a wicked idea formed in his mind. Steven raised the concern if it was sanitary, yet Jake quickly overruled him and told Marc to do it anyway. Those two truly felt like the trope of the devil and angel on his shoulder sometimes. 

Instead of easing his index or middle finger inside of you to begin prepping you for his dick, Marc penetrated you with his ring finger. You gasped at the audacious move, letting out a little yelp when you felt the precious metal of the ring breach your entrance, warm from Marc’s skin but still cooler than the heat of your cunt. 

Marc’s dark eyes gazed up at you from those ridiculously long eyelashes of his. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” came your breathless reply. The both of you stared mesmerized as his finger plunged in and out of your pussy, enthralled with how Marc’s wedding band would disappear and re-emerge from your cunt. 

Soon your sounds indicated to Marc that you needed more, and he was all too happy to comply. His middle finger joined the other digit, making sure you were stretched enough to take his cock, which currently was so hard he likely could cut glass at this point. 

Your husband tugged on your hips, positioning your bum on the edge of bed to lock your legs around him. He took his cock in hand and entered you in a smooth shove of his pelvis. You both moaned at the feeling of becoming one, as if it had been weeks since you’d been together like this and not a matter of hours. 

Marc was eager, you could tell from the way he jackrabbited his hips into you. It was the kind of rough fucking that emptied your mind of everything but the stretch of your tight channel around his considerable girth. You were all too happy to succumb to it, you were in Greece, the wedding was over, and all of your responsibilities were thousands of miles away in London. 

His hand found your clit quickly and rubbed the bud with harsh strokes. You gasped and dug your heels into the bottom of his back to pull him closer. 

“Not going to last long,” Marc revealed while he hammered you, “wanted you since we woke up.”

“That’s okay honey,” you soothed him. After all, you’d gotten some last night. A little shiver ran through through you when you realized this was the first time you and Marc were having sex a married couple. Marc Spector, the man who was so convinced he was unworthy of happiness and did everything he could to push you away, was now making love to you on your honeymoon. 

He dropped down lower, his hands covering your breasts, which sent another, more prominent shiver through you as Marc chased his release. The movement of his hips switched, his thrusts became grinds, which allowed your clit to receive some stimulation too.

You studied Marc’s face fondly, enjoying the view of his Adam's apple as it bobbed, the short black hair that was beginning to curl from the sweat gathering at his hairline, and of course, that face, so handsome and contorted in pleasure, only made more beautiful when he spurted his hot seed inside of you. 

After he came down, Marc fell onto his forearms to nuzzle your face with his. 

“Hi,” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses. You giggled and squirmed at the attention. 

He gently took his cock from your pussy, then knelt before your slit at the side of the bed. 

“Hun…”

Marc knew that tone of voice of yours, it was the inflection you used when you told him “not to worry about it”. He cursed all the men that’d allowed you to think that your pleasure wasn’t as, if not more important, than his. Marc bit the inside of your thigh playfully to stop you. “Hey, I’m fulfilling my husbandly duties here, okay?”

You surrendered with a shy little grin. He knew tossing a reference to your newly minted marriage would end your protests. Marc got to work, licking a stripe up your folds to taste the two of you before sucking on your clit and inserted two fingers into you to stimulate your g-spot. Whines and shaking legs soon followed as you came on Marc’s thick digits. 

Before he could rise fully to grab a cloth for you, you grabbed his wrist and sucked his ring finger into your warm, wet mouth, fellating the band with your tongue. Its metallic taste was new to you and honestly, rather unpleasant, but the way Marc looked at you while you did it was well worth it. 

“Fuck baby,” he groaned once you released him. He stood up and ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, “I really pounced on you just now, didn’t I?”

You sat up too. “No complaints here.” 

Marc drew you up to standing to kiss you and the both of you tended to yourselves in the bathroom. You took turns relieving yourselves and Marc splashed water on his face. You emerged from the little stall for the toilet with a request. “We should cool off in the pool.”

Your husband cocked a brow. “Bathing suits optional, I’m assuming?” 

“What’s the point of having a private pool if you’re not going to skinny dip?” 

“And people think I only married you for your beauty,” he joked. 

This had to be heaven, you concluded. You and Marc floated in the pool together for a little while, both made speechless by the beauty of the Aegean before you, then toweled off and dozed in the shade together on the daybed. 

When you roused, you automatically pecked the dip that ran between your husband’s pecs, just under his chain with the star of David. When your eyes met, you could tell by the softness in them and the little quirk of his lips that it was Steven gazing back at you. 

“Well hello Mrs. Grant,” he murmured. Though technically on paper you’d taken the surname Spector, you planned to use Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Lockley respectively when the other boys fronted. 

“Hello yourself Doctor Grant,” you beamed back. “Happy honeymoon.”

“Happy honeymoon indeed,” he concurred, “This is the ideal way to wake up, I think…naked, you in my arms, and with ocean views.” 

“I can’t help but agree. Come back in the pool with me.” 

Steven followed you, both of you luxuriating in the cooling water. Even though it was pretty big for an in-room pool, you two refused to spread out. Steven held you into his arms once again, so close to one another you could distinguish each and every droplet of water that clung to his neck, collarbones, and face. 

Your lips drifted together in a liplock that quickly escalated and deepened. Steven’s large hands cupped your ass, giving it a squeeze, lifting you to walk to the edge of the pool. He parted your legs while you procured a towel to sit on. 

You continued to trade deep, passionate kisses while Steven stood still half-submerged in the water between your thighs, the sun warming your skin as you got lost in each other. His lips drifted down to your neck and clavicle, and his fingers found your core. He began with gentle touches and strokes between your folds, inserting a finger to feel your wetness and the remnants of his alter’s cum. 

“Baby,” you gasped when his thumb pressed into your clit. 

“What do you want, darling?” He rasped. 

“Your mouth,” you told him without hesitation, “then fuck me Steven.” 

He deferred, musing as he descended to your cunt, “We do have to consummate our marriage after all.”

Your clever response was eclipsed by a whimper when Steven began to eat you out. Still sensitive from your lovemaking with Marc from earlier, each lick and swirl of Steven’s tongue had you feeling like a live wire. His mouth had you just on the other side of too much, your husband working his signature magic on your twitching cunt while you leant back on your hands. 

“You taste so good,” Steven panted as he briefly pulled away for air. “Could eat this pussy forever Mrs. Grant.” 

“Please do,” you exhaled, only half-joking. 

He chuckled lowly, returning to your core, his tongue dancing on your clit and pushing into your hole. His nose was pressed perfectly into clit while he tongue-fucked you, so perfectly that you found your orgasm blindsiding you, suddenly snapping in your groin and flooding you with bliss.

When your eyelids at last fluttered open, your climax subsided, Steven gazed at you with adoration. “You’re so bloody gorgeous.” 

There was nowhere to hide your blush given that you were stark naked sitting on the poolside tile. “You’re so bloody good at that. Let me take care of you, I bet that big dick is just aching for me, isn’t it?”  

Steven agreed by pulling you back in the water, hooking his elbows into the bends of your knees and pressing your back into the wall of the pool. You took a hold of his erection, velvet-covered steel in your hand, and guided your husband inside of you below the water’s surface. Steven groaned when he entered you, and scooted you up the length of the wall so your back arched against the side of the pool. Your head rested on the towel, the position exposing your breasts to the warm air, allowing Steven to tongue your nipples as he pushed inside of you. 

The way Steven made love to you couldn’t be more different than how Marc had. Steven was slow, languid, and worshipful feeding his member into your cunt. Even though he was splitting you apart on his fat cock and filled his mouth with your tits, it didn’t feel like you could get close enough. You dug your fingertips, still sporting your wedding manicure, into the tile on either side of your bodies in an attempt to anchor yourself. The universe shrank to just you and your husband, the feel of him — so hot and hard inside of you — and the small rectangle of water you were fucking in. 

Steven angled his hips so the head of cock could brush against your g-spot and rub his pelvis against your clit. The combination was devastating but he entreated you, “Go on, love, can you give me one more? Know you can do it….wanna see your pretty face while you come.” 

You’d had three orgasms in the last twenty-four hours, but Steven was ruthless in the most tender way possible, cooing into your ear and coaxing yet another release from your quaking, over-stimulated body. The spasming of your pussy around him resulted in his hips picking up pace and frantically suckling on a nipple while his climax crashed over him. 

“Wow,” he marveled after you separated. 

“That about sums it up,” you giggled, dunking under the water to re-wet your hair, “and to think we have ten days just for us.” 

***

The pair of you eventually did unpack and leave your room. You’d never had so much space in your suitcase before, since the majority of what you’d brought were swimsuits, skimpy lingerie and a few sundresses for meals and sightseeing. 

You put what you packed to use the next evening when you and your husband went to dinner in town. The night began in a breezy, white satin slip dress. Jake held your hand as you two strolled back to the resort, both of you giddy, inebriated from the wine at dinner and each other’s presence. 

Jake began humming some Spanish song you didn’t recognize, twirling you and pulling you under his arm as you navigated the uneven but mostly empty streets of the neighborhood. Marc and Steven were shy about it, but they had a great voice, and you soaked up every moment Jake would sing with unfettered delight. 

He ducked down to kiss you, whispering “Eres mi reina” when you broke apart. 

“Te amo,” you sighed back. 

Jake re-captured your lips, and next thing you knew, your back was against the side of a building as he attacked your mouth. It took a Herculean amount of self-control to withdraw your lips from his, but you had to or else you’d start fucking in the middle of the street. While you two shared a fondness for a bit of exhibitionism, that wasn’t exactly the vibe you were trying to achieve on your honeymoon. “Papi, let’s go inside.”

Your husband ignored you, his hands creeping down to your ass and kissing below your ear. 

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

That got his attention. Dark eyes glittered in the street lamplight as they searched yours.  “How?” 

“Guess you’ll just have to see,” you teased. 

From there on, Jake followed you back to your suite like a puppy. Once you’d returned to the privacy of your room, you pushed Jake back on the bed and ordered him to wait, then disappeared into the bathroom to change out of the dress and into a white bustier and panty set that managed to be lacy, sheer, strappy and somewhat tasteful all at once. 

You remerged and Jake instantly muttered a “Joder” at the sight of you. 

You did a little spin for him to get the full view. “Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda?”

“No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy,” he corrected you in a growl. “Ven aquí.”

“Come get me,” you challenged him. 

Jake leapt to his feet and chased you around the suite. You evaded him in a fit of giggles, but you were no match for your ex-military, ex-superhero husband. He circled his arms around your waist, lifted you from the ground, and tossed you onto the bed in one swift move. 

“Naughty,” he rumbled, caging you between his meaty thighs and while he rid himself of his shirt, then moved to unbutton and unzip his linen trousers to free his raging erection. Once he’d taken them off, plus palmed himself to take some of the edge off, he began exploring your body with his hands. 

“This is too pretty to rip off of you,” he mused, tracing the waistband of your tiny thong. But Marc’s voice had said it. 

“Oh, hi babe,” you greeted him, a little startled. 

He kissed you hello, grinding against your cloth-covered core, “Hi baby.” 

As much as you enjoyed the feel of his length against your soaked panties, you had to ask, “Everything ok with Jake?” 

“Yeah, we just thought we’d maybe try being co-conscious tonight, if that’s ok? Be a little more fast and loose with the switches?” 

Now there was an idea. In the past, one of the boys may have fronted momentarily while you were intimate with another, you’d never had sex with them fully co-conscious, to your knowledge at least.

“Okay,” you consented. “Just don’t get cross with me if I accidentally call someone by the wrong name.” 

Marc fixed you with a warm, lopsided smile, “We’ll take it easy on you…to start.” 

“Good,” you pulled him into another kiss. When you two broke apart, Steven was grinning down at you. 

“Now this is just darling,” he mused, tugging the cups of your bustier down to free your breasts. He wasted no time attaching his skilled mouth to your left nipple to lavish his attention on your sensitive peak.

You mewled, eyes screwed shut, and your hand shot down to Steven’s boxer-briefs to grope him through the fabric. 

Steven switched nipples with a rumble in his chest and once you were face to face again, Jake asked you “Will you suck Papi’s cock in your pretty outfit?” 

“Por supuesto Papi.”

You flipped over, reorienting yourselves so Jake was on his back and you were straddling his legs. You discarded his boxers and did your best to make a show of lapping at his tip, mouthing at the head and using your tongue to play with it. 

“Joder si, nena,” Jake heaved, trying to keep from bucking into your mouth without warning. “Just like that.” 

You worked your mouth down on his length, and you spotted who you thought was Steven craning his neck to watch you swallow his dick down your throat with your tits still out. “Bloody hell.”

You chuckled around his erection, the vibrations sending a shiver through Steven’s spine. Or wait, was that a Marc sound? 

“Don’t stop,” Jake urged you. You obeyed happily, licking the circumference of his cock to wet it, then wrapping your palm around the appendage to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth while you went to town on him. 

You could tell your boys were close by the way their right leg twitched, but before could take them into the home stretch, a hand pulled you off their cock by your hair. 

“Jake doesn’t get to come just like that,” Marc growled, wrapping his own hand around the base of his manhood to stave off his orgasm. 

“Fuck you,” Jake vollied quickly before Marc reclaimed the body and eased with you a kiss. “Hands and knees, baby.” 

You obeyed, wiggling your ass a bit for effect, and whimpered when you felt a palm slap across your right cheek. That was Jake for sure. The drenched crotch of your thong was pushed to the side, then you felt the head of your husband’s cock circle your soaking entrance a few times before it began to breach you, which was a Steven move. 

Your husband set a steady pace and confirmed your guess as to who was fronting when Steven raved, “Oh, I see why they like this position…such a lovely view.” 

“It’s good isn’t it?” Marc chimed in, increasing the pace of his thrusts some. “First time I fucked you we did it like this, remember baby?” 

“Ye-uh…uh-huh,” you could barely formulate words at this point. The idea of your husbands teaming up to fuck you in a slutty little matching lingerie set was melting your brain. 

“She takes it so well,” Jake added. His hand pressed in between your shoulder blades and you yielded so that your face and chest were resting on the bed, ass higher in the air. 

“Ugh that’s it,” Marc groaned, landing another slap across your rear. 

“Doing so well for us, love,” he praised. It was Steven obviously. “You alright?” 

You stuttered out a “yes” and began pushing your hips back against his groin as much as you could to drive your point home. 

When Jake said “Hmmm, si nena, let us feel that little cunt clench around our cock,” you couldn’t resist anymore, you had to touch yourself. 

Jake spotted it right away and spanked you again, “Did I say you could play yourself?”

“Por favor Papi,” you begged. You were beyond dignity at this point, all you could think about was coming. “I need it.”

“Let her Jake,” Steven argued, rubbing the imprint his alter’s hand left to soothe your skin, “she got all dressed up for us.” 

“Plus it’s hot as fuck to watch her work her little bud,” Marc pointed out. 

“Bien, bien,” Jake let it go. 

“Who do you want to make you come?” Steven asked, his hips never faltering as he continued to impale you with the fat member you craved.  

“I…um…uh…”

“Aw look Steven, we made her all cockdumb,” Marc cooed at you. 

Your current position prevented you from sending a dirty look at your husband. He wasn’t exactly wrong though.  

“I got her,” Jake volunteered. A moment later, a wet thumb circled your asshole and edged ever so slightly in. The extra stimulation, combined with your fingers frantically rubbing your clit, caused you to come with a high whine. You bore down on your husband’s big dick as the pleasure wracked you, so profound it was almost painful. 

Your husband held your hips steady as you drifted down from your orgasm and he sought his own release. You reflexively tightened around his spent cock when you felt the ribbons of his seed empty inside of you. 

You rolled over, lying on the bed sideways to look at them. Marc gazed back at you, examining your face with concern to make sure they hadn’t gone too hard on you, you presumed. Speech hadn’t returned to you just yet, so you sent him a toothy, satisfied smile instead. 

“You okay baby?” He asked. You nodded, allowing him to slide off your panties. 

Steven cut in quickly to follow up, “You need anything for your bum?” 

“I think I’m okay, hun, but thank you,” you assured him. He turned you around to take off your bustier for you as well. 

“‘Course,” he replied instantly, slowly standing to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and wipe his cum off of you. “They got a little carried away at the end there.” 

“Did not” you heard Jake snipe back.  

They reappeared with Marc’s stern expression on their features. “You sure you’re okay? Obviously we loved it, but….“

Jake butted in to finish his question, “Did you like it, nena?” 

“Yes,” your tone didn’t leave any room for doubt. Now a little more recovered from your orgasm, you could string together a sentence. “I loved it, it was just intense, and it was our first time being intimate like that.”

“We’re a bit full on, aren’t we?” Steven asked with wry self-deprecation, tossing the used flannel off to the side of the room and getting under the covers. 

“I love it,” you said once again, settling into his arms, “I married you after all.”

“Good,” Steven murmured. “You didn’t happen to bring more lingerie like that, did you?” 

***

Though the benefits to having a private pool were many…mainly that you and your husband could have pool sex whenever the mood struck, you did make it to the beach. It’d be a sin not to, and the image of Marc emerging form the ocean was one you’d lock in your mind until you died. 

He was dripping wet head to toe, dark hair slicked back with water, his trunks clinging to those muscular thighs that drove you wild, and his golden skin had darkened a shade from the sun. Though you knew your husband had once been entangled with an Egyptian deity, you couldn’t help but think that Marc would be quite at home in the Greek pantheon too, with a body and face like that. 

“Hey! You gotta get in,” he ran a hand through his hair, “It’s like bathwater.” 

“I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you blurted out. 

Marc shot you a wide, unguarded grin. “I already married you, you don’t need to keep flattering me anymore.”

“Shut up,” you tossed at him fondly. 

Marc lowered his still dripping body on top of you. You tried to wiggle away from him but Marc locked you in his grasp and attacked you with kisses all over your face, “I think that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman with a more generous heart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Marc,” your voice was thick with tears. It was one thing for Marc to be so playful with you, then add in such loving sentiments expressed to you so openly? You couldn’t help but get verklempt. Your husband had come such a long way - partly thanks to the work he did on his own, with his therapist, and of course you two refusing to give up on each other. 

“Baby, don’t cry!” He cajoled. 

“I’m not, I’m sweaty,” you joked. 

“Okay, then I was sweating at the temple,” Marc bantered back, referring to your wedding ceremony. “Will you please come swim with me? The most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” 

You shoved playfully Marc and got up to head to the water, “I give you one compliment…” 

***

Kate, one of your friends from work, had gifted you a couples massage at the resort for your wedding present. You weren’t sure how the boys decided which one would front for it, but when it was time to leave for the appointment, Jake was the one accompanying you. 

It was heavenly to have all of the wedding and travel stress massaged from your muscles, and no one was more deserving of rest & relaxation than your husband. Their body worked three jobs, plus there had been much strategizing and occasional hair-pulling for Marc and Jake about leaving things with their respective jobs in a place so that they wouldn’t come back from Greece to dumpster fires. Steven was mercifully on summer holiday, so his job was slow anyway. 

The pair of you left your joint session as pliable noodle-people. Jake took your hand as you ambled back to your suite. 

“I’m going to give Kate the biggest thank you,” you vowed. 

He seconded you with a content hum and opened the door to your room. 

“I’m going to take a shower, get all of this oil off of me,” you announced, padding into the bathroom, “honey, what did you do with my shampoo?” 

You routed around in his toiletries bag, thinking you’d found it, but what you produced was definitely not your stolen shampoo. 

Jake had followed you in and when he saw that you were holding the bottle of lube he brought, it was one of the very few times you’d ever seen him blush. You had no trouble getting wet, and you hadn’t brought any toys on vacation either, so what had he brought lube for…oh. 

All he’d wanted for the past few “special occasions” you two had shared (Hannukah, your anniversary, Daylights Savings Time) was anal sex. You weren’t opposed to the idea, but had required a gradual approach to it. To his credit, Jake had been wonderfully patient, and you’d become comfortable with a few of his thick fingers in your ass. 

Jake immediately began to backtrack, “I only brought it in case you wanted to—“

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I mean I’m open to it, when in Greece on your honeymoon, right? 

Jake looked at you with barely contained eagerness. “Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo?”

He knew that if he wanted a piece of your ass, he had to ask in advance. You were a lady and you had a certain mystique you had to maintain, not to mention preparation you needed to undergo. But, given that you were already pretty relaxed and going to shower anyway, now seemed as good a time as any. 

“No time like the present,” you suggested. 

“Wait, really?!” Jake reacted similarly to a little boy who’d been given his first bike. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at his response. “Yeah, I’m all loosened up after the massage and I’ll make this shower a thorough one. So while I do, vamos and make things extra romantic in the bedroom.” 

“Si Señora Lockley,” he basically road-runnered out of the bathroom. 

Jake took your task to heart – when you entered the bedroom, hair damp, lube in hand, towel wrapped around you — candles had been lit, music was playing softly, and he had even managed to get a bottle of champagne up to the room while you’d washed up. 

“Not bad Lockley,” you said after surveying the room. You tossed him the lube. “Not bad at all.”

He shot you a grin that was akin to a wolf who just caught sight of a rabbit. Jake gestured to the champagne, “Shall we? Loosen you up un poquito mas?” 

“Por favor,” you assented. You weren’t sure exactly what made the popping of a champagne bottle so sexual, but a little thrill zinged through you when your husband ejected the cork from its glass neck. 

“Cheers,” you thanked him when he handed you a flute, raising it to toast, “To…new beginnings.” 

Jake mimicked your movement, “A tí, mi amor.”

Your glasses clinked and the fizzy alcohol rushed down your throat. Jake's eyes never left your face. He watched you closely, anticipating the moment when he could finally touch you. 

You decided sooner was likely better than later, best get the show on the road before you could psych yourself out. Placing your flute down, you crossed to him, “Come here Papi.”

Jake flashed you another predatory grin and followed suit at once. “We don’t need this anymore.” His fingers tucked between the towel covering your skin and pulled it loose so the cloth fell around your feet. 

Jake was more intoxicated by the sight of your naked body than any amount of champagne in his system. He wrapped you into a kiss, plundering your mouth, his lips seeking to consume you. His hands, meanwhile, immediately dropped to your rear. 

Hoisting you up with a squeeze, he carried you over to the bed, depositing you on the mattress much more gently than a few nights ago. His mouth never left yours while he worked you to an orgasm on his fingers. 

Then, and only then, did Jake request you turn over, wedge a pillow under your hips, and leave a line of kisses down the length of your spine. 

You couldn’t help but squirm a little when he pulled your cheeks apart. You’d never felt more exposed in your life, but your husband was quick to quell any of your concerns when he asked in an awed whisper, “Nena, can I kiss you here?” 

“Mmm…oh-okay,” you consented and jerked again when you felt his hot breath on your most vulnerable spot, followed by a brush of his lips. 

Next came the snick of the cap of the bottle being opened, and moments later, Jake massaged lube around your wrinkled skin to coat it thoroughly. He may have been excited, but your husband knew he had to be gentle with you. 

Though Jake had gotten you accustomed to much more, you could never stifle the little “ah” you made when the pad of his finger breached your rim. He coaxed more of his digit inside of you, taking ample time to allow you to adjust. 

Jake checked in with you. “How does that feel?” 

“It’s okay,” you told him, “you can move.” 

He proceeded like that, constantly touching base with you as he fed two more fingers into your tight pucker. Your husband’s preparation was a steady stream of “are you okay nena?”, “you feel good? Papi wants you to feel good,” and other praise. 

So thorough was Jake in opening you up that he’d lost his erection by the time you’d given him the go-ahead to enter you. He wasn’t exactly miffed by this development, because he knew precisely how he wanted to get it back. 

Even more lube was drizzled onto your bum, then Jake slicked up his cock to wedge it between your plush cheeks and began to grind himself between them. There was no way to muffle the rumble in his chest at the feel of your ass smothering his cock, the lube providing the necessary slip, and he was damn near entranced by his cockhead reappearing each time from the cleft of your ass. 

You helped him, working your hips back to meet his while he humped you. It felt amazing, and your asshole clenched at the thought that he’d be inside you soon. Fucking your ass cheeks got Jake back to full mast in no time. You were beginning to lose yourself in the rhythmic sliding of your bodies when you husband draped himself over your back to ask in a murmur, “Can I put it in, nena?” 

“Uh huh,” you confirmed, “just go slow please.” 

“Claro que si,” Jake assured you, placing a kiss behind your ear before he straightened up. 

He applied even more lube to your now winking asshole and his dick before he notched the tip at your entrance. “Estas lista?” 

“Yes honey, please,” his cockhead at your pucker felt like a promise you were now desperate for him to make good on. 

Jake’s tip popped past the ring of muscle and you nearly bit down on the linens below you. It was intense, though not altogether painful like you’d feared. You focused on keeping your breathing even as your husband continued to sink inside of you, becoming lightheaded from the overwhelming feeling of fullness in your ass and the deep pulls of oxygen you were pumping into your lungs. 

“Bien?” Jake asked. The strain in his voice was evident. 

“Yeah,” was the most you could manage. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like I want more,” you told him truthfully. The feeling of having your husband’s dick up your bum was dizzying, deliciously too much, like a scab you weirdly enjoyed picking. 

You experimentally fluttered your muscles around his length and even though Jake was a loving, patient man, even he could not resist the thrust and groan that the move prompted. “Feel good, Papi? Like everything you’ve wanted?”

Jake began moving his hips slowly, “And more.” 

While the view of the sea outside of your window was stunning, Jake didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight he’d enjoy more than his throbbing cock splitting your ass in half over and over again.  

“You…you feel so big like this,” you gasped. “So huge inside me.” 

“Joder, mami, you can’t just say things like that,” he cautioned you as he continued to plow you. 

“Buh-but I can’t help it,” you confessed, and your mind quickly supplied what to say next to drive him absolutely wild. “Fucking me so deep, Papi.”

“Nnnngnnn,” came Jake’s scintillating reply. By now, most of the burn had faded from your channel and you could focus on the delicious stretch in your rear from his cock.

You honestly couldn’t believe how good it felt. Fingers and fantasies were one thing, plus you were fully prepared to take one for the team, to be a good wife and try it even if you weren't keen on the idea. But now you were the slightest bit ashamed to admit that you kind of loved having a cock in your ass. Or maybe it was the fact it was your husband’s thick erection filling you. 

Jake’s brain did nearly explode when you began meeting his thrusts, rocking back on your knees so he could penetrate you deeper. Your ass was absolutely suffocating his cock with its heat and clench around him, he truly believed he could live inside of you forever if you’d let him. 

The two of you communicated exclusively in gasps in grunts, the slap of skin on skin reverberating throughout the suite while you drowned each other in pleasure. You knew when Jake picked up the rate of his thrusts and began growling that he was close and oh, it was different to have your ass filled with cum rather than your pussy. 

You’d barely recovered from Jake easing his cock out of you when you were flipped onto your back and your husband buried his face between your legs. A high-pitched moan tore out from you when his tongue probed your now slightly gaping asshole to collect his cum. 

Jake didn’t stop there, licking around your cleft and spearing his tongue to circle its tip around your sensitive rim. He only relented when you gently pushed his face away from overstimulation. Between your earlier orgasm and the passion of what you had just shared with Jake, you needed to rest.  

He rose back to be level with your face, whispering “thank you” non-stop as he collected you in his arms. “I guess I have to be extra good from now on.”

“Mmmm?” you sought clarification with a sleepy hum. 

“We need to do that again so I can’t piss you off anymore,” he explained. 

You chuckled. “Exactly right, esposo.” 

He inhaled deeply, taking a deep whiff of your hair to smell the faint citrusy scent of your shampoo before he left the bed. To his credit, Jake was excellent with the post-anal aftercare. He drew you a bath, ordered everything you wanted from (the heinously expensive in his opinion) room service, rubbed some petroleum jelly on your pucker to soothe it. He cuddled you in bed, long after the sun sank beyond the horizon, until you drifted off later that evening. 

***

“Good morning!” the concierge Helena greeted you as you approached her desk. 

“Hi there,” you chirped back. The boys slept in this morning, which gave you the opportunity to sneak down to the lobby and square away the details for today’s day trip that you and Steven planned on taking. “Could I please have a copy of the ferry schedule?”

“Of course, Mrs. Spector,” one week in and you still got a little flutter every time someone called you that, “where are you headed?” 

“Delos,” you told her. 

“A must when visiting Mykonos. We’d be happy to arrange a private tour of the island for you and your husband,” Helena offered, “We have relationships with a few exceptional guides on Delos and–”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” you tried to turn her down gently. “But thanks for the offer.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s so much history there.” 

“My husband’s a professor of ancient civilizations,” you explained as she passed you the little flyer with the ferry timetable, “he’s been researching Delos since we booked this trip months ago.” 

“Huh, I thought he said he was a consultant,” Helena’s colleague, a male concierge who’d welcomed you, chimed in. 

“He is,” you covered, thinking fast, “He teaches and consults with archaeologists on digs.” 

“You’ll be well set then” Helena concluded with a smile. 

“Yes,” you agreed, “I won’t be surprised if by the end of the day, I’ll be able to lead a tour of the island.” 

Your prediction was more or less correct. Steven’s eyes lit up as Delos came into view from the ferry’s bow. He’d already briefed you on the early history and beginnings of the island on the ride over. Anyone else, it would be pedantic and infuriating, but Steven was so genuinely invested that his urge to share about the island was endearing, his enthusiasm about its lore contagious. 

You two meandered through the breathtaking ruins hand-in-hand. Steven’s unofficial tour of the island was so engaging that you clocked a few American tourists loitering near you, eavesdropping to hear all of your husband’s in-depth knowledge of the different statues and remains of the site. 

Your husband remained blissfully oblivious, and you didn’t mind the audience. You’d gotten your picture at the Terrace of the Lions, and besides, Steven was at his best like this. You thought back to when you first met and started dating him: his hunched posture, general jumpiness, the way he’d hedge and second-guess himself. Those facets of him had already melted away to an extent now that all four of you had settled into a groove that worked for everyone, but when Steven had a chance to talk about the subjects he was passionate about, he was calm, confident, and charismatic. He shone brighter than the blazing Greek sun and it warmed your heart more than words could ever describe to see your darling husband so effortlessly in his element. 

So taken were you by his swagger that you interrupted his latest lecture about Cleopatra or something as you strolled to the Temple of The Delians, walking him back into one of the tall, ancient pillars to kiss him senseless. 

“Blimey,” he sighed when you broke apart, “what was that for?” 

You cocked your head playfully, “Do I need a reason to kiss my smart, sexy husband?” 

“No,” he conceded with a sheepish smile playing across his lips. 

You crowded closer to his body, his spine now pressed against the millennia-old, unyielding marble.

“These broad shoulders, all this golden skin…you look like a Greek god, you know,” you informed him while your hands traveled the cotton-covered expanse of his body. You pressed yourself impossibly closer to his body. 

“Careful,” he warned you,“because soon this column won’t be the only thing as hard as stone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Your tone was a playful challenge as you palmed his hardness through his shorts. 

He groaned, “Babe…”

You withdrew your hand from his crotch. “Wanna feel what you do to me? So we’re even?” 

He nodded feverishly to accept your offer and slipped his hand under the skirt of your sundress to dip his fingers inside of your lacy panties and feel you. 

“So wet,” he observed reverently, playing with your folds and bud, “All this for me?”

“It’s certainly not for the ruins,” you quipped. 

He slipped a finger inside you for your cheekiness, and you instantly tightened around him with a little whimper. 

“Only you could make me want to cut a trip to Delos short,” he mused, slowly withdrawing his finger from your cunt, wiping your wetness on your panties, so as not to draw any attention. 

“I’ll behave myself,” you promised, smoothing down your skirt. “Delos was your only honeymoon request.” 

Steven’s hand took yours once again. “This and more lingerie fashion shows.” 

You squeezed his hand, “Play your cards right and I'll give you a good one later.” 

***

You’d put on quite the naughty fashion show for Steven when you returned to the suite and between the vigorous fucking your little act had resulted in and a day of sightseeing in the sun, you two passed out cold post-coitus. 

Marc had woken up with you just as the sun disappeared below the horizon and suggested a dip to cool and rinse you off after your earlier lovemaking. You knew what “a dip in the pool” meant when your husband suggested it, but what you hadn’t expected was to be bent over your balcony in the Grecian twilight in the nude while your husband railed you from behind.

“Now this is a beautiful view,” he remarked as he pounded you. “I have the ocean and your ass jiggling without having to turn my head.” 

Words escaped you at the moment. You were bowed over the rail, indescribably full in this position, equal parts thrilled and terrified that people could see your husband using your pussy in the dwindling sun.

Marc pulled your ass cheeks apart to get a better look at his cock as it was sucked in by your cunt. He kept a hand holding you open while the other massaged the wrinkled skin of your pucker, causing you to convulse at the unexpected touch. 

“I get your ass next,” he declared, “It was so hot watching Jake take it…fuck, like a porno just for me and Steven. You were so beautiful.” 

You mewled. As dirty as Marc liked to be, he could never abandon his adoration of you. You belonged to one another, each of you placing your trust, respect, vulnerability in the other’s hands to have absolutely shameless sex like this. 

“Duh-duh-do…do you think anyone can see?” You wondered out loud. 

“Dunno,” Marc replied, still thumbing your asshole. “Probably not but I don’t care if they do, because you’re mine. Right, baby?” 

“Yeah,” you instantly concurred . “All yours daddy.” 

The use of the pet name spurred Marc to spin you around so that your back was up against the crossbeam that made up the railing. He hitched your leg around his thick hips and plunged back into your needy core swiftly. 

“So beautiful,” he repeated again now that you were facing each other. “So goddamn gorgeous.” 

“Such a slut for you Marc,” you rambled, your breath hitching when his hand dropped between you once more, this time to strum at your clit. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunted. “My wife is a slut for me and only me, you’ve got everyone else fooled.” 

“It’s ‘cause you fuck me like this,” you provided, “‘s why I married you, no one else can make me come so hard.” 

Marc redoubled his efforts on your little nub, now fully peeking out from its hood. “That’s right, come for me baby.” 

Who were you to disobey? You had to bite your lip to muffle your mind as the fire of your orgasm licked through every corner of your body. Your hands gripped the wooden railing for dear life as it spread throughout your limbs. 

Marc followed shortly after you, burying his face into your shoulder as he released deep into your heat with a satisfied groan. He brought your lips together once he finished, capturing you in tender liplock, allowing his cock to soften inside you before extracting it. 

“Let’s never go back to London,” you proposed. 

You could feel Marc’s amused smile against your skin. “Deal.” 

Of course you had to, but it was nice to pretend as if you all didn’t have lives to go back to in two and a half days, even if only for a moment. 

***

The next morning, your last full day in Greece, you didn’t want to get out of bed. Your airtight, logical reasoning was if you didn’t wake up the day couldn’t start and pass you by. Plus, you were too comfortable to move. Your back and neck were supported by fluffy pillows, your legs were splayed open and damn, there was the most delightful sensation between them. 

It took embarrassingly long for your sleep and pleasure-addled brain to realize that your husband was feasting at you. You eyes blinked open to find the covers pushed back and his inky curls at the apex of your thighs. You moaned, and when he flicked his tongue in quick succession over your clit, you knew it was Steven. 

“Honey.” 

“Oh you’re awake,” he grinned, his chin wet from your slick when he briefly separated himself from your cunt to greet you. “Brilliant.” 

…And he went right back to eating you out like a starving man. You gasped, your fingers curled into his locks, and you jolted into a sitting position as Steven continued. Already the steady pulse of pleasure beat through you indicating that your climax was near. 

“How long have you been at this, baby?” 

“Dunno,” he murmured against your slit, “a while.” 

“Yeah?” Your voice was barely more than a rasp. “Woke up hungry for some pussy?” 

He moaned and nodded his head with his tongue firmly shoved against your bud and fuck, yep that did it. You came with a keen, your thighs trembling and your fingers clawing at the crisp white sheets.

Steven retreated some while your orgasm wracked your body, then dove right back in. You tried to twist away from him, still so sensitive, but Steven wrapped his muscled arms around your twitching legs to hold you still. 

“Baby,” you attempted to protest. 

“Need it,” he countered, his voice reedy. 

You pet his curls and tried to keep your legs steady as his morning scruff tickled your inner thighs. At least he eased back in to his assault on your cunt, dropping the lightest kisses on the crease where your thighs meet your groin before lapping at you once more.

He was trying to get as much of you wet as he could, it felt like, before he narrowed his target to just licking stripes from your asshole to your clit. Only once he had you dripping to his liking did he return to stick his tongue in your hole, gulping down your taste, moving to your clit shortly thereafter. 

By that point it didn’t take much for you to erupt on his tongue, awarding Steven another orgasm that you could feel from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

You were not proud to admit that you kind of zoned out at that point, Steven’s mouth enshrined you in a haze of pleasure so dense that you just kind of floated atop it. Your husband seemed to be having the time of his life down there, so you were more than content to submit his ministrations.

You couldn’t really remember your name anymore but did it matter? Did you actually need to know your name to receive all of this ecstasy? 

He pulled one - wait maybe it was two? - orgasms out of you - solely with his mouth before Steven’s fingers joined in. He performed a variation of your favorite move, sucking on your clit and instead of finger-fucking you, his digits pressed deep inside of your pussy. He stroked your walls,  fingertips searching for that special spot. He found it, then your sweet Steven proceeded  to abuse the ever-loving fuck out of it. 

You could feel the magnitude of the orgasm building rapidly, more rapidly than you were used to, yet nevertheless you canted your hips against Steven’s mouth and fingers as you hurdled toward your peak.  Your release arrived with a distinct feeling of letting go, an uncontrollable sensation, but Steven wouldn’t stop worshiping your pussy, which wrenched a pitiful, strained wail from your mouth as you peaked. 

It was as if you couldn’t stop coming. You'd never experienced anything like this before, and although it felt magnificent, it scared you some too. 

Steven’s voice brought you back. “Fuck, that was hot.”

Your vision returned and you peered down at him to ask, “Did I just squirt?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his face a portrait of sheer wonder. “It was bloody amazing.” 

“Ohmygod” you reeled, words coming out on a rush. “I didn’t know I could do that.” 

A flash of movement caught your eye. Steven gripped his cock which looked painfully hard, the top purpled and leaking. 

“C’mere baby,” you cooed, motioning toward you. “Use my mouth.” You couldn’t do much currently, but you could do this. 

Steven didn’t need to be told twice, awkwardly walking on his knees so he was straddling your chest. You gave his erection a few swipes of your tongue before you looked up at your husband, your eyes beckoning him to fuck your mouth like he needed to after denying himself pleasure for so long. You gripped onto his muscled, pillowy ass cheeks while he feverishly pistoned his dick into the warm suction of your mouth, the loveliest little sounds and cries escaping him. 

Given the events of this morning, it wasn’t long before you were swallowing down Steven’s cum. The size of his load indicated how pent up he’d been, and you struggled to swallow all of his hot seed down in one gulp. Your husband swung his leg over your body and collapsed next to you, the two of you rendered silent after the intense lovemaking you’d just shared. 

“Blimey,” Steven remarked. “You alright, babe? Need anything?” 

You nuzzled into his chest. “I’m hungry.”  

“Yeah, we both worked up quite the appetite, didn’t we?” he chuckled. 

You joined in, amused. “If only we could subsist off each other’s bodily fluids.” 

“We definitely wouldn’t have left the room this week if that had been the case,” he pointed out. “I think the restaurant’s still serving breakfast if we hurry.”

“Can’t we get room service? I can’t move.” You pulled the covers over your head in protest. 

“But it’s so bloody expensive,” he bemoaned. 

You revealed your face to fire back, “Well, you should’ve thought of that before you made me squirt because you’ve rendered my legs useless.” 

Steven’s expression became tinged with concern. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes,” you assuaged him once again, “but four orgasms tends to take it out of you. Plus, baby, it’s our last day here, we should treat ourselves.” 

Your husband relented, reaching for the in-room phone, “Want the bowl you had last time?”

You nodded, just absolutely beaming now that you’d gotten your way, and planted a wet kiss on Steven’s cheek as he placed your breakfast order. 

He pulled you close to him once more after he hung up, and you pondered as he held you, “I can’t believe I’ll be back at work in forty-eight hours. I’ll be meant to be catching up on emails and all I’ll be able to think about is how well you three fucked me.” 

Steven hummed in a mix of agreement and satisfaction. “We certainly made the most of it, didn’t we? It’ll be tough to go back to our usual routine and not shag at least two times a day.”

“How did we even do it?” you giggled. 

“No idea,” he played along, then tilted your chin up to kiss you gingerly, sincerely. “I think it’s safe to say our marriage has gotten off to a cracking start however.” 

You reconnected your lips, kissing him deeper. “Couldn’t agree more, my love.” 

A/N: hopefully this was worth the wait!! thank you again dawnsutopia for requesting and more fills to come soon! 

Taglist: @twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi​, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042 @nikitawolfxo

Translations: 

Joder - Fuck 

Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda? - You like? Do you think I look cute? 

No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy - No, you’re cute but now you look so sexy 

Ven aquí - come here 

Por supuesto Papi - of course daddy

Joder si, nena - fuck yeah babe 

Bien, bien - okay, okay 

 Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo? - good, when do you want to do it? 

Vamos - let’s go

Por favor - please 

Señora - Mrs. 

un poquito mas - a little more 

A tí, mi amor - to you, my love 

Claro que si - of course 

Estas lista - are you ready? 

esposo - husband 

[the-little-ewok]

Shift

Shift Steven Grant X F!Reader  (Implied future Marc Spector X F!Reader) Rating: T+ Wordcount: 3700 (ish) Warnings: Angst, nightmares, anxiety, mention of blood, and of course… FLUFF Summary: Marc calls you to calm down Steven after he has a terrible nightmare. But something isn't quite right with Marc either…

A/N: This takes place between Tilt and Balance when the reader is still only dating Steven. It can be read as a standalone fic. (It may seem like a slightly sad ending for Marc but if you read Balance it fixes it..) I am not a system, nor do I know anyone who is a system. This is based purely on my research, the show, and the information contained within the comics. Please forgive any offence.

_________

"Are you alright?"

"Marc?" You groan, rolling over in bed to look at the clock, holding the phone to your ear and squinting against the brightness of the flashing numbers. "It's the middle of the fucking night."

"I'm aware of the time. Are you alright?" 

"No, Marc, I'm not alright. You called me in the middle of the night!" You snap with a sigh. "What do you want?"

"I want you to come over." His tone is impatient, clipped and to the point, the same way he always is with you now. At some point, you must have said something wrong, did something wrong. At some point something shifted in him and gone was his annoying teasing, his occasional flirtations comments, the tentative friendship you had begun. You wish you knew how to fix whatever had broken, but when you ask, he always softens and sighs, "you didn't do anything wrong." 

Except you must have. 

"What do you mean?" You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, tiredness still dragging your eyes down heavily. If Marc was well enough to speak to you, then you're sure Steven was at least ok. They did share the same body, after all. 

"Exactly what I said. Can you come here? Please. I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important." The please is what really catches your attention. You can't remember the last time Marc said please about anything. It has you sitting up in bed, your heart fluttering with anxiety. 

"Marc, what's happened?"

"Steven had a nightmare, and he's stressed out. He won't listen to me that you are fine. I had to take over to stop him. He's got himself worked up. He thinks you might get hurt." Marc explains exhaustedly, and you can so perfectly picture his frown of worry. He's probably leaning against the kitchen counter, still dressed in Steven’s oversized sleep clothes, agitated and unable to keep still. You've seen him that way before, the first time you'd fallen asleep on Steven’s couch, waking in the middle of the night to him banging around in the kitchen. He wouldn't tell you what was wrong, so you spent the night sitting up, quietly watching him, while he quietly tried to ignore you until he finally went to bed.  

"I can't come to you right now. I'm not having him run through the streets like a mad man. Will you come here?"

"Okay," you nod, throwing back the covers and getting up, "I'll be there soon."

"Do not walk. It's dark, and I can't protect both of you right now." Marc instructs, before he suddenly goes quiet, hissing something in the background, at Steven you assume. Normally you would have argued with him, repeated once more that you can take care of yourself, and don't need anyone to protect you, but there's something in his tone that makes you stop, something you can't quite place. Maybe it's just that he's already worried. You don't want to add to that, for Steven’s sake. 

"I'll be there soon as I can."

You're already in a cab when you realise you're still in your pajamas. 

~

Marc answers the door and your heart drops into your stomach. His clothes are drenched in sweat, his curls messy and wild, his frown deeper than ever, his jaw holding so much tension it must be painful. Even so, he looks relieved at the sight of you, which in itself stirs worry in your belly. 

"Thank you for coming." He lets you into the apartment, shutting the door and redoing all the locks.

"Must be pretty bad for you to have called me over," you frown, hanging up your coat. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I've told him it's just a bad dream, but he insists that you aren't ok, and I'm struggling to keep him under control," Marc grits out. It's all too clear exactly what he means. Usually the switches between them are seamless, the blink of an eye, and they change, but it's like he's physically having to hold Steven back — fists clasped at his side's, his whole body rigid, his breathing carefully measured. You wonder how bad this nightmare actually was for something like this to happen. 

You aren't sure if Marc's strength breaks, or he just lets Steven take over, but before you can react you are bundled up into his arms. 

"Are you ok? You're not hurt, are you? He didn't hurt you?" Steven lets you go and starts patting you down, spinning you and checking you for injuries. It would be comical if you couldn't feel the way his hands are trembling, and see the way he has tears in his eyes. 

"Hey, hey, I'm ok." Grabbing his hands, you hold them tightly in yours, forcing him to stop obsessively checking you over. "Who would have hurt me? Marc?"

"Khonshu," Steven swallows hard, his eyes flickering over your face, evidently still checking that you weren't about to collapse with some grievous wound. "We should have come to you. I was-i was coming to you. Marc wouldn't let me. I tried to rescue you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your heart breaks as his tears break free, his whole body trembling as he mumbles out apologies.

"Steven, it's ok. I'm ok," you reassure him, throwing your arms around him and cuddling him tightly. His fingers claw into the material of your shirt, holding you to him as he buries his face in your neck, his tears hot against your skin as he suddenly dissolves into heartbreaking sobs. 

"Oh, Steven,” you whisper softly, holding him tighter as you stroke his back comfortingly. “Must have been some nightmare. I'm ok though. I promise none of it was real."

"I know. I know," he mumbles against your skin, his quiet sobs finally dying down as he seems to realise that you're here and safe. "Marc said the same, but Khonshu… I didn't… It was so real. It was just like before…with Marc. When we… I always thought it was a dream." He lets you go to run a trembling hand through his hair. 

"Just like before. I just woke up somewhere, and you were there and he…the blood and gooey bits…" he trails off, shaking his head before he gets a look of determination in his eyes you've never seen with Steven. He's practically panting with anger as he grits out the words, "I swear he lays one bloody finger on you I-I…  I'll… I'll do something to him! He's having a laugh if he thinks he can come anywhere near you."

"Ok, ok, calm down." You rub his arms gently, waiting for his breathing to even out a little before you continue. "Khonshu hasn't come anywhere near me. And even if he did, I'm sure you and Marc would get to me first. I know it's scary, and it seemed real, but it wasn't. I'm right here, I'm ok and nobody is coming after me."

He seems to come back to himself a little, taking a deep breath and giving a nod at your words, gently taking your waist to pull you close against him again.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Sorry, I'm acting absolutely bonkers, aren't I?" He frowns with an almost bitter laugh. "Bloody acting like a lunatic. I'm sorry Marc called you. I didn't mean to worry you."

"You turning up at my door in the middle of the night would worry me more," you smile reassuringly, cupping his cheek and gently wiping away the remnants of his tears. 

"Yeah, suppose that's right innit. Wouldn’t want to piss your neighbours off either with the knocking," he pauses, tilting his head as he looks you over properly this time, "Hang on, are you in your pyjamas?" 

The heat spreads out across your cheeks, and you tug at the edge of your top, suddenly very aware of the mess you must look. 

"Marc panicked me and I sort of ran out the door, and well," you gesture down to your attire. "Didn't really think about it. I know I'm not very presentable."

"No, no," Steven repeats softly, "nothing wrong with you. You look amazing. You always do."

He takes your hands in his and squeezes gently, leaning his forehead against yours as his eyes flicker closed, "You look much better than you did being eaten alive by dead birds."

You decide not to tell Steven that his words are hardly a complement, deciding some things are better left unsaid in these circumstances. 

"Doesn't sound like that would be pleasant," you whisper, gently squeezing his hands as his thumbs stroke the back of yours. 

"It wasn't," he sighs quietly, before he finally lifts his head from yours. 

He lets go of one of your hands and cups your cheek gently before he leans in and presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn't like the ones you've shared before. It's nothing like the sweet tentative kisses he gave you on your first date, it's nothing like those that had a needy edge to them as you made out on his sofa earlier this week, nothing like the quick kisses hello and goodbye he gives you each day. There's an edge of desperation to it, a need to be intimate, to be close with you, to confirm you're real and safe. You give him all the time he needs, all the reassurance he wants in your kiss. You tangle your fingers in his curls as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against him. 

When he finally pulls away, he keeps your body tight against his, burying his face in your neck. You feel his eyelashes brush against your skin as he closes his eyes. 

"I don't want to go back to sleep," he mumbles against your neck. "Never going to sleep again."

You can't help a tiny smile at his stubbornness, which is rare in its appearance, especially in your presence. 

"Ok you don't have to, at least not tonight. I'll make us some snacks, and we'll watch movies instead for a while, yeah?" 

He hesitates a minute before he finally lifts his head from your neck, his eyes wide and hopeful. 

"You'll stay a bit? You really don't mind?" 

"I really don't mind," you assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm here as long as you need me to be."

~

It's the quiet padding across the floorboards, and the absolute lack of conversation that alerts you to the fact it's Marc, not Steven, who returns to you after he disappeared to get changed.

You keep your back to him as you quietly finish filling the bowls you have laid out with crisps and sweets, before you pause, biting your lip nervously. 

"You know, I think maybe you were a little bit worried about me too?" You tease softly, trying to ease the tension that suddenly seems to be sucking the air out of the room. You turn to face him, but he's not looking at you, he's staring out of the window at the full moon. It bathes him in a soft glow, outlining the slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, his deep set frown. You ignore the eruption of butterflies in your stomach, convincing yourself it's just because he looks like a version of Steven, your boyfriend, the man you've fallen in love with. Marc is a world away from Steven, and your heart is already given away, yet it still beats a little more unsteadily when he turns to you, his eyes glinting almost black in the dim lighting as he speaks. 

"Does it matter?" 

He tilts his head and takes a deep breath, going back to staring out of the window, continuing without waiting for you to answer. "Steven wanted you here, and he wasn't listening to me. Like I said, I didn't want him running around the streets. It was just a nightmare."

You get the distinct impression he's lying, but you don't say it. Your relationship with Marc is often strained enough without you tipping the boat all the way over. Yet it still knots in your belly, the impression he's hiding something from you. And when he sighs, running a hand through his hair, the knot only tightens painfully. 

"You know, we have the same nightmares sometimes? It's like being a character in someone else's dream. I couldn't control it or stop it. You were there and he just…" he trails off, shaking his head, deciding not to give you details. "Steven keeps it from you to keep you safe but, it scares us half to death that Khonshu…it doesn't matter. It's just a stupid dream."

Us. 

Your heart feels heavy suddenly, as though a weight dropped into your chest at his words. Whether he cared about you or didn’t, whether he admitted it or not, Marc was scared. Any threat from Khonshu was the least of your worries when you have the two of them to consider. 

You don't remember your feet taking you there, don't remember coming around the breakfast bar, stepping over the pile of books Steven always leaves in the way, the ones he's going to move, eventually. You're standing in front of Marc, your hand gently cupping his cheek, before you've thought about it at all.

You open your mouth, but then his eyes slide to meet yours, and all the words dry up. You stand still, his skin warm under your palm, his eyes holding yours, moonlight shielding you from the darkness. 

"Marc," you try again, your voice quiet and unsure, dropping your hand, suddenly conscious that you probably shouldn't have taken that step, "you don't need to worry about me."

"Steven needs you, so it's my job to worry about you by default," Marc responds, his tone flat as he takes a step back from you. It hurts a surprising amount that he doesn't want to be near you, and not for the first time you wish you knew what you had done wrong. 

"Will you stay with him tonight? Steven doesn't want to ask you to stay the whole night in case you say no. So I'm asking for him. You can sleep in our bed.”

You nod in agreement, and keeping your movements slow, take Marc's hand in yours. He stiffens against your touch, and for a second he gives you an almost pained look before his usual scowl takes over. Before he can pull away from you again, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. 

"Thank you, for looking out for Steven," you pause as you squeeze him gently, "and for worrying about me."

At first, he makes no reaction at all. He stands stiffly as though he's scared to move, before hesitantly, he finally hugs you back, pulling you close against him. It's familiar and different all at the same time. You're used to hugging Steven, you're used to the way he feels in your arms, but Marc holds himself differently, and suddenly it's like you're learning how to fit together all over again.

Marc leans the side of his head against yours as he sighs your name softly against your hair. It sends heat skittering across your skin and butterfly's erupting in your belly. Marc never uses your name. He never has, and you always thought he never would. You've been Steven's girlfriend for a long time now. He's always referencing you that way. The soft way he says your name shouldn't stir up the storm of feelings inside you that it does. You bite them down, trying to convince yourself your feelings are just getting mixed up. You already know you're in love with Steven — whole heartedly, hopelessly in love with him. You know this must just be a reaction to the fact in a way he is Steven, even though everything about him is nothing like Steven at all. 

"I'm glad he has you," Marc whispers softly. 

You open your mouth to answer, but he's already gone. You feel his arms go loose for a second before they squeeze you tight enough to steal the air from your lungs. 

"Oh, this is progress! You hugged! I told you Marc would soften again eventually. He just needs a bit of time, don't he? Now you can both go back to being friends! I mean, I don't know what he's been sulking about anyway. Think he's just been in a bad mood for well…ever. But I think we are over it now and things can go back to how they were before, yeah?" Steven babbles excitedly in your ear. 

"Yeah. I hope so." you nod quietly as he cuddles you warmly, still lost in the confusion of your feelings. If Steven notices anything is wrong, he chooses not to say anything, but it's a long time afterwards that he finally lets you go.

~

When you open your eyes there's light streaming through the window, you're wrapped in warm blankets, sleeping on soft pillows that smell familiar, and yet unfamiliar. There's music coming from the kitchen, quiet and drowned out by Stevens' out of tune voice singing along. 

"Everyday I wake up, then I start to break up…" 

You smile, sitting up in the bed where one of them must have put you. You remember feeling sleepy, curled up on the sofa, your feet over Steven’s lap, his arms resting on your legs. You remember closing your eyes for just a second, then, nothing.

"Steven?" 

He pauses singing at your voice, spinning around to look at you. He looks like he could do with at least three weeks’ worth of sleep and a comb. You suspect that he kept to his promise and hasn’t slept again all night. You make a mental note to make sure you try and get him to nap at some point today. 

Steven stares at you silently, making you fidget uncomfortably, reaching up to smooth down your hair and try to make yourself less sleep tousled. 

"What?" You ask softly. He blinks and shakes his head, giving you an apologetic smile. 

"Sorry! Just…bit mad innit? Seein' you, a girl, in my bed. I mean, you know, sleeping in my bed. Not just…sitting on it. I mean, you're sitting on it now, but you were sleeping. Not that I was watching you sleep, either! Not being a creep or anything," He gives a nervous laugh as you climb out from under the covers, padding across the hardwood floor to him.

"You telling me Marc's never brought a girl back here?" The question is out of your mouth before you realise that you don't actually want an answer to it, feeling the pinpricks of jealousy at the back of your neck. Though you have no right to deny Marc his own life and love, the thought of someone else in bed with them turns your stomach.

"Not since…not since we met you actually," Steven answers with a frown before he shakes his head. "Or any I remember, anyway."

His confession was an interesting one, but you decide not to examine it further. More than likely, you suspect Marc didn't want to upset Steven if he accidentally woke up with another girl in his bed. You can only imagine the way he might react and the utter panic that would ensue at having to explain it to you. The radio continues to play as you watch Steven make the tea, leaning on the counter to watch him affectionately. 

"Do you want to dance?" Steven asks suddenly, turning to face you.

"What?" You giggle in surprise as he turns the radio up now that you're awake. He holds out a hand to you, his grin as bright as it was the day in the museum when you invited him for a second try at your date. 

"I really like this song. Dance with me?" He asks again. Giggling, you put your hand in his.

He grins, gently pulling you against his chest, holding your one hand up with his, as he gently grips your hip with the other. Steven clearly has no real idea how to dance, although he makes a good go of some type of waltz around his flat, singing along to the radio, his voice out of tune and interrupted by bouts of both your laughter. 

"I like this, dancing with you," he smiles, holding his arm up for you to spin underneath it. "I like waking up with you here. I like doing everything with you."

"I like doing everything with you too," you smile, pressing a quick soft kiss to his lips as he pulls you back into his arms, swaying gently to the final bars of the music. "You know I’m happy to sleep over anytime you want me to,” you hesitate for a moment before adding, "or not sleep… if you’d prefer to do something else in your bed?"

He's quiet for a long moment, although his gentle swaying never stops as he flusters for a moment, and you worry you might have overstepped an unknown boundary. Steven had always taken things slowly with you, allowing you to adjust and take your time with everything, and while you might have come close to taking things further more than once, neither of you had seemed to have the confidence to take those steps before. Now you worry maybe you were asking for something Steven wasn't ready for.

Eventually, he swallows hard and nods a little too enthusiastically at you, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

"Alright, yeah. Yeah," he repeats with a nod. "Wouldn't mind that actually, you know, being in bed with you…not sleeping."

You bite your lip, feeling heat creeping across your own cheeks, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as his fingers tighten just a fraction on your hip. 

"I wouldn't mind it either," you manage to whisper.

Whatever had passed for a fleeting moment between you and Marc last night was nothing. It couldn't be anything when your heart felt this full of love. There was no room in your heart for anything but the way Steven smiles at you. There's no room for anything but the way he kisses you. There's no room for anything but Steven when leads you back to his bed. 

It's hours later you find the post-it note, scrawled in hand writing that's not Steven's, shoved deep inside your jacket pocket. One sentence that starts the shift in your relationship with Marc.

Thank you for the hug xx

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