Venus, Planet Of Love
venus, planet of love
pairing: steven grant x f!reader
tags: 18+ graphic smut with plot, mentions of marc and khonshu, mentions of therapy and brief panic attack depiction, all the fluffy feels, mutual pining, idiots in love, inexperienced!steven and reader, the l-bomb and lovey dovey sex, aftercare, about 9k word count teehee, friends to lovers
summary: art models are surprisingly hard to come by in london. maybe they just don’t want to work with you. maybe they’re intimidated. steven thinks you’re pretty and marc thinks it’s time to act on it. who knew steven grant would be up for a portrait?
note: first moonknight fic!!! here’s to many more :) feedback and reblogs are 100% appreciated, thanks!
- masterlist - steven grant playlist
“It just looks so smooth, like I want to touch it.”
“What? Her arse?”
The Rokeby Venus stands out as striking against the patterned red wallpaper of the gallery. The painted depiction of Venus is a stark paste of white, sensual and vividly nude as your eyes follow the curvature of brushstrokes on her backside. The soft greys, reds and creams compliment the fleshy paraphernalia of the painting; your starry eyes wander in a mixture of awe and engrossment, while your fidgeting friend beside you finds his gaze on another work of wonder.
“I’m appreciating the art, Steven. Not the arse.”
The corners of your lips tweak into something in the sorts of regale as you deliberately scribble onto your notepad, the sound of the number-two pencil against paper filling the eerie solitude of the museum. Steven’s attentive stare follows the tiny scrunching of your nose and soon, he finds himself amused at how your expression slowly shifts into unmistakable concentration.
It’s endearing.
Especially when he sees the tip of your tongue poke out from between your lips, nestling against the bottom of one of your front teeth.
Adorable.
“Oh, you’d loathe the ancient Egypt exhibit then. Not a tad bit of arses there.” Steven finally catches your eye, your head lifting from hunched shoulders to listen to him. His comment draws a quiet chuckle out of you, to which you motion for him to go on. He doesn’t hesitate. “Well, I mean, nudity had a proper place and time then. The Egyptians prided themselves in — in fashion, in jewels and beads, fabric and linens. Really, nudity was practically associated with work or oftentimes, social status. Royalty loved to dress up. You don’t see many naked ushabti, yeah?”
The strewn sentences leave him with a deep exhale, mouth parting as he gauges your reaction carefully. You’ve always adored his bursts of passion. Youthful, exciting, like the first tall flame of a new candlelight.
Steven makes an effort to ignore the image of Marc harshly rubbing his temples in the golden frame of the painting.
“I don’t think Velázquez intended nudity to be the central theme.” You mindlessly tuck the notepad into the tote bag on your shoulder. The movement causes your elbow to brush against Steven’s forearm, and he gulps roughly at the tingling of his skin. “Nor do I think it’s completely about Venus.”
“Whaddya think then?”
You quirk a brow at his question. “I think… I mean, it’s obviously an allusion to sexuality and the aesthetic of it. But not sex. More like—”
“Beauty.”
You glance at him briefly, voice getting caught in your throat as you lose your train of thought just by looking at him.
“Yeah. Beauty, women, attraction, it’s all very speculative…”
His side profile is something you’ll never get used to. The singular curl that unravels down his forehead knocks the wind right out of you, the dark chocolate strand begging to be wrapped around your finger and the rest carded through your palms.
Sometimes, you think he deserves a museum exhibit of his own, dedicated to his constant busy mind and to the soft yet simultaneously roughened details of his face.
Maybe most of the time, actually.
Steven doesn’t notice the stumble in your body language, too swept up taking the painting in for what feels like the hundredth time but really, his mind can’t stop replaying how ‘sex’ had rolled off of your tongue so beautifully, and now how Marc won’t stop fucking pestering him about growing some balls and manning up tonight.
His watch beeps and pulls you both from your respective trances while Marc sends him a hard glare through the reflection of the watchface. “Oh, bollocks.” Steven sighs out, jaw clenching as anxiety takes over the tranquility of his features.
You turn to him with knitted eyebrows. “Problem?”
“Yeah, think we’ve got to run.” He frowns, gesturing for you to follow him to the front of the exhibit. “Donna’s gonna have my head tomorrow for bringing you ‘round again, love.”
“S’not like I’m breaking and entering.” You playfully smirk at him as you clutch your bag, jutting one foot in front of the other as he hastily takes you through the employee exit and resets the alarm on the door. “And if I did want to rob this place, I would’ve done it by now. No offense.”
“None taken.” He breathes out through a winded laugh, fiddling with the zipper at the bottom of his collared jacket. He treads carefully beside you in the alleyway. “Mind you, as long as you leave the gift shop out of it, yeah?”
The streetlamps cast shadows over your face, but he finds himself gazing at you even through all the darkness.
A lingering stare. An appreciative smile. A mirroring in how you both tilt your heads to the side ever so slightly. But Steven sees the second hand embarrassment on Marc’s face transcend into the golden swirls of puddles on the cobblestone, his eyes screwed shut as a pained scoff leaves him.
Could’ve kissed her right now, Steven.
Your toothy grin is all in one airy and lighthearted. Despite Marc’s unmistakable jabs, he’s proud of at least one thing:
Making you smile.
“Of course, silly.”
No one really expects a friendship between an art student and a gift shop-ist from the National Gallery to work in a manner that is so effortless, so easy, as if it were like clockwork.
Except, the hour hand and the minute hand will never line up.
Because you’re semi-convinced that Steven doesn’t harbor any sort of attraction towards you, nothing more than feelings of friendliness and a dash of awkwardness. But then there’s that other part of you, the part that notices the stolen glances, how he looks at you all doe-eyed and regardful even when you have nothing to say, how he remembers your breakfast order every single day despite having trouble with his own, how your number is the only other emergency contact in his phone besides his mom who hasn’t called him back once. Hell, you’ve even been friends long enough to earn an alligator emoji beside your name. What a rarity.
Just friends. That’s all it could and should be.
Steven thinks you’d never date a bloke like him. Marc is sold on the idea that you have feelings for Steven, in which the tension, he states, is painfully and terribly obvious. It’s difficult to watch, even from that other dimension. And Khonshu, well, that guy just thinks that the three of you are all bloody idiots.
You try to push down the odd fluttering of your stomach when Steven opens the door to your car for you. He always does. You’re used to the chivalry, the old-fashioned kindness, but something about how he’s doing it tonight — hand hovering over the small of your back, then over your head as you dip into the driver’s seat while he watches you intently, wrinkles smoothing over his tan skin and eyes softening.
You look up at him before he shuts your door. “Tea at mine?”
“Only if I get to make it this time.”
You scoff in offense, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he comes around to the passenger side then buckles himself in. “What was wrong last time?”
“Honestly, Y/N?”
“Yes, honestly!” You slightly turn up the radio, raising your brows at Steven as he immediately changes the station.
He sputters through a chuckle before he can even finish his sentence. “Tasted absolutely rubbish, I tell you!”
“Piss off!”
Abruptly, you both laugh heartily at that, shoulders bouncing as Steven recalls the memory of how awful it not only felt in his mouth, but how awful the brew looked in general. He finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from your face. Unable to stop replaying your sweet giggle that he drew out of you over and over again, and how his name falls from you like a bubbly chant as you reach over the console and slap his arm. Unable to stop his fingers from twitching against his thigh because he just wants nothing but to reach out and tuck that annoying wisp of hair behind your ear and tell you how much you truly mean to him.
The moonlight looks pretty on you.
Steven likes the comfort of your flat more than his own. There’s something remarkable about seeing a bed without ankle restraints and chains, or having sand stuck to the soles of his feet as he pads around the kitchen for once. Just you, him, an ugly red sofa, and the mess of unfinished canvases on your floor. Your lips twitch when he reaches around to help you get something off of the top shelf in your cupboard, his large palm gently pressing against your upper back when he pulls away to hand you a porcelain cup.
You pour from the teapot. Steven adds an acceptable amount of milk. One long sip. Sigh of relief. Another sip. Then, smile at each other behind your delicate cups.
Like clockwork.
His kind voice feels warmer than the tea in your hands. “I enjoyed today.” Steven admits, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles as he speaks into his cup.
You study the sincere tenderness in his dark irises. “I did too.” For a moment, the silence is nice. It’s comforting. You’re a safe haven, even as he fidgets nervously, drumming his fingers against the cool surface as you reluctantly look away from each other. Yet the longer you linger in the quiet, the louder the thoughts in your mind get. Your pinched voice comes out rushed and unsure. “Are you still seeing that therapist?” Steven tilts his head, unable to recognize your tone.
“Seeing her? What do you mean?”
“Like, um, the sessions and stuff.” You chuckle softly, waving a dismissive hand at that with widening eyes. “Not in — in that way. I mean, are you?”
Why is she asking?
“Oh, goodness. No. Absolutely not.” Steven‘s dark eyebrows shoot upwards. His hold on the porcelain teacup tightens, knuckles tensing. “Why’s that?”
You blink rapidly. “Just wondering.”
“We weren’t compatible. Professionally.” He sends you a close-lipped smile. It’s demure, and for some reason, nostalgic. “She had this — this big, caged bird in the room with us. Like a bloody parrot or something.” Then, he shrugs, eyes darting across the room with what seems to be an amused smirk as if you’re supposed to understand this implied sort of inside joke. “Wasn’t very soothing. Probably gonna find someone else in the time being, you know, hopefully with a… nicer therapy animal. Preferably one that doesn’t repeat everything that I say.” You nod slowly, taking another sip while he clears his throat. “And you? How’s your project coming along, dear?”
You snort. “Haven’t even drawn a single thing.” Your shoulders deflate as you sigh dramatically. “Due in a week, not a single idea in mind, canvas still as empty as ever.”
“You’d think it would be easy to find a model. Plenty of nudists in London.”
“Yeah, well, none of them want to be painted.”
“Then they must be intimidated.”
A tiny clink fills the air when you set the cup of tea onto the table behind you, arms crossing over your chest as you tuck your hands by your hips. The flat feels chilly beneath the illumination of the kitchen lamp. Steven feels too far away. But at the same time, he’s here. Here, in the tiny room, by the stove, dark circles beneath his lower lashes like he hasn’t slept in years, muscles straining against his jacket.
“And why would they be intimidated?”
If Khonshu could swallow him whole, this would be the perfect time for it. If Marc wanted to take the body, he’d let him. But the alters stay out of it, and for once, Steven longs for their interference. He can’t escape the way you stare at him, innocently chewing on your bottom lip as you await his response patiently. You don’t prod, just let time pass. Steven doesn’t know which is worse. The fridge rumbles. The shower next door shuts off. The cars outside whizz by. The moon peeks out from the blinds. There’s a wailing siren in the distance, but nothing is louder than the heartbeat drumming against your chest as Steven swipes a wet thumb over his mouth and gazes out the cracked window above your sink.
“Because — well, you’re a talented painter. You’re good, good at what you do and you — you’re intentional.” He locks eyes with you in the midst of his ramblings. “You’re purposeful in how you study people, how you look at them, memorizing every flaw and every detail between. You capture beauty, um, that — that I can’t even see and I don’t know how…” He lets out a nervous laugh, jaw clenching under the weight of gritted teeth. “I don’t know how anyone can just sit there and watch you paint without melting on the spot.”
Keep going.
“Steven…”
“You intimidate because you’re beautiful. And beauty makes people nervous, Y/N.” He clasps a hand over his heart, not because the words strike him deeply, but to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.
You collect your weight from the table, using your heel to slowly push yourself towards Steven and stand in front of him. You curiously toe at his white sock with your own, avoiding his gaze as you uncross your arms from your chest and entangle them behind your back with a frown.
“Do I intimidate you?”
Khonshu isn’t even in the kitchen anymore, and Marc is speechless. He can’t even watch.
At first, Steven’s voice comes out as small. And had you not been watching the parting of his lips, it easily could’ve been mistaken as the wind knocking against the walls. “Yes.”
“Is it because you think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re more than that.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I am.”
Steven chuckles, shaking his head. His pupils are heavily dilated, darker than normal. “Trust me, you are.”
“Prove it.” You pick a stray thread off of his shirt, goosebumps erupting across his soft skin as your cold fingertips leave him. His eyes follow the motion before they flicker back to your face. “Sit on that sofa and let me paint you.” Steven can’t pinpoint the emotions behind your words. Close to playful. Far from joking. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious, but you’re grasping at paintbrushes with a glowing smile and quickly tying an apron around your waist that leaves him blushing shamelessly.
“You do not want to paint me.” He awkwardly huffs out, raising his hands at you before you’re pouting at him. “Y/N, it would just be a waste of canvas.”
“And why would I not wanna paint you?”
You pull your hair up into a ponytail, ignoring how Steven’s gaze trails up your exposed arms and the curve of your shoulders. You inhale deeply, and just from the way your throat flexes in the shadows, Steven suddenly brings himself to sit on the mass of pillows atop of the velvet couch. He watches you drag an easel out from your closet, placing it right by the footrest and the swiveling stool across from him. There’s a cart filled with discarded jars of scotch, tubes of different paint mediums and a wooden palette marked with an array of clashing colors beside you, an attest to the acrylic staining the Persian rug beneath your feet.
“Because I’m just me. Just Steven.”
Your eyes pop out from over the canvas.
“Well, I think ‘just Steven’ is perfect.”
He winces, lines creasing together on his forehead. “So what do I do now? Just — just pose, or…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, teeth making indents on his bottom lip. “Do I smile? What do — what do your models usually do?”
“Well, most of the time, they’re usually half-naked and tend to be as still as a statue.”
“Oh.”
You peer back at him again, gaze full of sincerity and concern as he self-consciously situates his position on the couch. “But you don’t need to follow the naked part. Just the latter, okay?”
“Alrighty then.”
He can feel the warmth of your smile radiating even from six feet away. “Relax your jaw. Don’t look so scared, the more natural the better.”
His pupils dart around the room, taking in your flat as if it’s the first time he’s been here. He can’t look at you. He can’t. Not when you’re concentrating on him like that, scouring the details of his features, the lines and moles that mark his face, the exhaustion, surveying the slump of his spine like that was meant to be beautiful to you.
Would you capture all his flaws and blemishes then turn them into compliments?
“I told you I’m intimidated.” Steven quips, squaring his shoulders when he sees your paintbrush take the first glide across the blank canvas.
“And I told you that there’s nothing to be intimidated about.”
“You know, I quite hate it when you get down on yourself like that.” He glares at you with a heavy shrug. Even when he’s clearly upset at you, Steven has a certain calmness to him.
He’s the striking resemblance of lightning without the explosiveness of thunder.
You don’t say anything, just swirl a mixture of colors onto the battered palette as you return back to the painting. He can see your tongue prodding against the inside of your cheek, rumination coating your mind in the same manner that hues of beige, black and pink coat his portrait. Steven lets the silence talk. He lets you bask in the quiescence for the sake of your art, for the sake of peace and his embarrassing desire to get this over with. But at the same time, he doesn’t want this to end.
Sure, he hates the fleeting eye contact. But come tomorrow, you won’t be staring at him like this — won’t smile at him with such tenderness and intention, won’t let your gaze wander for longer than a best friend would. Come tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast together while an ABBA record echoes from the living room, then you’re driving him to work with morning road rage and leaving for a nine a.m. lecture as if domesticity didn’t have an effect on you like it did on Steven.
There, you won’t study him like he’s the most interesting creature on the planet. But come tomorrow, he’ll continue to read you like you’re the rarest text of Egyptian lore.
“You intimidate me too, you know.”
Could you hear the cogs in his brain? Was this an answer to all of his speculations? Curiously, Steven turns his feet towards you. His ears perk up, full brows raising at your unanticipated statement. “What?”
“Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly.
“Now why would I do that?”
This time, your face is completely blocked by the easel. You make it purposeful so he can’t discern your expression, even as the brush moves in slow and heavy strokes against the canvas.
“I suppose for the same reason you find me intimidating.“
The sound of wet paint dabs onto the surface and drowns out your shallow breaths in the midst of Steven’s surprise.
“You find me… pretty?”
The scoff at the end of his question makes you cringe. Maybe you’ve said too much. Maybe you’ve stepped a line, or maybe he thinks this is all too odd.
Your lips flutter upwards solemnly as you repeat his exact words from earlier.
“I think you’re more than that.”
His heart could absolutely burst from his chest right now. He’s helplessly pinching at the bridge of his nose, unsure where to put his hands and why his hair suddenly feels so flat against his head. The couch beneath him is stiff, uncomfortable against his arse as he realizes that he’s been sitting in the same spot for too long. And now, Khonshu is simply leaning over your shoulder to look at the easel, thrumming with critique and amusement as the God towers over your hunched frame on the stool.
“Damn it.” Steven groans, placing a fist over his chest as he fidgets erratically. His eyes narrow, lips pursing together as he tries to blink back the chaos in his mind and fights off the urge to hand the reins to Marc. “God, I think I’m having a panic attack right now.”
“What?” You immediately place your brush down, peeking around the side of the canvas as Steven tries to even out his breathing. The stool nearly clatters to the floor when you stand and take long strides to his aid with wide eyes. “Do you need some air? I can — I can open a window, or — water? Water would be good?” He nods feverishly, tearing his gaze away from you and directing it to the stained carpet. You rush over to the sink, flicking on the tap and clumsily filling up a mug that Steven had given you from the gift shop. “Okay. Here, here.”
The dinosaur pun on the front isn’t so funny anymore when water sloshes over the rim as you hand it to him. He takes loud gulps as you cup your hand below his chin and catch the excess from the corners of his mouth.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — are you okay? What happened back there?”
You called me pretty, he wants to say. You don’t think I’m awful-looking, he wants to say. You think that I’m worth a second glance and worth all those lingering stares that I thought were parts of my imagination, he wants to say.
But instead, he saves those remarks for another time, and settles on one that seems fitting for the moment.
“I got intimidated.”
And you laugh. It’s brief and small, yet large enough to mend the brokenness of Steven’s haywiring brain when you set his mug down on the footrest and look down at him from where he sits awkwardly on your couch. The overhead light creates an unconventional halo behind your crown of hair, your shadow embracing the sunken essence of Steven’s face as he quietly admires you.
You send him a lopsided smile, dimples creating crescent moons around your lips and the bulb of your nose as anxious fingers twitch at your sides. “I’m no Venus.”
“Goddess or planet?”
He draws another chuckle out of you.
“Goddess, I think.”
“Well, Y/N, gods and goddesses are fairly overrated anyways.”
You bite your lip. “And if I’m a planet, then what does that make you?”
Steven lets his stare drop from your face, curls dropping against the shine of his forehead as he dusts away the lint on his pants. You study his distracted form, leg brushing against his bent knees as your stance hovers over him. He sighs shakily at the sensation, but then your fingers shift to wrap around the roughened hands that are interlocked together in his lap, thumbs hesitantly ghosting over his knuckles with a shyness he’s never seen on you.
The notion causes him to ever-so-slightly lift his head. Those big, brown eyes meet yours in the humming of your living room, and the hand that’s wrapped around his own slowly travels up to the underside of his jaw. You can feel his muscles move beneath your gentle touch when his warm cheek leans into your palm, staining his skin with paint.
“Must make me the idiot who sits in the observatory all day, all night, watching in awe through a telescope.” He closes his eyes when your fingers trace his skin, shifting higher and higher until you languidly card your nails through his dark curls. His head tilts back submissively with the soft action, nose pointing up at you as bliss falls upon his features. “Sounds a bit creepy now that I say it out loud.”
“You know people say that Venus is hellish, right?”
His eyelids flutter open, long lashes tickling you. “You’re pretty hellish to me.”
“I’m offended.”
“Don’t be.” He whispers, resting his hand against your outer thigh.
Both of your heads follow the motion, as if his body had betrayed what he was trying so hard not to do — touch you, feel your heat against his, let his touch wander where his mind shouldn’t. But he can’t rewind time, and he certainly can’t stop how his palm stretches over your upper leg until it rests upon your hip.
“Steven…” You stroke his cheek with amorous yearning, smudging the space underneath his eye with a shade of pastel pink.
“Don’t — don’t say my name like that, love. Please, don’t.” Air escapes from his nostrils, his words fall from his lips in a longing tone laced with subtle desperation. But nothing is subtle anymore. Not with how he looks up at you like you’re the brightest star in the universe, staring at you like how you stare at famous masterpieces in a museum or even the works of art that never get noticed, but when they are, everything just makes sense. “You say it like…”
Now this all makes sense.
“Say it like what?”
“As if it’s more than my — more than just a bloody name.” Steven’s eyebrows furrow deeply, yet somehow he looks softer.
“More than just Steven with a V?” He laughs at that, a deep rumble that vibrates through his belly and throat as his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, I like saying your name.”
Your fingers against his bottom lip bring him back to this painless reality, and the tension isn’t so unbearable when you stain his sun-kissed skin blue in the dull light above the sofa.
“No… not that.” Both of your hands cup his cheeks, ears tucked into the spaces between your curling digits as you caress his chin with your thumbs. Your pupils lull him into hypnosis, and he finds himself unable to stop gazing at the constellations in your irises. “You say it as if you like me.”
Fucking hell, Steven.
His hands tighten around your hips, anchoring you.
“I do like you.”
“No, like — like more…”
“More than a friend?”
“Yeah.” His blinks grow rapidly while his face contorts into something of shock and perplexity, teeth on display as he shoots you a panicked look. “Do you?”
“Do I? Steven, I’ve…” An exhausted chuckle racks through you.
A pathetic noise of protest bubbles out of him when your palms leave his jaw. The cold isn’t so welcoming, and neither is the rest of your flat when you turn your back on him to tousle your hair with pent-up frustration. Meanwhile, Khonshu lingers in the hallways and curiously sorts through your vintage records. Marc wants nothing to do with this and resorts to plugging his ears.
Steven, here and now, is alone — alone with you and a giant, undeniable problem with the word ‘FEELINGS’ stamped right on top of it. He’s been decent about how to deal with emotions. He knows where his heart is, what makes his brain light up and what grows butterflies in his stomach. And even when you pace the room in worrisome, dizzying circles, all of the above outweighs the anxiety that shelters his bones.
“Y/N, dear, will you please sit down?” You don’t listen. He allows you two more laps around the couch and footrest until he beckons to you again. “Y/N.” Another two, then Steven himself is trailing behind your haste steps. “Y/N, what is the matter with you?” He takes the liberty of grabbing your wrist, pulling you back before you can escape once again. He squeezes your arm. Once, twice, till he understands that you’re fully listening. “Stop it, you.”
Normally, he’s the one running. But something about the way you look at him makes him want to stay, something about how your lips part and how you roll your bottom lip between your teeth then let it bounce back to its natural position makes him all hazy-eyed and helpless when your own eyes flicker to his mouth. You don’t know where to look, yet you strive to take in every single detail of him because you’ve never stood this close to one another.
You’re breathless, while his chest rises and falls steadily. You’re stepping on Steven’s toes, but he doesn’t mind. The hand around your wrist travels up your elbow, keeping you anchored when his other one does the same to your opposite arm. “Stop.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face as he shakes his head at you.
“You stop.” Your eyes gravitate to his mouth again, plump lips pouting with temptation as you subconsciously take a step closer towards each other.
Does he want this as much as you do?
His knuckles run along your cheek and your droopy eyelids grow heavy at the tender feeling. Steven’s fingers find that annoying wisp of hair from earlier, and he takes it upon himself to tuck it behind your ear. You try to stifle a moan when his nails card along your scalp, mirroring your gesture from before. But a whimper eases its way out of you, followed by a shaky sigh when your voice denounces you. His movement stills for a moment, but then both of his hands are cupping your face and his forehead is pressing against yours in a manner that is so indescribably intimate, you can’t even believe it’s real.
“You’re so pretty.”
There’s that desperate whisper again.
Your mouth reaches for his. You can feel him holding you by the back of your neck, lips unmoving and lacking confidence against yours. It’s a short kiss, nothing too heated, but when you try to pull away through mumbling apologies, he can’t help but grab you by the chin and bring you back to him for seconds.
You gasp into his mouth, the button of his nose resting against your cheek when you regain your self-control and hold onto his shoulders for leverage. “I’m sorry.” You blurt out.
“No, no,” He kisses you again, pupils wide and hands grasping at your belly when realization washes over. “Forgive me, I don’t — I didn’t mean to—“
“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” You smirk. The teasing grin is immediately wiped off of your features when Steven pulls you closer and tighter, almost as if you’d slip away from him anytime soon. “Are you going to do it again?”
“I think I want to, unless you don’t want me to, Y/N.”
“Of course I want you to. I want you, Steven.”
He chuckles in disbelief. “You do?”
“Well, I kissed you back, didn’t I?”
He gets lost in your eyes for the millionth time tonight. His accent draws out thick and frustrated when he finds the courage to pull your lips back onto his.
“Oh, fuck it.”
You moan instantly when his fingers undo your ponytail and tangle through your hair, flawed palms grabbing at each other’s clothing like you hadn’t felt the touch of someone else in ages — like you hadn’t felt Steven touch you in a fashion that is so sexual, so passionate and needy as if he’s been needing you all his life.
You kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he casts against your ear when you near his throat. He pinches himself when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder. It’s real. You’re real, with your hot tongue against his neck, with your chapstick molding him into shea butter and beeswax, with your paint-stained fingers dancing across the hem of his jacket like a tease. It’s real when his arms wrap around your frame, and your back immediately arches in response to his embrace while he ponders the skin beneath your shirt.
“You can touch me.” You whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. He sighs at the consensual phrase, coffee-colored eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. “S’okay, Steven.”
“Are — are you sure?”
“I am.”
The couch creaks beneath him when he reaches over and gingerly holds you by the jaw, thumbing at your earlobe with hopeless adoration. It feels like two teenagers kissing each other for the first time. Awkward tangled limbs. Noses accidentally bumping and twitchy eyelashes poking at sensitive flesh. But it feels so natural, especially when your body reacts to Steven’s affections as if it has always known him.
He kisses you. A lot.
And he kisses you some more until you’re practically sliding off the couch and resorting to becoming labyrinths of desperation on your rug.
Your shirt rides up as Steven drags a large palm over your ribs, tracing the bone beneath your titillating skin. His head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re eager for his mouth again. “You’re unreal, Y/N.” He groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you roll on top of him and straddle his lap. “Two years of my life I’ve spent pining after you.”
You giggle, “Try three. I win, yeah?”
“Oh, so now it’s a competition?”
“I’m just saying maybe you’ve been Venus all along.”
He smirks playfully, shrugging from where he lays on the floor. “I think we both know I prefer ancient Egypt over ancient Rome.”
“Planet.” You breathe out, fighting off the urge to close your eyes when his hands finally make contact with your lower back. “The planet, not the goddess.”
Steven’s arm extends upwards, pushing your hair away from your face when you look down at him with a dreamy gaze.
“Goddamnit, you’re so pretty.” You sigh in content at the praise. “My Venus.”
The pet name nearly makes you melt.
No artist in the world could replicate the masterpiece of your skin against his. No artist could etch every detail of you and depict it in a manner so accurate or perfect — every mole, scar, freckle and fold as if you were carved from Venus’ hip at birth. No painting could hold the same beauty of Steven nervously taking your shirt off, unable to capture the quiet chuckles when your head gets caught in the fabric. Venus’ figure can’t compare to Steven’s tawny chest, faint abs rippling under your nails and lips as you kiss your way up to his pecs.
Surrounded by pools of each other’s clothes, your burning bodies lay beside one another as sensual messes on the floor, rutting against each other gently and needily as Steven hikes your leg over his hip. You grind your mound against his crotch, gasping into his mouth when he holds you there.
“You’re so fucking sexy.” He remarks, gripping onto your waist before he suddenly looks to you for guidance. “I-I really… fuck, I really do want you.”
His touch is featherweight, flightless but not even close to fleeting when he takes the time to voyage the muscled wings of your back.
“In what way?”
He exhales shakily, wetting his lips. “All of them.” You tuck your head under his chin after pressing a brief kiss to his temple. His voice rumbles against your body. The richness of his accent drops to a deeper octave when you reply in a high-pitched moan, hips grinding onto his front when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear. “Teach me how to take care of you, love.”
“Touch me. Just touch me like you won’t ever stop.” Steven studies the desperation in your glassy eyes and nods softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. Yet, past the swirls of loving lust in his expression, you recognize that something’s bothering him. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” He says almost too quickly. “Yeah, I am. Are you? I just, um…” He laughs sheepishly, stroking the side of your head. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You haven’t?”
“I never… got to that point, really, with anyone.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better,” You shift closer to him, resting your forehead against his as you look at him through your lashes, “I’ve never had someone inside me.” And Steven moans. Loud, deep, desperate. You would’ve clenched your thighs together had Steven not hoisted your leg higher over his hip. “I’ve done stuff, but… never been fucked. Never been…” You sigh blissfully when his fingers trace the curve of your buttock. “… properly filled up by anyone.”
“You’re going to k-kill me, love.” He glances down at your clothed core, fingers begging to reach for you.
“I’m sorry, I know. I know.” You kiss him, earning a needy groan from the man. “Go on then, touch me, baby.”
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong. Tell me if it’s not what you want.”
Agonizingly slow, his digits dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your cunt. The gentle notion makes you gasp once more, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit. His middle finger circles leisurely over the sensitive nub with feathery touches.
“Steven, fuck… yeah, that’s it.”
His voice hitches in his throat as he gauges your reaction. “Oh, love, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?” You guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your slick against your wet entrance. “Y/N, you gorgeous, gorgeous thing.”
“Feels good.” You scratch at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. Your eagerness spurs Steven further and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. “Tease.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing and you’re calling me a tease?” He smirks proudly, repeating the gesture until he’s drawing a moan out of you each time. The outline of his dick protrudes against his boxers, and only then does he realize how hard he is for you. “It’s good, yeah?”
You’ve never seen him so smug.
Yet you like it, and you can’t fucking help but want more of it.
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, it’s — it’s… oh, Steven.”
Your sentence is interrupted midway when he pushes his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretching sensation. He inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. You shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. He hums at your facial expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his jaw.
It brings an innocent smile to his face thinking how he’ll have to show up to work tomorrow with remnants of you all over him.
Steven mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his fumbling kisses. You rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own pleasure against your skin.
“You’re so perfect.” He groans, fucking his digits in and out of you. The noises that leave your cunt and his throat are sinful, but nothing beats the image of you resting your head on his arm, his hand cupping your mound while he fingers you on the floor impatiently. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, dovey? God, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to.”
“Steven, your fingers...” You watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. You nearly sob from the intensity. “You get me so wet.”
“That’s good, Y/N. That’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that.” You clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you. His touch is generous, obviously eager to satisfy you, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. “Can I tell you something?”
Your voice comes out broken, mind fuzzy as your cunt tightens around him. “What?”
“Those… those two years, I…” He moans in tandem with you when you nibble at his bottom lip. “I, fuck, it wasn’t just pining, Y/N.”
“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think I — I think I’m in love with you. And not just because I’m…“ He laughs. “… inside you right now, but I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment you spoke to me and — and fuck, being able to hold you like this only confirms it.”
And just like that, you come undone all over his thick fingers.
“Oh, fuck! S-Steven!”
You cry out into his chest, bite marks tattering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax. Your body shivers from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, which usually never happens from anyone else’s hands other than your own. Steven’s confession hangs heavily in the air even as he coaxes you through your high, fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you.
Soft praises leave him in whispers, and he shares his affection for you with gentle pecks to your temples.
A couple minutes pass by until you’re able to catch your breath, or at least, compose yourself.
“Was I imagining that or did you just say you love me?” You look up at him with big eyes, voice hushed and fearful as he wipes the sweat away from your brow with his thumb.
He gulps, lashes fluttering dreamily when you cup his cheek with a shaky hand. “S’real.”
“Tell me again.”
“I love you.”
“More than best friends?”
Steven adores the childish glimmer of curiosity in your innocent gaze. He chuckles quietly, nodding. “Best friends included and more.”
“I love you, best friends and more.” You rub your nose against his before your stare drifts to his swollen lips. “But the next time you confess shit like that, don’t do it when you’re fingering me.”
He flashes you a weak smile. “Alrighty, miss.”
Although, Steven is unprepared for when you untangle yourself from his arms and settle between his thighs, nails raking over his muscled calves and mouth grazing over the bulging front of his boxers.
Your next words simultaneously fill and take the air from his lungs.
“Do it when you have your cock inside me.”
Marc nearly takes control of the body himself at that exact moment, and Steven immediately thinks he’s going to pass out when you tug his boxers down his hips to free his aching prick. His reddened tip is already leaking with pre-cum, thighs jolting beneath your slow and open-mouthed kisses to his skin.
“You really are hellish.” He whines when you wrap your middle and ring finger along the middle of his cock, lips suctioning around the base. A long moan drawls from his throat as he rests his head back against the rug, eyes screwing shut when you run your warm tongue along a prominent vein.
“Am not.” You chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the head.
He stifles a groan, forearm coming up to cover his eyes as you take just the tip of him into your mouth. “Oh, my god, Y/N. F-Fuck, yes.” You hum in amusement, the back of your throat sending the vibrations right to his cock. “That’s good. Really fucking good. Oh, fuck.”
You grin widely, but remain careful not to use any teeth on him. “You’re very needy, you know that? But, oh, you’re just doing so well for me, aren’t you?”
The mocking tone of your phrases make him squirm. He’s gripping onto a fistful of the Persian rug, wrinkling it with scarred knuckles.
“Please.”
“Please?”
“More. Touch me more.” He shakes his head at you, chin pressing against his chest as he stares down at you with a defeated expression. “Please, love.”
You’d be lying if you say that the way he looks at you doesn’t make you wet. You’re practically a puddle of desire, and Steven is melting jelly in your hands when your head quickly bobs down his thick length.
He’s sputtering out a string of swear words, cursing more than you’ve ever heard him in your years of friendship. You can tell he’s trying his best not to cum prematurely, not that you’d care anyways, but with how his soft stomach ripples and flexes with each deliberate swirl of your textured tongue, you know he’s struggling.
And just when you’re about to give him that moment of release, you feel Steven pulling you back by the hair. Disappointment flashes over his features briefly when your mouth leaves him, but the boyish longing on his face quickly shifts into attentiveness when he catches a glimpse of the confused glint in your eyes.
“Everything alright?” Your hands find his face once more. It becomes so natural in this new, sudden dynamic together — touching him, feeling him against you like you’ve always wanted. “Was it too much?”
“No, no, it was amazing.” He assures you, fingers pushing back the matted hair on your cheeks. “You’re amazing. I just don’t — I don’t wanna finish and leave you unsatisfied.”
“You could never leave me unsatisfied, silly.” You bite your lip feverishly, thumb stroking his chin for comfort.
He smiles. The tension of the conversation seems far from innocent now, especially when a near-indiscernible side of Steven appears as the words leave him confidently:
“I want to be your first, though. The first man inside you.”
“Steven…”
“Only if you want, Y/N. Whatever you say goes, no matter what.” His hands grab yours, sweat sticking to each other’s skin. “It would be nice to have you be my first. And me as yours. I mean, it sounds so juvenile to want no one except you, but it’s the truth.” He lazily kisses across your knuckles, paving his way around the tendons with his lips. “I want to have sex with you, and I want to remember it.”
“Is he here right now?” Steven freezes and his jaw goes slack at the question. He can tell you’re nothing but concerned once your eyebrows knit together deeply. “Is Marc here?”
It’s the first time you’ve asked about Marc Spector without Steven bringing him up on his own account.
“Why? Did you want — do you want him instead?”
“No! No, I don’t. Not for this.” You smile with brief panic, tracing the bridge of Steven’s nose to put his worries to rest. His frown gradually fades with the soothing motion. “I just want to make sure it’s you. Everything we do here, I want it to be with you.” You ruffle his hair teasingly once he sits up. “No offense to Marc, by the way.”
Steven chuckles, “I’ll give him your regards.”
“Well, he has yet to talk to me.” You shrug casually, grabbing onto his biceps as he pulls you onto his lap.
“He’s just shy.” He grins against your lips. His palm travels up the swell of your breast until he’s softly kneading the ball of flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingers.
Your breathing quickens, eyes fixating on his hardened erection. “Shyer than you?”
“Oh, incredibly.” Steven jokes, shaking his head.
He can just imagine Marc’s downturned expression of disbelief.
“Tell him…” You nip at his earlobe, moaning against his cheek. “… that I’m already spoken for.”
“Are you now?” He’s abrupty cut off by his own gasp when your arm reaches behind and you wrap a fist around his dick, pumping him slowly in your firm grasp. “Rude. I was talking.”
“Were you? I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
She thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she?
“Stop a-apologizing and…” He hisses when you twist your hand, grazing the pad of your finger over his slit. “F-Fuck, Y/N.”
“There we go…” You grind against his tip, pre-cum smearing across your folds. “What do you want?”
“Want you to use me, darling. However you’d like.”
“So eager for me, Steven.” You breathe into his mouth, noses nudging against each other as you line his cock up with your entrance. “You haven’t even fucked me and yet you’re practically begging for more.”
“God, you talk so filthy for someone with such a gorgeous face, yeah?”
“I guess I truly am hellish.”
And yet nothing about this feels like hell.
Especially once you sink down onto his length, the heavy tip of his cock ready to stretch you out. It’s only slightly painful — a brief sting, the awkward shifting of bones so that Steven can sit back and have your thighs on either side of him, the echoing of your quiet whimpers beneath the soft light as you take every inch of him into your core. Your slick spreads onto his thighs and balls, wetness coating his digit as he instantly reaches for your clit like its become second nature.
“You — you’re really tight.” He groans, looking down at where your cunt swallows him whole.
You laugh wryly, whimpering when his hips subconsciously rut into you. “And you’re really big.”
Steven tilts his head back and looks up at you with a hazy smile, raising your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. For a split second, you think it’s Marc — the darkness in his eyes, the sudden dominance dripping from his tone, but it’s a big mistake on your part to second-guess him once he finally thrusts into you.
“Say it again, love.”
It’s completely Steven — his wandering hands, grasping and grabbing at flesh, grounding you, feeling every crevice and fold of your body like it’s a sanctuary that he’s been dying to enter.
“You’re so big.” Your mouth gapes, eyes widening when you submit to his touch and let him take you. “Oh, fuck. Steven, please.”
“Yeah?” He grunts gruffly into your neck, teeth marking the virginal expanse of your throat. “You like it this way? My lovely Y/N enjoys getting fucked on the floor of her own flat?”
“I love it.” You meet his strokes halfway, tits bouncing in his face as he leans forward on his knees and wraps your legs behind his back. “Oh, s-shit. Mmm, right there — right there feels so — so good, Steven. Fuck!”
Steven bites down onto your shoulder when he lays you down onto the rug, cock burying itself deeper inside your cunt while he puts his weight on top of your body. His whiny moans are muffled, gasps and slaps filling the ambience of the messy living room. You’re sure that the neighbors below your studio can feel every force of Steven’s hips pounding into you — hard, slow and full.
You scratch down his spine, red marks drawing angry lines across his tanned muscles. Juices are running down your inner thighs and cream coats his cock as he fucks you needily. While his skin is stained with paint, your skin is littered with his stinging handprints. He spreads his palms over your ass, carefully maneuvering you up and down his length as you sob into his chest.
“Oh, Y/N, you’re everything I could’ve dreamed of.” Steven pants out incoherently, nipping at your jawline. “This pretty cunt… jus’ wrapped ‘round me. I could get used to this, you know that?”
Your throat feels raw from your mewling, the exhausted and desperate need to cum written all over your features. “You can have me anyday and anytime. I want you to…” You swallow roughly. “… fill me up, Steven. Take me whenever.” Your tone grows hushed, breathy whispers ghosting over the shell of his ear. “I wanna see how drunk you can get off of my pussy.”
“Holy f-fuck.”
You laugh together, even during the heated moment. “You love it when I talk dirty, don’t you?”
“I just love you. Anything you say, anything you do, it just absolutely riles me up.” His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you to him till your foreheads are touching and your naked bodies beg even harder for release. “God, dovey. You’re a perfect work of art.
“Mmm, I-I’m close.” You gasp out, nails digging into his shoulder blades when his cock begins to hit that unforgivable spot inside you.
Steven takes a moment to pull out of you, running himself against your folds until he dives right back in. His tip prods and prods at your walls, your wetness leaving his prick damp with each deep stroke.
“Fuck, Y/N. S’good, I can’t — oh, hell, I can’t think anymore.” He whines, arms resting on either side of your head as he pounds into you.
“Stevie.”
He shushes you tenderly, thumb sliding across the corners of your eyes to wipe away the brimming tears. “I know, darling. I know. I’ll get you there, promise.” His breath fans out across your lips, and you take advantage of your proximity to reel him in for another drowning kiss.
His thrusts grow sloppy, hips losing their graceful rhythm as he continues to snap into you. He beckons your name like it’s a song on loop, while your tiny whimpers turn into loud wanton groans of lust. He pulls you back into an embrace and sits up again, hooking his arms under your knees so that they’re bent and your ass hovers over his lap.
The position leaves you vulnerable when you hold onto his torso for dear life, fluids making a mess between your bodies.
“I love you.” You croak out, opening your eyes to gaze into Steven’s dilated pupils. “Best friends and more.”
“And I love you.” You moan in tandem, feeling yourselves near your orgasm. “My sweet, perfect Venus.”
You clench around his hard cock, cumming intensely on his length as he cries against your neck. His hands are everywhere, but all you can focus on is the way your cunt contracts around him, tugging and milking him till he discovers his own high. This time, Steven doesn’t shy away from moaning and allows himself those deserved minutes of relief as you ride out your orgasms together.
“Oh, my god.”
Momentarily, neither you or Steven move from the rug. He keeps you on his cock, too scared to face the emptiness that’ll come once you leave him. But it seems that you share the same sentiment, sighing against his bicep as you draw circles on the back of his hand.
He decides to break the comfortable silence.
“I do okay?”
Steven can feel your smile form against his skin, eyes sleepy and droopy from where your head lays. “You did so good.”
“You wanna get cleaned up?”
“Please.”
With ease, Steven helps you off of him, already missing the comfort and warmth of your core as you both shakily rise to your feet. For a split second, it’s awkward — your palms shift to cup your naked breasts, while his limbs fumble to fetch you a quilt from the couch till he realizes his own indecency.
But then you share another bubbly laugh and offer the other half of your quilt to Steven, who doesn’t hesitate to cozy up beside you and have you lead one another to the bathroom. You take him under your clothed wing, ankles bumping together clumsily as he finds the light by the sink and quietly flicks it on.
He unravels himself from the quilt first and sits by the edge of your bathtub while he waits for the water to heat up. You watch him lovingly from the doorframe, tired and hair matted, but nevertheless, Steven thinks you look ravishing.
“Come on now.” The Londoner makes grabby hands towards you, taking the blanket from your hickey-covered frame and folding it neatly by the bathroom counter.
You sit with him in the tub — back to his chest, his back to the tile, your hands interwoven amongst the soapy suds and lavender, chamomile-scented bubbles.
A soft sigh. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. An adoring chuckle as your lover brushes his nose against your ear and tells you stories of how the sun loved the moon.
Like clockwork.
Steven is everywhere. On your lips, the scent that wafts through your closet, your bedsheets and the Persian rug in your living room, in how you make your tea, in what mug you drink water out of, what songs you play to start your morning.
But most of all, he lingers in the unfinished painting on your easel. Jaw sharp and nose prominent, eyes youthful yet wise, lips pillowy and inviting.
He is in the shades of brown, pastel pinks and the added hue of orange from how his marked skin glistens in candlelight.
He is your Venus.
Not the goddess, but the planet.
Either way, neither of them are able to truly equate your love for him.
More Posts from Myorestes and Others
Describing Voices
Inspired by this old post
Words (and definitions) as text below cut.
Words to Describe a Voice
Adenoidal: pinched and nasal in tone
Alto: a low female voice, or a high male voice
Appealing: evoking interest, desire, or curiosity; attractive
Austere: severe, uncompromising, or strict; sober, or serious
Baritone: an intermediate male voice, between tenor and bass
Booming: a deep, resonant sound; prolonged or echoing
Breathy: audible, or excessive, emission of breath
Coarse: harsh, or grating; vulgar, obscene, or crude
Croaky: low-pitched and hoarse; croaking
Deep: low in pitch; sonorous tone
Ethereal: light, airy, or tenuous; extremely delicate or refined
Falsetto: an unnaturally, or artificially, high-pitched voice
Frail: delicate, weak, or fragile
Grating: irritating, unpleasant, harsh, discordant, or rasping
Gravelly: harsh and grating
Guttural: harsh, or throaty; sounds formed in back of mouth
High-Pitched: high in volume and/or tone
Hoarse: a low, harsh sound; husky; weak intensity and excessive breathiness
Honeyed: pleasantly soft; dulcet, or mellifluous; flattering, or ingratiating
Husky: a somewhat hoarse, semi-whispered vocal tone
Hypnotic: inducing, or tending to induce, sleep; soporific
Lilting: rhythmic; light and tripping
Lofty: elevated; arrogant or condescending
Low: quiet or deep
Luscious: sweet to excess; highly pleasing; satisfying; cloying
Lyrical: enthusiastic; effusive; melodious; musical
Majestic: lofty, imposing, stately, or grand
Mellow: mild and pleasant; relaxed; soft and rich
Melodic: sweet-sounding; musical
Mesmerizing: completely engrossing, captivating, or fascinating
Musical: resembling music; melodious; harmonious
Nasal: sounds, either partly or entirely, form the noise
Orotund: strong, full, rich, or clear; pompous or bombastic
Plaintive: sorrowful; melancholic; mournful
Plummy: rich, or mellowly, resonant
Raspy: harsh, grating, rasping, or irritating
Resonant: deep and full of resonance; reverberating
Rich: full, strong, deep, or vivid
Ringing: clear, resonant; reminiscent of bells
Scratchy: uneven, irritating, or grating
Shrill: high-pitched and piercing
Silvery: having a clear, ringing sound
Small: humble, weak, soft, or of little strength or force
Smoky: hazy, hoarse, husky, or raspy
Soft-Spoken: soft, gentle, or mild; persuasive
Soporific: causing, or tending to cause, sleep
Squeaky: sharp, shrill, high-pitched
Strong: robust; powerful; intense in quality
Sweet: pleasing to the ear; delicate, or agreeable
Tenor: an intermediate male voice between bass and alto
Thick: husky, or hoarse; not distinctly articulated
Thin: lacking fullness or volume; weak, or shrill
Throaty: guttural, husky, or hoarse
Tight: drawn, tense, or taut
Weak: lacking in force; soft, deficient, or quiet
Wheezy: with a whistling sound, and difficulty breathing
Words to Describe Tone of Voice
Affected: false, or feigned; pretending to possess
Arrogant: overbearing, assuming, insolently proud
Authoritative: positive, peremptory, or dictatorial
Bloodcurdling: arousing terror; horrifying
Boisterous: rough and noisy, rowdy, unrestrained; noisily jolly
Breaking: changing, or collapsing, suddenly
Bright: animated, lively, cheerful, clever, or witty
Brittle: fragile, frail, lacking warmth; having a sharp, tense quality
Cacophonous: having a harsh, or discordant sound
Caterwauling: long and wailing; a howl, or screech
Cheery: in good spirits; cheerful, or happy
Delicate: soft, or faint; subtle; tactful, or cautious
Dry: plain, unadorned, indifferent, or matter-of-fact
Dulcet: pleasant to the ear; melodious
Ear-Splitting: extremely harsh and irritating; loud
Enthusiastic: lively, ardent, eager, or passionate
Faint: soft, weak, feeble, or slight; lacking clearness or volume
Feeble: lacking in force, strength, volume, and distinctness
Flat: without modification or variation; without vitality
Forceful: powerful, vigorous, or effective
Frank: direct and unreserved; straightforward; sincere
Gruff: low and harsh; hoarse; rough, brusque, or surly
Hesitant: wavering, irresolute, timid, or unpersuasive
Insincere: lacking sincerity; sarcastic; hypocritical
Irreverent: lacking respect; flippant
Monotone: single tone, without harmony or variation
Patronizing: offensive and condescending
Pedantic: overly concerned with details and rules
Petulant: impatient irritation; annoyed
Piercing: loud, or shrill; sarcastic, or caustic
Pompous: ostentatious display of self-importance
Pontificating: to speak in a pompous or dogmatic manner
Pretentious: making an exaggerated outward show; ostentatious
Raised: increased in volume
Raucous: harsh, strident, or grating; rowdy, or disorderly
Respectful: showing deference; politeness
Rough: harsh to the ear; grating, or jarring
Sarcastic: using harsh or bitter derision or irony
Screeching: harshly shrill
Serious: grave, somber, earnest, or sincere
Singsong: rhythmically monotonous cadence or tone
Smug: contentedly confident in superiority or correctness
Snarky: testy or irritable; having a rudely critical tone
Snobby: condescending, patronizing; snobbish
Soft: low, or subdued; gentle and melodious
Sotto Voce: in a low, soft voice, so as not to be overheard
Stilted: stiffly dignified or formal; pompous
Strangled: choking, or stifled; gradually cut off
Sullen: gloomy, irritated, morose, or malignant
Trembling: shaking, as from fear, excitement, or weakness
Unapologetic: bold, and showing no regret
Upbeat: optimistic, happy, or cheerful
Warbling: with trills, quavers, or melodic embellishments
Wavering: unsteady, shaky, or fluctuating; begin to fail
Whiny: complaining, fretful, or cranky
Whisper: to speak with soft, hushed sounds
Peppermint Kisses
word count: 10.5k
summary: being in charge of a christmas party at the museum has you worked up all week, yet was also the only thing you looked forward to to finally unwind. what you don’t realize is that the dress you’re wearing is winding others up, specifically, your shy, soft-spoken boss, steven grant.
authors note and warnings: steven/f!reader. smut, build up, porn WITH plot, nsfw as fuck, drunk sex (both parties drunk and consent enthusiastically), steven eats you out, reader with female reproductive parts, one tiny fleabag reference if you squint. reader has mild self-image issues but they are only mentioned for like a second, mild age gap - reader in grad school, obvs i dont condone relationships with power dynamics this is just a fanfic. don’t fuck your boss please. enjoy
_________________________________________
the clock on the cream-colored wall hits six pm as you pin up last of the holiday decorations. faint christmas music dwindles in the room with you quietly humming along. the cold museum air hits the back of your bare thighs as you walk briskly across the room to your next task as the assistant to the head of the egyptology department.
:readmore:
you remember every detail about your job interview for the museum. you never wanted to work in egyptology yet you got in with just one interview. the job application you sent to the museum was a last resort. most jobs on your campus were taken, and you were starting to run low on funds.
until you saw a crumpled up "help wanted" ad in one of your history elective classes. even as a business major you had to take electives as part of your program; you never understood why, and you hated it. but that day, it paid off.
you remember exactly what you wore: a white satin button-up with a black pencil skirt and black flats. hair tied back and a practiced smile plastered on your face. you wore your lucky gold rings and a thin silver necklace with a crescent moon charm.
the air in the interview room deliciously smelled of old books and coffee as does your current office. you remember being characteristically nervous and bumping your leg against the cedar wooden table repeatedly before taking a few deep breaths as you heard voices outside the room. you practiced your greeting a few times before the door opened softly, revealing a man.
you were positive it was a woman on the phone who answered your call for the help wanted ad. you stupidly assumed it was going to be her who was taking your interview, and you mentally kicked yourself for it. you didn't like talking to men. they would usually say something extremely offensive, and you would have to act like they didn't just ruin your day. you never had boyfriends for the same reason either; they were never worth it.
especially when girls were an option.
you eyed the man at the door up and down before rising from your chair as he approached you with an extended hand.
“oh i quite like your necklace charm,” was his first observation. he pointed hesitantly at your neck, which then felt more than exposed, to solve the puzzled look on your face. the confusion in your eyes vanished, realizing he was referring to the dainty piece of jewelry resting prettily against your collarbones.
you resolved the compliment with a short thanks as your fingers mindlessly traced your pendant. you took a moment away from your anxiety to process the seemingly timid man in front of you.
dark, curly locks fell gently on one side of his face. his slightly unshaven salt and peppery jaw gave his seemingly soft look some edge. he was well in his thirties, eyebags almost adorning his tender eyes, complimenting the black turtleneck and a khaki-colored jacket and pants. his physique shone through the tight material of his turtleneck yet you tried not to stare. his doe-like eyes were almost frighteningly deep, and you made a mental note not to look at them too much as they seemed to slowly wipe every worry from your brain.
even the fact that you were about to interview for your first-ever job, apparently.
“the name’s steven grant. how do you do?” he broke your train of thought, making you realize that his extended hand from earlier was still up, waiting for you to reciprocate.
you introduced yourself, stuttering over your words but slowly garnering confidence as the conversation went from standing awkwardly by the door of the office to the cedar wood table your knee bumped against, earlier.
“i’m the head of the egyptology department here at the museum. believe it or not, i used to work at the gift shop here!” he exclaimed with a sweet smile. you could not, for the sake of your life, stop analyzing his features. you wondered if you looked weird simply staring at him, but he didn’t seem to mind as he blabbered on about his duties as the head of one of the most famous exhibits at the museum. you listened intently with frequent nods of acknowledgment and bursts of smiles at his dad-jokes, seeming to give steven the confidence to continue with his information.
steven grant came off as a soft-spoken man. one that could go on for days about his vast knowledge of egyptian mythology; each story more fascinating to him than the other. you could tell he loved his job by the way his eyes sparked up mentioning the numerous epics and deities he knew about. either accentuating stories or whispering them like they were secrets shared only between him and the other person in the room, he had you wishing you could listen to his deep, honey-like voice in the mornings on your way to your boring accounting lectures, or while you cook dinner alone in your apartment with your roommate always out.
steven, unfortunately, paused his info dump, however much you enjoyed it. his gaze flipped through the pages in your resume, his - pretty- pink lips pouting downward in appreciation of the content on the pages you hurriedly printed out the night before.
you bit your bottom lip in anticipation of his opinion. you didn’t catch steven’s glance shift to your lips momentarily as your eyes were glued on his - pretty - fingers holding the papers.
fingers that looked calloused, rough, experienced-
“so you are a grad student, is that correct?” the man questioned, giving your thoughts a well-needed break as he finally shut your resume. you took a deep breath in, picking up the scent of coffee and cologne, as you prepped an answer in your head.
“that is correct. i have a bachelor’s in business administration, and i am currently working towards an accounting specialization. i applied here because i really do admire art, and i thought i could help with some of the clerical work. i am good with numbers… and i could use the money,” you trailed off, realizing how desperate you sounded toward the end. it was the truth, even if that wasn’t what you should have said at the moment.
you noticed steven’s soft eyes widen momentarily before his face cracked into a small grin, “i admire your honesty. i’m going to be completely honest with you… i think you are overqualified even if you don't care a bit about the art,” he stated, with a chuckle.
you felt your heart jump at the honest compliment from him. flashing an uncontrollable grin at the man having heard words of praise, you sat up straighter, feeling your heartbeat slow down a bit. you noticed steven pause to analyze you before moving forward with your interview.
“wait, stev-, uh, mr. grant-”
“steven,” he insisted. okay, then.
“steven,” you stated, his name feeling like a grave secret as it rolled off your tongue, “can i ask you; how many applicants are there?”
“only two others. although you shouldn’t worry about them. they are freshmen undergrads. that’s what i get for forgetting to include an age range in the help wanted ad, buggers, i really am bloody forgetful,” he provided you with well-needed assurance, trailing off into rhetorical comments about himself.
the tension in the air was thick. neither of you knew why, but clearing throats or shifting weights suddenly did not seem enough to cope with it anymore even when steven was still talking. the man in front of you went on another rant of his about how he should invest some sticky notes, or learn how to work the reminder app on his phone so he could get organized. usually, you would find it annoying when men talked about themselves too much, but coupled with his british accent that you found adorable, you let him speak with a smile on your face.
it was not ingenuine either. you wished you could sit there for hours listening to him. the way he used his hands to converse, the way he would nod frantically to really drive his point home: it was a delight watching him.
unfortunately for you, your eyes ended up on the clock on his desk, realizing that you had a class in half an hour on the other side of town. hating that you had to interrupt the seemingly sweet man, you found a gap in his monologue and butted in.
“so… does that mean i… get the job?” you asked, finally, hope dripping at the end of your sentence.
you saw realization wash over steven’s face as he processed just how long he went on talking about miscellaneous things in a job interview.
“oh i went off didn’t i, if i do it again, just tell me to shut up, i won’t take offense to it,” he informed, genuinely sorry that he took up your time. he bunched up your resume and handed it back to you to answered your question,“well, i can’t guarantee you will start work as soon as tomorrow… but yes, you do have a job,” he grinned, “and you already have a task.”
furrowing your brows, you tilted your head, asking him to elaborate. he followed your cue, “since we are nearing christmas and the museum visits are expected to increase significantly, all pre-existing employees have their hands full… and we need someone to arrange the office christmas party.”
your eyes widened as you felt numerous gears in your head turn at the same time, clashing and burning. “uh… i expected something more related to finances, like handling cash receipts and whatnot.”
“yeah, unfortunately, most of those jobs are already spoken for. you will actually be assisting me on my daily duties around the office and whatnot.” he spoke through his soft, often apologetic, smile, mirroring you, which would have come off as rude if anybody else said it, but something about steven sugarcoated every single breath he took.
as you processed the information with an involuntary gulp and repetitive nods, you stared at the task list that steven had already printed out for you.
millions of worries flooded your head as your grip on the task sheet grew tighter. although, looking up from the paper to thank steven as you were about to take your leave, you found yourself hooked onto his eyes again. the kind, deep, understanding eyes that traced your figure the moment they saw you. you felt your nerves ease up as you let the paper in your hand free from your death grip.
the job description was less than ideal and completely different than the one you had assumed and prepared yourself for; but it is what you had to work with.
and you had steven to thank for saving your sorry ass.
“thank you, steven,” you sighed in relief, “really, i owe you one.”
you weren’t sure whether you saw steven’s eyes glint momentarily, but you did flash your most genuine grin and take your leave. you could feel steven’s gaze trailing your figure as you walked out of his cozy office and closed the door behind you.
recounting the interview always left an odd feeling brewing in your gut. nervousness. embarrassment. tension.
heat.
you convinced yourself that you were being dramatic. still, you would find yourself up late at night replaying your interaction with the man who had caught your eye. what the hell was so special about him anyway?
at the end of the day, you were thankful that you even received a job at that museum albeit the people there rarely talked to you, usually having their noses buried in books and not knowing what the hell went on outside their own bubble.
the day of the christmas party marked the end of your first month working the job. you celebrated that morning with a chocolate croissant from your local cafe, crumbs of which stuck to the new lipstick you also bought yourself to admittedly catch steven’s attention. the same crumbs that steven pointed out hesitantly this morning, his gaze flickering to your lips before jerking his head away in urgency and offering you a kleenex.
needless to say, you were mildly infatuated with your boss.
you reminisce how his face lit up when you walked into his office on your first day, five minutes before your shift started. it seemed like he did not have many visitors; his job seemed lonely. managing a whole department alone up until now seemed like an impossible task. one that would break steven grant’s already unconfident posture.
when there weren't museum visitors to make fun of, you would find yourself gaping at your boss through the glass window separating his office from your open workspace. you would notice how his eyes would stay glued onto the bright computer screen on his desk, going through tens of pages of material about new discoveries within minutes as he typed up the information loudly on his old keyboard.
you noticed how his eyes would often squint hard at the screen trying to make out the fine print text, making him look like a grandpa trying to navigate technology. a smile would tug at your lips observing him throughout the day as you patched through calls for him and brainstormed what to work on for the upcoming christmas party.
he would often call you in his office, yet always apologize for doing so, even though it was literally part of your job description. you were a diligent note-taker, always understanding the task steven assigned you. as much as you hated having to come to work, you loved to work for him: a kind, gentle giant that never bothered you, praised your work whenever he could, complimented your necklace (the same one with the crescent moon) when you would be visibly frustrated with colleagues in other departments giving you hard time.
it was almost like he knew exactly what to say at any given moment. or maybe it was the fact that he was the only reason you were excited to go to work every morning.
it was definitely that.
the week leading up to the party was stressful. you had e-vites, decorations, catering, secret santa, and booze to figure out. it certainly did not help when steven reminded you about the christmas tree in the storage closet that you had the responsibility of assembling all by yourself because everyone else was suddenly so busy that they couldn’t give you five minutes of their time.
the day of the party has finally arrived. by four-thirty pm, you are done with your task list. having no clerical work left for the museum either, your eyes flicker to your bag with your party dress and makeup stuffed in.
it is officially after-hours at the museum, and you are exhausted. now that you are done with all your work, you could relax and enjoy the christmas party. you switch off the bright fluorescent light that hurts your corneas, to let the soft glow of fairy lights illuminate the room. the christmas lights wrapped around the giant tree look almost nostalgic.
you guess you never put that much thought into christmas before since your parents always did the work for you, up until your family decided to give up on holidays altogether.
it is like gaining an appreciation for food that you never really cared for only after you make it yourself. warmth spreads all over your body as you admire your work.
yeah, it is silly to gush over a christmas party, but you don’t care. between college and your work, you are finally about to catch a well-needed breath. maybe even some alcohol if you are lucky.
as you see employees rushing to the bathroom to get dressed, you hurriedly grab your bag and start toward the powder room, feeling that same odd feeling pool at the bottom of your gut.
the realization that this is your last chance for a while to get steven’s attention makes you chew on your bottom lip as you slip into one of the bathroom stalls to change.
as you unbutton your shirt, you hear the other employees chatter and laugh about office romances or who recently had plastic surgery done. you eventually tune it out until one specific ‘rumor’ filters through to you at the sound of your name.
“did you see how she looks at steven? i’m telling you that’s a fucking lawsuit right there,” you hear.
wait, what?
“yes steven, right away. whatever you say, steven!” you hear another voice mock, what you guess, is how you respond to steven. you feel your ears turn red-hot with embarrassment and that feeling from earlier grows a thousand times as intense as you finally get your blouse off your shoulders.
“i bet you ten dollars they’re gonna be fooling around tonight,” you hear the first voice.
“i bet twenty i’ll find them fucking in the storage closet.”
your knees turn to jelly. the number of emotions flipping through your head make you want to sit down somewhere, but all you can do is lean lightly on the toilet paper dispenser.
off the top of your head, you feel shame. you are embarrassed because they know exactly what was going on in your head. you wanted your boss, your superior, at a job you have been at for barely a month.
feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you breathe in, digging your fingernails into your palms. you know it was wrong to think that way, and now that you were caught admiring your boss in the office, it felt worse.
on one hand, you are absolutely not at fault. it is normal to crush on people. having feelings for someone isn’t a crime.
on the other, it is your boss you fancied.
you shake your head as if that will permanently shake off these feelings that do nothing but spoil your mood.
you unbutton your pants quietly, not wanting to give away your presence. you hate that you heard gossip about yourself; you, who hasn't even been at the office for that long.
however, another part of you gains a strange relief.
these people find you hot enough to be with steven.
your eyes widen at the revelation as you unhook your bra. these people know absolutely nothing about you. they have only seen how you look around the office or maybe stalked your social media. just from surface-level interactions, they deemed that you were hot enough for steven to fool around with.
you fight your urge to smile before letting your arrogance take over. you would rather look at things this way than feel shame at a party you worked extremely hard for. there is no way you are going to let a piece of gossip ruin this for you.
as you slip your red, velvet dress on, you understand how risque it actually is. the straps on your shoulders are wide, yes, but they don’t help mitigate the depth of your cleavage, or how the dress hugs your body in all the right places before ending right below your ass.
will you be dress-coded? the party is taking place in the museum after all.
it is after-hours, though. you aren’t technically violating the dress-code.
stuffing your work clothes in the bag, you walk out of the stall, not caring whether you make your presence known. as expected, you see your coworkers’ eyes widen in shock as you make your way to one of the bathroom mirrors to get ready, realizing you probably heard their gossip. you feel their eyes rake your body, almost as if they were interested, but see them look away right when you turn your head toward them.
“excuse me, could you pass me a paper towel?” you feign innocence. one of the women nods frantically as she tears one off from the dispenser and hands it to you.
it is smooth sailing from then on. you don’t hear one more word from the women as you finish with your makeup and hair. a few sprays of your lavender perfume, and you are good to go.
taking one more look into the mirror, you admire the dress and the wonders it does for your body. growing up, you didn’t like yourself, to say the least. always finding flaws in your appearance, you convinced yourself you were never 'all that.'
but with time, healing, and moments like this when you feel truly gorgeous, you would cherish the love and appreciation for yourself that spread all over your body.
the sheer black stockings add a professional touch that your attire desperately needs since the mini velvet dress you wore makes you look like a christmas gift waiting to be unwrapped.
you are turned on looking at yourself; more than you would like to admit. your hips, your ass, your collarbones, your cleavage. everything about you feels perfect at the moment.
the office bet about you and steven banging in the storage room is a cherry on top of the sundae.
you take a deep breath and walk out of the bathroom, feeling a sudden ambush of cold air envelop your body. you notice people’s heads turning toward you as you make your way to the party.
there is one more decoration left, after all. the christmas star.
as you enter the room, now slowly filling up with overworked employees and lighthearted chatter, you feel exposed as you realize that you are clearly overdressed compared to others. this is the first time anybody in the office is seeing you in an outfit that slutty.
and yeah, while this is deliberate on your part, you really do not feel like entertaining the feeling of being on display.
you smile at the people who gaped at you shamelessly and quickly turn to the christmas star lying on top of the leftover decorations.
your velvety dress clings uncomfortably to your body as you try to climb one of the chairs. you climb behind the tree consciously so as to not accidentally flash your whole office as you decorate.
you regret procrastinating this task until you were dressed and feel yourself lose hope as you try to reach the top of the tree.
“fuck, fuck, fuck..” you mutter to yourself as you now tiptoe in your heels to reach it. you feel your legs shake as you extend your limbs, trying not to fall.
then you feel your chair tip over.
you immediately grab hold of the wall and shut your eyes, hoping that it might actually save you from falling, but no.
what saves you was not a half-assed delusion.
two strong hands gripping your thighs steady you before you can fall to your face and embarrass yourself. the grip against the flesh of your thighs is warm, yet firm, followed by a familiar, timid voice asking, “are you okay?”
your eyes open with frightening speed as the pressure on your thighs travels straight to your core.
there he is, steven grant, your boss who you have a really inappropriate crush on, holding your thighs, while you are decked in the sluttiest dress possible for a museum office party.
your gaze shifts to the man behind and beneath you, looking up through his long lashes and curly hair, surrounding you with the same scent that has you feeling weak in the knees every morning.
“pa- pardon me, what?” you inquire, still processing the position you’re in. steven lets go of your thighs, and you let out a silent noise in protest at the loss of the warmth and span of his fingers on your body.
“i asked you if you’re okay? here let me-” he offers you his hand to step down from the chair. once again, you feel small in his grip. his palms hold yours firmly as you lean on him to jump down. the landing is rushed on your part as you try to get away from him as fast as possible, but that only brings you closer to him. your faulty landing sends you bumping straight into his wide chest.
“oops, um. i’m sorry, yeah im fine, i was just trying to put this dang ornament up there,” you try laughing the situation off as you avoid making eye contact with him. his cologne, now a little stronger with the proximity you two were in, makes you feel lightheaded.
your small hand is still resting on his as he spoke, the soft depth of his voice dripping in concern and the tiniest bit of worry disguised as anger making your heart flutter. “you should’ve asked someone else to do this. what if i wasn’t there? what if you had gotten hurt?”
“i’m really sorry, i didn’t want to delegate my work as an assistant, and i guess i spread myself too thin, i really do apologize,” you look up, your brows knitting in genuine worry that you have somehow disappointed steven grant.
“you wanna sue the museum or something?” he chuckles as soon as he notices that you were more worried about what he thinks than what would have happened if you had fallen and injured yourself.
you laugh along with him, your nerves easing up at his joke. “come on, i’ll have adam from h.r get to this, he’s a tall bloke,” steven signals you to leave your task as his hand makes its way onto the small of your back, gently guiding you out from behind the tree, “you need to ease up, i’ve seen how hard you work.”
your heart and brain somersault hearing that he’s been observing you in some way or another. his comparatively giant hand on your back, mere centimeters away from your ass, sends a chill up your spine. you realize how close he is to you, once again, while you two begin squeezing through the gap between the tree and the wall.
instinctually, you both face the tree to fit through the gap, not realizing the awkward position it puts you in.
your ass grazes steven’s crotch as you two inch toward the opening that would finally end this god-awful sexual tension that you felt. “um, this is.. uh,” is all you utter before his hands rest lightly on your hips followed by a soft “let me just-” from steven as he slips out of the gap first, not foreseeing the —delicious— friction it causes and excuses himself to his office immediately.
part of you is grateful that he left you. the other, hornier part of you wanted him to keep you there with his rough grip and grind on your ass. you sigh in defeat as you watch him exchange pleasantries with other employees and promptly walk into his office.
you had to be real with yourself. he is your boss, he is older and obviously was not interested. why would he not take the opportunity to feel you up even in the position that you were in just a few minutes ago. he is obviously not into you. nope. not a bit. just a man being nice. which was rare, you told yourself.
ignoring the mild ache in your core, you make your way to the makeshift bar at the party. you can only think of steven’s hands on your body; the care yet firmness he handled it with, and you needed to stop.
“hey, brenda. can you get me a drink? anything, i don’t care. i could use some alcohol right now,” you mutter, looking up at the woman you met in accounting on your first day on job, who was the only person who agreed to help out by bartending the event.
“sure thing, you look amazing by the way, where did you get that dress?” she asks, pouring from a bottle of peppermint schnapps. you smile wide at the compliment and tell her that your mother got it for you last year before you moved out and rented an apartment here at the city.
draining the red solo cup in one go, you ask brenda for another shot as you eye the buffet. you should probably get some food in you before you pass out.
steven has yet to come out of his office, and you down another shot as you watch him through the glass window focused on his computer. the drink burns deliciously as the heat from it spreads through your veins. you bite your lower lip and knit your brows, still wondering why steven was working even after the museum had closed. it is ten pm now, and you realize that time going by exceedingly fast with the alcohol in your veins.
you pout as you munch on a brownie. he could stay in his office all night, what will you do now? technically he already made his “polite appearance” for the night and did not need to leave his office.
racking your brain, you scan the room for some kind of distraction that would get him out of his room: maybe an impromptu dance party? karaoke?
there isn’t much to work with until your eyes land on the pile of gifts underneath the christmas tree.
you almost forgot you got him for secret santa (and that you definitely did not bribe isiah in security in exchange for steven’s name). you just had to wait until midnight to be close to him. you could do that for sure.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
believe it or not, steven does end up coming out of his office, his hair, disheveled, and his slightly bloodshot eyes scanning the room as he walks up to the bar for a drink. you are five drinks in, even after promising you would pace yourself, courtesy of brenda and a few other people you started socializing with randomly in the office. liquid courage can be a beautiful thing sometimes.
you are the first person in the room to notice steven walk in with that tight black sweater accentuating his shockingly defined chest, and a gold necklace adorning his beautiful neck. your gaze follows his figure through heavy-lidded eyes as your legs, having a mind of their own, carry you to him, dragging him to the bar with the weakest grip on his arm.
“come on, steven, how long are you going to be inside your office! let’s party, you work too hard!” you exclaim through the party music in the background. your new friend group laughs along with you as you try making steven comfortable with the situation. you could tell the poor guy doesn’t go to a lot of parties and prefers being a homebody.
“what are you gonna drink steven?” you ask, your hand mindlessly touching his bicep as your face barely hid the utter surprise his muscle definition had you in.
“i’ll have whatever she’s having,” steven chuckles, pointing at you, and your new friends laugh at his joke, too inebriated to analyze whether it is even funny in the first place. as you grab the drink from brenda and hand it to him, little shocks of electricity spark at your fingers when they make contact with his.
you watch him dart his tongue out to wet his bottom lip and down the drink, wincing as he gulps it down. your eyes flicker to his adam’s apple bobbing as he tilts his head back to finish what is in his cup.
his neck is gorgeous. you realize that your attraction to his neck, specifically, was a bit weird, even vampirical, but could not, for the love of god, stop thinking about kissing it, maybe biting down on it as you gently pull on his soft, curly hair. you shift weights uncomfortably as you peel your eyes away from his neck and tell brenda to give him another shot of whatever she poured him.
you realize she gave him peppermint schnapps just like she gave you and smiled at the thought of tasting the drink if you were to kiss him right then. you nudge the drink toward steven who is obviously pushing back on having another one.
“i have work tomorrow, i have a thing-”
“come on! it’s a party, have some fun!” the small crowd around him cheers as you join in with the peer pressure. you are drunk, to say the least, swaying and bobbing your head to the music, smiling uncontrollably as your eyes memorize each and every single one of steven’s features.
the way his beautiful nose scrunches up as he feels the schnapps burn in his stomach shows exactly how much partying he does outside of work. you need him to have a good time, just out of pure concern for him. it is clear he did not have many friends, and you wanted to try to be his first. maybe even more than one.
“ohhhh this was a mistake,” he comments, gently rubbing his chest to relieve the burning.
“pizza?” you offer with a smile. you notice him being more carefree than usual as he thanks you without being overly gracious or apologetic for your effort. while you did love him for the bumbling british hunk he was, you never wanted him to feel uncomfortable around you. whenever steven was around other people, you would notice a spark in his eyes, one that was begging everyone to like him. you understood that more than anything.
the crowd around you disperses, leaving you and steven swaying to the music at your own rhythms.
“when was the last time you danced, steven?” you ask, leaning closer to his ear as the music gets louder.
“i dunno… maybe a while ago… ten years….” he speaks, mirroring your gesture and leaning toward your ear. you feel his breath on the nape of your neck, making you take a sharp breath.
“you didn’t dance at last year’s christmas party?”
“i joined the museum january of this year, i dunno how i was promoted this fast, though.” he chuckles near your ear, and this time, you feel him grab your arm to lean in. oh fuck.
“aren’t you glad you made me your assistant, how great is this party hm?” you feign cockiness, yet genuinely hoping that he is enjoying himself.
he just looks so stressed: from his eyebags to his disheveled hair, to the number of coffees he downs in the morning. part of you wants to hug him and cook him a meal that wasn’t ready after two minutes in the microwave. the other wants to relieve his tension under that same cedar wooden desk where nobody but he could see you working hard on your knees.
“thank you for this party, seriously.” steven squeezes your arm momentarily, his eyes roaming your face as they did with anybody he talked to, “i wouldn’t have anyone else as my assistant that’s for sure.”
he makes you feel like the most important person in the room with his soft yet piercing gaze that so desperately wishes to know your deepest secrets.
“of course, i wouldn’t dare disappoint you.” you smile, your heart fluttering at the way he interacts with you. you love hearing praise, especially from someone you look up to. you wonder if that’s what he would sound like under you, breathing heavy and praising the way you would bounce on his cock.
woah. maybe you needed to slow down on the alcohol.
the dim lights illuminate one side of his face as he talks to you about his latest findings in the world of egyptology. you drown the music out as the alcohol in your veins make your vision blurry. steven looks almost angelic from your view and you sigh dreamily as you maintain eye-contact, nodding frequently.
you realize how you were the only one steven talks to the most in the office. you could listen to him for hours and hours, his voice soothing every nerve in your body; your eyes analyze every little detail about him, from the way one of his eyebrows cock up when he’s deep in thought to his toothy grin.
you were crazy about him. you just wish you could scream it at the top of your lungs. you wish.
right as your heart feels like it is about to burst out of your chest, the clock hits twelve am followed by the alarm on your phone interrupting the moment between you and steven.
“EVERYONE! it is time for secret santa!” you announce, feeling steven’s grip on your arm loosen. this is your chance.
you wait for others to sort through their gifts until the area is clear and then go for the gift you got steven. you notice two gifts under the tree that have not been picked out yet. confused, you read the card attached to gift near yours and do a double-take when you find your name written in what you knew was steven’s gorgeous penmanship.
that means…
“merry christmas!” you hear steven’s voice from behind you, joyful as ever. your heart beats fast, wondering what he got you, how much thought he put into the gift, or whether he just grabbed the first thing from the gift shop.
you pick the gift you bought for him and hand it to him, “merry christmas to you too, steven.” you try saying, although your voice is suppressed by christmas music blaring on the speakers.
fuck, not right now.
you have had enough. the music is getting under your skin and overstimulating your senses. you have to get away from it. more importantly, you have to see steven open his gift.
“can we go somewhere quieter?” you half-yell over the music, gesturing toward his office. you see him trying to make out what you said by reading your lips and finally nod.
that feeling from earlier begins pooling at the bottom of your gut once again as you follow him to his office. absolutely nobody notices the two of you as you sneak out of the irritating atmosphere and slip into one that was quieter and cozier.
a sigh, that sounds too much like a moan, escapes your lips as you sit down on the couch in his office. you have never used it before so it feels weird when you feel the soft cushions dip underneath you.
you see steven place his gift on the cedar wooden table before rummaging through his bottom drawer and fishing out a bottle of peppermint schnapps. is that the only alcohol they had here?
“oh my gosh you hide alcohol here?” you fake a gasp as you eye the half-full bottle resting in steven’s hands. he brings his index fingers to his lips, shushing you with a clumsy grin painted on his face. your first instinct is to shut the blinds in case someone sees you drinking alone in the room with your boss at twelve in the morning.
steven produces two shot glasses from his drawer, holding them in one hand and the bottle of schnapps in another. you notice how elegant his hands look wrapped around the bottle, each bone and vein resembling a greek sculpture. you make yourself more comfortable on the couch by crossing one leg over the other, ignoring the well-needed friction at your inner thighs. your torso dips down as your hips sink into the back of the couch, enhancing your cleavage in the dim yellowish light in his office.
at any other moment, you would have adjusted your dress. but you let your dress stay the way it is, ignoring that you might regret the embarrassment later. you watch steven place the bottle and the glasses on the coffee table in front of you before bringing the gift you got him to the couch.
the smell of coffee in his room feels stronger for some reason, and you start to melt into the couch. you cannot believe how comforting his room is: from the old books placed on the wooden shelves to the replicas of artifacts he has on his wall. you feel safe.
“ok shot first, and then gifts?”
you nod as you watch him pour the schnapps. after clinking the glasses, you two down them, both wincing at the same time as a laugh bubbles in your throat watching steven cough.
“steven, open your gift first,” you state, fidgeting your fingers in nervousness. you watch him carefully unwrap your gift, making sure he doesn't tear the wrapping paper. his fingers work deftly to open the package, careful as to not fold or crease the paper. you wonder if this is how he would undress you. would he handle your body with the utmost care, gently peeling your dress off of you? would he unzip your dress softly as he leaves marks on your neck?
you observe steven’s whole face light up at the sight of the present. “you …. you got me a book on khonshu? how did you-” he begins in disbelief, his eyes raking every inch of the item in his hands.
“you have mentioned khonshu a lot, in the past month… your dead giveaway though? you accidentally forwarded me the link to buy the book instead of that contract you wanted me to look over that one time... i figured you forwarded me the web page you were on, i don’t know if you remember…” you trailed off, biting your lip to stop yourself from giggling at the memory, “but yeah.. i wanted to make sure i got you something you actually wanted instead of something you didn’t care for all that much.”
steven looks at you, astonished. he cannot fathom anyone actually listening to him and giving him something he has wanted for a long time.
“i don’t even know what to say… thank you, so so much.” he speaks, extending a hand and placing it on your own resting in your lap.
you, once again, ignore the fire it sends to your thighs and remember something, “oh, open the book, there is another surprise.”
steven’s eyes widen at you as he frantically flips through the pages to find a locket slip out of the book.
you got him the same locket you wore. the one with the crescent moon charm he adores. you realized he was obsessed with the moon, and you found it adorable, especially as you started drawing similarities between the two. the moon shines the brightest at night, just like steven who gets no sleep and apparently reads scholarly articles in his free time to work on his dissertation.
steven grant has different phases of him throughout the day, just like the moon, as he goes from the brightest when he works at the museum to a dull new moon when he is on his way home, exhausted.
you watch him hook the locket around his neck before looking up through his jet-black eyes, “what do you think?”
“it’s perfect.” you’re perfect, you want to say, but you know you can’t.
“okay, now let's do a shot before opening my gift!” you exclaim, peeling your eyes off his collarbones for the millionth time and pouring shots for the both of you.
it seems like you regret that last shot because you immediately rub your temple in distress. clearing your throat, you rip open the packaging, not caring anymore as you feel your vision blur before revealing his gift to you.
it’s a letter, and a paperweight. your eyebrows furrow, “what is this?”
“well i got you the paperweight for your office, but, you should read the letter and see what it says,”
maybe it is the alcohol that is making you more confused than you want to be, but you decide it is best you follow his lead. carefully tearing open the envelope, you unfold the paper, revealing the title in bold letters stating, ‘recommendation letter.’
your mouth falls agape, almost cartoonishly, as your eyes scan the paper; a bit drunk to properly read the letter, but sober enough to make out the words “diligent,” “hardworking,” “good listener,” and “sharpest employee.” although one phrase catches your eye immediately.
“extremely lucky to have.”
you look up at him through knitted brows, your lips forming into a grateful pout as you folded the letter back into the envelope.
“you really believe what you wrote, steven?” you manage to squeak out without bursting into tears right there. you couldn’t believe you were getting emotional on your boss’s couch just because he wrote a few words he probably copied from a template online.
“yeah... why? did i say something wrong? did i make a typo and accidentally call you a bad worker or something, blood hell, i need to proofread my paper a hundred times, im sorry i should probably-”
it was now or never.
“so you think youre extremely lucky … to have me?” you question, feeling liquid courage hoist you up to an unbelievable level of confidence. you feel your ears burn as you watch steven’s face twist into an apologetic expression, one that was ready to offer any and every explanation in the world to make you understand that he didn’t mean to offend you.
“i’m so sorry if i offended you in any way, all i meant was that you are a great employee to work with and an amazing assistant to have…” he trails off, searching your expression for resolve as you further pout at his explanation.
a soft “oh,” escapes your lips as you stare solemnly at your hands resting on your thighs.
reality hits you like a ton of bricks as you realize that that is all he saw you as. nothing more, nothing less. his assistant.
“did i say something wrong again? if you want to hit me go ahead, but i really am sorry-”
“steven, stop. you’re fine!” you raise your voice, frustrated with how nice he is. “i might really regret this in the morning but i could not care at this point… steven you are perfect the way you are. i might have only known you for a month but you are quite literally the sweetest person alive, and i’m tired of you not seeing that. even during meetings, you let yourself be spoken over, and it breaks my heart to see a great mind and an even better person like you go through that.”
steven stays silent, still processing your words.
“that might have been a bit random, but my point is, you’re too nice. you’re too nice to believe that you are good enough to be where you are. you are too nice to stand up for yourself. you are too nice to see that your month old assistant is attracted to you-”
“what?” you hear steven blurt.
your fingers graze softly over your parted lips in astonishment, realizing what you just said.
“you’re … um. pardon? i just, want to makes sure i heard you correctly-”
you cannot backtrack now. you know that. taking deep breath in, you turned your body to him, wetting your lips.
“i want you, steven. but i know you don’t because you only see me as your assistant, and that’s fine, but i can’t stop thinking about you. i feel myself losing my sanity over you, and i just want to be free of it. please just, reject me so i can move on with my life....” you speak, defeat ringing in your voice as you slouch and stare at your hands.
the air between the two of you feels heavy. the scent of the peppermint schnapps settling in the air makes you realize just how drunk you are. you just told your hot boss that you fancied him.
tired of waiting for a response, you get up and off the couch and straighten your dress, “message received, if you don’t mind, ill just leave now. i think brenda told me she would give me a ride ho-”
“you’re leaving?” he states, almost offended.
“yeah, it’s clear you’re just trying to save me from the embarrassment. lets just act like adults and move on-”
“you can’t just leave after telling me you want me. that’s not fair!” he exclaims, standing up. you are thankful that the blinds in the office are closed shut because you did not want others to see this.
you tilt your head in confusion. what was happening?
“you don’t think i think about you?” he speaks, the air in the room clearing up as he addresses your wildly inappropriate crush on him.
you feel the blood in your body come to a stop. you become more confused, if that were even possible. what does that mean…
“the way you strut into the office every morning wearing a flimsy blouse and that tight skirt? do you know what it does to me?” he accuses, almost in disbelief.
“wai-”
“why do you think i left you after helping you with the christmas star? i had to fix my fucking pants, for gods sake. you cannot just walk around in a dress like that, almost grind on me and expect me to stay sane now, can you?” he blurts, a dry laugh escaping his throat.
you feel the ground move beneath you. the bottom of your gut feels like liquid as you stare at the man in front of you pouring his heart out.
“why do you think i always stay in the office until you do? i don’t want to miss a moment in the day when that you’re not in my sight.”
this had to be a dream, you tell yourself.
“and today, you show up with this dress on, i feel like im being tortured.”
you feel an arrow go through your chest and your knees give in as you find your way on the couch once again.
“so… we both find each other attractive…” you comment, your eyes following steven’s figure slowly as he walks in front of you and halts. you look up at him, a point of view you only imagined at night when you needed to relieve that ache between your legs for the nth time in a row.
you stand up, your legs wobbly as you don’t dare to break eye contact. steven inches toward you, his eyes piercing yours as alarm bells in your head go off. his hands find their way onto your waist as they pull you in with one swift motion, your hips flush against his. if steven wasn’t holding you right then, you may have fallen.
you cannot take more of the wait. you realize that steven has done his part to be proactive. you have to take the lead next.
your own hands remove his from your hips and place them on your ass. finally, as you look up, you tip-toe to press a kiss to those soft plush lips of his that he would pout with when you would roll your eyes at him playfully after hearing his dad jokes in the office. the same lips that would quirk up when you made a joke in the office to brighten his tiring day.
the same lips you imagined devouring you as you touched yourself in your bedroom late at night.
you feel his hands roaming at your back as you try your best to stay in the moment. you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, tasting peppermint as he groans against the warmth of your now swollen lips.
you almost feel like melting at the contact of your nose against his before the two of you separate.
you notice a slight blush across steven’s face that your heart adores. you pull him in, grabbing the soft curls at the back of his head and kissing him once more, this time deepening it as you turn him to the couch and gently push him down on it.
the taste of peppermint schnapps lingers on your tongue as you settle your knees around his burly thighs. with another glance to appreciate his beauty, you go in once again, not satisfied with how perfectly his lips fit yours: the softness of them making you want more as you bite his bottom lip, eliciting an embarrassing noise from him.
as your lips curve upward at the noise, you inquire, “you want this right?”
steven nods enthusiastically, his gaze not leaving yours as your eyes shift to the exposed skin on his neck. his face looks so apologetic and tired, and normally, that would make you upset.
but having him between your legs, at your mercy, awakens something inside you. his desperate, almost pathetic countenance makes you lick your lips before pulling his sweater down to kiss his neck. your hands slip under his shirt, feeling his body as you moan against the nape of his neck.
steven grant is jacked. the firmness of his torso makes arousal pool at your core as your hips involuntarily jerk against nothing, desperate for some kind of friction.
“fuck, oh god…” you mutter as you feel his hands travel from your waist to your ass, massaging them when you find some needed friction against his well-defined thighs.
“how many girls have you done this with,” you question, continuing to admire the man trapped under you.
“just two… you?” he responds, cocking an eyebrow before tilting his head back as he feels your knee press delectably against his hardening crotch, earning the deepest moan you have heard yet.
“girls? just one, men, none.” you state matter-of-factly as you cup his face and immediately tug at the hem of his sweater for him to take off. his eyes widen momentarily at your response before following your lead.
“so i’m the first man you’ve ever-”
you nod hurriedly in response as you slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders before asking him to unzip you as you lie against his firm chest, feeling his hard-on against your knee.
as steven rids you of everything but your stockings, you both take a moment to admire each other. steven’s eyes linger on your breasts and the way your hips curve into your ass, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this for,” the man before you sighs, running his hands up and down the sides of your torso delicately, afraid he might break you.
lightning travels to your core as you fumble with his belt.
you cannot believe your ears. you pray that this isn’t another wet dream you were having after which you would wake up feeling empty.
steven’s hips buck up into yours as he gets his pants off and focuses his attention on you, once again. your arousal has soaked through your stockings and his trousers like a call for help, although you don’t say a word.
“fuck… oh hell, you’re soaking wet…” he whimpers, staring at your core. you feel exposed at the observation but you continue grinding on his thigh before hearing, “do you want to please me that bad?”
“yes, steven,” you mutter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to avoid eye-contact, feeling his cock twitch. it was almost embarrassing: you have basically no experience with men, and you find yourself at a creative cock-block.
the heat radiating from his body, coupled with his hot breath on your sensitive skin drives you to bite his neck as you hump his thigh, not caring about how pathetic you look. you are already close to an orgasm, faster than your hands or that pink toy in your room have ever gotten you.
“i love it when you say my name,” he whispers against your ear before biting down on the shell of it and lifting you up effortlessly. it is like you weigh nothing to him as he picks you up and lays you down, your naked back against the soft couch cushions. steven’s figure hovers over yours, his hands almost trapping you as his chain dangles in your face. you bet this is what heaven is like as he trails kisses down your collarbone, all the way to your breasts.
you feel sensations you have never felt before in your life as you identify his calloused, yet gentle hands fondle your breasts, leaving kisses around the nipples.
“you’ll let me know if you want to stop, is that right?” he confirms, taking in one of your nipples between his teeth and licking it before continuing down your body. you nod frantically as your eyebrows twist up and your jaw falls open in pleasure.
maybe it is the schnapps, but your body is on fire. you absolutely cannot believe the position you are in: under your boss as he worships your body.
“you are so perfect, you know that?” you hear steven moan as you rub your thighs together. immediately noticing so, he settles between your legs, kissing down your stomach.
you are about to be eaten out by your boss. what the fuck.
your fingers find their way into his hair again, grabbing and twisting the strands with every kiss and bite of his until he slips your stockings off your legs.
you see steven gulp before attacking your thighs with his mouth, knowing just how turned on you are. you want to pull his head onto your pussy but you know that he knows what he is doing. there is a reason he is waiting.
“fuck steven, please just… please, please please”
“all in good time, love,” he states, the vibration of his voice making you buck your hips in desperation. his beautiful fingers inch closer to your core with each kiss as he slowly hooks your legs on his shoulders.
you want to turn your head away from him; away from his eyes that made you feel so exposed. yet you don’t want him to stop.
“you smell so sweet, so… mph… fucking good,” he growls before licking a stripe up your folds, sending butterflies all over your body.
you almost moan embarrassingly loudly right there before you realize that your colleagues are still out there. steven’s eyes zero-in on you as he brings his fingers to your clit and prods gently, rubbing tiny circles. his tongue, on the other hand, teases you as it licks around your core right before delving straight into it.
your legs turn impossibly weak as you look down at the man between your legs, working hard to make you feel better.
“i touch myself thinking about you… steven..” you manage to squeak out in-between moans.
you feel steven stop momentarily before gripping your thighs and adjusting his mouth deeper against you before attempting larger, more intense licks; the friction of his beard making you bite your fingers to stop yourself from screaming.
“do you…. fuck, t- touch yourself thinking about me?” you ask, barely able to string a coherent sentence together with how good he is making you feel.
“i can’t stop… fuck… you’re irrestitable, how are you real,” you hear steven groan as he looks up from his task and at you, his stubble now slick with your arousal. “i haven’t been able to focus because of how you strut around the office in your tight clothes… every time i see you in them, i just want to rip them off you, you know that?”
“why didn’t you?”
“because … i’m- mph… i’m a foolish, foolish man. but at least im right where i need to be right now, huh?” he winks at you from between your thighs.
“make me feel good, please steven?” you request, sitting your elbows up and bucking your hips at his face.
there is no way he can say no to you, you precious thing on his couch waiting to be pleased in more than one way. steven extends one of his hands to your lips as the other stays, rubbing your clit.
the pad of his thumb rests heavily on your bottom lip before you understand exactly what he wants. you hollow your mouth out and hold his wrist before pushing his index and middle fingers into your mouth. bobbing your head slowly, you suck on them like your life depends on it.
as your gaze shifts to him, you see him lapping hungrily at your core, prodding one of his fingers at you entrance. you figured he had very little experience apart from penetration and did not assume that he knew how to make someone cum this fast with his tongue.
your mouth hangs open as he spits on your folds, mixing it with your slick and enters you with his fingers. this is so different than what you would do to yourself. his hands are experienced; he knows exactly what to do to push your buttons.
“you think you can take more?” he whispers, receiving desperate nods from you.
you are extremely close to your breaking point the moment you feel a second finger push inside you. you have never felt this full in your life, and you doubt you could ever make yourself feel so good after having been finger-fucked by your boss during an office christmas party.
“steven…” you moan lazily around his fingers before letting go of them and throwing your head back in pleasure, fingers curling inside you.
your own fingers grab his hair once again, bucking your hips at him like a bitch in heat, but he does not give in. as he pumps you full of his fingers, the thumb pressing on your clit pushes deeper right when you feel his tongue lap at your pussy.
you barely see your orgasm coming before he spits on your pussy one last time and rubs your folds together in a consistent rhythm as his teeth nibble softly on your clit.
you don’t care if you are about to crush his head between your thighs as you see blinding white pleasure, and delicious pain spread through your body like wildfire. nothing else matters to you but the man between your legs with the mouth of a god himself. your thighs cage his face in, feeling his beard deliciously rub against your clit one last time before you come down from your high.
both of you stay still for a while, taking everything in. your legs still shook from the best orgasm you have had in your entire life, and steven rests between your thighs, lazily lapping up the last of your arousal.
“fuck , steve-.. i don’t know what to-”
“i’ll clean you up, you stay right here,” he interrupts, climbing out of your legs, making you notice the strained fabric against his cock.
“wait, do you want me to-” you question, pointing at his erection as you sit up from your position, still feeling the weakness in your limbs.
“nah, your first is on me,” he winks, his face painting with the familiar grin you see every morning. it was as if he reads your mind the very next moment and bends down to kiss you.
you taste yourself on his lips as you smile into the kiss, “round two at my place?” you speak, tracing his eyes with your gaze.
“wherever you want,” he utters, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
that was better than any christmas bonus you have gotten.
you could get used to this.
Poe & Finn cards <3
hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋
this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍
Wandering Hands
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)
warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI
a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao
very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33
wc: 2.7k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands.
It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you. He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?
To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours.
"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him.
You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss.
Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile.
“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.”
“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.
The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”
Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water.
“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.”
His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.
“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle.
In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.
“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.”
“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.
Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.
“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress.
"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach.
"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes.
"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-"
"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."
"...or go to the sauna-"
"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."
"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"
He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini.
"If you insist, cariño."
~~~
The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back.
There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day.
You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets.
Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring."
"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"
Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?"
He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck.
"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise."
You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time…
"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone.
"Promise me."
"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."
He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours.
"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."
You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit.
He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water.
"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien, okay?"
So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands.
"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you.
"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."
Miguel meets your eyes.
"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.
"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."
He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface…
He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you.
Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.
"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-"
"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused.
"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!"
Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope.
"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."
You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well.
"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her.
"Pasta, baby."
"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."
A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"
You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh.
"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit.
It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected.
You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase.
"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."
Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."
They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."
Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."
"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."
"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out.
Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog.
As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear.
"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?"
"You're being mean."
"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax."
Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him.
"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?
"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”
"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."
You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy.
When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure.
You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours.
"You're teasing." He hisses softly.
You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart.
"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up.
"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."
You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length.
"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-"
That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face.
Content. Relaxed, even.
~~~
Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer.
"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.
"I said I would call, didn't I?"
You hum. "...suppose you did."
"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?"
Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-"
"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways.
"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."
"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-"
"Gross, Jess."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??"
You wince at the vulgarity of her words.
"....Ouch."
She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.
_
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Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot
Steve Harrington in Season 4 😍😍
More Pfps:
🐛 I would just like to see a drabble with Obi-Wan during his Clone Wars/ROTS Era. Cause I am a sucker for the Clone Wars armor and that man's hands. (Why do we love hands so much 😅) and I absolutely LOVED Suppose- I read once a week at least- and would love to see your take on our feral sass king in the midst of war before Ani broke his and Padme's hearts.
🍃 It has been so great watching you gain new followers and build up this little community we have. Your writing is always beautiful and it's lovely to see how many takes you have on the same characters. I'll never tire of your fics. Congrats on the huge milestone love 💜✨️
Amour-ment
-> Rating: 18+
-> Summary: 600 words. Dirty thoughts are triggered by Obi-Wan’s hands. CW/TW: small reference to smut, smug Obi-Wan.
-> Authors Note: thank you for your lovely comments my sweet! I appreciate your love and support more than you’ll ever know! Reblogs are much appreciated! Masterlist
Your eyes are drawn almost immediately to the contrast upon his arrival back to base. The black droid oil, sticking like tar to the pale skin of Obi-Wan’s hands. There’s a flush across his nose, evidence of his exertion at taking down the droid army. He looks tired, eyes cast low as the bodies of the fallen members of his clone squadron are carried behind him.
“Obi-Wan?” You whisper softly, watching as he walks past you in his daze. His tan Jedi tunic moves in the breeze as he wanders almost aimlessly, managing to make his way to his tent.
It’s not often he’s like this. Usually he can rally together the troops and prepare them for a possible assault, but he seems helpless at this moment. It’s why you find yourself following after him into his tent, the only (almost) private place there is on a battlefield.
When you make your way inside, pushing aside the tent door to peer within, you find Obi-Wan standing over a hologram, scanning the open battlefield for advantages, disadvantages, the most opportune place to open for an attack. He has his hand up to his beard, twisting the coarse strawberry blonde hair there with a deep, heavy sigh.
“You can’t be expected to fight exhaustively,” you remind him with a small sigh of your own, approaching him slowly. There’s a slight frown on his brow, shaking his head slightly at your reminder.
“I know. It bothers you. You feel a guilt. But you shouldn’t shoulder that burden, Obi-Wan,” you insist, taking his wrist up in your hand and scanning the oily filth smeared across his knuckles with a small smile. “At least allow me to clean you.”
He doesn’t argue with you, just slumps into a seat at the table as you move to obtain a rag and some water. It’s almost painful to see the usually light hearted, pleasant man you had gotten so used to nursing struggling to muster the energy to even manage a conversation.
“No injuries?” You begin, echoing the first time you met him. Assigned to give medical aid, you remember having seen him return from his mission as the only member of the battalion not to carry a scratch.
“None,” he admitted to you, another shake of his head, “Just a mess.”
You nod, taking up his hand into your own and using the wet rag to wipe away the slick across his hands. There’s a flush on his cheeks as he watches you tenderly treat his bare skin, holding his wrists with such a delicate touch.
He has pretty hands, almost as pretty as his face. There’s veins across the back of his palm, a green-blue colour that reminds you of the waters on Scarif, and his nails are perfectly trimmed on his long, slender fingers. You imagine them ushering the force to his will, using them to stop opponents in their tracks. You envision them pressing the switch and activating his lightsaber to cut down his foe. You can picture them sweep across the inside of your thighs, teasing the lips of your cunt as they ease into your hea-
“Your thoughts, young one. I can hear them,” he reminds you, his voice thick with something that makes your embarrassed shock twist into something more like arousal as you sweep the rag over his knuckles once more. The oil is no longer there, there’s no reason for you to, but again Obi-Wan doesn’t argue.
“I-… I’m sorry, General,” you address him politely. Despite the mortification you feel at having him peer into your head and sense your less than pure thoughts about him, you are uncertain you can find it in yourself to cease your fantasies.
“I never said you had to stop.”
Picture
Steven Grant x Fem!Reader x Marc Spector
Warnings; 18+ content, violent act, masturbation, imaginary throat fucking, dacryphilia, slight breeding kink, Steven being horny and desperate while Marc encourages him.
Summary; You've send him a pic and Steven sends one back.
Word count; 1,2k
Part 1 Misclicked
Masterlist
It was a normal day for steven. He woke up at his usual time, have breakfast while conversing with Marc and after that he got ready, excited to go to work.
It was all mundane until he saw you, the new manager of the Greece section. You were extremely different from Dona, you were kind, passionate and understanding, did he also mentioned that you're gorgeous?
The first time he saw you was weeks ago, maybe almost a month but you were shining that day, laughing with your co-workers as you walk passed him.
You didn't knew him but he was already whipped with the way you comfort a child that was lost that day. Your calm voice is comforting as you wiped the tears away from the child's face, comforting them with kind words of reassurance.
Then one thing lead to another, either it was fated or not but you accidentally bumped into him one day and find his interest in Egyptian history so fascinating that you wanted to hear more.
So you gave him your number and since that day you've became friends, friends who shared mutual interest on the same things. You've learned a lot from him as he did from you.
He frontend with a groan, looking at the unconscious body underneath him, "Seriously, Marc?" he shifted his gaze towards the puddle besides the body, looking straight at Marc.
"Yeah, well, I don't know what happened either, Steven."
Steven sighed, he bent down to search the man's pocket, finally finding his phone and unlocking it.
He saw a message of you saying that you went clubbing and smile softly, you didn't have to update him on everything in your life but you did and that makes him strangely giddy.
Before he can typed a reply, the 'unconscious' man tackle him making him accidentally pressed the call button.
Steven was quick to grip his collar and punched him hard, hard enough to make him truly unconscious this time before shoving him aside.
He panicked when he picked up his phone and hurriedly cancelled it. His heart is pumping loudly inside his chest as he typed.
Steven
I'm sorry, Y/n! I misclicked it.
Marc laughed at him, "don't worry Steven, she already said that she's going to the club right? She probably had her phone silenced so-"
He was cut off by a loud ding! from Steven's phone, both of them looked at the phone with a small smile, "she's so nice, isn't she, Marc?"
Marc nodded his head with a small smile, he always finds you attractive and you're so adorable in his eyes. Steven and him were undoubtedly attracted to you from the first conversation that you guys had.
Before Steven could write a reply he froze on the spot, eyes wide and he unconsciously unwrapped his mask. He gripped his phone tightly, so tight it could break at any moment.
"Steven, what- oh, fuck."
You send him a few pictures, Steven was expecting you laughing or just you having fun in the club, he was not expecting this type of pictures from you.
He gulped, his eyes wondered on your body, he can feel his breath starting to feel heavy. Fuck, he wouldn't say that he never imagined how you looked underneath all that clothes but you looked even better than his fantasy.
"Steven, send one back." Marc's voice snapped him out of his trace, he furrowed his eyebrow at his reflection.
"What?"
"Send one back."
"No, I heard you the first time but what?"
Marc shakes his head, "you don't get it do you? She send it expecting something, so we'll give her exactly that maybe even more."
Steven shifted his gaze back to your pictures, you look so good, so sexily tempting and you take this pic just to send it to him? Isn't that too good to be true? What if he misunderstand? That you simply misclicked?
"Steven. Are you really letting this chance go? You, no, we've had the biggest crush on her, come on. Take the risk."
Steven bit his lips, Marc's right, he always had a big crush on you after all this time and now he finally had a chance to do something about it. What's the worst thing that could happen?
"Alright, how do I took one?"
"Huh?"
"This type of pictures, how do I pose for it?"
That's right, Marc has forgotten that Steven has never done something like this ever. So he looked around, trying to find a decent place with enough lighting.
He finally found a set of stairs that lead to the roof and in front of it is a big window that reflects his reflection just perfect, not too clear but not that clear either.
"Go sit on that stair and take your suit off but keep your vest on," Steven do as he told, "roll up your sleeves," he rolled them up, making his veins visible.
"Lean back a little and spread your legs, let her see what she does to us."
He took the pic with a deep breath, he felt the sudden confident spread through him because he does look good in his Mr Moon suit, the bulge in his pants were clear and he also look pretty big.
"Send it." Steven took one last deep breath before pressing the send button. "Done."
"Now, we start the waiting game." Steven nod, his eyes kept wondering back to your pictures, he bit his lips, focusing on the lacy thong that were struggling to cover your private area.
He let out a breathless sigh, gulping as he let his mind started to wonder, he bit his bottom lip hard. "fuck it." He stated lowly.
He unzipped his pants, whipping it out and started to pump his cock with a small grunt.
He opened his eyes slowly and imagine you taking his cock into your mouth, greedily and deeply sucking him, he throw his head back.
Gulping his saliva as he imagined he'd gripped your hair and slammed your head down to take his cock deeper, you'd gag in response but that'll just turn him on even more.
He groan and cursed underneath his breath, he imagined how he'd grip your hair harder, holding it up for you so he can clearly see your face with your mouth full with his cock and tears falling from those beautiful eyes of yours as he use your mouth the way he pleases.
He imagined you would sit on his lap and started to grind on his cock as you slowly press your body to his, teasing your own entrance with his tip before slowly putting it in. He threw his head as he pumped faster.
He imaged how you would look while bouncing on his cock, how your breasts would bounce with every thrust and he would watch you move on top of him, you'd hold him tight with your chest pressed to his and staring straight into his chocolate ones with lidded eyes.
He gripped his cock harder, trying to imagine how warm and tight your cunt is. His breathing became heavier as he imagined you bending down and kissing him deeply, all tongue and teeth, whining and begging to be filled with his cum.
It's weird that he feel so fucking turned on with the thought of filling you up with his cum, claiming you as his.
His breath hitched as he feel himself near, he gripped his cock tighter, imagining that he's gripping your waist and slammed upward into you. His hips unconsciously do that.
"Y/n, y/n, y/n- fuck!" he hiss your name as he came, white thick cum spurted out as he breathes heavily taking a moment to calm himself before fixing his pants.
He covered his eyes with his arm before muttering a quiet, "I want to hold her..."
The Many Faces of Marc Spector - (2022)
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