Rich Kids Being Dense Part 2.

reflection

Chocolate || Steven Grant X Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> Word count: 6.1k!!!

-> After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.

Gif credit belongs to @paper-n-ashes !!!

TW/CW: long ass fic. Handjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex. Relatively tame for me 👀 Not proof read, ain’t nobody got time for that.

His voice fades out as you gaze into his eyes, sparkling in excitement as he explains the mummification process to you for what must be the fifth time since you joined the museum staff a few months ago. They’re as deep and dark as the chocolate bonbons that had been pushed across the desk towards you. Melting, oozing a happiness that makes them appear even sweeter. The kind of sweet delight that made you buzz for hours on end and eventually fall into a sugar coma.

The crisp cold of the London air permeates through the stone walls of the museum's halls as if echoing Steven’s earlier sentiments that ‘even the summers in London are freezing’. It even seeps through the stitching of your cardigan as you sit in the storage room of the gift shop, helping your colleague sort through the miscellaneous gift-shop inventory, goosebumps rising on the skin of your arms as the draft floats under the heavy-set wooden doors.

However, you can’t feel the cold at all, the warmth that settles deep behind your sternum from hearing Steven talk excitedly about his interests is enough to combat the chill. It’s truly endearing, the way the exhausted man with such a mild temperament comes alive when he notices you listening to his ramblings- or rather tried.

“... and so Apep swallowed Ra’s boat, causin’ an eclipse!” He concludes with such vigor it jolts you from your trance and back to reality to find that you had been sitting with a small Anubis toy in hand for god knows how long, staring dorkily at the poor man who just wanted your attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, so enraptured by his storytelling that you manage to escape his scrutiny, or rather his disappointment that you hadn’t been as enthralled with his knowledge as he perhaps thought you were.

It wasn’t always this way. Upon your arrival to the museum at the beginning of spring during the new economic year, you loved his enthusiasm, the way he had toured you on his induction day despite the rambling of your boss Donna, insisting that he would never be a tour guide as long as he struggled to maintain a consistent timecard. While it wasn’t the most romantic of experiences, Steven so eager to explain how the Egyptians would push a hook through the nose of the nobility and Pharaohs, removing their brain in the process, but it certainly endeared you to him.

Drawn to his polite and mild temperament, you found yourself spending more time with him than you could really afford. Somewhere between traveling one more bus stop in order to continue the riveting conversation about the latest mummified crocodiles archaeologists had unearthed on the banks of the Nile and staying an extra thirty minutes after your shift to help Steven with the work that he had managed to rack up after three days away with little to no explanation as to where he had been, you found yourself struggling to maintain your focus on his narration.

Boredom wasn’t the cause of your affliction. No, worse than that. It was finding yourself tracing the bow of his upper lip with your line of sight, contemplating what it would be like to kiss it. Considering how soft his ebony curls would be to pass your fingers through, and how his long lashes would tickle your skin as he pressed his own lips to the expanse of your skin. Perhaps it was an understatement to claim that you would pray to every God and goddess, Egyptian or otherwise, for an opportunity to brush your fingertips against the grain of the shadow of his beard on his chin, It consumed your every waking moment, not unlike Apep swallowing the boat that Ra traveled upon so he could ride from the East and raise the sun.

You use the pause in conversation in order to switch the topic onto something he was less keen on, needing respite from the way your mind kept falling into the depths of desire, twisting like a pit of vipers in your stomach, before you managed to embarrass yourself beyond measure. “Where are these chocolates from, Steven, they’re very good.”

The bonbons that sat on the tabletop between you both were encased in a crimson-red love-heart box. You hadn’t allowed your own to go into cardiac arrest when he had entered the office holding it, convincing yourself that it couldn’t possibly be for you. Steven had never shown enough interest in you beyond his co-worker or friend to truly indicate that he would be willing to buy such a gift for you.

“Ah-” Steven stumbles over himself, a little eraser in the shape of a scarab beetle falling from his hands and clattering to the table. He’s swift to grab it again, shoving it into a basket after scanning it with a shaky hand. “It was in the- uhm, the reduced section in Tescos… I just thought they looked good and that someone might want to share!” His voice is so insistent, promising that there wasn’t an ulterior motive. It doesn’t ease the way your chest stains under the weight of your disappointment as to pick up another circular chocolate, noting the colorful sprinkles on top.

“That’s kind of you,” You say quietly, cheeks tingling with heat at the knowledge that you had been correct in your suspicions all along, that he could never really want you. It was no secret that women found him attractive, some other co-workers making that very clear on a ‘work night out’ in the local pub, in which they rambled about the way he had shamelessly flirted with them and how charming he had been. While you certainly hadn’t experienced this side of Steven, your own Steven shy and jittery, you envied those girls that held his attention in a way you seemingly failed to achieve.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sharin’ is carin’ an’ all that!” He laughs nervously, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and suffocating you. Were you really that inept in the way of seduction that he felt uncomfortable around you, yet somehow seemed to flirt blatantly with every other woman that worked in the building?!

You exhale shakily, focusing more on the items in your basket as you worked through them, scanning the barcodes and setting them in their pile with a little more force than you intended thanks to your renewed exasperation with yourself. Perhaps the dark circles under his eyes had nothing to do with the lack of sleep he consistently commented on, and rather had everything to do with the boredom he felt spending so much time with you.

“You feelin’ alright?” You hear him question cautiously, having noted the short fuse you seem to have developed within a matter of two sentences.

“Peachy,” you mumble, throwing another toy in the basket with a huff. You know you’re probably coming off as rude, and it’s cruel to give the poor, nervous Steven something else to worry about, but you can’t help feeling a little ridiculous, pining over a man who didn’t like you. He probably knew that you were, and thought poorly of you because you couldn’t control your feelings for him despite him showing not even a small amount of affection for you.

Deft fingers take out another chocolate as he watches you, holding onto it for a moment while he seemingly thinks of something to bring the mood back up again.

“… Have I ever told you the story of Isis and Osiris?” Steven asked, his voice quiet as those mahogany eyes gaze at your face, no doubt scanning your expression for any refusal to listen. But how could you? How could you turn him away when he was looking at you with a level of desperation you’d never seen on him before, wanting to please you, to make you happy again.

You shake your head silently, eyes settling on his face as he sat back in his chair to ready himself for the story. The chocolate pinched between the pads of his thumb and forefinger is melting under his body heat, caving in slightly as the solid chocolate began to liquefy down to the middle.

“Then I’ve done you a disservice! How could I not ‘ave told you the greatest love story in mythology?” He asked you with a nervous grin, pushing aside the toys he was supposed to be sorting through to one side in order to begin his theatrics.

Despite your efforts and your utter frustration, your lips stretched into a smile at his enthusiasm. How could you not? It was endlessly charming. He’s sitting up, his free hand laying his palm across the tabletop and fingers splayed wide. They’re tanned, large. The veins on the back have a blue tint, protruding and appearing more intense under the lighting. Perhaps if you stopped staring, you would have noticed the years of built-up scarring across his knuckles.

Immediately, your mind begins falling into the bad habit that it had developed over the time you and Steven had spent together, producing utterly obscene images. His palms cupping and grasping at your breasts, thumbs torturing your nipples. His fingers pushing into your dripping cun- No no no STOP! Stop it!

How ridiculous it was, that you were so invested in a man who wasn’t at all interested in you. So overcome with need for him that you couldn’t even focus on his voice without wanting him to bend you across the tabletop-

“Well,” Steven begins, the chocolate he continued to pinch beginning to cave in from the heat between his thumb pad and fingertip, “Isis was married to the King of Egypt, Osiris, and she supported him with his rule.” His eyes are set firmly on your face, ensuring that you still wanted to listen to him ramble. It meant you simply couldn’t allow yourself to drift into the realm of daydreams, because he would notice as soon as your eyes glazed over.

Seeing no disdain for his voice, Steven continued, a grin spreading across his face as he allowed himself to get excited about his storytelling.

“Isis helped the women of Egypt with skills, teachin’ them how to weave and bake and brew beer. Both she and Osiris were loved, and this caused Isis’ brother, Seth to get jealous, and so he hatched a plan.” He’s sparkling, his keenness rolling off him in waves. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem so stark, and he didn’t stammer as he spoke, driven by his love for Egyptian myth.

“Seth trapped Osiris in a wooden chest, which he covered in lead and threw in the Nile. With Osiris out of the way, Seth became King of Egypt- Oh, bugger“ he paused, finally having noted that the once circular chocolate bonbon was flat between his fingers, coating his fingers in sticky, melted chocolate.

He was swift to rectify the problem, lifting his thumb to his mouth with a mumble of ‘sorry’ and ‘pardon me’, wrapping his lips around it and sucking the chocolate from his skin. You watch as his upper lip drags across his knuckle, Steven’s eyes closed as he relished the taste of the chocolate against his tongue. It was torturous, like someone had lit the touch paper in your abdomen and the fire was spreading through your veins, crawling up your spine. The pink of his tongue slips from his lips, pulling across his fingerprint and collecting the chocolate left behind.

As if he knew your mouth was watering as you watched him, his bronze eyes lift to find your own. Looking through his lashes at you as he slipped his finger into his mouth too, cleaning his fingerprint with his deft tongue. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole in your chair. Was- Was that meant to look so erotic?!

“Mhm, so as I was sayin’,” he continued as though he hadn’t just single-handedly flooded your panties, oblivious to your internal struggle. “Seth became the King of Egypt, and Isis was devastated.” Despite your best efforts, his voice was fading out, and you found yourself just staring at the man in front of you. You studied his dark hair that fell in tight ringlets in front of his forehead, his deep, emotive eyes, and his sharp cheekbones. He was just stunningly handsome, it was no wonder he felt so confident flirting with girls he actually liked.

It was during this assessment of his face as he continued to talk about Isis’ revenge that you noted the chocolate spread on his lower lip. Utterly exhausted from trying to push away the filthy daydreams that flashed into your mind's eye, you let them run ragged. You’d sacrifice yourself to the Egyptian Gods if it meant you could run your tongue across the expanse of his lip, tasting the chocolate against his skin. Though, you were entirely sure that he would taste much sweeter-

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You startle immediately, eyes so wide you can feel your eyelids strain. It’s like ice water had been thrown on your blazing body, a panic settling in now that you have been caught. When your mind catches back up with your line of vision, you see Steven gazing at you with an innocent look of confusion, his brows pulled up in the middle.

“Ah- y… Yeah, you have chocolate on your lip,” you admit weakly, pointing vaguely at his mouth with a shaky hand. Steven laughs nervously, shaking his head in his embarrassment.

“Silly me! Can’t even feed myself properly!” His comments are strained as he wipes the pad of his thumb across his mouth in an attempt to remove the sticky residue. The veins in the back of his palm are prominent still, catching your eye. Your brain stills entirely. It’s infuriating, watching him struggle so much to remove the stain, somehow managing to miss it entirely every time he passes his digits over his lips.

“Steven,” you whisper, a little breathless now as you feel your blood boil under your skin with arousal.

“It’s alright, I got it. Stubborn bugger!” He laughs again, the sound lacking humor in his mortified state.

“Steven-“

“Why can’t I ju-“

Scraping the legs of the chair you had been sitting in across the hard flooring, you stand in a violent fashion, stunning Steven into silence when you reach across the tabletop and grab his chin with a firm grip, forcing him to look up at you.

“Sit still,” you insist, desperate to ease your devastatingly hot arousal by taking away the distracting variable. Swiping your tongue over the pad of your own thumb mindlessly, you apply pressure to the affected skin and clean the chocolate from his mouth with a few passes.

Steven sits perfectly still for you, almost stiff in your palm as your fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks as you hold him in place. If it wasn’t for the heat radiating from his skin, you’d think he’s been mummified into this position.

Glancing up from his mouth into his eyes, you feel your heart stop at the view. Steven is looking at you through his lashes with almost a needy look. There’s an intense longing to his eyes that almost has your knees buckling, his jaw slack as he gazes up at you. Rose spreads across his cheeks, a pink tinge that explains the feverish feeling to his skin underneath your hand.

“Steven,” you whisper, heart in your throat as you gaze back at him. Surely you weren’t imagining the tension prickling in the air between the two of you? You couldn’t describe it in any other way other than a gas leak. The invisible, volatile gas lingering in the air, laying in wait for the slightest drag of friction to light a spark and ignite the museum and everything in it. It was suffocating, burning your lungs.

Did he look at the other girls like this? The ones that bragged about how charming he was when he flirted with them in the entrance hall or wooed them on lunch break in the form of a compliment about their hair. Did he look at them with such a clear and defined need for them to climb across the table and kiss him?

Trembling fingers ease their grip on his jaw, slowly pulling away to slump back into your chair. Your heart is thumping so loud it’s like thunder in your ears, drowning out the shaky exhale that you release as you finally break eye contact with Steven and turn your attention back to the task at hand- whatever it was, you can barely remember why you were even here anymore.

“S-Sorry to interrupt,” you stumble over your words a little, motioning with a flick of your wrist for Steven to carry on, refusing to look up from the ankh necklace that you had blindly picked up from your basket. It was a cheap metal, not at all heavy, with a simple pendant. Though the Ankh was a symbol of life, you needn’t wear the charm as proof of living- the pulse of blood that you swore you could feel through every single extension in your veins made your condition evident enough.

Much to your utter dismay, Steven didn’t continue talking, the pressure in the air pulling your lungs even tighter. He just gazed at you with hooded eyes and parted mouth. It was utterly disarming, the way his tongue swiped across his lip as if to taste the area you’d touched.

“Steven, I really didn’t mean to be rude-“

“You can’t just be doin’ that,” he spoke on an exhale, sounding positively wrecked.

“I know, I’m sorry, I really di-“

“No no, you can’t be doin’ that and leavin’ me like this!” He insists, in a pleading tone, pitchy and almost whiney. You don’t know what to do as you stare at him, and you swear you must look like a fish out of water due to the way your mouth opens and closes as you try to form a sentence in response.

Maybe it’s the combination of pining after Steven, a late night, and scanning barcodes for hours on end, but you swore you could feel the dynamic between you shift significantly. As though it was no longer Steven that held the power to change the kind of relationship the two of you shared. It was as if he had relinquished that power to you, and now he waited for you to make the move you had been silently begging Steven to make for many weeks now.

Silence drags between the two of you like nails on a chalkboard, the lack of sound devastatingly uncomfortable. Steven’s muscles are bound tight, seemingly ready to spring from his seat but awaiting your orders with an expectant expression.

It’s not clear to you what exactly snaps the tension between you, but all of a sudden you find yourself leaping into action. You push aside the baskets of merchandise you’d both been sorting through, which clatter to the floor and empty themselves as you climb across the table clumsily. With shaky hands, you take Steven’s face into your palms, catching a glimpse of his wide eyes just before you press your lips to his messily.

A moan rips from Steven’s throat and into the kiss, a broken, wrecked sound. The soft, plump flesh of his lips settles so perfectly against your own and yet the way they move against each other is clumsy. Nervousness shared between the both of you makes it hard to time the kiss just right, noses bumping and teeth clacking against each other, yet you’ve never experienced such mind-numbing relief.

Stumbling swiftly to pull away, to lower yourself from the table, you find your body moving itself without the receptors of your brain even having thought it up. Your leg hooks over the expanse of his thighs, settling your hips in his lap and resting the weight of your body against the muscles there. He fumbles with the syllables of your name like it’s a foreign language as you wind your fingers in his hair, taking a firm grip of it and pulling his face towards your own.

Inexperience coats his every action like thick honey that Steven can’t shake, but it emboldens you. Somehow this new position bridges the awkwardness of your first kiss, and your lips mould against his in a much smoother, precise way. You’re able to part his mouth, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the cocoa that had settled there. Judging by the hum of pleasure that ripples in his chest, Steven can taste it also. His scalp is warm underneath your fingertips as you wind his ebony locks around your digits, getting a firmer grip of the strands as you push his face impossibly closer to yours. This proximity isn’t enough. It can’t ever be enough.

Tearing your mouth from his before you lose yourself to it, your exhale sounds pitchy and wrong to your own ears. Almost as though it had pained you. Regardless, your lips busy themself on his jaw, pressing firm kisses along the length of the skin stretching across the bone there before trailing down his neck. Goosebumps seem to litter his skin in the wake of your ministrations, his head tilting backward slowly in an attempt to expose more of his throat to you.

His pulse is heavy as you take the skin above his jugular between your teeth, sucking the skin there so perfect hues of purple and red blossom throughout his tan. His palms settle shakily on your thighs and he digs his fingertips into the flesh so it dips to his will, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he unsuccessfully swallows down a raspy ‘Fuck’.

It’s his turn for those deft fingers that haunted your every waking moment to spread through the strands of your hair, stroking across your scalp as you drag your tongue along the expanse of his skin, moaning as his scent imprints itself permanently upon your brain. The scent of cut grass on a rainy day, clean and soft. You’re quick to blow a soft flow of air from your lips across his skin, the area in which you had focused your tongue growing cold under the draft you produced.

“O-Oh god, god darlin’- darlin’ that feels so good,” you can faintly hear him gasp over the rush of your blood through your ears. Tracing the buttons of his shirt, feeling each of them catch on the knuckles of your fingers on your hand's journey down his chest, you hum in agreement, sucking more marks into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

His skin is released from the pressure with a pop upon the sensation of your pinkie brushing the coarse leather of his belt. A weak moan falls from your mouth, eyelids heavy as you watch his head crane to the side to follow the movements of your fingers.

“Steven,” you whisper, tracing the cold brass of his belt buckle as you maintain eye contact with him, “We need to be quick.” You’re breathless with the speed in which this little make-out session is progressing. The wanton desperation that has lingered on your end for so many weeks was making it hard for you to think clearly and maintain a level of decorum. Your hands seem to move of their own accord, hips grinding achingly slow against the tense muscle of his thigh without thought.

“Y-Yeah? Oh- Oh god yes,” he practically wails, hands pushing aside your own as he unhooks the leather strap from the brass tong shakily. “Yes, we do.” Both of your movements are almost feverish as Steven lifts his hips from the chair, accidentally grinding his hardening cock against your aching, clothed cunt while you pull his belt from the loops of his pants.

Whimpers bubble in your throat, chest tight as you swiftly throw his belt to the floor and struggle to make quick work of the button on your own pants. Your hands are so shaky, the bones in your fingers almost like jelly as you flub getting ahold of the pesky metal circle.

“F-Fuck, Steven I-“

“Come ‘ere,” his husky voice soothes the impatient panic bubbling under the surface of your skin. Your hands busy themselves in his curls one more as you watch his fingers easily slip the pesky button from its loop, easing the waistband of your pants. He doesn’t stop there, pinching the zipper between his forefinger and thumb and dragging it down. The sound is as loud as gunfire in your ears, your heart thrumming violently against your sternum with the adrenaline of the moment.

The exhale that seeps from your lungs is shaky as you use your knees on the edge of the chair to sit up and slip your pants from your hips, thumbs dragging over the flesh of your hip bones and tracing the lacy material of your panties. You find yourself praising Isis that you’d chosen a nice pair to wear today as he stares down at them, a mixture of lust and anxiety swirling in the coffee color of his iris’.

It’s your turn to unbutton his pants, somehow managing to ease your own nerves to open them up without a hitch before undoing his fly. Your breath is a little heavy with excitement as you palm the bulge. Once again, Steven’s head dips back with a low groan as you slip your hand inside his boxers to wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his cock. His hips jut slightly against your touch, the grip his fingers have on your thighs almost bruising now. There’s precum beading at the tip, you can feel it smear underneath your thumbprint across the silky smooth head.

“Oh-ohhhh fuck,” Steven chokes, hips jerking up under your touch to gain further friction. You can feel his cock twitch underneath your palm, can hear shuddering inhale and exhale of his lungs as he attempts to ease the taut muscles in his thighs. You can make him feel even better. You want him to feel better-

Sinking slowly from his lap to the floor, you settle your torso between his thighs as you continue to ever so lightly stroke your fist over the length of his cock. He’s so pretty, the rosy skin is such a deep red it’s almost purple.

“Darlin’ where are you goin’-?” His lazy, slurred question cuts suddenly into a gasp, his head snapping up from its relaxed position to show his startled expression in response to the flat of your tongue tracing the slick precum leaking from his flushed, swollen tip. You swear you can see his dark eyes, almost black as a result of his dilated pupils, roll all the way back into his skull as you take him hot and heavy, further into your throat. His hand immediately jumps into your hair, gripping tightly in an attempt to steady himself against your ministrations out of concern that you’re working him far too quickly.

Your cunt pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling in your shoes as you focus your attention on sucking his cock. He’s deep in your mouth, head pushing against your palette as the tip of your tongue traces the ridge of his veins on the underside of the soft flesh. His cock twitches again when you moan around his length, the vibrations shooting down his cock and settling at the base of his spine with an unintelligible moan.

“I c-can’t, darlin’, I can’t! I can’t-‘ The fingers wound deep into the strands of your hair pull you off his cock quickly, the rapidly increasing pressure threatening to burst forward in his shuddering abdomen. Your own intake of oxygen is heavy and unstable, the sight of him gazing down at you with utterly fucked out eyes almost enough to drive you to the edge.

Quick to your feet, you drag your eyes over his sensitive body. The leaking tip of his flushed cock, the hardening nipples underneath the fabric of his shirt, it all makes your cunt flutter around nothing as it begs to be filled. It’s impossible to hold yourself back now, body moving on its own as you straddle his lap as you had before, settling your palms on his shoulders to steady yourself.

Much to your surprise, nervous Steven doesn’t need direction. He appears to also be working in his own form of autopilot, eyes hypnotized by the way your eyelids flutter when his digits slip between the soft flesh of your thighs and trace the inside with a gentle touch. You could be imagining it, but you’re certain his fingers are a little shaky as they stroke your slit through the crotch of your panties, stopping just shy of your clit underneath the lacy fabric.

Whimpering at the lack of friction just where you need it, you grind your hips slightly into his fingerprints. Steven is quick to gently shush you, hooking his fingers into the crotch of your panties to pull them to the side. The cold air against your soaking folds causes you to grip at the material of Steven’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric with creases you swore he’d never be able to iron out.

“A-Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Soft Steven, lovely Steven checks in with you. Ensures you’re not engaging in something you’re uncomfortable with. It makes your heart yearn for him, more than you have these past few weeks of locking yourself in the bathroom and gazing into the mirror with pained expressions after his fingers brushed yours when taking a pen he’d asked to borrow, or when you would hold your mobile to your chest at the end of a phone call that was about as something as mundane as his shift hours.

“Steven, I want nothing more-“ you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly. It catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. Steven grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly at a loss as to where else to hold you. His eyes are flickering all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.

A chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. He stretches you deliciously, not too big as to hurt- he’s just perfect. Perfectly filling. It’s like you lose all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. Your hips must stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel Steven thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap until he’s bottoming out in your slick pussy.

“Oh- Oh fuck-it feels so good, Steven,” you groan, finally sitting down on his length with your full weight. Your quads are already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure that simmers between them, but the desire to chase the feeling is enough to get them to lift despite the effort it takes.

Rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your head. You don’t mean to, truly you don’t, but you pause before you sink back down. Like this, you see the almost pained look in Steven’s hazy eyes as he gazed up at you through his lashes that were damp with pleasured tears. You never want to go without seeing that view for even one day.

“God, please darli- Yesss, oh yes!” He chokes as you rock your hips for him to slip straight back into, his voice cracking under the pressure that builds at the base of his spine. You find that slow and steady pace that tortures you both, pleasurable but teetering on not enough, teasing the embers of a building orgasm but not stoking the fire.

The slippery sound of your cunt being filled over and over echoes and brunches off of the stone museum walls, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared exertion. You can barely hear Steven’s whimpers, your pulse thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.

There’s tension in your forehead, no doubt from your eyebrows arching in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning between your thighs. Your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but Steven doesn’t want you to stop. His hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same lazy pace you had set.

The legs of the chair you’re both sat in strain under the pressure of Steven’s movements, but neither of you seem to notice as he continues to brush against that part of you that just obliterates any coherent thoughts. You’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that could probably secure a conviction if they were used as evidence of your activities.

Despite the slow, even pace, Steven looks entirely fucked out. His curls are messy and falling into his perfectly pink face. His tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips mindlessly, eyes settled on the way you take his cocks so well. At this angle, he thinks he can see the tip nudging up against your stomach from the inside. That’s all he needs to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts.

It winds you, the brutal pace that he sets, and the gentle smolder is exacerbated into a churning, broiling sensation that rips through you within seconds. Your thighs are tight against his own as you sob out wordlessly, desperate in your attempts to prevent your orgasm from coming too fast. You’ve waited so long, you don’t want this moment to end.

Oh, but Steven is so eager to please. His fumbling fingers are quick to blindly search for your clit as he rocks violently into your soaking wet cunt. It sparks through you like white-hot lightning when he catches the sensitive bundle of nerves, and your reaction must make it obvious he’s found what he’s looking for because he focuses all of his attention on that one spot that has your vision going white.

His cock sinks deep inside you, head continuing to spear that impossibly sensitive spot inside you as he traces your swollen clit with imperfect circles. You barely notice it until it’s surging forward so quickly that you don’t have the time to brace for it. The wail of Steven’s name that escapes you would probably wake the mummified dead on the floor above when your body tremors with a pleasure so annihilating that you’re gushing, flooding around him and streaming tears from your eyes. Your toes curl almost painfully, gripping onto him so hard your knuckles go white.

The extra lubrication and easiness in which Steven is able to sink into your sopping heat must tip him over the edge alongside you, because even through your blinding relief you can feel his back arch slightly as he settles as far into your cunt as he can possibly go, emptying his load with a pitiful groan that melts all of your nerves. He’s slurring your name with each of his final thrusts, keeps going and going until he can’t take it anymore and he’s too sensitive to move.

Boneless, you slump against his heaving chest with a sob. The silence that follows is almost deafening, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to breathe evenly to steady the erratic slamming of your heart against your ribcage.

Massaging his fingers through your hair, Steven lets out a nervous laugh that causes you to burst into a fit of giggles through your exhaustion. Maybe it’s delirium that makes you find humor in the situation or the relief of so many months of pining for this one man. Regardless, it’s freeing. Your body feels lighter, though that could just be you floating after what is easily the best orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life.

“… Oh fuckin’ hell,” Steven is breathless, speaking over your laughter to point at the corner of the ceiling. “The fuckin’ camera.” Of course. This whole museum was covered in CCTV. Though, you hadn’t considered that when he’d practically begged you to make out with him.

“Oh well,” you breathe, sitting up to look him in the eyes and brush his curls from his face with a gentle stroke and a cheeky grin. “I’m sure J.B will love the view.”

END

🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @mylifeisactuallyamess

new meow meow just dropped

I did it for Kim.

Steve helpfully offering his hand to everyone boarding the boat, only to get ignored or unnoticed every single time. that’s it, that’s the post

he's here

“On drums and tiger skin trousers, mr. Roger Taylor! On dazzling tie and bass guitar, mr. John Deacon! And on maracas and sometimes vocals, mr. Freddie Mercury!” - Queen Live Killers, 1979.

family photo

sink

steven grant x gn!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: explicit content, smut (minors DNI), sub!steven™️, reader and steven are obsessed with each other, some spit, reader is penetrated (no specific words used)

a/n: i’m in love with him and can’t stop writing sweet lovey sex with him being submissive :’)

“Look at me, baby.”

He doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. How could he, when you touch him with such reverence, bringing him to his knees without a single word. He looks up at you, tousled curls casting a shadow over his eyes, over those ridiculously long lashes you love so much.

When your hand finds his soft cheek, he breathes in shakily, keeping his eyes on you as they glaze over, going half-lidded the way they always do when he needs you. He looks at you with so much trust and love, it makes your gut churn.

How does he still do it, all with one look? And he doesn’t even know it. He doesn’t realize that just one look from him has all your blood flooding to your chest, until all you can hear is your own heartbeat.

But how could you expect anything less from Steven, when every day he makes you fall even deeper in love with him. Steven, with his mismatched socks from the museum gift shops, patterned with stars and cartoon versions of his favorite Egyptian deities.

Steven, who after dozens of dates and a shared apartment still asks for permission to kiss you. Not out of nerves, no, because he loves to see that smile that pulls at your lips when you're expecting his kiss.

Steven, your sweet love, who you often found asleep on the couch with the sleeves of his jumper pulled over his hands and a book laying open on his chest.

He presses his cheek to the softness of your thigh, waiting patiently while you look down at him. He used to be scared of this, of letting you see him. But now you know him inside and out — you always know what he needs. Your thumb brushes over his lips and they fall open upon instinct, inviting you into the warmth of his mouth.

“Steven,” you murmur and he whimpers, the pressure of your thumb resting on his lower lip all too much. He doesn’t know what he wants more, your fingers in his mouth or to be splayed out underneath you already. But he’ll wait and take anything you give him, because it’s always worth it.

Your thumb disappears between his lips and he makes the softest sound, something akin to a whine yet so indescribably his own. It’s so desperate, it makes that familiar heat pool low in your stomach. And he just keeps going, suckling at your thumb so gently, pulling you in deeper, wanting to be full of you. So you pull it from him, only giving him a moment to beg for more before you replace it with your two longest fingers.

Steven’s tongue swirls along your digits, sucking them down to the root and tasting every inch of skin you offer him. You just watch him, completely in awe at the way he gets lost in the action, even starting to bob his head a little bit. It’s not much compared to what he’s taken before, but his eyes still get a little watery as he looks up at you.

“So good for me, yeah?” You mumble, your free hand brushing some curls off of his forehead, “You’re so pretty like this.”

He hums around your fingers, cheeks tinting pink for a moment and god does he look beautiful — He’s practically glowing. You pull your fingers from him gently, hushing him when he whimpers in protest.

“You’re okay, angel. Come up here for me, will you?” - You pat the edge of the bed, smiling when he scrambles to his feet to follow your instructions. You stand between his legs, your hands finding his knees to rub them where you know they hurt from kneeling.

Steven smiles, that boyish grin he seems to always have stowed away somewhere, and you almost sink to the ground. Instead, you grab his cheeks again and kiss him gently, reveling in the way he groans against your lips. He meets you kiss for kiss languidly, hands gripping the sheets at his sides.

“You can touch,” you breathe out, pulling him in again and running your tongue over the sweet swell of his lower lip.

The moment he has permission, Steven reaches up to hold your waist, pulling you in as close as he can get you, “Need you so bad,” he mumbles.

Humming against the softness of his lips, you pull away to nuzzle your nose with his and smile down at him. He’s so pretty -- All pink cheeks and swollen lips, silently begging for more. Of course you’ll give it to him, you can only fight those eyes for so long.

“Lay down, baby,” you murmur, slipping off the shirt you’re wearing while he scoots back on the bed to rest against the pillows, “Comfy?”

Steven nods and a smile pulls at his lips, “Thank you,” his eyes following you as you move to lay on your side next to him. You run a hand through his soft curls, resting it under his head to support it, while your other hand finds his shoulder. The already feverish skin of his torso erupts in goosebumps at your touch and you chuckle, tracing the freckles that grace his collarbones.

“I can’t help it,” Steven mumbles almost apologetically, so you press a line of kisses from his cheek to his ear, “Don’t apologize. I love how sensitive you are.”

He feels ridiculous for getting so worked up so easily, burying his face in your neck and whispering a soft, “I love you.”

And then you’re sinking again, your heart aching with love for him as you try not to cry, echoing the sentiment back to him. Your lips find that spot below his jaw that makes him shake for you and he does, gasping when you mark him as your own. Before he can even begin to fathom everything else, you’re leaning back to look at him again, but his eyes are closed. He’s in a daze, and you’ve barely even touched him.

“Steven, baby, look at me,” you breathe and his eyes flutter open for you, your gaze the only thing tethering him to reality. He takes a shuttering breath, blinking away some of the haze from his eyes and you smile, “Good boy.”

Your praise makes his head spin and he bites his lip to try to contain the whimper that inevitably bubbles up from his throat. Running your fingers over the soft lines of his hipbones, you trace the band of his boxers, “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” Steven cries out, already raising his hips for you so that you can pull off his boxers. Once they’re off and tossed across the room, you give his thigh a nice squeeze. You’ve always loved how soft he is, yet so strong. There was always so much to grab onto with him. Almost instinctually, he lets his thighs fall open for you, beckoning you to touch his cock, which lies heavy against his stomach, begging for attention.

Steven nuzzles his head back against the hand you still have supporting his head, just barely brushing his lips over yours when you lean in closer. Then you kiss him, soaking in all his little sounds as you finally trace a line up the underside of his cock, just teasing. While he squirms, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, finally taking him into your hand.

He can’t even think anymore, all the thoughts in his head evaporating, completely replaced by you, you, you. Soft, raspy moans fall from his lips as he tries not to buck his hips up into your hand. You’re going so slow, yet he feels completely taken apart. And then you’re twisting your hand that way he loves so much, and he gasps, raising his hips off of the bed.

You bite back a knowing smile, “Oh, honey, does that feel good?” He writhes under you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he tries to get words out, coming up with a pathetic ‘mhm’.

“Use your words,” you say, slowing down to a painful pace, making him shake for you again.

Steven takes a deep breath, gathering himself more or less, “F-Feels so good. S’always so good with you, love.”

“Oh angel,” you coo, kissing his brow gently and meeting his gaze. When you start back up again, your grip is a little firmer, giving him that pressure that always has his hips fighting to stay planted on the bed.

He’s so good, keeping his hips down for you and trying his best not to squirm. He always gets so lost in it, nuzzling against you and making the prettiest noises, occasionally mumbling a soft, mindless ‘thank you’. Only when you lift his head again does he peak out of his haze, awaiting your next words.

But you don’t say anything, you just push his head into your cupped hand which you’ve placed under his lips, and he knows what you want. Looking up at you, his eyes placid, Steven carefully spits into your hand. He makes sure to give you enough, and when he pulls back his lips are shining with it.

“Good boy,” you mumble again, focused on taking him in your hand again that perfect, teasing way that drives him crazy.

Just your words have him gasping for you, but then you’re off, setting a faster, brutal pace that Steven’s head can barely keep up with. His soft moans hiccup and he blushes, trying to bite them back.

“Love, I- I’m not gonna last like- like this. Wanna- Mm! Wanna last f-for you,” he whines, looking up at you with watery eyes.

You hush him with a kiss, “I don’t want you to last, baby. I want you to come, okay? But I’m not gonna stop after.”

Steven nods, his nose brushing yours, “Okay.”

Keeping your forehead pressed to his, you twist your hand on an upward stroke, making him cry out for you again. The intimacy of it all is what gets him, and he can’t help but chase your lips for another kiss.

You only meet him for one kiss, before pulling back to ravage his neck with bites and marks all over. He tilts his head to one side, ever so vulnerable, to give you more space. When you latch on to a particular spot under his ear, his thighs start to shake and you know he’s close.

Something about Steven right before he’s about to come always makes you filthy in your desire for him. Echoing his heightening moans with a soft growl, you bite down on the spot and he gasps, his hips stilling and then twitching as he comes for you, your name the only word he can remember.

“That’s it, baby,” you groan, looking up at him as you help him ride it out, “You’re so pretty when you come for me like this.”

You don’t stop, just as you promised, and he’s shaking, looking up at you for mercy, yet with so much need. The tears in his eyes build again, curls falling over his forehead from all the shaking.

“You still want to make me come?” You ask and he nods so quickly, “Please, please.”

Moving to straddle his hips, you laugh softly and line yourself up with him, “Then let me just-“ You sink down onto him, “-use you like this, yeah?”

Steven’s head falls back with a moaned curse, “Y-Yeah.”

Starting to move, you lean over him, gasping when his tip nudges that sweet spot within you, but still keeping your composure, “My sweet boy. Always - - Always so agreeable.”

He nods his head so quickly it’s almost comical, and you adjust your position to hit that spot easily. Once you’ve found it, your composure starts to wither and you curse under your breath. Every soft sound that escapes you has Steven more and more desperate to please you - to be the source of your pleasure.

“Love, could I- Can I move?” he pleads and you can only nod in agreement, your tongue too heavy to speak.

Still keeping his hands to his sides, Steven begins to rut up into you, meeting you for each thrust and hitting even deeper, just the way he knows you love. You can’t help but fall forward onto his chest, grinding desperately against him, and you’re so close.

Steven knows you need an extra push, so he leans in to your ear, hips still spearing up into you as he whispers, “Please come. I wanna see you come.”

And then you’re there, cursing into his neck as you trust him to help you ride the wave, unable to say anything but a cried-out mantra of, “Fuck, Steven.”

He’s right there with you, coming again and guiding you both through it. He’s so sensitive, but he doesn’t stop until he’s sure you’re satisfied, until you’ve stilled your hips as well.

Panting into his neck quietly, you come back to earth after a minute and kiss over the harsher marks you had left on his neck and shoulders. Your lips are soft and light now, soothing every bite, every mark. And he’s basking in it, completely melting into the bed, seemingly relearning how to breathe again.

You brush the tip of your nose over his, smiling at how positively wrecked he looks, “You alright, baby?“

He hums, blinking his eyes open once, twice before he’s beaming up at you, those sweet dimples showing again, all for you. Leaning in, you kiss through your smiles, laughing when he catches your lip in a playful nibble.

With your hands on his cheeks, you brush away the tears that had fallen earlier before starting to get up off him, “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.”

Steven grabs your hips and looks at you seriously, “And then Game Of Thrones?”

You giggle, echoing his wishes, “And then Game Of Thrones.”

we were robbed, ROBBED I’M TELLING YOU