Amour-ment

Like turning on the light (Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader Smut)

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x younger(adult)!fem!reader

Summary: After Obi-Wan gets you and Leia back from the Fortress Inquisitorius, the feelings you have been stifling finally come to surface on your way to Jabiim.

Warnings: Obi-Wan Kenobi spoilers, smut (minors DNI), age gap (legal - I imagine reader in her early 20s), loss of virginity, fingering, unprotected p in v (pulling out), all very soft, Obi-Wan feeling a little guilty though, no daddy issues explicitly mentioned but this whole thing is, like, deeply rooted in them, extreme loneliness? and being touch-starved? mention of light injury on reader, being kidnapped, canon-typical stuff, nothing specific about the reader's family but she is 'alone in the world'

Word count: ~9.7K I needed to get this out of my system pls don't judge me

A/n: So... I didn't use to have a crush on Obi-Wan, but then the show happened and then Obi-Wan being all sad and protective happened and then... this happened. I took a little liberty with the timeline in the first ep but it's blink and you'll miss it.

Already mentioned that it's consenting adults but just to be safe: if the age gap is not your thing please scroll past this😄

***

You hiss. The wound is a little deeper than you originally thought and a little awkward to reach, slightly to the back of your upper right arm. It could be much worse, had the Stormtrooper aimed an inch to the right, or if it weren't for you dodging the blaster shot in time for it to only graze your flesh instead of burning a hole through it. 

In the end, though, you'd take that version of events any day over one where yo never got to push Leia out of the way at all.

No use imagining that. You're safe now, on the ship taking you to Jabiim. The Fortress Inquisitorious is thankfully behind you, but far from being a distant memory whose burn has faded. 

There is a small, secluded area on the ship meant for Jedi refugees who need rest on their way to safety. You are there now, sitting on a cot as you try to take care of yourself, like you always used to do before crossing paths with him. You don't truly want to be alone, but to be honest, you're not ready for the things you would say or do in the presence of others. The last thing you saw before retreating to the other room was Leia taking Ben's hand in comfort, her tiny one disappearing inside the large palm of his. She is so brave. All it does is remind you how afraid you'd been - the gut-wrenching feeling Reva had managed to plant in the depths of your chest with three little words spoken in sadistic satisfaction.

Obi-Wan is-

-bound to come check on you. So, you are hardly surprised when there is a knock on the automatic doors, and more than certain who they will reveal once you give permission and they open with a hiss.

He looks tired. But then again, he always does, even freshly awoken in the morning. Tired and troubled. His eyes are worried, his voice soft.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'll survive," you say, glancing at the cut on your arm. "How's Leia?"

He smiles fondly. "Strong. Like her mother."

"I wish I could say the same," you confess. "Never thought I'd miss Tattooine."

The short time you spent on that planet, you hated it. The heat, the smells, the constant feeling of thirst. But most of all, you hated the way that awful man you worked for looked at you, as if you held even less worth than the pieces of meat you spent hours on end chopping and packing for the miserable excuse of a wage he paid you at the end of the day. Hardly any of his workers received the credits they were owed in their entirety, but you? A young woman, new to the planet, all alone in the world? What trouble could you possibly give him if he decided to take from you the most?

None that wouldn't get you a much worse fate.

"This is barely a quarter, won't last me a week!" you all but cry out when the droid drops the sad little pile of coins in your hand. "At least give me the half you usually do!"

The foreman's smirk is sadistic under his unruly beard. "I did give you half - of a half. Now, get out of my sight before I take it away."

"Why you big, stinking bantha-"

You see red. You have no idea what you mean to do, the man is twice your size. But you take the two furious steps that get you right in his face. Whether you were about to slap him or spit in his eye, you get to do neither before he shoves your shoulder, hard, and you fall to the ground.

"Last warning, sweet cheeks," he sneers down at you.

All the workers waiting in line behind you to get paid are watching, silent as the dead. No one says anything. No one does anything. You want to look up defiantly, scorch the bastard with a withering glare, if nothing else - but there are tears of humiliation burning behind your eyes, your heart is running rampant, and fear blends with your anger as you feel something else start to burn within you as well.

As always, there's no controlling it. It builds in your gut, your bones, your very soul. And before you can even begin to try and shove it down, there are particles of sand thrumming to life around you, driven by light vibrations of air that are dangerously close to becoming noticeable to everyone watching. 

No, no, no.

You've seen what becomes of anyone who dares show the smallest connection to the Force.

Someone crouches down next to you, and you almost shove them away blindly. But then there's a large hand on your arm, and an urgent, but soft voice whispering for your ears only.

"No. He's not worth your life."

You look at the man speaking to you, stunned. He was behind you in the line. You see him everyday, just like all the other workers, but this is the first time you truly notice him - bearded, blue eyes, lines of age and an understanding on his face that leaves you no doubt he knows. And he's not using it against you. 

The air around you stills as his eyes put you at ease.

They still do. It's why you hold his gaze, even as you continue to clean your wound. You need the reminder that you have pulled through, and that come what may, you'll pull through that, too. With him.

You wince when your hand slips.

"Here, let me," Ben says. He comes to sit next to you, the doors closing behind him. He reaches for the bacta-soaked gauze you're using, and you let him take over brushing the wound with more practiced and gentle movements, his other hand holding your elbow as he works. You relax into the small contact, taking in the slight furrow of his brow. It feels so natural to put your safety in his hands now, and it goes without saying that you don't even have to ask.

He only refused you once - the first time you did.

"Wherever I go, whatever I do, sooner or later, it always shows. I don't know what to do with it. If you won't teach me how to use it, then at least show me how you hide it. Please. I'm tired of running."

He says no. Just keep your emotions in check, your head down. But then a Jedi gets hung on display in the street, and after your eyes somehow find Ben's in the crowd of terrified onlookers, he tells you to meet him at his cave once the two suns have lowered. 

You do. He's far from a good teacher these days. It's like his instinct tells him to guide you further towards the Force, even as he searches for the words that will explain to you how to shut it down, shove it so deep within yourself that you forget it's there. Like he still struggles to.

It really shouldn't take too long. But you can't hide it without learning to control it, at least in some capacity. And he has a tip or two to spare about how to defend yourself, even without it. 

One evening turns into two, then more. Your face becomes familiar. He starts to learn the sound of your voice - the first and only one apart from his own and Teeka's to echo off the walls of his cave.

The one you've made a dwelling out of (because how could you afford to rent any kind of place with a lock on it?) is much smaller, unprotected by a droid sensor like his. You haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks - always jerking awake at the slightest of sounds, keeping a small knife under your pillow just in case.

He thinks you'll refuse - hopes you will as much as he dreads it. He means no harm when he offers, but why would you agree to share a sleeping space with an older man you'd barely just met? Why would he be willing to share his?

Responsibility, that's why. That pesky Jedi itch to protect that's etched into his very bones, starting to creep in on him as if he doesn't already have a duty to fulfill, towards the boy. As if the last time he was entrusted with someone else's destiny didn't spell the tragic end of both the man he once was and that someone.

His name still hurts to think about.

You do take what little safety he has to offer. There is a fair amount of distance between your sleeping spots, but he can still hear your deep, even breaths. He remains awake for a long time that first night, listening to the presence of another. He knows you a little better now, well enough to know all you want in the world is a home. This isn't it. Not here, not him. Which makes it all the more selfish that he sleeps remarkably well with you by his distant side. 

The lonely didn't use to be so loud before you. It's strange how not strange it is to have you around, part of his daily routine. Even if he still keeps most of his past to himself, the parts of it that would endanger you both were he to reveal them. The more time he spends close to you, however, the closer they come to slipping into the light.

"Ben?"

He wakes up one night to the dampness of sheets, a horribly dry throat and your hand gripping his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize the yelp he heard was his own, and that the flames of Mustafar have given way to his - your - dark cave. 

"You were mumbling in your sleep. Thrashing around." Your voice holds concern. Your hold on him loosens, but you don't let go. "Seemed like you were having a nightmare."

He often does, but he's never been distracted from them so fast. At the forefront of his mind is that you've never been so close at night. Now that he thinks of it, you've never touched him before, not since the day you met and he took hold of your arm to ground you. 

The warmth of your hand is a welcome balm after the heat of battle, and feels like a cool blessing compared to the mere memory of the fire he'd watched consume him.

"Not a nightmare," he says eventually. "Nightmares aren't real."

You seem unsure, frightened even, to ask. But there's a sort of soft curiosity in your eyes that wins over as you do, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"Who is Anakin?"

He doesn't answer. And you don't break the long silence that follows with further questions before you quietly step away.

The following night, he dreams differently. There's still blood and fire and betrayal, but it's the warmth of your body rather than being nudged awake which pulls him out. You're lying half on top of him, one leg casually slung over his and your hand over his heart, where your head was just resting before you raised it to look at him with those same soft, curious eyes. You caress his bearded cheek, and the tenderness makes him shudder as if your fingers were the tip of a blade. He can't hold your gaze when you touch him like that, so he shuts his eyes. This isn't what you're here for, it can't and shouldn't be. 

And then he opens his eyes to realize he was never truly awake at all. You're in your own makeshift bed, as you have always been. He's no stranger to the feeling of guilt as it washes over him, but the cold that comes with lack of touch when the ghost of it still lingered painfully real on his skin… that's a new kind of torment.

Not unlike shooting out of a bacta tank, the liquid freezing on his bare, recently scorched skin as he learned that you and Leia had been taken. He didn't want to imagine what might have been happening to you before he had you back, and it is a tremendous relief to see that the little girl is perfectly well and the only wound you have to show for your ordeal is one that happened when you were already on your way to freedom, right by his side.

Still, he asks.

"Were you hurt? Anywhere else?"

Oh, you were. Still are. But not in the kind of place that bacta can heal.

The words don't come out quiet yet, though.

"The Third Sister, she… she wanted Leia first. Thought she would break more easily." You shudder. "I tried to get her to take me instead but…"

But you couldn't make any difference, and it nearly cost the child you had promised Ben you would protect even more innocence than she had already lost. You hardly realized when it all stopped being about you and him, and became about her.

You go with him when he leaves to find Leia, despite his protests. Tell yourself you're doing the right thing, using what has always felt like a curse as a force for good. And maybe that's true, but just as true is that you'd rather follow Ben to the darkest hole in the galaxy then be alone again, sleeping in an empty cave as you wonder night after night whether he is ever coming back. 

It's been different for a while. Since his nightmare, or perhaps before. You've become more aware of him, more attached - that dreaded word forbidden by the Jedi. It's taken physical form - a sense of ease when he is near, the opposite when he is not. You wonder what he would have done, had you not retreated back to your own sleeping spot that one night. Back then, you felt his muscles loosen under your touch, the first one, you could tell, he'd felt in a long time. Like it was for you. More than once, you've thought of slipping beneath his covers when his brow furrowed with the memories plaguing his sleep, though you weren't sure for the comfort of whom. And while you don't question his pure intentions… yours are more unclear by the day. He is safety, but not peace - not when you find yourself growing restless at night, wondering what the lines of his face would feel like under your fingertips. Your lips.

He can't not know. And if you're being honest, you know about him, too. It lies dormant in the layer of the Force around you, hiding in plain sight in the words you avoid.

"If anyone asks, you're his daughter," you instruct Leia, crouching in front of her on a busy street on Daiyu. Ben subtly scours the crowd , watching out for any potential threats coming your way. The girl looks him up and down, raising a skeptical little eyebrow.

"Granddaughter, maybe," she mutters under her breath, earning a slight frown from Ben, and an accusatory whisper of her name from you. She doesn't even do you the courtesy of looking sheepish as she concedes, "Are you supposed to be my sister, then?"

There's a short, pregnant pause.

"I'm a friend," you settle for, the word hanging awkwardly between the three of you. "Close family friend."

She's not stupid by any means, but she's still a child. She doesn't understand. Few would. But then you get separated on Mapuzo, and even though he isn't there for you to call out to when she cuts you and Leia off, The Third Sister does see the blade waiting to be yielded clear as a lit saber - and twists it as far as it can go inside your gut.

"Obi-Wan is dead. He burned to death on Mapuzo."

"No use dwelling on that," he gently cuts your earlier train of thought about Leia, pulling you back to the present. By now, he's applying the bandage, careful to cover the entire length of your cut. "You were both spared the pain, that's all that matters."

This time, the words tumble out.

"She told us you were dead. I doubt she could have done any worse."

His hands freeze.

Of course it's not completely true - you wouldn't wish Leia's suffering over anything in the galaxy. But when it comes to yourself, an interrogation droid would have left you less rattled than that one lie.

Ben's done patching you up. Your arm, at least. But his hand is still a warm weight on your shoulder as the gravity of your words hangs between you.

"Y/n…"

You don't want to cry. You did enough of that, alone in your cell. Which is why you look straight ahead instead of meeting his gaze.

No one is coming for you.

But he did. And in the midst of blaster fire and the underwater base sinking in on you through broken glass, you could do nothing but run and keep at bay the immense wave of relief that threatened to sweep your legs from underneath you.

A ragged sigh escapes you, raw exhaustion and tears that never had the time to pour out. Even then, you hesitate, almost halt your motion the moment you start to lean in - but then you bury your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around him anyway, and when he instantly pulls you in close with one hand cradling your head you half-sob into his tunic. 

"Oh, dear," he murmurs sorrowfully, fingers lightly caressing your hair as you tremble in his arms.

When you run into him on the base, you nearly shoot him in the head with the blaster you stole from one of the Troopers. Freshly broken out of your cell, knuckles white on the weapon and your heart beating like that of a hunted animal, you allowed yourself to think of nothing but finding Leia as you snuck through the halls of the fortress. You never expected to see her around the corner, hand in hand with Ben. And though you're still in the Empire's clutches, and you still have to keep yourself together when you feel like the world is coming down around you… it's infinitely easier to do when you're not on your own anymore. The Maker only knows how you'd ever done it before.

"I felt so alone," you confess, head still tucked in his neck and voice heavy with tears. "All my life, I've been alone, but… not a day since I met you. I could live with it before, I thought I'd be able to again, but… now there's her," you breathe out, terrifying yourself again with how much Leia has come to mean to you in such a short time, how desperately you need to not let her down. "I can't do this without you, Ben. If you hadn't come-"

"Don't think of it," he:s quick to soothe. His hold on your tightens just the slightest. "You are not alone, y/n. I'll come find you. Whenever you need me, I'll always come find you."

He speaks the words with all the conviction he's capable of, like a vow. You react deeply, viscerally, almost. 

He's so strong, but also soft. He holds you in such a safe embrace, you almost shudder at the feeling. You shouldn't, not here, not now. Oh, you know you shouldn't - but you feel it between your legs. It trickles there in a slow, but steady flow, warmth that turns to the beginning of a familiar ache. Perhaps it's your body's way of coping, this nearly instant spark of pleasure that ignites from an innocent touch, but you've felt it before, with him, and knew you couldn't hold it off forever. And when he speaks to you like that…

His name falls from your lips. A low, pleading sound. His fingers in your hair halt.

"What is it?"

It's his presence. His touch. The skin of his neck and the brush of his beard against the arch of your nose as you slowly angle up your chin until your lips are where your forehead used to be, lingering on his pulse point. You swear you can feel his heart stutter as his arms tense around you. He says your name, now - a whispered question. You lift your head, and meet his eyes in such a way that should be enough to give the answer. You can't tell if it does, but he's still holding you.

So, slow and steady, you lift your leg over both of his, shift your weight - and straddle his knees. You settle there, hands on his shoulders and eyes searching his. He doesn't dare move, only sits completely still without looking away. His arms have untangled from around you with the movement and his hands hover over your hips, unsure. You're so close you can feel each other's breath, and every nerve ending in your body is alight, though no inch of your skin is touching his. It's almost frightened, the way he looks at you, but you know him by now. It's the same look he had when Bail Organa asked for his help. Not fear of being broken, but of breaking something without meaning to, the way he still blames himself for having done before. 

Your gaze drops to his lips. They used to be most often dry, as was everything on Tattooine, but his time in the bacta tank must have worked to dial back some of the years of dehydration. Not that it makes that much of a difference - you were as eager to taste them before as you are now. 

You lean in to do just that.

"Wait."

He takes firm hold of your waist. A way to keep you from closing the distance - and his hands from touching somewhere else.

"I meant what I said, y/n. But I'm not the man you need," he says softly. His mellow voice does the opposite of his words, making your chest ache with longing.

"You're the man I want," you finally confess, brushing a strand of sand-coloured hair away from his temple. "I feel safe with you, Ben. That's all I've wanted for so long."

"But it doesn't mean you want this."

"You don't?"

He can't say that he doesn't. He knows you're an adult with every right to choose who you give yourself to, but Maker, he feels so old and weary. And perhaps that wouldn't feel so wrong, if only he weren't so broken. He wishes he could feel for you what he used to feel for Anakin - the need to protect you, to guide you through the ways of the Force. In a way, he does. But he wants you closer. Has craved the comfort of your touch since before he cared to admit it. Your fingers in his hair are caring and gentle in ways he has long left behind, and if he were the kind of man who values relief over the person offering it, he would have you sighing beneath his eager mouth already.

But he is not, and he doesn't wish he were. He only wishes for you to be alright. Which is why his answer is a half-truth. "I shouldn't."

Your brows furrow in a disheartened little frown that makes his heart ache. "Because of the Jedi code?"

"I'm not a Jedi anymore," he says without hesitation. "I simply can't risk hurting you."

"How could you hurt me?"

You ask that question with such innocent incredulity, like the mere thought of it is more preposterously absurd than a flood on Tattooine. He can't help a fond, but sad smile.

"I'm twice your age, sweetheart. And ten times as worn out."

It's not that you don't know it. And though you felt the urge to avoid saying it before, if anything, hearing it out loud makes you realize how little it matters to your feelings.

You trace the lines at the corner of his eyes with a feather-light touch of your thumb, your other hand cupping his bearded cheek. It's surprisingly soft, and you relish the feeling as much as he does as his eyes fall shut under your tender attentions. 

The shadow of an adoring smile blooms on your lips as you whisper, "Well, then… you age like wine, Master Kenobi."

Ah, you sure know how to stroke a man's ego. He can't remember the last time he received a compliment, especially one that catered to his appeal as well as his Jedi skills. The corner of his mouth threatens to curl upwards as he opens his eyes into yours, and finds nothing but sincerity there.

"I'm flattered," he manages to sound composed, even when all he wants is to tell you how beautiful you are, and pull you closer. "But that doesn't change the fact that I can't give you the life you deserve. Perhaps it isn't forbidden and perhaps it feels good in the moment, but… you'll grow to regret this, y/n."

You're silent after that. You lower your gaze for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek as you let your hands fall from his face to his shoulders again. He already mourns the loss of you in his arms before you've even had a chance to leave them.

But you never do.

"Do you care for me? This way?"

There's something in the way you ask as if you don't know - like it hasn't been right there, lingering just below the surface of every exchange of words and glances - that drives him to reach up and caress your cheek as if he has to prove it. 

"My dear, you know I do," he admits, and it's both relief and self-accusation as you lean into his touch. "I can't help it, I do."

It's all you need to hear.

"Then let me decide what I'll regret."

That being said, you inch closer. And when he makes no further move to stop you, when his breath hitches and his eyes fall to your lips in surrender, you close the small gap that was left between your mouths.

Obi-Wan hasn't been touched in years, let alone kissed. Jedi rarely do. Physical relief isn't - wasn't forbidden. When the Code still mattered. But there was always a mission, always more and more lives to be saved, and little to no time for such dealings. His memory doesn't completely fail him, though, not unlike the Force still running through his veins, however sluggishly. And he has plenty of time to shake off the rust as you take it slow and steady, though it's for your own sake that you do so rather than his.

It feels right, although foreign - the brush of his beard, the wetness of his lips under yours. He was so still at first you feared you had misread his desire after all, but he quickly thawed. You kiss with small, languid movements of the lips, and your skin prickles with goosebumps as he slides the hand on your waist slightly up your back, large palm splayed over the small of it and pulling you in closer.

His other hand slides down your neck, coming to rest over your heart. Feeling the gallop he's earned with just a kiss is enough to send blood rushing below his belt. To feel you trembling with need in his arms, hips starting a subtle roll as more of you seeks out more of him… the man he thought he'd buried in the sand along with the lightsabers comes forth to respond in kind, just as the Jedi he once was had returned to fight and defend for the right cause. For the right person.

For the first time in ten years, he wants with all the vigour a man could want, and more passion than he was taught a Jedi ever should.

Damn me for this, he thinks half-heartedly. But your desire shows as clear as day, and he is only human. A lonely human haunted by the past who has gone much too long without being cared for, just as you have. How could he deny you? Or himself? You pull away, lips swollen and breath heavy with the weight of your desire, and he couldn't think a word past 'breath-taking' if he tried.

You tug at the fastenings of your trousers, trying to get them open. He's frozen in the moment - watching your face, pinched with concentration and lust as he caresses your cheeks. He still wonders why you want to bare yourself for him. The galaxy lies ahead of you, and there are many arms stronger than his to be found there. Many eyes swirling with youthful vigour, free of crinkles at the edges and lines of sleepless nights beneath. Many hands hardened by honest work instead of a battle for the Light that had been doomed before it began.

But it is his hand nonetheless - calloused, rough and a stranger to tenderness for the past ten years - that you take in yours and guide down, down, down, between your legs.

Your eyes fall shut at the first touch of his fingers, and he has to fight the urge to do the same because, Maker - how wet and warm he finds your flesh. 

"See?" you breathe out, mouth falling in an 'O' as you work your fingers over his, pressing them into your soaked folds in slow, blissful circles. Your eyes flutter open into his. "I want you. I've wanted you for… ah!" you gasp when he takes the lead by reawakened instinct, easily locating the swollen bundle of nerves aching for his attention as you clutch at his shoulders with both hands "... for a while."

Your clit feels so delicate under his fingers - so sensitive to the touch, the gentlest move can clip your breath, earn a sound of bliss from your throat. You tend to bury your face in his neck, pant and gasp your pleasure there, but he cups your cheek and coaxes you back so he can study your face as he explores, his fingers seeking all the right ways to please you like you have so sweetly asked him to.

Once they are positively drenched, they venture lower, inside. One, which draws a sharp mewl that you muffle in his mouth as he tests your wetness for a while, gently stretches you before he adds another. And then he curls them like he once learned to, mindful to press the heel of his palm into your clit with each drag of his fingers.

It's a simple movement he hasn't used since what feels like a completely other lifetime, but it does the trick in this one just as well. You grind into his hand, a string of whimpers falling from your lips as you chase your pleasure, and he nearly pants in time with you, his cock beginning to strain and throb in its confines.

You come undone with your face in his neck, your fingers in his hair and clutching at his shoulder, and he holds you as you tremble your way through the long-awaited release. Even so, you hardly make a sound, no more than a short, high-pitched mewl and a few sighs on your breath. He'd think you mean not to be heard by those outside (and more than rightfully so), but you hide your face from him long after his fingers have slowed to a halt and gently left your sensitive sex. For the first time since he met you, he feels you shy, your presence in the Force meek and… shocked, almost. It scares him to see you reduced to silence after you've declared your want for him so boldly, over and over. Surely, you haven't changed your mind once the deed was done? For the love of the Force, let that not be the case.

"Are you alright, dear?"

You chuckle softly, nuzzling his neck. "More than," you murmur there as you melt into him, making both of you at ease. "Oh, Maker. I just… I didn't know it would be like this."

You practically feel his mind stumble over your words, even before he lifts your head from his shoulder and you meet the stunned furrow of his brow.

"Y/n… you've never…?"

You just came on his fingers. That doesn't mean, it seems, that your skin stays cool, or that your words are above a murmur as you admit, "Only on my own."

He inhales slowly. He never imagined… Maker, his are the first and only hands to have ever touched you so intimately. Your first memory of giving yourself to another will always be of him. 

He hardens further at the thought, even as he berates himself, "Then my soul is twice as damned." 

He claimed that privileged place in your life without knowing it, hadn't even thought to ask-

A sweet laugh escapes you. "Oh, Ben. Why would it be? I wanted this. I liked it." Your voice drops to a near whisper, heavy with new-found desire. "I want more."

It's heady, how much power those three little words hold over him. You know why he feels he should hold back, you understand - but he isn't taking anything that isn't offered, and if he were to see himself the way you do, he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is, in fact, everything you need. 

"Are you certain?" he asks, as you suspect he will every step of the way.

"Very. I've thought about it before, you know?" You lean into his neck, again pressing a tender kiss right where bare skin gives way to his beard. You feel as well as hear his softer than soft groan when your hips press closer into his, and he sinks a gentle hand in your hair as you murmur between kisses, emboldened, "I would have liked to sleep next to you. With you. I stayed awake wondering what it would feel like if… if you would touch me like you just did."

"So have I," he confesses mindlessly, and feels you smile into his skin. "I wished you would join me in bed. Well, what served as a bed." He frowns. "Not at first, I promise. My intentions were not-"

"I know," you're quick to reassure him, pulling away so he can see on your face that you mean every word you're about to say. "You're such a kind, honest man. There's nothing I wouldn't give you, Ben." You let your forehead fall against his, overcome with the utter truth of your confession. "Nothing."

"Sweetheart," he breathes out, as floored as you, if not more so. Your breath hitches.

"I love it when you call me that," you gush as the endearment sends a pleasant tingle down your spine. You want him to feel the same. "Can I call you by your name?"

He didn't quite realize you had yet to, despite having learned it. He hasn't heard it in so long, not as anything other than The Thirst Sister's sadistic taunt on Daiyu. It's almost frightening to think what it would do to him to hear it from your lips. Called out. Whispered. Moaned.

"Yes."

You save it for later. For now, you smile, take his face in your hands and kiss him, more boldly than before. You lick at his lips, demand to explore, to feel more. Maker, how you taste when he lets you. Like hope and strength and sweet salvation. And him - he's a rock. Yes, hard as a rock between your legs as your hips start a slow grind against his - but he's steady as one, too. Once he's yours, he's always yours - to call on, to come back to. At this point in life, they say it should be adventure and freedom that sends your blood rushing through your veins, arouses you with dreams of endless possibilities at your fingertips. But you've had enough of that - of running and having no one to rely on, no one to come find you, always. 

And for that, you want him - desperately, with a passion, want all of him - the protector and the friend and the lover.

Just as you reach between his legs, he groans, a sound deep and masculine and devastating to your senses, and lifts you in his arms to gently lay you down on the cot, covering your frame with his larger one, hips slotted between yours. He keeps himself from rolling them in search of relief, not before he breaks the kiss to look at you.

"Would you like us to…?" He brushes his fingers over your temple reverently, as if tucking away a strand of hair. "What is it you want, sweetheart?"

You smile at the endearment, and it ends with you biting your lip. Your gaze follows your own fingers as they trace an exploratory line down his jaw and neck, coming to rest below the hollow of his throat, where the hair on his chest peeks above the neckline of his robes. The amount of times you caught yourself yearning to touch him there… But you let your hand travel lower, over layers of fabric that are soon to be removed, you hope, and cup the bulge between his legs.

"You. Inside me."

Your experimental squeeze paired with your words draws a groan from his throat. Your hand stays there, massaging his clothed cock, and your desire matches his perfectly - he, too, desperately wishes to bury himself deep inside you, to be skin on skin as he rocks you both to the peak of your pleasure. But then again-

"That… that may hurt the first time," he gathers himself enough to say. "It's been a very long time for me as well, I… to be honest, I can't promise I'll be able to make it as pleasant as before."

"That's alright. I just want to feel you." You feel him twitch in the palm of your hand, and your hips squirm beneath his as the ache in your core builds again. "Please."

Such a breathless, needy utterance - he couldn't resist if he wanted to. And he doesn't, he shouldn't. He captures your lips in a short kiss, savoring the last couple of rolls of his hips into your hand before he sits back on his heels.

He wants to shed his own clothes first, lest you feel your state of undress is unfairly unequal to his for one moment. But of course, his is unequal to yours, and he finds himself quite self-conscious as he bares his upper half and your eyes rake over his torso. The right half and shoulder are still rosy with scars that haven't fully healed in the bacta tank. That aside, he's not as well-built as he used to be - still slender, but not as athletic. 

You don't seem to mind, though, and you truly don't. It almost scares you, how your heart nearly gallops out of your chest before you even see the part of him that's supposed to enter you. But the rush of seeing what you've only imagined before isn't all that makes your breath catch in your throat - it's the story etched on his skin, the one you thought was nothing but one of Reva's lies meant to break your spirit.

"Ben…" you sit up, fingertips barely daring to touch his right shoulder.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he answers the question in your eyes. He opens his mouth, suddenly uncertain. "Perhaps I shouldn't have… I could cover-"

Before he even gets to finish that sentence, you're laying a hand over his heart and pressing your lips to the remnants of burns on his shoulder in a lingering kiss so tender it hurts. 

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his scarred skin, the guilt and fear returning, "We left you to face him alone. I knew, I knew something was wrong, I should have gone back instead of Tala, sooner-"

"My sweet, dear girl," he gushes, taking your cheeks in his hands once more and pressing his lips firmly to yours. It seems once he's allowed himself to do so once, it's an act as natural as breathing. Especially when he needs to chase away whatever distressing thoughts you so unjustly think of yourself. "It is not your fault," he says once he's pulled away, and is looking into your misty eyes. "Nor is it your duty to look after me. Although I'm sure you'd make a remarkable job of it," he smiles, though your look says loud and clear you believe otherwise. "You did well," he insists. "You told them nothing. You were already coming after Leia when I found you. In truth… I don't think you need me as much as you believe you do."

Any other time, you would argue. But the taste of his lips lingers on yours, and he's so maddeningly close, more than you ever dared imagine he would be. The sight of where Vader had burned him was an inescapable reminder, but in this moment you'd rather not think of anything that happened before, or what will happen once you reach Jabiim. So, you only say this:

"Let's agree to disagree. Because I've never needed anything as much as I need you now."

In a spur of boldness, you pull your shirt over your head. The air on the ship is cool, and you almost shudder as you bare your breasts to it, but the heat of his gaze is more than enough to warm your skin and make your nipples harden from so much more than the slight chill. Everything suddenly feels so real. You don't know who he's been with before, what those women looked like. It didn't seem to matter until you were sitting on a bed, half-naked with him kneeling between your legs. Foolishly, you start to wonder whether you're what he expected, what he likes. 

Whether it's written on your face or he feels it in the Force connecting you, he knows. 

You don't quite realize your eyes have been glued to his chest until you feel his knuckle beneath your chin, nudging it up so you meet his gaze. The look you find there alone takes your breath away - raw desire swirling in darkened eyes that are somehow still soft, still safe.

"You are so beautiful, sweetheart," he says, his voice low reverence spiced with lust. His eyes fall to your chest, and he cups the delicate swell of your breast with an impossibly gentle hand, blanketing your flesh in the warmth of his calloused palm rather than squeezing. "So beautiful," he mutters almost as if to himself as you melt into his touch, eyes falling shut. You gasp, almost taken by surprise when you feel the subtle scrape of his beard, and your pebbled nipple is engulfed in the warm heat of his mouth. Your hands fly to his hair, and there is wetness gliding over your sensitive nipple, tugging and sinking into your pliant flesh in delicious ways that leave you gasping - his tongue. On you, tasting you, pleasing you.

Maker, you can feel yourself dripping in your underwear, you're desperate to close your legs and ease the ache - but he's between them. He sucks gently on your nipple, and it's debilitating. You whimper as your body goes limp and you let yourself fall back on the cot. He follows, mouth still attached to your breast, but pulls away and brings his face level with yours once you're settled.

"Would you like me to go on?"

He's almost as breathless as you. You nod without hesitation, but can't help the temptation of his lips when they are so near yours and you pull him down for a kiss first. You taste his tongue knowing now what it feels like on you someplace else, and it's somehow even more dizzying than before. 

Your hips are rolling into his at a steady rhythm at this point, taking whatever sliver of relief there is in the action and threatening to strip him of his increasingly precarious composure. But if he's to be your first, he needs you as wet and ready as possible.

And, well, he doesn't hate to tease. Never did. He remembers as he trails heated kisses down your neck, relishing your little sounds of pleasure. Though he's not sure how much time you have left until you reach Jabiim, he takes as much as he feels he should kissing down your chest, then offering your other breast the same treatment. He could make you come like this, he thinks - lavishing attention to your chest, his hardness grinding into your core through your clothes. Maker, he could make himself come like this, like an eager young man. The way you arch into his mouth and fingers, your own carded through his hair and tugging as you pull him even closer, the way your head is thrown back in abandon and the sighs he earns with each flick of the tongue and brush of fingers over your swollen nipples - it's dangerously close to being enough. 

"More?" he asks into your skin.

You nod, head thrown back and eyes still shut. "More. Please." You lift his head to look at him with feverish eyes. "I'm ready, I want you now."

Force help him, so does he. 

He leaves one last kiss right above your heart. And then he sits back again. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your trousers and underwear, and you lift your hips as he pulls them down, over your knees and then completely off. You shiver as the cool air meets your wet folds, but also as you're bared to his gaze. 

"Your turn," you urge him softly. The way he looks at you says he would worship every inch of your bare legs with his lips if he had the time, and while the thought of feeling his beard on the soft flesh of your thighs is incredibly alluring, you're more eager than ever to finally see and feel all of him, and have little patience for much else.

Still, he leans down for one lingering kiss on the inside of your knee before murmuring, "Whatever you want is yours."

He gently manoeuvers your legs to the side so he can stand while he removes his own trousers. You finally get to close them, and relish the press of your own thighs against each other momentarily. But it's not near enough as his last piece of clothing is discarded and your eyes land on his bare cock. 

You sit up on your elbows, practically feeling the arousal dripping from your sex. His is hard and swollen, and you're not sure whether it seems big to you because it is what they call big, or because all you've ever had inside you were your own fingers, and he's definitely larger than that. 

He's not sure what to make of your expression. There is desire and wonder written on your face, but also nerves. So, he waits for you to say the word. 

"Come back," you do, your gaze finally leaving his cock in favour of his eyes. And though your words are murmured, they're nothing but certain.

He returns to his position from before. Except now, there's nothing at all between your bodies, and the tip of his cock brushes your stomach as he settles above you, making your breath hitch. He braces himself with his forearms on either side of your head, cradling it in his hands as he asks, just one more time.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

Despite your body sizzling with anticipation, his voice soothes you deeply, just like it always does when he speaks to you with such care. It puts a small smile on your lips as you cup his face and reach up to press them to his, because this - this is what you've been saving it for.

"Make love to me, Obi-Wan," you murmur, a breath away from his mouth.

The three syllables of his name fall so sweetly from your lips, he almost buries himself in you right then and there. Instead, he reaches between your legs again, slipping a finger inside you, then two, like before, and is relieved to find you just as wet and ready.

"Tell me what you need," he says as you gasp and roll your hips into his hand. "Always. Especially if you want me to stop."

"Alright," you nod up at him, eyes begging for more.

He takes himself in hand, letting out a soft groan at the small relief, and guides his tip along your folds. Your hips respond in kind, shifting to seek out the friction, and you wrap your arms around him to brace yourself. You want him close, closer, even though his chest is already flush against yours and he has captured your lips with his in an all-consuming kiss.

He wants it like this - his tongue gliding over yours in heady abandon, pleasuring your mouth to try and take your mind off the pain as he sinks in to the hilt. 

Of course you still wince and whimper in his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. You expected worse - but it's not entirely comfortable, either. His cock is considerably larger than his fingers, and your body doesn't quite know what to do with the fullness, can't adjust to it faster than the jolt of pain shoots through your core.

"I know. I know," Obi-Wan coos against your lips. He leaves soft, soothing kisses along your flushed cheek, caressing your hair and your shoulder as he waits for you to become accustomed to his length inside you. The Maker knows you feel exquisite around him - the tight warmth enveloping his throbbing cock, your body entwined with his in every way after years on end without a sliver of affection. He would almost be content just laying there, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he revels in the intimacy of being inside you, if it weren't for the signs of your discomfort. And, truth be told, his own need to seek relief. He wouldn't dare move until you wish him to, though. And, thankfully, it isn't long before you do.

You relish his languid kisses, and press some of your own to his neck as you will your muscles to relax. However foreign it may be to feel so full, it's him you're full of. The man you trust with your life, body and mind. You card your fingers through his hair, like you've recently discovered you can't get enough of, and take comfort in the blue of his kind eyes.

"I'm good," you whisper.

This time, he watches your face carefully as he pulls back a few inches, slow and steady, and sinks back the same way. The movement draws a release of breath from both of you.

"Good?" he asks, searching your expression for the answer. There's still some discomfort there, but also a trace of determination in your gaze reminiscent of the day you'd chased after him on Tattooine, demanding to be shown the ways of the Force.

"More," you ask of him.

He grants your wish, carefully rolling his hips into yours once again and oh - there's something so strikingly right about it.

Before he even has the chance to ask again, you plead, "Don't stop."

Maker, your breathless voice will be the death of him.

He keeps his thrusts slow and deep, building a steady, gentle rhythm as your hips hesitantly start to meet his. The ship could land, and neither of you would notice. He's too lost in the way your flesh welcomes and clings to his aching cock, the warmth of your body beneath his, your fingers tugging at his hair and sinking in his shoulder, the little whimpers falling from your parted lips. And you know nothing but him, holding you as close as humanly possible, filling you up with overwhelming precision, each drag of his cock against your walls adding to the pleasure slowly building up within your core. So do the sounds he makes - raw, husky groans breathed hotly into your ear, raising delicious goosebumps on your skin.

He shifts to change the angle the slightest bit, using a hand to bring one of your thighs a little higher around his waist, and his cock presses just right into something inside you that makes you feel like you're about to fall apart.

"Obi-Wan," you all but cry out. He rests his forehead on yours, brows furrowed in the same pleasure-addled expression as he shushes you.

"You sound divine, sweetheart, but we shouldn't be too - ah," he almost goes against his own words as you tighten around him, "-too loud."

"I can't," you whisper, running your fingers down his bearded cheeks, ravenous for friction anywhere, everywhere. "You feel so good."

"Force help me," he rasps out. He can't help his hips quickening just a little, driving you both towards the edge even more vigorously. "I can't tell you how wonderful... Oh, darling," he moans before quieting your rising whimpers with his mouth on yours, gladly letting them melt on his tongue.

The cry you can't hold back is thankfully muffled as release ripples through you, your body writhing underneath his with the rolling waves of pleasure he coaxes out of you. 

It's a miracle he's lasted all the way through it, rocking into you so you can ride out every last drop of your orgasm. He's more than desperate for his own, and he'd love nothing more than to let himself spill inside your heat, milked by your fluttering walls. But he's already taken so much, much more than he deserved in the first place - he can't risk binding you to him in an even more permanent way. With one last shred of reason, he withdraws from the kiss and pulls out of you, face twisted in a grimace of pleasure as he strokes his own cock to release. His come paints your belly white in a series of trickles, and he groans deep in his throat at the sight. 

After, there is only the sound of your breathing. His hair falls around his face as he braces himself over you, catching his breath. You brush it back again like you so love to and lay your hand over his heart, relishing the afterglow and its slowing beat under your fingertips. 

"You were wrong."

His eyes snap to yours when you break the silence. "How so?"

"You made it very pleasant."

It takes a moment for his post-orgasmic mind to register what you are referring to. He chuckles, and you laugh softly as well as he relaxes, lying on his side next to you. The cot is too small for you not to end up in his arms as you turn to face him, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Your fingers trace feather-light, languid lines on each other's skin - his chest. Your shoulder. His cheek. Your hair. 

"Does it hurt?" he murmurs eventually, when it feels like you've gone for hours drinking each other in. 

"Not as much as I thought it would," you admit with a sated smile. "I'd like to do it again. When we get home."

The word hits him like a wake-up call.

Home.

He owes himself to Tattooine, to the boy who needs his protection, but you? Now that you've learned to protect yourself, there's nothing keeping you on that arid planet, no reason why you shouldn't explore all the opportunities the galaxy has to offer you at such a beautiful age.

At least not until him. 

It warms his heart as well as crushes it to imagine you spending the next years coming back to the cave you share every night. To have you, always. All the comfort, beauty and desire left in his life. But there would be so much for you to let go of - more than you even know, and more than you ever will if you do stay.

"Unless… you'd rather not," you go on, unsure. Your hand is over his heart, and the thumb you were running through the thatch of hair on his chest stops. It's only then that he realizes he's lost himself in his thoughts, and the lines on his face show his concern. It would be absurd, though, to allow you to think for one moment that he desires you any less now that he's had you.

"Oh, I do," he says in earnest, cupping your cheek to brush the pad of his thumb over your soft skin. "Forgive me, I was only thinking."

You turn your head briefly to press your lips to the palm of his hand, but your eyes on him are knowing. 

"You know, for a moment there, you were looking at me like you did when we met," you say, not an accusation, but a tentative question as to why. "Like you don't know what to do with me."

"Yes, I suppose I was," he confesses. His lips form a wistful smile as he speaks. "If I were twenty years younger and free to go wherever I wanted, I imagine I would… steal you away and show you the galaxy. Make love to you on every planet as many times as you'd have me and never tire of it." You hum appreciatively at the thought. Your little smile sadly doesn't last long as he returns to the less than ideal present. "But as I am not… I don't know what to do, indeed."

He only knows he wants it to be right by you. And deep down, you know why he looks at you the way he does, why he worries. But you must be close to Jabiim by now, and from there… who knows if you'll get to have a future to worry about at all. So, for now, these few moments of lying side by side before you must face the world again, you enlighten him.

"Hold me."

Whether he should hold on or let go, whether it's right or wrong, he doesn't know as he pulls you closer in his embrace and tangles his body with yours for what little time you have left, your head to his chest.

He only knows it feels safe - like turning on the light.

***

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Masterlist

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hello friendly reminder that you do not need a special occasion to use nice things! if you wait long enough your nice bath bomb won't be as fizzy! your favourite fruits will go out of season! candles are meant to be burned, not looked at! you're not enjoying your special tea if it's just sitting in your cupboard! you're allowed to have nice and special things on completely ordinary days! heck, it might just make that day special!!

THE QUARRY (2022)

Please reblog this if fanfiction has been beneficial to your mental health.

freak like me...

this is my first smut go easy on me

pairing: oscar isaac x reader

summary: a long night of dancing, turns into some skincare fun, but you have something else up your sleeve.

wc: 1.75k

warnings: cursing, SMUT, slapping, degradation, dom fem/ sub mas, tying up

“i’m exhausted.”

“yeah, maybe going out dancing wasn’t that great of an idea for date night”

“next time let’s watch a movie and order pizza and get fat together.”

you and oscar had been dating for around two years now. and he still had new ideas for date nights, it’s like his superpower. you had gone into the bathroom to go take off the rest of your makeup that the sweat hadn’t taken off. 

“hmmm. he can’t be that tired. let’s find out” you thought excitedly. 

you saw that he was sitting on the bed, slipping off his sweat matted button up and his undershirt. you put up your hair to start your night routine. 

“gonna start your skincare routine that lasts 3 hours?”

“it literally takes 20 minutes oscar. come on let’s do it together”

“ok but only if i can put the mask on you”

you both head to your own sinks in the bathroom and wash your faces. then you pull out three different kinds of face masks. 

“what’s the difference?”

“you gotta brush this one on, unwrap this one, and peel this one off” you instructed. 

“oh. let’s do this one!” he pointed to the clay mask in the small container 

“ok let’s do you first” 

you open the container and dip the brush into it. he watches you carefully as you hold his jaw steadily and brush it over his face. 

“can i look now?”

“oscar please.”

“ok ok.”

“alright. done”

Keep reading

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..." 

Reminder that whatever you’re writing, you shouldn’t give up because no one else can put the puzzle together the same way you can. It’s unique to you, so stop comparing yourselves to others. That completely eliminates the whole purpose. 

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.

OSCAR ISAAC + 🤨