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eternalsams · 16 hours

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it’s worth it, it’s divine

marc spector x afab!reader

summary: when hathor said she’d help give you a push, you weren’t expecting to have marc, khonshu’s avatar, moaning underneath you by the end of the night. but you certainly aren’t complaining.

a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from pinterest* YALL WHEN I GOT THIS IDEA, I KNEW I FUCKING HAD TO. is this a self-indulgent, highly niche concept? yes. but I also knew y’all would eat this shit up, so we’re going to enjoy this together. (partially inspired by marc calling layla baby in the finale, cause holy hell.) also, this is def canon divergent but it’s for the sake of the fic.

warnings: this shit rated: porn, lil' bit of plot in the beginning, +18, unprotected p in v, there’s the involvement of both khonshu and hathor but everything is consensual, mentions of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), cowgirl, they’re both a switch, size kink, spit kink, edging, LOTS of dirty talk, marc has a sundress kink, over stimulation, orgasm denial, creampie, mentions of ovulation and the full moon (which I equated to making them both extremely horny, if that makes sense?) oh uh…they also have sex in the great pyramid

word count: 6.2k (of pure smut babyy)

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•••

You’re ovulating…

“…And that matters to me how?”

Hathor sighs dramatically, trailing behind you through the hall. The sand blocks form gradually around you, morphing and falling into place as you begin your descent into the pyramid.

It means that now is a perfect time, pardon my crudeness, for you to get laid. You haven’t had sex in months and because of that, you’ve been particularly annoying.

You stop dead in your tracks, turning a sharp heel at the goddess in shock. Grimacing at her, you watch her unwavering expression (because she really doesn’t care), before turning around with a huff and continuing on your way.

“I don’t remember part of our deal being you’d check up on my sex life, Hathor.”

What did you expect? I’m the goddess of fertility, women…pleasure. I’m just checking up on my avatar. You know, if you’d let me, I could help set you up with a suitor.

You groan. Hathor huffs deeply through her nose, her large snout making the noise that much louder, as she follows you into the main room. Quickly scanning the set-up of towering chairs, you note that not everyone has arrived yet (thankfully, because you really don’t need the other gods to listen in to this conversation) as you walk to your place. “For your information,” you bristle, “I get along just fine without you. I don’t need the goddess of love to help me.”

The fact that you haven’t had sex in months just proves that you, in fact, are not getting along fine.

“Fuck you,” you spit. Slumping in the granite chair, you look again at the other avatars. They’re all here now, silent and still in their seats; postures stoic and calm as they look forward to the middle of the room. They seem completely unbothered…indifferent like they haven’t been arguing with their avatars for the past half hour. That fact only irritates you more. You’re sure that all the gods are annoying in their own special ways, but you’re positive Horus doesn’t go off on his avatar for his abstinence.

So that’s just your luck.

And that’s when you realize, she hasn’t been talking to you. You realize that she’s gone. Hathor, much like the other gods, has disappeared into a cloud of sand and dust, meaning that from here on out they would be speaking through all of you.

It meant that everyone was here, and the meeting was about to begin.

It was definitely a weird sensation: feeling your body come to a stand-still as a voice, which isn’t yours, speaks to a room full of Ancient deities. And, it’s equally as weird watching others' eyes glow in the darkroom as they practically scream at each other. The humans, the avatars, on the other end are conscious yet not really present. All nine of your bodies are rendered into just that. Bodies. Nothing more, nothing less. Just conduits. Though, as you get settled in your seat—preparing yourself for the utter shit show that will be this Council gathering (because they always are)—you reason that you’re used to it now.

As annoying as it is to have the Egyptian goddess of women gab away about your cycles, you imagine that in comparison to the others, she’s probably the better one. At least the two of you can and do agree on most things. One of them is you both don’t really care for these meetings in any way. Hathor was a lot more civil; far more cool and collected than everyone else here. It's why she explained to you early on that she gave up trying to talk to the rest of them.

So, as other bodies were being continuously possessed, Hathor and you would just have conservations in your head. Other than when it was an important matter that she absolutely needed to give her opinion on, she was just as lost in the clouds as you were.

And that wasn’t all bad.

But today you just wanted her to possess you until the meeting was over. You didn’t want to give her the chance to talk to you about your sex life, or lack of it, anymore.

Because if you have to hear her say one more time that you’re fertile, you just might strangle yourself.

“Khonshu’s here,” you hear a voice—probably Osiris—whisper.

And that’s when he enters the room.

He no longer sports a look of confusion, as he’s far more accustomed to this entire operation. But, as he comes closer, and you are able to properly see the curve of his brow bone, it seems that he’s traded that confusion for something else. There’s an underlying intensity to him this time that you can’t quite pin. Dark brown eyes pass over everyone’s face until they’re stopping abruptly in your direction. You hold your breath. He keeps his gaze there for a few seconds before he’s forcibly dragging his eyes away from you, finding his place in the centre of the room.

Truly, the small interaction is harmless. It’s nothing to warrant a full-body reaction, regardless of the way you get light-headed.

But you assume Hathor has other plans. You don’t miss the way your spine straightens and the way your leg hooks itself over the other as your shoulders fall back. You feel yourself take slow, deep breaths and realize you are lightly puffing your chest out. The action feels involuntary, and you can’t imagine how ridiculous you look.

“What are you doing?”

What does it look like? Sending physical signals is how humans can tell whether or not someone is sexually interested in them.

“Who’s to say I’m interested in your friend's avatar like that?” You mumble.

Because I can sense your pulse. Your blood is boiling, —.

You let out your breath, shaking your head back and forth until you feel you’ve finally regained control of your body. Osiris then stands up, greets all of you, and turns his attention to Marc.

When your eyes trail down to the man in question, you don’t expect to meet his stare. But you do. And he clearly doesn’t care that you’ve caught him looking at you. He’s entirely unapologetic in the way he stares; sharp eyes roaming over your body nonchalantly before clenching his jaw and rolling his shoulders.

Good God.

Slowly, he gives his attention to your counterpart, as does everyone else in the room, but you can’t dare look away from him. He flexes his hand then. Whether it’s subconscious or intentional you don’t know. But regardless, you watch on as warm tanned skin tightens with each movement until the vein at his wrist is exposed to you.

You feel your entire lower half flutter at the action.

Told you so, Hathor purrs.

•

It’s like that for the entire meeting: Hathor drops the occasional comment, voice echoing in your thoughts as flashes of Marc naked subconsciously pass by your vision. Which, part of you is convinced she has something to do with that—a petty way to prove her point. To make you squirm as she distantly laughs at you.

You attempted multiple times to distract yourself. To focus on anything other than his booming voice, and the broadness of his shoulders. Except, every time you’ve managed to trick your brain into thinking about something—anything—else, her incessant voice comes back.

Oh yeah, you definitely need to get laid.

She taunts you in the way a best friend or a close cousin would. Usually, it can be actually quite endearing, but right now it just pisses you off. Because the way she taunts you now is her way of saying, you can’t lie to me. You can’t hide from me.

Unfortunately, the more you think about it though, the more you realize that the goddess isn’t entirely wrong. You can’t lie to her. You’ve been particularly high-strung lately. So much so, that any average human could tell your change in mood. It’s aggravating, to say the least, and part of it is in fact Marc’s fault.

This is the third council meeting he’s been forced to attend, so you have been able to talk to him. You talk to him quite frequently, actually. It all started out of the pity you felt for a guy who clearly was in way over his head. Before, during and after his visits the two of you would talk for a bit. About anything and everything. Sometimes you would talk to him in passing, and others would go on for more than an hour.

During the past couple of weeks, you came to realize how truly nice Marc was. He had some major issues to sort through, but still, he was kind. His smile was genuine, and that too was something you didn’t need to be a god or goddess to see.

Within this short time, you also came to the realization that you do like Marc and his company. You really do. But it’s because of all these factors and the way you’re so comfortable around him, that your current situation has become his fault.

Marc is to blame for your mess of emotions because everything he does is incredibly sexy. The man stares at you. All the time. Much like today, every time he walks into the pyramid, he looks at you. Whether that’s directly catching your eye as you pass each other, or him searching for the symbol of Hathor above your chair until he settled on you.

Strangely, the last two times he’s been in here, it almost seems as though he’s looking for you.

It’s a silly notion, but one that excites you. Because it’s true that you haven’t had sex in months. No one—other than your trusty vibrator—has piqued your interest, even remotely. So, yes, you have been quite lonely. Up until a couple weeks ago, that is, when Marc showed up in tight black jeans, and a tousled mess of black curls.

You nearly fainted at the sight of him.

But, it wasn’t until the second time you saw him when he remembered your name and purposely made conversation with you after the meeting, that made you want to touch yourself at the thought of him.

Although you wouldn’t be opposed to just shoving his hand in between your legs either.

Whatever comes first, you suppose.

“Hey,” Marc calls out to you. His voice snaps you out of your trance, and it’s at that point you’ve realized everyone has left.

Everyone except you and Marc. Your mind races at that thought.

You offer him a small smile in response.

This is your chance, —. Don’t fuck this up. You two better have sex because I can’t stand the sound of that fucking machine anymore.

Shut. Up.

You hold yourself back from verbally snapping at her as you stand to greet him in the middle of the steps. “How’s everything going with you?”

Really? That’s how we’re starting the conversation? On Horus’ eye, this has to be the most pathetic exchange I’ve ever heard. Just—just give me control. Just a little bit. Let me set this up for you.

Rolling your eyes, you pinch yourself in hopes she’ll feel it. Maybe then she’d get the idea to shut the fuck up.

She doesn’t.

“It’s going,” Marc says with a shrug, taking a final step between you. He towers over you, eyes cast down with that same intensity from earlier. But then his head is snapping to the space behind him and he nearly growls.

The sound shoots right down to your cunt.

“…Khonshu being a bitch?”

He laughs at that, bright white teeth flash beneath his smile. “When is he not.”

You laugh back at him until the air clears and becomes deathly silent. Something feels different. It’s not awkward, but not calm either. It feels…like trepidation. Like there’s a blockade that attempts to halt any further action either of you may consider. Except, that blockade does nothing to hinder the electricity between the two of you. It’s a tension that holds your body hostage: frozen in place with no sign of escape. Not that you would really want to. Because it’s such an addictive feeling.

He doesn’t say anything to further the conversation. He just stares. Like he always does. Deep-set eyes stuck on your face. He’s lost in his head, probably at the mercy of his god, yet he manages to still be very much focused on you.

Just kiss him. Do it. Do something for the love of—

Marc takes a hold of your hips and pulls you into his body as a large hand comes up to grip the back of your head. Gently tugging on your hair, he holds you there for a moment, almost as though he’s waiting for your permission to continue. The whole thing happens in seconds. But once your mind catches up with the rest of you, you slowly open your mouth, offering a gentle uptick of your lips to him. And that act alone gives him all the incentive he would need.

Still holding you in place, he slants his mouth against yours. Knuckles dig into your skull as he kisses you like a hungry animal.

Fucking finally.

The voice echoes in your head and you’re not too sure if it was you or Hathor, or both of you who had that thought. Not that it really matters. All you care about is your own reaction to him. How your body naturally opens itself to his presence; to the excitement of knowing what’s to come.

He groans into your mouth then, and you take note of how delicious the sound is. How it gives you goosebumps and makes your belly flip. Pulling him impossibly close to you by his belt loops, you walk back to your chair only stopping when you feel the cool granite. You gasp at the contact, which Marc takes to his advantage: jamming his tongue down your throat, as his other hand caresses your chin.

It’s an aggressive yet loving juxtaposition. One that ignites something deep within you and forces you to paw at him desperately. Your hands glide over his shoulders, abdomen, hip bones…anything that you can touch as his mouth moves over the hollow of your throat.

He bites at the skin there, then soothingly licks at it. You lean backward, forcing your hips into his. He laughs. “You’re a needy little one, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, Marc, just…”

He stops, stands back and looks at you directly in the eye. “Just…what? You gotta use your words if you want anything, honey…”

You pause then, and something in the back of your mind snaps you back into focus. “Who says you’re the one in control…honey.”

There’s a moment where his eyes widen, and confusion flutters across his face briefly until you’re spinning the two of you around. Pushing him into the seat, you slowly kneel down in between his legs.

You don’t miss his sharp inhale. Giving him the sweetest look you can muster, you pout in his direction. “You wanna fuck my mouth?” Your voice is just above a whisper, but it’s strong, and you can tell how much you’ve rendered him speechless. Taking your pointer finger, you drag it up from his knee to his inner thigh, running the pad of it in circles into the fabric. He gasps through his teeth sharply, trying to hide the way he adjusts himself.

You pause. Then, you grin. “You like that?” You’re humming softly as your fingers expertly work the zipper of his jeans. You hook your thumbs on the front of his jeans, urging him to lift his body so you can pull his pants down.

His chest heaves, and you sit there for a moment—eyes flickering between his half-lidded ones and the tantalizing growing bulge in front of you. He’s gorgeous. A beautiful sculpture of a man that makes you incredibly dizzy. And incredibly desperate to give him head. It’s when his eyes cast downward at you, that you take action.

You relieve him of his underwear, hyper-aware of the way he springs free and hits the lower part of his stomach. You take his shaft in your hand and he hisses. There’s a bit of precum there, leaking from the tip. You take that to your advantage and use it to pump him a couple times, before gently licking at his throbbing cock.

Slowly, you ease the rest of it into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you go, pressing your tongue to the underside of it until you find the vein there. He’s groaning again; head thrown back as he white knuckles the chair you sat in only moments ago.

Swirling your tongue around him, you begin to bob your head in time with each stutter of his breathing. Taking your free hand, you pump him from the base, fingers teasing the tuft of curls there until he bucks up into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles. Sweat drips down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt as he tries to steady his hips. “You keep doing that, I just might cum in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

His gravelly voice nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head. It takes everything in you—and you mean everything—not to touch yourself then and there. You reason you could do it, it would be easy to slip your fingers through your folds; to fuck yourself on your own hand as you suck him dry.

But it’s when he sits up and pushes you off of him with a loud pop and a tendril of spit hanging off your lip, that you realize you wouldn’t have the time.

He wipes your lip, spreading your spit along the rest of your mouth as he holds your chin in place. Standing up to meet him, you feel the heavy weight of his dick against your stomach. It makes you hyper-focused on him and him alone; makes your body tremble as his cock twitches against you. The sensation reminds you that if you continue, you’d be able to feel him twitch inside you. You moan at the thought.

“As much as I’d love to see my cum spilling out of your mouth, I would much rather see it spill out of somewhere else.” He suddenly presses a hard thumb into your slit and you jolt, quickly grabbing his arms.

As his one hand strokes you—rubbing and flicking, gliding and pinching—his free arm wraps itself around your waist, propping up your knee ever-so-slightly, offering him better access to your core.

His nose presses right under your chin as your jaw falls slack; permanently open in a silent moan as he continues his ministrations. His knuckles press themselves into your clit, while rogue fingers ghost your entrance. Every time he flicks his wrist, changes his pressure, or even inhales the remaining scent of you on your neck, you feel yourself clench at nothing. Knees shaking with every throb of your pussy.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You moan, the sudden change of both of your attitudes adding to the tightening sensation in the pit of your stomach.

His fingers speed up, forcing your entire lower half to vibrate. If he wasn’t holding you, completely supporting you with his body weight; with the mere size of him, you’d have fallen over. Without a doubt.

He stops suddenly, fingers pushed right into your swollen puffy lips. From what you can see through half-lidded eyes, his eyes are dark; set on you as the frown on his face deepens. You whimper as he keeps his hand still. “I asked you a fucking question.”

Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, nipples hardening every time they press against him. This is when you realize the dress you were wearing sits loosely at your hips, the entire top of it off; bra tossed somewhere with only your boobs exposed to his warm skin… It seems he’s lost his shirt as well.

“…When did you…?”

His finger plunges itself further, to the point where you feel a sharp pain as his nail pokes the sensitive flesh. “If you want us to stop that’s fine.”

“What? No, I…”

“Then answer the question, baby.” His warm lips wrap around the shell of your ear. “How does the goddess of love wanna be worshipped?”

You moan, rolling your hips against his hand. You don’t have the breadth, nor the voice to speak. But you’re close. So fucking close. You don’t want him to stop, you just want—need—him to continue.

But you especially want him lower. Want his head between your thighs and his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy.

You want him to the point where not even Hathor could break you out of your reality. To the point where she’d have to rip you off of him and physically drag you out of that goddamn pyramid.

You wonder where she is now.

Marc waits for a response. He knows you’ll speak, but he needs to hear you. He’s patient. Calculated. A cocky son of a bitch who wants to hear you beg. And you do. “Everywhere. Every way.” You pant out.

He smirks against your cheek. “Sounds fun.”

Letting go of his grip on you (much to your chagrin and the way you immediately ache for his fingers) he yanks the rest of your dress down. Then it’s his turn to kneel. To look up at you through thick eyelashes and admire your completely naked form.

Excitement sets in his glazed-over eyes as he brushes his lips and tongue over the bare skin of your stomach. Rough, calloused hands skim up the sides of your body until they fully encircle your boobs. He groans into the skin just below your belly button, fingers groping and kneading sensitive flesh.

“You’re fucking beautiful, ya know that? Been imagining this shit for weeks.” Another kiss, this time on your hip bone. Your pelvis lightly moves towards him, daring to reach that longed-for high that he denied you earlier. He plants a kiss on your other hip. “Been wanting to taste you ever since I saw you.”

In a flash he has you backed up against Hathor’s statue, left leg thrown over his shoulder as he dives in. That beautiful head of black curls you had fallen in love with on that first day, is now drenched in sweat as it nestles against your mound. And it makes you want to scream.

He takes your breath away instantly, tongue expertly moving against you: giving as much as taking. You are hypersensitive from the earlier assault of his fingers, so when he flattens his tongue against the area between your clit and your hole, your heel juts in between his shoulders.

That action incidentally forces him further into you, pushing his nose into the hooded part of your cunt. His eyes dart up to yours just in time to watch you let out a high-pitched moan; fingers weaving themselves through his hair, as your head falls back into the golden statue.

Meanwhile, your eyes find her sculpted ones as you look up. A laugh escapes you, though it sounds like it’s miles away. And she said you needed her help to get laid.

Like hell.

You were doing just fine. Just. Fucking. Fine.

Marc growls against you, and the vibration makes you snap. Sweat rolls down your forehead, vision going blurry as you aggressively fuck his face, holding him in place with the grip you have on his head. It’s coming. You feel it. That beautiful precipice.

You’re just…you’re right there.

Just--just a little…

He stops. You then feel a gust of cool air hit your hot cunt, and you frown at the man who sits on his knees, slick all over his nose and mouth. Dark brown eyes are blown as his lips glisten a bright red. The look, along with the way his dick stands painfully erect is torturous.

“Who said you could stop…” you grumble, throat sore and raw. He laughs, then drags two fingers through your folds, collecting some of your arousal. Standing up, he grips your head again—a wonderful habit he’s started—squeezes your cheeks until your mouth is open before shoving his fingers in.

Instinctually, you close your lips, cleaning his fingers as he slowly pulls them out to admire your work. “See how good you taste, baby? Fucking delicious.”

God, he makes you feral.

“I said,” you groan, licking your lips clean of anything that might’ve spilled out. “Who said you could stop?”

He leans down to you, so insanely close that you can smell yourself on him. He doesn’t even attempt to wipe his face. Just allows his chin to shine beneath the light of the torches and the open top of the pyramid. “I did,” he whispers. “Because the first time you cum, I want it to be on my cock.” He taps your lips absentmindedly. “Next time will be on my face. Promise.”

He grabs your hair and pushes it over your shoulder before taking a step forward. He has a plan. A very clear predetermined idea of how this exact moment is going to go down. But what he doesn’t know is you do too. Except you imagine your idea is far different from his.

You stop his efforts just when he uses his hand to brush his tip against the edge of your pussy. Splaying your palms on his shoulders, you push him down until he’s completely on his knees. He looks intrigued. Compliant in his actions as he settles himself. You make note of the little bed the two of you have made with the discarded clothing, and realize the two of you don’t have to go anywhere. Because this is perfect.

You’ll take him right here. Right now.

Lowering yourself to his level, you separate your legs until you’re straddling him. You don’t know what controls you in that very moment; what allows you to go slowly in the wake of your desire to just fucking cum already. To just grab hold and grind against him until you fall over the edge. But as you tease him, adjusting yourself in his grip as he flashes a wolffish grin, you realize that this is the reason. The tension. The build-up. You want him to submit to you. You want him to beg to fuck you after you’re done fucking him.

It drives you mad.

His hair falls in front of his eyes and you take the moment to tenderly brush it out of the way. He catches your wrist in midair, pulling it away from his head before placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

You smile at him. But then he shifts his hips and his cock slides along your incredibly wet seam, bringing you back to the current moment. “Fuck me,” he moans.

Grabbing hold of his hands, you place them on your chest before raising your pelvis until you’re just gliding along his shaft. Marc’s head falls backward with a particularly loud groan and you take the opportunity to suck at his collarbone. You move your hips back and forth slowly, spreading your slick all over him until he slips between you without much effort at all.

Your thighs tremble, and you nearly gush all over him at the heat of it all. He looks delirious, soft moans filling the empty room as he now grips the ground beneath the two of you.

You love him like this. Hard. Desperate. Aching for you.

He’s now the one to buck into you, trying to gain some other form of friction; a little more momentum to drive him to that release.

You leave open-mouthed kisses along his throat and jaw causing him to shudder beneath you. Your fingernails glide along his chest and down to his dick in continuous motions as he groans. Using your other hand, you shove him backward until he’s fully lying on his back. His jaw clenches; his eyes stay fixated on you and the way your chest heaves in anticipation. He waits. Albeit, he’s a little less patient than before.

And that’s when you think that you’re just as tired of waiting.

With your knees, you lift yourself up, just enough to guide his cock to your centre. You clench around the tip as it rests just…right there. And then, after what seems like hours, you’re sinking down on him.

You moan loudly, mouth wide open as you gasp for air. Your body adjusts to the feeling of being full; stuffed beyond capacity; beyond what you thought was possible.

Your hands, in an effort to brace yourself, set themselves on his lower abdomen while his hands end up finding the dip of your hip and the curve of your ass.

And then you’re moving. You start off slow as you get used to the feeling of him and the way you nearly lift off of him entirely before dropping yourself back on his cock. There’s a nagging heavy drag of the particular vein along the underside of his dick that runs over your velvety walls. The feeling robs you of any cohesive thought and instructs you to continue further. To feel the way he throbs inside you.

“Fuck, —, you—so fucking tight.” Marc grunts as you pick up your pace. You’ve begun to swivel your hips; alternating in different patterns as you ride him.

You’re both in the midst of testing the waters of what turns you on and what makes you just want to fuck him into oblivion. On a particular move, when your pelvis rolls forward and your clit rubs against the base of his shaft and the bit of hair there, your nails dig into him. He growls at you as his hands tighten their grip on your ass. “Such a tight. Fucking. Pussy,” he growls through gritted teeth.

And that’s when the proverbial match is lit.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire; burning up like an object re-entering the atmosphere. His touch scorches you, and his voice goads you on. Leaning backward, you grab ahold of his thighs and then start bouncing. Your moans have quickly turned into whimpers and breathy cries as your cunt sucks him in further.

At this point, Marc has equal control as you. He aides your hips in their steady, fast-paced rhythm, lifting his to meet yours. You’re not too sure if you’re still the one riding him, or if he’s just thrusting up into you. But at this point, you don’t care. Because your brain feels like mush. The only thing taking up residence in your thoughts is the sound of skin slapping against skin and the squelching of him fucking through your wetness. All of it, mixed with Marc’s raspy voice, makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You’re so pent-up. So ready to finally cum because of someone and not something. To cum on Marc instead of your fucking vibrator.

You reason that if you were lucky enough, you would fuck him daily. Because this?

This was your field of reeds.

You’re so caught up in the way that coil tightens with each snap of his hips, that you hardly notice you’ve relinquished your power to him. He’s sitting up again, mumbling over and over in your ear: “fuck you feel so good. So good for me, honey.” He has your arms placed carefully around his neck as one hand sits in the middle of your back, and the other guides you’re ass up and down.

He’s moving at such a rapid speed, that you can’t keep up with anything. Your whole body feels numb as his cock moves in and out of you. In all honesty, you feel like you’re on the ancestral plane. Like you’re looking at yourself from the outside; like you can’t comprehend what is currently happening other than how fucking good your body feels.

“Fuck, Marc.” You cry. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard.”

And it’s at that particular snap of his hips you let out a moan that even shocks you. You’ve never heard that come out of your mouth once before, in any scenario. But, then again, no one else, not even your collection of toys has touched that inner part of you before.

He’s practically hitting your cervix. In your measly attempt to try and still maintain dominance—to fervently ride him—you had shifted your knees further apart which only allowed for his cock to kiss the innermost point of you. “Right there…” you almost don’t recognize yourself or if you had even said anything. If it was all in your head or if you spoke it into existence.

Nonetheless, Marc listens to your reaction. Reevaluating his situation, he slams his hips up again, and when you nearly scream, he smirks to himself.

“You feel that, baby?” He’s unrelenting in his pace, rapid calculated thrusts as he continues piercing you on his cock. He takes your wrist and holds your hand right above your cunt near your navel. “You feel me, huh? Feel me right there?” Another snap. Another cry. “I’m so fucking deep, baby. Just—“ he grunts. “Just fucking up right into you. Bet no one else can do that. No one else fucks you this good. God, you’re gonna feel me for weeks.”

You do feel him in your stomach, fucking you with everything he has; splitting you in half as you hold on for dear life.

The tears are streaming down your face now; pooling at the base of your neck. You sniffle. “Please, Marc… I’m so fucking close.”

“I know, honey.” His fingers begin to slip as his hips gradually become sloppier. He’s losing his rhythm and you feel the way his cock bulges inside you.

He’s gonna cum. And fuck so are you.

Except, if you just let go—

“No.” He growls in your ear as he drives you down on his hips. “You aren’t fucking coming without me, got it?”

His demand is aggressive, and though it should deter you, it does the exact opposite. It just pulls even harder on the end of the rope that ties itself in knots.

“Marc…” you whine.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair he yanks your head backwards until your eyes are directly in line with the open sky a couple hundred feet above you. “I’m right there, baby. Just—hold on for just a little bit longer. I know you can. You’re a good girl.” Another harsh thrust. “You can do it.”

You shake your head rapidly. “Fucking wait.” He spits, paying his attention to where your bodies connect; on how red and angry and fucking wet his cock is as it pistons into you.

Your hands flail, grasping onto anything they can, as you hold your orgasm in. Biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, you try to steady your breathing. He told you to wait. But fuck, you don’t think you can. Because you really are right there. That deliciously painful knot is so taut, that it threatens to rip itself apart at the thread.

“Fuck, Marc!” With a quick repositioning of his hold on you, he slams your hips down onto his, holding you down as he lets loose inside you.

His thrusts are erratic and messy as he groans. “Come on, pretty girl. Go ahead. Cum.”

It’s that sole command that opens the gates. The coil, on cue, snaps and you scream. It’s a blood-curdling, wall-shaking scream that echoes throughout the pyramid. The sound is so loud, you’re sure that half of Cairo can hear you; can hear you being fucked silly by Marc fucking Spector. The pounding of blood in your ears goes away as the upper half of your body falls backwards. Knees lock around Marc as your sight goes white.

With a loud groan, Marc takes hold of your body, flips you over so that you’re on your back, then fucks you through his own orgasm. Your walls squeeze him as he cums, fluttering around his throbbing cock as he stuffs himself into you.

You can feel the warmth in your lower half, regardless of all your senses having disappeared. Marc spills into you, slowly fucking his seed further into you as he comes down from his high.

The edges of your vision slowly dissipate back into the same indigo colour as the desert sky. It’s a beautiful sight that adorns the top of the pyramid and helps guide you through the final waves of your orgasm. The full moon glitters against the backdrop of stars (though you’re convinced your high added a couple extra white dots), and radiates downward.

Marc falls on top of you, his hot breath trailing over your shoulder and neck as he presses kisses to the area beneath your ear. His hands run tenderly all across the skin of your body, much like he’s stuck in a trance. A product of your shared euphoria—too caught up in the strength of your orgasms to truly understand what you’re doing, what you’re saying or thinking.

Your head then lolls to the side, only to see Hathor walk into the main room through the far corner doorway.

She stands there and looks at you, with her hands on her hips and a devilish smile on her face

Took you long enough.

•••

Moon Knight Taglist (+18)

@amaragray @izzy-laufeyson @eclecticlokibytomhiddleston @bitch-please-i-am-lucifer @bibli0thecary @a-certified-whore @gummywurme @superfanmixromancepony @theartofteendays @butterflyslys @timothee-nook @piratewannabe1013 @themadhatt3risbored @23victoria @nikitawolfxo @bookfrog242 @markijackson @kaqua @jekaelemen @lukespatterson @theamuz @lokisnumber1whore @anthonys-viscountess @loudlibrary @tillthetimecomesalong @avengers-bucky @lewickedgal @spectorfilms @stevestevesteveiheartsteve @dopeqff @lolitstiana @serrendiipty @bunnyrabbit-01 @justanotherkpopstanlol @chaoticevilbakugo

5K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 16 hours

Text

first time (18+)

Pairing: Steven Grant x afab!Reader

Warnings: SMUT; sub!virgin!Steven, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, handjob, kissing.

“This is you, yeah?” Steven scratched the back of his neck a little nervously, thumb pointing to the door of your apartment complex.

The date he had so nervously invited you on was the most fun you’d had in ages. While Steven could have pointed out a million things he thought he did wrong, you thought he was adorable in all his antics. Conversation flowed without any stupid small talk, he made you laugh without trying to, and he even brought you two different flower bouquets because he wasn’t sure which ones you’d like more.

He was so sweet, insisting on walking you home after dinner even though the restaurant you went to was around the corner from your place. You took his hand in yours when the two of you left the restaurant, knowing he’d be to nervous to do it himself.

This wasn’t the first time you’d gone out with Steven. He’d been harboring a debilitating crush on you for all six months that you’d been working with him, holding himself back from asking you out or kissing you after every platonic lunch or dinner spent together.

Steven’s big, beautiful brain almost melted when you kissed him after getting ice cream after work a few days ago. He’d been glancing down at your lips the entire time you’d been eating, mesmerized by how they looked shining with the sugary dessert. And then all of a sudden you were leaning over, holding his cheek and kissing him so softly, like he was a million dollar artifact in the museum you were both growing to hate.

Steven had gone red all over, eyes casting down to your lap before muttering out a shy, “Thank you.”

You had giggled and brushed a stray curl off of his forehead to ease his worried eyes, “Figured I’d be waiting another six months if I didn’t kiss you right away.”

Standing in front of your building tonight, he was giving you those same worried eyes again. His hand was still in yours and you reached over to grab his other one as well, weaving your fingers through his and swinging your joined hands for a moment, “Do you want to come up for a drink or something?”

Steven’s eyes glimmered with a sort of anxious excitement for a moment, “Yeah- ‘course.”

You gave his left hand a gentle squeeze and smiled, pulling him up to your flat. He stumbled behind you, forever amazed by your ability to make the simplest activities feel like an adventure. When you led him inside, he calmed down a little bit, the familiarity of your home comforting him. Everything inside it was so you and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Slipping your coat and shoes off, you went into the kitchen to check on what alcohol you had, “I’ve got wine, whiskey, tequila, you name it.”

Steven sat down at the kitchen island, hair a little disheveled from when he pulled his sweater off upon entering. Your heart ached with how beautiful he looked, nodding in response to his answer of “Wine’s good” but barely registering it. How could you when he was sitting before you like this - big eyes following your hands as they poured the wine, cheeks and lips a little pink from warming up inside your apartment.

Getting the job at the museum turned out to be the best decision you had made in years, if not your life. You were falling hard for Steven, but it wasn’t as scary as it seemed to be in the past.

You handed him his glass and clinked yours to his gently, “To bitchy bosses?”

He laughed softly and nodded, “To bitchy bosses — For bringing us together.”

You took your sip and settled into your chair next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours gently, “Heard you stand your ground with her today, by the way. Proud of you, y’know?”

The small praise made him melt into the chair a little more, “It’s the beginning of a revolution, I think. We could make the whole museum ours, yea?”

Giggling into your glass, you nursed it in your hands and looked over at Steven as he turned in his seat to face you better. The tension between the two of you was always so high, no matter how much you laughed together or how much time you spent alone, there was always a burning tension that made it almost impossible for you to think clearly with him around.

His glass was on the counter, eyes scanning your face that slightly anxious way again before he laughed at himself quietly, hands coming up to smooth over his face.

“Christ — I thought it would be easier to kiss you myself this time, but I don’t- I don’t quite know where to start.”

You bit back a smile, delighted that he was fighting the urge to kiss you just as much as you were. You set your glass aside and took his hand, pulling him closer, “C’mere.”

Steven got off the high chair and stepped to stand between your legs, still taller than you. He felt you guide his hand to your cheek and leave it there, bringing your own two hands to his neck. You leaned your forehead against his, “It’s just me, Steven.”

He thought he was going to pass out. You were so close and so warm and he could even smell the remnants of the coconut lotion you’d put on earlier. He gathered his thoughts after a moment and nodded, nuzzling his nose against yours before pressing the softest kiss to your lips.

You were just about to say something when he kissed you once more, a little deeper this time, his hand on your cheek tilting your head the way he needed it to kiss you the way he wanted. One of your hands played with the curls at the nape of his neck and you smiled into the kiss, pulling him closer.

Finally. Steven was finally breaking out of his shell and his kiss made it hard not to grab his hand and pull him up to your bedroom immediately. You could tell he still needed your guidance, so you licked at his bottom lip gently, waiting until he opened his mouth to you with a soft groan. It was downright embarrassing how his groan went straight to your core, but you powered through and worked your tongue into the kiss, absolutely hooked on his taste.

The way his free hand hung at his side shyly was adorable and so very Steven of him, and you reached down to find it and place it on your waist gently. Coming up for air, you looked down at his hand and encouraged him to let it travel across your skin, “You can touch me, love. It’s okay.”

His eyes barely opened when you parted and he just nodded, pulling you in again and letting his hand barely wander down to the crease of your hip, giving it a small squeeze. Something about the shyness of it all made you feel like a teenager again and you smiled into the kiss as your hands traveled down his back, resting just over his ass until he gave his permission.

Steven hummed in approval and you brought your hands down to give his surprisingly full ass a playful squeeze, making both of you smile into the kiss, so much that your lips broke apart.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” You giggled and he quirked a brow, “Yeah?”

You gave him a soft “mhm” as you kissed across his cheek slowly, stopping to place a special kiss on that dimple that formed in response to your kisses. Taking a bit of a leap, you led a trail of slow kisses over his jaw and just below his ear, feeling his pulse thump faster and his breaths get a little shaky.

Steven’s reaction to all of your ministrations was unbearably hot, but you had a feeling it had been a while since he’d been touched like this, so you didn’t want to push him. When your lips slowly made their way down his neck and found a spot that made him whine, you almost lost it.

You pulled back a little bit and tipped his chin down to look at him, that warmth pooling at your center again when you saw his swollen lips and messy hair.

“Steven,” You panted, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes, “How long has it been since- since you’ve been touched like this?”

He was so eager with you, yet so shy — you were scared to even look down between the two of you to see if his arousal was evident. You didn’t want to make him any more anxious.

“Um- Never..” He rasped out, his gaze falling in embarrassment and your brows furrowed as you brought him back to you with your finger under his chin, “Hey, that’s ok, you know?”

You stroked his clean shaven cheek with your thumb, “So you’ve never-”

“Nope.”

It was hard to find your next words because, of course, it didn’t matter to you that he was a virgin, but you didn’t know whether he wanted to take any new steps today — any more than he’d already taken. You didn’t want to overwhelm him.

“Do you want to, um - keep going?” Were the very unceremonious words you chose and you slapped yourself mentally for them.

Steven laughed under his breath and nodded, leaning in and nudging you with his nose until his lips found yours again. You indulged him for a moment, but pulled away to look up at him again, “Let’s move to the couch?”

He only nodded and rushed over to the couch with you, barely registering the way you fell into his lap until he felt the grounding weight of you against his thighs and your lips on his again.

And the sounds- God, the sounds he was making were enough to make you lose your mind. Every kiss, every accidental rock of your hips against his pulled the softest little moan or sigh out of him. You could feel him growing in his slacks and you wanted nothing more than to get on your knees for him, but you were going to take this slow.

You sat up a little higher in his lap and rolled your hips against his slowly, mumbling a soft, “Is this okay?”

Steven nodded immediately, mewling into the kiss. He was obviously trying to hold back his noises a little, but no matter how hard he tried they still found a way out. His hands were holding onto you just below your breasts, thumbs brushing over your ribcage every few moments.

Your lips traveled down his jaw again, stopping to nibble at his earlobe, “Do you want my shirt off, Steven?”

He groaned at the feeling and breathed out, “Please,” to which you smiled and guided your hands to the hem of your shirt, “Go ahead, baby.”

The pet name made Steven’s heart clench and he tugged your shirt over your head, laughing with you when it got caught on your head for a moment. His gaze fell to your body and he looked devastated for a moment before he leaned down to press kisses to your collarbones and the swell of your breasts, “You’re so beautiful, love.”

Weaving your fingers through his curls, you held him close to your chest, letting him explore however he wanted to. His hands were everywhere and pressed you impossibly closer to his body, trying to relieve the ache at both of your cores. You felt him grind up against you clumsily and smiled, kissing his forehead to get his attention, “Steven.”

He was lost in his suckles to your shoulder, completely enamored in watching those pretty marks bloom from your skin when he sucked and nibbled just enough.

“Steven,” you repeated and gave his hair the gentlest of tugs, to which he groaned softly, lifting his head to look at you, “Yea- um, yes, what’s up?”

You giggled and pushed a curl behind his ear, “You’re hard, baby.” Before you got a chance to continue, he was already blushing and looking anywhere but your eyes, but you kissed him to bring back, “Do you want to stop or do you want to keep going?”

He let out a deep breath, “Keep going, please.”

Smiling softly, you sat back on his thighs and played with the hem of his button down, “Can I take this off?”

He nodded immediately and his eyes flickered over every new part of you that he was seeing as you unbuttoned his shirt. You swallowed, trying to keep your arousal at bay. He was gorgeous, his body the perfect balance between muscle and softness — absolutely beautiful.

Steven’s arms, which you rarely got to see under his oversized shirts and sweaters, were big and his chest had you immediately reaching to cup his pecs. You gave them a soft squeeze as you leaned in to kiss him again, letting your hands drift over his torso, touching him everywhere you could and eventually leading lower to the buckle of his pants.

He didn’t want to stop kissing you, so he just nodded when your hands hesitated over his pants. The tips of your fingers brushed over the tent in his pants, going slow so you wouldn’t overwhelm him, but he was already sighing into the kiss. Slipping out of his lap, you settled pressed up against side, still kissing him as you started to slowly palm his growing bulge.

“Christ- You’re gonna kill me,” Steven joked against your lips and you smiled, adding a little more pressure and watching his jaw go slack.

You didn’t want to kiss him, you were too engrossed in his reactions to every new thing you were doing to him. When your hand left his crotch to squeeze and skim at his thighs, he almost lost it, “Please.. Please don’t tease.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop teasing,” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Can I take the rest of this off?”

He was nodding immediately, reaching down and helping you take off his slacks and boxers in one go. His length slapped up against the softness of his stomach and you let out a breath, “Fuck- Steven, you’re so pretty.”

Before he had the chance to get anxious about himself, you kissed him deeply, holding the back of his head to control the kiss now more than ever. Your free hand found his cock, wrapping around him and just holding him for a moment. He was shaking beneath you already, so you pulled out of the kiss to calm him down, “Take a breath, sweetie. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours, taking a deep breath and barely mumbling out, “Just doesn’t feel real, is all.”

The affection laced in his words made you smile and you slowly twisted your hand around him, “Just focus on how it feels, baby. Don’t think about anything else.”

Steven nodded, his face falling into the crook of your neck with a groan. You began a steady rhythm, stroking the entire length of him and tightening your hand slightly around his tip, which pulled the prettiest sound out of him.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” You praised him, noting how much he enjoyed that and your control over him.

He was really letting go for you, not letting any of his anxiety or work trouble get in the way of being present with you. When his hips started bucking up off the couch, you nipped at his neck, “Stay still for me, Steven.”

Immediately, he nodded and dropped his hips back down, making you practically gawk at how eager he was to follow your instructions. You tilted his head up out of your neck to look at him, giving his parted lips a soft kiss and mumbling the quietest “good boy”. Steven whimpered at your words and held his hips back from thrusting up, “I’m — shit, I’m gonna..”

You held his jaw in your hand, your thumb stroking the softness of his lower lip, “That’s okay, sweetie. Just let go.”

He kissed the tip of your thumb gently, eyes falling closed as his breath hitched and his abdomen tightened up, soft moans falling from him in a continuous stream as he came in short spurts all over his chest and your hand.

You slowed your hand to a stop once he was done and it got to be too much, smiling when you saw the way his whole body was melted into your couch. You pressed a soft kiss to his chin as he muttered his quiet “thank you”, kissing down his neck and chest to clean up his mess.

“Christ- Love, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Steven laughed.

Coming up to kiss him gently, you held his face close and he looked up into your eyes, “I- I wanna make you feel good too. Show me how, please?”

As much as you wanted to resist him and make it all about him tonight, you’d been staring at his hands for months now, watching him scan hundreds of stupid plush toys and write down all kinds of stuff for inventory. The sheer thought of his fingers inside you sent another gush of heat to your core, one you weren’t sure you could ignore for another second.

You got up off his lap and pulled the rest of your clothes off, his reaction to the new skin making it impossible to be self conscious.

“My gods, you- Even Hathor doesn’t compare to you,” Steven mumbled, pulling you back into his lap and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the span of your breasts. He could feel the heat of you against him now and it was making him feral, his cock already beginning to harden again.

You smiled into his hair, bathing in all of the affection he was giving you. Finding his hand on your thigh, you took it in yours and guided it to your center, gasping at the feeling of his fingers running through you. He dipped a finger just barely inside you and gathered some of your slick, bringing it up to your clit and rubbing a few hesitant circles.

Groaning into his hair, you held his hand there, encouraging him to keep going. Steven looked up from between your breasts, “Like that?“, and you nodded quickly, “Y-Yeah, just like that, baby.”

He couldn’t believe how wet you were, practically dripping down your thighs. After a minute, you reached down and guided his two fingers down a little bit, settling yourself over them until they were inside you. You wanted to scream — it was overwhelming to finally have them inside you. They were thicker and longer than yours, the callouses from turning all those book pages rubbing at you perfectly.

You hugged his shoulders, burying your face in his neck and crying out quietly at the pressure building in your stomach, “Baby- I-I want you inside. If you’re not ready, that’s okay but- fuck..”

Steven nodded quickly, “I’m ready.”

That was all you needed. You raised your hips up, giving him a chance to pull his fingers out of you while you grasped his length gently, lining yourself up with him. He gave you another nod and you sank down onto him slowly, giving him a chance to breathe through the new feeling.

When he was finally settled inside you, his lips brushed yours and you looked down at him, his brows tied together and eyes closed. He was always beautiful, but right now, with his body completely relaxed and his face screwed up in pleasure, he was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him.

Pushing that stray curl off of his forehead, you started rolling your hips slowly, reveling in the sounds he made as soon as you did. His full lips were parted in a silent moan and he was trying so hard not to buck up into you, trying to be as good possible.

Speeding up just a little bit, you leaned down and found that spot on his neck again, biting and sucking gently until a dark, possessive mark bloomed there. You wanted everyone to know that sweet, shy Steven was all yours. And you were his. The mere thought of being anyone else’s ever again didn’t make sense anymore.

Steven’s breaths were picking up quickly and he didn’t have the capacity to hold his head up anymore, letting it fall back into the couch. You brought a hand up behind his neck and pulled him back to you to kiss him.

“You can let go, baby. I’m close too, it’s okay,” you whispered and he hummed his reply, his grip on your hips tightening.

The two of you only lasted a few more thrusts before you fell over the edge, gasping from the intensity of it all. Steven held onto you, letting his head fall back again with a silent moan.

He was completely spent, his body limp on the couch below you, gasping like he had just run a marathon. You hugged his neck, rubbing your nose against his soft skin and smiling when you could feel his pulse thumping away.

“You still with me?” You joked, and he laughed tiredly below you, raising his head and nuzzling your cheek,

“Just barely.”

1K notes · View notes

eternalsams · 16 hours

Text

Puzzles

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!Reader (mention of Marc Spector x fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x fem!Reader)

Fic Type: Drabble

Summary: Steven’s not rough with you, like Marc or Jake. He’s more… Reserved. But he will wreck your shit if you ask nicely.

A/N: So yes this is fluffy Steven smut. No I cannot be stopped and no it is not a part of Red Handed.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW under the cut, softdom!Steven, sub?Reader, riding, missionary, edging, orgasm denial, squirting, breeding kink, trying for a baby, pregnancy, mention of marathon sex??? I think that’s it???

Steven Grant was a master of puzzles.

Jigsaws he solved within a matter of hours, if that. You’d long since stopped trying to keep track of his 3000-or-more-piece puzzles, always Egyptian-themed, that he’d clear a table for, finish in record time, and then break it up and put it away before reaching for the next one.

Escape rooms? You figured when you introduced him to the random little escape room app on your phone that he’d be just as stumped as you were. Instead, ten minutes later, he asked you how he gets to the next world. “Steven,” You breathed in astonishment. “You… You beat the fucking game?!” I think it’s a given to say that he’d also completely owned your consoles when you showed him puzzle-based games like Skyrim or Zelda.

Jenga, Ka-Plunk, DnD, hell, even Clue, he blew your mind with how quickly puzzles were solved by his hands. Incomprehensible, astounding, holy fucking shit your boyfriend is a genius.

Specifically, one of them in particular.

His Rubik’s cube.

The way he moved those goddamn fingers, those fingers that he could bend and flick and curl expertly against you and in you when you needed him too. Those hands alone could make you see stars if he was really intent on doing so.

He hated it when he had to use both hands for the Rubik’s cube. So he oiled it, ensuring that it flipped and moved with the smallest of touches, one-handed. Shk, shk, shk, he’d already solved it twice while you were watching, restarting the process when you asked him that one simple question. “Just one more time, love. Three times, then I’m all yours, yeah?” His soft voice was deeper, huskier, a little out-of-focus because of how deeply he was concentrating– not that you could tell he was. He looked calm, serene… but calculating. Deep in thought.

You were the puzzle this time.

“S-Steven, please–”

“Just a little bit longer, love.” He tossed the cube up in the air in front of your face, just being a showoff at this point.

Two weeks ago, you’d started talking about raising a family together. At first it had just been uncertain questions, but then you’d started looking into schools nearby, making lists of baby names, adopting a healthier diet, and going to the doctor. Steven was more determined to get you pregnant than you’d expected, tracking your cycles and ovulation periods– hence why he’d made you take a week off work. He’d seemed a bit nervous when he admitted that he called in for you. “Well, love… you’re ovulating now, yeah? I figured now’s a better time than any to–” You’d never heard the end of that sentence, having immediately dragged him to the bed.

But now there wasn’t an equal flow, like there usually was.

“Don’t cum until I say you can, dove. You can do that, yeah? Can you be a good girl for me?”

He’d laid back, helping you straddle his lap and sink down on his thick cock; it was then you’d realized that he hadn’t cum earlier, that he was holding off, maybe hoping an extremely powerful orgasm might be what it takes to knock you up. You were a puzzle he needed to solve, so like always when he focused intensely, you didn’t even begin to understand what he might be thinking.

He hadn’t thrust up into you, although he had allowed you to roll your hips, bounce on his length, do whatever you want at whatever pace you wanted– there were only three rules. You couldn’t touch yourself, you couldn’t cum, and you had to keep your hands on his stomach so he knew you weren’t cheating in your blissed-out state.

Slowly, his dark chocolate eyes trailed from the Rubik’s cube to your red, sweaty face. “S-Steven… Please, please…”

You found it. Right there. That spot where you can easily drive to your ecstasy. Maybe Steven won’t notice if you cum. Maybe he’ll let it slide. But he knew your body better than you did, and when you started to speed up the rocking of your hips, Steven’s free hand flew to your waist, effectively stopping your impending orgasm. “Steeeevvennn,” You whined, reduced to a blubbering mess of begging to barter for your release. Your approaching euphoria was ripped from you, descending rapidly into a cold pit of roiling tension in your lower belly.

Steven’s hand crawled up your side, brushing painfully close to your breast without touching it and running up the length of your neck. He stopped at your mouth, fingers expertly running over your top and bottom lip gently. “Sh, dove,” He said, all but absentminded as you tried to fuck yourself without fucking yourself on him, “Almost there.”

He slipped his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck on them. You swirled your tongue and bobbed your head, using the same movements as you would when sucking him off, but aside from briefly glancing to your face, he gave no reaction to indicate that it was turning him on at all. His cock barely twitched inside you, and you weren’t entirely certain if he just had that good self-control, or if you’d gone numb from the waist down from fucking like rabbits all day in any position and location possible in your flat.

Finally– finally– he removed his fingers and twisted to toss the Rubik’s cube onto the nightstand, unintentionally shifting himself deeper inside of you, if possible, and eliciting a moan from you; yep, you could still definitely feel everything down there. If anything, you were over-sensitive, rather than under. He stared up at you with admiration and a small smile, massaging your thighs. “You did so well for me, dove. You ready to cum?”

If it were only possible, you would have cum right then. “Yes, please yes!” Maybe in the morning you’d be a little embarrassed about how easily you begged, and so quickly, too– but you had little time to think about it. Effortlessly, Steven rolled you both over so that he was on top, between your legs and still buried deep inside you– maybe even deeper, oh god, you can’t take it–

Steven’s gentle kiss on your forehead was nothing compared to the sheer intensity of how hard he pistoned his hips into you, the head of his cock bumping your cervix and almost making you scream. “Let it out, darling,” Steven urged, “I like to hear you. Please, love?” He punctuated the question with an open-mouthed, heavy kiss on your pulse point right under your jaw, and this time you didn’t hold back. Your wail of pleasure drowned out his soft moans and gasps as he panted for air. Sweat glistened silver on his tawny skin, dripping from his nose, his hair, the chain necklace he wore– gently, you tugged on it, and Steven’s hands flew to yours. He entwined your fingers together before pinning them on either side of your head, driving deeper, faster, harder, until you can’t breathe, you can’t see, there’s only Steven, who kisses you passionately as his thrusts falter. “You can cum now darling,” He breathed into your mouth, moaning as you screamed his name loudly enough to hurt your throat. You soaked the bed, him, hell, you wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole flat was soaked. You’d never squirted before with him, and you wondered if it was what he’d been planning for.

Steven came with a cry, finishing as deep as he possibly could– a part of you thought he must have shot himself directly into your womb. He let go of your hands, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he held you close, trying to catch his breath. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, wincing as his hips rocked of their own accord in the aftershocks of his high. “Can you keep it all in for me when I pull out, dove? We’ve gotta make sure every drop has a chance, darling, every drop.” His hand rested pointedly on your stomach, making you smile and nod frantically.

When you shivered, he immediately reached for a nearby blanket, carefully pulling out of you and ensuring you were warm enough before moving away. When he came back, he very gently cleaned you up before moving you to a hot bath, letting you lay there while he changed the sheets. Before you could even think of moving from the tub, Steven returned carrying his comfiest hoodie and sweatpants he knew you liked to wear, along with a snack oh-so-typical of Steven.

“Are those… cookies?”

“Oatmeal cookies,” He specified, sitting on the edge of the tub and carefully handing you your plate. “With raisins. Better for you and the baby, innit?”

You flushed up to your hairline, touched by the gesture. “Honey, we don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet.”

“You will be,” Steven said excitedly, setting the milk (yes, he even brought you milk) on the sink so that he could kneel on the outside of the tub, staring at you fondly with his chin resting on the edge. He caressed your face, smiling when you leaned into him to press your foreheads together. “We’re gonna get you pregnant this week, love, I can feel it.” He kissed you softly, before his face contorted thoughtfully as he pulled slowly away.

“Steven?”

“Orange juice,” He said, abruptly standing.

“Huh?!”

He grabbed the glass of milk on his way out of the bathroom. “Orange juice is better than milk, right? Or, maybe not? Maybe they’re equal? You wouldn’t want them at once, love, so; orange juice, yeah, and a banana? I’ll just drink the milk then, don’t wanna waste it, and I’m not sure if I could pour it back into the container without makin’ a bloody mess…”

You listened to his rambling move about the flat as you nibbled on your cookies, smiling to yourself. You and Steven wanted this baby more than anything; and you wanted it even more since Marc and Jake were both scared but excited at the prospect. You looked at baby clothes together, you had everything planned out, and now you were finally, actually trying without any kind of protection to conceive.

Steven may have planned the week, but they were all so sweet, so supportive, so protective, ensuring that you eat right, drink right, sleep right, rest, bathe–

–and you loved them with all your heart.

The next morning, when you were making the bed, you found his Rubik’s cube half-finished on the nightstand. A smile made its way onto your face as you realized he’d never completed the puzzle last night in favor of completing you.

A couple weeks later, when you and Steven read the positive results of the pregnancy test, you realize, amidst all the cheering and hugging and crying, that with all of his planning, trying to get you pregnant was yet another puzzle he had solved, effortlessly.

With the help of Marc and Jake, of course.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! :3

Tags: @dameronsknight @sylkisdagger @atzlena @gucciboots @pastel-0-princess @poeticsorcery @rosaren2498 @love-on-the-murder-scene @wintergirlsoilder2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @multifandomsw @bookloverfilmoholic @khaotic-kris @hb8301 @soggumm @simonsbluee @adamcarlsenslvr @bluestuesday @magnet-girl @rosellacwrites @dweeb-central @ilymorepls @drwhofangirl1963 @loonymagizoologist @auszimbo @tealrivers @laters-gators12 @izbelross @xcatnapsx @child-of-the-moon-gods @djarinsgirl27 @sokoviansorceress @eerievixen @cold-buffet-ham @upbeat-cascade @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog @candydancey @rqmanoff @jakelcckley @sharin4readers @lovely-cryptid @marc-spectorr @rmoonstoner @oscarisaacsspit @marc-spectorr @lovely-cryptid

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eternalsams · 16 hours

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Gift of Min

Summary: Marc brings back a trinket from his trip that may or may not contain an ancient sex god/aphrodisiac. Either way, Marc's not telling, and it's for you and Steven to find out.

Content: Explicit (like whoa), sex pollen, creampies sold by the dozen, refraction period we don't know her! overstimulation (cause once that boy starts he won't stop), please do not try to reenact this. If readers at home ever come across an ancient demonic box and inhales its contents the writer strongly urge you to seek medical attention.

Word Count: 8,100

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

"It's pretty," you remark.

It's a small trinket box, the size of an egg that fits neatly in the palm of your hand. Worn out golden brass with finely detailed hieroglyphics painstakingly etched along the edges. Touching the surface, you notice that one of the panels can be pushed outwards. You hum with curiosity as you press down on the thing with fascination as the box gives and a panel flips. It’s like one of those Japanese puzzle boxes you got for Steven on his birthday.

“Is this a puzzle?” you ask, as you flip another panel.

Marc takes the brass box from your hand and shoves it back into his bag haphazardly. "Don't do that, it's not safe"

“‘Not safe’ how?” You ask.

Unsurprisingly Marc does not expand on his cryptic statement.

“‘Not safe,’ it will pinch my fingers? Or ‘not safe’ as in I'll be releasing an ancient demonic God from its bonds?"

Marc gives you a look. Lips curved in a downward frown with that stubborn set of his jaw. He opens his mouth, and before he says a word, you already know what he is going to say.

"You don't–"

"I don't want to know," you finish for him drolly, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest in a mocking imitation of the man.

Only Marc would interpret the verbal request for more information as ‘I don't want to know.’

Marc stands across the room from you, head tilting to one side as he observes you. His expression softens as he does, the arch of his brows rounding, the tension in the lines of his face easing. There's a gentle curve at the corner of his lips that almost qualifies as a smile.

Any irritation you had felt at his rather brusque and unsentimental arrival home after having disappeared (as he does) for over a week starts to thaw when he walks towards you.

One sturdy arm, firm and warm, comes to rest on the small of your back, and he pulls you closer, head dipping into the side of your neck as he presses his lips to your touch-starved skin. It melts away the last trace of aggravation in you.

Then his hands draw down to curl around the back of your knees, lifting you up from the floor, with seemingly no effort, as he hikes your legs around his waist.

"This is a very transparent attempt at distraction," you accuse, as he carries you across the flat.

Marc sets you down on the edge of the bed. One hand hooks the hem of his shirt, dragging it upwards, revealing the expanse of bare golden skin that has saliva pooling in your mouth, as he pulls it over his head.

That hint of a smile that’s already on his lips curves even deeper as he thumbs open the button of his jeans.

"Yeah, but it's working." He leans down, capturing your lips with his, and you probably should be more than a little bit indignant at how he's got your number, but as his firm torso presses you down flush against the mattress, you're just not.

You wake in his bed. Quilts draped low on your hips, you’ve fallen asleep without a shirt or sleepwear, wearing only your knickers and the biting cold of the flat eats into your bones and you find yourself inching closer to the warm heat of his body, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

"Morning, love," he greets you in a murmur thick with sleep. It’s soft and melodic, as he presses his lips to your hairline indulgently. No longer the curt, and impassive American tone. Instead, it's all sweet and dulcet.

It’s Steven.

You nuzzle further into him, nipping at the warm skin of his neck and revel in the way he lifts his chin to give you more access.

"How was it?” you ask against the curve of his neck, “Where did the three of you go?"

"Saint Petersburg, and a small village some hours away by train. Marc handled most of it this time, so I don’t recall much. I mainly got twenty minutes to myself while waiting for a bus in a small coffee shop, and– Oh!” He shoots up sitting upright in bed, the sudden movement sending you tumbling to your side against the mattress.

“I got you a souvenir in fact. You’ll love it." Steven is already flinging the quilt off his legs and most of the bed in one fell swoop as he jumps to his feet and darts across the room, leaving you in bed trying to regain your bearings from the sudden switch in energy.

He drags Marc’s bag into the middle of the room, and the metallic rasp of the zipper fills the quiet space. "It should be here somewhere. Sorry, sorry," Steven mumbles as he continues to dig through the contents of the bag. "I know I put it in here... unless Marc threw it out."

“Oh wow!” The sound of rustling stops.

You tilt your head, trying for a better view, but at this angle you can’t quite see what he’s holding. “Is that my gift?”

“No,” He shakes his head, turning the small object in his hands with a delicate motion. “No, this is something else. It’s some sort of artefact—Egyptian, judging from the hieroglyphics. Marc must’ve brought it with him…”

Steven holds it up against the ceiling angling it towards the light and he's squinting his eyes as if to make something out.

"Essence of Min. A gift for mankind to rise," he reads out, then he holds the box closer to his lap out of your sight again. “Huh. Min was the god of sex in Ancient Egypt. Some kind of talisman, perhaps? Or wait— seems like it’s a… hmmm.”

His words trail off as his concentration is solely occupied by the box. You hear small clicks and sliding noises, as Steven continues to fiddle and, while your own curiosity is peaked, the warmth of the bed is also much too cosy for you to leave.

“Aha–” Steven exclaims as he holds it up victoriously.

The object glints golden in the light. The bright reflection blinding to your eyes that you don’t quite make out what it is he’s holding. A small golden box…

The recognition of what Steven is holding dawns on you, and you sit up quickly, throwing an arm out, like you could stop him from doing what you fear he’s already done.

"Steven, wait! Marc said not to touch–"

Before you can finish the warning, there’s the mechanical sound of gears turning and clicking into place. A sharp hiss emits from the box, and then there's a puff of smoke.

A wisp of a deep blue flame intermingled with white, rises up in the air and stretches outwards, like branches on a tree, seeking for something. You see it. The thin branches of vapour reach out for Steven streaming between his parted lips as he inhales it with a choked cough.

"Oh God, Steven!" You scramble from the bed, fighting to get free of the sheets, nearly falling in your haste to reach him. You dash from the bed and fall to your knees on the floor next to him, not even realising you’ve dragged the bedding with you until you have to release it to grab him by his shoulders.

His eyes are glazed with a feverish sheen, his dilated pupils widening impossibly further as he stares up at you. Beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

Marc’s warning, not safe, rings ominously in your head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is why you hate it when he keeps things from you or doesn’t explain them properly. Is it a box containing all the horrors of the world like Pandora’s? Is it just some old dust? Oh god, was the dust the cremated ashes of an ancient demon? Is Steven possessed now?

You grab Steven’s face in your hands, seeking out his eyes to see if he’s still here with you. “Steven, are you okay?”

His eyes roll worryingly to one side, struggling to focus before they finally settle on you, but it’s the pain etched onto his brows that makes the worry in your chest expand into alarm.

“I... don’t know, I don’t–” he slurs his words. Eyes slowly blinking with the clumsy movement of someone who’s inebriated. “I think– I think I’m not feeling too good. I– I feel hot…”

Oh god. Oh God. What if it’s poison? What if– Shit, shit!

Panic spreads along your spine, and you turn around towards Marc’s bag tearing the zipper the rest of the way open as you start to scramble through the contents. If it’s poison, Marc would have had some kind of antidote, surely. He’s smart like that. Right?

There are clothes, Marc’s passport where he looks like a serial killer, a gun (right, not touching that), and a notebook. Nothing that looks remotely like an antidote. No vials of neon liquid, no nothing.

Fuck.

In your desperation, you open the small notebook without thought. A folded note slides out and into your lap, and you pick it up, unfolding it to find an old, faded polaroid of the very same golden brass trinket box.

‘Gift of Min’ the caption says, just like Steven had read off the artefact before. Your eyes flit over the paper, taking in the old-timey typewritten message.

WARNING: HIGHLY POTENT APHRODISIAC INSIDE

DO NOT TOUCH CONTENTS

DO NOT CONSUME CONTENTS

AVOID EYE CONTACT WITH CONTENTS AT ALL COST

Wait, what? You read and re-read the words, trying to process the information. An aphrodisiac… Some kind of ancient viagra? Or an aphrodisiac like oysters and pumpkin seeds are aphrodisiacs? That hardly seems enough to warrant Marc’s concern.

Turning back towards Steven, you observe him. His chest is rising and falling erratically, fidgety fingers coming to the collar of his t-shirt and tugging the fabric away from his throat.

No, this is not a reaction caused by a boost of zinc in one’s diet.

Kneeling, you carefully approach Steven again. You rest one hand against the bare skin of his arm and Jesus, he’s burning up. So hot, it’s scalding against your fingertips, and you pull away from the sheer surprise of it.

“I-I think...” he’s struggling to get the words out, tongue darting out to wet his trembling bottom lip, looking like a man dying of thirst. “There's something wrong with me.”

“Steven,” you call out softly, “I think we need to get you to A&E. Can you walk? Should I call the ambulance?”

“No, I don’t–” his eyes squeeze shut, mouth clamped tightly closed for a moment then shakes his head vigorously, like he’s trying to push something away. “No. I don’t need the hospital. I’m not sick. I– I just need–”

“What?” you prompt. Lifting your hand to cup his jaw, you draw you thumb over the plane of his cheek to try to soothe the pinched pain in his face. “What do you need, Steven? I’m right here.”

He stills at your touch, slowly opening his eyes.

They’re pitched so dark they’re nearly black. For an extended moment your heart stops beating when you see the raw hunger that meets you there. A thrill shoots down your spine. A dormant instinct wakes in you, that of a vulnerable prey when it spots a predator. Run, it screams in your veins. But it’s already too late.

Steven surges forward, mouth crashing into yours hard, forceful and bruising. The impact overwhelms your balance, and you fall backwards, landing on your back on the pile of discarded bedding with Steven on top of you. He catches himself with his hands on the floor, stopping just short of flattening you completely thankfully, but his weight is still bearing down on you, crushing you into the floor. You didn’t realise how chilled your skin had gotten, shirtless and exposed as you were to the cold air of the room, until Steven was pressed up against every inch of you, his body emanating a near feverish heat.

His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip with a hungry lick, begging you to open up for him, and you do. Steven is always hungry for you, he kisses you like he’s starved for it. But in the past, no matter how lost in it he got, his eyes always kept note of your reactions. This is different. Reckless even.

It sends a thrill through you, and god, this is not the time, but you can’t help the fact that your body responds to him the same way it always does. His hands come up to grip your shoulders, pinning you down as if there was anywhere else for you to go with his weight already trapping you against him.

Something’s not right.

You try to call out his name, try to snap him out of it. But with his mouth firmly covering yours, any noise you make turns into a melted groan that he greedily swallows. His hips grind into yours. You can feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock through the thin confines of his boxers, twitching hot and insistent against your thighs, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, clenching in response.

“I’m sorry, love,” he breathes, lifting his mouth from yours for a brief moment. Not nearly long enough for either of you to fully catch your breath. “I’m sorry. God, I just– I want… I need you–”

And God, when he says it like that, voice hoarse and scratched raw with hungry need, it makes you forget everything else. For a moment, you don’t remember that something is not quite right. Too preoccupied with your physical reaction to the man you love on top of you. The sensation of him breathlessly pressing urgent kisses against your cheeks and whispered words of adoration in your ear. Your heart races in your chest. It’s beating so hard it feels like it is going to burst out of its cage. Your hand snakes between your bodies, clumsily forcing it past your torsos that are melded together by the way Steven is pressed up against every inch of you.

It’s a struggle to get your hand inside his boxers. Steven isn’t helping with the way he refuses to let there be even an inch of separation between you. Your fingers touch up against the soft skin of his stomach underneath his t-shirt as he continues to kiss you breathless. Your fingers fumble until they catch against the edge of his boxers, and finally, you manage to shove your hand inside where you can feel the velvety smoothness of his cock brushing up against your palm.

You make a small circle with your index finger and thumb as you reach for the bulbous head of his cock. Fuck. He’s already dripping. Precome welling out of him until his cock is slippery to the touch as you wrap around him. The sharp tendril of excitement that shoots up your spine already has you salivating, and you feel overheated. It makes you wonder for a second if you’ve been affected by the vapour as well.

It’s difficult to reach or to control your movement in this position, but you trace your fingertips up the length of him collecting the drops of precome that are dribbling down and spread the wetness over the sensitive head of him.

His gorgeous brown eyes roll into the back of his head as they flutter close, and Steven shudders at your touch, dropping down to press his face into your neck with a choked sob.

“Sorry, I don’t– I don’t know what’s happening.” He’s thrusting into the circle of your hand, seeking more—any friction you will give him.

His brows are furrowed, pinched in the space between with what looks like pain, and your heart breaks for him. All you want is to take that pain away, relieve it in any way you can. So you shove your hand forward, forcing your grip down along the length of him until your hand is wrapped around the thick base, squeezing down firm.

He stills and groans, the deep crease on his forehead easing just slightly.

“It’s okay, Steven”, you murmur, trying to be reassuring. Moving your hand up the length of him with a gentle pressure, testing your way forward. He’s burning hot and throbbing in your palm. With each thick inch of progress, he shivers under your touch. So much more sensitive than he normally is. “It’s all right. Does this help?”

“Yeah– God, yes.” He gasps then moans into your collarbone as he ruts into your hand mindlessly.

It’s awkward, with little grace to speak of. Your arm protests the unwieldy angle, and the cotton fabric brushes up against your knuckles with each press of his hips into your hand. You can’t move much, barely able to move your hand enough in the cramped space between your bodies to properly stroke him. Not that it matters, Steven is taking what he can have, his movement growing more erratic by the second as do the noises he makes, and God, this should not be as hot as it is.

You can tell he’s already close. His shoulders are tensing, neck straining, that gorgeous jaw clenching down as if he’s trying to bite down a scream. Soft whimpering moans devolve into strangled groans and almost-growls. His skin is feverish under your fingertips, burning up like a furnace as he keeps fucking himself into your hand.

"Fuck ohfuck oh fuck, I'm gonna–" the whole of his body seizes up, a pained muffled groan wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest. He stiffens and sobs brokenly into the hollow of your throat.

And then you feel it: his cock pulsing against your fingers as he spills into your hand. Rope after rope, it’s thick and warm. It gets everywhere. His stomach, yours, up the inside of your wrist. It drips down your hand, coating your knuckles and is running a sticky mess down the heel of your hand.

He collapses onto you, unable to hold himself up. His heart is pounding so fast and so hard you feel it beating its way out of his chest where it’s pressed against you. You keep stroking, prolonging his pleasure for as long as you can, until his moans subside into soft little whimpers, body shuddering violently above you at each stroke. Only then do you finally let go, drawing your hand out from between you and wrapping both arms around his back to hold him close to you.

“Was that good, Steven?”

With great effort, he drags his head up just enough so that he can rest it against your forehead and give you a small nod, apparently unable to speak. His eyes blink almost sleepily, and there’s a sweet half-smile on his lips that makes your heart flutter.

Relief floods your chest, as you watch him. The pain-filled expression in his eyes, fades away and melts into the familiar softness you’re used to seeing there. Perhaps you two managed to ride out the worst of the storm.

“Thank you, love. That– that was,” he’s still catching his breath, his chest expanding and deflating against yours. “Amazing… So good. Incredible, and I–” he’s still rambling adorably, trying to find every positive synonym in the dictionary to thank you.

Steadying himself on one shaky elbow, he starts to pull away from you. “Thank you,” he repeats again as he raises himself up on hands and knees and looks down between your bodies.

You can’t see what he’s seeing from this angle, but you can easily guess by the way his eyes trail down between the valley of your breasts down to your belly that must be smeared with his come.

It doesn’t last long. Steven shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from you and pushing himself up until he’s kneeling, looming above you.

There’s something sheepish about his expression, eyes not quite meeting yours, and it puzzles you. Your eyes roam over him as you take in his dishevelled appearance. His cheeks are flushed a deep crimson red. Whether from the rush of excitement from his climax or embarrassment, you’re not entirely sure. His shirt is wrinkly and clinging to the roundness of his hip and– oh. Oh.

His cock is still hard. Slick and glistening in the morning light, where his boxers have slipped far enough down his hips for it to spring free, standing fully upright in attention. So hard it looks almost painful where it’s firmly pressed against his stomach.

Steven is observing your watchful gaze, peeking at you through his lush eyelashes timidly.

“Can we–” he stops for a moment. His pink tongue darts out to lick his kiss-swollen lips. Any embarrassment bleeds out of his eyes, as his pupils dilate, eating into the warmness of those brown eyes of his. He stares down at you hungrily, trying to find his words. “I’m so sorry to ask, love, but uhum... Could we, possibly, maybe– go again?”

“Uhm,” your eyes are drawn down towards his thighs where his cock twitches eagerly under your gaze against the slick, sticky mess smeared around his belly button.

Warning bells sound off between your ears, sharp and shrill, alerting you to run. It’s there in your veins, adrenaline pumping under your skin.

This is probably more than you can handle. Steven is towering over you, just as eager and hungry as before his release, without any signs of flagging exhaustion.

Realistically speaking, how long could it take before this is out of his system? Minutes? Hours? Days? Will it ever end? Does he even have a refractory period right now? You know none of these things. To think you can handle this by yourself is at best an arrogant mistake that Marc will come to scold you for and at worst it could be a danger to your physical safety.

The smart thing to do is to seek immediate medical attention. Maybe they can stomach pump him at A&E.

Bloody hell. What if it is some otherworldly horny deity!? Would that even help? God knows what Marc brought home in his bag. What if it—whatever it is—ends up possessing the hospital staff? Can you in good conscience expose the clueless civilian public of London to that?

You can deal with this, a voice echoes in your head. You can take care of Steven. You want to take care of him.

You hear your name from his lips. A desperate and eager little sound and you look up to meet his pleading eyes.

"Is that alright? Can we love? I need to hear you say it." His lush bottom lip quivering with the needy ache that you can almost feel radiating from him as you watch his fingers flexing at his side. His jaw is grinding down, and you see the small muscle there flex. Drugged and out of control as he is, he’s still clinging onto his composure by his literal nails that are currently digging into his skin, not willing to do anything without your explicit permission.

Fuck, you can’t leave him like this.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you cup his cheek under your palm, trying to soothe the tenseness with your thumb.

“Steven, don’t worry. We can go again. As many times as it takes until you feel better, okay?”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he’s immediately pulling away from you, hands reaching for the hem of his tee-shirt as he pulls it upwards and tugs it off his head with such force that you almost expect it to rip.

It’s a miracle it doesn’t. Instead he’s kneeling above you, bare-chested, naked skin lit up against the natural light of his flat, golden and slick with sweat. He is so gorgeous it makes your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

His boxers come next. Hands forcibly shoving the elastic and clingy fabric down his rounded hips, and kicks them off into the corner of the room. Then his eyes search for you. Those eyes, normally wide and doe-like, are now sharp and almost predatory again.

Not for the first time this evening, you feel some lost survival instinct thrumming in your veins, urging you to run, warning you that this is not a good idea. Still you ignore it. Stay firmly in place as he reaches for you, because survival instincts be damned, you want this— want Steven. Will always want Steven.

His hand grabs onto the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. He’s fumbling with your knickers, hands so eager they’re shaking like a junkie waiting for their next hit. The delicate lace fabric snags at your hips in his hurry to get them off you, and when they won’t give, you feel the harsh tug biting into skin. A loud rip tears into the room. You yelp in surprise, before you realise that Steven has torn your panties in two.

It’s not something he’s ever done before without asking for permission first, but here you are. This is what you get for ignoring your self-preservation instincts. You only have half a second to mourn that these were one of your nice pairs, expensive ones—which you are damn well going to invoice Marc for later—before Steven positions himself over you, gripping his cock in one large hand.

Your mind goes blank, and you stare up at him in awe.

There’s still come dripping down the length of his cock, and his hand reaches over to your sticky one, scooping up what’s left on you, and using it to coat the length of his cock until it oozes down, slick and shiny under the dim lighting.

You’re transfixed at the sight of it, watching in a daze as he notches the fat glistening tip against your entrance and starts to push in, his head dropping to your collarbone as he shudders into you.

After his obvious impatience and the recklessness with your knickers, you brace yourself for a forceful shove, expecting the demanding slam of his overeager hips as he pounds into you. He doesn’t though. Somehow, even possessed and near manic, Steven still finds it within him to take his time with you. This world could be ending, a comet crashing into Big Ben, and Steven would still refuse to be rushed when it comes to you and him.

The first thrust is a slow and drawn out drag, and you think you can feel every throbbing vein and ridge of him as he stretches you out on his cock until he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“God,” his hips stutter and jerks into you as he sobs your name with a broken moan into your skin. “You feel so good. So fucking good, my love”.

His voice is melted and sweet in your ears. It makes your insides ooze with warmth and something as sweet and thick as honey drips inside your veins. Fuck, something must be wrong with you too, your insides are burning up. It’s all white bliss invading every cell of your body. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. He’s barely started, and all you want is more. To be filled up by Steven in this way forever. God, you never want him to stop.

His arms are trembling at the side of you. Steadying himself, he pushes himself up and away from you on one hand, dragging out his hips, slow and torturous until only the tip of him rests inside. You feel empty at the loss and immediately cant your hips upwards, pressing up against Steven, chasing the sensation of his thickness inside you. And as always, your sweet, courteous Steven obliges you.

Those nimble fingers come to clutch at your hips with a grip so firm, you can see the way it carves dents into your supple flesh. He holds you there, steady, as he pushes his way in, slow and thorough. Bliss crackling along the entirety of your spine, with every inch of him that he fills you with.

It’s ridiculous how pretty he is. A lone drop of sweat drips down the arch of his nose. Eyes closed shut and his face pinched in concentration. His hair is a mess, raven locks furled into tight locks from the heat and perspiration against his forehead. One sole stray, little curl has fallen onto his eyebrow, and you reach out to tuck it away. Even fucked out, most likely drugged and out of his mind, Steven is the most beautiful man you’ve seen.

The touch has him fluttering his eyes open for you, gaze searching until it locks in on your face and then sharpens into something dangerous. The look tells you he wants to eat you alive, flesh, skin and bones, he’ll swallow all of you down to the marrow. You want him to.

With your eyes still locked on his, you feel more than see his hand fall away from you as he reaches behind him until he’s caught your ankles, gripping them tight. He grabs your legs up around his waist, locking them over the luscious curve of his ass. Then he lets go and his hands come to the small of your back.

The floor beneath seemingly disappears, as he lifts you up with that surprising strength of his that you’ll never get used to, forcing your pelvis to tilt up to meet him. The new angle has him pushing in impossibly deep. It punches the breath from your throat with a pathetic high-pitched whimper. Has your thighs tensing and burning, your cunt spasming and clutching down on him involuntarily. He’s so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

“Fuck love, fuuuuck.” His nostrils flare. He’s growling now. Voice almost unrecognisable with a raw animalistic edge scratching at his vocal cords in a way you’ve never heard before. But he’s relentless as he keeps going, pressing his way inside you.

“You’re squeezing my cock so fucking tight. Feel so good, always so good. Don’t wanna stop. Never gonna stop fucking you.”

The palm of his hand draws a long shaky line along your arm before it reaches your hand, and he weaves his fingers with yours, pinning your hand on the floor next to your head. His forehead rests on yours, eyes affixed to yours. He has you trapped underneath every part of him, and that’s okay. It’s perfect. Because it’s exactly where you want to be.

Everything is sharp heat simmering under your skin. The pleasure of it is fucking blinding. You can feel it gathering, unmistakable warmth pooling in your belly. The floor underneath you sink and float all at once, and you try to squeeze your knees together to anchor yourself somehow, but Steven won’t let you. His other hand is on your knees, prying you open even wider for him.

Every muscle and joint goes taut, seizing up. The pleasure and overwhelming bliss fill you from inside out until there’s nowhere left for it to go. It’s overflowing, pouring out along every single nerve of your body. You can’t breathe, can’t see. Can’t fucking think. It’s so much, too much, that you’re overcome. But something’s missing, and you don’t know what. It’s like you’re too keyed up, ratched one notch too high to actually come. The immeasurable pleasure spiking your veins with nowhere to go.

You clutch at Steven, fingers grabbing hold of whatever part of him you can reach. You’re drowning in the overflooding sensations washing over you, and the only thing you can think to do is to cling onto the broadness of his arm like he’s your life-raft as you go under. You pull him down until you’re surrounded by his warmth and bare skin. And that’s it. That’s what you needed.

This man is all you fucking need.

Pleasure flares out through you, and you come with an unforgiving orgasm as you squeeze around the thick hardness of his cock. The tingling heat wraps around your bones and limbs, pouring into you with a sweet, slow thickness until you are drunk with it. It stretches out for so long, you lose all sense and measure of time and reality. You could stay in this blissed-out twilight for an eternity, die here and be glad for it.

Steven’s not stopping, still thrusting into you as he moans brokenly. His cock pulses inside you as he spills into you with a shuddering gasp.

You hum with satisfaction, savouring the sensation and how full you feel. Steven fills you to the brim with his release, until it’s slowly dripping and leaking out of you he is still prolonging his own pleasure and yours with gentle, slow thrusts.

His cock drags out until he’s almost slipped free, but then he stills while barely inside you. One hand comes up to cradle your face, spanning from your jaw to your ear as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. His thumb gently coaxes your mouth open so he can dip his tongue inside, and you let him. Your sweet gentle Steven. You’d let him do anything to you.

His hand drops from your face, palming your breast, then the side of your ribs before he grips at your hips, and presses his body close to you, and oh oh fuck–he’s–

You gasp, squeezing your eyes tightly shut at the sensation of his still hard cock pressing back inside of you, stretching you open all over again. You’re sore and oversensitive, but with how wet you are and his come still leaking out of you, there’s no resistance as you accept the thick intrusion of him no matter how tightly you clutch onto his cock, until he’s buried inside you as deep as he goes. And still, he tilts his hips and grinds down on you, nudging something inside you bright and blinding. Reaching impossibly deep in a way that has tears sting behind your eyes. Then he slides out, only to do it again. Again and again – and fuuuck again.

He keeps thrusting into you, stroke after stroke, with an unfaltering pace. His cock is still hard inside you, even as you feel him twitching inside and hear him gasping sharply in your ear from the overstimulation overwhelming you both.

“Steven, fuckfuck Steven–” You scramble for something–anything, to hold onto. Blunt nails digging into his strong forearms, with enough strength that it must break skin but he doesn’t even flinch.

He’s still rutting into you. Deep, persistent thrusts, and you can feel every inch of the hard length of his cock drag along your oversensitive cunt, stuffing you full. You’re spasming from the overstimulation, squeezing your legs as tightly as you can around his waist. But oh God oh God, he’s not stopping, even as he’s apologising.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t– can’t—fuck—can’t stop.”

You don’t know if it’s because your first orgasm never truly subsided, or if unbelievably, Steven is already working you to a second. But it doesn’t matter, it’s already happening, washing over you with each demanding thrust of his cock inside you.

Your veins are bathed in blissed-out pleasure. Static fills your ears, buzzing through your stomach, and it’s already happening again–

Fuck oh fuck, if he doesn’t stop– if he keeps going–

“Stev–” You never get to finish his name. Another orgasm overfloods you, heat and light swimming bright and sharp in your veins as it grabs hold of you and takes you under, holding you underneath the surface until you can no longer breathe, until you drown in it. Warm and blissful, sweet and ripe. It’s everywhere. Climbing between your ribs, infiltrating your lungs until it’s all you can breathe instead of air. Overtaking every cell in your brain.

Steven’s cock pulses inside you—Did he come too? God, you’re too fucked out to tell. Everything is floating, your vision blurry with tears. You’re sniffling, choking out a weak cry as Steven keeps going. Slower now, but he’s not stopping.

“Wanna feel your beautiful pussy squeeze around my cock again. Need you to come for me,” he rasps out and you are shivering as your brain starts to process the meaning of his words and the full implication of them. “Please, love, just once more. One more time, then I’ll stop.”

He drives his cock inside in one smooth and long stroke and he hits something devastating inside you. Sharp almost painful pleasure spikes your lungs, and you sob out, spasming into his touch. God oh God. You don’t know if you can survive this.

Out of nowhere, his thrusts slow to a still. All of a sudden his hereto undivided attentiveness and gaze on you tears away. He shifts his eyes sideways, gazing into the empty space of the flat. You don’t understand what has caught his attention as you turn your head in the very direction. Steven’s eyes are staring into the pitched blackness of the tv screen, like there’s something inside. Then you realise that it’s because there is.

You are never privy to their conversations as they happen. Can’t see or hear the others inside of the reflections. Can only guess what is being said unless one of them repeats the conversation for you.

Is Marc there?

Is Marc telling him to stop?

If so, you should be relieved. Happy that Marc’s come to save you like a knight in shining armour riding on a white horse, but instead of relief, you feel torn.

Jesus bloody Christ. What is wrong with you that there’s a twinge of regret at the thought that it’ll stop here?

It’s insane. Because you’re pretty sure your body reached its limit an orgasm and a half ago, and you barely know how you’re still conscious considering how hard you came on the last one. The insides of your legs have gone numb and you can’t even feel your fucking toes anymore. If only your brain could catch up and face reality.

Above you, Steven squeezes his eyes shut. He shakes his head with an aggressive force, as if trying to forcibly shake Marc’s voice out of his head.

“Ste–Steven?” you call out, fumbling his name as you utter it, your tongue heavy and slow in your mouth.

At your voice, his eyes slowly open. The black pitch that’s overcrowding his eyes, hungrier than ever.

“One more, love, jus’ give me one more, yeah?” His voice is slurred and drunk.

You should say stop. Deep down, as overcome and out of control as he is, if you asked him to stop, you still believe he has it in him to stop. For you, he would, supernatural forces be damned.

Your mouth parts, rounding your lips to say the word. But nothing is coming out. Instead you look up at Steven, heart filled with love for him, as he looks down at you in return, pleading.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and the love and worship you see reflected back in those eyes is overflowing, making your heart skip a beat at the sight of it.

You nod dumbly, signing your name and signature over the dotted line, knowing fully well that you are sealing your fate.

“One more,” you agree, “just one more, Steven.”

The room is thick and heavy and you’re not sure how long it’s been. How many rounds Steven has gone or how many times he’s made you come. Every nerve in you feels like a live wire. Overstimulated and plucked raw from pleasure. Your hands are on his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscles there.

Steven’s filled you to the brim with him, and despite how tightly you’re squeezing down, and the perfect fit of your cunt wrapped snugly around his thick cock, his come with nowhere left to go, you can still feel it, leaking out of you. It's trickling down your ass and soaking the floor underneath with each relentless press of his cock inside you.

It’s obscene, the fucking mess he’s making out of you.

Your head is heavy and dulled. Your tongue feels like it's anaesthetized where it presses against the roof of your mouth. You can’t find the words to ask him to stop—not entirely, but just for a few seconds, just enough to give you a breather—because you’ve seemingly lost the ability to speak. You’ve forgotten how to form words with your mouth, the only noises you remember how to make are moans, gasps and whimpers as his cock thrusts into you without ever stopping.

Long desperate thrusts, as his hands are gripping tightly into the roundness of your hips, tilting and slanting you just right for his cock to hit that perfect inescapable angle inside you. The one that has tears stinging behind the corner of your eyes.

Then it builds again, pleasure bright and unforgiving in your lower stomach. It numbs your thighs with the weight of it, and you don’t even know how, cause there’s no strength left in you, but your toes are curling in response, back arching up and off the floor. The ceiling is spinning, and you are tipping over, across the edge and boundaries of Steven’s flat.

“Fuck, love. You’re so tight, squeezing my cock so– Oh God, Oh God. You’re coming again aren’t you?”

A raw sob is wrenched out of your throat, because fuck, Steven is right. Your body seizes up. That’s what this is. You’re coming for him again. It rushes over you, spreading along the inside of your thighs down to the curl of your toes. You’re wrung out and exhausted even as the sensation fills you.

He pulls out, cock resting against your fluttering pussy, as he bends down to press his lips lovingly against your forehead, sticky with sweat. He’s mumbling something incoherent about how well you’re doing. How amazing you are. But for all his loving sweet words, he is ruthless. He doesn’t let you rest, barely lets you catch your breath. You’re still spasming from the aftershocks as he positions himself back between your legs.

“God, you’re so beautiful, love. I love you, I love you,” he keeps repeating, as he’s prying your legs open with his knee and notches his cock against your slippery and dripping hole.

“Love you so much,” he says, again. Then he drapes himself over you, mouthing indulgent kisses along every square inch of skin on your face he can reach. “Again? Can we go again?”

You can’t do anything but nod and close your eyes, craving it all over again despite how wrung out you are. He guides your knees up on his shoulders and rests them there as he pushes forward, bending you until he’s nearly folding you in half. Then he notches his cock against your entrance, pressing inside, and he splits you open again, filling you with every inch of that love he’s professing, pressed tight inside of you.

When you come to. It’s dark in the flat, save for the low dim light from the nightstand and the pale shine from the moon looming above the large windows.

You’re on the bed, you realise, and Marc is sitting beside you, looking a little worse for the wear, his brows knitted and a grim line set on his mouth. He must have moved you.

Something soft and damp brushes up between your legs, and you realise when your eyes flick down that Marc has gotten a wet cloth and is wiping you down with the gentlest care and soft movements. Despite his brusque mannerism, he’s considerate, your Marc. Too considerate to let you lie there on the floor in a kiddie pool of Steven’s come, even if it meant disturbing your sleep.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs. His hand comes up to cup your cheeks with a gentleness that warms you from the inside out. “You okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m–” Oh God, your voice sounds like you’re a 60 year old smoker. The word scratches against the walls of your throat leaving a painful itch. You harkle, and Marc looks even more concerned than before as you try to speak. “The box, what was–”

“Some kind of old relic that the old Gods liked to mess around with”.

You anchor your elbow to raise yourself to a sitting position on the bed. Fuck, everything feels sore. Muscles aching and burning even with that little effort. Your elbows wobble, unable to withstand the weight of your body, and Marc’s hand darts out to catch you, holding you steady as he helps you to sit upright.

“Full explanation, please,” you manage to rasp out as you throw him a pointed look.

You’re met with that familiar set line of his lips, that almost-frown, that tells you he doesn’t want to speak.

But you both know you’ve earned this one.

“It contained some sprite-creature that derives from the ancient Egyptian God Min. I don’t really know the details, but the box was meant to seal it in. Keep it from doing,” he gestures vaguely, “this.”

Oh god, so you really weren’t that far off the mark when you’d frivolously made the joke about releasing a god from its bonds.

“It’s secured by a puzzle that took experts over a decade to decode. Figures I leave Steven unsupervised for two minutes, and he cracks it,” Marc mutters. “You don’t have to worry. I trapped it back inside the box.”

“Where– how’s Steven?”

Marc lets a heavy exhale through his nostrils, reminding you of a frustrated bull with the way his shoulders are bunched up and tense.

“He’s on a time-out,” he says, as he keeps his hand on the cloth on your leg and gently drags it up your skin. “I tried to take over as soon as it happened, but he was too far gone last night. Wasn’t able to take back control until he was knocked out from exhaustion.”

Seemingly done with cleaning you up, Marc throws the cloth across the room and lands it perfectly square into the laundry hamper. He pulls himself straight, turning around as his eyes meet yours again.

“Don't be too hard on Steven when he wakes up. The stuff in the box is uncontrollable.” Marc says, pleading for the man’s case, even though he himself seems to be riding hard on Steven. Guess it doesn’t apply to himself.

He continues to palm the outside of your thighs up to your hips in a loving apology. Because it’s Marc, he doesn’t apologise with words, never has. He does it with his actions. At least that’s how it’s always been.

Until now, apparently.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly with a contrite tone, eyes looking into yours with sincere regret.

You blink at him in surprise.

The skies have parted and fallen over. Hell has frozen to the point it makes Antarctica seem cold. If you look out the windows, surely pigs must be flying across the London skies crashing into a Boeing Airbus. Because, Marc Spector, is apologising to you. With actual words.

You nod, so stunned you almost accept his apology without forethought. Except, you can definitely push this now when he’s unguarded. Squaring your cheek, you sit up on the bed, pinning his eyes with yours.

“You have to stop doing this,” you say, and Marc looks at you with a worried expression on his face, and you take his hand in yours.

"Don’t hide things from me. Especially not sketchy magical supernatural stuff. And especially fucking not when it involves an ancient crazed, sex god."

You search for his eyes, expecting him to protest, but he doesn’t. His hand just squeezes down tighter on yours as you continue.

"It doesn’t keep me any safer. I’ll get caught up on it one way or another, because I’m with you… and Steven, and Jake. That’s not going to change anytime soon. So it’s better if I at least have an idea of what I’m dealing with. It’s much scarier when I don’t know."

He’s quiet, but obviously listening.

It's almost eerie how obliging he is right now. It's the guilt, you realise as you watch the way he's slumped, eyes drawn perpetually downwards as if the floor has suddenly become the world's most interesting thing to watch.

"When I ask you what something is, tell me. That way, next time something like this happens, I'll know what's going on."

He still doesn't answer, so you tip his chin up to meet your eyes, seeking out eye contact until he relents. "Alright?"

Marc gives you a small nod. Then his eyes narrow, with the determination of a man who believes he can bend the laws of physics by sheer willpower. "There won’t be a next time.”

Dedication: You've all guessed it by now, to my one and only, the prawniest of them all!!! @thirstworldproblemss who got of her sleepy bussy just to help me beta-read, edit and meticulously do cockulations of Steven's clothing choices which kept changing throughout like it was Barbie's dreamhouse as well as the physically impossible contortions he was performing. I love you--moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooost

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

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eternalsams · 17 hours

Text

Agree to Disagree

Summary: Peter doesn’t believe you when you tell him you would've had a crush on him if you had known him in high school.

Warnings: None, this is just fluff featuring Husband!Peter and a Brooklyn Nine-Nine quote :)

masterlist

Half-packed boxes surround you as you sit on the floor, a beaming smile plastered on your face as you go through a stack of photographs. Your husband leans against the doorway watching you, “Good to know that neither of us did much packing.”

You turn your attention from the pictures to Peter, “Got distracted by old stuff too?” He steps further into the room and takes a seat beside you, “Big time. Found my old DS and spent the past thirty minutes playing Mario Kart, you?”

You turn a photo around to show him, captured within the glossy film is a younger version of yourselves, sitting at what appears to be May’s kitchen table, Peter’s elbow propped up on the table with his chin resting in his hand, grinning as you excitedly talk about something. “I wonder what I was talking about here,” you say, turning it back to you.

He tilts his head to the side, giving the picture another, before taking the rest of the stack out of your hands and starts looking through them himself, “Hand gestures and the passion in your eyes tells me it’s about why Amy and Laurie were perfect together and how Jo and Laurie were platonic soulmates .”

You perked up at the mention, “They were platonic soul-” Peter cuts you off, “Why do we have a picture of MJ and Harry making out?” Your eyes scan the photo in confusion but you quickly light up realizing why the photo was in your possession, “Oh! It’s from the night we met, look you can see us in the background.”

“You mean the night you fell madly in love with me after we all played Monopoly and you threw the thimble at my head because I bought Illinois Avenue and refused to sell to you?”

“Peter.” Your voice was stern despite the playful look in your eye. He lets out a huff, “The night you flirted with me for twenty seconds and I became obsessed with you forever.”

A giggle leaves your lips at his words, “That’s more like it. MJ showed me and I asked for a copy, it’s technically the first photo of us together even if we weren’t dating yet. I wanted to remember it.”

“Aww, you like me,” he teases and scoots over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He glances down at the picture analyzing the background, and sure enough there you two were sitting on the couch his arm draped around the back of the it laughing as you whispered something in his ear. “Most days…oh my goodness look at this baby,” you say, spotting a picture of Peter from high school, “You’re so cute and dorky…or well extra. God, I would have had the biggest crush on you.”

He scoffs at your statement, “Yeah right…I was so nerdy and awkward back then, high school you would have never given high school me the time of day.”

“Peter, my love, I need you to shut up, that’s future my husband you’re talking about.” You furrow your brows at him.

He shook his head and persisted, determined to make his point, “I’m serious. There’s no way you would have liked me then, I was this lame and insecure guy who had no idea how to talk to girls.”

“Okay? So was everyone else. I know I didn’t know you then but feel like you’re selling yourself short here. I mean look at you.” You push the picture in his face, “Look at this cutie. He’s super smart and pretty and even if he’s unaware of it, charming. I would've been head over heels for this guy if we met back then. I’d also like to add that we’ve ran into several people who explicitly told you they had a crush on you back then.”

His lips twitched up slightly, “That’s really nice of you to say, Honey. But we didn’t meet back then, you met and fell for MJ’s hot friend with bleached hair in college.”

“Wrong. I was under the impression you were a dickhead before we met. I will be the first to admit that you were in fact a hot blonde and I did begin to warm up to you after Monopoly was over but I didn’t fall for you until you started rambling about string theory. I had never seen someone light up the way you did, and the way you talked…you explained everything in a way that never made me feel stupid. Plus you got so flustered and started stammering over your words after I wiped salsa from the corner of your mouth and that-”

“-was embarrassing.” He concludes.

You shake your head, “It was adorable, you were so blushy.”

“That feels like an appropriate reaction when you nerd out in front of the pretty girl you've been trying to impress all night with salsa on your face, but you’ve made your point,” he pauses for a second then continues, “we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

You reach your hands out to cup his face and look into his eyes, “I was impressed, I love you and that big beautiful brain of yours. All it took was one conversation with you for me to know I wouldn’t be able to get enough of you, and I was right. It was true then and it’s true now and I’m certain high school me would have felt the same.” You give him a chaste kiss when you finish speaking.

Peter smiles into your kiss and then murmurs something against your lips, “God it’s like you have a crush on me or something.”

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eternalsams · 17 hours

Text

Hat

Jake - you’d look sexy in a cowboy hat

Yn - you have a cowboy hat

Jake - why yes I do, darlin’

*he lifts his hat off of his head and places it on yours*

Jake - I was right, absolutely sexy

Yn - Does that mean that I’m your girl?

Jake - you’ve always been my girl ever since I laid my eyes on you

Yn - Jake

Jake - hmm

Yn - you know that I know the hat rule

Jake - then what do you say, want to take this cowboy for a ride?

Yn - your place or mine

Jake - doesn’t matter unless you are under me and screaming my name

Masterlist

Taglist - @cevansbaby-dove @jessicab1991 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me @callsigns-haze @els-marvelvsp

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eternalsams · 18 hours

Note

Just one thought: aftercare with dbf!Jake (I feel like he'd be so good at it🥺)

because he WOULD!! this man is in his fourties, he's studied that shit!

top gun masterlist | top gun blurbs

Your body feels like jelly. Your limbs are all jelly. Your stomach is jelly and your head is jelly too. Everything is jelly. And it's so heavy. The air is so fucking heavy.

Not in a bad way, of course - oh no, not in a bad way.

You feel relaxed. You are relaxed. Wholly and completely relaxed. A smile stretches on your lips as fingertips run softly up and down your side. Slowly, you blink open your eyes.

"You good there, darlin'?", Jake mutters, his voice laced with heady thickness that wraps itself around your body and warms your heart.

"Yeah", you breathe and draw your hands carefully away from his shoulders to stretch. Jake smiles, drops a kiss to your lips and then sits back on his ankles. God, he looks heavenly. You've messed his hair up completely, there's a faint blush on his cheeks and his skin is glinting with sweat in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

"I'll be back in a minute", he says, climbing off the bed, his steps echoeing through the room as he disappears inside the bathroom. You let out a pleased sigh and roll onto your side - the bed is so warm and comfortable and oh, you could just fall asleep now. Your eyes flutter shut all by themselves. You draw your hands up, settle them snugly under your cheek and breathe in deeply. The bed smells like him. Everything smells like him.

Then he drops a kiss onto your hair.

"Turn back for me, darling", he mutters quietly, his voice so close to your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine. "I need to clean you off."

"I'm fine", you mumble sleepily, slurring your words into his pillow.

He presses a kiss to your temple and runs his hand up your arm - coaxing you, you realise, to do what he'd asked. You snuggle further back, further into him immediately - and oh god, it's working already.

"C'mon, darling", he urges softly, his fingertips brushing over your skin so pleasantly that he tears a small sigh right from your tongue. "Turn around for me."

You don't want to move. You really don't want to move. But you've got to, you have to when he's asking - because he's not really asking anyway, he's giving you one of those soft orders that pull at you like you're his marionette, tugging at your limbs and turning you around before your mind can even comprehend that you're rolling over.

"That's it", Jake praises, his hand already smoothing down your thigh, parting your legs for him and brushing the washcloth you hadn't noticed before down your skin.

It's not even cold. He'd let the water run long enough to turn warm.

If you were far enough in your relationship by now, maybe... maybe they would've slipped past your lips, those three magical words, in this honey-dunked, golden dream of a moment. But you're not, so you just settle back against the mattress, blink open your eyes and reach out for him, satisfying yourself with brushing your fingers down his face.

"Jake", you mutter as he pulls the washcloth away again. "If you leave me again, I will scream. So put that thing on the bedside table."

He chuckles, but drops the washcloth on the bedside table like you wanted, tugs the blanket up over your body and settles down next to you.

"Haven't screamed enough yet, darling?", he asks with a grin, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his chest. You rest a palm against his skin, snuggle close and breathe in deeply.

"Shut up", you mumble. And then, just for good measure, you hook a leg over his and inch even closer.

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eternalsams · 18 hours

Text

Mrs Hangman

Jake Seresin and his wife have an incredibly healthy sex life. That's how they find themselves role-playing as strangers in a bar, meeting for the first time.

Warnings: porn without plot, allusion to cheating (but not cheating), role-playing (married couple pretending to be strangers), oral (male!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), hickies, p in v, unprotected, not beta read

She was in her prettiest dress, one her husband had bought her for their fifth anniversary. It hugged her in all of the right places, the colour complimenting all of her features in the most perfect way.

If there was something her husband knew, it was what she'd look good in.

She sipped on her drink, some sort of expensive martini, as she looked atthe men sat around her in the bar. But none of them were what she was looking for.

Until a man in a casual shirt, a pair of jeans and dog tags around his neck walked up to her. "Hey there, Georgeous," he said, gesturing to the bartender to get him another drink.

She sipped at her martini as she looked at him. "Can I help you?" She asked, trying to sound unimpressed. But she couldn’t hide that she was impressed. A pretty face and, God, that voice. He was so tall, and the way his shirt hugged his arms.

"You can," he said, sitting down beside her. "By letting me buy you a drink."

She threw her drink back, swallowing the rest of the liquid and placing her martini glass on the bar top. "Sure," she said, her manicured finger moving around the rim of the glass.

He ordered her another martini. "I'm Jake," he said, holding out his hand. She took it and shook, offering her his own name.

When she pushed her hair behind her ear, she revealed her pretty, dangling silver earrings. "I like these," he said, gently touching them.

"Thanks," she replied, wearing a sultry smile. My husband bought them for me. But she didn’t say that last bit. That would have shattered the illusion.

"Look," Jake said as the drinks were put down in front of them. "I know you're not here it sit around and look pretty," he said, voice full of confidence.

She hummed as she wiped the lipstick stain from her new drink. "You're right, Jake. I'm not just here to sit around and looked pretty." She leaned closer, pressing her red lips against his ear. "I'm here to get fucked like a whore."

The way he kissed her after that. It stole all of the breath from her lungs and certainly messed up her lipstick. But she didn’t much care as she wrapped her hands around his neck, his own hands coming to mess up her hair.

It was hot and heavy, and she wanted more.

But she pulled away and swiped her thumb over his bottom lip. "Let me go and fix myself up," she whispered and pecked his cheek.

Jake sat by the bar as she grabbed her purse and walked over to the bathroom. While she was in there, Jake finished his only drink for the night. She touched up her lipstick and did what she could with her hair.

Checking herself over one last time, she made her way back to Jake. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked back over to the bar.

Jake couldn't deny that she looked gorgeous. But then she wrapped her fingers around the chain attached to his dog tags and, fuck, he'd never been so hard in his life. He stood up when she lightly tugged, and walked out of the bar, him following her like a dog on a leash.

He didn't need to tell her that he was staying in a hotel. She followed him through the lobby and into the elevator, letting him press the button for his floor.

If there were cameras in the elevator, they didn't much care. They were all over each other. His fingers dragged the bottom of her skirts up, not quite exposing anything just yet.

The elevator doors slid open and he pulled her down the corridor to his hotel room. The minute he had her inside, she was against the shut door, his lips attached to her neck. The little noises she was letting out were music to his ears.

He groaned, his body pressed against her own. She could feel him, hard through his jeans, pressing against his neck. It had her reaching down to cup him through the denim.

Jake pulled his lips away from her neck, throwing his head back in a groan. He temporarily released his hold on her and she sank to her knees, working on unbuttoning his jeans.

She freed Jake from his jeans and wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock. His fingers wrapped around her hair, not pulling as she moved herself forward and pressed a kiss to his cock.

She pulled back and looked at her handiwork. The lipstick stain on his cock; it was so fucking pretty.

"You little devil," Jake said through a groan, lightly tugging at her hair in a way that had her groaning, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

This time, she wrapped her lips around his cock. She sucked at the tip, tongue swirling. He threw his head back, eyes closed as he let groans escape his lips. She hummed against him, and the feeling was like no other.

She took all of him into her mouth, breathing through her nose as she went as far as she could. Her eyes watered as she held him there for a moment, trying to get herself back under control.

As soon as she had her breathing under control, she began moving. She moved her lips up and down his cock bobbing her head. Jake tried to keep his hips still, he really did, but it was harder than it sounded.

He slowly bucked his hips. It was so small, likely he wasn't even aware that he was doing it. But, when she gagged, he stopped and pulled himself out of her mouth. "Sorry, gorgeous," he said and took her hand to pull her to her feet.

Jake swiped his thumb under her lip, gathering up the mess of lipstick, matching her movements from her bar. "My turn," he said and picked her up.

Her legs wrapped around his mid section as he carried her over to the bed. His muscles rippled under her fingers as she dragged her nails over his clothed back.

He deposited her on the bed and pushed the skirts of her pretty dressed. "No underwear?" He asked, his fingers touching her thighs. "You really were looking to get fucked like a whore, weren't you?"

She covered her face in embarrassment, but Jake pulled her hands away. "It's okay, Gorgeous," he said. "I got you."

He pulled her up and unzipped the back of her dressed. Jake took a minute to feel the material, the satin under his fingertips. He pulled it down over her hips and discarded it on the floor.

There was some level of power imbalance as he stood over her, completely dressed while she laid on the hotel sheets, wearing nothing.

She let out a whine as his thumbs touched the underside of her breasts. He circled his thumb around her nipples and let his gentle touch moved her down stomach.

His touch to her thighs were soft as he parted them and climbed between them. The feel of his lips against the skin of her thighs had her locking her legs around his head, pulling him close.

He kissed her lips and ran his tongue through her folds. She cried out as he looked at her, looked at the way she used her handle to muffle her sounds.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs and dove in, nose brushing her clit as he moved his tongue against her hole. She thrashed about, tossing her head from side to side as she cried his name again and again and again.

His hands gripped her, bound to leave a mark. The thought had him smiling against her cunt. Her legs shook against his head and, when she began babbling out something close to 'I'm coming' left her lips, Jake pulled away.

She released him, giving him a moment to shed his clothes. But, while she watched him get undressed, watched him reveal the expanse of muscle that made his body, she couldn't help but miss the feel of him, warm against her.

But, before too long, he was back on top of her, connecting his lips to her own in a rushed, feverish kiss. She ran her nails down his back as he kissed her, his hips rolling against hers.

She tugged on his hair, pulling him back. "Fuck me," she said breathlessly.

That was all Jake needed. Her head his cock and he moved forward, slowly and gently pushing through her folds. A gasp left her lips, her nails stilling against him.

He buried his face against her neck as he began moving against her. His grip on her tight as he moved his body against her own. It was slow and gentle and sweet.

But it didn't stay that way. Before too long, Jakes hips were snapping against her own, holding her thighs around his waist to keep her close. It was animalistic the way he was fucking her, his lips feverishly kissing the skin of her neck.

She cried out, a continuous string of babbling. Jake had never heard such pretty noises in his life. If he could have played them over and over again, he would have. And that high pitched whine when she came around him, cunt squeezing him.

His jaw was tight as he slowed his pace, hips rolling against her own as he chased after his own high. And, when he came, painting her insides with his cum, she left those deep scratch marks in his back, ones she'd wear with pride.

Jake collapsed beside her. He was breathless as he touched her stomach, fingertips soft. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said and sat up.

She climbed off the bed with him and sat with him while they waited for the bath to fill. "We should do this again sometime," she said, taking out her earrings.

When the bath was full, she climbed in, and Jake sat beside her. He cleaned the sweat from her body, cleaned the mess from between her thighs. He rubbed warm water and soap over the marks he had left on her skin.

As soon as they were clean and dry, they climbed under the covers, tangling their body's together. Jake wrapped his arms around her and she laid her head on his chest, exhaustion taking over.

***

Somebody was shaking his shoulder. "Jake, honey," she said, trying to waking him up. "C'mon, we got to go."

He groaned and rolled over, pulling her closer. "Another hour, please," he grumbled, touching her head with his lips.

"No, baby. We've got to and pick up the kids."

Jake finally opened his eyes. He sat up and looked at his wife. "Fine," he said through a groan and picked her dress up from the floor. The dress he had bought for her on their anniversary, along with those pretty earrings.

"Was last night fun?" He asked as he began getting dressed.

She nodded her head, reaching up to touch her hickies. "I like pretending you're some hot stranger in a bar," she said and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jake kissed his wife's lips. "How about you let your hot husband take you home?"

She let out a laugh and kissed him again. "We've got to pick up those little terrors from your parents house," she said and poked him in the chest. "They get it from you, you know?"

"And that's why I'm so damn proud of them." He kissed her hand and led her out of the hotel room.

153 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 18 hours

Note

💛Beth!! 💛 I love it when the mood board bug bites cause you make the BEST moodboards!!!

Could I kindly request “being stuck in an elevator” with Jake? You just KNOW the banter that would be coming outta his mouth 😬😂

~ Lucky 🍀

Thank you so much for requesting Lucky!

I'm obsessed with how this moodboard turned out, Glen looks gorgeous drenched in black and gold 🫠

Warning: Mentions of child abuse.

⬆️ You never did this.

You weren't the kind of person to arrive at the hotel room of a man you'd only just met and ask to be let in.

All because you had a feeling he wanted you to.

Warm coals were glowing deep in your chest that said you and Lt Jake Seresin could become a blistering, burning blaze, you only needed to light the spark. The small campfire you'd stoked in those hours together couldn't be left to flicker and die. It would be a crime to allow so much primed kindling to go to waste.

Wouldn't it?

So you knocked on the door.

Earlier that day

The elevator doors began to close behind you, but they were halted in their tracks by a gleaming black shoe.

The most devastatingly handsome man you had ever seen appeared from the opposite hotel room and darted through the doors before they shut.

Your whole body tensed and when he shot you a grateful half-apologetic smile your stomach swooped as if the elevator had already moved.

You would have been content to spend your day dreaming about his eyes and the lingering scent of his cologne until you fell in love with the next gorgeous stranger that crossed your path. But fate had other plans.

Barely 20 seconds into your journey from the 5th floor to the hotel foyer, there was a loud clang, creak, and shudder.

Then nothing.

A minute passed in heavy silence.

Still nothing.

The man swore to himself and started hammering at the elevator buttons, muttering under his breath. "This can't be happening."

His frustrated button pressing was no use.

"I think we might be stuck," you said calmly. "maybe we should try the help button?"

He looked distinctly rattled by your statement but stepped back and raked a hand through his golden hair whilst you made the call.

A voice on the other end promised an engineer would be along as soon as they could.

The knowledge that someone was coming settled your nerves, but it didn't have the same effect on your companion. He was breathing heavily and staring at the floor, swaying on his feet as if he might keel over.

"Would it be weird if I sat down?"

You wanted to distract him and thought that would be better than the standard 'Are you ok?'.

He blinked, surprised.

"Not weird at all. You go right ahead."

Oh God. His voice.

"It might be weird if I was the only one sitting though... with a strange man towering over me..."

But in different circumstances? What a vision that would be...

His lip quirked. "Well, in that case, I'd better join you. It would be rude not to."

So you both sat on the cold metal floor. You exchanged names, job titles, and reasons for staying at a swanky hotel.

Lt Jake Seresin. Naval aviator. He was home from a recent deployment and in town for a friend's 40th birthday party (which he would now undoubtedly be late for). You were attending a networking event for work (you might still make it if you skipped the early dinner you'd planned with your colleagues).

Once Jake's initial anxiety had dissipated, he was mesmerising. Charismatic, magnetic, utterly charming.

You felt completely at ease in his company. He asked you thoughtful follow-up questions, and you bounced off each other’s comments like you'd been playing conversation tennis for years. You felt confident enough to make jokes and be opinionated, even to flirt a little bit, and Jake volleyed back your serves with equal panache every time.

But after 45 minutes or so, harsh knocks on the elevator door put a pause to your match.

“Hello hello! Engineer calling. You guys all right in there?”

“Just peachy,” Jake replied sarcastically. “We're having a ball.”

“Glad you’re in good spirits,” the engineer said, far too chipperly.

“Looks like you're halfway between floors which means this might take a while. Another hour or so at least. Sorry.”

You heard footsteps walk away again. And then it was just the two of you once more, shrouded in silence and confined in an uncomfortably warm and stark metal box.

“Fuck. Fuck – I can’t do this - Another hour?”

In a matter of seconds, Jake had gone from calm to petrified. He was gasping for air, his chest heaving, and you could sense his heart was pounding so hard you wouldn’t have been surprised if you saw it bursting through the fabric of his sleek black shirt.

“Do - do you have any water?” he croaked.

You did. You scrambled around in your handbag for the half-drunk bottle you'd shoved in there earlier and pushed it into his shaking hand.

He grunted a thank you, then downed it desperately before forcing himself to take deeper, longer breaths.

But his efforts didn’t seem to be working.

And the longer they didn't work, the more desperate Jake became. His eyes grew wide with panic, and his fingers began desperately undoing buttons as if that would give his lungs more room to fill with air. He was at serious risk of passing out, of that you were certain, and all you could think to do was scramble to your knees and get in front of him so you could coax him to follow your breathing.

“Just follow me, ok? Slow as you can. In… And out… In… and out… Let’s do some box breaths, and use the shape of the door. In for the top, left to right. Now hold your breath as you follow the line down, then exhale as you go across the floor. Hold on the way back up to the top again. That's it, you've got it. Keep going. Now picture the door is a window. You're looking out at some place that makes you calm. Maybe you're up in your jet, soaring over oceans or mountains or clouds. You’re safe. You’ve got this.”

Jake stared back at you intensely, nodding mutely and following every instruction until the storm in his mind had passed.

“Bet this isn't how you imagined starting your Saturday evening, is it?” he said wryly. “Talking an embarrassed claustrophobic down from a panic attack.”

You smiled gently. “There's no need to be embarrassed.”

“There is, if you knew why I'm claustrophobic in the first place,” he tittered. “My dad used to lock me in the basement closet for hours when I acted out.”

“Oh my God! That’s awful. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

A strange expression flickered across Jake’s face. “You know, you're the first person that I've told who hasn't laughed and made a joke about it.”

Who could possibly joke about something so heart-breaking?

“It's not funny,” you insisted. “It's cruel. No parent should ever do that to their kid.”

Jake shrugged. You got the impression he wasn’t quite sure how to react to your sincerity. “I’d tell you it's all in the past and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but… well, you know. Thank you, though. No one's ever been able to talk me down so quickly before. I’ll remember what you said for next time, that's for sure.”

The two of you spent the next long while talking about anything and everything, favourite movies, childhood pets, dream vacations. It felt so easy, so natural, like you were sharing memories with someone you'd known all your life.

“Wow. We’ve been in here almost two hours now,” you said, glancing at your watch. The time had felt like nothing to you.

“Shit, really?”

You nodded. “You know what they say, time flies….”

“When you're in good company,” Jake finished, changing the ending of the well-known phrase.

Your face flushed.

“I couldn't have asked for a better person to be trapped in an elevator with,” Jake added.

“Let's not make a habit of it, though.”

“Agreed regarding being trapped in elevators, I’m a hard pass on that one. But what would you say about spending time together, more generally speaking? Preferably outside of a giant tin can?”

Your eyes lifted to lock with his. But, before you could open your mouth to reply, the engineer's voice came booming.

“Good news folks! We have lift-off. Freedom awaits in t minus 20 seconds.”

You both emerged from the elevator to an expectant crowd; a rather smug looking engineer, a few members of hotel staff, and curious hotel residents who’d congregated to see what all the commotion was about. There was even a smattering of applause as the door opened and you and Jake dusted yourselves off and stepped out onto the gilded carpet.

He was swept up by a group of his friends almost immediately. They whooped and jeered and jostled him out of the foyer within a matter of seconds, giving him barely a chance to look back.

You carried on with the rest of your evening as planned. But you felt in a state of bewilderment the entire time. You mingled and made small talk at your work event, all the while convincing yourself that you were making the right decision about how you would end your night.

Surely, it would be better to know than live with the maybe?

The sound of your knock on Jake’s hotel room door seemed to echo endlessly along the corridor.

Were you making a mistake? What if your time spent together in that small metal box had been some strange dream, and any moment now the floor would jolt, and you would bolt up in bed?

You heard movement. The shuffling footsteps.

All you could do now was hold your breath.

34 notes · View notes

eternalsams · 18 hours

Text

Instinct

Synopsis: Astarion and Tiriel have a very busy night after a battle and have to deal with unexpected consequences.

Tags: smut, breeding, hurt/comfort, some emotional angst It's not exactly a breeding fic since neither Astarion nor Tiriel planned to have a child, but the shameless smut ended with unplanned pregnancy. And now they have to deal with what comes next. Bonus: you will learn why Astarion calls Alethaine 'princess'

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Tiriel won’t let them take her home from her.

She has never had one. Always a stranger, always a wanderer, but Daggerlake became her home. A place that welcomed both her and Astarion, thanking them for saving the townsfolk from a nasty fey pact.

Ever since then, Tiriel belongs – she has had a roof above her head and friends among the townsfolk. And even Astarion can relax because the town has a vast underground part where he is safe in the shadows without having to hide.

And those bandits decided they could take it away from Tiriel?

They should have thought better!

Tiriel steps over a dead body. The fight is over and so is her rage. She single-handedly finished off a dozen of these men and women who didn’t know who their enemy was.

But her body wishes for more – more fight, more blood, more rage.

She looks around trying to see Astarion, but he is nowhere to be seen. It’s night and Astarion rushed to the surface part of the town letting the people of Daggerlake protect their homes and families while he, a full-fledged vampire, was going to show those bandits they had chosen the wrong town to attack.

Suddenly, someone grabs the fistful of her hair forcing her to gasp.

“Astarion?”

She looks at him and innate fear pierces her. They've been together for twenty years, but Tiriel hardly remembers him looking like this.

He looks like a vampire.

Like a vampire on a hunt.

His eyes glow red, and his clothes are soaked in blood. His skin feels feverish and his pupils are dilated.

Tiriel knows it’s him but she also can’t suppress her fear. He is a predator, a hunter, a vampire. Should he be her enemy, she won’t be able to protect herself.

He pulls her closer and kisses her. Tiriel feels the blood of a dozen dead enemies on his lips. His strong hands squeeze her and she knows he will fuck her right here among the dead bodies in the streets of their hometown if she allows it.

Tiriel answers him with the same passion – he wants to be a dangerous vampire? Good to know – because she can be a wild warrior girl who takes what she desires.

But Astarion isn't in the mood for being dominated, and he drags Tiriel back to their home – anyone who would see them right now would think this an assault, not a prelude to lovemaking.

Astarion pushes Tiriel behind the gate. As he closes it, Tiriel gets a sudden idea.

If he wants to be a predator tonight, she should let him play till the end.

She drops her ax on the ground and rushes inside the house – there aren't many places to hide but she is going to let him chase her. And maybe fight a bit.

“And where do you think you are going?” He growls. His voice sounds different and even scary. Nothing more intimidating than a blood-drunk vampire.

“Such a terrifying vampire needs to hunt his prey,” Tiriel laughs.

“Don’t tease me, wild girl!”

She rushes to their bedroom, but before she even manages to think about her next move Astarion jumps on her from the ceiling, pinning her to the floor.

And then he starts ripping her clothes off.

Tiriel roars and pushes Astarion with all her remaining strength. He pulls away but only for a moment before sinking his fangs in her neck. She gasps from the sudden pain but still tries to knock him down.

With every moment her movements become weaker and she finally stops resisting letting Astarion ravish her body.

He pulls away studying her face.

“On your knees.”

Tiriel abides. Her shirt is ripped and shows off her breasts.

“Good girl,” he mutters, getting rid of his own clothes. His cock is painfully hard and Tiriel cannot think about anything but having it inside her.

He approaches her, tugs her by her shirt’s collar, and pushes her to the bed. He tears the rest of her clothes off and bites her again.

Tiriel’s world shrinks to these two things – pleasure and pain.

Astarion doesn’t waste any time and penetrates Tiriel, causing her to yelp.

His thrusts are rough and so are his touches.

Tiriel, drunk with her own rage, keeps fighting back – she scratches his skin, tugs his hair, tries to push him as if he was assaulting her and every one of her movements makes Astarion wilder, rougher, scarier.

She manages to get away from under him, but he immediately presses her chest-down into the bed. Now, he fucks her from behind placing his blood-hot palm on her back.

Slap.

His palm leaves a red print on her butt and Tiriel gasps.

“Astarion-” Tiriel mewls as he leans to wrap his hands around her chest. He pierces her shoulder and keeps moving roughly.

He comes with a guttural groan and kisses Tiriel so intensely she is afraid to suffocate.

And instead of pulling away, he proceeds to fuck her again.

This time, he is very gentle and his eyes don’t glow anymore.

“Astarion!” she gasps when he bites her breasts.

“Delicious,” he mutters, licking the droplets of blood from her sensitive skin.

His second orgasm comes simultaneously with hers and she clenches around him forcing Astarion to stay inside her.

Astarion sees it as permission for the third round. He sits up and places her hips on his lap.

She squirms riding her orgasm and cries out something incoherent, but it seems like Astarion isn’t going to stop any time soon.

Tiriel has a weird feeling his heart is beating.

“Such a good girl,” he hisses. “And all mine.”

“All yours.”

Astarion moans in her ear and she feels his seed leaking down her sore thighs once again.

As it happens, Tiriel feels the world fading away, and the last thing she sees is Astarion’s red eyes.

When Tiriel wakes up, her body is sore and her skin feels disgusting. The mess between her legs has caked and the bite marks all over her body itch.

She gets up and gasps with a sudden pain – her body is covered in bruises, and she doesn't know which of them are from her enemies and which are from her lover.

Probably teasing Astarion was a bad idea.

She needs to bathe.

Tiriel puts her legs on the floor and notices her clothes folded up carefully.

And repaired.

She smiles at the thought that all these hours of her sleep Astarion was right there sewing and watching her. He loves watching her sleep. When she asked him about this habit before, he confessed that he didn’t see a point in looking at anything else but her.

Tiriel opens the door of the bathroom – Astarion sits in the hot water with a book he puts down the second she enters.

“Careful, darling, entering like that. I might want another round.”

“I can barely walk. Spare me, my lord.”

Astarion chuckles and tugs Tiriel into the bathtub.

“How much did I sleep?”

“Almost a day.”

Tiriel sits beside him and Astarion places his head on her chest.

“You know, everyone would think we should be less passionate two decades into our relationship.”

Astarion kisses her shoulder. “You are not getting any colder.”

“Oh no, you love me only for my body warmth! And what if some vampire turns me into an undead?”

Astarion doesn't answer immediately. A decade ago this joke would offend him so much he wouldn’t have talked to her for the whole day – but the nightmares and terrors of his past life have been left behind.

“Then we would lie in each other arms in front of a fireplace, forever young, forever beautiful”

She caresses his ears and he nuzzles her collarbone.

Then Tiriel looks into the water.

“How much did you drink yesterday?”

“A lot.”

Tiriel sighs and straddles his lap, feeling his hardness between her legs. Astarion doesn’t hesitate – a second later, she is already rolling her hips as his cold cock gets warmer inside of her.

“You know… You feel much better… when you are like that,” she admits. “Cold, no heartbeat. That’s more to my liking.”

Tiriel feels awful. It seems like her own body is revolting against her.

“Go to see the healer,” Astarion asks. “Tiriel, honestly, if you don't go yourself, I will drag you there.”

“Tyrant.”

“And you behave like a child! Gods, sometimes I forget I am 200 years older than you!”

Tiriel looks at him and frowns. “You are not.”

“Tiriel, you are my sunshine and my love, but your lack of cognitive abilities is beyond me. How old were you when we met?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Good. By that time, I had been enslaved for 200 years and I was turned at 39. I am more than two centuries older than you.”

Tiriel wants to say something, but she vomits again.

“I'm just sick! Aaah!”

Astarion pulls her up and slings her on his shoulder as if she were his war bounty.

Despite all her efforts, she can’t free herself and accepts her fate. Thankfully, it's rather late and most of the townsfolk are asleep, though she notices a jealous look from a baker.

“Put me on the ground.”

“Let them see what real relationships look like. You know that the blacksmith’s daughters asked me where they can find vampires like me?”

“Hope you didn't send them to the Underdark?”

“I told them I am one of a kind,” Astarion slaps her butt. “But we need to remind these people who we are.”

Astarion stays outside as Tiriel enters the healer’s hut – its owner, a halfling woman, looks at her with annoyance.

“What happened, Tiriel?”

“I am fine! My husband forced me to visit you.” Tiriel describes the symptoms. “I think I got food poisoning.”

“Food poisoning… Tell me, Tiriel, when was the last time you bled?”

Tiriel ponders. Her cycle has always been irregular –- a common thing among half-elfs. Humans are the most fertile race in Faerun, whilst elves are known to see their rare children as gifts from gods. So, Tiriel’s rare menstruations are unexpected obstacles, not something she should endure once a month.

And besides, she sleeps with an elf AND a vampire.

“I don’t remember. Maybe last winter.”

The healer hands her a tiny bundle of herbs. “Chew it. But don’t eat.”

The taste is so gross that Tiriel almost vomits again. She spews it on the floor - and the herb slowly changes its color to black.

“What’s the fuck is that?”

“Tastes like bile, doesn’t it? Oh, why do I have to go through all of this… I knew it couldn’t end well when we invited you two to stay here. You are pregnant.”

“I am… what?”

“You are pregnant, Tiriel.”

“With all due respect – my husband is a fucking vampire! I think his ability to fuck a child into anyone went to the grave along with his breathing, heart beating, and food preferences!”

“I am sure I’ve heard of half-vampires. Now go! I have more urgent patients to take care of. You know, it was a bad idea to use the innkeeper like a battering ram!”

Tiriel leaves the hut feeling as if she was just hit with something heavy.

“Tiriel?” Astarion looks worriedly. “What did she say?”

Tiriel is so scared she wants to cry. There is something inside her, something alive and growing – she can think of her husband as an elf all she wants, but right now she carries something half-dead inside her. Something unnatural. Something… that belongs to the shadows more than to the realm of mortals.

“My sweet, what is it?” Astarion demands. “What happened?”

And Tiriel confesses.

“Maybe… is it a mistake? She could have made a mistake! Gods! No, it can’t be…” He panics.

“Too much blood,” Tiriel says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve drunk too much, remember? I could hear your heartbeat. You were almost alive…. And I…” Tiriel hesitates. “I have my period once a year. It probably was the day when I could conceive.”

Astarion shakes his head. He gets anxious. Scared. She knows this face too well.

“Astarion!” She tries to grab his hand, but the vampire is too fast. In a moment, he disappears in the tunnels. “Astarion!”

Tiriel stays alone in the streets. She sniffs and returns back home, so quiet and silent.

She can’t imagine Astarion leaving her, but she also can’t imagine herself pregnant.

Maybe he is right, the healer could have been mistaken. She needs to wait. Yes, Tiriel needs to wait.

Astarion doesn’t return in the morning. He doesn’t return the next day. Tiriel feels terrible – she can barely eat or walk. The very thought of going after her husband feels exhausting – she just wants to lie in her bed without making any coherent movement.

She also constantly cries – Tiriel tries to justify it with the feeling of loneliness, but deep inside she knows the answer.

These are the mood swings a pregnant woman endures.

Astarion has never felt so shitty and pathetic in the last twenty years.

He despises himself for his fear and doubts.

His nature demands him to run. To leave and never return. Whatever Tiriel has inside, he can’t deal with it. He can’t be a parent. He doesn't want to become one.

Two centuries of enslavement – only twenty years of freedom. And now what? Will he be stuck raising a child? Which might be born so deranged and ugly it will be barely a sentient being.

He can run. He can disappear and leave Tiriel. She is a beautiful brave woman, the moment the townsfolk realize Astarion is gone there will be a line of men and women courting her.

Even with a monster child.

He walks through Secomber, a sleepy town on the border between the Sword Coast and the High Wood. It took him two days to get here and now he tries to make up his mind.

And what if it’s not his? Tiriel is so loyal and loving, but what if she wanted someone warm, someone who didn’t drink her blood? She could have gotten drunk and picked a man for a one-night stand.

No, it’s not like her.

Astarion is just a pathetic coward who can’t bear responsibility.

He has to come back. He can’t abandon the only person he ever truly loved and who never abandoned him even in his darkest hours.

But he is still afraid. He is paralyzed.

Suddenly he hears a loud cry.

He turns around and sees a human girl, maybe four or five (he still has issues with understanding human age, always assuming someone is younger than they are). She sits on the side of the road, her dress, a tiny copy of an adult one, is dirty, and her knee is bruised. The girl sobs as tears flow down her cheeks.

A weird feeling stirs in Astarion’s undead heart. A desire to console this child, to do something to stop her from crying. She is so vulnerable, so scared… and where the fuck are her parents, or whoever is responsible?!

The door to the tavern opens and a young man rushes to the girl.

“Daddy, I’ve fallen down… and…” She cries, wrapping her hands around his neck.

“That’s all, right, princess,” he answers, stroking her back. Suddenly the man turns around and notices Astarion. “Are you looking for something?”

“What? No, I just heard the cries.”

“Well, she cries so loud she can be heard in Daggerlake. If you need a room, there is another inn on the western side of the town. We are out of beds today.”

Astarion shakes his head. No. He is going back. The sunrise will meet him in the woods and he will hide in a cave. He will be back to Tiriel in two days, begging her to forgive him.

Because he can’t live without her. And he…he wants to experience what is coming next.

“Princess… An interesting pet name,” Astarion chuckles. The girl has already stopped crying and now she watches the vampire with curiosity.

“Yeah, we are far from nobles,” the innkeeper smiles. “But she is my only daughter and who are girls to their fathers if not princesses?” with these words he kisses the girl’s forehead and enters the inn, closing the door.

Astarion walks inside the house. Tiriel is fast asleep, he can hear her breathing. The kitchen is messy – it seems like his half-elf wife was hungry all these days but didn’t have any strength to clean the mess.

Astarion comes to the bedroom and lies beside her. Tiriel opens her eyes and touches his cheek with tender fingers.

“I knew you would be back.”

“I am sorry. I was scared.”

“I was, too. But I can’t run away from what is inside me.”

“I know, love. I will never do this again”

Tiriel places her cheek on his chest. “If the child is half-undead, can I ever carry it?”

“I don’t know.”

They lie in silence holding each other in their hands.

“You know… I’ve been deprived of mortality,” Astarion says. “Everything normal was taken away from me. And yet I am here. Married. With my own house. Free to do anything I want. When I was in Secomber, I saw a man with his daughter. And you know, I just… wanted the same thing. To carry my own child in my arms. Because it’s a normal mortal thing and if so, I will be no different from that young innkeeper who calls his baby daughter ‘princess’.”

Tiriel caresses his cheek. “I need to go to that innkeeper and ask if he needs anything for returning my husband to me.”

“You need to see the girl. Such a lovely little creature,” he smiles.

“Ours will be lovely too.”

Astarion elbows up. “Tiriel… we are going to keep it, aren’t we?”

Tiriel sighs. She did think about terminating, Astarion realizes. In those dark hours when he was hiding like a coward.

“I want to keep it,” Tiriel says. “Besides… I am still a half-elf. It’s not like miscarriages are rare among my race. Let’s see how it works out.”

Astarion smiles and finally relaxes enough to meditate.

Druids hate the undead because, unlike nature, they can't change. He will prove them all wrong. His life is changing and he is too.

In the best and scariest way possible.

He puts his palm on Tiriel’s flat belly. Somehow, he is sure they are going to have a girl. -- Tag list

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eternalsams · 21 hours

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When I’m scrolling through a blog and see they reblogged one of my posts

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eternalsams · 1 day

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Glen and the Ram truck ad reminds me of his interview with Miles back in 2022.

ITS TRUCK MONTH.

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eternalsams · 1 day

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about time we found each other again.

leto atreides x reader

summary: even years after your wedding got called off, leto is not sure he truly really got over you.

warnings: implied cheating (I am so sorry lady jessica I love you), death of a parent, angst, probably inaccurate dune lore stuff my most sincere apologies I did my best

tags: f!reader, arranged marriage, first love, love confessions, estrangement, time jump where the second part takes place a few years before the first movie (this doesn't matter at all tbh)

word count: 2.1k

this is my first time writing for leto so I hope he's alright lol<3

When you came to meet Leto Atreides for the first time, it was instantaneous; maybe you couldn't rightfully affirm it with conviction yet, but some deep part of you immediately knew that you desired him to be the one by your side for the rest of time.

He had been the only other person around your age when you and your family attended a special meeting on Caladan, and you could very well feel your heart beat faster and your cheeks burn hot at each of his furtive glance thrown your way and each slight smirk over either of your faces when your gaze met his.

Maybe leaving your home land and being sent to eventually move to Caladan wouldn’t be as bad as you had thought, after all.

And it wasn't. You quickly, borderline scarily quickly fell in love with Leto, you were sure of it by now. His manners were those of a man of respect, and he was kind and compassionate, he didn’t have the over excessive pride you would expect from a destined duke.

And ultimately, you grew to also be almost pretty sure that he felt the same way towards you, from the way he listened to you with no feigned interest whenever you shared stories with him, from the way his warm brown eyes so gently looked over at you, from the way he always made sure you were treated right.

You remembered it to be a warm evening when he officially confessed his love to you.

You had been walking mindlessly through seemingly never ending fields, talking about anything and everything for what felt like a lifetime, eventually stopping to lay down and watch the sun set.

Leto had settled on gently putting flowers in your hair while you told him about your childhood on your home land, smiling radiantly as he admired you lovingly, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand before he leaned in to kiss you.

Your own hand was quick to find his dark curls neatly slicked back as he hovered over you, the tip of his fingers delicately tracing your face and neck before he pulled away from your lips when it became absolutely necessary.

From there, the sunset and everything else became insignificant, everything could be crumbling around you and you wouldn’t pay it any mind; nothing mattered, not when Leto promised to love you until his very last breath here in the middle of nowhere.

So when you eventually had your parents visit you on Caladan and announce to you that you had been sent there for them to agree with the Atreides upon arranging a marriage with Leto, you couldn’t be happier and it couldn’t be more convenient; you would have chosen him anyway, if given the choice.

Leto had the competence of making everything seem so easy, and he turned out to be quick to ease your worries about your upcoming future as a duchess.

Even under the looming political pressure of your marriage, this wedding meant a starting point for the rest of your life, a part you could not wait to share with him, even if it meant a lot of responsibilities and changes.

Then so suddenly, all at once, it all fell apart, everything.

It was late in the night when you and Leto were laughing and dancing, rehearsing for the forthcoming wedding. Servants had knocked onto your shared room door, and Leto’s hand left your waist as he scurried away to answer the door, opening and making way for them to enter the room.

They came in with a polite nod, one of them unrolling a parchment letter, reading out loud to the both of you.

The letter was from your father, announcing the news that your mother had died while on a mission, resulting in the need of your presence at your home land to take over her legacy and responsibilities for a while.

You didn’t understand what it involved right away, maybe from the shock of the sudden, dreadful news, the loss of your mother too hard to swallow.

You didn’t understand that it meant that you and Leto were bound to be no more, that either of you were now assigned to different fates and responsibilities, that the marriage was therefore called off for the moment being.

And you quite certainly didn't realize that the night you spent tossing and turning around your shared bed with eyes wide open until the sunrise was the last night by his side, that the morning you left was the last time you would see him.

Until years later, what felt like a lifetime.

When you came back to Caladan for political and business reasons, it was only because of the absolute necessity of your presence, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up.

Finding him again after so long drowned you right back again in the same hollow feeling you endured the moment you were drawn apart years ago, and while you mirrored his polite nod and smirk, you couldn't help but still feel the pain of being estranged so brutally, of seeing him again after so many years.

He was wearing the slowly appearing gray streaks of hair beautifully, and the beard suited him like he was made for it; it made his handsome face look a bit more harsh and severe, but he was a duke now, after all.

You lightly cleared your throat as you made your way to leave the meeting once it was over, troubled as you could feel the weight of his gaze burning holes through you all along. You could feel your heart pound through your ribcage the exact same way it used to when he held you when you were younger, and you ultimately came to the rotten conclusion that your stay here in his presence would be a tough, challenging time for you, and that dwelling on the past had been a bad idea, exactly like you had anticipated it to be.

—

It was wonderful out there, just like you had remembered it to be. The view from the balcony offered you an endless panorama over Caladan and its lush lands, and while you loved your home land with your whole being, you couldn’t deny missing living on Caladan.

The fresh breeze of the night was nothing but pleasant, and even though you were slowly starting to feel goosebump growing over your skin, you figured the view of the sun starting to set was more important.

“I thought I could stay focused while in your presence.” you recognize his voice all too well, and you wonder if the shiver running down your spine is caused by his sudden apparition or the wind hitting you. “I was deeply wrong”

“Leto,” you chuckle sheepishly, blushing as you turn around and face him.

A bittersweet smile has quirked upon his face, and he steps further and approaches you. The years have been unkind to him, lines of wisdom and experience growing upon his face transforming him into a man hardened by duty. Yet, beneath the rough facade, you can still see the eyes and soul of the man you once knew and loved.

“Why only now?” he asks, a certain helplessness painted across his face.

“What?”

He sighs as he looks away, licks his lips as he walks besides you and grips the barrier of the balcony with both hands. You only hear the wind as you watch and wait for him to do, to say something.

“This should have been yours. All of this” he mutters, gaze fixed on the sight before him. The clouds look like cotton ripped apart and spread through the wide sky, and the sun setting over Caladan turns them into an abnormal color, one you wouldn't even be able to define. “I waited for you.” Leto declares, head turning to look back at you like he is trying to figure out how you feel or waiting for you to say something.

Your eyes close as a small exhale leaves your mouth. “Why should it matter now, Leto” you scoff, turning away to try to escape his gaze, heavier than you remember.

“It has always mattered” he declares, following your steps as you try to inch away from him. He calls your name in a weak plea, his hand coming to rest over your arm. “Look at me. Please”

You do. You turn back to him, and he looks at you like you will be slipping away from him any moment now, like you're just a ghost, like you're water in his bare hands. “Tell me you did not think of me all those years and I'll leave you alone.” he whispers feebly, face close to yours as he still holds onto your arm, and you can feel your breaths mingling from how close he is to you.

His unwavering gaze is locked on yours, desperately waiting for you to say something. Eventually, your lack of response speaks for itself, and he nods slightly. “That's what I thought.”

“Leto.”

His hands come to cup your face, holding it steady as with a sigh, his forehead rests against yours. Your eyelids fall shut under the weight of it all and you exhale softly, your hand wrapping around his wrist, stroking along his forearm.

“I have loved you since I met you. I should have found you and married you regardless.” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His declaration makes something flutter deep in your core, and you grimace like his words feel sour to hear. You should have done it differently, should have come back to Caladan after everything went back to normal after your mother's death.

“And your wife?” you rhetorically ask, with a dubious scoff.

“She's not– we never married.” he shakes his head, pulling away from your forehead to look back at you, your hand falling to your side again when you let go of his arm. His gaze and the way his eyebrows are angled weakly are conveying everything you need to know, confirming every conclusion you made.

Your lips part slightly, some part of you refusing to believe in what he's indirectly telling you, refusing to believe that he gave up on some part of his life waiting for you.

“We were promised a marriage together, a life together” he continues, taking hold of your hand, fingers lacing with yours tentatively. “I always hoped you would come back and we would resume our life together where it stopped.”

“Now still?” you weakly ask, equally pained and somehow flattered that he never really got over you.

Again, the lack of answer and his previous actions prove the point, and you hold his hand tighter when you swallow with difficulty. Your other hand slightly trembles when you reach to touch his face, settling to rest at his bearded cheek, and you smile weakly as you trace the lines that you never got to witness appear.

“We were so young” you smile, drawing one out of him. The corners of his lips turn upwards as his hand covers your own over his face, pulling it to bring it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles softly, the feeling of his warm breath over your skin taking you years back.

“Don't go back.” he begs against your hand, his voice wavering a little. There’s a glint in his eyes as his gaze darts up at you that makes it impossible for you to consider refusing and giving up on him again. “You belong here.”

Your eyebrows knit in uncertainty as you tear your gaze away from him, looking at the endless view again. You can't help but overthink every consequence coming back to Caladan is going to involve, for you as much as for Leto, and especially for his own concubine that is at this point already long forgotten by him.

This is unfair, but some part of you acknowledges your younger selves feelings and remembers how devastated you were to leave him; leaving again while knowing that he still cares after so many years and regrets not marrying you may hurt even more.

“This will make people talk, Leto.” you wince, looking back at him.

He shakes his head carefreely. “Let them.” he affirms with a dismissive scoff as his hands settle over your hips. You grin softly as he pulls you closer, and a soft exhale leaves your mouth when your arms wrap around his neck.

He takes a while to admire your face, how it has changed despite still remaining the one of the woman he fell in love with long ago.

When he kisses you, it is the exact same way he used to when you were young.

—

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