Steve Helpfully Offering His Hand To Everyone Boarding The Boat, Only To Get Ignored Or Unnoticed Every

Hiiiii I love your Steven x reader fanfic u really deserve all the followers, it’s really well made.

Well I wanted to see if I could request a smut, since I’ve fell practically in love with the character of Steven, I wan te d to ask if u could write a fanfic where he is really submissive and shy, and the fem reader is more like dominant and teasing with him.

Nothing more, I will let you do the rest, I know u will amaze me either way. Thank u so muchhh

Devotion || Steven Grant x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> Word count: 2.8k

-> Steven’s late night routine of solving the Rubik’s cube has become somewhat of a guilty pleasure of yours. [ I hope that you enjoy this fic that I wrote! Thank you so much for your support and love on my previous fics, and entrusting me to write this idea. Big thanks to @foxilayde for beta reading and editing, I love you! ❤️]

Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!

TW/CW: Can you tell I have an Oscar Isaac hand kink? Sub!Steven and SoftDomme!Reader. Fingering, use of the word ‘Mistress’. Yet another relatively mild fic for me!

Shk, shk, shk.

The sound pulls your attention from the poetry book that you borrowed from Steven’s shelf of miscellaneous works to keep yourself busy. It wasn’t often that your concentration was compromised by noise, after all, you had been sitting beside the fish tank. The buzzing of the filter and the trickle of running water pushed to the back of your mind as you read through each sonnet.

Usually, when you participate in something you enjoy, such as reading, you find it hard to shake your undivided attention. Steven once commented that “bombs could blitz London for the first time in almost eighty years, and you would still insist upon finishing the page”. He certainly wasn’t wrong- there is a discipline to your leisure time. It’s not often you can carve out a moment of peace for yourself.

The sound of Steven solving a Rubik’s Cube over and over though? That is something you simply can not ignore.

Perhaps it’s obscene for you to find such a mundane thing so intensely *erotic*. You can’t help but be captivated by the way his nimble fingers rotate each layer of colored blocks with such practised speed. His gaze is intense as he navigates the cube, though you know he doesn’t need to study it so closely: Steven’s skills are such that he can solve it without even looking.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t control the urge. Your eyes leave the pages of poetry that had captivated your attention, and instead focus on something a lot more aesthetically pleasing and less mentally taxing. Your pupils seem to drag your vision towards the scene in front of you entirely against your will. To the shk shk shk.

Upon seeing it though, you can’t exactly say you regret yielding to your compulsions. Steven’s head rests back against a navy blue pillow, sprawled across his bed in a white cotton T-shirt and grey boxers, bathed in the silver moonlight that leaks across the mattress from the window that he had left open in order for you to read- despite you insisting that the light from the fish tank was sufficient enough. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks absently at the ceiling, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The sight is stunning, but your eyes zero-in on something even more engrossing. Steven balances the edge of the Rubik’s cube on the meat of his right palm, holding the little puzzle and solving it single-handedly. The joints of his fingers bend and crease as he reaches across the width of the plastic cuboid; tanned knuckles turning a pale shade with the stretch and the pressure as he turns the selected row to its desired position.

In the low lighting, the veins in the back of his hand are a pale greeny-blue colour against his olive skin and they stretch down to the joint of his wrist. His metacarpal bones protrude under his skin with certain movements, before disappearing back into his flesh upon his return to a less strenuous hand position.

Upon completing the puzzle, Steven’s stunning coffee-colored eyes glance down at the cube. He pinches opposite corners with his thumb and forefinger, rotating the game with his middle fingertip on an axis to assess and ensure that each of the colours are settled in their relevant groups. When satisfied, he undoes all of the work, scrambling the rows, this time with two hands, and beginning again with his head settled against the pillow as he stares at the beige ceiling.

“Steven?” You sound his name. It feels odd in your dry mouth, as though the syllables don’t fit between your lips. There’s a pulse thrumming in your chest and between your thighs as you feel your composure begin to slip.

Steven doesn’t hear you, your voice barely surpassing the volume of a whisper. Instead, the shk, shk, shk of the cube rows falling into place answer you in your expectant silence. The pad of his thumb strokes down the ridge of the cuboid with gentle precision and it’s enough to push you over the edge.

“Steven.”

The springs of Steven’s mattress creak slightly as his body jolts upright, shocked out of his concentration. There’s nothing on earth that could prevent him from focusing on you when you use *that* tone of voice with him. The kind that ramps up his blood pressure tenfold and straightens his spine to attention.

“Yes?” He responds cautiously, not entirely sure what he had done to deserve that timbre of voice. His eyes settle on your face, searching for some understanding of just how he had turned the atmosphere in the room without even realising it.

“Are you intentionally teasing me?” You ask him, tone even once again as you close the book that had settled in your lap. You don’t bother to bookmark the sonnet Steven had ‘interrupted’, the poem abandoned amongst the pages as you return to its rightful place on the bookshelf. Like a child with a Christmas present in April, it no longer held your attention. You’ve been gifted something far more fun to play with.

The panic that settles into Steven’s expression makes you feel as though your blood is fizzing beneath your skin.

“Tea- No! No, I wouldn’t dream of it, I- Have I been doin’ something wrong?” He stumbles over his words as he tries to justify a crime he didn’t even know he was committing. He drops the Rubik’s cube blindly on his bedside table, unintentionally showing his utter devotion to pleasing you. You know that Steven would throw himself at your feet and praise you until his knees bled if that was what you desired.

Standing with effortless grace from your chair, you’re careful to articulate that preeminence throughout the subtle movements of your body as you pass the floor towards the bed. The barely-there sway of your hips that makes Steven’s eyes follow the motion with his eyes left and right like a pendulum is how you know you’ve got him.

“I think… you got tired of me not paying attention to you, so you decided you were going to show me how quick those fingers are. I think,” you reach his side of the bed and bend slightly to rest your hands on the duvet. “You were trying to show off.” You point out with a playfully accusatory tone. Steven sits up in bed, staring up at you with painfully innocent eyes.

“No, I- just the puzzles, help me stay up…” Steven is quick to try to correct the record, motioning haphazardly around the room when he trails off, as if wordlessly filling in the gaps left in his answer: that staying awake keeps Marc at bay.

“Oh, they help you… stay up, huh?” You teasingly muse, eyes dragging down the length of his body in an attempt to make him even more jittery. It works.

“Oh no- bollocks- not like that!” You love seeing him struggle to form the words, to explain himself. You know it’s because he’s thinking of all the things you could do to him if he said yes. His words won’t leave his throat because pictures of you have infested his mind make him slow to form coherent sentences of explanation.

“Then what? Tell me, Steven. What is it like?” You whisper, quickly shifting the mood of the room again by taking hold of Steven’s face. His chin is cupped by your palm, perfectly manicured fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his cheeks and forcing his lips to purse. He looks adorable this way, owly-eyed and cheeks flushed as he hears your voice drop an octave.

His cheeks radiate heat and his eyes are cast low, down in his lap, as he finally answers. His voice is soft, words a little slurred and mispronounced with the awkward grip you have on his face, pushing the inside of his cheeks into the sides of his teeth. “‘S whatever you like, Mistress.” It takes you a little by surprise, the readiness Steven has to submit to your will, so much so that a long moment of silence washes over the two of you.

In the quiet, Steven doesn’t move an inch, eyes stuck to his lap as he impatiently awaits your answer. His body is board-stiff like his spine has been glued in place, and his face burns a light mahogany. It’s hard not to become engrossed by the image, to want to take a photo of the way his lips are smushed together in your grip. He’s so pretty like this.

“Mistress can think of a much better use for your fingers. Don’t you agree, Steven?” You ask, loosening your fingers and brushing your thumb against the curve of his cheekbone, allowing him to nod in earnest. You’ll forgive him for not responding verbally, for not using honorifics. This time. His eyelashes flutter as his iris’ flick back up to your face. He looks at you like you’ve offered him a winning lottery ticket when you release your grip. “Get to work, then.”

Steven reaches for you swiftly, nodding his head with enthusiasm as he anchors his hands on your hip bones. He doesn’t pull you towards him as you had expected, instead he pushes you back, forcing you to take a few steps in order to put some space between you and the bed.

“What are you doing? I asked you to use your fingers.” You question gently, and Steven climbs from the mattress onto the sandy, hardwood floor. He’s on his knees in front of you as he pulls the waistband of your pyjama shorts down over your otherwise naked hips and helps you step out of the discarded clothing. The realisation that you’re not wearing any panties causes him to whimper and the sound causes heat to pool in your abdomen.

Failing to answer immediately, Steven’s fingers wrap around your calf. He massages the muscle while gently lifting your thigh over his shoulder. Your heel is pressing into his spine and his other palm is careful to steady the foot on which you are balanced by resting a firm hand just above the back of your straight knee. “I wanna watch what I’m doin’ Mistress.”

Before you’re even able to fully digest exactly what Steven had meant, he’s sweeping those deft fingers through your hot, slick folds. The pleasure that rips through you so suddenly makes your quiet moan of bliss sound so distant. Your knees tremble as he drags the length of his index finger, tip to knuckle, across your clit, and you find yourself scrambling to grab ahold of his curls in a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

“Ohh~” You gasp breathlessly, head tilting backward as the spark of ecstasy skits down your spine from the base of your neck to the tips of your toes. Steven’s fingers are delicate, his finger joints adding an extra layer of sensation as they pass over your clit with an effortlessness akin to the way his fingers work that fucking Rubik’s cube.

“This good, Mistress?” Steven asks softly as he daintily sweeps the tips of his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingerprints before using the lubrication to circle your clit in quicker, smoother circles. He knows how you love it when he calls you that, always using the softest, neediest voice when he speaks each syllable.

You struggle to think of a response, as though every possible answer, verbal or otherwise, has entirely slipped your mind. The hazy defocusing of your vision is disorientating- your eyes are crossing and you no longer know north from south, left from right.

Steven craves verbal validation, you know this well, but you can’t grant him a “good boy”, not with the way his fingers twirl you with a shk shk shk and undo you like a puzzle.

The only thing you have to offer him in return for his skilled efforts is the validating grip of your shaking hands in his ebony locks.

Under any other circumstances, Steven’s face being so close to your cunt without eating you out would be embarrassing. But when you glance down at him, double vision slowly focusing on his expression, you can’t help but note the reverence that blooms in his irises as he gazes at your pussy. He is watching with rapt interest- your clit, your folds, your puffy throbbing flesh, all gleaming with slick in the moonlight.

Steven always manages to make you feel worshipped without uttering a single prayer (though he is on his knees now). His eyes are evidence enough of his utter devotion and admiration. He would never allow you to think for even a second that you were not divine.

“St-Steven,” you gasp as his finger continues its steady, circular motions that pull your pleasure tighter, “Inside.”

There’s a hesitation in the repetitive sweep of your clit.

“In... side- what? In- I don’t…”

His halting voice voice drops slowly like syrup dripping from a pot as you take ahold of his wrist. He’s playing with you, acting innocent, and you don’t have a single fuck to give that he’s flipping the game, flipping you like a cube in his palm, You tilt his hand by pushing on the meat of his palm with your thumb, angling his fingers just right where you’re soaking, where his fingertips slip inside of you to feel the source of your need.

“Oh-… Ohh. Yeah- You mean…”

You swear, you swear you see a self satisfied smile behind Steven’s eyes as he works his fingers inside of your cunt ever so slowly, teasing the give of your walls around his digits. He can feel your cunt flutter around him, your quads trembling under his palm where he continues to hold your unsteady body upright.

Hips rocking forward onto his knuckles, you whine softly in a wordless attempt to tell Steven ‘yes, just like that, you’re doing so good’. Spurred on by the little noises that leak from your throat, he curls his fingers inside you, searching for that spot that sparks stars behind your eyes, the spot that he knows is going to buckle your knees.

“Like this?” He asks softly, looking between your eyes and your glistening cunt. You know he doesn’t need to ask, the bliss is written across your expression in the form of your mouth pulled into a weak ‘o’ shape and your eyes rolling back into your skull as the bone of his knuckle presses up against your clit weakly. He’s being cheeky. You’ll remember this.

For now, though, you’re entirely helpless to the swell of your orgasm that he raises so easily from your cunt. The slip of his fingers through your folds, the wet punctuating rhythm is violent in your ears as you teeter on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm. Breathing raggedly at the ceiling, your head tilts back, bending your body in a half-heart arc and your toes curl into the delineating sand.

“S-Steven-“ you gasp weakly, thighs beginning to shake as he eases the orgasm out of you with such practised elegance- that it feels like a complete separation from his nervous, innocent personality. It’s moments like this, with his thumb pressed to your clit, and deft strong strokes twisting inside you, that you thank Marc for Steven’s subconscious skills because you’re cumming.

You’re cumming, and it’s blinding. White flashes across your eyes, almost like tv static as the image of Steven watching you come apart between your knees blurs before you, then doubles. It’s impossible to tell in the throes of your orgasm, but tears are building and spilling from your eyes. Steven’s fingers are drenched as they work you through each wave, the wet sucking sounds of his fingers guiding your cunt through the gates of heaven bounces off the walls of the moonlit flat.

Realisation that his free hand had been the only thing to keep your feet steady sinks in as the roiling pleasure fades to a simmer. Steven presses his palm to the small of your back, no doubt stopping you from falling backward in your rapture. Perhaps you should expect nothing less, but the small action makes your heart swell at the knowledge that he’ll always look after you.

“Hah…” Your chest heaves as you chase air with the expansion of your lungs. Each dose of oxygen adds to the afterglow that seems to settle so deep in your body and coats your bones like honey. “Aren’t I more fun to play with than some puzzle cube?” The joke makes Steven grin, his eyes crease in the corners the way they only do when he hears or sees something he truly finds funny.

“More easy to solve, too.” he chuckles, stroking his knuckles down the insides of your thighs in a gentle action to ease you down from the clouds he had catapulted you to. He looks so pretty for you like this, on his knees with a soft blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose-

Wait. What?

You slap his shoulder playfully, limbs limp with exhaustion. “Take that back!”

He kisses the top of your thigh tenderly, “Only joking, mistress.”

The way he runs his nose softly along the top of your thigh is a stark contrast to the bulge in his boxers and the wet patch in the fabric where his cock had leaked precum: the side effects of taking you apart and putting you back together again.

“I think it’s my turn to play with you.” You murmur softly, caressing the curve of his cheekbone and pushing your fingers through his curly locks with a smile. “On the bed, baby. Let’s see if Mistress can’t make you cum one-handed too.”

END

🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart

Reblog if you're absolute levihan trash

I wanna see how many of us are out there.

Red Flags

CO-WRITTEN WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way.

Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations, bondage/restraints, cunnilingus (face sitting), safe sex; unsafe relationship choices.

Word Count: 9.2k (ahahahah please don’t look at me)

[Series Masterlist] [Tag List and Masterlist]

The warning signs were written all over him like a marquee outside a theatre, lit up in gold and bright flashing red neon. 

On the first date you were supposed to have, he stood you up, only to call you four days later on a Wednesday night. Closer to midnight than dinnertime, oblivious and confused and asking where you were with a slight panic in his voice. 

“Date’s tonight, yeah? Saturday at seven?”

Un-fucking-believable. 

Keep reading

9 and 10 for the queen asks? 👀 - starrydrowse

Thanks for the ask Andie @starrydrowse ! 💜 I love so many of their outfits lol!

9. Favorite Roger Taylor outfit?

Difficult, very difficult! I love how Roger was so fashionable, but also didn’t care what others thought about his fashion choices lmao. Obviously I can’t pick one 🙈 so I’ll just do three 😂

The jacket is iconic of course

Love the flower shirt, cause he looks like a hippy 🥰

Roger in a denim button up just hits different

10. Favorite John Deacon outfit?

As for John, once again I love so many of his outfits 🥺🥰 But it probably doesn’t come as a surprise

But the blue Rock Montreal outfit is just something else haha

And the black satin suit with the white shirt, it’s just 👌🏻 iconic. The black and white platform shoes!! I want them. ❤️

Also the star shirt is definitely one of my favorites

And since I know you can appreciate it haha 💜special shout out to the Disneyland sweater, Roger in a leather jacket, space invaders sweater and Roger’s jacket from when they were is Asia! 🥰

A Pleasant Surprise

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem reader

Summary: Steven has had something on his mind for a while now, and finally he divulges his fantasy to you; degrading was certainly not on your playing cards.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: sub!Steven, dom!reader, “mommy” title, degrading, grinding, cumming in pants, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 1,441

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

………......................…………………………………….

When Steven had come to you with a “fun idea”, you'd expected something along the lines of ”naive uni teacher gets fucked by his student”, but this was so much better.

“Love? I have a, uh…suggestion,” Steven calls from the bathroom between brushing his teeth. “Well, it's more of a proposal, really.”

“Yeah? Go on.” You're sitting in your bedroom reading some gruesome crime novel that Marc seems to have a real distaste for.

You hear the water running briefly before your boyfriend joins you in the room, warm morning sun streaming in through the cracked curtains and casting a soft glow over his face. “I mean, we don't have to do it now of course. I know you're reading and all that, and I have to get to work in a bit–.”

You close your book and pat the edge of the bed, making him instantly respond to your gesture by placing himself down. “I'm all ears, sweetheart, lay it on me.”

Blood rushes to Steven's face as he actually thinks about saying it outloud, feet shuffling a little on the creaky floorboards. The words feel stuck in his throat now that he has to speak them, despite the fact he'd thought about the whole image on numerous occasions... and in great detail.

“Heeyy c’mon,” your hand brushes his arm, and you move closer to him to wrap your arms fully around his, crinkling his blue floral shirt. “You know I can't read your mind, Steven… Though I wish I could, that'd be super fucking helpful, then the other two couldn't lie to me.”

His chuckle makes you smile and you feel him draw in a long breath.

”I wanna like… grind against you… and I want you to mock me for it, u-until I cum… in my trousers…”

The pauses between his words are almost comical, but you look up at his face and see that he's completely serious, looking at you with wide eyes and waiting for an answer.

“Oh! Right.”

“Ah, Gods! No no... no no no no no, forget it–.” He frantically shakes his head, his hands doing the same as his face scrunches. “It's weird, I'm sorry, pretend I never said anything. Me and my big bloody mouth.”

“Steven,” you say between giggles, hand resting on his soft face to pull his gaze towards you. “It's not weird, silly! I just didn't expect you to be the one that's into degrading.” Careful not to fall back off of the bed, you climb onto his lap, thighs either side of his as you examine his expression, how gorgeous he looks with his brows knitted together and his unruly curls that Marc would definitely be gluing down with copious amounts of gel right about now.

His chest deflates as he lets out a soft sigh, resting his head on your chest out of embarrassment while you link your arms around his neck to run your fingers through the long curls at the back of his head. You feel his hands graze up your back, gliding under your night shirt and making you shiver with the warmth.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“No! Well…” he pauses, “yeah, but not in a creepy way.” The man lifts his head and looks up at you with those big doe eyes, and you watch them close as you start rolling your hips down on him slowly. You're only in your underwear underneath that shirt, but Steven is fully clothed and ready for work… or at least he would be, if his eyes weren't fluttering shut and arousal wasn't growing in his tummy.

“I promise you, darling, I like your idea.” You reassure him with your hips drawing slow circles against the material of his trousers, creating a delicious friction. “As long as you tell me if it's too much, alright?”

The bed creaks a little with your grinding before he looks up at you, nodding with a kind of desperation in his eyes that lights a fire in your gut.

“You promise?”

“Yeah love, yeah I promise.” He says, his voice a little more whiny.

You don't bother yourself with working out the psychological reasons for why your boyfriend enjoys being degraded about how long he can last, chalking it up to his masculinity, despite your reassurances that he's just as much of a man as his other two alters.

“You've got 10 minutes, think you can do that?”

Steven groans at your question, since both of you know all too well that 10 minutes is more than enough time. Still, he nods, big puppy dog eyes looking up at you and begging you to divulge in his vision.

A smirk creeps across your face when you see those glassy eyes, your gaze trailing down to the blush dusting his cheeks and the straining muscles in his neck.

“God Steven, I love the way you look at me. Look at those big soft eyes, all for mommy, aren't they?”

He lets out a whimper with the use of that title, his cock stirring in his trousers and reminding you of the thin barrier that's stopping you from grinding on the rough material of his slacks all together. The man doesn't take his gaze off of you; he drinks in every one of your features as if he's seeing you for the first time.

Rocking his hips up, he pants.

“Yes mommy, all for you, I'm all for you.”

“That's right, sweetheart, those desperate eyes are for me. that dumb little face is mine.” You lean forward and nip his bottom lip, soothing it afterwards with your tongue as he gasps and bucks his hips.

“I can feel you twitching, baby. You just can't help it, can you? Always getting so worked up and hard when I'm around, maybe I should put this pretty cock in a cage, what do you think?”

Steven's shoulders drop as he leans forward into your neck, biting and sucking any skin he can get his mouth on while his hot breath and whimpers raise goosebumps over your skin.

The suction he had in your neck is broken as his head is suddenly jerked backwards, your grip tight in his hair and making him whimper pathetically.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he tries to suppress his moans, his head nodding wildly. “Yes mommy, I'd– agh–I'd love that.” His hips buck again.

“Mhm.. then you'd at least last longer than 5 minutes, you'd actually be able to fuck me properly.”

Steven's mouth hangs agape, his eyes now squeezed shut as his grip on your hips tighten and he guides your hips down on him harder, wanting more, anything.

“Sh–it… Ah- Feels so good.” His eyebrows knit together in a beautifully strained way. “More, gimme more–.”

You tut with a small smirk on your lips, rocking back and forth to coat his trousers in your own arousal that's seeped through your underwear.

“Oh, look at you, you gonna cum in your pants, baby? Gonna prove how pathetic you are to mommy?” You feel the muscles in his shoulders and back tighten. “C'mon sweetheart, cum for me, ruin those pants.”

Sweet moans and whimpers tumble from the man's rosy lips as he finally lets go, staining his boxers enough that you feel the wetness as it soaks a spot on his trouser leg.

His grip on your hips loosens, but he doesn't stop whimpering, soft babbles and huffs escaping his throat as he calms down. You stroke his head, combing your fingers through his hair as your hips slow. “Good boy, you're such a good boy, Steven.” You smile brightly at him, despite the fact his eyes are still shut.

They only flutter open when he feels your hand stroking his cheek and tilting his head down.

“Are you ok, baby? How do you feel?”

His cheeks are flushed bright red still, beads of sweat sitting on his forehead from the warmth of his button-up shirt. A smile cracks across his face as he nods shyly, “I'm ok– great, yeah.. I'm great, actually.”

“You sure? I didn't hurt your feelings, did I?”

He shakes his head and tilts face to kiss your palm. “No, you didn't, love. I promise.”

His eyes drift down to the wet patch on his trousers, your eyes following as you chuckle softly.

“Should probably change…” He mumbles while resting his head on your shoulder.

“Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” You place a kiss on his neck as you embrace him, ignoring the fact that he will most definitely be late to work… again.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mooksmouse @cupidysm

MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) — MIKE SCHMIDT

tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.

mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.

you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.

then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.

it worked, but only for a few days.

now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.

what a total ass.

all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.

in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.

yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.

you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?

“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.

“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.

to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.

but now it was that time.

it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gently curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.

mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.

“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.

he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.

“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.

blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.

then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.

“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.

the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

gosh, he’s too loud.

you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.

“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.” you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.

mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.

a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.

“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”

he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.

“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.

mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.

his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.

your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.

he’s so close, he can feel it.

“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.

you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.

this was a great plan after all.

with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.

the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.

the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.

still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.

“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.

you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.

“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.

in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.

“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.

“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.

“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.

the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.

“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.

“no.”

it was an attempt.

he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.

“okay.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

the decision to have joel say “mine” when referring to tess is actually so fascinating. he started to say “my–” and didn’t know what to call her, but he didn’t just make it easy and say “tess.” he very deliberately said “mine,” indicating that yeah, he’s not sure what to call her, because commitment is really scary for him after losing so many people, and being emotional and affectionate and admitting attachment to other people is hard for him for a million different reasons, but she was something. she wasn’t just tess. she wasn’t quite his girlfriend, or his wife, or even his partner. she was just his. his person. i think that’s perfect for them

so I’m watching the new loki episode and truLy loki on his knees with the time collar on saying “please, please no more”…..I’m lookinggggg

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

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