Tess Servopoulos + Joel Miller In S1E01 Of The Last Of Us (HBO)

Tess Servopoulos + Joel Miller in S1E01 of The Last Of Us (HBO)

RED FLAGS ║ PART 2

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

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

Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.

Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interlude... idek)

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

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Something is wrong.

You’re naked in your boyfriend’s bed—the very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now he’s staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.

It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears.

The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are. Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest don’t look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?

He clears his throat and you realise with a start that you’ve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. He’s never looked at you like that before; you weren’t even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.

You don’t know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Don’t know what to do with yourself either. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest.

His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.

Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it won’t stop, you need to leave.

But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldn’t do to alarm him.

"Is… um… is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. I… really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know." You’re babbling nervously, can’t seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him.

“I’ll… um… Just let me–” you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if he’s still standing there watching you. “I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”

You don’t look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.

Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.

Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness.

You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride home—ETA: 12 mins. It’s followed immediately by relief.

You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. It’s ridiculous really, this isn’t a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can.

Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully.

You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks than… than… What is it that you’re worried about anyway?

Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. You’re being ridiculous.

It’s just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except it’s not.

He hasn’t really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation.

He was just so oddly still. Loose and almost... relaxed in a way you’re not used to from Steven.

Maybe that’s it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat. People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)

Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?

The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally. But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.

He’s dressed now as well in the well-fitted shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that it’s a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because you’re too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before. Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isn’t just your imagination.

Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here.

Now.

“I’ll just… um… wait downstairs, shall I?”

He says nothing, and you’re glad, even though that’s wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time you’re just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.

You’re uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it?

Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, “see you around.” You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.

What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?

It doesn’t help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish you’d asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man you’ve just left behind in his flat.

You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. You’re staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor it’s on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confront… Steven.

He’s right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising you’ve backed into the door of the lift.

God, what is wrong with you tonight!?

It’s just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But it’s not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hair is wrong.)

And you don’t know what you expect (the worst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isn’t for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness.

Harmless… right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Except...

He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. He’s still too still, too... much to be your Steven, but...

There’s something about the way he’s giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. He’s not trying to make himself smaller—not the way Steven always does—but he’s holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and it’s enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.

There’s a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, ‘that’s right. You’re okay.’ And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it.

He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrong… almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.

It’s then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers.

Oh. Oh God. You’ve made a right idiot of yourself, haven't you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think you’re a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch.

Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and there's something—the slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higher—that turns the expression cruel, like he’s having a laugh at your expense.

The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. You’re not even sure anymore if it's nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront.

Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.

"Thanks," you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apart—of course it does—leaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze.

What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.

Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift.

The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement. Once you’re far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.

Still, it’s not until you’re safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.

What in the bloody hell was that!?

Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.

The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Steven’s flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreacting—practically having kittens over your boyfriend… what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle of the night?

Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: It’s not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyone’s best hour.

But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you were nothing to him…

No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven.

And that’s a giant fucking red flag if you’ve ever seen one. One you don’t know if you can get past.

You don’t get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. There’s spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.

The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks it’s already too late.

Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does.

Except, it’s not Steven.

Instead it’s an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven.

Hello, unwanted dick pic #13.

God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isn’t it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.

You don’t want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcher’s store.

But most of all you don’t want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven.

You like Steven.

You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm. You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work day— random photos of cute dogs on the tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you.

You like all of it.

You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in lo– (No. No, you’re not going there. Not right now.)

But last night was... not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasn't it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared and... and... small. And you don’t know how to deal with that from someone you’re supposed to be able to trust.

Don’t know if you even want to try.

God, you’re a mess.

You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but it’s still not half five.

You’ve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you.

It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over.

You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.

Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you don't even know what it will be like when you see him again?

When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that there’s some kind of commotion taking place at reception.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?” The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office building

Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, “If you don’t give me a name right now, you’re going to have to leave. This isn’t a bus stop, alright?”

“Sorry, Sorry.”

Oh God. You recognise that voice.

“I'm not loitering or anything dodgy like that. I'm just waiting for my... girl–uh... lady... um… friend."

Rounding the corner, you see him.

Puppydog Steven has returned. He’s wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, he’s standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield.

“Steven?”

At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like he’s bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell he’s nervous and unhappy in a way you haven’t seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief.

“This one yours then, love?” Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.

“Yeah, he’s um… Yeah. Thanks, Susan,” you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.

“Steven, what’s wrong? Why are you—,” but you don’t even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, this is why I don’t— Sorry, sorry. I–” The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly it's some sort of garbled apology. “Look, if I– If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, I’m– Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. You’re acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly.

“Susan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?”

She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think she’ll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting.

“Room 10, pet.”

“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.

“C’mon.” You grab the cuff of Steven’s shirt and tug gently.

Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.

Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he starts again as soon as you’re facing him.

“Steven, Steven. It's alright,” you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserable—every inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is coming—and you can’t bear for him to look like that. But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity that’s startlingly reminiscent of the night before.

“I just– Look, I— You’re the best bloody thing I’ve had in my life in a long time—maybe ever—and… and last night was amazing. Better—way better—than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”

He’s so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.

“Last night was perfect,” he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. “At least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And I’m afraid I’ve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good ol' Steven, can't pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because it’s you, and…”

And he’s still talking, but you’re stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.

He said… he said that he woke up and you were gone. But that’s not right. You know that’s not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does he... not remember?

You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you don’t dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.

Instead you interrupt Steven’s rambling to probe gently, “I was gone when you woke up?”

Steven nods.

“Yeah, this morning. Must’ve worn me out ‘cause I slept straight through.” He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you don’t return it. “Was nearly late for work.”

You’re still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesn’t remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isn’t so far-fetched after all?) But Steven doesn’t give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.

“I don’t blame you for leaving, of course, but I can’t help thinking that I must’ve–” he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he can’t bear to look at you. “Look, you... you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I don’t remember. I do things that I don’t remember. And I can’t bear–”

He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that there’s no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.

“I can’t help thinking that I must’ve done something, and I’m– I’m sorry if I– Sorry. I– Just please.” His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and there’s something else there too as he continues, “Please tell me that I didn’t do anything to hurt or upset you.”

Fear. It’s fear you’re seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.

“Steven... ” You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.

“Oh. I– Oh. I did, didn’t I?” He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m– Oh God, what did I do? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever– Or would I? Guess I did, didn’t I? God I’m– I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why I would…”

This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this way—it’s painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.

“Steven— Steven!” You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesn’t even pause. You don’t know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.

Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. It’s a little awkward—Steven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightly—but it does shut him up rather handily.

His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and he’s wearing an expression like he’s forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing.

“It’s alright, Steven,” you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. You’re not sure what’s going on exactly, but you know you lo– that you care about Steven a lot and don’t want to lose him to… whatever it is that happened last night.

He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as he’s coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes.

“So, I didn’t… do anything to hurt you?” Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes.

You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you can’t help the swell of affection in your chest.

And it’s true.

He didn’t do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and you’ve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.

“So we’re... um...” he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, “We’re good then, yeah?”

You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“You’re... You’re sure?” he presses. He’s still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh.

You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.

Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then he’s licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm.

Steven’s kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like he’s seeking salvation from your lips; like you’re water when he’s dying of thirst, and he’s determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.

You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure they’ll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him.

Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes. Fuck, he’s so damned gorgeous.

And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but you’re certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all.

You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock above—6pm, after office hours.

There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.

Grasping Steven’s collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room.

He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. He’s like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and it’s adorable.

You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and you’ve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case.

He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.

The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt.

You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.

“Wait, wait. What are you–? There’s people outside. We can’t do this here, can we?” He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room.

“We shou—oh fuck, that feels so…—Shouldn’t be doing this though, should we?”

For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.

You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him.

“Steven. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. “I-I– Don’t stop. Keep… um… keep going, please. If you want to.”

“Good.” You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach.

“Then sit down.” You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully it’s like you’ve tackled him.

He’s so distracted—eyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on you—that he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you.

You blink in disbelief.

"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me just...” Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. “Oh god, I'm so sorry."

Giddy relief fills your chest, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? It’s practically a comedy of errors.

Still, if there was any doubt before, it’s definitely gone now. This man—the man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweet—is your Steven.

You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Steven’s horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles.

“Stay,” you order with a fond smile. “Don’t move. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.”

While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.

You drop to your knees again and lean forward until you’re caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.

On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you weren’t privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome that’s beading at the blunt tip.

Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. It’s really not fair.

This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.

So sensitive, your Steven.

You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. It’s a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, you’d think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing.

You do it again, just to see if he’ll make the same noise.

He does.

Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.

“Shall I continue then?” you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.

“Yes, please. God yes.” His voice is breathless, desperate, and you can’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.

“Shit. Oh bloody–Shit.” His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.

Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like you’re holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe.

His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; it’s all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself.

It’s tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue.

"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. You're so--oh fuck--so good at this… I mean why wouldn't you be? I mean... oh God.” He’s babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. “Pleasedon'tstop."

It is, possibly, the world’s worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that it’s impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.

When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, he’ll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide himself deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until they’re just short of painful.

And all the while he’s watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though he’s afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe you’re real.

That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to.

One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where it's stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as he's writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine.

Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can.

“God, look at you. You’re so pretty. I can’t believe you’re actually–” He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what he’s saying, “Your mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can you— Can you take me deeper?” Then when you hum an assent around his cock, “Oh God, oh please…”

The words coming out of him aren’t even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same.

Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you are—dripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing.

“Oh. You’re–? Fuck. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.

“God, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he can’t help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to “Touch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.”

Hah. As though you weren’t already enjoying yourself thoroughly.

Still, it’s no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone.

God, and he says you're the pretty one?

You can’t help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.

Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign he’s feeling insecure.

Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you don’t get much out of it, but you’ve certainly captured Steven’s attention.

He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.

You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. There’s an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers.

The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, you’re already so wet, and you can’t help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.

“Oh my days,” Steven breathes, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.

And, well, that just won’t do.

When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again.

Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. He’s all instincts and hunger now, and you’re reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake.

His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and it’s almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking.

You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, but fuck, you barely care. Can’t help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds he’s making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.

You’re overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps it’s the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat.

It’s too much and just the right amount because suddenly you’re there, right on the edge. Don’t realise that you’re moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and that’s all it takes.

You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Steven’s cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him.

Dimly you hear Steven’s shocked “Oh Lord, are you—? Oh my God!” and then a broken, breathy litany of “Oh God oh God oh God,” but it hardly registers.

You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and you’ve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm.

Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.

“Oh God, oh God, don’t stop.” The head of Steven’s slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, “Pleasepleaseplease– I need– Fuck. Please don’t stop.”

His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if it’s drooling, glistening under the ceiling light.

You can’t help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight.

If your goal was to make a mess of him you’ve certainly succeeded.

To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.

Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. It’s a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.

And you love it. You love it all.

The sounds he’s making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but there’s a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.

There shouldn’t be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.

“Steven,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, “I need you to keep quiet for me.”

You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can’t help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you.

You know you’re being mean. He’s so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you can’t resist as you continue to tease him.

“You don’t want me to have to stop, now do you?”

He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, you’d scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, “I—I’ll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please don’t stop.”

“Good,” you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth.

His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.

Your previous established rhythm falls apart.

His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure.

God, he’s fucking beautiful like this. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him.

From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, “Close. I—I’m close.”

You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like you’ve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.

You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm.

“Do you want to come in my mouth, Steven?”

He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you aren’t sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough, “Fuck. You can’t just– God. Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Please,” that has the tip of your ears tingling.

God, he sounds ruined.

He also sounds loud, and he isn’t stopping.

“Steven.” Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. “Shut it.”

A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises he’s making are even louder than when he was babbling.

In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat. His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter.

It’s quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more.

You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You don’t let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and you’re sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.

Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. He’s staring down at you like you’ve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one.

All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while you’re still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue.

You don’t know what to say or do next, but it doesn’t matter.

Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come.

You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that you’ve come to associate with his touch.

It’s sweet; it’s depraved; it’s ravenous.

It’s all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, it’s something you’re not sure you can live without anymore.

Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And then...

“God, I love you.” He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.

You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Steven’s face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.

Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesn’t he?

The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Steven’s brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.

“Sorry. Should I… um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course it’s not. Confessing after you– you–” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Well, after that.” He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, “God, I sound like a right bloody wanker, don’t I?”

He’s right.

This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.

Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn’t I?” He drops his gaze, as though he thinks he’s committed some grievous wrong to offend you. “I’m sorry, we can pretend I never said it if that’s what you want.” It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. “I don’t– I don’t want to lose you.”

That’s the thing with Steven.

He's all in.

Whatever else he has going on, Steven’s never been half-hearted about this, about you.

He doesn’t time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, you can’t tell, but he’s always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. They’ve always been right there on his sleeve.

And right now it’s clear to see that he’s en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer.

You’ve known for a while that you liked Steven, had feelings for him, and now there’s not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.

“I love you too.”

He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock that’s shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like he’s too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or you’re playing a practical joke on him.

“Yeah?” he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.

You don’t answer him with words.

Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remain—for both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out.

It’s you and Steven, red flags be damned.

~ Continue ~

Dedication and Credits

To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? I'm doing it anyway. I'm finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.

@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. You've kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because you're in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.

@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, that's my promise to you.

@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore 🥑🧅

@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly

2K notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

2 years ago

So Alive II Joel Miller x Reader

The first time you laid your eyes on Joel, you knew something felt... different.

Warnings: gunshot wound, stitches, explicit content 18+, soft!joel, oral/fingering f!receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, minors dni.

Word count: 3.1k

Something had sparked in you the first time you saw Joel Miller. You could feel the heat swirl up through your body, like the world was begging you to open up. Begging you to connect. Begging you to invite this man in. You didn't know if you could.

But something in you wanted to try.

It was the end of June, and it was hot. Hotter than you had remembered it being the year before. Joel rode beside you, he always did. You never acknowledged that you liked his closeness to you.

Patrol that day was standard, riding to a nearby abandoned settlement for supplies, and was going decently without a hitch, until it wasn't. Shots were fired, and then Joel was falling back off of his horse hitting the ground hard. He gasped, the wind being knocked out of him, and in an instant you were off your horse, skidding to a halt on the ground beside him.

The other members of the patrol dealt with the situation, riding for cover. The shootout began, and took only a few minutes to disperse. You couldn't care about that, even though you knew you should've. All you could focus on was Joel, blood starting to seep through his shirt. You swallowed, your hands shaky. You went to start unbuttoning his shirt, trying to assess the damage, but his other hand stopped you.

“‘M fine,” he muttered, grabbing your arm as his eyes trained on you. You shook your head.

“Joel, you are certainly not fine.”

He stared at you, and then slowly but surely released his grip on your wrist. He nodded. You got to work.

•••

He had leaned on you, one arm wrapped around your middle as you rode back to Jackson. You were acutely aware of him, telling yourself it was because you didn't want him to fall off. He was shaky.

You escorted him to the medical center personally, and when they pulled him back to stitch him up, he asked you to come with him. How could you have said no?

He had a stoic expression as they stitched up his wounds. The bullet cut clean through his left trapezius muscle, skimming over the top of his collarbone. His hand twitched and he glanced at you. His eyes were unreadable.

Your quick fix of wrapping gauze around his wounds after he had fallen off his horse had saved him a lot of blood loss, they told you. You just felt he was lucky to be alive. If the gunman’s aim had been any better, Joel wouldn't have lived. The thought chilled you, making goosebumps rise on your arms. You didn't like it, the idea of bringing back a body instead of a living man. Especially with it being Joel.

They gave him a sling to wear, instructing him to give the injury time to heal. You could tell he hated it. He just nodded his head at the nurses, and they shuffled out of the room. You stepped towards him then, as he stood from the bed. His shirt was still unbuttoned.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Like I got kicked by a horse,” he replied, trying to feed the button through the hole at the top of his shirt. He growled in frustration when he failed.

“Let me.”

He did. You buttoned his shirt for him, top to bottom. “Dunno how I'm gonna get out of this later,” he murmured.

“We'll cross that bridge when we get there,” you chirped. “Let's go get you something to eat, and some rest.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, but followed you all the same.

•••

The next few weeks were difficult for Joel. He couldn't lift anything, or reach above him with his left arm, so he ended up spending most of his time with you at the stables while you cleaned out stalls and groomed the horses. You enjoyed this job, much more than when they put you on patrols. Horses were easier on you.

Joel wasn't much of a talker at first but neither were you. You enjoyed the company all the same. As his range of motion got better, and the sling finally became a thing of the past, he would help you with what he could.

“My uncle had a ranch,” he told you one day as he groomed. You were cleaning the stall. It had become a routine, you do the heavy lifting and he gets the horses cleaned while haltered just outside the stall. It worked for both of you. “Used to go there every weekend with Tommy up until I was a teenager.”

He patted the horse on the neck as he brushed over its back. “Never really thought I'd ride again.”

You nodded, leaning against the pitchfork as you wiped your sweating brow with the back of your arm. You had grown up around horses, your family owning a ranch out in butt fuck nowhere Utah. “I'm glad I get to work with them here,” you said. “Reminds me of home.”

Joel patted the horse again, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Me, too.”

You smiled at the sight. You always tucked these little moments away, somewhere deep in your memory where you would access them late at night. Joel liked horses. Joel missed football. Joel wasn't always the best cook, but he liked to barbecue. Joel was protective of his family. And most of all, Joel liked you.

•••

Joel was livid. Why? You didn't know, but you could see it all over him when he opened the door. You could hear it in his tone.

“Now, what did I—” he stopped. It was only you. You swallowed, suddenly very on edge.

“Hi, uh… I can—I can come back another time.”

“No,” he responded, reaching to grab your shoulder as you step away. You pause, unsure of yourself. His hackles were starting to lower. He took a deep breath. “Please.”

Please.

You slowly nodded your head and stepped inside. He closed and locked the door behind you, and then without a word walked around you and into the kitchen. You followed. A beautiful aroma was wafting through the air, and you could hear Joel muttering to himself as he lifted a lid off the pot on the stove.

You were hesitant to say anything. You didn't want to push the already angry man. Against better judgment you asked, “What's for dinner?”

He didn't turn to face you. “Stew,” he said, putting the lid back on. “Only has a few more minutes. I was plannin’ on bringin’ you some.”

You felt your cheeks warm. He had been thinking about you, and more specifically, thinking about bringing you something he made. You felt a soft smile pull at your lips. “That's kind of you.”

He grunted, and then looked over his shoulder at you. “At the door–I–well… Tommy and Maria just left.”

You knew from your small conversations that Joel didn't like Maria. Maria didn't like Joel. Something must've happened between the two, you assumed, and decided not to push. Instead you walked closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright?”

He closed his eyes, sighing and then bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It'll be fine.”

You nodded, opening your mouth to say something before your stomach growled loudly. Joel chuckled, turning to face you. “Someone's hungry.”

You could feel yourself blush as you glanced away. His finger was there, hooking under your chin and pulling your face back towards him. “Hey now,” he said, a sudden softness in his eyes. His lips parted, and then closed, like he couldn't figure out what to say. His hand moved, cupping your cheek. The other went to grab your hip. You felt stiff in his arms. It was happening so quickly—maybe too quickly. He leaned forward, his nose bumping yours and asked, “Can I?”

You felt yourself nod, and you swallowed thickly. All of the residual anger left his body as he leaned further into you, meeting your lips with his own. He was incredibly soft in his actions. He kissed you with a gentleness you didn't expect, and you couldn't help but sigh and bring your arms up to wrap around his middle as he held you in place.

He pulled back, and you leaned into him until he broke away completely. He was breathing hard and so were you. He kept his hands on you, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Let's eat,” he said with a small and genuine smile. You nodded, giving him a bright smile of your own.

The stew was delicious and at the first bite you teared up. Your hand was on the table, under his, and he squeezed it tightly when he saw them bubbling up in your eyes. “Hey,” he murmured. “You alright?”

You nodded, feeling embarrassed. “Yes, sorry… it tastes like my mom’s.”

He slowly nodded back. “I used to make it for Tommy and… well. It was about the only damn thing I could make.”

He gave you a watery smile. It clicked in your brain, tonight must've been important for Joel to go out of his way to make something, especially something that clearly was nostalgic for him. You took another bite, savoring the memories it was bringing you, too.

The two of you ate in silence, his hand not leaving yours.

He took your bowl when you were done, putting it in the sink. You stayed sitting at the table as he got the food put away in the fridge. It was weird to watch him. It felt strangely domestic—strangely normal. Even with all the pain and loss you had experienced, moments like this made the world worth living for.

Joel walked back over to you, extending his hand to offer to help you stand. You took it and he pulled you up against him, planting another kiss on your lips. Your hands looped around the back of his neck.

“You can say no,” he mumbled against your lips. “But if you want to come up to the bedroom with me, I'd sure like that.”

You thought about the implication there. Joining Joel in the bedroom with no one else home. Your body tingled. Maybe it's what you both needed. You kissed him back with fervor before saying, “Okay.”

He stepped away, your hands slid down to his chest. His heart was pounding hard and fast under his shirt. He was nervous, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his heart beat. He grabbed your hand with his, and led you upstairs.

He sat down on the bed, his hands on your hips as he looked up at you. You stood between his legs, one hand on his right shoulder and the other behind his head, and you kissed him. Hard. He moaned into your mouth, and you gulped it down, feeling feverish. Your mouth opened when his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, and he invaded greedily. He was taking what was his.

And you let him, your tongues caressing and exploring each other. He pulled away from you, and you whined in protest. He looked at you through hooded eyes, licking his lips. It made a wetness pool between your thighs as you looked down, seeing a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You felt encouraged, a fire blossoming in your chest. You brought your knees up onto the bed, straddling him. His hands came to your sides, running up and down them before squeezing your breasts. You gasped, arching your back into him. He grumbled about needing to get your shirt off, and in a heartbeat you were pulling it off over your head along with your bra.

His lips found your nipple immediately, hot and sizzling on your skin. He sucked and pulled, working it with his tongue. You couldn't stop the moans he pulled from you, his large hands on your bare back searing into you. Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping tight enough that it probably stung. He groaned against you, vibrating into you. The sound went straight to your abdomen, causing tendrils of heat to grip your body. You shook in his arms.

Almost unnoticeably, he shook, too.

He released your nipple with a loud ‘pop!’ and he kissed up your neck before rolling you both. You landed on your back, and he kissed his way down your sternum and soft stomach. You twitched under each touch. He grabbed the button and fly of your jeans, undoing them and pulling them off. You squirmed as he looked at you, fully aware of his gaze raking over your body.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, kissing your thigh as he settled between them. You felt your cheeks burn. Getting complimented by the gruff man made your toes curl.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, fingers sliding back into his hair.

He hummed as he took off your panties. You laid your head back, and he breathed against you. “Hey, look at me.”

You gasped as he licked through your folds and then you looked down at him like he asked of you. He hardly even blinked, drinking you in as he tasted you. Your eyebrows furrowed as he set a pace and pattern, swirling his tongue across your clit.

Your grip on his hair tightened, legs jerking, when he slid a thick finger into your pussy, sinking it knuckle deep and curling it. Another followed, causing you to groan his name. He hummed again, sucking your clit into his mouth.

Joel's fingers curled, and then he pumped them in and out of you. Your hips bucked off the bed in response. His other hand came searching, reaching up for your nipple. He pinched it and rolled it between his thumb and index finger.

“Fuck you taste so damn good,” he growled. “Such a good girl.”

You clenched around his fingers in response, the praise going to your head and making you grin. Your head dropped back into the pillows as he continued his devoted and yet ruthless momentum. Your body tightened, like a coil ready to spring. You breathed harder, his name dripping from your lips over and over like honey. You grabbed onto him tighter, your heels digging into his back.

“Cum,” he demanded, rutting his lower body into the bed. “Cum on my fingers, show me what a good girl you are.”

Three more passes with his tongue and two more pumps of his fingers, and you were crashing into your orgasm. Joel groaned, almost louder than you, as you tightened around him. Your thighs slammed closed around his head as your other hand shot to the bed, bunching up the blanket under you. You bucked, you writhed, you cried his name, and your heart beat so hard in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

He slowly pulled away from you as you came down, still twitching and whimpering. He smirked at you, licking his lips. Your wetness was all over his beard and mustache, and you shuddered as he climbed up. He positioned himself between your legs, the denim strained by how hard he was. He shifted his hips against you as he kissed you, making sure you tasted yourself on his lips.

“Joel,” you whined when he pulled his lips away. “Get out of these.”

You grabbed his ass through his jeans, and he sat up, undoing the buttons of his shirt. He let it slide off of his shoulders and discarded it across the room. He made quick work if his pants, too, and then he was naked before you. His cock was curved up, swollen and thick, and he grabbed it with his hand, giving it a few pumps.

“You ready?” He asked, touching your bruised clit with the head of his dick. You trembled, shaking like a leaf under him, but nodded all the same. He pushed himself into you slowly, giving you both time to adjust. He hissed out a small, “F-fuck.”

Your hands shot to his arms, gripping them tightly as the pain of the large man stretching you open brought a lump to your throat. He leaned over you, keeping your head on his left side as he kissed and nuzzled your throat. “Mmm, so tight. You're doin’ such a good job for me.”

You arched your back as he fully seated himself. You both breathed hard as he began to shift his hips back and forth. Your fingers dug into him, squeezing his arms tightly as he began to move harder and faster. The bed creaked underneath you as the sound of his body meeting yours echoed through the room.

He pulled his face away from your neck, looking down at you with eyes that burned into yours. Your eyebrows furrowed, your nails beginning to leave red trails across his skin before he sat up, your hands falling to your sides. He grabbed under your knees, pulling your legs up and over his shoulders.

He leaned down again, pain sparked in your thighs at the delicious stretch, and you cried out louder and louder as he pounded into you. He hit so much deeper than before at this angle, pressing into just the right spots that had your legs trembling.

Your next orgasm tore through you so hard and fast and that you couldn't even register Joel anymore. You were gone, floating in the pops of color that surrounded your vision when you closed your eyes. Your body tightened around him over and over again, forcing him to slow down.

As you came down, you gulped in air, trying to tether yourself back to the physical world. His hips began snapping into you again, and your legs fell off of his shoulders. He wrapped them around his hips instead. His hand came to your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

You couldn't even form words, so instead you moaned in appreciation. His thrusts were heavy, slow and deep, pushing himself into you completely, and when he finally came, he pressed his forehead to yours and whimpered your name.

Your hands found his sides and back, nails sliding across his ribs as he filled you up, his whole body jerking before finally relaxing against you. He sighed as you felt his heart beat, pounding against your chest, and then he kissed your temple before pulling out and rolling over next to you.

You smiled to yourself as you looked at him, his eyes closed as he laid on his back. You felt completely satiated by him, and as you rolled over to cuddle close, you felt that spark from the first time you'd laid eyes on him.

You were glad you tried.

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

4 years ago

SPIRITED AWAY 千と千尋の神隠し 2001 | dir. Hayao Miyazaki

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

3 years ago

and like....... as much as i love and cherish and want to protect john deacon with all my heart i would also ride that boy across the continental united states god bless america

dude,, deadass. I bet he’s kinky as hell too. soft n sweet lil baby who i would also suck dry like ive been lost in the desert for a week

john deacon love and appreciation hours are always on but tonight we feelin Ride John Into The Sunset

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

7 months ago

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

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