Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall...

🔥🔥🔥

🌙 MY MK SKETCH BOOK 🌙⁠

------------⁠

But what if Steven Grant was a cute little archaeologist accidentally reading scripture from an ancient text in the name of historical curiosity and awoke an ancient priest that was just trying to reconnect with a girlfriend? MummyAU anyone?

Hear me out.... Steven with a praise kink 👀

You jokingly call him a good boy (because I call him my human golden retriever) and BAM. Confused boner! You take advantage of it and keep teasing him.

(Marc and Jake would never let him live it down, either)

Ijcioajfidi HELP. THIS. AHHH. I’m not sure why chess playing came into my brain. But here we are, reader likes and plays chess and is pretty good at it.

(Side note: in one typo I wrote ‘chestboard’ instead of ‘chessboard’. You just know my subconscious is thinking about Steven’s boobs.)

Good Boy

Steven Grant x F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: INSTANT BONER, p in v sex, teasing, swearing, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 2147

_______________________________________

“So, think about how you would stop me.” You said as you looked from the chessboard to Steven. 

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his glasses pushed high on his nose. A few rough curls dangled over his forehead as he bit softly at his thumb in thought. 

“I could move here?” 

“That’s really good.” You smile. “Excellent move, because you’ve also stopped my bishop.” You point to the piece on the board. 

Steven smiled. He liked chess, played against the computer occasionally. But it wasn’t much more than a way to pass the time. 

However when he found out that you had won some amateur competitions when you were in school, and that you still played regularly, his excitement at the prospect of playing a game with you was so completely heart-warming that you instantly said yes. 

In the first game, you’d been determined to go easy on him. Just to get a feel of Steven as a player. You’d accidentally won in less than ten minutes. 

There had been a small tinge of panic, a worry that, like some of the previous partners you’d had, he would be annoyed. Instead Steven grinned, thrilled that you’d beaten him and sung your praises until you were so positively overwhelmed you had had to kiss him repeatedly to get him to stop. 

This was your second game. He had asked in that delightfully enthusiastic way he had if you could play again, “if it’s not too much trouble love, and you want to of course, don’t want to be annoying, do I? No. But I’d love it if you could teach me some strategies?” 

“So I’m going to move here,” you picked up your knight and moved it slowly. 

Steven frowned. “But then I can take it?” 

“I know.” You grinned. 

He paused and looked at you, unable to stop himself from smiling at your glee and then nodded. “Okie dokie, there’s something I’m not seeing then.” 

“Is there?” Your innocent tone didn’t fool him for a second. 

“There definitely is.” 

You chuckled, looking back to the board. “Good boy. Look, take your time, but don’t worry if you can’t find it, I’ll explain.” 

There was a long pause. You frowned a little and glanced back to him. His eyes were a little wide, his cheeks dusted with pink. He was sitting stiffly now, his hand clenched into a fist with his knuckles pressed against his mouth. 

“Steven?”

“Hmm.” The sound was too quick. He didn’t look up from the board.

“You okay?” 

He nodded, a short sharp and very un-Steven-like movement. 

You paused for a second, looking at his features carefully as you wondered if Marc or Jake had fronted suddenly. Though, why they would try to hide it from you, you weren’t sure. 

On further inspection you were pretty sure that it was Steven. 

“You sure you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled and swallowed, looking through the board and not seeing it. 

“Okay…” You swallowed, watched him for a moment longer before you pointed at your rook. “If you take my knight, I’m going to take your pawn with my rook and you’ll be in check. You can’t take the rook with your queen because then you’d be in check here. So you’d have to move your king like this, and then I could move my other bishop and you’d be in checkmate.”

You looked up at him, chewing your bottom lip. Had he had enough? Was he bored? Fed up of your explanations? 

“Okay. Right. So I won’t do that, I’ll move here.” He spoke quickly, still not looking at you. 

You nodded, watching his move. “Good, so…”

The moment ‘good’ left your mouth Steven sucked in a breath, shuddering. 

A sound you very much recognised. 

Oh.

You quickly thought over your previous conversion: move this piece, are you okay, take your time, good boy-

Good boy. That was it. 

A small smile stretched across your lips. Steven was still staring, fixated, at the chessboard and didn’t notice. He moved his piece silently. 

You waited a beat before you spoke. “That’s a great move Steven, good boy.” 

He shivered straight away, his breathing hitched. He tried to cover the sound with his hand as he closed his eyes.  

“What’s wrong Steven?” You teased slowly. 

His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and embarrassed. 

“Don’t you like being called a good boy?”

The smallest groan grumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing. 

“Or, is it that you like it a little too much? Hmm? Being my good boy?” 

His skin flushed with heat as he glared at you. His eyes dark. 

“What?” You bit your lip as you grinned. “A good boy would answer questions when asked.” 

“Please.” He whispered.

“Please what?” 

“Please stop. Marc’s taking the piss.” 

You frowned, the playful tease dropping from your tone. “Why’s Marc taking the piss?” You’d done kinker stuff with all of them, Steven liking being called a ‘good boy’ wasn’t really something to write home about. 

Steven sighed, pouting a little as he closed his eyes and took his hand away from his mouth. “Because I’ve got a hard on.” 

You bit back the giggle that wanted to spill from your chest. Something about him having to close his eyes to say it was just so perfect. “So?”

“It happened the second you said it.” 

“The very second?” 

“Hmm.” Steven kept his eyes closed. Interesting.

“So literally, I said it, instant boner.” 

“Yep.”

You couldn’t resist one playful tease. “So, if you’re in a park and you hear some say good boy to their dog, is it bam, erection?”

Steven shifted a little as you said those two words, trying his hardest not to moan. His cock was pressing, painfully hard, against the stiff material of his jeans. “No.”

“No?”

“It’s never happened before. And now- Marc, shut the fuck up.” His voice was a little needy until it came time to address his alter.

“Marc behave.” You said kindly. “So… it’s only ever happened now?”

“Hmm.”

“When I said it?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens when I say it again?” You whispered. 

Steven squirmed a little, even the thought of you saying it getting him hot under the collar. “Feels… nice. Sort of.” He pushed at his throbbing cock with the heel of his hand and opened his eyes, his head slightly drooped. 

“Sort of?” 

“Yeah, like… you know, he jumps to attention every time you say it.” He blinked heavily, his cheeks burning. God, you must think he was a right little freak.

“Good boy.” 

He groaned, unable to stop the sound in time and looked up at you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice that you were making fun of him like Marc and… oh. 

Realisation dawned. You were biting your lip and smiling. You liked it. A lot. 

Steven swallowed audibly. 

Slowly you stood and walked around the table to stand beside him. Steven pushed out his chair a little, angling it so that he was facing you. He went to stand but you gently pressed on his shoulder. He followed your command and stayed sitting down, looking up at you with pleading eyes. 

He played at his jumper sleeve nervously as you watched him. His dick hard and pulsating with need, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. 

He swallowed again. “Love-”

“Good boy.” 

He moaned softly, screwing his face up as his cock twitched at your words. 

You bent down quickly, grabbing hold of his cheeks and kissing him deeply. Using his brief surprise to slip your tongue into his mouth and push him back against the chair. 

Steven whimpered against you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders and the back of your neck as you ravaged his mouth and robbed him of his breath.

“Good boy.” You muttered between the kisses, swallowing his hushed whimpers and soft moans. Revelling in the way he pulled you tighter, needy and desperate for anything you’d give him. 

You brushed your hand against his groin, squeezing the outline of his cock. 

“Fuck!” Steven hissed, clawing at your top and thrusting up into your touch. The rest of his words were lost as you kissed him hard and lightly bit his bottom lip. 

You trailed your lips down to his jaw and neck, sucking at his pulse point and pushing him even further back into the seat. 

His breathy moans sent a wave of heat along your spine to your core, twisted in your belly and overwhelmed every thought. 

You squeezed his cock again, the heat of him radiating through your hand. “Good boy.” 

The words barely left your lip before Steven answered you with an accompanying groan, his length twitching against your palm. 

You moaned, so dizzily high with the sounds of his pleasure. Without thinking you undo his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling his trousers and boxers down to his calves in a hurried motion with a little help from Steven as he raises his hips. His cock springs free, needy and weeping with need. 

You take him in hand, stroking him twice before pulling his jumper over his head. He whines at the loss, chasing your mouth and kissing you urgently the second the material is off and on the floor. 

With your lips desperately pressed to his you pull down your own trousers and underwear, kicking one leg free and not bothering about the other as you take his length back in your hand and straddle his thighs. 

Him being so worked up, so desperate for you when you hadn’t even touched him is a stronger aphrodisiac that anything you’d ever experienced.

You don’t even give him a second to react before you’re lining him up with your already soaking entrance and slowly sinking down. “Such a good boy Steven,” you breathe, your voice rising in pitch at the end as he inches deeper, his thick cock splitting you so wide. 

He moans headily, pressing his face into your chest and mouthing at the tops of your breast through your top. 

“Love, you’re so wet.” He bites his bottom hip, his fingers pressing against your waist hard enough to leave bruises. 

You pull at the back of his hair slightly, scratching your nails along his scalp as he finally bottoms out. He pulses within you, twitching and aching and so, so close already. 

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you Steven?” 

He whined against you as you rocked your hips, quickly starting to lift yourself up and sink back down, setting a brutal pace as you began to bounce on his cock.

“Such a good boy letting me use you like this.” 

Steven moaned, chasing your hips and thrusting deep. He was drunk on you, needed you. Every moment, every word you said sent waves of pleasure through his body and made his head spin. 

Even in his intoxicated state his muscle memory kicked in, bucking up into you perfectly to make you see stars. Each spot that would break you apart memorised and stored deep within his very soul. 

He fucked up into you harder, growling with his desperate need. His leg kicked out and caught against the table's edge, rocking the chessboard and knocking pieces over. 

The sound just loud enough to register in his mind. “Sorry, I-“

“Doesn’t matter Steven, please,” you moaned. At this angle the head of him constantly pressed so deep, rubbing consistently over that special spot and not even giving you a chance to breathe. No pause or reprieve from the oncoming onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overtake you. 

“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whined, your thighs shaking and thrusts growing sloppy. 

Steven growled, grabbing hold of your hips and pistoning upwards, not allowing your pleasure to dip. “Please, please, please, cum on my cock, please love, please. Tell me I’m your-”

“You’re my good boy.” You came dizzyingly hard, your fingers digging into Steven’s shoulders and leaving marks. 

But he didn’t care. Couldn't care as you squeezed and fluttered around him, moaning ‘good boy’, and shaking as you fell apart in ecstasy. 

Steven gasped, the air catching in his throat, the pleasure so potent it was like his heart stopped. He came deep, hot and thick, his hips still thrusting to prolong your high and to fuck his spend deeper into you. 

You held each other tightly as you recovered, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin. It was only then that you pulled off your top and bra, discarding them on the floor with the rest of your clothing. 

Steven nuzzled into you, softly kissing along your collarbone as you stroked his hair. 

He chuckled suddenly and you moved back every so slightly to look him in the eyes. 

“What?” 

He grinned, dreamy and love sick, up at you. “Marc’s changed his mind. He’d quite like you to call him ‘good boy’ too.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love

If you’d like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

thinking about getting crossfaded with marc and then steven fronts ..!!!

18+ minors dni

words: 2.1k

warnings: crossfaded!steven grant x f!reader, marc angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol and weed, light choking, pinv sex, unprotected sex

summary: Marc comes home from a rough mission. He doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s one of those nights where he needs a crutch to ease his sore body and racing thoughts, and he needs you with him. When Steven fronts and is met with the unfamiliar effects of mixing smoking and drinking, there’s only one thing he feels like doing with (to) you.

It’s one of those nights where Marc creeps into the apartment after a long mission with his body sore and tired, his mind racing. It’s past midnight and the sound of the door opening has you stepping out of your shared bedroom and into the hall, arms wrapped around yourself and standing in one of Marc’s shirts as you watch him silently. You watch his broad back as he rummages through your junk drawer in the kitchen, pushing aside rubber bands and post it notes and business cards before grabbing a lighter and making his way to the balcony, fishing a joint from the back pocket of his jeans as he slides the door open and steps outside.

Of course, you follow him. You don’t say anything as you stand beside him and look out at the city skyline against the dark blue sky. You’ve been with Marc long enough and have seen him like this enough times to know that what he needs most is you by his side; not your pity, not your fear or worry, just your presence.

He leans his forearms on the railing and sparks the joint between his lips, taking a deep toke that he holds in his lungs for a few beats before blowing it out. The joint appears between two of his rough fingers an inch in front of your mouth. Marc watches with heavy eyelids as your soft lips close around the filter and you take a drag.

An hour or so later you’ve both made your way back into the apartment, Marc’s shoulders looking more relaxed, the notch between his eyebrows gone. The living room is lit only by the blueish street lamps outside that flood through the window and a few randomly placed candles you lit in an attempt to mask the lingering smell of weed. The coffee table’s become cluttered with a near-empty bottle of wine and two empty glasses, the lighter from the junk drawer and a triangular ashtray meant to resemble a pyramid from the museum gift shop.

The flashing picture of the television reflects in you and Marc’s dry eyes as you half-watch some shitty movie from your seat on the couch. You’re lying between Marc’s legs with your back to his torso, your head rising and falling against his chest with each breath. He’s so warm and his breathing is deep and slow, but you notice the way his stress lingers in how his large hands squeeze your waist, and his strong arms hold you against him so tightly as if someone or something would try to rip you away.

Later on, you feel Marc’s hold on you ease up and his breaths get deeper. Lifting your head slightly from his chest, you look up to confirm he’s asleep and press your lips softly to his stubbled jaw, whispering “I love you,” against his skin. You sit up and turn noiselessly above Marc so you can lay your chest on his torso and wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek into his chest and closing your dry eyes to slip into your own sleep.

⋆

A sudden movement from beneath you forces you awake, making your heart jump in your chest and eyelids snap open to darkness; it was still nighttime. You must have just fallen asleep, because it’s easy to open your eyes and prop yourself up on your hands on either side of Marc’s body. His torso is tense against your chest and his breaths are quick. His hands no longer rest on your lower back, but hover just above it, as if you’ll break at the softest touch; this wasn’t Marc.

Steven’s red eyes are wide and looking at the paraphernalia that litters the coffee table, “Oh, dear,” he rasps in his accent, slightly slurring his words, “You and Marc have had quite the party.”

His eyes turn to meet yours and you bite the inside of your cheek as you realize something, Steven’s never gotten high before.

“Steven?” you say, “...Are you feeling alright?”

In the dark room you barely notice Steven’s cheeks flush red to match the colour of his eyes, his hands come to rest on your hips and his fingers play anxiously with the hem of your (his) shirt. You’re sitting on your knees between his thighs, still only wearing the shirt and a pair of panties. Your face is still flushed from being pressed against his chest and the blueish light from outside makes your skin glow softly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he rasps, “That stuff really… clouds your head up, dunnit?”

“Do you… like it?” you ask. Your big doe eyes are red and searching Steven’s face for any bad signs.

“I, well,” one of his big hands leaves your hip to scratch the back of his neck, his thick bicep flexing with the movement, “I don’t quite know what to do with myself, to be honest.”

His hips squirm slightly on the couch and you look down to see a bulge beneath his briefs, Marc having discarded their jeans hours earlier. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and bring a hand to rub up and down his thigh, the muscles tensing instantly as he inhales sharply, “You should just relax, baby,” you say, “Y’want me to help?”

“God,” he moans, “Yes, yes, I need your help, love. Please… please, help.”

“Tell me what you need, Steven.”

His hands push your shirt up out of the way, his fingers tugging at your panties, “Wanna fuck you,” he says lowly, “Please let me, baby.”

A quiet moan, almost a sigh, leaves you at his words. The drugs were doing something to Steven, whether he was more confident or he just wanted you that badly, you weren’t sure, but Steven was usually the timid one in the system, asking to be fucked rather than begging to fuck you. Regardless, his change in demeanor was more than okay with you.

His droopy eyes were dark and greedy as they raked over your body, and his warm hand cupped one of your tits over your shirt, salivating at the way the fabric outlined your hardened nipples. You whined at the touch, wanting to feel his skin on yours, “Fuck me, please Steven.”

Your clothes fall to the floor as Steven pulls them off of you. You hiss as he tugs your panties down and you feel the cool air against your warm centre.

“God,” Stephen groans, “You’re so wet f’me. Pussy’s glistening so pretty.”

“Stevennn,” you whine as he kneels above you, holding your knees open and staring down at your cunt.

“Shh, shh,” he stands to pull down his briefs and release his thick cock, dark hair trailing down his lower stomach to the base, before returning to the couch above you, “I’m here, baby. Let us take care of you, yeah?”

Steven grips his cock to guide it to your dripping centre, guiding the thick head through your wet folds to get himself slick. He lands a glob of spit on your cunt before slowly pushing into you. You whine out at the feeling, warmth pooling in your tummy at the familiar way he stretches you, “A-ah… Steven, mmh.” His cock is so hard and thick, and you can’t help that your walls are already squeezing around him.

Steven groans as he collapses over you, holding himself up with his forearms on either side of your head and pushing into you so slowly. Excruciatingly slow. Your head is still hazy from the wine and weed, all you can focus on is the pressure in your belly as Steven bottoms out inside of you. You’re clawing at his bare back, the muscles there rippling and tensing with each long thrust.

He leans his head back to look at you, how you look so pretty for him in the pale light, glossy eyes going unfocused and dumb and he pushes in and out of your cunt, your jaw slack and pink lips parted as you whine and moan, bare tits bouncing softly as he fucks you. He brings a big hand to your throat and squeezes so lightly that you barely register the pressure. Steven has seen Marc hold your neck like this so many times from the mirror in your bedroom, but the view of you pawing at his forearm as you gasp in breaths from this angle turns him on a thousand times more. It has him picking up speed, his thrusts causing a rhythmic and wet slapping as you gush around his length, your juices coating his heavy balls that slap against the soft flesh of your ass.

Your plush thighs tighten around his hips, your eyelids fluttering shut as you blindly paw at Steven’s hard chest, “Come here,” you whine, making Steven collapse over you again and chuckle softly.

“Is that nice, love?” his warmth breath hitting the shell of your ear, “Is my cock filling you nicely? Can you feel me in your belly, baby? Tell me.”

“S-so good, Steven. Sooo deep, mmh.”

“God, such a sweet girl,” he moans, trailing kisses from beneath your ear down your chest and to your tits, taking a nipple between his teeth before darting his tongue out to lick the bud, rolling your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “Lettin’ me fuck you like a good girl, aren’t you? Takin’ this cock so well, so nicely.”

You open your eyes to watch Steven pinching and sucking on your nipples. A few dark curls fall over his forehead and his thick brows furrowed in concentration, all the while still thrusting into your leaking cunt. You squeeze around his girth at the sight, he was so hungry for you, sloppily and greedily devouring your tits, a trail of his spit glistening across your chest.

“Steven… W-wanna cum,” you whine, grabbing at his hips to pull him closer, deeper.

He pulls his mouth away from your nipple with a pop and looks down at you, all hooded eyes and puffy wet lips, “Shh, alright,” he coos, “Let me pound you ‘til y’cum. Would y’like that?”

You only manage to nod your head a few centimetres before Steven takes your hips in his hands, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he lifts your hips and begins slamming his cock into you. The new angle and the force of his thrusts has you crying out. Your cries and gasps fill the apartment, along with the smack of his hips against you, your pussy squeezing and squelching as Steven bullies his thickness inside your tight hole.

“That’s it,” he groans, “S’good at takin’ cock, sweet girl.”

The rough pad of Steven’s thumb began rubbing harsh circles over your clit, the pressure threatening to snap the invisible cord inside you. The thick head of his cock pounds that sweet spot deep inside you and his length rubs against your soaked and gummy walls.

“Fuckkk, y/n,” he moans, “Squeezin’ me so tight. Y’gonna cum, baby? All over m’cock?”

His deep and raspy voice has you falling over the edge, the invisible cord snapping in your tummy as you gush and throb around his length. Steven falls forwards and wraps his arms around you, your face buried into his neck as you sobbed, his face pressed into your hair as he grunted deeply.

Steven rides out your orgasm, pushing his still hard cock in and out of your sore cunt. He finally pulls out of you when you push on his chest and whine at the overstimulation.

He brings your legs together and hugs your knees to his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulder as he rubs his length between your wet, puffy folds and sticky inner thighs. You both stare down at the sight of his leaking cockhead poking through your thighs with each thrust.

“Mmf,” he moans, “M’cummin’, m’cummin’, fuckkk…”

Warm, thick spurts of Steven’s cum coat your lower belly as he cums. You swallow thickly and bite your bottom lip at the sight. It’s so filthy, Steven’s cock between your weak and shaking thighs, his forehead glistening with the effort of bringing you both to the finish line. His wet tongue darts out to wet his lips, his jaw slack as he stares down at your spent and fucked out body that’s now covered in his cum.

He presses a kiss to your shin before letting your legs down and heading to the bathroom for a cloth to clean you up, stumbling a little on the way.

Once he’s wiped you clean, Steven lays beside you propped up on his elbow, one hand on the side of your face and rubbing your temple with his thumb, the other roaming your body, squeezing your tits lightly, rubbing your tummy and hips, kneading the flesh of your thighs with his fingers.

You fall asleep to Steven’s warm voice in your ear. He chants quiet “Thank you”s and “I love you”s until he drifts off too.

<3

tell me steven wouldn't pout with those stupid puppy eyes when you leave in the morning for work.

tell me he wouldn't sulk in bed for hours, painfully missing your sleepy cuddles and soft breaths.

TELL ME he wouldn't take your pillow and shove it under his hips as he ruts pathetically against it, whimpering your name.

tell me he wouldn't make a mess of himself just so you can clean it up when you get home.

actually, tell me he would.

pls.

Then There Were Three

Pairing:  Marc Spector x bi f!reader x Layla El-Faouly

Summary: Things get complicated when your two friends, Layla and Marc, who you may or not be madly in love with, invite you to be their roommate. Prequel to What Good Girls Get and how their relationship started. But it can be read on its own, I guess. 

Warnings: No explicit smut, but subtle illusions to masturbation and some mentions of kissing, ANGST( resolves with happy ending tho :) ),friends to lovers, jealousy, slightly toxic behavior from everyone involved, reader gets drunk and makes questionable choices but Layla and Marc come to the rescue, mentions reader kissing stranger, feelings of unrequited love followed by profession of feelings, happy ending :). Let me know if I missed anything

 Wc: 3.6k

 A/N: Soooo, why did no one tell me writing angst was so fun?? I wrote this as a prequel to What Good Girls Get because I really want to make a series out of their relationship/dynamic. So, I decided to write this to sort of set everything up and give some background into how they all came together. I'll most likely still write Marc x Reader x Layla fics separate from the series, but I think this'll be fun. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see more. As always comments/feedback are always welcome and encouraged!!

You first meet Layla in a self-defense class she's instructing at the community center. You hit it off immediately and begin hanging out outside of the class. She even introduces you to her husband, Marc. He's really great too, so you eventually all start hanging out together. Your friendship quickly grows, and you find yourself seeing them multiple times a week.

 You're out grabbing coffee with them one day and tell them how you are looking for a second job. In turn, Marc mentions that they have been going away for work more frequently and are considering getting a house sitter, not wanting to leave their place empty for days and possibly weeks on end.

 "The job is yours, if you're interested of course," he offers.

 "Really? Yeah, that'd be great." You nod, relieved to not continue the job hunt, something that has been huge stress on your life

 "Of course. You're there all the time anyway,” Layla says and you all chuckle. She's right, you're always coming over to have dinner and watch movies, often times sleeping over since your apartment is across town.

 You adjust well to the new ‘job’. It isn’t difficult. All they have is a fish and few plants so it isn’t too demanding. You really just laze about their apartment and clean up here and there and await their return. It begins to feel like a second home. You rarely spend time at your own place, really only going back to get clothes.

 Not that you’re complaining, you hate your apartment. Things are always breaking and the landlord is an asshole, so when it comes time for your lease to be up, you decide to look for a new place. You voice your concerns about finding somewhere on such short notice and, yet again, the couple present you with a convenient solution. They offer up their spare bedroom.

 "Oh, no, I wouldn't want to impose," you say, although not voicing the real reason for your reluctance.

 Since you first met Layla, you may or may not have developed a crush on her. And then you found out she's married and you decided to push those feelings aside, out of respect for their relationship of course.  But then you all started hanging out together and in no time, you started falling for Marc too.

They're both so great, but you know nothing could ever happen between you and them. Layla had once opened up about her and Marc having been through a lot and said they’re finally in a happy, healthy place. That's all you needed to hear and immediately buried those feeling deep inside you. They're relationship is finally stable again, who are you to come in and shake that up over a little crush?

 Well, what started out as a little crush soon develops into some very serious feelings for both of them and it's getting harder and harder to ignore. You start to envy their relationship. Seeing them together makes you think about what you don't have. But it's more than that, you're envious that you don't have it with them.

 You like being able to be roommates, but the proximity makes it harder to keep your feelings for them at bay. You're constantly coming home and finding them all cuddled up on the couch or just seeing little glimpses of them being couple-y in general and it really starts to get to you.

 You eventually decide to start dating again, hoping it'll help you move on from your feelings for your roommates. While they're away for work, you decide to invite a guy over that you had been out with a couple of times. They end up coming home early and Marc flips out. Layla tries to calm him down but he says you can’t just be bringing strangers into their home. He storms off and Layla apologizes. You send the guy home. Technically this is your home too, but you realize it would be better if you mentioned your plans to them before hand, just out of respect.

 That isn't an isolated incident, though. Marc doesn't seem too keen on you dating in general. Layla seems to be supportive, yet constantly warns you to be careful meeting people online. So, you try to keep them in the loop of who you're seeing, hoping that resolves the issues. But any time you mention a date, Marc goes silent. You had met this girl a while back and suggested a double date to try and ease some of the tension and Marc flat out refused. Anytime you would even bring her up he would dismiss it and get short with you.

 After a while of him acting like that, Layla surprises you by saying she shares that same feeling. She tells you that it’s probably not the best idea, although she's a lot kinder about it. She won't give you a reason why, though, and you just assume it's to not cause division between her and Marc.  She had initially said it was fine to have people over while they weren't home but she eventually sides with Marc on that, too, saying not to just to be safe. You're disappointed and their decision starts making dating even harder. 

Not wanting to jump through the hoops of dating, you feel like your back to square one with nothing to distract you from your feelings for Marc and Layla. They feel bad since you seem to have given up on dating, so they begin inviting you everywhere with them. You love being with them, but at the end of the night you go back to your room, alone, wishing you could hold their hands, kiss them, and show them affection like you're desperate to do. You're frequently tempted to turn down their invitations and offer the excuse of not wanting to intrude, especially when it seems like a date night type of activity, but Layla just tells you you’re always welcome and that they’d really like you to join.

 There is one thing that they don’t ask you to join in on. It's the thing you crave most. It’s what you dream about when you’re alone at night satisfying those needs with your hand while you know they’re fulfilling them for each other.

It’s almost torture on those nights you're all watching a movie and they start getting closer and closer on the couch. They snuggle up together and give quick kisses when they think you aren't looking. They're obviously wanting more, but out of respect for you, they keep things tame. But you know. You know when they leave halfway through the movie, telling you they're tired and run off to their room, and you hear the giggles and whispers as they sneak away.

 Then you're left alone, only imagining what they're doing in there, and the emptiness in your heart is joined by an ache between your legs. So you go to your own room, giving yourself a pitiful orgasm that leaves you with even more longing than you felt before.

One night, you walk into the living room on your way out to meet your friends and they’re going at it on the couch, hands roaming over their clothed bodies. They sense you walk in and pull apart, going to apologize but you turn away, and rush out the door with an awkward 'bye'.

 You try to brush it off, but it puts a damper on your evening and you drink more than you should. You find some random person to go home with, hoping to take your mind off things. You end up making out on their couch but all you can think about is Marc and Layla. Not feeling it anymore, you tell them you want to stop and get your things and leave. You walk out of the building, then realize you don’t have a ride.

You make a feeble attempt to order an Uber but the level of intoxication makes it seem like an impossible task. You finally manage to open your messaging app and see a bunch of text from Marc and Layla. They're freaking out because you always text them if you’re not coming home that night and they fear the worst thinking something happened to you.

 You call Layla. You brace yourself for Marc to go off on you for not telling them where you are. She answers immediately, clearly on edge but relieved to finally be hearing from you. “Where are you, babe?” The nickname she calls you sends a pang of hurt to your heart, knowing that when she calls Marc that, it holds a totally different meaning.

 “Please don’t call me that,” you mumble.

 “What? Where are you?” she asks, hearing the slur in your voice and hoping you’re somewhere safe.

 “I don’t know? Umm…” You look around for a street sign, but turning your heads around has your head spinning and you get dizzy and take a seat on the curb.

 “Are you still at the bar?” She knows where you'd gone and with who, but judging by the frustrated whine you let out she can tell that you're no longer there.

 “Put Gina on the phone,” she instructs, hoping you were still with the group.

“I'm not with her. She…I don't know where she is. Probably still with the girl she was talking to earlier. I don't know though.” You sigh, wishing you had thought this whole thing through before running off.

 Layla sighs, frustrated that you split from the group. You hear Marc exclaim, “What?! They left you alone? Where are you?”, letting you know you’re on speaker and he’s heard everything.

 “Marc, she just said she doesn’t know,” Layla says, trying to calm him down a bit. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 “I met someone and we went back to their place but now I'm outside and… please come get me.” You slur out your explanation and you hear Marc grumble something, but you can’t make it out.

 “Marc, don’t. Babe? Babe, you still there?” Layla's voice crackles on the line.

 “Please. Stop,” you plead, you voice laced with hurt.

 "Stop what? I need you to listen to me. Can you turn on your location for me?" You fumble for a good five minutes and they both try walking you through the steps and you finally manage to share your location with them. “Stay put. We’ll be there soon," Layla assures.

 They stay on the line but you sit in silence, wishing you were tucked into bed and ready to forget this whole night. When they finally arrive, Layla gets out to open the door for you, and guides you gently into the back seat.

 There's a tension in the air and you're left feeling like someone whose parents caught them sneaking out. Marc sits in the driver's seat, grumbling out various comments like “How could you be so irresponsible?”, and, “Going home with some stranger, do you have any idea what how dangerous that is? You’re lucky they let you leave.”

 Layla places her hand on his thigh, trying to get him to let up, but she doesn’t say anything. She looks just as disappointed as him. He continues, “I just don’t know what you were thinking…", and you see him shake his head.

 You become fed up with the scolding. “I just wanted to have a little fun, ok? I don’t have a partner at home I can run to whenever I need a good screw. We’re not all as lucky as you two!”, you shout, crossing your arms. Your sober self will regret that, but right now you don’t care.

 “Were not saying you can’t go out and meet people, we just wish you’d be a bit more careful,” Layla says, sensing your agitation, but frustration continues to bubble up inside you. “Yeah, well you sure act like I'm not allowed. You treat me like a child! You monitor who I'm going out with like you’re in charge of me or something. Unless you’re going to include me the next time you guys run off to your room to fuck each other, then I'd appreciate it if you would just stay out of my business.” You huff and slum against the seat.

 "Babe…we don't mean to-" Layla starts, but before you can stop it, and all your pent-up feelings start flowing out of you uncontrollably. "Enough! Cool it with the 'babe' and 'honey' and 'sweetheart'. I'm not your 'babe' and I'm clearly never going to be so would you spare me the hurt and…and disappointment and stop calling me that?" You feel tears well in your eyes and your voice quivers as you speak. You get no response, both of them clearly not knowing what to say.

 Just moments ago, you were seething, but it's morphed into a sadness that makes your chest feel heavy. Not wanting to let them see you cry, you turn and lean your head against the window, not noticing the look they give each other. Your comment seemed to shut them up so you finish the ride in silence.

  When you pull up to the apartment, you stumble out of the car and storm into the building before they can help you. Once you're through the door you go to your room, slam the door, and throw yourself onto the bed. You lay there, already drifting off, but Layla walks in with a glass of water and some ibuprofen that she knows you’ll be needing in the morning. Marc follows behind her with a washcloth.

 She helps you sit up and gives you some water, then gets up to grab you some pjs. While she rifling through your drawer, Marc gently wipes your face, cleaning the sweat and tears of the night off. You sigh at the feeling of the warmth on your skin. You lean into him as he does it and he soothingly strokes your back.  You feel yourself starting to drift off in his arms but hear a “No, no, no. Not yet,” and he chuckles while he sits you back up.

 Layla’s hands you your clothes and they both turn around, wanting to be respectful, but also to be there in case you fall, which in your state is very likely. It takes a bit, but you manage to slide your shirt and shorts on and fall back onto the bed. They turn back and bid you goodnight. You mumble a 'night' before sleep overtakes you.

You wake up and the events of the night come flooding back to you. Your head is pounding, and your breath quickens as you replay the conversation you had in the car the night before. Fuck. You’re never drinking again. Those feelings that you tried so hard to bury had finally come to the surface. What's even worse is that the two people you absolutely did not want to hear them, did. You stay in your room as long as possible, but eventually you can no longer ignore the grumbling in your stomach. You tip toe to the kitchen, hoping not to run into the couple. Luckily, it seems like they’re both gone so you make yourself breakfast and sneak back off to your room.

 As you finish your food, you decide that you can’t stay here. Everything you worked desperately to keep a secret has come to light and you can’t face them. You pack up your things, the tears coming and going as you realize your two favorite people will no longer be in your life. They've become your support system, your safe haven and it's all gone. And it's all your fault. You reluctantly leave your keys on the counter along with note. You can’t seem to figure out what to say, you stare at the blank slip of paper. All you write is, 'I'm sorry' and leave it at that.

  Luckily, your friend offers to let you stay at their place until you can figure out a new living situation. After about a week of hundreds of missed calls and text from your ex-roommates and withering away on your friend's couch, they invite you out. They can tell you're hurt and don't want you to completely fall apart, so they try to get your mind off of things.

 You spend the night trying to dance and have fun with your friends but you're too distracted. You don't dare drink. The shame from what happened last time making you consider never drinking again.

 You fall back into a semi-normal routine, but can't seem to pull yourself out of this funk. You decide to use your day off to visit your favorite coffee shop, somewhere you usually go every morning before work but haven't had the energy to go.

 Drink in hand, you walk out of the café and feel the sun shining bright and warm on your skin. You smile at the feeling, something you missed while you holed yourself up in the apartment for weeks.

 You turn to walk towards the park, but your smile immediately drops as you come face to face with the two people who haven't left your mind since you last saw them. You almost drop your drink as they walk up to you.

 "Hey," Marc greets softly, not wanting to startle you further.

 "What are you doing here?" you ask, breathlessly. The sight of them causes the events of your last encounter to flood your mind. You suddenly feel very overwhelmed, your nerves telling you to run away, but your feet remain glued to the ground.

 "Can we talk?" Layla asks. You're obviously hesitant, but the way you left was abrupt and there was no closure, so you feel like you owe it to them. You're just not ready to face the rejection you weren't giving them the chance to voice to you.

You follow them to the park across the street. You walk along, your body swirling with emotion. More than anything, you feel embarrassment and shame for the way you acted. But that calmness you always seem to feel when they’re around soothes you.

 As you all take a seat at one of the picnic tables, you speak first. All the things you've wanted to say to have been rattling around in your head for weeks, so you waste no time in letting them know.

 "Look, I disrespected you guys and your relationship and I was totally out of line. I've thought about it a lot and I care about you two so much, but it wouldn't be fair to you guys or even myself if I pretend like these feelings aren't there." You don’t want to stop having them in your life but you can't push these feelings down any longer. "It was really taking a toll on me and I think it might just be better to cut ties completely to allow myself the space move on," you confess. It's not easy though, and every second you look in their eyes makes saying goodbye seem even more unbearable.

 A look of hurt flashes across their faces as you mention breaking off the friendship and you feel guilt bubble up inside you once again. This is your fault. If you hadn't drank, if you had just kept your mouth shut, this wouldn't be happening. But you would still be hopelessly in love with them and the unreciprocated feelings would be too much to bear, regardless.  

"I can't keep following you guys around like some lovesick puppy. I just…I can't do it," you declare, voice cracking as you feel your throat start to get tighter as the sadness overtakes you. Layla reaches across the table and places her hand on top of yours.

 "Listen," she starts, "we want you in our lives. You're our best friend and we love you so much."

"But," Marc speaks up and you think to yourself, here we go. They get you alone to tell you what’s already been made perfectly clear, they don’t feel the same and you would just be getting in the way of their relationship. You feel tears start burning in your eyes and turn to the side trying to blink them away.

 "we had no idea how to tell you we want this relationship to be something more." Your head swings to look at them, confusion written all over your face.

 "It was selfish to act like we did. Inviting you to date nights, being all cuddly, not being supportive of your relationships," Layla interjects. " We should have communicated our true feelings and it must have been very confusing for you. We are so sorry to have dragged it out this long. We should have spoken up sooner but we just didn't know how to tell you. We didn't want to scare you off if you didn't feel the same.

 "Really?" They both nod and Marc's hand joins Layla's on top of yours. You let out breath that feels like it was trapped in your chest, and you relax your shoulders. You've been dreaming of this moment. Dreaming they'd pull you into their arms and tell you they want you, to have a relationship with you. You almost don't believe it, having convinced yourself there was no way they feel the same.

 "So…now what?" you ask and they both chuckle. As elated as you are, this is going to be new for all of you. You have no idea what it's going to look like, and how you're all going to adjust.

 "We go get your stuff and you come home," Marc says, and gives you a warm smile.

Dust To Dust

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, talks of alcohol/substance abuse, undefined relationship, sleepy sex, dirty talk!joel, unprotected piv, rough sex, possessive!joel, soft ending)

word count: 2k

joel masterlist | joel playlist | song inspo

You weren’t sure how it started, this…thing with Joel. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was weight of loneliness threatening to crush your bones, or maybe it was nothing at all—nothing besides a mutually felt need for one another that could no longer be kept at bay.

Each night after a long and brutal day in the QZ, you’d sneak into Joel Miller’s apartment, his spare key around your neck the closest you’d likely ever come to being claimed publicly as his.

Joel was always out cold when you arrived, the half-gone whiskey bottle on his bedside the most obvious substance to blame for his sedation, but you knew it went much deeper than that. He tried to hide it from you—the pills he had to take just to get a half-decent night of sleep—but his secrecy was no match for your hyper-observant nature. It wasn’t as though you even cared about the hydro and the oxy—everyone left in this brutal world had to find a way to sleep—but you knew Joel well enough to know that he didn’t want you to see just how deep the crevasse went, so you feigned cluelessness to protect his pride.

You didn’t bother to undress, and neither did Joel apparently, finding him snoring on his back fully dressed, his boots still on. You ran your hand up his stomach and chest as you stood at the side of the bed, stirring him enough to get him to roll over onto his side. Joel’s eyes batted open before squeezing shut again as he rolled over, your body quick to slip in behind him and tug the blankets over the both of you. You ran your hand up and down his ribs and stomach, lulling him back to sleep while also relaxing yourself. Joel’s hand rested on top of yours before sliding it up his chest until he was kissing your knuckles.

“Go back to sleep,” you mumbled against his shoulder blade your face nuzzled against it. Joel grunted in disobedience before rolling over to face you, his hand guiding your leg to rest over his hip. “I’m too tired to do anything athletic tonight,” you exhaled against his lips as he peppered barely there nips against yours. “You’ll have to do all the work.”

“Don’t I always?” he teased, the slur of his voice an indication that he was still drunk.

“Too sleepy to go back and forth,” you smiled against his lips.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his hands reaching down to his belt and fly, undoing them and tugging himself out. You shimmied your jeans halfway down your thighs before giving up, your ass flush against Joel’s hard on as he tugged you back against his chest, his cheek nuzzling against yours as you laid on your sides. “You wet?”

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself?” You grabbed his hand as it rested on your hip and slipped it between your thighs, a soft puff of air leaving his lips as his fingers were coated in your slick. “That wet enough for you, Texas?”

“It’s perfect,” he whimpered in desperation, not a trace of teasing in his voice. You felt drunk on his lust, pulsing for him long before he even touched you. When his finger began to circle your clit, you graced him with a moan, his lips pressing against the side of your face as he bucked his stiffened cock against your ass. “Tell me you need it, baby. Tell me how much you need me.”

“Fuck, Joel, I need you so much I could cry,” you begged, exhaustion and arousal turning you stupid. Joel groaned into your ear and nodded, pleased by the sound of your desperation. “Please baby, please. Put it inside me.”

“You gonna take me however I want tonight?” he husked as his hand left your pussy to wrap around his cock, his fist pumping it as he awaited your response.

“Yes,” you nodded, your walls twitching in anticipation.

“I wanna hear you,” he commanded as he lined his cock up with your entrance, dipping just the tip in before pulling out and sliding up to your clit to gather more slickness on his shaft. “I wanna hear every damn thing, alright?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, reaching back to lace your fingers in his hair. “I need your cock, baby. Please—“

“Here you go baby,” Joel hushed you as he slid his cock into your pussy slowly, inch by inch, taking your breath away as he pressed in as deep as he could go and held you there with his hand on your hip. “That what you wanted? To feel me like this?”

“Fuck, move,” you ordered but his tutted in your ear, his head shaking.

“How I want it, remember?” His voice whispering into your ear sent chills down your spine, your skin covered with goosebumps. Joel seemed to find it amusing how easily he could affect you, his hand smoothing along your skin to relish in the hairs he made stand up. “You like when I talk to you, darlin? Like my voice?”

Joel withdrew his cock almost completely before pressing back inside, a pathetic loan slipping from your lips as the blunt head of his cock glided along your favorite spot.

“Pussy’s already squeezin’ me,” he grunted into your ear as he continued this painfully slow in and out, your arousal flooding around his cock as he teased you to the brink of madness. “I could stay buried in your pussy for a lifetime, baby.”

“Joel, fuck,” you whined and reached back to hold his hip, wanting him closer but he was already flush against you.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he praised in a husky growl, his cock grinding as he kept it seated inside you. “Lettin’ me work you up…don’t worry, baby, I’ll give it to ya how you need it soon.”

You felt as drunk and high as he probably still was, your entire body alight at the mere scoot of his cock against your walls. This was what made him the most dangerous man in Boston in your eyes, not the violence he was capable of or the icy chill of his heart, it wasn’t his job or his bad habits, it was his ability to unravel you with as little as his skin touching yours, his voice in your ear, his eyes locked with yours as though you meant something.

“So soft,” he praised as his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip to spread you open a bit more, granting him access to your weeping cunt. Joel moaned into the side of your neck as he buried his face there, two of his deft fingers circling your bud that was already swollen and pulsing before he ever even made contact. “So warm.”

“Fuck, that f-eels,” you shivered, his cock surprising you with a full thrust against your g-spot, your vision going blurry at the pleasure that trickled down your thighs to your toes. “Joel, Christ.”

“Gonna get you to cum for me like this,” he detailed between kisses to your neck, his breath going ragged as your pornographic moans filled his apartment. “Then I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress until you’re drippin’ with me.”

“Fuck,” you whined against and clawed at the skin of his lower back where you continued to hold onto him. Joel moaned at the sharp sting and bit down on your shoulder, the pain blurring into pleasure with every punch of his cock up into your pussy. “Joel, I’m so fucking close, please don’t stop, I’m so fucking—“

“God, you sound so pretty,” he grunted as his hips began to snap into yours, your knee now hooked on his arm as he spread you apart on your side. You looked down with groggy and arousal drunk eyes to watch as his fingers worked over your clit, your brows narrowing with ever perfect strum of your pussy. “Jesus, gettin’ so tight I can hardly move.”

“Joel, I’m fucking coming—oh my god!” You we’re a whining, moaning, convulsing mess against him as he fucked you through your orgasm as slowly as he could, drawing out the death-like pleasure that coursed through your veins and nearly took you out of consciousness.

“Yes. Fuck. That’s my girl,” Joel panted in your ear as he rolled you onto your stomach, his hands lifting your hips until you were face down and ass up on the mattress. Joel’s clock shoved its way back into your pussy and you choked on the way he felt inside you, your fingers clawing at his sheets for purchase as he drilled into you without regard for your oversensitivity. “All mine, ain’t ya?”

“Joel,” you whined, unwilling to answer him given the murky nature of your situation.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he bent over your back, gripping your hair in his fist and turning your head to the side so he could speak directly in your ear. His hips never ceased in their ruthless clap! clap! clap! against the flesh of your ass, his cock rendering you speechless even if you wanted to obey him. “Come on, tell me this pussy belongs to me.”

“It’s yours,” you mewled, inching towards a more brutal climax. “My pussy belongs to you, Joel.”

“Good,” he growled and you could hear the smirk on his face. “Now tell me you’re mine.”

“But I’m not,” you shook your head and cracked your eye open to look at him over your shoulder, Joel’s face scrunched in offense as he stared back at you. “Am I?”

Joel nearly snarled as he somehow fucked you harder, your body sliding up the mattress from the force of his thrusts as he lowered his teeth to your earlobe, biting on it just enough to sting in the best way.

“Course you are,” he spoke. “You’re mine…and I’m yours.”

“You are?” You wanted to cry, not just from the way his cock was devastating you one thrust at a time, but from the admission.

Joel Miller was yours. That alone made living in this world worth it.

“I swear it,” he kissed your cheek and let out a shivered moan. “God damn. I want you to cum on my cock, baby. Make me yours and I’ll fill this pussy up and make you mine.”

“Jesus,” you sobbed into the sheets as your climax hit you like a freight train, your body going limp beneath his but he was quick to adjust his position with you, using your pussy like a toy until he was mewling your name like a prayer.

“Fuck, baby,” he whined, burying his face in the dio between your shoulder blades. “Gonna cum inside this sweet pussy.”

“Please,” you urged, reaching back to hold his ass as he fucked into you slow and deep. Joel moaned without inhibition as he spilled inside of you, his fingers leaving marks on your hips as he held you still.

“So fuckin’ good,” he praised in breathless pants, his cock scooting in and out of your now soaked cunt. “God damn.”

Joel pressed his lips against your skin before rolling over onto his back to catch his breath, your body lazily following him so that you could rest on his chest.

“I meant all that,” he spoke up after a few minutes of peaceful silence, half-expecting you to be out like a light.

“So did I,” you mumbled, your palm flat on his button-down covered chest.

“Bout damn time we finally said it,” he chuckled just enough to shake you as you laid on him.

“I was just waiting on you, Miller.” You lifted your head and rested your chin on his chest, reaching up to tickle his chin. Joel caught your hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing the pads of your fingers.

“Sorry to keep you waitin’ so long, baby.”

Hand Covers Mouth

Kink: sex pollen/aphrodisiac

About this: Takes place during canon events, Steven/fem!reader, Marc/fem!reader.

*

Let’s split up, Layla had said. She tacked on a hurried, ‘You with Steven? Be careful!’ before nearly sprinting off down a tunnel, leaving you (her scowling friend) and Steven (a mesmerized puppy) alone in a sandy tomb.

Look, you understood it was complex. Steven shared a body with her (soon to be? Possibly?) ex-husband, after all; but in your mind, that gave her even more of a reason to be the one responsible for him. Absently, your hand reaches down to lay your palm on the holster where your gun rests. You have no doubt that Harrow’s minions would kill without qualm. While you would not find it so easy to digest, you would do whatever you had to, to keep yourself safe.

To keep Steven safe. No matter what—

“What are you doing?” you ask at a frantic whisper. Steven is barely visible in the darkness where he is brushing sand and dust, centuries of time away from the hieroglyphics on the wall.

He glances back over his shoulder at you, giving you his typical expression of an adorable animal who fears they are about to be on the receiving end of a harsh kick in the rump, but who is so thrilled by their own discovery that they hardly care. He points to the wall.

“Reading these hieroglyphics,” says Steven. “Think they might be important.”

You glance toward the wall. You are not like Steven or Layla, able to read the symbols. You did not have the same practical and personal education which they had so tediously earned for themselves over the years. At the base of the wall sits a gilded table, the bottom of each leg morphing into the paw of some great cat. Some of the items around it are unrecognizable, turned to rubble, after so many years. But resting on top of it, there are a set of neat little figurines inlaid with moldavite, glittering black in the darkness.

“You don’t think—the ushabti?”

“Not likely,” Steven admits with a frown. “But some of the wall has crumbled here, can’t make out the rest, can I? It does say that this is powerful. Maybe we should take these to Layla and have her look at them.”

You fight the urge to scowl again. Layla. Steven was always trailing after Layla…

Alright, perhaps you had another reason for being so sour at Steven’s mention of your closest friend. How could you help being enamored with him, with his big brown eyes, with his undying enthusiasm, with his gentle heart and scathing wit? But Steven didn’t look at you like that. He was always too busy looking at Layla.

When you look at him, the expression of hope on his face is painful. You do your best to bite back any sarcastic or caustic replies. He truly doesn’t deserve them. It isn’t his fault he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“We don’t have time to hunt down Layla with every artifact we find,” you remind him gently. “And we don’t have time to search every little artifact for significance, either.”

He leans against the wall, like some suave Don Juan from a movie.

“Life’s about stopping to smell the roses, love, or stopping to find the roses if no roses immediately present—oh—oh bugger.” Steven slips, more of the wall crumbling away beneath the weight of his elbow. He stumbles into the little golden table—and off go all three of the little figurines, smashing into brittle pieces on the stone floor, the sound deafening in the silence around you.

“Oh my gods,” Steven says, both hands coming up to clutch at his curls. “Oh no, I deserve prison. Oh look what I’ve done—these were thousands of years old and I just destroyed them—”

“Steven—” Your words die in your throat. Your heart begins to race, breathing becoming fast and shallow. He looks up at you from where he has knelt on the floor in anxious guilt over the figurines, and you see something in his eyes which you can’t identify. Something sharp. Something hungry.

Then he blinks.

In the distance, you hear the sound of voices calling, none of them the familiar timber of Layla. He reaches out with the reflexes of a snake and grabs you around the waist, dragging you down to his position. One hand—warm, tasting faintly of sweat and sand—clamps over your mouth as he drags you back against his body, making both of your positions smaller as you hide behind a pillar.

Against your back, he is hard.

“Quit it,” he hisses lowly in your ear, and that’s when you realize that it isn’t Steven at all. That posh British accent has dissolved into something relaxed and loose, a Chicagoan accent that you’ve never heard before but would recognize anywhere. Marc. His words register secondarily, and you realize that you are writhing against him, literally arching your back to try to rub your aching cunt against the hard line of his cock.

A whine slips past his hand, and he lets out an angry, shaking breath against the crook of your neck. His free hand reaches around and slips right down the front of your pants. By the time he is cupping your sex with his broad palm, you are soaking wet, aching, already working towards that blissful crest even with the only stimulation being in your own mind.

“It must have been an aphrodisiac,” Marc whispers, barely audible over the raging pulse in your ears. “If I give you some fingers, can you be quiet until they’re gone?”

You nod, exaggeratedly. Truthfully, you aren’t sure. You just know that you would say anything, agree to anything to have any one of his fingers inside you.

He gives you two. You cum straight away, eyes rolling back, pussy clenching around his digits tightly. Marc gives a choked breath at the sensation of your walls squeezing and squeezing his fingers. His hips work once, twice, three times against the curve of your ass and then he stiffens himself, a breathless, nearly inaudible sound of pleasure passing through his lips.

The sweetest fucking sound you’ve ever heard.

The voices in the distance begin to fade away—the sweetest silence.

Then you have a mouthful of sand, Marc’s hand between your shoulder blades pinning you into the ground. You hear the clinking of his belt as he frantically tries to loosen it, and you wiggle your hands beneath you looking for the fasten of your own pants.

“Didn’t want it to go like this,” he says through clenched teeth. You can’t even imagine his expression: something hard and desperate. You wonder if he took over for Steven forcefully or if Steven retreated, anxious at the potent desire that the aphrodisiac evoked in him. “Didn’t want our first time to be like this—”

“Is he okay?” you whisper, working your pants and underwear down at once, arching your back for him. He still has on his boxers, but he’s grown desperate: hands gripping your hips, thighs snapping against the back of your own as he simulates sex with you. Marc makes a perplexed sound. Fuck, his cock feels good, even covered by soft cotton that you’re drenching with your own slick. You struggle for a moment to remember your question. “Steven—is he okay?”

“Steven is—fucking great,” Marc says, laughing a little derisively. “Trust me. Steven’s been wanting to fuck you since the moment he saw you. There’s a little place in my head where’s he’s beating off furiously, I’m sure—”

“You’re such a dick,” you gasp.

“I’ll show you dick, gonna give you mine,” he mutters through his teeth, finally working down his boxers. “Gonna fuck that girlish expression you give Steven all the time right off your face, gonna make it so every time you look at him, you’re thinking about how good my cock fills you.”

“His cock,” you breathe, arching your back more, fingers curling in the sand and scratching the stone beneath. “His cock too.”

“Yeah yeah,” says Marc testily, finally resting the head of his cock at your entrance. He slips in with one devastating, life-changing thrust. “We’ll test that theory when I let him out for his turn.”

“ao3 should have an algorithm” ao3 should continue only giving me exactly what I ask for which happens because I know how to use the search, sort, and filter functions

Taking Control

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader, Marc Spector x f!reader

Summary: Steven's jealousy over your coworker prompts him to step in and explore his dominant side.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, no use of y/n, toxic/ jealous behavior and brief argument (mostly from the boys but reader gets kinda petty too), inaccurate depiction of DID, dominant/ possessive Steven, teasing/ taunting, dirty talk, begging, spanking, fingering, edging, oral (m receiving), rough sex, p in v, creampie

 WC: 4.8k

A/N: two jealousy fics in a row…sorry not sorry. Also, I know Marc is acting like an irrational ass in the beginning and sorry if you don't like seeing that type of toxic behavior, but he's being over the top/overly dramatic on purpose so hopefully it doesn’t rub you the wrong way. Plus reader says some pretty petty things in response lol

You had a long day ahead of you. In addition to the normal workday, you were asked to take your new coworker, Scott, to dinner just to welcome him and give a run-down of the project your department is currently working on. You meant to text the boys and let them know you didn't need a ride, but you had rushed out of the house this morning and left your phone behind. Luckily, you always leave a note on the fridge telling them not to pick you up whenever you forget to let them know the night before. They know to check there before leaving, so you assumed they'd see it.

You realized it might have been a foolish assumption to make when Scott stopped by the office before taking you home so he could grab some files he left behind. When you arrive, the familiar black sedan sitting alone in the parking lot has your heart dropping to your stomach. You’re pretty sure that they’re here due to miscommunication, but you haven’t had your phone on you all day so you begin to worry that something may have happened, and they couldn’t get a hold of you.

Your coworker must sense your concern since he asks, “What’s wrong?” and looks at you confused.

“Um…nothing.” you reply, unbuckling your seatbelt and slowly making your way out of the car. Scott rounds the front, and your boyfriend climbs out of his car, slamming the door behind him. You can tell your coworker is a bit taken back by the mysterious man in front of him, so you speak up.

“Scott, this is my boyfriend…” you intentionally pause to allow whoever is fronting to introduce themselves. You're almost positive it's Marc based on the deep scowl on their face.

“Marc,” he says while crossing his arms.

"Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Scott.” Scott sticks out his hand as he introduces himself, but Marc doesn’t even look at him. You give him an apologetic look for your boyfriend's gruffness.

 "Babe, what are you doing here?" you inquire, still worried something's wrong.

“Picking you up,” he responds bluntly.

"Oh. Sorry I didn’t text you; I forgot my phone. But I told Natalie to let you where I was if you stopped by looking for me," you reply coolly, relieved that everything is ok, but you sense the irritation in his voice.

“She told me where you were,” he says bitterly, and he turns his head to glare at the man next to you. This is the first time he has acknowledged Scott, and you honestly wish he would’ve just kept ignoring him. Marc is usually a bit standoffish when it comes to meeting new people, but he’s never outright rude, so you’re a bit taken back at his demeanor.

“Have you been here all this time?” you ask incredulously. You’d been gone almost two hours, meaning that he had all that time to stew in his anger, which is clearly about to boil over.

“Yeah, so let’s go,” he impatiently answers.

You turn to Scott. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow. I hope I covered everything. If you have any questions let me know."

“I will. I was thinking we could exchange numbers, you know, in case I- “, before Scott can finish speaking, Marc is pulling you towards the car.

“Thanks for dinner!” you shout to him as Marc opens your door and guides you into your seat hurriedly. Scott gives you a puzzled look at the abrupt goodbye and you flash him yet another apologetic look. Hopefully he'd forget about this whole thing come Monday.

Marc is pulling out of the parking lot before you can even buckle your seat belt, and you turn to him, looking displeased.

“You really embarrassed me back there,” you say and Marc scoffs.

“Yeah, well how do you think I felt?” he snaps.

“What? You were the one acting like a jerk. You knew where I was. I told Natalie to tell you what was going on.” He doesn’t respond and you feel a wave of frustration wash over you as you realize something.

 You fully turn to him, arms crossed, and head cocked to one side. "I also left a note on the fridge. Did you remember to check there?” you ask, brow raised. He doesn’t answer, but judging by the look on his face, you can tell he didn’t. Now it’s your turn to scoff.

“How many times do I have to remind you to check there before you leave?” You shake your head. This isn't the first time he's shown up when he didn't need to. You remind him constantly to check, but it doesn't seem to make a difference.

“You know, maybe I'll start leaving my own notes. I'll be sure to let you know whenever I'm going out on a date with another woman," he snidely remarks.

You let out a dry laugh. You just can’t believe how ridiculous he’s being. He's acted jealous before, but it's usually just an excuse for him to get you into bed, show you you're 'his'. But this time it seems genuine.

“It wasn’t a date! He’s a new hire and I was asked to welcome him to the office. It was purely professional. You have no reason to be upset,” you respond.

"I saw the way he was looking at you, like he was planning on having you for dessert. I bet he was acting like that all night. That prick has no shame," Marc grumbles, but you just shake your head. "You're imagining things," you respond annoyedly, and he huffs.

You spend the rest of the ride in silence as you mentally prepare yourself for a night of sitting on opposite sides of the couch waiting to see who apologizes first. But by the time you pull into the apartment, your irritation has started to dwindle, and you realize you're really not in the mood to fight, so you decide to set the issue aside for now and revisit it when he's calmed down a bit.

You step through the door, set your stuff down, and turn to him. "I know you're upset, but why don’t we just talk about this later? Let's have a nice, quiet night snuggled up on the couch. How's that sound?" you suggest, then pull him to you and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

He hums against your mouth, then pulls away. Leaning his forehead against yours, he mumbles, “I don’t know, maybe I should go spend a few hours with some random woman you don't know, since that’s apparently how this relationship works now.” You scoff and shove him away.

“Just let it go! You know what? Maybe I should’ve gone home with Scott. It'd be nice to be around someone who knows how to act like an adult. I bet he at least has the awareness to see when he's wrong and get on his knees to apologize.” You know it's a bad idea to mention Scott's name again, and an even stupider idea to mention going home with him, but you’re so frustrated you don’t care how Marc might react. If he's going to be petty, so are you.

You turn around to head to the living room, wanting to give him a second to calm down, maybe come to the realization that he’s being ridiculous. To think he would let your little comment slide was stupid of you, and you realize that when you feel him whip you around and press you up against the wall. You know you shouldn't keep egging him on, but you really want to mess with him to get back at him for how he's been acting. So, against your better judgement, you continue.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," you say softly and pull him closer, eyes now boring into each other's.

"I wouldn't go home with him. Why go to the trouble? What I should’ve done was pulled him into the bathroom, spread my legs for him and given him a nice warm welcome to the team,” you say, tauntingly.

You see his eye twitch slightly and he takes a deep breath, probably trying to keep his cool. By now you'd have expected to see that playful smirk on his face that means he's about to take you to the bedroom and shut you up, but he just continues to stare at you. Your goal isn't to genuinely upset him, so to avoid provoking him any further, you wipe the smirk off your face and look at him with wide eyes and small pout on your lips instead. 

“I want Steven,” you whine. Since it doesn't seem like Marc's going to let this go anytime soon, you're ready for Steven to come out. Ready for him to tell you he agrees that Marc is being ridiculous and apologize on his behalf, by way of shoving his face between your thighs, preferably.

He's never able to resist, especially when you ask for him like that, so you stare up expecting to see those soft eyes and that warm smile appear. Marc doesn’t waiver, though, and you think maybe he's blocking Steven out, determined to remain in control.

Marc cocks his head and asks, “You want Steven? Yeah?”, in mocking tone. 

“Why? So he can come out and spoil you? Let you keep acting like a brat?” That’s exactly what you want, and he knows it, so you can’t help the small smirk that reappears on your face.

“I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into. Why do you think he’s stayed silent this whole time?” You raised a confused brow, and now he’s the one wearing a smirk.

"You really want Steven?" he asks, and you nod your head at him slowly.

  "Fine. But you’re going to regret it.” And with that, his eyes close then reopen and his smirk is replaced with a fierce glower, a look so unlike Steven, you think it may still be Marc. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you also feel your insides clench. You don't know if you should be startled or turned on, so you choose both.

 “Steven?” you barely squeak out.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks, derisively. His hand comes up and grips the back of your neck and he pulls you close. Your breath hitches at the closeness of your lips.

“What? Did you expect me to come out and beg for forgiveness for Marc and then get on my knees for you like a good boy? Let you walk all over me like I usually do?" he snaps.

 While you're definitely the more dominant one when it comes to the two of you, there have been a few occasions he has tried to take control. But he's never gotten very far because Marc always steps in and takes over. You’re momentarily worried Steven holds some resentment for the dynamic you two have, but the way he’s licking his lips as he stares at yours, or rather the hardness you feel against your leg, makes you realize he's just finally ready to unleash this other side of him.

Now that you understand what he wants to do, you feel the ache between your thighs intensifying. Wanting to see what he has in store for you, you decide to test what will happen if you try pushing his buttons like you were doing with Marc only moments ago.

“Of course. That’s what your best at, isn't it? You think you can teach me a lesson like Marc?" scoff. "You don’t have it in you,” As you taunt him you wear a smug look on your face that he's very tempted to fuck off of you.

His eyes darken, then he looks off to the side, and there's no doubt Marc is talking to him; you assume either urging him to take action or demanding to step in and do it himself. You attempt to bring his attention back to you.

“It takes a real man to put me in my place. Like Marc. Or Scott.” And with that he’s pulling you from the wall and pushing you to the room.

He tosses you face first into the mattress and grips the top of your pants. Before he goes any further, though, he’s brushing the hair away from your face and you crane your neck further to look at him. His voice softens and he asks, “This is ok, right? If not, I'll stop, so please tell me.”

You give him a small smile and push your ass back, grinding it against him. “I want it so bad, Steven. Give it to me, hard. Please.”

He sighs, relieved to know he didn’t misinterpret the situation. Also, hearing you plead like that, a tone usually reserved for Marc, sends a rush through him. And then just like that, the gentleness is gone and he’s pulling your pants down and off of you, then tossing them across the room. He settles his hand on the small of your back and leans down to admire the wet patch left behind on your underwear.

He smirks, “This all for me? I do this to you?”

You’re about to give him a desperate, ‘yes’, but before you can, he pulls the fabric up taught, and it wedges deliciously between your folds. You gasp in surprise but follow it with a moan.

“Or is it from Scott?” he says and pulls your underwear side to side, and it swipes over your clit each time. You squirm against the mattress, loving the feeling. You don’t answer him, so he tugs upward on your underwear and, at the same time, lands a quick but firm slap against your ass. You squeal. You continue to ignore his questions in hopes that he’ll do it again. 

This time he gives you a harder slap, and does it again and again until, through gritted teeth, you moan out, “No, for you. All for you.”

He hums in acknowledgment then roams your sensitive skin with his fingers and gives your plush cheek a firm squeeze. You whine at the delicious burn.

Deciding to give your ass a break, he tears your underwear off and flips you over. After ridding you of the rest of your clothes as well, he spreads your legs and settles himself between them. He examines you and then runs his fingers through your folds, gathering the slick forming at your entrance.

“You really get off on this don’t you? Look at you, you practically dripping just from a few spanks." You feel your skin heat at the comment, and you simply nod your head.

“Just a desperate little thing begging to be used,” he says and continues movements, toying with your entrance and intentionally avoiding your clit. The sensation and the filth flowing from his mouth makes you shudder. You’ve never heard him talk like this and you love it.

Getting a bit impatient with the slow, teasing motion of his fingers, you grumble, “C’mon, Steven,” and grab his wrist to move his hand to the bundle of nerves begging to be played with.

“You know I need more. Give it to me," you demand.

Caught up in the frustration of his teasing, you’ve reverted back to that commanding tone which typically has him happily falling into submission. But now, he's having none of it. He’s finally in control and he’s not letting go, not for you or for Marc. He lands a quick slap to your mound, and you gasp as it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. You want more, but before you can ask him to do it again, he squeezes your clit and begins rolling it between his fingers.

"Oh, god Steven!" you squeal and arch your back, prompting him to quicken his movements. The action alone has you on the edge, but before you can cum, he's pulling his hands away. You let out a long, dramatic, whine and open your mouth, ready to complain, but he covers it with his hand.

"No more whining. You'll take what I give you," he says and squeezes your thigh in a harsh grip.

" Thought I was going to let you cum already? Silly little thing, you'll cum when I decide. I'm not done playing with you yet," he says, and you can feel the fresh slick dripping from you in response to his condescending tone.

He removes his hand from your mouth and grabs at your chest while he brings his other hand to your entrance. He slips two fingers in, easily, and you sigh at the relief of finally having something inside you. The delicious sting of him tweaking your nipples combined with the drag of his fingers against your walls quickly brings you to the edge a second time, but all too quickly he's pulling both hands from you and denying you your release once again.

You let out what sounds like a sob and pound your hand against the mattress. You keep getting so close and he rips it away from you every time. The frustration has you on the brink of tears and your lip juts out in a pout. You're not used to this. Marc wasn't lying when he said Steven spoils you. He usually dotes on you and is always more than happy to give you exactly what you want, whenever you want it. He's ready and willing to submit to you and put your pleasure above all else. That's the treatment you're used to. Since you're not accustomed to him denying you pleasure, or anything for that matter, the irritation is written all over your face.

"You’re an asshole. Where’d you learn that from, Marc?” you ask, with more than a little sass in your voice.

Not thrilled with your tone, he undoes his belt and frees himself from his pants, then climbs up your body until his hips are angled towards your face. "I'm getting quite sick of your attitude, love. Let's put that mouth to good use, shall we?" he says as he strokes himself pushing into your mouth. The angle is a bit awkward but the sight of him has your mouth watering and you swirl your tongue around his tip as it breeches your lips.

His head falls back and he sighs. He lets you suck on him just like that for a few moments before he's guiding you further onto his length. He hits the back of your throat, pulling a gag from you, and he feels your throat contract around him. He groans at the feeling and does it again. His thrusts have your spit thoroughly coating his length and even dribbling down your chin. He bites his lip at the sight.

 "C'mon. Get it nice and wet. Yeah, just like that," he says huskily. He throws his head back again and his eyes fall shut. The feeling is heavenly and he has to pull out of your mouth, knowing if you keep sucking him like that, he'll cum down your throat.

He moves down your body, landing between your legs, and you wrap them around his hips. He goes to line himself up at your entrance and you buck your hips and pull him closer. As you feel his dick brush up against you, you let out a pathetic whine, almost delirious with the desire to feel him inside you. He chuckles at your desperation and can't help but tease you further by running his length through your folds.

"You want it? Yeah?" he teases, and slaps his tip against your clit repeatedly. You look at him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and beg, "Don’t tease me.”

"What do you mean?" he asks mockingly as he continues sliding his dick against you. It keeps catching on your entrance over and over, but he still refuses to push it in.

"Why are you being so mean?" you ask, and your voice cracks. The sensation is getting overwhelming and you get the urge to reach down and push him in yourself, but you know he'd never give you what you're asking for if you did that, so you stop yourself.

"What's wrong? I thought you liked it. I've seen you writhe under Marc, begging for him to fuck you. That usually gets you what you want, right? So c'mon, beg for it," he demands, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look him right in the eyes.

You're quick to respond, wanting to do exactly as he asks, in hopes that he’ll finally take pity on you. “Please, Steven, I need it so bad. I'll do anything, just please fuck me. Please!"

He feels heat pool in his stomach from hearing you beg for him like that, and he can't hold back any longer. He grabs you firmly by the hips and pushes into you slowly. He groans as he watches his length disappear as you take him to the hilt. “See what you get when you ask nicely?” he says, breathily. Your jaw goes slack and your head falls back at the relief of finally being full of him.

After you've adjusted to his length, he throws your legs over his shoulders, pulls you closer, and leans over you, effectively folding you in half.  The new angle has him reaching so deep in you that you gasp, and it morphs into a broken sob when he begins slamming into you roughly.

He's satisfied at how you're falling apart around him, but he has to focus to keep himself from doing the same thing. The sweet noises you let out with every thrust and how he feels your walls clench around him has his breathing becoming increasingly ragged. He gets lost in the feeling and falters, and his movements slow down. He leans his forehead against yours as he gets lost in your warmth, and whines into your shoulder.

 The change in pace interrupts your previously rapid ascent towards your climax, and you whine right back. "Harder. Please," you beg and reach down and grab his hips, trying to urge him to go faster. He kisses your neck and continues the slow, deep, strokes. It feels good but you need more. You need it harder, faster, and begging is not working, so you opt for the alternative.

 "You're losing your edge, Steven. Maybe I should have Marc come out and do it for you," you threaten. Not appreciating the insinuation that he can't fuck you like Marc can, he snarls and flips you over. He slams back inside you and pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"Oh please. Please. Please…" is all you can say as he resumes hammering into you, and it has you rocketing towards your release again. You become a babbling, whimpering, mess underneath him as he sets a punishing pace, his dick hitting that tender spot inside you relentlessly.

"I need to…to cum Steven. Please. Please can I cum?" you plead, needing to feel the orgasm he's denied you over and over again.

"Considering all the things you said earlier, I'm not sure you deserve it," he replies, yet he wants nothing more than to feel you pulsating around him as you reach tumble over the edge. He's seen Marc deny you for hours so he's tempted to see how far he can push you. But he feels his own release building, so he'll have to try that some other time.

"I do. I've learned my lesson, I promise. I won't-" a particularly deep thrust pulls a throaty moan from you, and you try to remember what you were even saying, but it seems like he fucked the thought right out of your head. All you remember is that you were begging so you try again. “I…Please. I need it so bad. Please let me cum."

"Say you didn’t mean it," he says, followed by a low groan as he slides in and out of your drenched hole. The way you’re gripping him has his hips stuttering, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Wha…What?" you mumble, not really sure what he's asking.

"Say you'd never let a prick like Scott touch you. Tell me you'd never let him inside you," he commands.

You remain silent, willing yourself to compose a coherent thought. He wants you to look him in the eyes when you say it so he pulls out, puts you on your back, and slams himself back inside you in one quick motion. It has your head spinning and you can't do anything but moan and whimper as you feel him stretching you.

"Say it!" he demands harshly, and the tone has you clenching hard around him. He tilts your head by the back of your neck, forcing you to look him in the eyes, and grabs at your chest harshly with the other.

“I wouldn’t let Scott fuck me. Ever. I don’t want anyone else,” you pant.

" And why is that?" he prompts.

"Because I'm yours," you profess. "All yours. No one else can have me."

 "That's right." A small smirk forming on his face at your confession. “Who’s the only one who can make you feel this good?”

“You,” you reply, breathily.

“Who?"

“You…” He keeps asking until you finally realize what he wants to hear.

 “You, Steven! Only you can fuck me like this!" you cry out, and in return he lets out a low moan as your words wash over him. It makes him fuck you deeper, so you continue.

"I’d let you do anything you want to me. Anything…anything…anything…” you repeat like a mantra as he continues snapping his hips into you.

His eyes briefly flutter shut as coil in his stomach tightens. He looks at you again and brings his thumb to your clit, forming small circles that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"You can cum. C'mon, cum for me," he commands and as the last word leaves his mouth, your orgasm hits you full force. Your body stiffens under him as you let out a silent scream and drag your nails down his back, feeling the shockwaves pleasure rip through you. He lets out a long groan at the sensation of you clenching down on his dick and your nails dragging across his skin. It pushes him over the edge and he lets out an animalistic grunt spills himself inside you. He's above you, panting, as he continues grinding into you until he's empty.

After a moment or two, he collapses on top of you. You two lay like that as you both steady your breathing and attempt to come down from such an intense high.

 As you run your fingers through his hair, you hear him mumble, “I still like being your plaything. You know that, right?" into your neck and you chuckle. “Just like wanted to see what it was like taking control," he adds as he lifts his head to meet your eyes. You pull his lips to yours and give him a quick, yet searing kiss.

 “Of course I do, baby," you respond, lovingly.

“I do have a request, though. Next time you want to try something new, can you make sure it doesn’t involve acting like an irrational jerk and scaring my coworkers?” The request is more so intended for Marc, seeing as he was the one intimidating Scott earlier, but Steven responds.

“Sorry about all that. I just wasn't thrilled about this Scott guy," he confesses. You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised because Steven has never been the jealous type. Now, normally he isn't, but something about seeing you climbing out of some guy's car, skin a bit flushed from whatever drinks you had at dinner, just didn’t sit right with him. Then, when he saw Scott's eyes glued to your ass as you stepped out of the car, something just came over him.

"Marc suggested I learn to let these feelings out in the bedroom like you two usually do and I guess that was his way of stepping in and helping me do that. I did warn him to tone it down, I promise, but you know Marc…" he says, looking at you apologetically.

“Don’t worry, I'll make him pay for it later," you say, smiling at the thought.

“We can make him pay for it now by going for round two. He’s been begging me to let him out. Says he's dying to get his hands on you.” He grins at the idea of you denying an already incredibly frustrated Marc what he wants.

"Tell him not a chance," you say as you roll both of you over and straddle Steven. He feels a thrill run through body as he already knows he'll be the begging, pleading, mess this time.