#Buzz Spector | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dameronalone · 10 months

Text

cozy night in

marc spector x f!reader

wc: 6,700

content: EXPLICIT!!!! explicit as hell. pwp, allusions to lacy underpants that idk counts as lingerie, Marc spector is a brat is its own warning

notes: thought this was gonna be a quick pwp. I was wrong. shout out to @the-force-awakens for beta-ing & leaving comments like [paraphrase] AKRJSD MARC SPECTOR TAKE ME NOW

ao3

There isn't much you like better than a quiet Friday night in. As fun as it is to go out, to dinner and a show, to this quiet little bar a few blocks away where you and Marc (or Steven or Jake) can sit cozy in a booth, unbothered and enjoying each other's company and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, nothing beat this: coming home to Marc quietly cooking dinner, the radio turned on and quiet, something acoustic and relaxed, the only music the three of them can agree on.

Nothing beats leaning to kiss Marc's jaw in greeting, relishing the quirk of his lips. Washing your face and changing out of your work clothes into comfortable leggings and a shirt, well-worn and soft and smelling of their aftershave.

It's nice to go out, tuck your hand in Jake's elbow, Marc's hand, around Steven's waist, show each other off with the subtle brag of I get this beautiful person all to myself. You like going out with them, especially with Marc who prefers to stay in, because it's such a testament to him, who he is, how much he wants to make those he loves happy.

But it's better like this.

There's the quiet tap-tap-tap of drizzling rain on the window, and you're grateful it hasn't turned into a storm. Marc doesn't like storms, and as you step up behind him, winding your arms around his waist and pressing your face to the back of his neck, you don't want his rarely-relaxed shoulders to tense again.

One of the things you like the most about Marc is his silences, how he doesn't expect you to talk constantly and doesn't pressure you to speak when you can't, and how he knows you do the same for him. Especially when it's been a long day, ending a long week at work, and you just need time to be quiet, snuggle into Marc as he cooks, moving as little as possible.

It's not until you heave a huge breath and lift your head, feeling a little more like a person, and peer over his shoulder to see what he's cooking - pan-fried salmon, oven roasted vegetables, that creamy macaroni and cheese recipe you love that takes a special brand of cheese Marc has to hunt down from across town - that he speaks.

"How was your day?" Marc asks quietly, touching his fingertips to the back of your hand at his diaphragm.

"Mm. Long," you say, kissing his shoulder, and releasing him to gather plates and pour drinks. "Glad it's over. Our internet kept going offline which only put us more behind schedule."

Marc makes a sympathetic sound as he takes the plates and serves up your dinner, and you follow him to the couch with two glasses and a new bottle of that cheap white you prefer that Marc must've picked up today as well.

"How was your day, baby?" you ask, settling next to him. He hands you your plate and clicks on the TV before answering.

"Fine. Normal. Went back to sleep after you left, got around to cleaning. I dunno how Steven lived like this," Marc grumbles, but it's good natured, and you giggle, scooting closer as you take a bite. Steven's messy tendencies never failed to grate on Marc's careful neatness.

Still, they'd come to a sort of understanding, and Marc didn't upset Steven's chaotic system of mess as long as he got to clean to his heart's content (which was often and for a long time).

The pair of you settle into companionable quiet, the TV volume quiet, subtitles on the low-stakes action movie you've seen a million time to keep you company while you eat. By the time you're finished, you're pleasantly full and mildly sleepy, ready to cuddle with Marc until bed. Marc pats your thigh and takes your plate, standing to take the dirty dishes to the sink, washing up.

You wish he'd relax, leave the dishes for later, but he likes to take care of you, and he has a thing about germs, so you leave him in peace. The quiet sounds of running water and clanking dishes are domestic, homey; you look over your shoulder to catch sight of Marc at the sink, head bowed as he meticulously scrubs the frying pan.

God, you love him. You love all three of them, but you'd met Marc first, and he'd always have a special place in your heart reserved for him.

Marc rinses the pan, grabs the towel off his shoulder, and turns to look at you as he dries it. He raises his eyebrows when he catches you staring, and even though you feel your face warm, you don't look away, raising your eyebrows back at him.

"You're missing the movie," Marc says pointedly.

"Seen it a million times," you say, shrugging and fighting back a smile. Marc looks doubtful.

"It's more interesting than watching me wash dishes."

"Is not," you frown, turning around to sit on your knees, properly facing him. "I'd rather look at you. I'd watch you do taxes."

Marc's face twists up in exasperation, turning around to put the pan up and drain the sink. You don't press the issue, because he still has problems taking blatant compliments and accepting affection like that, but you'd never lie to him, especially not about this. You give him a minute, wait until he's wiping down the counter for the third time before you talk again.

"I'd watch you do plenty of boring things. Or interesting things. I like to look at you, Marc," you say softly, smiling in an attempt to convince him.

Marc exhales, shaking his head as he sets the towel down and turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest, which only makes him look more broad than he already is.

"I'd rather look at you," he says. He takes a few steps closer, though he's still too far away and out of reach and you suddenly want him in your arms. "I'd rather look at you when you're too busy to look at me."

"You like that, huh?" Your own voice surprises you, abruptly small and breathless. Marc takes a few more slow steps, even nearer, close enough to touch, but you don't move yet. His head dips in a nod.

"Like when?" you ask before he can say anything, hands gripping the couch cushions to hide the trembling. Fuck, you've never wanted anyone the way you want him.

Marc's mouth twitches upward, and he uncrosses his arms, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips before curling under your chin, and tipping your head back.

"Like when you read," he says. His voice is a quiet rumble but it's the only thing you can hear. "Or when you cook. Or when you're asleep."

His expression shifts, a little more teasing, more playful. "Or when you shower."

"Perv," you mutter, not meaning it, narrowing your eyes at him regardless. Marc starts to bend down and you hold your breath.

"You like it," he mutters, breath warm against your face.

But moments before his lips touch yours, you blurt, "Why d'you like it?"

Marc pauses, thumb stroking your chin, and you honestly don't expect him to give you an answer, already trembling in anticipation of his all-consuming kiss.

"Because it means you trust me."

The words are barely audible, and you hardly have time to process their meaning before he closes the distance, mouth firm and warm against yours. The meaning clicks belatedly, as Marc licks at the seam of your mouth until you open, and you clutch at his shirt helplessly. You want to break away, tell him that you do, you trust him with everything, love him so much, only - he's merciless, your Marc, ruthless in the way he kisses you, and he doesn't give you a second to think.

Not for the first time do you curse your need to breathe - Marc seems to sense you're at your limit, lungs beginning to burn, so he pulls away from your mouth, but you immediately miss his lips on yours. You suck in a breath, chest heaving to try and catch your breath, but it turns into a gasp - Marc has turned his attention to your jaw, the line of your neck, and scrapes his teeth along the tendon there just as you inhale.

Fuck. He had no right to be this good a kisser, no right to have you melting into his touch and still craving more seconds after he'd first kissed you with intent.

He slips his hands up your shirt, caressing your waist and drifting higher, and you know he finds the surprise when he pauses, drawing back from your neck, raising an eyebrow and giving you a look.

"Now what's this?" Marc asks, voice low and rich with desire, fingertips tracing the lacy band of your bra. Finally, the tables turn and you manage to catch your breath. You smile, sly, and look at him from under your lashes,

"Just something for you," you say, and giggle breathlessly when Marc moves to pull your shirt up and off. The sudden cool air that washes over your newly bared skin sends goosebumps rippling across your arms and chest - or maybe it's the way Marc is looking at you, and the dark blue bralette you'd changed into;, comfortable, just lace and elastic, but something for Marc to enjoy.

He hadn't so much told you how much he liked you in lace, and rich colors like the deep blue you wore now, but he didn't need to say it. Actions speak louder than words, especially when it comes to Marc Spector.

"Baby," Marc rumbles, brushing one hand across the swell of your breast so gently you might've imagined it, "You're killing me here."

"God, I hope not," you say, breaking into giggles again when Marc groans, overdramatically exasperated, and hauls you to his chest. He stands up, taking you with him, and you shriek in surprise as he takes you right over the back of the sofa, winding your legs around his hips - as if he'd ever let you fall.

Marc deposits you on the bed, and though he isn't laughing, he's smiling, shoulders twitching as he stands over you, pulling his shirt over his head in a quick yank that never fails to send a thrill down your spine - but you count it as a win, getting Marc to smile like that, laugh his private little understated laugh.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" he says, almost to himself as he undoes his belt, but you answer anyway, squirming to get more comfortable.

"I can think of a few things," you say, looking up at him from beneath your lashes as you stretch out.

"Yeah, I bet you can," Marc says, rolling his eyes fondly as he shoves his jeans down and kicks them off. And then he's standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his underwear, and you can see the half-hard bulge of him. Your mouth waters at the sight and you half-heartedly push up onto an elbow, but Marc's hand closes around your ankle and tugs, pulling you down the bed and closer to him.

You shriek again in surprise, which fades into giggles as you knock your heels into the back of his knees, trying to urge him closer. Still, you love it when he towers over you like this, when you're flat on the bed and he's still standing. You can't figure out how he's real, the chiseled features and healthy strength on his body; you're mesmerized by the flex of muscle and tendon when he reaches for the waistband of your leggings, belatedly lifting your hips to help. When you look at his face again, his eyes are already on yours, warm and dark as he drags your pants down, but not your underwear.

Marc drops your pants to the floor, sliding his palms up your newly bared skin, hiking your knees around his waist. He leans down, palming your hips, the matching blue lace, and nudges your noses together, but doesn't kiss you. Waits until you're huffing an impatient breath and tipping back your chin and whining out, "Marc-" before he seals his mouth to yours.

He kisses you for a long moment, warm and slick, licking into your mouth, stroking your sides. All you can do his wind your arms around his shoulders, dig one hand into his hair.

"What do you want?" Marc murmurs, breaking away for a moment, pressing the words into your cheek along with a kiss. "Hm, baby? Tell me so I can give it to you."

He's hardly touched you and already you feel worked up, borderline overwhelmed and squirming - Marc knows damn well what you want (anything he'll give you) but he likes to hear you say it. Likes to draw the words from you when you're strung out and wanting.

You're not that far gone.

"Marc, c'mon-" is as far as you get before one of his hands at your hip slips down, squeezing the softness of your thigh, and then in. His thumb finds your clit through the fabric of your underwear and he presses down until you whine.

"What was that, baby?" Marc asks, amusement in his voice, and you huff, annoyed, and snap,

"I want you to touch me, Spector."

Marc chuckles, slips his thumb further down and effortlessly finds your entrance - or at least, where it's hidden and inaccessible through your underwear.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

Teasing asshole that he is, Marc only presses his thumb down, until your hips are bucking up, and then pulls his hand away. He pats your hip, mockingly sympathetic, then reaches to pull your hands down from around his shoulders, and rises to his full height.

You try to snap his name - Marc! - but it comes out like a whine, breathless and pleading - "Maaarc-"

Marc chuckles again, pushing the gusset of your underwear aside, staring down at where you're wet and dark.

"Want me to put something in that pussy? You want me to fill you up, make you full? That what you want, baby?"

You try to answer. Try to tell him yes, fuck yes, Marc - but you can only moan, eyes glued to his other hand that reaches into his own underwear.

Fuck you've never seen such a gorgeous cock. It's not fair, it's not fucking fair that Marc Spector and his alters are the perfect man. It can't be real that you get this. Anxious with anticipation, you fist your hands in the sheets, watching as he strokes himself languidly, still staring at your aching cunt. You think your chest might cleave in two from the strength of the want coursing through your body, and tip your head back, slamming your eyes closed.

Distantly, you hear Marc spit, hear the wet sound of him stroking his cock again. Fuck fuck you need him inside, need him inside before he changes his mind and fucks you open with one, two, three fingers and tongue before he gives you his cock, draw it out like he likes. All at once you feel the fat head of him rubbing against you, burning hot. Marc pushes - lets the fattest part of him breach you - stops moving with you stretched around him, quietly groans and you want to hear it again, stops moving even as your cunt clutches at him desperately, trying to pull him inside -

"That's all you get for now," Marc says hoarsely, pulling out, and taking your underwear with him, even as your eyes shoot open.

"Marc, oh my god," you snarl, and he resolutely ignores you as he goes to his knees on the floor, pulling one of your legs over his shoulders. He doesn't move, though you can feel his breath against you, and then - Marc fucking inhales, breathes in the smell of you.

"So fucking impatient," Marc complains, and ducks his head to taste you.

There's not a lot better than this, in Marc's opinion, not a lot better than settling on his knees with his face buried in the apex of your legs, soft thighs tensed around his head. He drags the flat of his tongue up your pussy, opening you up to him, groaning at the musky taste that he'll never get enough of. He pulls away, folding one arm under your thigh, keeping you from squirming out of his grip as he runs his palm up your other leg. You haven't shaved in awhile, and your legs are starting to grow soft and fuzzy again, and he loves it.

Marc rubs his cheek against the softness of your inner thigh, lets his hand drift up your thigh to squeeze your hip, then slip around and down, swiping through your folds to circle your clit. You make a breathless sound, jerking your hips up in search of more, but Marc holds firm, presses first his lips, then his teeth to your thigh, and ducks back to taste your cunt.

He rubs your clit with the pads of his fingers, searching for the essence of you inside with his tongue, then changes tactics, taking his slicked up fingers and pressing them deep. It pulls a kind of wheezing sound from you and Marc strains to look up at you without pulling away. You've got one arm thrown over your face, the other hand desperately grabbing the sheets, chest heaving.

(It makes him think of a few nights ago: he'd gotten home late to find you sleepy but awake, laying in bed waiting for him. He likes fucking you when you're sleepy because you're so much more responsive and he can draw words out of you with every stroke of his things between your legs. He'd cradled you close, pressed up against your side, fucked you slow and deep with his fingers and he'll never forget the way you gasped, "Full, feels full," when he'd asked you what it felt like.)

"Fuck," Marc groans, tucking his face back down between your legs. "Fuck, that's it. Good girl." His words are muffled even to himself, and he has no idea if you can understand him or not, but you moan regardless, and he doesn't really care.

He can tell you're getting close, from the aborted, jumpy little thrusts your hips keep giving, from the way you start to hold your breath. Marc pushes you right up to the edge.

And then stops, removing his fingers, turning his head away. Distantly, you're cursing his name, writhing and trying to get him back where you want him, but as much as you try to play at being demanding, Marc knows you like submitting too much to actually be upset.

The dim lighting catches on the thin sheen of sweat on your skin, the dampness collecting in the folds of you, in the crease where your thigh joins your hip, and Marc ducks his head, licking away the salt of you.

"Marc," you say, sounding far away, and when he lifts his head to look at you - take in your expression, needy and pleading - he thinks he falls just a little more in love with you. "Marc," you say again, hands reaching for him clumsily, caressing his shoulders, carding through his curls.

"What is it, baby," he murmurs, lifting his hand that had been curled around your thigh to catch your wrist, kissing your palm, the pounding of your pulse. "What do you need?"

"You know what I need," you complain, practically growling as you tug on his hair harshly. Marc just chuckles, not bothering to remove your hand from his hair even though the pressure on his scalp almost hurts - but it's good. Keeps him right here with you.

"What do you want then," Marc asks, pressing deceptively gentle kisses to your hips, your belly beneath your navel. Your stomach jumps and dips as the wash of his breath, and he can just make out the faint whine that falls from your mouth.

"Want you to kiss me again," you admit, lifting your bashful gaze to meet his. And fuck - he'll give you anything you want. He doesn't know how you haven't figured it out yet.

"I can do that," Marc tells you, moving until he was level with you, hand still slick with your wetness curving around your hip as he cups your cheek with the other.He doesn't make you wait this time, dips down to kiss you, languid.

One of Marc's favorite things about this - sex - was how it immerses every sense. Not just touch, though he could never get enough, your hands on his, gripping his shoulders and waist, grabbing hair, his hands on your skin, anywhere and everywhere, but the rest of them. The way you look when you moan and arch your back and your eyes flutter. The way you sound, the hitch of your breaths, the slick sound of his tongue in your mouth. The way you taste, fuck, the way you smell.

But fuck he loves the little sounds. Loves being this close to you when he dips his middle two fingers inside your dripping cunt. When he's this close, Marc can catch the breathless whines and moans before they have a chance to escape. This close, Marc can watch your face screw up as he adds his pointer finger, fucking you with three now.

"There you go," Marc mutters when your hips start to roll against his hand, grinding against his palm and clenching around his fingers, "fuck, just like that."

His name escapes you mouth in a little puff of air, your hand in his hair slowly relaxing until you slide your hand down to clutch the back of his neck. Your eyes flutter back and - that right there. That’s one of his favorite expressions on you, focused yet a million miles away, too caught up in the pleasure coursing through your body to pay attention to him, to watch him watch you. This is what he meant earlier, when he told you - confessed to you that he liked it when you weren’t looking back at him.

A groan escapes Marc’s mouth before he can stop it, wrecked and torn from his throat, but you don’t seem to notice, or at least acknowledge it. He ducks his head, suddenly frantic with the need to taste your skin, dig his teeth into your neck, sharp points of pain to counter the warming bliss between your legs. As always, the touch of his teeth to your skin has you gasping, then moaning, unashamed and loud. Marc gets lost in it, marking up the long line of your throat, realizing almost too late that he’s gotten carried away. You’re fucking close; he can tell by the quiver of your thighs around his hand, the jerk in your hips.

“Not yet, baby, hold on,” Marc murmurs, voice rough as he eases his fingers out of you, soothing you even though he’s the one that has you whining and squirming and calling his name -

Fuck, Marc had to admit this was one of his favorite things, when he holds you at the edge, has you stripped down bare and aching - when he dangles you in front of your release, just to hear you call his name, plead with him to let you come. Marc liked to deny you, and deny you again, but more than that, he loved to give it all to you, give you everything and more until all you can do is cling to him, and him alone. He didn't keep your release, or anything from you because he didn't want you to have it. To the contrary, there was nothing Marc wanted more than to give you everything you have ever wanted.

He’d admit it to himself, and only himself - Marc liked when you were desperate, but only when you needed him to give you what you want, what you need.

He always would.

“Marc, Marc, baby, please, just - I want - I need to, Marc-”

You’re babbling, nearly past coherency, bravado peeled back with your bra, and dropped to the floor. You must've been more tired than usual tonight, or this is what you wanted the whole time, to already be this far gone. Marc shushes you again as he slips down your body, burying his face between your breasts, just for a moment, before turning his head to suck a mark on the swell. You keen when he takes the nipple in his mouth, when he carefully covers the other with his palm, and squirm against his thigh parting your legs. Abruptly, Marc is very aware of his own nakedness, his cock hard and aching and leaking near your hip. He closes his eyes, groaning, and allows himself to grind back against you, just once.

Fuck fuck, he loves you. Can’t get enough of you. Pulls off your breast to say, “I know, I know, honey.” He keeps his voice low, gravelly and thick with want. “I know you need to come, don’t you? Need to come all over me?”

“Fuck,” you gasp, “please, please-”

“It’s okay, you did good, such a good girl for me,” Marc continues, kisses your collarbones, your jaw, bites your bottom lip. “I always give you what you need, right? My good girl. Don’t I give you what you need? C’mon, tell me.”

Your eyes blink open, lashes damp, eyes wide and blown out. You say, “Always give me what I need, Marc.” And your voice breaks, and so does Marc’s resolve.

“Yeah I do,” Marc growls, and pats your hip. “Now turn over, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

You move, half rolling over on your own power, limbs clumsy, half Marc maneuvering you where he wants you, until you’re on your belly, hands trembling as they curl in the blankets. You peer over your shoulder at him, eyes half lidded, as he runs his hands down your spine, strokes your sides. He likes the way your skin feels, soft and unmarred as much as his is. Sure, you have scares here and there, a few on your forearm that had worried him until you assured him it was from your parents’ cat, but all in all - you are warm, soft, supple under his own calloused and scarred hands. He curls his hands around your hips, squeezing, and then pulls you back towards him, onto your knees, and palms the round of your ass.

“There you go,” Marc mutters, needlessly wetting his fingers before sliding them back between your legs, where you are dripping, soaking wet. A choking sound slips from your mouth as you jerk back against him, and Marc hisses when the motion brings your ass in contact with his dick.

He doesn’t need to open you up - not when he can feel the seeking clench of your pussy when he brushes against your entrance.

Marc pulls his hand away, absently petting your hip, shushing you softly to counter the needy sounds that spill from your mouth. He slides his hand around from your hip to part your folds, taking himself in hand with the other, and eases inside. You gasp, arching your back, muscles bunching when you try to grind back, force him all the way in, but Marc grasps your hip, keeps it slow. Waits until he’s half inside the blisteringly hot clutch of your cunt before shoving himself the rest of the way.

It’s almost too much for him, nearly too much for you as well if the wail you let out is anything to go by, and Marc lurches forward, groin shoved up against your ass. He plants a fist in the mattress near your head, the only thing keeping him from collapsing on top of you and rutting helplessly to his climax. Even still, his own panting chest is pressed along the length of your back and he can feel every shift of your body, of the muscle under your skin.

“Marc, Marc, Marc-” you chant, words cutting off into a low moan when Marc pulls out and shoves back in. And again. And again. And again, until you sound like you can’t take a full breath. Your hand comes up, clasping his wrist, squeezing and holding on like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And then your forehead is pressing against his inner wrist, and your eyes are slammed shut, and Marc thinks he can feel the throb of your pulse around his dick.

Fuck - the idea has his hips stuttering, briefly losing his rhythm as he grinds into you for a second longer. He can tell you’re close, that it won’t take much to get you there, and by God, he’ll get you there.

Marc lets go of your hip, belatedly realizing just how hard he’d been grabbing it, winding his arm around your waist and holding you tight, fitting his chin over your shoulder to first nip your jaw, and then talk you the rest of the way.

It doesn't take a lot, especially when you're this close, when you can hardly pay attention to what he's saying but that's never stopped him before. Marc opens his mouth and lets words spill out, lets them out the way he so rarely ever does - just like that baby, I know I know, you're close, so good, pussy so tight taking all of me like this and just a little more baby, you can take more, take me deeper, lemme in, lemme fuck you open, lemme fill you up and taste it after and fuckfuck c'mon, come for me baby I know you want it, been so good waiting, come on my cock baby, c'mon c'mon -

Somewhere between taking a breath and the spill of words, you lock up beneath him, back arching impossibly further, nails digging into his wrist as your mouth drops open and your eyes roll back and you wail as you come around him.

And it feels so fucking good, Marc almost blows his load right then and then, hissing and swearing, his hips stuttering against yours as he tries not to think about the way you're clenching and squeezing around him and the way he can feel you start to drip down his balls. Fuckfuckfuck.

Marc sits back, petting your spine, your waist and hip. He slides his fingers through the sweat pools in the dip of your back, licks the salt of it off his fingertips, then carefully pulls out. When he rolls you onto your back, you're still blissed out, chest heaving as you catch your breath, eyes glazed and half lidded as you distantly stare up at him.

His lips twitch, something like fondness filling his chest like a balloon, and he crawls back over you, covering you with his body as he dips down to kiss your slack mouth. It takes you a moment to reboot enough to kiss him back, soft and pliant and rendered loose-limbed from your climax.

Marc pulls back, barely-there smile gracing his lips, and whispers, "There you are. Think you have another one for me?"

He's going to be the death of you. It's not even the most orgasms he's coaxed from your body before, not even close, but it was a long day and you were already sleepy before this - Marc Spector is gonna kill you during sex one day and you just hope he's not so smug about it that he forgets to miss you.

But he's smiling softly, stroking your hips and waist, the swell of your breasts, and it's not like you could ever turn him down, not really.

"Okay," you murmur, slowly bringing up your arms that feel like lead to curl around his shoulders. "Like this though. Wanna kiss you during."

"Yeah, okay," Marc agrees softly, sliding his hand down your leg, nudging until you curl your leg around his hip. "Like this," he says, brow furrowing as he carefully pushes back in.

It feels good to have him inside you again, and you'd be perfectly content to enjoy the pleasant friction that sparked through your body of Marc chasing his own release, but he'd never allow that, not if you were okay with coming again. You think he thinks if he makes you come enough times, it somehow makes it okay for him to let go, like he has to make it worth it for you in order for him to be vulnerable.

Yeah, it's a depressing thought. You're working on it with him. Just not right now.

His cock hits something up in your guts that sends pleasure sparking through your nerves, from the pit of your stomach and through your back, all the way to your fingertips, and your sigh turns into a breathy moan. You know Marc prefers to have you bent over, to take you from behind, knows that's when he feels closest to you, but you prefer it like this.

Marc, braced over you, muscles shifting and flexing with every thrust, the dim lighting catching on his skin, the sweat that's gathered there, making him glow golden. His face bent close to yours, furrowed with concentration, eyes occasionally slipping shut, then wide open again as he looks at you, the familiar warm brown of his eyes blown dark.

You like it like this, like having his face in easy reach. You slide your hands down, press your palms to the sides of his face, drawing his attention back to you, and his mouth. His lips meet yours as he snaps his hips, and you gasp, surprised, and you think you can taste a smile before he dips his tongue inside your mouth.

Something shifts in the mood, the atmosphere, and all at once Marc is just a little more intense, panting as he fucks into you, punched out sounds bursting from his mouth before he can swallow them. You clutch at his face, keeping him close, though you're hardly kissing, more open mouths pressed together and exchanging breaths.

"Fuck," Marc chokes, voice low and rough. He's gone to his elbows, nearly pinning you to the bed as he snaps his hips against yours, quicker than you think should be possible. "Fuck, gimme another."

"Marc," you say, clutching his face, his neck, shoulders. "Marc." It's all you can say, pressing your bent knee to his hip and thigh.

Marc moans your name in return, worming his forearm under your shoulders, then leans his weight on that elbow, and slides his other hand down your body, between your legs. His hair is damp with sweat, curling and hanging loosely over his forehead. He looks so good. He looks like how you imagine a Roman god would look, brought to life. Mars, Pluto, Neptune. It's not fair.

It's not fucking fair, is the thought running through your mind when Marc presses the pads of his fingers to your swollen clit, and you come again with a jolt. This time, you're nearly silent, and it feels like losing track of time, like reality fades away and it's just you and the warm bliss coursing through your veins.

Slowly, you realize Marc hasn't stopped thrusting, if anything, increasing his pace, marginally. It draws out your own orgasm, but there's nothing you want more than for Marc to come, to watch him reach his climax, feel his body tense and feel him spill into you, listen to his breath hitch, hear him choking on a gasping moan that sounds like a sob.

You want it, you want it so badly, so you clutch at his face, and moan his name, "Marc, Marc, come for me, please come, Marc, I want it, wanna feel you come in me, pleasepleaseplease-"

He breaks as soon as you start to beg, throwing his head back as his hips stuttering against yours as his control snaps, and he comes. Just like you'd imagined, hoped, Marc makes that choking sound, ripped from deep in his chest, as he fills you.

Arm buckling, Marc nearly collapses on top of you, just managing to avoid crushing you under his weight, shifting himself to the side so he was more on the bed than you. Still, you like it when he covers you, enjoy the warmth and weight of him.

Right now, you do the same, shifting your arms to wrap around his waist loosely as you try to catch your breath, as Marc does the same. He still hasn't pulled out, and you hope he stays in for as long as he can, because this had to be the best part of sex - when you are both finished, sated and too tired to move, when you are curled together and still joined. One.

You don't move even when Marc shifts his weight, adjusting your hips to stay connected. You can feel his gaze but you don't look back just yet, still staring up at the ceiling under guise of catching your breath still. You don't look when Marc starts to pet your hip in soothing, repetitive stokes. You don't look when that hand slips between your legs, to touch the slick folds parted around his cock, and feel his seed leaking slowly out.

Only when Marc palms your thigh, holding you open, carefully pulling out, do you look at him. His gaze is focused between you, at his softened dick and the mess he's made of your pussy.

"Probably shouldn't have done that," Marc rumbles, voice slightly hoarse. You raise your eyebrows at him meaningfully. He glances at you, huffing when he sees your expression, and winds his arm around your waist, tugging you onto your side, flush against him. "I know you're on the pill, but still."

You just smile, snuggling close. Marc curls his hands around the back of your neck, sliding up to cup your head, and it makes you feel precious, cared for, when he touches you so gently, so thoughtfully. Even when he tilts your head back to kiss you, soft and meandering at first, before slipping his tongue against yours again. It doesn't last long, though you lick at the spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away, just to watch his eyes darken.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Marc murmurs, cupping your cheek. He swipes his thumb over the swell of your cheek. "You need to sleep. You look wore out."

As he pulls away and rises to get a towel or washcloths, you speak: "Gee, I wonder why that could be."

Your voice is rough, and Marc just shoots you a look over his shoulder as he stands, and you hum, settling back against the pillows, content with his reaction. You watch him bustle around for a moment, soaking up the sight of him perfectly naked and comfortable, and feel just as comfortable in your own nudity at the moment, though your eyes drift lower and lower.

"I'd watch you like this too," you say slowly, sleepily, and so quietly, you don't know if Marc hears you.

You don't realize you'd closed your eyes until you feel Marc's hand on your forehead, at your scalp, hear the murmur of his voice.

"Brought you some water, baby. You need to drink some."

You whine, sleepy, and crack your eyes open. Your legs feel less sticky, and he must have wiped you off while you dozed. You don't want to move, you think, looking up at him, leaning over you, looking so concerned.

"Come on," he coaxes again, tugging at your arm, and you go this time, sitting up just enough to get a few sips of water down. When Marc is satisfied with your intake, he puts the glass on the nightstand and crawls in beside you, tucking you in under the sheets and next to him.

Sighing, content to have him against you again, you snuggle into his chest. What an excellent start to your weekend. You will sleep soundly tonight, pleasantly worn out, sleep in without a care in the world for your alarm, and undoubtedly be woken by one of the boys between your legs, either Jake or Steven wanting their turn, or Marc wanting seconds, but for now, you'll sleep, and so will Marc.

#dameronalone reader fic #18+#Marc spector x reader #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #pls rb + comment if you've read this far <3

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

Note

Soft Marc

That’s it that’s the request

S O F T M A R C ! Thank you so much for the ask! Ilysm!

(Thank you for an excuse to write some soft Marc! Also, oh no this turned into porn, I’m so sorry.)

Feels Nice

Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: typos (I feel like I wrote this one in a haze, I'm so sorry), swearing, Marc saying 'please', Marc being sleepy, oral sex (f receiving), P in V sex, dry humping (humping the settee)

Word Count: 1757

_______________________________________

You shifted your legs slightly as the movie ended, trying to wiggle enough to grab the remote without disrupting Marc.

He was dead asleep, breathing softly. His head resting comfortably against your shoulder. It was the first time you’d ever seen him resting so soundly.

You shuffled again, your movements bolder this time in a vain effort to reach the remote.

It was the first time in ages that you’d actually watched a film on live TV, and you knew it would be only a matter of seconds before an advert that was five hundred decibels louder than an aeroplane taking off started.

It was nearly in your reach, nearly close enough for you to grasp and-

“COMING UP NEXT!”

Marc jolted awake, springing into a sitting position. His right arm flew to the side and across your body, it made you think of a driver protecting a passenger when they had to break suddenly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” it was difficult to keep the smile out of your voice. “It’s just the TV.” You rubbed his back, trying to ease the tense muscles.

Marc swallowed and looked around to you. He nodded once, still half asleep. A large tuff of his hair was sticking upwards from where he had rested.

Quickly you grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. A vague silence filled the flat, punctuated by the faint buzzing of the fish tank and other electronics.

You grinned at him, dipping your head to the side as you reached out and patted his hair, trying to smooth it back down.

Marc hummed and closed his eyes leaning into your touch. “Feels nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked so serene, angelic in the weak light.

Slowly, you sank your fingers further into his hair and applied a light, but firm, pressure to his scalp.

He groaned, pushing further into your touch. The persistent force of his movement forced you further back into the settee.

You giggled as he urged you further, guiding you to laying down on your back with him between your legs. He tried to keep most of his weight off you, caging you in with his arms, but you could feel him steadily slipping as you continued to massage his head.

Small moans and shudders escaped his lips until he was completely in your lap, his head resting against your chest and left arm hanging limply off the side.

“I fell asleep didn’t I?” He mumbled into your top.

You grinned, continuing the massage, “You did.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Steven says I snore.” He spoke into your stomach, unintentionally shifting forwards into your touch.

“You were sort of,” you pause for a second, thinking, before you do your best to mimic his soft breathing from before.

“That’s snoring.”

“No, snoring is this:” you do your very best over the top impression.

Marc laughs. “Okay.”

You continue in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about anything in particular.

There is even a moment you think that maybe Marc has fallen back to sleep. His breathing is heavier than it was before, but you slowly begin to notice a slight rocking motion.

It’s almost ignorable at first, subtle enough for you to think that you are imagining it. But as you continue to massage Marc’s scalp the movements become more and more prominent.

You wait, counting the seconds in your head.

His breath hitches as he tries to bite back a moan.

“Marc?” You ask, faking an impressive level of innocence, and slow your hand movements.

He lifts his head a few centimetres from you. “Please don’t stop.” His voice is low and needy, his eyes lidded.

You push his face up a little more so that you can get a better look at him as you scrap your fingers along his skin. The sensation sparks like lightning down to his stomach.

He can’t help it as his hips rock against the settee, the inner seam of his sweatpants rubbing against his hard cock.

He groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he bites hard on his bottom lip and closes his eyes.

The sight of him is glorious as he is wrapped up in the sensations of his own pleasure. You can’t help but run your fingers over his scalp again, firmer this time and his answering moan is instantaneous.

WIthout really thinking you shift slightly, bringing your legs up to wrap around him and lightly dig your heels into his plump ass. You apply a little pressure in time with his thrusts, encouraging him to rut harder.

“Baby,” he chokes back a little half sob as heat flares along his skin, pleasure coiling tightly in his lower abdomen.

Oh this is all going too fast. If he doesn’t get a grip on himself soon he’s going to come in his (Steven’s) sweat pants.

He moves quickly, trying to not completely lose himself and give into the sweet sensations, and sits up a little.

You go to take your hands away from his head, and move your legs. Already starting to form an apology on your tongue, believing that you stepped over a boundary.

“No, no, no,” he mutters quickly, grabbing hold of your hands and pressing them firmly against his hair. “Continue, continue please.” His voice cracks with ache and want, his eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide. His skin is so warm, burning as if he had drunk just a little too much.

You nod quickly, in awe of how wrecked he looks.

Marc shifted his hands down to your waistband. “Wanna make you feel good please?”

How can you relist when he asks you so nicely?

You nod again, barely finishing the movement before he is ripping your trousers and underwear off you and throwing them somewhere to the side. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t send them flying into the TV and knocking it over.

Throughout you try your best to continue the massage, rubbing your thumbs and fingers along his skin in a now ingrained pattern you know he likes.

Marc lifts both of your thighs over his shoulders and settles down, causing you to have to curl up a little to keep your hands in his hair.

He puts his right hand just underneath your lower back, positioning it ever so slightly so that your hips cant upwards, and wraps his left around your leg so that he can rub your clit.

You let out a small shaky sigh as he touches you, so light and barely there.

“Fuck.” His hisses, his hot breath hitting your outer thighs as he leans into you. “Ugh, you’re so wet.”

He runs his nose up and down through your folds, groaning as your slick coats his skin.

“Marc-” You cut yourself off with a string of expletives as he lightly grazes your clit with his teeth before plunging his tongue into your cunt.

You pull tightly on his hair, the action involuntary and Marc lets out a beautiful high pinched wine as he grinds himself harder against the settee.

His cock is throbbing, burning for attention as he laps at you, rocking you back and forward with his right hand as he encourages you to fuck his face in time with the rock of his hips.

You’re achingly close already, pleasure sparking up and flooding your veins under his skilled actions. He continues to roll your clit between his left thumb and forefinger, pinching ever so slightly at seemingly random intervals.

You let out a gasped yelp, struggling to think, so overwhelmed with sensations and the need to continue to rub your hands through his hair.

“Marc, fuck, shit,” you can feel it building quickly, a crescendo threatening to pull you down with it.

Marc groans into you in response, fucking his tongue harder against you as he picks up the pace of his hips.

Your legs begin to shake, your stomach muscles clenching. Just a little more and-

He pulls away quickly, kneeling with your wetness shining all over the bottom of his face. He grabs his cock, barely pulling his sweatpants down.

“Can-I?” His words are so rushed that they come out all together.

“Yes, yes, pleas-”

You cry out as he surges forward and pushes into you in one swift movement. His left hand guiding the base of his cock and then pushing your leg to the side, spreading you wide so that it’s half dangling off the settee.

You grab at his biceps, screwing up your eyes as he fills you so perfectly.

He lets out a long moan, his eyebrows pinched together as he feels you squeeze down on him.

“Hands, hands,” he mutters, so mumbled and slurred that it takes your brain a second to catch up. “Please, baby, please.” He moans again as you rock against him, his own hips still.

You sink your fingers back into his hair, whimpering as you buck again.

“Stay still for me, just for a second, just for a second…”

You wine, but do what he asks. Your orgasm is so close, you taste it. Feel the edges of it running along your skin.

“Marc, please.”

He opens his eyes and nods. But he still doesn’t move his hips. Instead he reaches down and circles your clit with his fingers, rubbing soft small circles that match the speed and pressure of your own hands in his hair.

You gasp and change direction and so does he. You scrap your nails against his skin and he lightly pinches.

He can’t help but rock ever so slightly, barely moving out of you, needing to feel every single flutter against the length of his cock.

“Need to feel you squeeze me, need you to- shit,” he gasps as you come, your orgasm hitting you like a surge of electricity.

You moan out his name. Your back aching and grabbing hold of fistfuls of his hair, dragging him on top of you.

He sobs as you pulse around him, milking him for everything he could give as he comes, following you down into that mind shattering ecstasy as you pull on his hair.

Sweat begins to cool on your skin as you come back to yourself, breathing heavily. It’s only then that you realise both of you are still mostly dressed, and that you still have a death grip on Marc’s hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You release him quickly. But he just murmurs sleepily into your neck.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley

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

#marc spector #moon knight #moon knight mcu #x reader #x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x f!reader #x f!reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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sarahghetti · 5 months

Note

Could we get a mix of 27, 28, and 40 with the moonknight guys! Love your work! xx -V

ooooo had a lot of fun with this one!! request more kisses from this list!

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: you go to steven's work event with the boys. aka, the boys + a comforting kiss (#40), a sloppy kiss (#28), and a soft kiss (#27).

warnings: none! only fluff <3

word count: 1.3k

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Warm, low-hanging lights are strewn throughout the ballroom, and chatter fills the air. The band’s playing something jazzier than they were at the start of the evening, and you can see the effect it’s having on Steven’s coworkers with the increasing sway of their hips.

Well, that, and all free drinks are probably hitting them by now.

There’s no sign of Steven, though; his neatly styled curls and the sharp lines of his suit are nowhere to be found. You frown. He was only supposed to be away for a few moments while he grabbed some water.

“Excuse me,” you smile before slipping away from the group you were talking to. He’s been gone a little too long to have been in the washroom, and you’re awkwardly peering at the door when you feel your phone buzz.

I’m outside.

It’s quieter in the courtyard, a small gardenesque area with shrubs and park benches lining the edges of a lawn. You spot him instantly. His back is to you, arms crossed as he leans against lamplight. But there’s a stiffness in his shoulders that’s a bit much for your Stevie.

“Hey, Marc,” you greet and he startles, tension easing from his body as you rest your hands on his chest. Steven’s tie hangs loosely around his neck, and a curl falls onto his forehead from how much he must’ve been messing with his hair. “You okay? Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

“Neither did I,” he mutters, scowling over your shoulder towards Steven’s work event. The bright lights and busy crowds—it’s all precisely what Marc tends to avoid. You cup his cheek, worried, and his gaze finds yours again. “I’m fine. Just needed some air. Steven should be back soon.”

There’s an unsaid or else at the end of that last sentence and you snort, leaning forward to brush your nose against his. His arms come up to wrap around your waist; his hands clench into fists behind your back.

“I’ll wait out here with you, then,” you say. You feel Marc tense up underneath you as he readies himself to absolve you of the responsibility, to tell you to just go back inside and enjoy the party, but you’re faster.

You tug lightly at his neck, and he folds easily under your touch—always willing to do whatever you ask of him—until you’re able to press a gentle kiss against his forehead. He lets out a long breath, clutching at your back to keep you close as his eyes flutter shut.

“As long as you need.” You affirm, and Marc nods mutely. Through half-lidded eyes, he’s far more at ease than when you first found him, looking at you so softly like you hold his heart in your hands, like you’re the cure for all his ailments.

Like you give him peace.

Steven’s not one to get drunk very often, and you’re beginning to see why.

“C’mon, Stevie.” You tug lightly on his arm as he waves over his shoulder, still saying goodbye to his coworkers even as you’re trying to escort him home. An exasperated smile pulls on your lips. “Let’s get to you to bed.”

“Wasn’t that a blast, love? I can’t believe they got Dr. Ibrahim as the keynote speaker, oh, her work is incredible—” All the alcohol has loosened his lips, and no amount of stumbling over his words stops his thoughts from streaming out anyway. If Steven is enthusiastic while sober, then he’s positively beaming now.

He continues to babble into the night. You hum in affirmation as you eye the streets for a cab, cool air nipping at your skin. It’s colder than you thought it would be. You’d forgone a jacket in the name of fashion and look at you now, rubbing your arms in a lame attempt to generate some heat.

Steven acts immediately. One second, you’re yearning for the warmth of a car interior and the next, Steven’s suit jacket is draped onto your shoulders from behind. His hands, still gripping the lapels, wrap around your torso in a hug as he bundles you up like a cocoon and proceeds to not let go.

“Steven—” You laugh as his weight presses down on you, his breath warm against your ear. He pulls you impossibly closer so that you feel the entire length of him against your body, then cranes his neck to press sloppy kisses on your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—anywhere his lips can reach. You splutter. “We gotta get home!”

“In a bit,” he promises in between trailing his kisses down your skin, snickering at how you squirm, ticklish. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight? Because you look gorgeous—radiant, darling.”

It’s like you can hear the moment when his focus switches from the event to you, and the air is promptly filled with his glowing praise in between the loud smacks of his lips. When he reaches the junction of your neck and shoulder, you think, surely, he’s done now. But all he does is switch to your other side and start his journey anew. “Just—one—more.”

Drunk Steven is a mushy liar, but in the warmth of his embrace, your cheeks straining against how widely you’re grinning—you can’t complain all that much.

Steven toes off his shoes as he makes his way through the living room, then promptly faceplants onto the couch.

You can’t help but laugh, prodding at his back in an attempt to stir him. “Steven—Stevie, you’re so close, just a few more steps to the bed, up you come.”

His response is garbled nonsense into the throw pillow, although there’s an intonation in his voice that makes you pause. He continues, words still too muffled to understand, but you can make out the accent more clearly now that you’re looking for it.

“Hang on—Jake? Is that you?”

An affirming groan.

Your hand languidly strokes his back, condoling. “Did Steven leave you to take care of the body?”

Finally, Jake turns his head, and the indignant pout on his face is truly something to behold. “Steven just passed out. Marc is probably mad that I accidentally put him in the driver’s seat earlier.”

“So that’s what happened.” You shake your head. Still, you lightly tug at his arm to try to get him up. “C’mon—it’s bedtime.”

His eyes flutter shut. “Just let me sleep here.”

You quickly do a once-over. Half his body is hanging off the couch, arm and leg resting on the floorboards. His neck is angled in a way that’ll kill whoever wakes up tomorrow morning, and that doesn’t even cover the hangover that’s surely waiting for them. You tug at him again. “Nuh-uh. Let’s go, Lockley.”

Reluctantly, he follows, feet dragging on the ground as you lead him to the bathroom. He complains the whole way through the shower and brushing his teeth, and you do feel a little bad even though it’s for his own good. Exhaustion seeps into his movements, and he nearly knocks over the cup of water on the nightstand as he gets into bed.

You slip in beside him, brushing damp curls away from his face. Already half-asleep, he leans into your touch.

“Can’t believe Steven left me here. ¿Qué te gusta decir? This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Now it’s your turn to pout, feigning disappointment. “Aw, that hurts.”

You try to remove your hand in order to settle in, but his hand comes to cover yours, keeping you close. Without opening his eyes, he presses a lingering kiss to your palm. A sleepy sincerity has replaced his annoyance. “Cada momento a tu lado es una bendición. Sleep well, darling.”

You can't help but smile back. “Good night, Jake.”

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #moon knight asked #thank you for requesting !!

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lvvvyi · 11 months

Text

04 : Marc Spector ✧

C.W : gn!dom!reader ; riding ; light bondage ; toys

Cond. Notice : currently having utter brainrot of each moon knight alter and some of the spider lot 🙏🙏

Sub!Marc who practically leans into your touch every time you punish him, because the whole situation didn’t really matter to him, your touch is the only thing on his mind.

Sub!Marc whose eyes are literally hearts when you rake your nails down his chest, relishing in the way you can get him so hot and bothered by simple touches. The brief pain even adds to his pleasures.

Sub!Marc who can never keep his mouth shut. He’s always moaning or whining or crying out for you with no care of anyone listening because all he wants is for you to know how good he’s feeling. Even if you introduce a gag, you’ll hear loudened gargled moans. So you take matters into your own hands, literally, and start shoving your fingers into his mouth. Obviously, he absolutely loves it because now it fits both of you - he gets you all over and in him, while you try and get him to keep quiet.

Sub!Marc who just won’t stay still whenever you play with him. His hips buck into you as you ride him or he grinds back onto you when you take him from behind. Even after you sternly tell him to be good, you just feel so fucking amazing, and you just using him like this is surging insane pleasures through him. No amount of punishment is going to keep him down, unless one is you restricting him. Then he will finally listen and control himself, maybe while even letting a few tears loose. Though, he does like the concept of restraints - the very feeling of the tight ropes on his wrists pulling him away from you, gives him a better urge to feel you more and fight against them.

Sub!Marc who isn’t that big on using toys, but will try to experiment for your interest. If it’s too much he won’t hesitate to safeword. If not, he’ll act real bratty to get you rougher with the toy, testing himself for his limits. He doesn't go with other dildos much, since he thinks your strap/cock is enough for him. He may be more easy with small vibrators you use to tease him, making him think that the extreme vibrations is all he's getting tonight, but then surprising him with your hands/hole. Though all in all, he prefers you all over him, than any hard plastic buzzing against him.

#.lvvvyi #sub marc #sub marc spector #sub moon knight #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #marc spector smut #dom reader #top reader #fem dom reader #gn reader #stn. 🌙

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Note

could I please get a bit of Marc Spector x aftercare. (feat. the moon boys)

For example, Marc rails the shit out of you and he takes care of you in the form of a nice bath, then takes u to the couch to get all cozy and watch a movie. and Jake takes over to cook something nice and Steven sits next to you and rambles abt whatever new thing he's currently reading abt while a show is playing and you just fall asleep to his voice 💞

15. aftercare I| moon knight masterlist |I main masterlist

AN: Please note I don’t write for Jake Lockley. I will be writing this mini drabble without him, if that’s okay!

“Fuck!”

Marc spits out the curse when he cums inside of you, burying so deep that you feel him in your guts. Your body buzzes with the aftershocks of a savage orgasm, built up and matured by hours of teasing and denial. You can feel Marc’s spend running out of your fluttering cunt when he pulls out of you, smearing across the inside of your thighs.

Gazing up at the ceiling, your heart still thrums in your ears and rattles your chest. You’re utterly spent, muscles weak and useless thanks to Marc’s relentless affections. He’d leapt on you the moment he returned home from a mission, bloodied and bruised and emotionally raw.

A gentle hand pushes your hair out of your face, delicate kisses pressed to the valley of your temple. Marc sighs, breath still uneven with his exhaustion.

You feel it, the sudden switch. His body stiffens slightly, a little awkward beside you as he peers at you.

“You alright, Love?” Steven whispers, as though a louder volume would shatter the sleepy bliss you’ve settled into.

“Mhmm-hmm.”

“I can run you a bath, Darling. Could make it all bubbly and nice, yeah?” His knuckles smooth over your cheekbone.

“Get in with me?” You mumble sleepily.

When Steven settles you into the warm, soapy water, he holds you to his chest. His hands gently massage your weary muscles and he presses loving kisses to the crown of your head as you slip in and out of consciousness, utterly at peace and totally satisfied.

#marc spector #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector smut #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfic #steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fanfic #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut #જ⁀➴ mail: received

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phantomspiderr · 1 year

Text

Right

Pairing: Jake Lockley x afab!reader (established Marc Spector x reader)

Word Count: 3.9k+

Summary: Who knew being apart for weeks is the thing that sends you both over the edge ~part 2 to this beauty Wrong~

Warnings/Tags: 18+ SMUT, unprotected p in v, fingering, oh sweet virgin!jake, also touchstarved!jake if you squint, edging, both switch!Jake&reader(?), oral (m receiving), little bit of fluff sprinkled in, cursing, smidge of manhandling

a/n: okayyy this was completely self indulgent… I’m feeling a type of way and my heads fuzzy now. I’m glad so many of you enjoyed the first part and honestly can’t thank the anon that requested this enough. As always thank you so much for reading🥰

You stand in the hallway, excitedly buzzing at their front door. You can’t stay still, the impatience of not seeing them for 3 weeks finally gets to you as you wait for the door to open. “Hi,” you have the widest smile on your face as the door finally swings open. For a second you’re not sure who’s fronting, their face is almost expressionless. It could be either of the three but you don’t get a moment longer to ponder. You’re pulled past the threshold and straight into his chest with a thud. His arms are wrapped around your shoulders in a firm hug, it catches you completely off guard at first but quickly you melt into him. Your arms slide around his waist, hands clasping at his back and you tuck your head into his neck. It feels so nice to be back here, it’s as if your body is able to relax for the first time in weeks. They’re here and they’re safe.

“You smell so good,” your nose brushes against his neck, smelling the aftershave that normally clings to your clothes after you leave them. It has a comforting effect every time you smell it and it seems to have an extra level to it after being apart for so long. “I missed you,” you get up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw and then his cheek before leaning back as far as you can still in his embrace. You’re beaming up at him unable to hold in how happy you are and now he’s smiling too.

“I missed you cariño,” one of his hands comes around to stroke your cheek and your eyes fall shut, the small affection something you’ve missed dearly. His fingers curl under your jaw and gently he pushes your head back just a little. He takes his time to lean down and capture your lips with his and it takes everything in you not to let out a quiet moan.

“Hello, mi amor.”

“Hi, Jake.”

Your cheeks hurt from how long you’ve been smiling and it’s only made worse when Jake’s eyes crinkle in the corners, a rare sight that really only you truly get to see.

“I really missed you,” Jake’s eyes look over your face slowly and he hums in response but he looks like he’s really thinking about what he’s going to say next.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

You blink up at him a few times, unsure you heard him correctly but the way his eyebrow raises and his smile turns more into a smirk, you know you heard him right. His hand slides down to hold your neck, pulling you into another kiss.

“Are you sure?” You breathe against his lips and he nods before you’ve even finished your sentence. It had been months of carefully getting to know each other, months of patience and heavy makeout sessions that pushed the boundaries. Building trust with one another had been so important to Jake and therefore it was important to you. The conversations about what you were both comfortable with and what you both wanted, had done things to the imagination but now it’s happening your mind’s gone a little blank. “We can take it slow,” Jake hums again before pulling you into another kiss, “we can stop anytime.” He’s moving to kiss your neck already and at this point, you’re breathing is becoming more ragged, “you can change your mind at any-”

“Hermosa,” Jake pulls his head away enough so he can look down at you, “I am trying to fuck you, please let me.”

Your eyes grow wide and you nod your head, quickly moving one of your hands up to the back of his head. You pull him down to kiss him this time, it’s desperate and needy. His hands sweep down your body until they rest on the backs of your thighs, he’s crouched awkwardly for a second before he hoists you up. You squeal his name, and your legs instinctively wrap around him while your hands hold his face between them. He has you giggling between kisses and even more so when you realise the front door was still wide open. Jake has you secured around him with one arm wrapped around you, the other reaching behind to close the door before he can press you up against it. He’s back to kissing your neck, strong hands massaging your thighs while yours slip into his hair.

“This isn’t really me showing you how much I missed you,” you’re breathless and it’s funny how he’s got you in such a state already. He draws himself back so he can look you in the eyes, that signature smug expression all over his face.

“Oh, you want to show me?” Again you’re nodding, feeling a surge of confidence come out of nowhere. “Okay hermosa,” he just barely brushes his lips against yours, “show me.”

Gently he pulls your legs from around him and drops you to your feet again. Something within you switches and the urge to please him, make him feel good, to show him just how much you missed him takes over completely.

Your hands smooth down his neck and over his chest, eyes locked on his as your fingers slowly move to the buttons of his shirt. Only briefly do you look away, mesmerised by the way your hands steadily expose him more. His chest is rising and falling so fast you think maybe he’s nervous but when you look up at him he’s nothing but confident. A hand comes up to hold your cheek, the gentle affection stark in comparison to the thoughts you’re having. You crane your head up to kiss him again, a little more forceful than before and your hands finally slip under his shirt. Jake sucks in a sharp breath at the contact but he moves instinctively when you push the material from his shoulders. Jake, with your help, tugs at it until it drops to the floor. The clean crisp shirt is now uncaringly wrinkled in a pile. The kisses grow more fervent as your hands delicately explore his newly exposed skin. Your nails graze against his sides and it causes goosebumps to break out all over his body. Your fingertips follow the waistline of his trousers, enjoying the deep breaths he has to take in.

“Don’t tease.” It comes out mumbled against your lips and you have to chuckle that he thinks this is teasing, it’s more appreciation and taking your time. As if to prove that point you do it again, agonisingly slowly your fingers brushing against the skin just above his waistband. This time he deeply rumbles out your name and it’s your turn to be smug, feeling your ego grow a little.

You show him some mercy, your hands moving to his belt and meticulously you begin undoing it. Suddenly, you find it amusing that Jake’s already half-naked while you still have your jacket and shoes on. So, you pull your hands away from his half-undone belt and a whine escapes him.

“Need to even it up,” you breathe out as you start tugging off your jacket. Jake’s hands quickly fumble to help you before it’s even off his fingers are pushing up the hem of your top. He’s pulling the material up your torso while you’re still yanking the jacket sleeves from your wrists. Then his lips are back on yours, a feverish kiss that makes you feel dizzy. It’s clumsy the way you’re dropping the jacket and trying to kick off your shoes all while Jake tries to strip you of another layer and kiss you desperately. You have to be the one to pull away so he can pull the top over your head. It’s barely off before Jake’s back to kissing you, his hands holding onto your face as if you might disappear and you can feel him getting lost in it all. The excitement mixed with some nervousness you know is lying beneath that’s getting him a bit carried away. Your hands move back to undoing his belt and trousers, remembering the task at hand. Jake gasps when one of your hands slips into his trousers, his forehead pressing into yours as he takes a few steadying breaths.

“You tell me to stop if it’s too much okay?” He doesn’t respond, still breathing hard even though you haven’t moved your hand. You call his name and he just starts nodding, humming briefly.

“Use your words, honey.”

“Yes-okay-please, cariño.” He’s absolutely gone already, it’s satisfying the way you’ve managed to make big, scary Jake turn into absolute incoherent mush. You press a final quick kiss to his lips before ever so slowly you sink to your knees, Jake watches with surprise unable to say or do anything but watch you.

You’re taking your time, not once taking your eyes off of his trusting that your hands can move blindly. They tug at the now undone trousers until they’re pooled at his feet, and then teasingly your nails graze up and up the outside of his legs. His eyes snap shut and his breath shudders when your fingers reach the edge of his underwear, he has to steady himself by leaning a hand against the door. Jake’s reaction makes you beam with confidence, so, your hands move, your fingers hooking under the material and dragging them down just enough. You try your hardest to fight off a grin as you note the way he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it there.

“Breathe, baby.”

Just as he focuses on breathing a normal amount, his eyes blinking open, your hand brushes over his cock and sends his breathing into a frenzy again. It’s endearing how sensitive he is, how reactive to your touch his body seems to be, there’s no hiding how he feels. You stop teasing, the need to see him wither more becoming increasingly more urgent. Delicately you place a kiss on the tip of his cock, absolutely revelling in the way his mouth drops open. Your eyes shift away from his face now, focused solely on the way your hand slowly starts to move up and down his cock and how he lets out such pretty little noises. Then his fist knocks against the door when you slowly push him past your lips, a string of unintelligible words following. You look up through your lashes and unexpectedly find him already looking down at you. His normally slicked-back hair is unruly, now strands fall onto his forehead and his eyes are half-lidded with his jaw completely slack. He’s an absolute sight and he lets out the most heavenly moan when you suck on the tip of his cock.

“Okay, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.” His hand contradicts his words as it cups the back of your head and pushes him even further into your mouth. However, your hands grip his hips and gently push him away. You don’t even get a chance to ask if he’s okay because he’s pulling you back up onto very unsteady feet. Your back hits the door but his hand shields the back of your head from the assault and you’re back to kissing. Your head is dizzy from how fast he’s moved, however, the pressure of his lips on yours again is a welcome distraction to the numbness in your legs. His hands are suddenly back on your thighs and he’s pulling you back up to wrap your legs around him, a groan catching in his throat when you grind up against him. Your hands fall into his hair, combing through the rough curls. You can feel him moving now, trying to walk you both through the flat and he stumbles completely forgetting about the trousers still wrapped around his ankles. There’s an instant shock from both of you but then you’re giggling while he attempts to kick them off.

“Sorry,” he looks back up at you, his features dropped in fear he’s ruined the moment. Immediately you start shaking your head, shushing him between kisses you gently place on his lips. You nudge his cheek with your nose so he’ll turn a little and you can press more kisses to his skin, moving down to his neck while he more cautiously takes steps this time. You take your time sucking bruising marks onto his neck, taking great satisfaction in the sigh he lets out when you graze your teeth along the top of his shoulder.

Suddenly, he’s pressing you down onto the cold kitchen countertop and you’re squealing while desperately clinging onto him. A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as he pulls back to look at you, his fingers gently graze your jaw before he angles your head up more and just barely skims his lips over yours.

“You are so beautiful, mi amor.” You can feel your heart tighten at the sweet statement, your bottom lip jutting out just a little. For a moment, you just gaze at one another, smiles slowly growing the longer you look at each other. “Now,” his hands are back on your legs, slowly inching from your knees to your hips, “I think you’re still wearing too many clothes, no?” Your teeth sink into the inside of your bottom lip and you nod quickly. Jake grins at your eagerness before he’s pulling at the waistband of your trousers, with your assistance he manages to take off both your trousers and underwear. “That’s better,” he says dropping the material and moving closer again. Your arms wrap around his neck in an effort to keep him close and now, it’s your turn to be sensitive as his fingers lightly touch your now exposed thighs and your body shudders. Slowly, they move like they had before, up and up until his hands rest on top of your thighs. You don’t even realise your breathing has picked up, your eyes glued to his as you wait in anticipation. He smiles at you while his thumbs rub soothing circles against your skin. Your legs instinctively relax, opening ever so slightly wider and Jake seems to take that as his cue to move again. One hand moves off of your thigh and your hips squirm when Jake’s finger finally touches your pussy, your arms pull him closer until your foreheads touch. He takes his time dragging his fingers up to your clit which causes your legs to flinch, attempting to close but instead they just clamp around Jake’s hips.

Your mind’s gone completely blank, solely focused on the way his fingers repeat what they’d just done. Then they’re gone and you whine at the loss, pulling your head back from his just as he raises the same hand that’d just been touching you to his mouth. Jake pushes two fingers past his lips while holding eye contact with you and your head is so cloudy you just watch, mouth falling open. Jake’s smirking after he pulls them from his mouth, his eyes scan down your face and then he’s tapping his wet fingers against your bottom lip. You let him slide the same two fingers into your mouth, and he deliberately presses against your tongue before dragging them out again. For a second, you draw your eyes away from his to look at his fingers, the wet digits glimmering in the light. Your eyes then flicker between his hand as it moves down again and his face, finally settling back on his face just before his fingers reach your pussy again. Jake watches as your eyes fall closed when he finally touches you again, one of your hands slipping from his shoulder to hold onto the edge of the counter. He’s fully satisfied with the way you’re reacting when he’s barely done anything, all the months have built up to this exact moment and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this genuinely excited for something in his whole life. He moves agonizingly slow as he circles your clit a few times, content with the way you whimper and your breathing quickens. Shamelessly he stares at your chest for a moment, enjoying the way it rises and falls rapidly and suddenly he wants more. Jake’s quickly become addicted to the sounds you make and he wants more of them, he wants them louder until it’s all he can hear. So, he casts his gaze back to your face because he wants to watch your reaction as he slips two fingers slowly into you. He’s more than happy when your mouth drops open more and you harshly suck in air. The arm that still hangs around his neck moves, your hand sliding into his hair and holding him in place—like he’d want to be anywhere else right now.

You start panting as Jake moves his hand, pulling his fingers out almost completely before steadily pushing them in again. He builds his pace slowly, trying to memorise the way your panting turns into whimpers and then into quiet moans but he still wants more, he still wants you to be louder. His hand moves just a fraction quicker, the palm of his hand hits your clit with each thrust and it feels so good. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re gripping the edge of the counter, your other hand tugging probably a little too hard on his hair as you dangle on the edge of your climax already. You’re so close, just a little more and… he stops moving. His hand freezes, fingers still buried in your pussy and you’re clenching around him, begging for him to move as your climax begins to fade away.

“You didn’t think I’d forget cariño?” You’re dazed for a second trying to work out exactly what he said, “I need to know you remember who’s making you feel this good.”

“Jake!” You want to punch him straight in his perfectly smug face.

“See you’re learning already,” he chuckles when you raise your hands to your face, you were so close to cumming you could cry.

“Now, you keep saying my name until the neighbours know it.” Jake starts thrusting his fingers again with no warning and you gasp, the air doesn’t feel like it’s enough so you keep gasping in more. Your hands have moved to grip his shoulders, nails roughly digging into his skin.

“Come on, cariño.” Your brain finally registers what he’d said before and his name tumbles out your mouth over and over again. The cocky bastard’s grinning now, pulling you back to that edge unbelievably quick and then he just stops again. He pulls his fingers from you this time and you cry out, completely upset that he’d hold onto this grudge and be so mean about it.

“Just one more, I promise.” He contradicts his punishing hand by placing a delicate kiss on your cheek, waiting just a moment for you to come down. This time he presses his thumb to your clit, moving so slow at first until you whine his name and he shows a little mercy by speeding up. You’re so sensitive from being so close to your orgasm that it doesn’t take long for you to again be right there. You’re at the point you’re chanting out his name sprinkled with curse words and you’re just about there-

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Your forehead hits against his shoulder and Jake has the audacity to laugh as you cry out, thoroughly frustrated now by his cruel punishment. He’d completely removed his hand again and apparently, he found it funny as you practically begged for him to keep going.

“I know hermosa, I’m sorry.” He sure doesn’t sound sorry. “This time, I promise.”

Unexpectedly, you feel the head of his cock taps against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. You pull your head back up again, looking at him as his free hand comes up to hold your face. You think you must look desperate and you are, you’re desperate for him to finally fuck you and you’re even more desperate to cum. Both of you move at the same time, nudging your noses against each other before sharing a heartfelt kiss. You barely pull apart, holding each other close as Jake moves his cock against your pussy. His hand falls from your face to firmly hold your hip as he unhurriedly pushes into you. He’s so careful, watching for any slight indication he’s going too fast but he’s somehow unbelievably perfect. He does stutter about halfway when your pussy clenches around him and he has to bury his head in between your neck and shoulder. Both his hands are now splayed on the counter on either side of you, holding himself still for a second to recollect himself. Somehow you manage to scoot your hips closer to the edge of the counter, your legs hooking around his hips and changing the angle so much his cock slips further into you. A strangled moan falls from Jake’s lips and that urge to see him whither comes back tenfold so you try to pull him even closer. Your hand that had been gripping the counter coming around to his lower back, that paired with your legs tug him closer and one of his arms tightly winds around your back. His fingers dig into your side and he grunts out something you don’t understand but then suddenly, he’s moving his hips at a moderate pace. It catches you off guard and your grip still in his hair tightens, you press the side of your face into his. This time he doesn’t take his time to build a steady pace, slamming into you over and over as you both moan. You’re so close again and you’ll do just about anything to cum this time. The hand that was pressed against his back slips around so you can now touch yourself, your fingers circling over your clit feverishly and almost immediately your pussy starts to clench.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” Jake’s hips falter, the arm around you pulling you almost off the counter. He recovers quickly and continues to thrust into you with slightly more difficult as you clench uncontrollably now. Entirely focused on how close you are to cumming finally, Jake’s thrusts become a little more forceful and you’re completely gone. His name comes out in a whine, your fingers moving just a little faster as your climax hits you hard. It feels unbelievable and it is almost worth all of the edging you received. Almost immediately Jake’s thrusts become shallow and deliberate, your pussy spasming around him causing rough groans to ring in your ears. You’re still on a high as Jake cums, his forehead still pressed to the place between your neck and your shoulder and you can feel his quick pants against your collarbone. You have to remove your hand from your pussy as his hips keep rocking into you as he cums, your entire body becoming oversensitive. Slowly, he comes to a stop still completely submerged inside you and for a second you both try to focus on your breathing, attempting to get your racing hearts back to a normal rate.

“Hi,” you breathe out when he raises his head. Jake looks so shy, his cheeks are completely flushed and he can’t keep his eyes on yours. It makes a smile grow as you tug his head closer, pressing your lips to his and you can feel him smile into the kiss. Jake pulls away only to bury his head in your neck again.

“Hermosa,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair which earns you a satisfied sigh mixed with a faint chuckle.

“Hermoso.” He quietly corrects which makes you smile even more, your heart fluttering a little when he kisses your collarbone.

“Hermoso then.” You whisper again before pressing a kiss to his head, content with just holding him like this for a minute.

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melodygatesauthor · 9 months

Text

Chapter 16: Those Three Words

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @whatthefishh

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary

You and Steven finally get some one on one time together. There's an unexpected visitor before the night is through.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu (as a deity), talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded, minor mentions of alcohol addiction and depression.

Word Count: 3.2k

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You knocked on the door to Steven’s flat, stomach buzzing with excitement and anxiousness. You exhaled sharply, fidgeting with your fingers while you waited. You heard him on the other side, shouting that he’d ‘be right there’. You heard a crash and the sound of furniture scraping against the wood floor. Did he break something? After hearing the several locks come undone on the other side of the door, you were greeted by your dear Steven, looking just as disheveled as ever, with a dopey smile to match.

“Steven,” you smiled, feeling a lightness in your heart, “Steven…”

“Darling…”

Steven had never been rough with you, but he pulled you against himself as though you were his lifeline, harshly and desperately. His lips melted into yours, noisily as ever, moans rumbling up through his chest and into your mouth. You brought both your hands into his curls savoring the way they felt between your fingers. You sucked on his bottom lip gently, letting it snap back against his teeth.

“Oh I missed you love, I missed you so much,” he said before lifting you and walking you to the bed.

He didn’t want to waste any time being with you, he’d already wasted so much. He dropped you onto the bed, climbing over you, his mouth finding yours again quickly.

“I missed you too, so fucking much,” you breathed, going back for more messy, wet kisses.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, hovering with his lips just above yours. “I’m so,” kiss, “so,” another kiss, “so sorry.”

You grabbed his cheeks between your hands, “don’t ever leave me again Steven or I swear–”

“Never,” he latched his mouth over your neck hungrily, “I’ll never do anything to hurt you again love, I promise.”

You moaned while Steven lapped at your neck, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and pulling it upward. He broke his mouth off your skin just long enough to get his shirt over his head before going back to latch his needy lips onto your throat.

Steven wanted to taste every inch of your body, devouring you slowly so he’d never forget what it felt like to have you. He’d missed you more than he could say with words. He had to show you, he had to feel you again. He peeled your shirt off, eyes going wide at the sight of your chest. He’d seen it before, of course, but being with you like this again was just as exciting as the first time, as he suspected it would be every time. He put his face down between your tits, groaning as he did and reaching behind your back to get your bra undone.

“God you smell so good darling, smell so…ah–mm.”

He pulled your bra off and immediately cupped your left breast, sucking your nipple in between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. You bit your lip, stifling the moan that threatened to escape. Steven noticed right away and shot his eyes up at you in a daring glare.

“Don’t do that, let me hear your pretty voice love, been too long…”

He moved over to your other breast, focusing on the hardened peak there, pinching the one he’d just abandoned between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned loudly for him, just like he’d asked, and you felt his entire body respond to your sounds. He trembled, a groan coming out of him in a shuddering breath against your skin. You felt his hips roll forward, mouth open against your tit while he moaned, drooling down the sides.

“F-fuck, Steven.”

He peppered you with kisses, trailing from your chest, down over your tummy and stopping right above your skirt.

“Wore this just f’me didn’t you darling?” He pushed the garment up roughly, “you know just what I like, and these little panties…mm,” you heard him make a sound resembling a low growl.

He ran his finger over the thin fabric separating your cunt from his face. He couldn’t believe how wet and eager you were already. There were many things he missed about you, and this was one of them. He pressed his face against your mound, inhaling deeply and then sighing a satisfied exhale.

“S-Steven a-are you…”

He looked at you over your bunched up skirt, “I can’t help it love, call me a freak if you want but…can’t help it.”

He went back in, inhaling again and using his teeth to tease you through the lacy panties covering your beautiful little pussy lips. He missed your taste, sweeter than honey, your smell, more fragrant than the prettiest flowers. Steven put a hand underneath both of your knees and pushed your legs back against your torso, holding them in place with his arm. He then hooked a finger in your underwear and pulled them over your thighs, letting them rest there.

“Missed you too, pretty little thing,” he said to your pussy as though it were a different entity entirely.

He licked a stripe between the lips, gulping as he collected a glob of your slick arousal in his mouth. He exhaled like he’d just had a cool drink of water. He brought his mouth back over your nub, suckling it between his lips and flicking his tongue out, forcing a sharp gasp from your mouth. Steven’s arm pressed more firmly against the backs of your trembling thighs, keeping you folded in half and exposed for him. Both of your hands dropped to the sheets, balling them up in your hands while he slurped over your mound.

“Oh god, Steven, y-yes!”

Steven brought a finger to your entrance, swirling around the hole but not pushing through. He worked over you until his index was coated, bringing the tip of his finger to the tight rim of your lesser used hole. You bit your lip, knowing what he was thinking. He slid his finger into you slowly, made easier by the slick that had trickled down there. You gasped as he moved in further. You could feel the bastard smiling against your folds.

“Steven, oh fuck-oh-god-fuck.”

He started pumping his finger into you faster, enjoying the whimpers falling from your lips. He moved his tongue masterfully over your clit, paying close attention to what made you squirm the most. Your body shook, he loved the way you were so sensitive and responsive to everything he did to you. Your hole clenched around his finger, your thighs tensed under his arm as he kept them in place.

He dragged his tongue through your slit again, slurping up what mess had accumulated there before going back to work on your clit. You felt the unmistakable tingling heat pooling in your core, the overwhelming sensations sending you over the edge faster than ever before. You bit your lip, huffing loudly through your nose.

Steven could feel the way your hole cut the circulation off in his finger when you came. Your cunt throbbed, coating his chin in even more slick arousal than before. He moaned into your pussy, feeling his cock starting to twitch in his pants. Shit, he thought, feeling the cum shooting into his boxer-briefs. His breathing was ragged and wrecked as he bucked his hips forward, embracing the orgasm that he’d tried to put off.

Something about making you come made him feel so good he couldn’t help it. He fed his own moans into your mound, breathing deeply and gliding his clothed cock over the mattress through his climax. Nothing felt as exciting as getting you off, not to Steven anyway.

“Damnit,” he muttered, once you were both finished.

He sat up, letting your shaking legs fall down to the mattress. You smirked and looked at him, recognizing the sated gaze he gave you in return. You looked down and noticed the dark spot on his pants immediately, giggling loudly. You toed off your panties, which still sat around your knees.

“Come here,” you said, holding out your arms to him, and he complied, crawling up to lay on the pillows next to you.

Steven put his toned arms around your torso, pulling your bare chests together in a tight embrace. He kissed your nose before slotting his lips over yours, still tasting like your arousal mixed with his own signature flavor. You could’ve stayed like that forever, wrapped in each other’s arms without a care in the world.

“Steven…” you said, looking up at him longingly.

“Yes darling?” He said, looking at you with that deep hooded gaze that made your toes curl.

“I love you,” you said softly, brushing a curl from where it’d fallen into his eyes.

Steven’s heart stopped beating in his chest. His mouth fell open and he just stared at you. His mind was buzzing, not only with his thoughts, but Jake and Marc were there too. They weren’t supposed to be, they’d said they would give Steven his time, but you saying those words had sparked something in their head.

“Y-you…sorry what?”

“She said she loves you pendejo, say it back!”

“You too!” Steven shouted in a panic. You jumped, resulting in both of you giggling foolishly. “I’m sorry, Jake was…he was yellin’ at me and it took me off guard.” You both sighed while your laughter settled. Steven cupped your cheek, looking affectionately into your eyes, “I love you too.”

You kissed him deeper, fumbling with the buttons of his trousers while you did. It was easy to let go of all the things he’d done and said go when you were there with him. You loved the way he felt about you, as though it spilled out of his body with every sweet word and permeated the air around you. Steven truly did love you. Despite his mistakes, despite the break up, and despite everything else, he loved you.

“You know we still have to tell her about Egypt, hermano.”

Steven ignored Jake, not wanting to ruin this reunion with more nonsense. He would tell you later when he had the chance. Your hands worked to unbutton his pants and get them pulled down. He did the rest of the work, sliding the cum soiled clothing off his legs and tossing it aside.

You felt Steven’s softened cock with your hand, brushing your fingertips against his balls and holding the other bits in your palm. Even when he wasn’t aroused, his member felt heavy and large in your hand. Steven brought his hand between the two of you moving your hand out of the way and jerking his palm around his flaccid dick.

“Kiss me, love,” he urged, as though you hadn’t been doing that all along.

You got more passionate, moaning into the kiss and tangling your fingers in his hair. You made a point of rubbing your hard nipples against his chest and rolling your hips against where his fist was at work, trying to bring his cock back to life. He whined into you, muttering ‘that’s it, yes, keep going’, on repeat. You felt him getting harder, the fat tip once again hungry and searching for your cunt to plunge into.

Steven was shaking with excitement again, staying parallel to you as he lifted your leg and shifted his hips to guide his member to your impossibly slick entrance. His lips never left yours as he slipped inside, choking on his moans as he felt your walls flutter around him in response. He started thrusting, enjoying the softness of your voice as you whined into every kiss.

“Jake did such a good job stretchin’ you out for us, didn't he love? Doesn’t hurt like it did before, does it?” Steven’s mouth trailed over your jaw and down to your neck. “Still s-so tight though.”

You reached your hand to Steven’s which was still wrapped around the other side of your leg, keeping it pulled up so he could fuck into you harder. You laced your fingers with his, to which you felt him smile against your lips. Nothing had ever felt as right to you as having Steven in your arms.

Steven hadn’t forgotten how good it felt to be inside of you, but he sure did miss how good it felt. Your tight little cunt took him so well, just like it had the first time he felt it. He felt your hand in his and cherished the way his whole body felt alive with you embracing him. Now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to let anything change that. He damned himself for ever pushing you away in the first place. He didn’t care if he had to quit his job as your professor, he was never walking away from you again.

“Oh my g-god Steven!” You cried out as his teeth made contact with your neck, sucking the skin through his lips and biting down gently.

“Missed those pretty sounds you make t-too, missed-all-of-it.”

He punctuated each word with a thrust, his movements getting more desperate and ragged with every pass. Your fingers dug into his skin resulting in a moaning gasp from his lips. Steven, always so messy, started drooling down your neck and chest while he mouthed at your body. He was whimpering so loudly you could hardly hear your own sounds over his.

“That’s it love, that’s it. You’re-so-fuckin’-wet-I–!” He grunted, “oh…you hear that?” He slowed down, sliding back until he was about to fall out and then moved forward again slowly until he was flush against your hips. “Such a soaking wet mess, all f’me darling.”

He sped up again, pumping into you at an unforgiving pace. You cried out, voice wavering with every slam of his hips against yours. You held onto him tightly while he jackhammered forward, huffing into your ear as he did. You felt a shift in his body, and he pushed you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs hurriedly. He hunched forward, angling himself so he could get deeper, bottoming out inside of you.

Steven was mesmerized, watching your tits bounce with every forward snap of his hips. He leaned down, never slowing his pace, taking one of your peaked breasts in his mouth. You gasped at the new sensation, arching your chest and holding the back of his head in place over you. He smacked his lips over your nipple, nibbling with his teeth gently. His free hand worked its way to your hip, grabbing tightly to keep you in place.

“S-Steven I–! Oh shit!”

You came again right then, walls contracting around every inch of his cock while he fucked you through it. You felt him too, spilling his hot spend into you, breathing noisily as he did. He squeezed your body so tight you thought you might break while his length throbbed inside of you, stretching you wider with every shot of warmth it had. You both felt empty and weak when you were done, collapsing on the bed next to each other heavily.

“That was…oh god love that was…”

“Amazing,” you said softly, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah.”

You both laid there for several moments before a loud grumble erupted from your stomach. You hadn’t eaten properly all day, nerves making it nearly impossible for you to find anything appetizing. Steven chuckled when he heard it.

“I hear you tummy,” he laughed, leaning over and kissing just above your navel, “don’t worry, I’ll take care of you too.”

“You’re a dork,” you couldn’t help but laugh as well, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll go get takeout. You just stay put, alright?” He tapped your nose.

You nodded with the dumbest smile on your face. Steven kissed your lips softly once more before hopping off the bed, dressing himself quickly and leaving the apartment to get some food for your grumbling stomach. You sighed and fell back onto the bed, smiling stupidly to yourself. Your mind was buzzing with excitement, thinking about Steven…but you also couldn’t help your thoughts from wandering to Jake as well. You wondered if he would ever make an appearance again, or if he would be too worried about upsetting you even further.

If you were being honest with yourself, you did want to see Jake again. You wanted to know more about the mystery man who helped bring you and Steven back together. You thought about the kiss on the park bench, the way his lips felt so desperate to stay on yours despite him pulling back from you. Your heart pounded in your chest. Was it possible to love both of them at the same time? Would Steven be alright with that? You didn’t even know how to begin navigating this whole thing.

After a few more moments, you got off the bed. You rifled through Steven’s drawers, finding a shirt to put on and sliding your underwear back over your legs. It didn’t take long for you to find something to watch on the television. Steven had the history channel still up and you knew it would probably be a good idea for you to try and absorb some of it, considering your attendance had been spotty at best.

In an hour he returned, you heard the paper bag rustling as he walked to the kitchen, dropping the meal on the table. You smiled, excitement fluttering through your body at the thought of food…and seeing Steven again. You felt so silly, being so smitten like that, but you couldn’t help it. There was a reason you went back to Steven, and why you’d never walk away again. You were in love with him. It was that simple, and that complicated all at once.

You walked to the kitchen and he was standing there back to.

“You gonna make me wait until I starve to death or…oh.”

You realized immediately that Steven wasn’t fronting. When he turned around, you were met with Marc’s face. It was still so remarkably like and unlike Steven’s all at once. Their facial features were the same, of course, but their expressions…they were so vastly different.

“Marc…” you said softly.

He looked you up and down, scowling and looking like he wanted to throw you out of the flat on your ass, and if he didn’t care about Jake and Steven at all, he would’ve. He didn’t know if he could say he hated you, but you were making things so, so complicated, and Marc liked to keep things safe, easy, and simple. He looked you over. Objectively speaking you were pretty. He could see why the other two liked you.

Is…is that my… he thought to himself, and he felt his breath catch in his chest. Why was that the thing that made his hardened exterior falter? It was just you…wearing his shirt…in your underwear…without a bra on. Was it cold in there?

He sighed, trying to compose himself, “is that my shirt?”

----

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stevesbestgirl · 10 months

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Phases of the Moon - Part 2

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2909 words

Warnings: minor angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, Donna being a big meanie, mentions of reader’s face “flushing,”

As always, keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point.

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

Tuesday evening, your phone buzzed, “2609 minutes, from right now. - Steven.” You suspected he’d been waiting until he finished his shift to work it out. He’d also signed his name on the text, which you found to be rather cute.

When Thursday came, you took a little bit of extra time in the morning. You hadn’t meant to, but you were fiddling with your hair and changing outfits when you realized what you were doing and forced yourself to leave it all be. And sure enough, when you approached the gift shop counter, Steven lit up, just as he had two days before.

You made your way up to the counter, “Alright, how many minutes now?”

He made a show of checking his watch, “About two and maybe a half.” He gave you a shy smile, “You look pretty today.”

“Prettier than Tuesday?” you teased.

“Well, I thought you looked pretty Tuesday too, but I chickened out on saying it, didn’t I?” That rosy flush you were growing to like so much crept up his cheeks.

“Thanks, Steven.”

“Well, shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

Now it was your turn to flush; you’d never met someone who could flip-flop so seamlessly between bumbling awkwardness and earnest charm.

But you were saved by the bell- Steven had an alarm set on his phone. He quickly silenced it, “There we are. You ready, love? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” The way your heart skipped in your chest at the term of endearment again made it clear that you were not immune- at least, not to Steven. But you nodded your agreement as he came out from behind the counter and led the way back to the exhibit.

This time, it was harder to focus on the words Steven was saying- all you wanted to do was watch him talk. The way he tilted his head when he was searching for the right word, the way his pitch rose when he was building up to something he found particularly interesting- but it was really his hands that did you in.

They waved around while he spoke, accenting explanations, pointing out details in each display, and making quirky little gestures to accent his points. You felt like your gaze was following them and you found yourself wondering what it would feel like to slide your fingers between his. Your stomach dropped at the thought and you hastily pulled your gaze back to his face, using all of your willpower to listen.

Too soon, the little alarm on his phone was sounding again, “Looks like I’ve gone on a bit too long again, haven’t I? We’ve only just started on the pharaohs.”

You walked with him back to the gift shop, “When is your next shift?”

He grimaced, “Donna has me on the late shift for inventory tomorrow night. And you’re probably busy on Saturday-”

“I’m not, actually. Are you working?” He nodded blankly. “I’m happy to stop by again. Unless that’s inconvenient for you, I’m sure Saturdays are busy-”

“Saturday is perfect,” he insisted. I actually get off at two, if you wanted to come by ‘round then." That was not true. Steven didn't work Saturday at all, but he continued anyway, "I can give you a proper tour.”

Your stomach twisted and you weren’t sure if it was with excitement or anxiety; this had become a full-blown date in a matter of moments. And you wanted to go.

Despite all of your common sense telling you to back off now before it was too late, you smiled, “That sounds great.” You pulled out your phone, “I’ll put it in my calendar.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” he dug into his bag on the other side of the counter, “I brought you something.” He pulled out a box and handed it to you; it was a new screen protector. “I’m not sure if I got the right one, but I sort of had to guess. It was such a sweet gesture that you were struck dumb for a moment, staring at the box in your hands. It was, in fact, not the right kind, but you weren’t about to tell Steven that. “Thank you, Steven. This is- that was really nice.”

You tried to keep your voice even; it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wasn’t like you could tell Steven that this was the first time in a very long time you could remember someone doing something so thoughtful for you.

“Well, I felt bad, y’know?”

This was the part where you were supposed to respond with something grateful and vaguely funny, but you couldn’t seem to find anything to say. Every combination of words you strung together sounded too raw- too emotional at a simple thoughtful gesture.

“Oi, Stevie,” Donna’s voice cut through the pause, “I’m not paying you to stand around and flirt with your girlfriend, am I?” Both you and Steven went stiff. Donna continued, “You could be stocking those new figurines.”

“I will, yeah- right now,” Steven said quickly. “And it’s Steven,” he corrected, though his tone was tired- this clearly wasn’t the first reminder. He knelt, pulling out a box of vaguely humanoid figures, lining them up half-heartedly on the counter until Donna disappeared. “Sorry about that,” he gave a nervous chuckle. “She shouldn’t have called you-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you offered a tight-lipped smile, beating back the feeling in your stomach that wanted to hear you called Steven’s girlfriend again. It was suddenly like you were twelve again. You wanted to make things light-hearted again, so you teased, “Not a fan of ‘Stevie,’ then?”

He half-smiled, “S’not so bad when you say it, to be honest. But it makes me think of Donna.”

“Maybe I can steal it from her, make you think of me instead,” you offered.

He laughed, “You could try, but I’m not convinced it can be done.”

You knew it was a silly thing. And maybe you just wanted to feel special to Steven. But it seemed like every time Donna spoke to Steven- or about him- she was dismissive and rude and you didn’t like it. But any reasonable person would feel that way. It had nothing to do with the little furrow lines that appeared on his forehead whenever she came around. “Sorry to keep getting you in trouble.”

“Don’t be,” he insisted, that adorable earnestness returning. “If I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I suspect she’d be upset at the way I breathe or somethin’. Besides, I can’t think of a much better reason to get in trouble.” At that, he grinned and your resolve melted into a puddle at your feet.

You smiled back, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think the way you breathe is fine.” He checked over your shoulder again and you grimaced, “Did she come back?”

“Nah, not yet, but she might. She does that sometimes.”

“Well, I’ll go, so you don’t get scolded any more. And I’ll see you Saturday.”

"Sounds like someone has a date," Dalton teased over the morning paper.

"I thought the same," Mandy agreed, sipping her coffee with a sly smirk.

"It's not a date." You were lying. But you didn't really want to dive into detail about how you'd folded on your principles less than a week after arriving with your cousin and his wife.

"He's staying late at work to give her a tour," Dalton noted, gaining an appreciative hum from Mandy, although that may have been a response to her coffee. Dalton murmured low, "He also bought her a phone case, you know."

"Gift giving means it's a date," Mandy nodded.

"It was a screen protector," you replied. "If I'm going to be teased, at least be accurate about it, will you?" They didn’t even know that you’d had to go buy a new one that would actually fit your phone so Steven wouldn’t know he got the wrong kind.

"Oh, fine. The point stands regardless. You've got a date tonight."

You huffed; there was no point in arguing. And they were right; it was a date.

You were at least spared the struggle of deciding whether to dress up or not; Steven would be fresh off his shift, so probably would be wearing khakis, a button up, and that jacket he seemed so fond of. You opted for a casual dress and arrived at the museum a little early- you liked chatting with him at the counter before starting the tour.

It was only quarter til two, but there was a new face at the gift shop; a young woman who didn’t yet appear out of her twenties. Her name tag read, “Denise.” You offered a friendly smile, “Have I missed Steven already?” The girl looked confused. “Um,” you didn’t even know his last name, “About this tall, curly brown hair-”

“I know Steven, but he doesn’t work today,” the girl finally said. You were almost glad when she cut you off because your next item to list was lovely, expressive, brown eyes and that probably would have been a bit much.

But now you were confused, “He said he was off at two.”

Denise shook her head, “That’s my shift this week.”

You forced a smile, “Guess I got my wires crossed somehow. Thanks.”

You took a seat on a nearby bench. Steven could still show- you were pretty sure you hadn’t misunderstood. You found it hard to believe he would stand you up, so you hoped it was just a miscommunication.

At eight minutes til two, Steven came in, bustling over to the counter. He said something you couldn’t make out to Denise and you watched her tilt her chin in your direction. Steven whipped around, doing an odd sort of jog across the room. You stood to meet him and Steven’s gaze followed the skirt of your dress as it fluttered back into place.

Unconsciously, it seemed, his tongue poked out between his lips to wet them before he spoke, “You look- I mean, wow-”

Your slight apprehension couldn’t stop a faint smile at his reaction, “It’s just a dress, Steven.”

He nodded, “Right, yeah.” His cheeks glowed with warmth, “You look nice, is all.”

“Thanks.” It was difficult to believe he’d intentionally mislead you when he reacted that way, but you had to ask. “So, um, you don’t work today?”

The flush on his cheeks crept toward his neck, “Right, yes. I didn’t think you’d get here so early and-”

“So you lied?” You cursed internally; you’d wanted to sound aloof- maybe vaguely curious, but a hint of hurt made it into your tone.”

“I, ah- well, I wanted to see you again and you asked if I was working- I thought you might not want to do it if I wasn’t here for work because then you might’ve thought I was asking you out-”

Steven was rambling a bit, but it faded to background as you focused on keeping your expression even. Don’t break eye contact. Don’t look disappointed. Don’t fidget. It’s not a date. That’s okay.

“You alright, love?” Your heart gave a halfhearted flip in your chest, disappointment cushioning your capacity for excitement. “I’m sorry, it was a pretty boneheaded move.” He knocked his knuckles against his forehead in mock punishment, “I guess I panicked a little.”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine. I’d just rather you tell me the truth next time, alright?” That was true. And a perfectly believable response.

“Yeah, right, of course- I really am sorry,” he insisted.

You knew you should be more upset at him lying- no matter how minor- than about the way you’d foolishly thought this was a date, but you couldn’t seem to muster any indignation toward a man who’d gone out of his way to make sure you didn’t feel uncomfortable. And the strangest thing was that you were still looking forward to it. You wanted to listen to Steven- to share that secret again.

You forced a smile, “It’s alright. You want to get started?”

He grinned, “Yeah, of course, let’s get a move on then, shall we?”

And even though it wasn’t a date, Steven didn’t waver in the way he made you feel like the most important person on the planet. You felt a bit less bad about your misunderstanding; how could you have thought he wasn’t interested when he spoke to you with such enthusiasm. It was as though you were the only person he wanted to be speaking to at this moment.

The museum was far more crowded than it had been during the week; a few children and parents were hovering around Steven, listening with you. But his eyes remained on you, the secret still yours alone.

He showed you a map of the inside of a tomb, pointing out the different sections and trap locations, despite none of that being on the map. “Can you guess where the pharaoh is housed?”

You hummed like you were considering it, before pointing, “In the point of the pyramid, duh.”

“I think it’d be a bit cramped in there, yeah?”

“Right, because it’s so roomy inside a sarcophagus,” you countered.

“Alright, you’ve got me there.” He wrapped his hand around yours, gently moving you, “But he’ll actually be in here.” You weren’t entirely sure what he was pointing at, if you were being honest. You couldn’t pry your gaze away from the way his fingers draped over the back of your hand. He moved, drawing your finger in a small circle, “You see how the traps are more concentrated around here?”

You nodded, “Yeah, makes sense.”

Steven realized he was still holding your hand, releasing you and taking a half a step back, his palms suddenly sweaty. God, he hoped he hadn’t been this sweaty when he’d been touching you.

Two hours after you’d started, you finished the east wing of the museum. Your small crowd of hangers-on dispersed, leaving you and Steven by the wing’s entrance. You could see Donna at the front desk at the center of the entryway.

“What did you think?” Steven was looking at you expectantly.

“You can expect my Yelp review on the museum’s page later this evening,” you smiled slyly. When he looked a bit worried, you laughed, “It was fantastic, Steven. Can I pay you to do the rest for me? I’d be missing out if I didn’t get the full experience.”

He looked rather pleased, a faint glow returning to his cheeks, “You know I’d do it free.” Maybe this hadn’t been a date, but he certainly acted interested in you, you were sure of it now.

“You should be getting paid for this, Steven. You were great.” You checked the time on your phone, “I suppose I should let you go though, it’s about dinner time.” A perfectly reasonable observation, you thought. If Steven used it to ask you out to dinner, that would be his choice.

There was a moment’s pause too long, “Right, I shouldn’t keep you too late, should I?”

You supposed you set yourself up for that one. You gave a wry smile, “Yeah, I should probably be getting back. Thanks for the tour, Steven.”

“Really, it’s no problem- I think I had more fun than anyone,” he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

You offered him a smile; you didn’t understand why it was so hard for you to stay sad about Steven. He seemed to pick you back up as quickly as he knocked you down. He was either the most oblivious man on the planet or he was a top tier manipulator. You had a difficult time believing the latter.

You took a step away; you needed some space to clear your head, “Bye, Steven.”

He seemed surprised by the prompt exit; usually you chatted for a bit after, “Oh- laters, gators!”

You suppressed a smile- he was definitely oblivious to how charming you found him. You offered a small wave goodbye and headed for the door.

Once you were out of earshot, Marc spoke up in the display glass, “You could have asked her to dinner.”

“I wanted to,” Steven defended. “I really wanted to, but I don’t wanna scare her away.”

“Steven, you’re going to blow this if you don’t listen-”

“Stevie, take these to the basement for me, will you?” Donna caught Steven off guard, brandishing a box of sweets.

Steven sidestepped her, “Sorry Donna, I’m not scheduled today.”

She looked annoyed, “Then what are you doing here on your day off? Just here to stand in the way?”

“Actually, I was here with a friend,” Steven countered, a measure of pride in his voice.

Donna raised an eyebrow, “You mean that pretty thing who keeps coming in to flirt with you for whatever reason? I take it you blew it then.”

Steven’s brow furrowed, “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Who’s everyone?”

Steven sighed, “Never mind. Why’d you say that?”

“She just left, a bit put out if you ask me. I thought she’d come in looking for you- looked a bit disappointed.”

“She looked- disappointed?” Steven repeated Donna’s wording like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

Donna rolled her eyes, “Well, no wonder she did. If you aren’t here to work, stay out of the way, will you?” She brushed by him and he glanced at the entrance, half-hoping you’d still be in sight so he could find out for himself.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fic #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fluff #steven grant fluff #phases of the moon series

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rurpleplayssims · 2 years

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Still feeling quite confused and like something was compressing on his mind, Buzz left the Spector Manor.

He’d not taken more than a few steps from the front door when a wave of emotion came over him. His eyes welled up with unshed tears and he felt his body ache with the loss of physical contact on his skin.

Buzz: It’ll happen again, I know it.

Not ten minutes after Buzz had left, the school bus pulled up and dropped off Ophelia.

She’d had a surprisingly calm mind at school today after her talk with her aunt and she felt that she had a degree of peace in her heart. She was still way off from fully realising what she wanted in her life, but she felt soothed by the talk.

Ophelia: Get in! I got the A*!

Ophelia: Auntie!

#Strangertown #Sims 2 PSP #Spector Household #Olive Spector #Ophelia Nigmos #Buzz Grunt

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ofstarsandvibranium · 10 months

Text

To Have & To Hold: Part 6

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

Nope. No. Hate this. You hate this so much. Your head feels like it ways more than your body. You groan as you slowly open your eyes.

"Welcome to the land of the living," you hear an all too familiar voice.

When you look to your right, you see Marc sitting on your bed, back resting against your headboard.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you rasp out.

Marc smirks down at yo, "Good morning to you too, sunshine." He holds out water and some pills.

You groan as you sit up, pop the pills into your mouth and glug down the water. You wipe your mouth and hand the glass back to him, "You didn't answer my question."

"You had too many tequila shots. Yelena let me take you home and I stayed over just in case you might choke on your own vomit. Can't have you dying on me just yet."

You snort and lower yourself down again, "Gee, such a loving fiance."

Marc hums and slides off your bed, "You gonna be okay now?"

You wave him off, "Yeah. I'll be fine. Thanks," you grumble, pulling your duvet over you and snuggling into your bed. You'll just be in your blanket burrito for the day.

"Your dad said he wanted to have lunch with you today. Should I tell him you're not feeling well?"

You nod and respond, "Yes, please."

Marc chuckles, "Alright. Get some rest, Y/N." You throw up a thumbs up and Marc exits your room. You listen as he exits your house, the sound of his car driving off.

Your eyes flutter back closed as you go back to sleep.

_______________

It's late, but you really needed to get groceries. After sleeping the day away, you only had boxed macaroni and cheese to eat. You know you could've waited until tomorrow to go grocery shopping, but you'll be up for a while. Might as well get something done.

So now you're at a small 24 hour grocery mart. You grab a cart and begin going down each aisle, getting what you need.

Eggs, milk, cheese, coffee crea-Marc?

You're staring up at someone who looks exactly like Marc but isn't dressed like him.

"Marc?"

Without saying another word, the man runs the other direction and you're confused. You leave your cart and run after him, "Wait! Marc!" he turns into an aisle and you go the other way, immediately stopping him in his escape.

He gulps and gives an awkward wave, "Hello." Why does he have an accent?

"You're not Marc."

"Um, no. I'm Steven," the man says nervously.

"Are you Marc's twin or something?"

"Or something is more like it, yeah," Steven responds.

You pull out your phone and immediately dial Marc's number. A few seconds and suddenly there's a buzzing. Steven pulls out his, or, Marc's phone. You look at it to see your name staring back at you.

You end the call and look at him cautiously, "What the fuck is going on?"

Steven groans, rubbing his forehead and looking frustrated, "It's-I wouldn't say complicated, but I suppose it is. "

"Are you Marc Spector? Yes or no."

"Yes and no."

You throw your arms up in confusion, "What does that even mean?!"

Steven sighs, running a hand down his face, "Listen, I think we should have this conversation somewhere else. You can finish your shopping and we can go back to yours and I'll explain everything. I'll even stay with you so you know I won't run, yeah?"

You narrow your eyes at him, "Fine."

You quickly go around getting the last bit of things you need. You nod to the hand basket Steven was carrying, "I'll get yours too."

He shakes his head profusely, "Oh no. That's not nec-"

You pluck the basket from him and set his things onto the conveyor belt with your things, "Bag these ones separately, please."

"Sure," grumbles the cashier who looks like they'd like to be anywhere but here.

After paying, you two head to the car, putting your groceries in your trunk. The drive to your home was quiet, but you could feel the anxiety rolling off Steven.

He remains quiet until you two are inside and you're putting your groceries away, "I have DID!" he blurts out.

The statement makes you pause from putting the eggs away, "Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

He nods, he sits at the high top chair at your island counter, "Yeah, um, had it for a while."

You slowly nod, "Okay. So...is it just you and Marc or are there other..." you're not sure of the term. You know the term "personalities" is out dated.

"Alters. Other alters. There's three of us. Me, Marc, and Jake, who you probably won't see often. It's mainly Marc and I."

You finish putting your groceries away, processing the info you've just been told. You turn back to Steven and rest your elbows on the counter top, "How come I'm just meeting you now? You've worked for my father for years. Wait, does he know about this?"

"Trust me, we've had a few slip ups, that's actually how your dad found out about us. Put us in quite a predicament, but he still kept us on. Said as long as Marc could 'still get the job done'," he says the last bit with distaste.

You snort, "Not a fan of what Marc does?"

"I'm a pacifist. Would rather fight with words than fists. Ironic innit?"

You chuckle, "A little bit," you straighten up, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Tea, if you have any?" you nod, turning your kettle on. You grab a mug and then a tea bag, placing it into the mug.

You look over your shoulder at Steven, "So do you only show up at night?"

"Sometimes. Believe it or not, but I used to be the one fronting more. Marc didn't really like the life we were living, I guess, so he took over. He is the host, after all," he looks crestfallen, "I miss having a normal life. No offense, but I'm not fond of what Marc and your dad get up to."

You sigh, "Trust me, I don't like it either. But, unfortunately, I was born into this life. I can't really escape it either. Guess we just have to make the best of things," you reach over and rest your hand on Marc's.

He gives you a nod, "Yeah. I mean, we're in this together now. Guess it won't be all bad with Marc marrying you."

A lightbulb went off in your head. Since Marc wasn't here per se, you take this opportunity to talk to about him, "Actually, I have a question regarding Marc."

"Alright."

"Does he even like me? I mean he said he cares about me, but I don't know if he's saying that just to appease me and my dad or what."

Steven knows that if he told you the truth, of how Marc truly feels about you, Marc would definitely kick his ass. So he'd go for half truths, "He cares for you, genuinely. He definitely understands how hard this must be on you, it's hard on him too for lots of other reasons I won't discuss because that's for him to tell ya. But he does like you, Y/N."

You let out a sigh, "That's-That's really great to hear. I was-I just didn't know-"

Steven puts his other hand on top of yours and pats it, "I know. I get ya. It's a right pickle you two are in, huh?"

You snort, "Understatement of the century." You pull back and straighten up, "Let me make your tea."

"Alright."

You turn around, taking the kettle and pouring the hot water into the mug, "Do you want cream and sugar?" Steven doesn't answer, "Steven?" you call his name and when you glance over your shoulder, he's staring ahead with a blank expression.

You fully turn and go over to him, "Steven?" you place a hand on his shoulder and he immediately grabs it.

Your eyes widen and he's looking up at you. He blinks and he looks confused, "Wha-Y/N?" It's Marc. He looks around and takes in his surroundings. He then shook his head, "Dammit, Steven."

"Don't blame him. We ran into each other at the store. He came home with me to explain everything."

Marc groans, running a hand down his face, "I told him I don't want him going out-"

"He was getting some groceries. Give him a break. He's trying to take care of you."

Marc is twiddling with his thumbs, his head hanging down, "I was gonna tell you...eventually."

You nod, "I know," you sigh, "You can stay here for the rest of the night, by the way."

"I shouldn't-"

"Marc, it's fine. You look tired and, honestly, I don't want to go back out. So rest. You can take my bed since I'll still be up for...who knows how long."

"Did you wake up at all during the day?"

You snort, "Here and there, to use the bathroom, or drink some water. Other than that, I've mainly slept the day away. And voila, the consequences of my actions, staying up for the rest of the night." you gesture him to follow you and he does.

You enter your bedroom, "You obviously been here before. So go ahead. Rest up," you turn to leave but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Can you stay? Just-Just until I fall back asleep?" he asks and he seems a bit ashamed for asking.

"Sure," you get into bed first and Marc follows you. You're not sure why but your rest your head on his chest. His arm wraps around you and with his other arm he reaches and turns off the lamp on your bedside.

You lay there in silence until you hear him snoring. You can't help but enjoy the feeling of laying beside him.

#marvel #au #marvel au #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #mob au #mafia au #mob boss au

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

Min Redux

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

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

Summary: Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you're willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Content: sex pollen, restraints, Marc being a stubborn bastard.

Word count; 12,800 words (do not look at me)

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There's a white, pot-bellied goose staring up at Marc expectantly with hunger. He ignores it, pretending he doesn't see it as he turns his head, eyes circling around the park.

If he ignores it, it will give up eventually.

"Oh hello there fella! You're a plump one aren't you?"

Marc resists the deeply ingrained urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Steven would acknowledge the animal.

“I think it wants us to feed it”, Steven says.

Marc hums in acknowledgment. He doesn't want to get into this right now. Doesn't want Steven distracted and excitedly buzz in their head with anecdotes about Geese and the bird wildlife in London when they're supposed to be on the lookout for their contact.

Flicking his wrist, Marc glares at his watch.

8:12am.

Twelve minutes late. You'd think Ancient Egyptian Deities would have some kind of culling process when picking their Avatars. Punctuality should be a bare minimum requirement.

He leans back against the wooden slats of the park bench, hands shoved inside his field jacket against the chill of the London air as a woman with a stroller walks by nearly running over the goose in the process (to Steven's outrage). For the umpteenth time since he sat down, Marc's fingers trace the lining until he catches at the sharp edge of the small golden trinket box, just to make sure it's still there.

Gift of Min. A tiny trinket box that's been sealing away some sex-crazed sprite serving the Ancient God of Sex for decades. One that Steven managed to accidentally free with his uncanny puzzle solving skills in just under a minute, getting himself possessed in the process.

Marc's fingers clutch at the brass-metal, until it's digging into his palms as he squeezes down. Flashes of your bare skin underneath Steven's hands, and the soft curves of your naked form pressed underneath him, pushes to the surface of his mind.

Fuck, he shakes his head. No, his mind is not going there. He needs to stay here, in the present, find the other Avatar and hand this over so it's out of your lives for good.

Get rid of it so that what happened last week won't ever repeat itself. He won’t allow that to happen, won’t risk putting you in harm’s way again.

It's all so vivid and Marc has replayed the memory of it so many times, every detail of it. Every gasp, moan and whimper of your voice. The way your back arched from the floor, the way your mouth fell open. The way your eyes would roll back right before you came… repeatedly. He’s played it like a VHS tape on repeat until it’s been so worn out from replays that the image is filled with static and he almost can't tell anymore if it was entirely Steven's experience or his as well, trapped as he was in the mind space.

Steven rutting into you mindlessly like an animal. Hips snapping against your soft plump thighs. Your legs squeezed tight around his hips, around his cock as you kept coming uncontrollably, again and again and–

"Marc Spector?"

With a jolt, Marc's pulled from his thoughts at the voice. Looking up, there's a man standing two feet away from him with a much too friendly smile on his face for someone that's—Marc flicks his watch—22 minutes late.

The man reaches out a hand in an inviting gesture to shake Marc's hand.

These Avatars always want to make pleasantries and be friends, like they're all part of the Mickey Mouse Club on account of their ostensible connection of being in indentured servitude to defunct Egyptian Gods.

Reluctantly, Marc relents, slipping one hand out of his pocket. The man's hand is bony, his grip tight like he's trying to assert dominance by crushing Marc's hand. Then he lets it go, the smile spreading even wider with that uncanny eager friendliness.

"I believe you have something for me?"

Standing up from the bench, Marc reaches into his pocket again and shoves it into the man's hand.

"Ah there it is. Gorgeous little thing isn't it?" Min’s avatar holds the box up in the daylight, inspecting it as if it were a diamond, then he tilts his head with a confused expression.

"Oh dear," he says.

At first, Marc misses the alarm in his voice, because the man practically sings out the words.

"What?" Marc asks.

Instead of answering Marc, the man hums, turning the trinket box in his hand as if weighing the contents, his friendly smile fading into a slight frown.

"What is it?" Marc repeats, irritated this time.

"Well…" the man shifts the box into his other hand, repeating the same weighing motion. Then the man holds the box up to his ear, like he’s trying to hear the ocean in a seashell.

The Avatar’s inability to give a straight answer has Marc's patience balanced on a tenuous line that he can physically hear as it snaps.

"What is wrong," Marc repeats for a third time through gritted teeth.

"The seal's been opened."

There's a tension in Marc's jaw as he grinds down on his teeth. "There was an accident. Someone opened it. But I made sure to trap the sprite back inside."

"Well whatever you did, you didn't do a good enough job.” The man says it so matter-of-factly like it’s not even an insult, and Marc has to take a deep calming breath, his hand closing into a fist.

“The puzzle sequence wasn't completed when you retrapped the spirit and thus not sealed. It must have escaped." This time, the man flips the panels in sequence of motion, in-out-up-up-down until Marc loses track. The gears in the box whir and the box opens-- and adrenaline ramps up in Marc as instincts have him backing away from the box, holding up an arm to shield his nose and mouth shut.

But there's nothing. No blue shiny smoke like last time.

It's empty.

“Wait so what does that mean?” you ask him, as you stab the fork into the thick double slice of french toast he’s made you. Double dipped in batter drowned in cinnamon sugar, just the way you like them.

Turning on the tap, Marc fills the kettle with water as he puts it on the stove to boil your morning tea.

Except it’s not morning anymore. It’s the afternoon now, almost 1pm. You slept through the whole of the morning, but considering the morning-afternoon-and parts of the evening you endured with Steven barely 48 hours ago, Marc is hardly going to begrudge you sleeping in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marc says, hoping his reassurance will allay any worries you may have. Because you don’t have to worry. He’s going to fix it—fix everything—and keep you out of trouble this time.

But as he looks up at you, the frown that borders on a glare on your face tells him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Shit, he’s doing that thing again isn’t he? The very thing you told him not to do after the post-possession talk.

His shoulders sag. He sighs in capitulation. Right. Communication. Tell you things.

“I have to find it again. This time I’ll have Steven seal it so it doesn’t escape.”

“It’s been days, it could be anywhere, did they tell you how to find it? Do we have some kind of magical ancient artifact compass?”

Marc’s shoulders tenses at your use of ‘we.’ There’s no ‘we’ here. He’s not getting you involved in this. He’s gonna catch it. Steven’s gonna seal it. That’s the plan.

“Marc?” You ask, but he pretends he doesn’t hear you as he moves to the cupboard, to find a teapot.

“Do we know how to find it?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer.

He pretends to busy himself, foregoing the perfectly good teapots he can use that sits in the front and pushes them aside as he continues to search the cupboard.

If he ignores you, you will give up eventually.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Jake’s (sarcastic) voice in his head. “Jefe, she’s not a Goose. Ignoring her isn’t going to cut it.”

“Stop pretending you’re looking for teapots and ignoring me. I’m just going to keep asking until you answer.”

Shit.

You’re so insistent. Worse than park geese. Worse than Steven and Jake combined.

“No compass,” Marc answers as he pulls out a random teapot in the furthest corner. Dusty from lack of use. He’s gonna have to clean this. With the way Steven cleans this apartment, it might be covered in asbestos for all he knows.

“The guy said it likes cramped small enclosed places. Tiny chests, jewelry boxes, tupperware. Anything that closes with a lid.”

“That hardly narrows it down in London!”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”

Turning on the tap, he runs the teapot under water in the sink, scrubbing the dust and grime. He lifts the lid but it’s been so long since it’s been used the pot is practically sealed shut from dirt, even as Marc pushes against the top.

He can hear you approaching from behind. “You won’t get it open that way,” you offer as you turn the tap and turn it as far as it goes for hot water. Then you take the pot from him, running the lid over the running water, gripping at the base and start to turn it until he can hear it give with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Tada!”

You’re grinning at your success, and Marc has to bite the inside of his cheek to tamper down his own smile at the sight of you. Because fuck, that gloating, I-know better-than-you smile, (which should be aggravating) is infectious.

“See! This is why you need me,” you sing-song, rubbing your success in his face as you lift the lid. He’s so distracted by your easy-smile and glow of schadenfreude he doesn’t pay attention to the quiet hiss of pressure that gives from the lid.

A tendril of blue-white fog rises up, reaching towards you. Before Marc fully processes what he’s doing, he’s already stepping forward into your space. One hand clasps at your wrist as he yanks you backwards and away from the kitchen.

Gotta fucking be kidding him. That fucking thing was hiding in the teapot all this time.

It hits him like a kick in the gut. It’s like swallowing live fire into his throat except it keeps burning all the way as it travels into his chest and digs into the inside of his stomach, settling into every inch of his flesh. It’s the feeling of downing a bottle of whiskey in one sitting with none of the side sickness and nausea that he has to swallow down. It burns and crackles inside his veins.

With the intensity of the heat as it bubbles in his blood, he had expected it to hurt. It doesn’t. Instead it’s molten and slow, oozing through his system like a heated haze. He feels heady as the sensation rushes through him from the curl of his toes to the tip of his nose until it has his scalp tingling. It’s pleasant. Euphoric even if he lets his mind linger on it. He doesn’t.

From a distance he thinks he can hear your voice, and buried underneath the fog, Steven’s concerned babbling. But it’s drowned out by the blood thrashing in his ears. He tries to find you, but his vision is swimming in front of him.

Then he hears it, you’re shouting his name. You sound so worried.

He can feel you. Soft and doting hands cupping his cheeks with a tender touch that has the heat in his stomach reach a boiling point, then you tilt his face upwards to meet your worried gaze.

It’s the same expression on your face when you were tending to Steven not two days ago. Heat spikes in his lower belly, his cock twitching against the constricted confines where it’s trapped under hard denim.

‘Need you’, a voice inside his head, neither Steven or Jake’s but entirely his own, calls out. ‘Want you’.

Flashes of you, your back arching from the floor, trapped underneath him as he thrusts into you invade his vision. The phantom sensation of your wet tightness wrapped around his cock shivers through him and the ache makes the length of him pressed hard against his boxers, twitch and leak against the soft fabric.

Fuck… He can’t put you through that again.

He can’t have you here.

"Leave," he grits out, scooting backwards, dragging himself away from you by the heel of his hands along the wooden floor.

"What?"

"You need to go. Leave!" He barks out.

He tries to get up but fuck, his legs have gone all wobbly like fucking Bambi, can't steady himself, and his faulty balance has you running forwards towards him.

Marc throws out his hands, palms up as a signal for you to keep your distance.

"No! Don't get close to me. You need to go now."

He grabs at the side of one of the wooden shelves, as he steadies himself on his feet and props himself up, but fuck, everything is spinning. He feels like he's drunk, and he closes his eyes to make it stop.

"Marc," you say his name so softly, it makes the heat in his veins grow hotter. There's liquid fire pumping through his blood.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees you.

You underneath him, exhausted and fucked out. Swollen lips kissed raw and tender. Legs shiny and slick, with your come and his, as it drips over his cock in a shiny silvery thread and down the wooden floor below.

Shit! Shit! Stop, don't think of that.

His eyes fly open to the sight of you, the you in front of him right now, your pretty face mere inches from his. Lips so close he can practically fucking taste you already on his tongue from pure sense memory.

He's getting worse by the second. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his body in check. Every inch of him wants to touch you. Fingers itching to dig into your plump flesh. His cheeks tingle and all he wants is to have your thighs pressing down and enveloping his face. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and salivating at the thought of licking every inch of your soft skin, to have the familiar taste of you fill his mouth– fuck, he can’t– he needs something to restrain himself with as a precaution.

His eyes flicker to the bed, and of course, it's not there. Where is Steven's stupid ankle bracelet when it’s actually needed?

Shit.

Wait, the cuffs. Jake keeps some cuffs here, where did he – his eyes roam the space, until he spots the shiny metal glinting from underneath Jake's cap that he's carelessly slung against the shelf behind him.

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. Let me help," you say and his eyes linger on your pouty lips, the way they open and close as you bite your lower lip in worry. He wants to sink his own teeth into them until you whine for him. Slip his aching cock between them, until his hard cock is enveloped by your softness.

He shakes his head, taking a step back as he looks around himself, planning his exit route. The front door is behind you, which means he'd have to get past you to get out.

Crap. Stubborn as you are, you'd try to block him in a heartbeat, and unless he's gonna tackle you (out of the question) this is going to get him nowhere.

"You can't help with this," he says, eyes continuing to scan the room until he spots the open door to the bathroom.

You frown, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I can actually. We've been here before Marc. I helped Steven remember?"

And fuck does he remember, can't forget. That's part of the problem.

Your hand reaches for him, fingertips brushing over his fisted knuckles, and the touch of it tingles with a burning ache.

"It'll feel better if you let me help you," you say.

Marc takes a step back, arm reaching behind him, until he feels the cold metal against his hand and grabs the cuff.

"I'm not going to do that to you," he says. Before you get a chance to respond, he's already turning around. He's leaping on his feet, darting to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

His fingers are trembling, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he fumbles locking the door.

From behind the door he can hear your panicked voice calling for him.

"Marc? Marc!!"

The rickety panel door rattles and shakes against the frame with your effort to slide it open. “Marc, did you lock the door?! Marc!”

You sound so worried, and a small pang digs under his skin when he hears you.

It’s so stupid. He knows you’re safe, that the worry in your voice is meant for him, and yet every instinct in his body is screaming out for him to check on you and make sure you’re okay. He fights it. Eyes darting around the tiny confined space to search for something, anything, permanently affixed to the wall that he can cuff himself to.

“Marc, open the door or I’m gonna kick this bloody thing down. I swear to god.”

Marc doesn’t have much to work with. There’s the toilet, the sink, with nothing he can attach the cuffs to, and the railing to the shower head that looks… flimsy at best. Still beggars can’t be choosers.

Forcing his stupidly shaky hands to bring the cuffs to the shower, he tightens one end to his wrist until he can feel the sharp metal dig through his skin, hard enough that it’s probably going to cause the blood flow to constrict.

Stupid, he’s so stupid, he knows better than this, but his coordination isn’t cooperating and if Marc is honest with himself, the blunt pain helps.

Helps his mind to sharpen and to distract himself from the burning heat that’s riding him hard at the sound of your voice on the other end of the door calling his name.

Helps him to shove down the pathetic need that sings in his vein to tear off the flimsy panel door and run into your arms and beg you to help him.

Helps him find the will in himself to clasp the other end of the cuffs around the metal rod before it clicks satisfyingly to let him know the deed is done.

Safe. the metal click tells him. You’re safe from him now. He couldn’t get his grubby hands on you even if his weak will breaks.

The rattling of the door has stopped now. The room fills with silence and you’re no longer shouting for him. Marc turns back and sees the shadow of your feet under the spring as you walk away from the door. You’ve finally given up on him.

Good. That’s good.

You should get as far away from him as possible. With any luck, you’re already halfway down the stairs towards the tube.

He knows you’re pissed. Probably slamming the front door on your way out. But that’s ok. He’ll take your anger over your worry. He can deal with anger, knows how to handle it like an old shitty friend he wants to cut ties with but never can. What he can’t take is the way you sounded when you were calling for him.

The worry. The care. You always care. And it’s wasted on him. All that’s ever earned you since you got involved with him is trouble.

If you weren’t involved with him then you wouldn’t have been in their apartment that morning when Steven opened the stupid thing. If you weren’t there, Marc would’ve taken over, would’ve taken care of himself instead of — instead of–

‘Steven, fuckfuck Steven–’ the phantom memory of your voice rings hauntingly sharp in his ears. Slurred and honeyed, the feel of you, slick and dripping between your thighs, clamping down tightly on his Steven’s cock.

His whole body aches. Skin flushed and burning and his brain feels feverish and rubbed raw with heat at the fraying edges.

A shower. A cold shower will help.

Marc takes a shaky breath, as his fingers fumble with the taps. Turning the cold water as far as it goes. He thinks he’s prepared for it but he’s not. It’s a shock to the system. The cold water slams down on him with a heavy punch. Cold and piercing and bitter as it wraps all around his feverish skin and strangles his lungs with it.

His eyes are closed, but instead of the blank darkness all he sees are your big eyes staring back up at him. Dazed and out of it, fuckdrunk, on him.

His skin burns. Blood boiling inside his veins until it’s painful. The icy water is still pummelling down at him punishingly, and he’s grateful for it because he thinks he’s going to incinerate from the inside out if it wasn’t. His cock is hard and heavy against the clammy and cold wet denim that’s pressing up against his searing skin. It’s uncomfortable, painful.

The memory of you refuses to leave him. The silky feel of you wet and hot and writhing on his painfully hard cock. Fuck, fuck, why does he do this to himself. One hand comes up to his face, and he scrubs it hard with the freezing water, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to help with the throbbing heat that’s growing at his temple. It doesn’t help. Can’t scrub out the image of you, mouth parted, head thrown back as you squirm on his cock, as you grind yourself on him and come… again, and again, and– again. His eyes slam open, until he’s staring at the grungy white tiles of the wall.

There’s something inside his flesh, burrowing into his skin and veins. An infectious heat that slivers and crawls that drips with hunger and greed. Starved for touch and pleasure, it screams and it roars until it’s all Marc can feel too. He wants it, wants you, and nothing else will do. You and the warmth of your body and the way you always welcome him as you wrap yourself around him.

Shit, he – fuck. fuckfuckfuck.

He takes a long shuddery breath and it fogs against the cold of the room. He’s shivering but if it’s from the cold of the water stinging against his skin or the heat burning underneath it he doesn’t know anymore. Does it even matter?

Everything feels raw and painful. Sore and tangled up inside him. He wants– fuck, no fucking stop. He needs to –

“Marc.” He can hear it again. Your voice calling out his name. Not Steven’s name, his. It echoes and lingers in his mind, soft and sweet. The way it had been when he’d been the one fucking you into the bed between the soft sheets of their bed the night before the incident.

The way you’d whimpered it, while your nails were digging crescent shaped marks into his skin that were still denting the back of his shoulders when he’d looked this morning. Tiny little marks that are evidence of your love for him.

His stomach draws tight, hips hitching up without his permission, desperately searching for any friction… shit shit, it’s not enough and it’s too much, the sensation that spears through his stomach as his cock rubs against the hard seam of his jeans. Heat settles at the base of his spine and the sound that escapes him is pathetic. He’s not sure if it’s a gasp or a sob, but he grinds it down between his teeth, snuffing it out.

Why is his brain trying to murder him like this?

The heat (or the cold, he doesn’t know which anymore but it doesn’t matter, one of them) is making his mind fuzzy. The grout delineating the tiles in front of him is blurring together, and the room, Marc realizes, is starting to sway and swim. He draws in another breath into his chest, but there’s no oxygen in it. He tries again, and this time the sharp jagged breath hurts, like swallowing broken glass and needles. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. The body is panicking.

Jake’s trying to push him for the front seat. Marc can feel it, an insistent presence that lingers at the edges of his mind, trying to gain and take hold. But Marc is much better at resisting him these days. Marc’s not going to let him. He doesn’t trust that Jake will be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. Doesn’t trust that the man won’t selfishly uncuff their body and run straight to where you are. His priorities are different from Marc. Jake’s prime concern is to always take care of their body first, everything else comes secondary to that man. Marc doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust him. Not with you. He can’t risk it.

Alarm and anxiety blares bright in his veins, but he can take it. Can endure this. Can–

There’s a loud slam from behind him.

“Marc, Jesus christ!”

The sound of your voice makes him whip around. You’re standing in front of him, the bathroom door’s been shoved to the side, wide open, and you’re holding a butter knife in your one hand and what looks like the remnants of his dismantled door handle in your other.

His heart flutters erratically, a pleasant warmth trickling into his chest. You’re here.

It lasts for a heartbeat and a half, until the realization hits him harder and colder than any ice water could have. You’re here. You’re actually here.

There’s a concerned expression in your face as you take him in for a full second. Then you drop the items in your hand and rush forward to him until you’re standing under the shower with him.

“The water is bloody freezing! Have you lost your mind?” You’re shoving past him to get to the tap and turn it off entirely, as you continue to scold him. “You’re going to get hypothermia”.

Your voice might be harsh, but your hands are soft and doting, palms cupping his cheeks, and your eyes are wide and worried in that way that makes everything inside him tighten. His skin tingles where your fingertips brush up against his cheekbones and it takes everything in him to not nuzzle his mouth against your wrists, chasing into your touch for more.

“You feel like ice. We need to get you into bed, we need to–” your eyes stop at the shower rail and then trail downwards to his right hand that’s cuffed to it in disbelief. Then he hears you take a long exasperated inhale. “Of course, you did,” you murmur, “of course you’d cuff yourself to the damn shower. Where are the keys, Marc?”

His eyes flicker away from your face to stare at the tiles on his left as he grinds his mouth and jaw shut.

You sigh, then you come closer. You’re crowding in on him, pressed tight to his chest, “fine, I’ll just look myself shall I?” You stand on your tiptoes to reach for the small shower shelf behind him, lifting a shampoo bottle to check if there’s a key underneath.

Your hair tickles his nose and the familiar comforting smell of you surround him. You’re soft and warm, and amazing and he just wants to sink his teeth into your bare throat that’s inches from his jaw and bite into you like the sweetest and ripest fruit of Summer.

You shift as you reach for the highest shelf, hips rubbing up against him where they’re slotted between his thighs and fuck–fuck–

Sharp heat shoots through his stomach, white pleasure blinding and intense that rushes to his head and his knees want to fold under his weight. He groans at the touch and you freeze as he does.

For a moment both of you are silent and still. The only thing Marc can hear is his own ragged and hash breathing. His body is trying to acclimatize to the new temperature of the room as the heat from his body is quickly evaporating out of him. But the thing under his skin, poisoning his mind and sanity is still there. He feels like he’s on fire. You’re pressed up against every inch of him, and it is screaming in his ears with an ugly hungry need. Marc feels like he’s burning up. Like he’s going to die, flesh burning away until there’s only ashes left, and that’s okay the burrowing need tells him. Let it burn away every inch of resistance left within him, and then he can have you.

Marc wants that, wants you in any way he can have.

Wants you to grind up on his aching cock that’s so hard it hurts. Wants you to hold him, fingers tugging at his hair until it stings and burns. Want your legs and arms wrapped around him as he sinks inside of you, bury his cock as deep as it goes until he can never leave.

Wants you, wants you, wants you. It echoes with fury and overtakes everything else. There’s no other brain process except this, as his hand clamps down on your waist and grinds you down on him. His traitorous hips hitching up until he can feel that perfect press of your body against his trapped and pulsing cock.

You don’t stop him, hand coming up to the back of his neck and hold him close to you. You’re so fucking perfect letting him rub himself up against you, even when he’s acting like some stupid animal in heat. The pleasure sends him on the tip of his toes, chasing the high and it’s good, it feel so fucking– Fuck!

His eyes slam open, tearing himself away from you. You’re blinking up at him with a confused look.

The fuck is he doing?

With his free hand, he moves you out of the range of the shower until your back is pressed against the opposite wall.

He’s such an idiot, he’s such a fucking stupid– his cheeks burn and prickle, sweat stinging his back underneath the waterlogged shirt. He needs to cool down. Get his head straight. Needs to rid himself of this burning inferno of a hellfire that is roaring under his skin.

A shower, a cold fucking shower. He needs to calm the fuck down. Needs to– Marc moves back towards the tap and turns it back on.

“Marc! No! Stop!”

You’re leaping forward into the shower again, uncaring of being in the firing range of the cold water cascading from the showerhead, as you reach for the tap to turn it off.

“You’re fucking freezing, you need to stop. Marc, I need to get you out of the shower. We need to warm you up. Where’s the keys?”

He ignores you, tries to wrangle you away from the shower with his back and shoulders, wrestling his path to the tap again.

You slap at his hand. “Marc, no!” you bark. “Stubborn fucking –”

He knocks your hand away from the tap, turning it again as he tries to block the ensuing shower from you with his shoulders, and you growl in frustration.

“Fine, fine! You want the water on, it stays on, but you have to let me–” you shove your way back to the front of the tap, turning the hot water on. It takes a few moments but then the punishing coldness turns lukewarm and almost comforting against his stinging skin.

“There,” you murmur and back away enough until you’re both staring up at each other again. The water is hitting you too, drenching and soaking your clothes as you peer up at him cautiously.

“Should I help you take your clothes off? It’ll be more comfortable for you this way,” you say the words slowly, giving him the time to react before you move.

The logical part in him that’s still intact knows he should stop you. Should tell you to leave before he loses the last of his sanity and tries to maul you like an animal again.

But his tongue is heavy in his mouth. All his words are failing him, and as you inch closer to him, all he can do is stare up at you, silently begging you– to go, to stay, to abandon him, to touch him, to run, to help him– until he doesn’t know anymore what he wants, and ducks his head to the ground.

“I can help you if you want to,” you tell him.

His eyes squeeze shut. He’s so fucking useless. He swore to never let this happen again to you, never put you in that situation again and here the two of you are not even 48 hours later, in the exact same fucking seat. He’s no better than Steven at this. Useless at protecting you. Instead you’re the one trying to take care of him. Maybe you’d be better off with Jake in the saddle.

“You shouldn’t have to hel–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I want to help you,” you enunciate each word and syllable, leaving no room for doubt, as you’re facing up to him in challenge. Then your eyes soften as does your voice. “But I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.”

There’s a brief silence and the only thing he can hear is the water falling from the shower. Then, “Marc, look at me.” You say it softly, it doesn’t sound like an order, but not quite a request either as Marc tips his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want to. But I’m gonna stay here with you until this passes. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at you like an idiot, eyes drawn to that determined look in your eyes that he knows he can never win against, and he feels his resolve fail him.

“Is it okay if I take off your clothes?” you ask again.

And until he gives you an answer, he realizes, you’re going to ask him again and again. You’re so persistent, more than a goose. He loves that about you and he doesn’t know how to say no to you anymore, even if he had wanted to (which he doesn't, not really).

So he doesn’t, instead he nods.

You move slow, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Your hands come to the soggy hem of his shirt, drawing it up against his torso and over his head. Fingertips scraping under the bare naked skin underneath as you go, and it fucking tingles. It tingles and burns and smolders until his insides are on fire, and for a second, Marc is sure that his knees can no longer carry his weight and he’s going to tip over and capsize.

He leans down his head for balance, and you’re there to catch him. You ground him, as you always do. He rests his forehead against yours and for a moment, the roaring noise of blazing fire in his veins stops. It’s quiet and calm in his head.

“You okay?” you ask, staring up at him, eyes gentle, as you go slow.

“Yeah.”

His shirt is left hanging on the shower rail, where his hand is still cuffed to it. Then your fingers come to the front of his jeans, nail tapping against the metal button and his cock jerks and strains against the wet and heavy material in anticipation.

Popping open the button, you undo his fly, and the too-strict pressure of the material finally eases. He squirms, “Fuck, baby,” he gasps out, raw and broken.

You hush him, sweet and comfortingly, with your lips pressed close to his ear, “do you want me to touch you?”

His mouth feels thick and dry, everything turned into cotton against the roof of his mouth. He swallows, taking another long breath and holds it deep as he tries to get himself together. He’s weak, useless. Can’t get anything right. Can’t even say no when he knows he should.

“Marc?” you ask again and he inhales deeply to calm himself, then nods.

You smile, sweet and bright, and…relieved. You look so relieved and… happy, even. It makes it better. Makes him feel a little bit less of a colossal fuck up that you’re doing this for him when you’re smiling at him like that. Your head tips up, lips pressing up against his, and that helps too. With his eyes closed, listening to the sound of your soft hums as he licks into your mouth, he can almost pretend to himself that this is okay.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing firm and tight in that perfect way that you know he likes. It's relief and pleasure and warmth all wrapped into one, as everything inside him buzzes with a quiet soothing noise that drowns out the rest.

Your soft lips, drags downwards, mouthing at his neck, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He’s still aching, but it feels good. It doesn’t hurt this time, instead everything lingers pleasantly as your lips drift further down, soft plushness dragging against the sore muscle, down the slope of his belly and–wait! What’re you–

His eyes fly open. He’s staring at the empty walls again. You’re no longer standing face to face with him and his head drops down. The sight that greets him slams into his ribs until he nearly doubles over. Fuck.

You’re on your knees on the wet bathroom floor, tucked between his legs. Staring up at his cock through your water-lined lashes that glitters against the harsh fluorescent light.

“Baby– wai–wait,” his words fumble and trip out of his mouth, brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for this. “You don’t have to–”

“Marc,” you breathe, cutting him off again. From this close distance he can feel the warmth of your mouth gust over the overwrought tip of his cock, and he nearly blacks out. Your voice sounds drippingly sweet and warm. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me do this for you”.

He should stop you. You shouldn’t have to be on your knees and take care of him when he’s the one who fucked up and got himself caught in this mess. There’s a tight lump stuck in his throat that he tries to swallow down so he can speak, but it doesn’t ease and the words aren’t coming to him.

Your hand comes to the side of his thighs, dragging the drenched denim down his legs and discard them into a sloppy pile in the corner of the floor.

He gazes down on you, how the shower has drenched your oversized sleepshirt, until the white of it has gone see-through. The drenched cotton cling onto your skin and the curve of your breasts and his cock bobs up and strains against his stomach at the sight. Shit.

Embarrassed heat climbs his cheeks, and judging from the smile tugging at your cheeks, you definitely noticed his reaction. You lean up, mouth brushing up against the length of his cock and press a kiss to the swollen flesh. White blinding heat streaks through his chest and his stomach draws in tight. He can’t think.

It’s here again, that hungry ember that scalds hot in his veins. It’s overwhelming, his toes curl against the tiles, breath catching sharp in his lungs until he feels like the ground is going to swallow him up. His knees are giving out, the hard tiles gone soft and weightless beneath the sole of his feet. He’s panicking again. His hand flings out, clutching at your shoulders, fingers digging in, it’s too hard and too rough, and he shouldn’t be doing that – shouldn’t be doing anything of this, but he can’t help himself.

One of your hands comes to rest on top of his, and you tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“It’s okay, Marc. it’s okay,” you say, and with those words, the panic in him dissipates somewhat. Enough to have his fingers ease their hard grip on your shoulders, as you lean your back closer between his thighs.

Try as he might, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want this, want you. Your mouth is inches from his cock, and he can see the incriminating precome welling up at the tip, where it shines slick, giving him away. His breath constricts in his chest, as he waits for you.

You lean closer, and he catches the pink tip of your tongue as it darts out to lick at the liquid dribbling down the length of him. His spine seizes up at the barely there contact, an ugly noise tearing from his throat.

“Marc, you okay?” you ask, and when he blinks down at you, lips slick with him, he feels undone. “Should I keep going?”

Marc swallows down the whimper that is lingering dangerously at the tip of his tongue that wants to leap out. He nods a little bit too frantically in response and he barely has the time to meet your eyes, and how it glitters with pride at his reaction. Then your lips part and you envelop his cock in the perfect sweet warmth of your mouth.

An electrical static noise crackles in his head. Your mouth is so fucking good. Soft silk wrapped all around him. Your tongue slides softly over the ridge of his cock and sweet aching bliss twines through his limbs. It’s slow and languid, the tip of your tongue darting out with soft, fluttering licks against his oversensitive flesh as you take your time and try to murder him. You’re succeeding too.

Heat carves through him sharp and intense. With the way his heart is trying to pound its way through flesh and muscle and out of his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s only got minutes to spare before his heart entirely gives out and he drops dead on the bathroom floor.

You’re so ridiculously gorgeous. Eyes half-lidded as you stare up at him with unwavering attention.

It’s bliss. It’s torture. It’s heaven and hell. Marc doesn’t know up from down anymore. All he knows as his cock slides between your lips, wet and slippery and so fucking good, is that he doesn’t want it to stop.

For all the composure he’s trained into himself for years and decades, he can’t seem to find an ounce of it to draw from in this moment. He never can as far as you're concerned. His hands fists at his side, every muscle in him tensing, trying to stop the way his hips cants up with small thrusts into your mouth. But it’s not working. His body is betraying him, refusing to stay still.

Good, it feels so– The burning flame under his skin is back, the whole of his body is wracked in warm pleasant shivers and he wants to curl into your touch.

You hum, a small quiet little sound as you suck on the tip and he can feel the pleasant vibrations of it skitter up his entire spine. He jackknifes forward, pressing further into your mouth and fuck, he can feel the head of his cock nudge against the resistance of your throat. He stops there. Makes himself stop, ignores how every muscle in him is screaming for him to move. His cock pulses eagerly on your tongue, desperate for friction. But he ignores it.

He can’t have this for himself. Doesn’t deserve it.

“Come back up here, need to make you feel good baby. Let me- fuck let me make you feel good,” he says, even as his balls are drawing up, cock going somehow even harder, swelling and throbbing on your tongue.

Marc swears, bites down on his lip hard until he tastes blood, and clenches every damn muscle in his body as he backs away, and slides himself out between your lips. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to hold on. His damn dick jerks and bounces spasmodically, oozing precome all over the damn floor as he struggles for control. And through it all you just smile indulgently up at him, eyes gleaming, the pearly edge of your teeth digging into that perfectly plump lower lip.

He wonders if you even fucking heard him, because you’re leaning back in towards him, and wrap your mouth back around his cock. That inescapable fire is building at the base of his spine, threatening to burn him to the ground, but he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t because then it will be over, and you’ll have given this to him, and he doesn’t fucking deserve it.

Marc doesn't deserve you, period. But he definitely doesn't deserve to have you on your knees like this for his miserable ass. Doesn't deserve that warm, worshipful mouth, slicking and sliding so perfectly over his aching cock. Perfect lips stretched tight around him as you struggle to take him as deep as you can. Doesn't deserve the way your hand alternates between clutching at him and petting so gently over his skin. Doesn't deserve the loving look in your eyes. Has to close his own eyes against the sight of you or this is all going to be over in about half a second.

But somehow that's even fucking worse, behind closed eyes it makes the feeling of it all the more acute. There's nothing there to distract him. He can't escape the feel of your clever tongue and perfect wet heat of your mouth wrapped around him in the blank darkness. The way your tongue curls around him. You’re moaning just slightly with each press forward, and he can feel the vibrations of it along every throbbing inch of his dick. It's fucking killing him.

“Let me–I can’t stop, I can’t–” He’s sobbing, the sound raw and needy as it wrenches out of his throat. Pleasure sears through his entire back.

He's trying to hold still. He's fucking trying. But his legs are fucking shaking. Trembling thighs threatening to dump him on his ass any second, and he can't seem to control the way his hips are hitching forward in tiny abortive thrusts, seeking more even as he knows he should be jerking back, pulling away, and convincing you to let him make you feel good instead. but you don't seem to mind at all.

Fuck, you seem to love it, moaning louder every time he loses the battle with his instincts.

This is so wrong. He’s not in his right mind, not in control. You should be shoving him away, but instead you’re clutching at his ass with one hand, fingernails digging in as you encourage him to thrust harder, deeper. Tiny sharp bites of pain that just seem to add to the maelstrom of pleasure twisting and building in his gut.

Marc opens his mouth, determined to make one more attempt at convincing you, but then you swallow around him, moan around him, and all that comes out is a guttural groan.

"Ba-baby-," he stutters out. He tugs on your hair, trying desperately to be gentle, but he's not entirely sure he manages it. You let him pull you off, one torturous inch at a time, and he barely manages to stop the thrust of his hips, the instinctual need to chase your mouth.

You look up at him, all wide eyes and slick, swollen lips. One long shiny string of spit or precome of both still connecting the two of you.

Oh shit, how is he supposed to resist when you’re looking at him like that? Like he's actually worth a damn, when you’re the one who's worth anything, everything. He can’t, he was crazy to think he ever fucking could.

"Marc," you say, tone mildly reproachful. Your voice is hoarse... from swallowing his cock, and for a second, he thinks that's fucking it for him.

Close, so fucking close. It’s pushing and clawing at every stitch and seam inside of his skin and he is unraveling. No wonder Steven lost it. No wonder he gave in. Marc can taste his climax at the tip of his tongue, dangling precariously on the fine thread of his fragile sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to block it out.

“Let go,” you hum, and you press your mouth to the trembling muscle on the inside of his thigh that makes him jolt up and nearly swallow his tongue. “You don’t have to hold on anymore. I want you to come. Want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuuuuck.

You kiss your way up, and he’s trying desperately to hold on, to hold back. But he can’t, not when he feels your tongue trail the underside of his cock with a long wet and devoted line. Not when you’re kissing his hips. Not when you put that perfect mouth of yours back on his cock and swallow him down.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, where your mouth can’t reach, giving it a firm stroke downwards, and his toes tingle. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably now. The pleasure is almost unbearable. his muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably with every slide of those pretty lips.

That insidious flame flickers at the base of his spine ominously. Warning him of what’s to come. It feels too fucking good, he can’t deny himself of this anymore. His orgasm swells up, large and looming, rushing out along every nerve ending and won’t be ignored.

“Baby, fuckfuck, please– I can’t–can’t,” he opens his eyes, and looks down on you and fuck that’s such a mistake. You’re looking up at him, a dark pitch that bleeds into your blown pupils. His eyes slam back shut again because he can't survive the hungry look in your eyes.

But it’s already too late.

His orgasm is consuming, large and looming as it’s trying to eat him whole. It wraps around his flesh and licks down to the marrow. From the curl of his toes, searing through his thighs until it’s permanently carved somewhere deep into his ribs, as he comes down your throat. Leaving nothing but a tingling ache in its wake.

It feels endless, the way he keeps pulsing into your mouth. Cock twitching against your lips, riding out his oversensitivity at your lapping tongue.

He’s moaning and whimpering, toes skidding along the wet tiles as he desperately tries to find his footing. There’s nothing left but his undeniable surrender. Letting you take as much as you want from him. Until he’s empty and the blazing blue flame in his veins is sated and wrung dry from your attentive tongue.

There’s clarity again. The dust and smoke clears until there’s only a faint smell of ashes lingering in the back of his mind and he feels like he can think again. His muscles ache with the soreness, and as he takes a long inhale, oxygen floods his head with a rush. Sweet fucking relief, he can breathe again.

It doesn’t last very long. His eyes open, to see you smile up at him, bleary eyed and messy, drenched hair plastered on your forehead. The water from the shower is still running down your face as you’re trying to catch your breath.

You look like a mess. He did that to you, and you look so fucking good like this.

It’s all it takes, and the insidious heat licks at his bones, corrupting his blood again. The hunger in him returns with a devastating scream in his flesh. His mouth salivates, like what came before was only an appetizer. Now he’s gotten a taste and he’s hungrier than he was before.

It makes him gain a new sympathy for Steven and the hell the man must’ve gone through with you two nights ago.

Fuck what’s wrong with him. Marc’s already gotten one release. That should’ve sated him. But he can already feel the simmering hunger gain hold again. All it did was make that selfish hungry monster inside him more insatiable. The greedy need claws at his veins, refusing to be ignored anymore.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that makes his heart seize up. “Do you need more? Do you want to go again?” you ask.

He swallows around the constricting lump of guilt lodged deep in his throat, blinking up at you, unable to answer. Unable to open his mouth to ask. You’ve given him too much already, he can’t ask for more.

“It’s okay, Marc. You can ask me.”

You say it with that voice. Breathless, filled with love and affection, like you’d offer him the world if he asked you for it, and it’s not right, he’s the one that should be doing that. The one to give you everything. Yet somehow he keeps finding himself in this seat where he’s the one taking and you’re the one giving.

“I’m here,” you tell him. “It’s going to be okay, I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

Shit. His chest squeezes tight. The feeling is so large and overwhelming his veins are overbrimming with it. But he never knew how to tell you with words. So he shows you in the only way he’s ever known.

He drops down to his knees, ignoring the strain in his shoulder from the hand still cuffed tight to the shower. His free hand reaches for you, cupping the back of your neck to pull you in, His mouth slant over yours, and he swallows the sweet affectionate hum between your lips.

I love you.

That’s what he’d say if he knew how to.

I love you and I want to be everything to you.

He cups your face in his one free hand, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you. Your mouth parts, letting him lick into into your mouth properly. You still taste of him. Tart and salty, and the taste of him on your tongue makes him lightheaded.

Needy heat rolls over his back, and he can feel it again. The demanding hunger that is consuming his insides. The one that wants him to sink his teeth into your soft and pliant flesh, lick and nip at every inch of wet skin you’ll let him as he tries to swallow you whole. It’s not enough. Kissing you isn’t enough. He wants you pressed up against every inch of him. Wants your body lined against his, your legs spread wide as he settles between them. Wants your back arching up against him, breathless and keen as he buries himself inside you.

He leans further down, pressing you downwards until he has you flat on your back against the cold and hard tiles, and he should do better by you. Should take you into bed, where it’s soft and warm. Nice and sweet. Not fuck you against the dirty floor of Steven’s dirty bathroom like some savage.

But his body isn’t listening to him, surging down to reclaim your lips as he grinds his hips and cock against the softness of your stomach. He’s hard again, or maybe he never went down for the count, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s aching for you. All of him dying to be buried inside of you to the hilt.

Pleasure sparks deep in his veins at the contact, and he does it again, grinds himself needily into you, smearing precome over the fabric of your already soaked sleepshirt. God he’s such a mess, he’s ruining your clothes.

He forces himself up again, kneeling over your body, as he stares down at you. He’s made such a fucking mess of things… of you. Your face is wet from the shower, hair matted against your forehead, and your shirt is soaked and opaque clinging wetly to your skin underneath. The sight of you makes his mouth dry with heat.

Behind him, the spray of the shower is raining down lukewarm water over his back. It should calm him, that’s why he turned the damn thing on in the first place, but it doesn’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, can barely hear the sound of the shower drizzling down like rain. Instead it’s all turned to static noise inside his head.

The only thing he sees is your pretty face look up at him, warm and affectionate, and so fucking loving, and he feels sick with want over you.

“Baby, you gotta tell me to stop,” he forces out, and his hand draws down between his legs to grip his aching cock, that’s throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“If it gets too much– you have to–”

You rise up to meet him, curling one arm around his neck until you’re face to face, so close that your nose nudges his. Your hand reaches down between you, wrapping your hand over his, and your eyes never falter from his, as you shove your panties to the side and guide his hand to notch his cock against your entrance.

Fuck, you’re dripping. He’s not even inside, and he can feel you slick and warm and wet against the head of his cock.

“Can you feel that?” you murmur, against his lips. “How wet you got me? I need this too. Need you to fuck your cock inside me, Marc.”

Shit.

He snaps. Plain and simple.

He thrusts down and into you with a long and deep consuming stroke and it’s fucking everything.

Ecstasy rushes into his bloodstream with a heady sugary rush, and he chases it with his hips, burying his cock inside as deep as you can take him, until it nudges something sweet and blissful that has you clawing at his arm with a gorgeous sob ripped from your throat.

And it’s so good, so fucking good, he wants to crawl into that sound and nestle into it. He drags himself out of you, until only the overwrought tip of his cock rests inside you, watching you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds, and that won’t do. Marc wants to hear you. Wants you to scream so loud his ears ring from pain with it. Fuck, he wants to go deaf with it. Wants the sound of your voice obliterate him until it echoes in his ears til the day he dies.

His arm moves to your leg, curling around your thigh to pull you in closer towards his torso, canting you upwards, tilting you at that angle that he knows will make you cry for him. Then he slams forward, his thighs tense, burning with the pleasure that threatens to incinerate him. You’re so fucking tight around him. It’s heaven if Marc ever believed in one.

Your fingers tighten down on him, nails digging into his skin and the biting pain only makes the pleasure of it all the more ripe and sweet as you clamp down around his cock.

He can’t stop. Hips thrusting into you with a demanding pace like his body is no longer his own, just a conduit for him to chase that mad pleasure that skitters to his brain and has him want to go harder, deeper, until he’s lodged so deep inside that you can never rid him of you.

It’s a selfish need that Marc would never allow himself to give voice to. He keeps it jammed under a lid and pretends it’s not there. That deep gnawing hunger that wants you all to himself and never have to share. The possessive streak in his veins that wants to mark you, fuck himself so deep into you until you can fucking taste him in your throat.

Your legs are wrapped all around him, clamping down around his torso until he’s sure you’re constricting his lungs from the sheer force of it and he almost can’t breathe. “Shit, baby–fuck, you’re so– I–” he grinds down on his teeth, and doesn't let himself say the words, swallowing down the groan that tears through his throat.

So good, he thinks to himself. You feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and blissfully tight around his cock. He loves you. Loves you so fucking much and he can’t stop, won’t stop– Never want to stop fucking his cock into you.

Then he sees it. That all familiar tell that lets him know you are close. Every muscle in your body goes taut, and you’re squeezing down almost rhythmically and so tight it knocks the fucking breath out of his lungs. “That’s it baby, come on my cock for me.”

Your eyes roll back, mouth parting as your back arches upward.

And there you go. You’re so fucking beautiful.

You come hard and punishingly tight as you squeeze around his cock.

The pleasure swirls hot and hungry inside his gut, and it’s all it takes to push him right over the edge with you. He spills himself inside, pulse after greedy pulse as he fills you.

He barely manages to catch himself with a palm braced next to your head on the tiles as he tries to come down.

There’s no relief this time. Not like last time, however brief it was. This time his climax only serves to fuel the pathetic need in his chest. Like someone threw gasoline over an open fire and now it’s spreading everywhere and there’s no extinguisher in sight.

More, the hunger inside his veins scream out. Again.

Wants to feel you come again. Wants to feel you squeeze tight around his cock, as your lips part and moan out his name in bliss again. Want to feel your slick drench his cock as you come again and again and again and again.

He’s still hard.

He thrusts forward, and you cry, high pitched and broken and the sound makes the blood in his veins sing.

You're slick and excruciatingly tight, but his come drips out of you, easing the tight press of his cock no matter how hard you squeeze down on him.

“It’s okay baby,” he hushes, and you sob in reply even as he bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You can take it for me. Doing so good. You’re being so good,” he coos, as he cants his hips and pushes into you as deeply as he can again.

Closer. He needs you closer than this. Wants his hands to touch and grip every inch of your skin. He brings his other arm to wrap around your waist, and something tugs and restrains him from behind. It locks up his shoulder, and no matter how hard he pulls forward, he can’t quite reach you.

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as you watch him before your eyes widen, hand reaching up for him. “Marc, wait– you’re–”

His free arm shoots out around your shoulders and reels you close as he captures your mouth, swallowing down your words. He’s trying to come down to you, to press you down against the floor with the weight of his body, and wrap his arms around you, and never let go. Hold you so tight to him until you can never leave. But something won’t let him. No matter how hard he strains forward the strength holding back his arm won’t budge.

There’s a metallic groaning noise that protests as he continues to pull against the resisting strength from behind him, as he rolls his hips relentlessly into you, chasing the pleasure. It digs sharp into his wrist with a jagged pain, but he doesn’t even care. Marc wants to hold you close, wrap his arm around your leg and squeeze it tight to his hips and lock you there.

He rips against the hindrance, with an impatient and angry snarl. The strain and resistance finally gives, and he’s free to put both his hands on you. His arms lock up tight around your waist.

There's a cacophony of sound somewhere in the distance. Of broken dishes and sharp crashing noise, but he doesn't care. The roof could be collapsing right now and it wouldn't make any damn difference to him so long as you were still here with him.

“Fuck! Marc!”

It doesn’t even register until he hears your agitated shout. He looks up in a daze at you, Your wide and alarmed eyes. Something’s wrong.

His head whips back, tearing himself away from you prepared to leap into action at the culprit. But that's not what he sees.

There’s debris on the wall. Bare cement in the large torn cracks of the tiled walls. There’s jagged pieces of cracked white porcelain on the floor. Debris and parts of the wall along with the showerhead and the metal rod he handcuffed himself to is lying in ruined shambles below, as the shower spits out water all around like a death rattle.

Well fuck.

Fuck– what is he…

Shit!

He’s completely lost control. The familiar dread and anxiety bleeds into his veins, and he can fight it all he wants, but it’s already here.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was the one who was supposed to be able to keep it together. The one who was supposed to protect you from this and keep you safe from harm. The bitter acrid taste of failure lingers on his tongue and drips down his throat until it reaches his lungs. Embarrassment clings to his cheeks and burns like fire. His body wants to curl into itself and hide, until he’s so small no one can see him anymore, least of all you.

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say as you plant an elbow against the slippery floor to you can raise yourself into a sitting position. Until you’re both at eye level with each other.

“It’s okay. Just ignore it. We’ll clean it up later,” you murmur as you crawl closer to him, until your face is within inches from his and you press your mouth to his cheek. Then you climb into his lap, the firm press of your warm body straddling his thighs and he looks up at you in dazed awe.

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask.

Despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t ask this of you, he still nods, whimpering at the reassuring press of your body against his achingly hard cock.

“As many times as it takes, okay?” Your fingers circle around the base of his cock, and he chokes on a moan, as you position him against your entrance. You’re slick and warm and fucking dripping for him.

“Let’s keep going until you feel better. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Is that okay?” you say.

He doesn't understand how that's a question. Of course it's okay, it's more than okay, it's all he wants. All he ever wants. He nods, and you smile at him. That warm and affectionate smile filled with love and it fills him to the brim. He feels like his heart is going to give out again. There's no more space for shame anymore, the way your smile crowds his vision and every inch of space inside him.

You lift your hips slightly, then you lower your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock until he’s buried all the way inside you, squeezing down around his cock in that perfect way you do, and he can’t fucking think.

You’re looking down at him like you’re expecting him to answer and he doesn’t even remember how to open his mouth and use vocal cords anymore, fuck he doesn’t even remember what the question was.

“Marc,” you repeat,

He still doesn’t know what you’re asking him. But it doesn’t matter does it? When it comes to you, he’s never going to say no to you. So he answers you with the only answer he has.

“Yes.”

It must be the right answer you were looking for, because you’re looking at him in that way again, smiling up brightly at him, like he’s worth a damn, worth everything to you. He knows that you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills his chest with something sweet and heady. An antidote to the poisonous fire that’s still burning hot and bitter in his veins. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t fight the warm buzz that’s trickling slowly into his veins and lets himself bask in it.

After all, who is he to say no to you?

You roll your hips against him and your eyes flutter close with a gasp as his cock hits something deep inside, and both of you moan at the feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist.

You lean closer, lips pressed to his ear, “I love you, Marc” you whisper in the hair above his ears and his whole back shudders pleasantly.

He tilts his head upwards, his nose brushing up against your chin and cheeks as he tries to find his way back to your mouth.

Marc might not deserve you. But you deserve everything you want and more, and if Marc is one of those things (for whatever unfathomable reason that he will never understand)… then that makes things a little bit easier for him.

He wakes with a pounding headache.

The muscles in his shoulders and back are stiff and sore, cramping up with a sharp throb as he tries to get up. Every limb aches. He feels like he was hit by a fucking truck going at full speed down a highway.

“Morning,” your voice greets, as your hand comes to his forehead and rests there as if you’re checking for his temperature. It’s soft and soothing, a balm to the ache in body and he fights every instinct to not nuzzle into the palm of your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies. His voice scrapes against the lining of his throat, like something crawled up in there and died.

He can hear you laugh quietly at his reply, and despite how crap he feels, the sound seeps into his chest and the stiffness melts just a little bit. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge next to him.

“How long was I out for?”

“Not too long. Just a bit. You needed the rest,” you answer, and it's entirely too vague for his liking.

He anchors his elbow into the soft bedding below and despite the angry creak of the mattress and the protesting groan in his bones, he tries to get up into a sitting position. His head feels lightheaded with the sudden altitude, like he’s about to throw up all over the sheets. It’s like he’s experiencing the world’s worst hangover, the second time in less two days. As soon as he gets his hand on that sex sprite, he’s going to fling it into the surface of the sun. Don’t care how upset that will make Min’s avatar.

Bringing his hand to his face, he rubs at his temples and the blunt throbbing pain that’s killing his head, when it occurs to him. His wrist feels light and unimpeded, there’s no sharp metal digging into his wrist. He stares down at his now bare wrist, then he looks up at you in confusion.

“Jake told me where the key was,” you answer.

He frowns, but holds his tongue. That means at some point while Marc was still unconscious, Jake must've woken up without him being aware. Marc doesn’t love that. He’s still not completely at ease with Jake being around you. Especially when he’s unconscious and can’t keep an eye out to step in and protect you if something were to go wrong.

As if something hasn’t already.

Marc is such a hypocrite, talking about protecting you as if he isn’t the very wolf at your door, fangs poised at your throat.

Your thumb smooths over his knuckles, as you nudge his leg with your knees. “Should I make you some coffee? Maybe some breakfast. Can whip up some omelets for you.”

He shakes his head. “No I gotta get up. Try to catch that thing before it does more damage again.”

He should tell you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. But he knows you’re going to fight him tooth and nail over it.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” you say as you rise from the bed, “stay there for just a sec will you?”

You walk up to the Gus trio’s tank, sliding a few books around, and pick something up before you make your way back to him, holding an all too familiar brass-metal box in the palm of your hand outstretched to him.

He can see from the shape on the golden lid the puzzle sequence has been properly completed, just like that obnoxious Avatar had shown him. Locked and sealed.

“How did you–” he sputters out in shock as he eyes it.

“Steven sealed it for me.”

He blinks, feeling a little bit stunned as he takes the box from you. “How did you get it back in there in the first place.”

“You said that it liked small cramped spaces with a lid. I figured it couldn’t have gotten far from the flat like last time. So I just started opening every single item in the place with a lid. It hid in an empty shoebox this time.”

Marc grits his teeth. “That’s dangerous, it could’ve possessed you.”

You wave your hands dismissively at his concerns. “It’s alright. I had a fly-swatter,” you answer, like that answers everything and Marc’s just being silly.

“You what?”

“A flyswatter. I just swatted at it until it finally got back into the box. Had to chase it around the flat, reopening every jar and box in the flat for a good hour or so until it got the hint.”

He wants to scold you, want to point out everything that could’ve gone wrong and how you should have just ran out of the apartment and gotten yourself to safety. It’s a speech he’s made a hundred times before, but you never listened then either, and those times you didn’t have the upper hand with the argument, given that he passed out and you saved the day.

So he bites his tongue.

“Hey,” you say softly as your hand comes to cup his cheek. “Everything worked out fine alright? It’s a happy ending. You don’t have to look so sad.”

He bites the insides of his cheek. Flashes of you under him, soft and moaning, legs spread and wrapped around him, invading in startling technicolor.

“I’m…” he wants to say sorry, but the word won't come. His hand curls into a fist to his side with unease. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you stay and do that for me”.

“Marc, it’s not a punishment for me to have sex with you. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you by now, but I like having sex with you.”

He doesn’t answer you, just stares blindly at his feet at the end of the bed, as the guilt crawls in his gut and tries to consume him. Maybe he should let it. It’s what he deserves after all.

You scoot closer to him, an exasperated but fond look in your eyes as you take his hand in yours. “You see Marc, when two adults love each other very much,” you sing-song and start to jokingly explain to him about the bird and the bees.

Despite himself he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and the gnawing anxiety fades a bit. You think you’re so fucking funny sometimes (and to Marc you are), but he isn’t going to let the laugh that wants to push up against his throat betray him. You meet his smile with your own, and that helps to take away the last of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Can you promise me that next time something like this happens again, you won't run away… or lock yourself in the bathroom to deal with it all by yourself? We’ll handle it together alright?”

Marc meets the look in your eye. It's the same one that he keeps finding somehow even though he never quite understands why, of love and adoration for him.

A part of him wants to fight it, push it away because he doesn't deserve it... But your soft voice echoes in his ear. The weight of your arms wrapped around his shoulders still lingers from before. 'I love you', you had told him, and whether he deserves your love or not is maybe not the point. You love him regardless. And who is he to say no to you?

“Yeah,” Marc nods. “Together.”

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

Happy Moon-aversary everyone!!! I can't believe I'm still here a whole year after this show premiered. When I first saw that trailer with Oscar Isaac's strange british accent I remember telling @thirstworldproblemss I was sceptical and then I watched about 5 minutes of Steven on screen and went "oh no, I'm in love with this man" and the rest is history.

I hope you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it I appreciate all of you so very much.

Dedications and credit: To my co-worker, co-clown and the love of my life @thirstworldproblemss she's had a busy few months and she is everything to me please go over and send her some love if you have time!!!!

Also to my muse @guruan who draws horny sketches and the most inspiring artpieces that makes me write near 13k of blowjob for this man. That blowjob scene was particularly inspired by THIS sketch. Send her love! Send her reblogs, send her everything you have and more!

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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