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#Marc Spector fic
phantomspiderr · 9 months
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Always
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Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings/tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, look i think Marc would be into Formula 1, is that just because I love F1... maybe?, sleepy!reader, soft!Marc🥰
a/n: 😬… I’m backkkkkkkk. Not that I think anyone noticed I was gone but I started anxiety meds and they've taken some getting used to. But I opened up my drafts the other day and found this and finished it, so essentially I started making it, had a breakdown... bon appetite?
(not my gif)
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The other side of the bed’s cold, your hand swipes across the empty space in search of the warmth that is normally there. Your sleep-addled mind pauses to think—had your boyfriend even come to bed? What time was it? Is that noise in your head? Slowly, you pull yourself up from the warm cocoon of the duvet and your hands rub at your face in an attempt to erase the sleep that still clings to you. Blinking a few times you try to adjust your eyes to being open again as your hands fall into your lap. You can just make out some light in between the gaps in the bookshelf that separates the bed from the rest of the room. Your tired eyes look to his side of the bed again, still empty and the alarm clock shines the time a little too brightly, 6:22am. Reluctantly you move your stiff legs, pushing the warm duvet off of them and whining a little as the cold air in the flat hits them. You pull yourself out of the bed, immediately grabbing the blanket from the end of the mattress to wrap around yourself. The noise you’d heard becomes clearer now, it sounds like someone talking but it’s fast and all mushes together in your head. You take steps toward it, rounding the bookshelf to find exactly what you were missing.
“Hey,” Marc’s voice comes out in a whisper and he sits up the second his eyes clock you, his hand reaching for the tv remote immediately. The volume goes down with each push of the button, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You keep taking slow steps towards him, passing in front of the tv and going around the coffee table until you reach the couch.
“Are you okay?” You completely disregard his question in favour of asking your own as you sit next to him, he nods whispering out a yeah and so you move your body to lay down, placing your head in his lap.
“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you look up at him as he speaks. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head, “plus there’s a race on.” He looks back to the tv and you follow his gaze, twisting until you lie completely on your side.
“What’s a red flag?” Your head turns so you can look at him again briefly, a little smile graces his face and then you go back to staring at the screen, trying to understand why in the middle of a race none of the cars are moving.
“One of the drivers went into the barrier and they have to stop the race to clean it up before they continue. It just means it’s not safe for anyone to be on the track,” Marc explains it so gently, no annoyance or condescension crosses his tone for your lack of knowing.
“Are they okay?” There’s a slight hint of worry and you almost sound like a scared child.
“Yeah sweetheart, look, that's Albon there.” He points towards the screen and you watch as it briefly shows a young-looking guy speaking with someone else, “it was his car that hit the barrier but he got out of it straight away.”
For a minute it’s quiet, you both just watch the screen as it shows different people. Marc had turned the volume up a bit and you could make out what the commentators were saying now they’d slowed down their talking. Without any prompting, Marc starts to quietly tell you who everyone is every time the picture changes to someone new. He shares little pieces of knowledge with every name and you find listening to him soothing. You knew he sometimes watched these races but you’d never really taken the time to sit down and watch one with him. You’re starting to regret never doing it before, you’d been missing out on this beautiful opportunity to get to know his interests better.
Ultimately, though that tiredness still clings to your mind and the way his voice is quietly lulling you makes you think of the times when Steven reads you to sleep. Just as the race starts up again, your eyes begin to feel heavy, the blinks start getting slower and longer. You’re unsure if Marc’s noticed because he keeps calmly explaining what’s happening as it happens. His fingers had absentmindedly started rubbing circles into your scalp which was not helping the way you were quickly slipping back into your sleeping state. The tv eventually disappears, and your eyes are finally sealed shut again but some conscious part of your brain can still make out the race commentary in the background alongside Marc’s soothing voice.
The next thing you know it’s daylight, the sun shines brightly through the uncovered windows. It hurts your eyes when they open and instinctively you turn your body away from it, glad when you’re met with darkness. You comfortably bury your face into the warmth of Marc’s stomach while trying your best to stretch your stiff limbs without really putting much effort into it. You take in a deep breath before just relaxing for a moment. Your mind slowly wakes as you lay there, coherent thoughts begin to form and you start to feel more awake with each passing second. You could’ve sworn you’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The tv is still making quiet noise in the background and you can feel Marc taking slow deep breaths.
Once your brain has managed to come back to some semblance of consciousness, you slowly pull yourself to sit up on the couch. The sight you’re met with makes your heart melt it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up next to him, each time feels like the first. He looks so peaceful, his head propped on his fist that leans on the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, hair sticking around every which way and lips slightly parted. You admire him for a minute before you think about how much his neck is going to hurt after sleeping in this position. As slowly as you can you twist yourself around again and stand, taking a second for your brain to catch up with your body’s movements. Then gently you tuck your hands under his knees, pulling on the deadweight and turning them to rest on the couch. All the movement rouses Marc from his sleep, the top half of his body reluctantly following the bottom with a grumble.
“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” Quietly you shush him as he continues to wiggle around until he’s settled down on the couch where you were just laying. The crease in his eyebrow slowly relaxes as your fingers comb through his hair, you’re crouched next to him trying to push him back into his little slumber. A long sigh comes from deep within his chest and you just know he’s back in dreamland. With a gentle kiss to his temple, you stand again, grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point and draping it over his body. Satisfied with how much more comfortable he looks now you go to pull yourself away to shower and maybe start on breakfast—or maybe brunch at this point, but a hand grazes your leg.
“Stay,” the mumble of a plea falls past his lips as his hand blindly searches for yours. Without a second thought, you give in, encouraging him to lift his head so you can slip back onto the couch. Thoughts of how good a shower would be right now or of what to cook to rid the rumble in your stomach disappear completely. Now you sit with Marc’s head in your lap, mirroring the exact position you’d both been in just moments prior. You take a long moment to just watch him, the way he nuzzles his head into your thighs and how relaxed he looks for a change. Then you’re thinking about how happy he makes you. How lucky you feel to be a part of this moment and how you only ever want to be right here with him, always.
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flightlessangelwings · 5 months
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My Knight in White
Marc Spector x fem!reader
Word count- 4.3k
Dialogue prompt- “ that was for saving my life. “ Action prompt- [ KISS ]: after having been saved from immediate danger by the receiver, the sender, in a state of intense emotion and relief, kisses them to express these feelings.
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), protective!Marc, mutual pining, minor violence, minor character death, harassment of reader (not Marc), damsel in distress, unprotected piv, no use of y/n
About this reader- she is smart but not physically badass, works with Egyptian artifacts but I left it vague so you can fill in for yourself exactly what she does, no specific city where they are is stated either so it's open for you to imagine wherever, no physical descriptions other than body parts
Notes- Posting my October Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023 a little late because of kinktober but I'm so excited to share this! This is expanding on an idea that @melodygatesauthor had months ago who wanted to see a damsel in distress reader and Marc saving her!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!
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~
“You’re here late,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.
You blinked, refocusing your eyes to the world around you. Looking around, you didn’t even realize how long you had been hunched over your desk, studying and cleaning the artifact that had recently been brought in. “Marc…” you breathed as you stretched, your back aching as you became aware of reality again.
He smiled softly as he uncrossed his arms, “You work too much, you know that,” he leaned against the doorway as he watched you. 
Marc loved to watch you work. He loved to watch you do anything really, but when you worked, you became so focused, lost in concentration. You handled the old artifacts with such care and respect, he couldn’t help but linger his gaze on your hands. He had never met anyone smarter than you, and he loved to listen to you go on and on about any topic you found interesting. Marc took it upon himself to watch over you, making sure you were always safe even if you never truly knew just how much he looked over you.
“I lost track of time,” you replied as you gathered yourself and packed everything away, “I didn’t realize it’s after dark.”
“And the fact that everyone else left hours ago didn’t clue you in,” Marc smirked.
“Hey,” you playfully chastised him, “I can’t help it, I just got in the zone, you know. Besides, these new artifacts are so fascinating I just can’t tear myself away from them!”
It suddenly occurred to you that you and Marc were completely alone. He was right- everyone else left hours ago. As you stood up and made your way over to him, you took in his handsome features once more. And the way he leaned against the door made your thoughts run wild. The two of you had known each other for some time now, but you kept your true feelings to yourself, afraid of damaging your friendship or losing him.
Marc looked you up and down, “Want me to walk you home?” he offered as he followed behind you, watching you flip the lights off and lock everything up.
“I’m alright,” you suddenly felt nervous. Marc has been to your place many times, but the shiver that ran up your spine made your heart race, “I don’t live that far.”
He furrowed his brow, “You sure?”
“Yeah,” you replied with a soft smile, “Thanks, though,” you stepped in front of him before you turned back, “Good night.”
Marc watched you walk away before he whispered a hushed, “Good night.”
He watched you as you made your way down the street in the darkness until he couldn’t see you anymore. Marc had already decided he was going to follow you anyway, watching over you from afar, but when he saw a group of sketchy-looking men with wicked grins sneer and tail behind you, he knew he had to do more to keep you safe.
You wrapped your arms around yourself as you made your way down the street. You didn’t make it far from Marc when you noticed that a group of men started to follow behind you, and though you couldn’t make out their exact words, you knew they were talking about you. In that moment, you wished you took Marc up on his offer to walk you home, but you couldn’t turn around now. All you could do was hope you got inside fast before they caught up to you.
“Hey sweet cheeks,” one of them called out to you.
Too late.
You glanced over your shoulder and found that they were even closer to you than you thought, and you quickly bolted down the street without a word. That only egged them on more, however, and you heard them laughing behind you as they sped up as well.
“Oh come on, sweetheart,” they sneered, “We just want to talk to you.”
A gasp escaped your lips as you turned down a street, hoping to lose them. But, your plan immediately backfired as you found yourself trapped in an alleyway at a dead end. And you failed to shake them off your tail.
“Please,” you breathed as fear pulsed through your veins, “I’m just trying to get home.”
The men surrounded you, darkness shading their features, “We’ll get you home, sweet girl.”
The others chuckled as they started to reach for you.
“Please leave me alone,” you tried to sound more assertive, but you knew you didn’t intimate them at all. They were all very muscular and taller than you, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance even if you tried to fight back. But that didn’t mean you were going to go down without a fight.
You screamed when one of them grabbed your arm, and you swung your fist into him as hard as you could while digging your feet into the ground. Gritting your teeth, you tried your best to yank yourself from his grip, but tears of frustration filled your eyes when you realized it was useless.
“No!” you cried out as you tried again, your pleas drowned out by their cackling laughter.
Suddenly, your luck changed.
Out of nowhere, something yanked the man who helped you back and he yelped as he found himself flung against the wall of the alleyway. The other men all looked up as a hooded figure in all white descended down and immediately went on the attack against them.
You gasped as you scurried back out of the scuffle, pressing yourself against the opposite wall as much as you could as if you tried to phase through the wall and disappear. Your eyes went wide as you watched the mysterious hero fight off the men who attacked you, beating and punching them down until none of them moved.
The figure then turned to you, and time froze for several moments.
He raised his hands in surrender, “I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice from under the mask said.
You couldn’t help but feel like the voice was familiar. But, you stayed silent.
“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” your rescuer asked as he stepped closer to you, looking you over.
Your hands trembled, but not from fear this time. Taking a deep breath in for the first time in what felt like forever, you finally replied in a hushed voice, “No,” you whispered, “I’m alright.”
As he stepped close enough so you could reach for him if you wanted, you studied his outfit more. He wore all white, but as he got closer, you noticed it looked like linen wrappings, almost like a mummy. A crescent moon symbol adorned his chest and a white cloak covered his head. You could see the muscle definition even through the thick wrappings, and it made you swallow hard.
You had no idea what came over you at that moment- perhaps it was the adrenaline- but without a word, you reached out for him, grabbed him and pulled your bodies closer as you laid a kiss on his mask where his mouth would be.
It caught him off guard, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he cradled you close, holding onto your waist with one hand and your arm with the other. It felt warm, comfortable, right.
“What was that for?” he asked with a smirk in his voice.
You smiled at him, “That was for saving my life,” your voice was still hushed, your breath taken away, “Thank you.”
He cupped your chin affectionately. Through the mask, he studied you up close. Everything in Marc screamed to take it off and tell you who he was, but he also knew that knowing his secret would put you in danger. And Marc would not allow that. For now, he would be satisfied knowing you were safe, and that he was just in time. He only nodded, not saying anything else before he broke away from you and leapt up into the air, disappearing into the night just as mysteriously as he appeared. 
You watched in bewilderment as it took your brain several moments to process what just happened. You touched your lips as you realized that you kissed a total stranger, and one who you didn’t even see his face too. But, as you looked around and saw the men laying on the ground, the adrenaline ran through your veins once more and you ran out of the alleyway and quickly made your way home.
The whole time, Marc watched from the rooftops until you were safely inside.
*
In the following weeks, you threw yourself completely into your work to cope with what happened that night. A mix of emotions constantly filled your head, and you found that pushing them away with the distraction of work was the easiest way to deal with them. There were days where you hardly looked up from your desk, so deep in concentration that the rest of the world was a blur around you.
Marc kept a watchful eye over you the entire time. He knew why you were like this, but when others asked he feigned ignorance. No one had to know what happened to you, and it wasn’t up to him to tell anyway. Instead, he chose to keep an eye on you from afar, like he always did. 
Vaguely, you were aware of Marc’s presence in the shadows… and it felt familiar to you somehow. He always kept an eye on you, but after that night it somehow felt different. But, having him close was one of the few comforts you had after your attack. Yet, your mind also wandered toward the mysterious hooded figure who rescued you… 
“Hey,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. 
You looked up with a startled gasp, not realizing how late it got. Again. “Marc,” you breathed. 
He looked worried, “Everything alright?” Marc asked, “You’ve seemed… off lately.”
Your eyes darted from his face to your desk a few times as you felt nervous suddenly, “I’m fine,” you knew you didn’t convince him, you didn’t even convince yourself.
Marc sighed your name as he settled down next to you, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here for you.”
Heat rose in your face, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you exhaled deeply, “Besides, you’d just make fun of me.”
“Never!” he exclaimed, acting playfully offended before he turned serious, “What’s on your mind?”
The comforting tone in his voice and the warmth of his presence allowed you to let your guard down, “Ok…” you took a breath, “The night I was here late a few weeks ago,” you started, “A group of guys tried to jump me,” your voice quivered and you felt Marc’s hand over yours, “But I was saved by…” you paused as you looked at him sheepishly, “A guy in a hood and something that looked like mummy wrappings.”
Marc’s face lit up as he grinned knowingly at you.
You nudged him playfully as you erupted into a fit of giggles out of pure embarrassment, “See I knew you were going to laugh at me!”
“No, sweetheart I’m not laughing at you,” Marc raised his hands defensively, “I swear!”
Something changed in the air between you as you stared at each other. The light atmosphere shifted and it felt like something heavy lingered between the two of you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized just how close Marc sat to you, and your breath caught in your throat as you studied his features. Not to mention that was the first time he called you anything affectionate like that…
“Marc…”
“Listen, I…,” he started, interrupting you.  
Leaning in, you were entranced by him and you hung on his every word. Just being near him and laughing like this made all your troubles melt away. You felt safe here, with him. 
But, before Marc could continue, a loud crash cut him off. 
Both of you jumped up, and you let out a soft shriek. Marc immediately went into defense mode and every muscle in his body tensed. It was late, and the two of you were the only ones in the building. He made sure the doors were locked too, so he knew whoever broke in meant trouble.
“Marc?” your voice shook.
“Listen to me,” he turned to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I need you to sneak out of here. Take the back exit and hide somewhere. I’m going to distract them and get a path for you to get out.”
“But the artifacts,” you whispered as you glanced over at the old objects on your desk that you spent weeks cleaning and studying. The first thought in your mind was that these are robbers looking to steal and sell them, and you didn’t want that to happen.
“Things can be replaced,” Marc sounded urgent, “We can get them back. I’m more worried about getting you safe right now.”
Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, stunned. Just as you were about to reply, though, another crash made you jump and Marc pulled you in close to keep you calm.
“It's gonna be alright,” he murmured to you, “Just trust me. Ok?”
You pulled back to look into his eyes again, “I trust you.”
He nodded as he pressed his lips together, “Ok,” how Marc sounded nervous, “Stay low. Stay in the shadows. And just get out. You hear me?”
Swallowing hard, you nodded. Then your brain caught up with you, “What about you?”
Marc smirked, “I’ll be alright. Just trust me.”
There was no time for explanations as another crash echoed in the room- they were getting closer. Marc ushered you out of the door and down the hall before he ran in the opposite direction towards the intruders. You glanced over your shoulder at his retreating figure before you made your way down the hall, crouching low and out of sight as you did so. 
As you made your way to the back door, however, you noticed that it was blocked- one of them already made his way there.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you changed direction. Instead, you went up to the roof in hopes of finding a place to hide until Marc did… whatever he was planning to do. 
But that plan also quickly backfired. 
You ran up to the roof and into the open area there, but you were met with yet another thug who blocked the opposite entrance from where you were.
“Well look what we have here,” he said with a dark grin on his face.
Letting out a gasp, you tried to run back where you came from, but another sinister shadowy man blocked that path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.
“Please,” was all you could whimper as you felt them close in on you. 
The men just laughed as they stepped closer, reaching for their guns as they did so. But, before they reached you, one of them was yanked back, slamming into the wall. You looked up and saw the same hooded figure that saved you before swooping down from seemingly nowhere.
More of the thugs appeared from the doorway and they yelled as they pulled out their guns and started to fire on both of you. The hooded figure rushed over to you and wrapped his cloak over both your bodies, shielding you.
You covered your head out of instinct, but as you felt a warm presence, you looked up and found yourself face to face with your linen wrapped savior once more.
“It’s you,” you gasped in relief. The ringing of the guns suddenly sounded distant.
The mask started to peel away on its own, revealing none other than Marc. He breathed your name, “Are you alright?” 
“It’s you!” you sounded stronger that time, in total shock that it was Marc the whole time.
“I told you I wasn’t making fun of you,” he flashed a quick smile before he turned serious again, “I don’t have time to explain now,” he said, “I’m going to fight these guys off. You need to hide somewhere until they’re dealt with. I’ll come find you when it’s safe, I promise.”
The intruders and the guns were more pressing at the moment, so you swallowed and nodded. 
When Marc found an opening, he pushed you towards the door, “Go!” he shouted as he turned back to the intruders and fought them off.
You ran. 
Running on pure instinct, you bolted down the hall and turned a corner into a closet. Luckily, no one was around and you hid yourself well. You crouched in the corner as you listened to the grunts and gunshots in the distance. At one point, you covered your mouth to stifle a scream, suddenly scared for Marc. You fought back tears, swearing to yourself that you wouldn’t cry. 
Just as you squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath, the fighting stopped. Silence filled your ears but you didn’t dare move. Your hands trembled slightly against your face as you strained to hear the one voice that would bring you comfort.
And then you heard it.
Marc called out your name as he stood in the hall, frantically looking for you, “Baby it’s alright. You can come out.”
You let out the breath you held, all your fear escaping with it as you leapt up and out of your hiding spot. Down the hall, you saw Marc standing there, his knighty suit still adorning his body but his face exposed. “Marc,” you breathed in relief as you ran towards him.
“Sweetheart,” he sounded just as relieved as he ran towards you with open arms. 
The two of you crashed together in a messy embrace, emotions getting the better of both of you. He rested a hand on the back of your head while the other pulled you in as close as he possibly could. Tears flowed from your eyes as relief washed over you, yet the pulse of fear still ran through you after everything that happened. Vaguely, you heard Marc whispering soft words of encouragement and reassurance in your ear. 
“Come on,” Marc said, “I’m getting you out of here,” he slid his hand in yours.
“But…” you tried to protest, not wanting to leave any of the artifacts alone.
“It’s ok,” he gave you a soft smile, “They’re dealt with. Right now I want to make sure you’re safe.”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to process everything. So much happened in such a short time, and you weren’t sure how to react to it. Time passed in a daze as you found yourself at Marc’s place, settled comfortably on his couch with a mug of tea in your hands. You felt safe with him, of course, but you felt like you were outside your body.
The two of you talked for what felt like hours. Marc told you everything- all of his secrets that he kept hidden for so long. He promised you that he would always protect you, and he explained why he didn’t tell you before. As he talked, the sound of his voice calmed you, like an embrace of your heart. Your eyes moved from where they stared at the mug to meet his gaze.
“I promise you, baby,” Marc cupped your face, “Nothing’s ever going to happen to you. I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”
Heat rose in your face, and you were sure Marc felt how warm you were. But, as you stared into his eyes, you felt your heart flutter and his charming gleam sent a rush of fresh emotions through you. Without a word, you closed the gap between your bodies, crashing your lips together. Muffled groans echoed between you as you climbed into his lap and Marc instantly helped you closer. Deepening the kiss, you felt a tingle on your skin as you tasted him, and you felt the reverberation of his moan against your body.
“What was that for?” he asked in a whisper, “Not that I’m complaining.”
You smirked against Marc, “I wanted to thank you properly,” you breathed, “With a real kiss this time.”
Marc cupped your face as he gazed into your soul through your eyes, “Baby…” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for another kiss.
This time, it felt different. It was desperate and heated, but there was also the warmth and passion behind it. You moaned into Marc’s lips as you rocked your hips against his. He tightened his grip on you as a rush of need pulsed through his veins, and he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched underneath you.
Breaking away for air, Marc saw the look of wanton need in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking, “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
You cupped his face, brushed your fingers along his dark curls, “I’m sure,” you whispered as you kissed him again, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you paused before you sheepishly added, “I’ve wanted this so so long…”
Marc grinned, his face lighting up, “Then let’s do this right.”
Shifting your bodies, Marc stood up and extended his hand. You eagerly took it and allowed him to lead you over to his bed. Excitement bloomed between you and before you even made it to the bed, your hands were all over each other. Kisses decorated your steps as you each tugged at the other’s clothing until you were bare.
You and Marc crashed into his bed, and he quickly laid overtop of you. He paused for a moment, breathless as he took in the sight of you bare underneath him, “Fuck you are beautiful,” he breathed.
“So are you,” you sighed in pure admiration as you grabbed his face and yanked him in for another kiss, “We can take our time later,” you murmured between kisses, “I need you too bad right now.”
“Fuck,” he groaned as he rocked his length along your folds. It didn’t go unnoticed that you mentioned a next time either… But your moan broke Marc out of that thought, and a shiver ran up his spine as he felt his cock against your pussy, “Wet already,” he smirked.
“Please Marc,” you pleaded. 
“I’ve got you, baby,” he moaned as he lined himself up with your entrance.
Slowly, carefully, Marc pushed himself into you, causing you both to gasp at the same time. You clawed at his arms, holding on for dear life as the slight burn of his cock stretching you out went jolts of pleasure through your body. Fresh tears filled your eyes at the sensation, and you never felt more alive, more pleasure than ever before.
“Marc…”
He groaned your name as he bottomed out inside you, “Fuck,” he breathed. Marc cradled your face as he rocked in and out of you, slowly at first, but the more you moaned the faster he moved, “You’re perfect,” he moaned, “Shit…”
“Fuck… Marc… You feel so good,” you moaned as you saw stars every time his cock slammed into you.
It didn’t take long for you to feel the tingles of your approaching climax. Your legs trembled on either side of Marc’s body as he thrust into you over and over again and you dug your nails into his soft skin as you clung to him. Incoherent praises flowed from his lips as both your moans grew louder and louder as you lost yourselves in each other.
“Marc… I’m…”
“I’ve got you, baby,” Marc repeated his words from earlier.
Skin slapped against skin as Marc felt his own climax apparach. But, he was determined to send you over the edge first, and with just a few more thrusts of his hips, he got what he wanted. With a loud scream, you came hard, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. And fuck you had never looked more beautiful to Marc.
He kept up his pace as long as he could, watching the show you put on just for him and savoring every second of it. But, Marc’s eyes started to roll back as he felt his orgasm quickly build, egged on by the way you clenched your inner muscles around his cock. And with a groan of your name, he came right after you, spilling himself into you as he did so.
Marc collapsed on top of you, completely spent. But, after just a few breaths, he shifted himself, pulling out of you with a hiss before he laid next to you. You let out a whine at the loss, but quickly curled yourself up in his embrace as Marc held you close. You closed your eyes as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heartbeat against your ear.
“Marc, I…”
“Shhh,” he gently hushed you, “Just rest now baby,” Marc cradled your head as he placed a soft kiss, “I’ve got you.”
You hummed contently as sleep quickly took you over. Between the excitement, the danger and the rush of emotions, you suddenly found yourself exhausted and in no time you feel sound asleep in Marc’s arms.
Marc stayed awake for some time, listening to the sound of your heavy breaths. He knew exactly what you wanted to say, and as much as he wanted to hear you say those words, he knew it was better to wait. He gave your body one extra squeeze before he whispered to your sleeping form, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart… I love you.” 
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Eat You Up
AN: Third fic for @moonknight-events’ MK Bingo! Hope y'all enjoy 😌❤️
PWP. You're watching a movie with Marc and get a bit...distracted.
(Un-beta’d)
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Prompt: Biting Words: 985 Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, frottage, biting, licking, sucking (aka giving hickies), sub!Marc, slight praise kink. AO3
——————
You’re beside Marc on the couch, head resting on his shoulder as you both sit and watch that movie your co-worker kept recommending. It was okay, a little predictable but enjoyable all the same. Not enough to hold your attention though, sadly. Truth be told, you’re having trouble focusing on anything but him, on anything but Marc—on the warm, solid press of him against you, on the familiar scent of him surrounding you, comforting you— 
You turn your face toward him, your nose brushing against his neck. His arm tightens around you at the touch, pulling you closer, and you let him. You both resettle, your hand now resting against his chest as you nuzzle your nose against a random spot at the base of his neck. His skin is soft, like velvet, and you can’t help it when your eyes involuntarily fall shut, savoring the feel of him. You bury your face there, inhaling deeply, your lips grazing over his collarbone. He smells so good, warm and clean and a little woodsy. It makes your mouth water, and you can’t stop yourself from licking tentatively at his skin. You sigh softly at the familiar taste of him, his skin salty yet somehow still sweet. 
You hear his breath hitch, feel his body shift beside you and smile softly, gently nipping at his olive skin. His hand clenches slightly where it rests on your shoulder, bunching up the fabric of your shirt, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t try to stop you though, so you continue, licking and nipping at that same spot.  
You do get a little carried away, giving up all pretense of watching the movie as you crawl into his lap to straddle him. Your knees are on either side of his hips, his fingers twisting in the back of your shirt as you gently grind against him. He groans softly as you bury your face in his neck again, his head falling to rest against the back of the couch.  
You start off soft and slow, gently sucking at his skin, your tongue soothing the marks left behind. Marc is completely at your mercy, his hands drifting down to settle on your hips as you devour his neck. Your teeth graze over his bruised skin and he shivers, his hips pushing up into yours involuntarily. You moan softly at the friction between your legs, the vibration against his skin making his grip on you tighten. 
You nip at him again, this time a little harder, your lips surrounding the bruise as you add a little suction. Marc hisses, his fingers digging into your sides, and you wonder, just for a moment, if you could make him come like this, with just your mouth and teeth and tongue— 
“Baby,” he groans, lifting his hand to cup the back of your head, wordlessly asking you to slow down. 
You relent, pressing a kiss against his abused skin before pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. He looks wrecked, hair mussed, lips parted, his breaths leaving him in pants. You smile softly at the sight, reaching out to push your hand through his curls. Marc leans into it, his eyes heavy lidded as they lovingly rove your face. 
Your gaze is drawn back to the bruises on his neck, the color of them darkening more and more by the minute. You chew your bottom lip, eyes glued to the marks, all scattered across the base of his neck like a necklace—you like them, like seeing them, that reminder that Marc is yours and no one else's. Yours. He’s yours.  
A molten heat wells inside you at the thought and settles in your core. You drag your eyes back up his delectable neck, licking your lips at the expanse of unmarked skin. You make it as far as his mouth before you lean in, claiming his lips in a deep, languid kiss. His groan is muffled as you shift, sliding forward slightly to press yourself against his front, your arms winding around his neck, fingers plunging into his hair. Marc pushes his hips up into yours, using his grip on you to drag you over his clothed length. You can’t help but moan, pulling back from the kiss with his bottom lip between your teeth. He groans, eyebrows furrowing slightly before you release him with a pop.  
He gazes up at you, his beautiful brown eyes full of love and unslaked lust, and suddenly you want nothing more than to watch him fall apart. You lean in, pressing your foreheads together, your mouth hovering over his as you start to move in his lap. His eyes fall shut in pleasure, his breath leaving him in huffs. 
“So good, baby,” he slurs, his hands grasping your hips as you increase your pace. 
He meets your movements with his own, grinding his cock up against your core. You gasp in pleasure, moving faster, harder, pulling grunts and groans from between his lips. You’re close, so close, and so is Marc, you can tell by how slack his jaw is, by the look he has in his eyes, the one that borders on adoration. 
“Come for me, Marc,” you breathe, nipping at his kiss-bitten lips. 
He comes with a gasp, his hips stuttering as he continues rutting up into you, prolonging his release. A shuddered breath leaves him as he settles once more, his body going limp beneath you. You watch him come down with a soft smile on your lips, reaching out and brushing a few wayward curls from his damp forehead. 
He meets your gaze and smiles, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips. 
“My turn,” he breathes, soft smile morphing into something more devious as he gathers you in his arms and quickly stands from the couch. 
You yelp in surprise, then laugh as he practically runs to the bedroom.
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bastardmandennis · 8 months
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even if it’s a false god (marc spector x fem!reader)
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Summary: Your neighbor, Steven, asks you to feed his fish for him while he's away. Instead, you meet who you think is his brother, Marc.
Word Count: 6.9k (nice)
Warnings: oh boy. SMUT! (literally get out of here if you're not 18+ pls), afab reader, no y/n, brief mentions of a wound/blood, mentions of Steven/reader friendship, no layla (devastating tbh), men begging (woo), PIV sex, creampie, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it). riding, mentions of masturbation, oral (f receiving). one (1) singular slap. vague allusions to the moon knight system/konshu but not really important tbh, drinking of alcohol, i think that's it but pls let me know if i missed anything!
A/N: good lord. this has been drumming around in my head for TOO LONG. i just wanted an excuse to use ^this gif (only slightly joking). title comes from the song false god by tswift (even tho im mad at her rn) bc i am just a simple uncreative girl, okay? pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! xoxo
There in the low light, sitting at your kitchen table, is–fuck, it’s Steven. He doesn’t look good, sweaty and dirty and tired. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy trying to reach over his shoulder for something. His shirt is on the floor, shredded, along with the bottle of vodka you keep for “emergencies.” What the fuck? “What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side.  “Steven, are you–what happened?” “Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now.  “Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.
All day, there’s been a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that there was something important you forgot to do. At work, you go through your emails, your calendar–nothing there. On the bus ride home, you stare out at the passing scenery, wracking your brain trying to figure out what the hell you’re forgetting. It’s driving you crazy.
It’s not until you reach your apartment door, digging through your bag for your keys, that you realize what it is. You pull out a second set of keys, this one with a small teddy bear charm dangling, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Fuck. You were supposed to feed your neighbor’s fish for him while he was away. 
You drop your work bag and sprint up the stairs to Steven’s apartment. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. You don’t think you’d be able to handle the disappointed puppy dog look he’d give you when he comes back and you have to tell him you killed his beloved fish. The way his arms would wrap around himself in comfort, sleeves covering his hands, the way he always did when he was upset. Upset because of you this time. 
Your heart sinks when you make it to his door, panting. Oh this is not good. You can’t remember when exactly he’d said he’d be back–in your defense, he did call you at 2am on a Monday, his voice uncharacteristically gruff as he’d asked you to take care of Stev-my fish for me, apparently taking your mumbled mhm as a concrete sign of agreement. When you’d woken up for real later that day, his keys were sitting on your kitchen table, a note reading Thanks. scrawled out in unfamiliar handwriting. Weird, but Steven was a bit of an odd duck, popping in and out to say hey at all hours, whenever he was awake (which seemed like all the time). The man either slept like the dead or not at all, no inbetween.
You quickly go through his keys, unlocking the top two deadbolts before reaching the main door lock. This one sticks–you shove your shoulder against the door and it bursts open. You tumble into the apartment.
And right into Steven. He’s bare chested, a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips. Holy shit, since when was Steven ripped? He’s got a few days’ worth of stubble covering his clenched jaw and dark circles under his eyes. His hair is gelled down carefully instead of in its usual wild fluffy curls.
“Steven,” you whisper. He’s still gripping your elbow and you quickly straighten up. “What are you do–”
“Should be asking you that,” he says. His voice is flat, no trace of his usual cheery accent to be seen.
You blink. Study his face, the scowl etched there, the pull of his brows. This isn’t the Steven you know–the one who always greets you with a smile and a quiet heya when you pass each other in the hallway. The one who knocks on your door in the middle of the night with some ancient translation he’s finally figured out, waving his notes excitedly at you. The one who brings you a doughnut on his way home from work sometimes. It’s Steven’s face, for sure, but you’ve never seen this angry expression twisting his features. It feels wrong, it feels…dangerous.
You nod toward the fish tank, where Gus is still swimming happily. Thank god. “Steven didn’t tell me his…brother…was coming to feed Gus,” you say. “I’ve been, um, watching him?”
He takes a step back, not meeting your eyes. “Right, he–he told me you’d be here.” A beat, and then, “Did you need something else?”
You can’t stop staring at him, how familiar yet alien the man standing in front of you is. You see glimpses of Steven, when he crosses his arms across his chest, but then he speaks, his voice gruff, flat, American, and the illusion is broken. He raises an eyebrow and you shake your head.
“Sorry, it’s just…Steven didn’t tell me he had a brother,” you say. “Not that–I mean, not that we’re super close, you know. I just moved in like, three–no, four months ago now, so we see each other around. Sometimes.”
You want to slap yourself for babbling–something about his intense stare, the way his dark eyes roam your face, makes you want to run and never come back. You feel rooted in place, waiting for him to pounce, and you don’t fully hate it.
His lips twitch. You want to see him smile, see if it’s the same crooked grin Steven usually sports. “Ok-ay, well, I’ll just go now,” you finally say when he doesn’t answer.
You spin around, eager to get as far away as possible when you hear him call out to you.
“Marc,” he says. “I’ll see you around.” The smile he gives you is small, more tightly controlled than Steven’s, but it still makes your heart race. Get it together.
You wave and practically sprint back to your apartment, slamming the door and leaning back against it. That could not have gone any worse. Your heart won’t stop pounding and you try to convince yourself it’s just from all the running, not the way you felt Marc’s eyes follow you out the door.
—-
You don’t see Marc–or Steven–for the next few days. You set alarms now, one before work and one at night, as a reminder to feed Gus. And if you make sure you look extra presentable when you get to Steven’s apartment, an extra coat of gloss and mascara thrown on, it’s definitely not because of Marc. 
Right. 
But each time you’re let down, the apartment as empty as you left it the time before, no sign of either Marc or Steven. You find yourself taking a few minutes every visit to straighten up some of the many books scattered around, pointedly avoiding the half-made bed in the middle of the room. 
One time you’d dropped the can of fish food and it had rolled over to the bed, getting caught in the pile of–what is that, sand?–scattered around the edges. You’d huffed, crouching down to get it, only to come face to face with a long ankle restraint tied to one leg of the bed. Your face heated, even though no one was there to see you. 
You tried not to think of Steven using it on someone—poor, sweet Steven, who you’ve known for three months now and will barely make eye contact with you. No, this seemed like something more up Marc’s alley, and you can’t help imagine his rough hands tightening the restraints across your ankles, holding your legs spread open for him as he kissed and bit his way up to your–
No. This is so wrong.
But it wasn’t wrong enough to stop the heat pooling in your stomach, the damp spot on your panties you tried to ignore. And if you touched yourself later that night, made yourself come imagining big hands and a harsh voice in your ear, well. That’s no one’s business.
Another three days pass, and you’re starting to get worried. There’s still no sign of Steven, and you don’t think he’s ever been gone this long–what is he even doing? It’s not like this is a work trip, right? Do museum gift shop workers even get leave from work? There’s mail beginning to pile up outside his door, and when you deposit the stack on the kitchen counter during your next visit a small envelope catches your attention.
Marc Spector is written on the front. There’s no return address. Weird–you’d just assumed he and Steven would have the same last name. You quickly place the envelope back with the rest of the mail. It’s not your business, you scold yourself. But that doesn’t stop you from googling Marc Spector when you get home and–nothing. Not even the usual abandoned Facebook page, the years-old photo tag from some distant relatives. A search of Steven Grant brings you to the wiki page for some Indiana Jones-style 80s movie. Another dead end, of course.
You consider calling the police, reporting Steven (and Marc) missing, but what could you even say? Hey, my neighbor and his mysterious secret twin brother are missing, no I don’t know where they could be, I’m just here to feed his fish, I don’t even have either of their phone numbers. It sounds crazy just thinking about it. Jesus. You toss and turn that night, finally telling yourself that if you don’t hear from Steven by the morning, you’ll go back to his apartment and look for a number for someone to call for help. You slip into a restless sleep soon after, images of Steven’s big puppy eyes and Marc’s scowling face flashing through your mind.
Bang. 
Something scrapes across the floor and then you hear a muffled curse. Your eyes spring open, heart practically beating its way out of your chest as you try to orient yourself in the dark room. You fumble for your phone on the nightstand–dead, because of course you forgot to plug it in last night. A loud crash from the kitchen has you shooting up out of bed, grabbing for the only weapon-like thing available. You grip a high heel in your hand, ready to stab whoever decided to make the mistake of breaking into your apartment and interrupting your sleep.
There in the low light, sitting at your kitchen table, is–fuck, it’s Steven. He doesn’t look good, sweaty and dirty and tired. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy trying to reach over his shoulder for something. His shirt is on the floor, shredded, along with the bottle of vodka you keep in the freezer for “emergencies.” What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side. “Steven, are you–what happened?”
“Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now. 
“Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.
“Can you–” he gestures impatiently to his shoulder. You walk over in a trance, trying not to feel self-conscious in your sleep shorts and tank top, coming to a hesitant stop behind him. There’s a gash running across his shoulder blade and you gasp. A trickle of blood rolls down his back.
You flutter your hand around the makeshift rag he has pressed there. You can’t stop staring at his back, the shift of muscles as he tries to hold his other hand in place to stop the bleeding. He’s so broad and warm, heat radiating off of him into the chilly air around you. You make a noise in your throat and he huffs.
“Oh fuck, what–what is this?” you ask. Stupid question. You press down on the rag–is that one of your shirts? that fucker–and he groans, shifting in the chair.
“Just–can you just help,” Marc rasps. He twists around to meet your eyes, careful not to jostle your hand on his shoulder. “Please.”
Yeah, you’re fucked. It shouldn’t be this attractive, listening to him beg for your help, twisting in your kitchen chair in the middle of the night. You can’t help but think of other places you want to hear him beg and a flush creeps up your face.
“Okay, yeah,” you finally say. Clear your throat and think of the bare bones first aid kit underneath your bathroom sink. “But maybe you should just go to the hospital–”
“No!” His voice booms through the room and you freeze. “No, it’s–it’s not that bad, please.” His voice is soft, pleading. “Just a scratch, promise.”
A scratch? But he looks so confident–“okay,” you whisper against your better judgment. “Stay here, let me get my, uh, kit.”
His shoulders slump in relief. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go or I would’ve. I didn’t want to bother you but, Steven–” He pauses. “Steven clearly trusts you, so I figured…you’re my best option here.”
His words send butterflies through your stomach. You tear your eyes away from his clenched jaw, mumble something again about getting the kit. You’re relieved to find everything you need tucked away, praying it’s not as bad as it looks. You couldn’t sew to save your life, but for Marc you’d try. And if it’s really bad, well tough shit—you’d find some way to drag him to the hospital. 
He’s drinking from the bottle of vodka when you come back, head tilted back as he swallows deeply. A drop escapes from the corner of his mouth and you track it down his neck until it disappears beneath his tank top. You clear your throat and he turns to look at you, hissing when the movement pulls his wound open.
“Stop moving,” you scold, ripping the bottle from his hand and placing it on the table next to you. 
You’ve seen enough survival movies to know that disinfecting the wound is the basic first step, but really, what the hell can you do after that? You don’t have any medical experience, can barely handle your own papercuts–let alone a huge open wound on someone else. You take a shaky breath, feeling slightly hysterical; here’s this man you barely know practically bleeding out in your kitchen in the middle of the night, waiting for your help, instead of going to the hospital like a normal person. Plenty of time to freak out later, once Marc is gone, you remind yourself.
He’s silent in the chair, shoulders tense. His tank top flaps open where his skin is split–oh Marc, what have you gotten yourself into? 
“I’m gonna,” you clear your throat. “Can you, um, take your shirt off? I can’t see.”
“Sure, doc,” he grumbles. You roll your eyes at the jab–you are technically a doctor, of philosophy though, not medicine, but you’re not sure if he knows that. You help him lift the shirt from his back, making sure it doesn’t catch on the edges of the cut. Thankfully he’s right, it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s shallow enough that you’re pretty sure you can get away with just cleaning it up and covering it with gauze, no sewing necessary.
“This is gonna hurt,” you warn. He grits his teeth and nods, turning his head away to stare out into the living room. 
You grab a clean piece of gauze, douse it in vodka–no rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit, but this’ll be better than nothing. Your other hand runs down the non-injured side of his back, hoping to soothe him a little. Instead he tenses up even more, spits out get on with it. So you do, pressing the vodka-soaked gauze right onto the cut, ignoring his groan of pain. Wipe away the smears of blood left behind–thank god it wasn’t still actively bleeding, just needed to be cleaned and wrapped up. 
He hisses when you dab the edges of the cut, reaching his hand out behind him. You pass him the bottle silently, trying to ignore the pull of his throat, the way his thick fingers grip the bottle. Steven would never drink with you, no matter how many times you’d offered. Marc doesn’t even flinch at the sting of vodka, and you wonder idly if this was some parent trap twin situation–they really couldn’t be more different.
You pull the bottle out of his hands, placing your lips where his just were, ignoring the bite of the still-cold vodka. The alcohol rushes through you, warming your veins and settling low in your stomach. 
“Should you be drinking on the job?” He sounds amused. You scoff.
“Not even my job,” you mumble. Press a little too hard on the edge of his cut with the gauze accidentally-on-purpose, just to hear him bite back a whimper and pull away from you. You grab his shoulders and manhandle him back into the seat. “Hold still, ’m almost done.”
It’s silent besides the sound of you cutting the medical tape and Marc’s labored breathing. There’s so many questions brewing in your mind, but you bite your tongue and keep working, not wanting to upset him again. You press one last piece of tape to his back, hoping your patch job will last until–if–he finally decides to go to the doctor.
“All done,” you finally say, tapping his non-injured shoulder. Marc grunts and twists around to try to see what you’ve done. 
You shove him back into the chair. “Don’t, you’ll undo all my hard work.”
“Thanks, doc,” he mumbles. Then he sits up straight like he’s going to get up and leave, without any sort of explanation for what the hell is going on. A flash of anger rises in you and you try to bite it back.
“Why?” you ask. He stops lacing his boots and stares at you. His eyes are just a little darker than Steven’s, you notice, a little sharper–more wolf than puppy. You shake the thought away.
“You gonna tell me what happened? Where Steven is?” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting them land on your bare thighs with a smack. His eyes drop to your legs and back to your face so quickly you almost miss it.
Marc runs a hand through his hair, disrupting his neatly gelled curls even more. “Steven is…away.”
“Away,” you repeat. He nods quickly, inching towards the door like he wants to make a run for it. 
“But you know when he’ll be back.” It’s not a question.
He pauses, brows scrunched. A scowl pulls at his lips. “Yeah, I do.” 
He makes another move to the door and your anger rises again–how dare he come into your house, uninvited, in the middle of the night, to demand your help, and give you vague non-answers to what you think should be pretty simple questions. You move quickly to stand in front of the door, stopping him with a hand to his chest. His heart beats quickly beneath your palm. 
“I don’t get to know that? I’ve been here, waiting, taking care of poor Gus for what, almost two weeks now? I should’ve never said yes, should’ve never got–”
His lips, warm and firm against yours, stop your train of thought. Your eyes fly open in shock, mouth frozen, before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips and you melt into his embrace. Stupid traitor body. 
You twirl your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and yank and he groans, pulling you even closer as his chapped lips meet yours again. You can feel him harden against your thigh and that snaps you out of it. You pull back, ignoring the question on his face, and slap him. Hard. 
The only sound in the room is both of your heavy breathing, and then:
“What the fuck?” He looks confused, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. “What–”
“Doesn’t feel good, does it,” you say bitterly. “Being lied to. Not getting a straight answer.” You can’t look at his stupid, kissable face right now. You don’t even know him really, this stranger with your cute neighbor’s face. How stupid of you to even get involved.
“Oh honey, I–you don’t,” he takes a deep breath and grabs your limp hand. “Look at me, please? I’d tell you if I could, promise, I don’t–don’t want you to get hurt, understand?”
Your mind whirls, trying to process the kiss and his words and the kiss. He smells so good somehow, despite everything, a little sweaty and a little smoky. You exhale shakily and he steps closer, nudging your chin up to look at him. His brow furrows as he searches your face. When he swipes his thumb across your cheekbone your pulse leaps. 
“Are you…in danger? Did you bring who-whoever did that to you back here?” You should be angry at him but you’re just bone-tired, now that the adrenaline is fading. 
“No, no, of course not,” he says. He notices your hesitation and adds, “But I could…stay with you tonight, if you want? Just to, you know, make sure. Least I can do.” 
His eyes are huge, pleading–even if you wanted to say no, you know you couldn’t.
“Fine,” you say, like you’re doing him a favor. You point to the mess of bloody gauze and assorted clothing strewn across the kitchen. “But you’re cleaning this up tomorrow.”
“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it.” His face is soft in the early morning lighting, a little sleepy. A little more like Steven. You want to run your hands through his hair again, mess it up even more. 
Marc is a silent shadow as you lead him to your bedroom, kicking a random shirt under the bed as you go. You sink down to the mattress with a groan and he watches with sharp eyes from the doorway. 
You want to be mean, tell him since this is his mess he’s gotten you into, he can stand there all night for all you care. But then you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are, the way he sways in place, leaning heavily on the door frame–when’s the last time he had a good night’s sleep? you wonder–and a pang of guilt hits you. 
Heart pounding, you pull the blanket up beside you, scooting to one side to make room for him behind you. When he doesn’t move you pat the empty space, gesturing for him to get over here.
He hesitates, until you snap get in already, before i change my mind, and he finally lowers himself down next to you with a grunt, careful to avoid pulling his bad shoulder. It’s quiet, the occasional sounds of the city outside filtering through the open window. You close your eyes and try to relax, try to ignore the fact that Marc is here in your bed. With you. He fidgets, fingers brushing the side of your bare thigh and you freeze. 
Just when you think he’s finally asleep, his voice breaks the silence with a low whisper. “Thanks, doc. Really.”
“Of course.” Your voice is just as hushed as his. You reach out in the dark for his hand, brushing his pinky with yours. He links his finger with yours and that’s how you finally fall asleep, Marc’s warm body next to yours and a small smile on your face.
—-
He’s gone the next morning of course–it’s almost noon when you finally drag yourself out of bed, the spot next to you cold and vacant. The kitchen is spotless, no sign of any of last night’s struggle, and a box of donuts from your favorite cafe sits on the table. A note is shoved under the box in what you recognize as Marc’s messy scrawl: Steven told me these are your favorite. Thank you.
It shouldn’t make your stomach swoop, this little act of kindness, but it does. You think about Marc while you get ready to go out, staring at your messy sheets where you can imagine the imprint of his body lingers. You think about him during dinner with your friends, when you see a man with dark curly hair at the table behind you kissing his date. You think of the long line of Marc’s throat when you take shot after shot at the bar, pretending the heat in your stomach is just from the alcohol. You think of him when you crawl into bed afterwards, a little tipsy, and imagine you can still smell him on your pillow. You fall asleep too quickly, with your hand down your pants and his name on your lips.
You wake up the next morning to a (thankfully) manageable hangover and a text from an unknown local number:
Be back soon! Thank you again for watching Gus! xx 
The reminder of Gus makes you groan; if it was anyone else, you would’ve given up by now, pawned the fish off to someone else to worry about, but then you think of Steven’s happy little smile for you (if he ever comes back) and later that night you trudge your way up to his apartment.
The bottom lock sticks, again, but this time there’s no shirtless Marc there to catch you on the other side–you stumble in and kick the door shut angrily behind you. And then you notice someone in Steven’s bed. 
He’s kicked the covers off, a thin sheet crumpled around his bare waist and a hand resting just above the waistband of his briefs. The ankle strap is tied tightly around his leg and you feel your cheeks heat up. Stop being a perv and just leave, jesus–you’re just turning to quietly slink back to your apartment when you hear it: he murmurs your name, brow furrowed even in sleep.
You stop, thinking you’ve been caught creeping. “Steven?” you whisper. “Marc?”
He turns, thrashing around with a low whimper. The sheet drags even lower and you avert your eyes. You should leave for real, he’s definitely not awake, and you don’t even want to think about trying to explain yourself when he wakes up and sees you just standing there looking at him.
And then you step on a creaky spot on the floor and he bolts upright. He’s sweating, bare chest glinting in the low light as he looks around, wild eyes finally landing on you hovering in the doorway. 
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you joke. A scowl pulls his features–okay, definitely Marc. 
“How–but you…” he trails off. He looks around, disoriented, and then he drags his gaze back to you sharply. “Did you see Steven at all?”
“N-no,” you stammer. “He’s okay though, right?”
“He’s fine,” Marc promises. “Should be back, uh, soon?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said last week,” you mutter. He just looks at you helplessly, and you take that as your cue to leave.
“As fun as this has been,” you say, “I’m gonna…go. I’ll leave the keys, since you’re here. Tell Steven I said hey, whenever you see him.” You run your fingers along the fluffy bear on Steven’s keychain one last time before turning towards the door. 
Then, in a voice so low you almost miss it, Marc says, “Wait, please. You can–you can stay, if you want.”
“Stay and…?” you trail off. “What, to watch you sleep?” He looks at you again, eyes so wide and pleading and so much like Steven it makes your heart break. “You’re serious.”
“I, um.” he rubs a hand across his jaw, scratching the thick stubble. “Had a nightmare. It’s usually better when there’s someone here, with me.”
You feel a spark of jealousy at his words, imagining the revolving door of different girls he’s probably gotten into his bed with that cheesy line, how many he’d sweet-talked into giving it up for him. Girls like the brooding angsty thing, right? But then you look at him a little longer, see the sheen of sweat sticking his curls to the side of his head. The perpetual dark shadows under his eyes. The way he’d called your name in his sleep. So you agree.
It’s dark, the light of the moon outside guiding you towards the bed. He’s laying on his back watching you with an arm behind his head, the picture of relaxation, and you can’t help the pulse of desire you feel. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You stand awkwardly at the edge of the bed, unsure how much or how little you should keep on. What’s the protocol for sleeping in bed with a guy you barely know for the second time?
Marc solves the dilemma for you–he reaches for a shirt on the side of the bed, passes it to you without a word. You recognize it as one of Steven’s museum shirts, the Really Makes You Sphinx one with the faded cartoon sphinx in the middle. Your fingers brush his as you reach for it and you shudder, quickly pulling the t-shirt over your head, shucking your pants and socks off as you do, and climb in next to him. 
His fingers brush your bare thigh as he turns to look at you. You shift and he just looks at you, dark eyes watching your every move like a hawk. That feeling of danger is back, every instinct telling you to get out of there, now, but this time instead of running away from it, you want to run to him. You want to let him ruin you. 
“Alright?” he murmurs softly and you nod. 
“How’s your shoulder?” you finally ask. He turns to let you see it, the barely-healed scar that he’d sloppily taped over. You run your fingers around the edges of the tape, then down his spine, notch by notch, and he shivers.
“All good thanks to you, doc,” he says. You hum and he turns to look at you, tracing the knuckles of your hand mindlessly. 
“Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare?” you blurt out.
His face hardens and he pulls his hand back to pick at a loose thread in the sheets. You miss the warmth immediately. “Not particularly,” he says after a moment, and you don’t push it.
“Yeah, okay,” you whisper. “Let’s just–here, lay down.”
You stretch your arms above your head, listening to the crack of your joints–you really hadn’t slept well last night, between the drinking and thinking about Marc…you’d been sloppy, too uncoordinated to get the angle of your fingers right and you’d fallen asleep even more frustrated. It all comes rushing back now, seeing him in person, rumpled and sleepy and dangerous but–vulnerable. It’s intoxicating and you shift to rub your thighs together, hoping for even a little bit of friction.
If Marc notices, he doesn’t say anything. Maybe you’re only imagining his heated gaze on your bare skin, the way your shirt–Steven’s shirt–lifts as you stretch. And maybe you can blame the sudden perking of your nipples on the chilly room, definitely nothing to do with Marc. Nope.
He leans back with a grunt, waving off your concern when you look at his injured shoulder. You hesitate, just for a second, but then your desire to sleep–just sleep–with him wins out. He watches you crawl over with half-lidded eyes, dragging a hand around your waist to pull you in even closer. He settles over you with a sigh, one arm right under your breasts, so close you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against your back. His breath is warm against the back of your neck, and when he whispers you okay? in your ear you nod and hope he can’t see the goosebumps there.
At first you’re stiff, not used to being this close to someone, and then his breathing evens out and he–he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, barely a brush of lips but it sets you on fire. You feel his lips pull into a smile against your neck as you fidget in his grasp.
“Go to sleep,” he groans. “’M tired, know you are too.”
You whine, pushing yourself back into him, hoping to change his mind, to get him to do something, but he just kisses your neck again, says nope, goodnight, and that’s that. You try to ignore the throbbing of your clit, the way your panties are sticking uncomfortably to your body and focus on the deep pulls of his breath behind you. Eventually you settle, lulled to sleep by Marc’s warm body behind you, holding on to you so tightly like he’s scared that’ll you’ll disappear when he wakes up.
—-
You were cold when you left your apartment, but you’re suddenly warm, almost uncomfortably so. Light streams through the curtains and you crack an eye open. There’s not much noise outside yet–it must still be early. You just settle back down into the bed, and then you hear a light snore behind you and remember where you are.
Your eyes fly open. Steven’s apartment. With Marc.
He’s even a cute sleeper, mouth open slightly as he snores. His brow is still slightly furrowed, even in his sleep–jesus, does he ever relax? His usual slicked-back curls are all over the place, fluffy and mussed from moving around. If you squint, he looks just like Steven. You resist the urge to smooth a piece of hair back from his face, laying back down and staring at a small crack in the ceiling. 
Marc makes a noise and you think you’ve woken him up but he’s still sleeping, arms reaching out for you. You scoot closer and he yanks you back against him, throws a leg over yours to hold you there (as if you’d even want to leave) and that’s how you fall back asleep, cuddled up to Marc as the early morning sunlight streaks in through the window.
The next time you wake up, it’s to Marc’s hard cock pressing against your back.
It takes you a moment to process what’s happening. Steven’s apartment. Steven’s bed. Marc. Nightmare. Cuddling. And–
The desire from last night comes flooding back in a rush–you wiggle back just a little, just to see what’ll happen. You can feel the wet spot on the front of his boxers as it drags along your exposed skin. You’re so warm, bursting into flames just at this simple contact.
Marc grunts, shifts again so his arm is around your chest, fingers grazing your nipple. You whimper at the light contact and roll your hips back again, intentionally. He’s so hard and firm and you try to shift to get the angle just right when you feel his breathing change. He’s awake now.
“Marc,” you whimper, and he noses along the back of your neck, tweaking your nipple.
“G’morning to you, too,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He grips your hips tightly and rolls his hips, letting you feel how hard he is. Even through your layers of clothes, he feels big.
“Please, Marc,” you whine, reaching back to grab at his hair, and he groans, flipping you over so he can settle on top of you. His hips are perfectly aligned for you to grind up into him, the friction so good but still not enough.
“Driving me fuckin’ crazy, the way you keep saying my name,” he huffs. “First time I saw you, had to stop what I was doing and just fuck my own hand–feel what you do to me, huh baby?”
You’re burning up, at his words, at how close he is, trying to get your shirt off without moving him out of place. He grins, wolfish, and swats your hands away, rolling it up and off your body. His eyes are everywhere on your newly exposed skin, leaning down to mouth at the side of your breast, pressing light kisses as he goes. He bites down lightly and you moan. 
His eyes are molten, so dark as he watches your reactions. The way you arch up into his mouth when he sucks a nipple. How your fingers twist in his hair and yank him up to your mouth. He kisses you like he’s on a mission, like he knows exactly what he wants from you. It’s hot, the way he takes control. 
“Can I put my mouth on you, please, can I? Been dreaming about getting my mouth on you, on this sweet little pussy. Tell me what you want, baby, please.”
“Yeah, okay,” you croak. As if you’d say no to him. Marc grins, a huge smile that you can feel as he presses one last kiss to your neck before settling down at the foot of the bed. His broad shoulders push your legs open even more and for a moment he just runs his hand up your inner thigh, letting his warm breath fan over you until you’re squirming in his grip.
You reach down and tug his hair when he tries to muffle his whimper in your leg. “Stop teasing.”
And he listens, finally, pausing only to roll your soaked panties down and throw them into the corner of the room. You have a brief moment of panic when you think about Steven finding them later, and then every thought flies out of your head when he leans down and licks a wide stripe from your dripping hole up to your clit. A low moan tears from your throat.
He hums against you when you rake your hands through his hair and pull a little harder this time. He groans, sucking your clit lightly between his lips and you practically leap off the bed. One of his hands comes to hold you down, spreading across your hip and pressing you further into the bed. You can’t escape it, can’t escape him–the rough scrape of his stubble, the steady pressure around your clit, the way he gently presses a finger into you at the same time and rubs at the spongy spot there.
The hand not holding you down is under him, working his boxers off and fisting his cock–he’s flushed, practically dripping and he pulls back to swipe two fingers through your slick and use it to lube himself up. It’s so dirty and hot that you can’t help but grab him, pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips.
“See,” Marc says, smug. “Knew you would taste good. Even better’n I dreamed about.”
You blush and grab at his arms, trying to get him to move, to let you get on top. It’s like trying to move a solid wall, he’s so broad, and he laughs as you struggle. He tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth as he flops back. Marc reaches up to pull you closer and you don’t miss the wince he tries to hide when his shoulder lifts. 
You stop moving immediately and he whines. Loudly.
“Thought you said your shoulder was better,” you say faux-seriously. Roll your hips on him slowly, letting his cock settle in between your bare lips. He grips your hips in his sweaty hands.
“It’s fine, you can fix it again after–please, I need you,” he groans. His eyes never leave your cunt, watching as you drag your slick over him again and again. You lift your hips, hovering over him, and he grits his teeth at the loss of contact.
His grip on your hips tightens, trying to pull you back down, but you sit up out of his reach. He thrusts up into you, leaving a smear of precum on the inside of your thigh that glistens in the morning light.
He looks wrecked, flush running down his cheeks to his chest. He can’t sit still, running his hands over your bare skin, pleading with you to do something, please, c’mon. Finally you take mercy on him, gripping the base of his dick and lining it up to where you’re practically dripping. You sink down slowly, feeling the stretch, the way his thighs tense with the effort of holding back.
He bites back a groan and you can’t help but let out a small whimper. He’s so warm and solid and thick inside you–you clench down, just to feel his cock pulse inside you, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass.
“Oh god, please,” he begs. “This’ll be over–fuck–over too quick if you keep doing that.”
“Shit, Marc,” you groan when he shifts his hips, angling the wide head of his cock to catch perfectly on that spongy spot inside you. You roll your hips over him again and again, leaning forward to kiss him. The angle catches your clit just right and you cry out.
“Gonna come on my cock, baby? Go ahead, please, ruin me for anyone else. Never even wanna look at anyone else, yeah, just you. Fuck, you’re–you’re so good to me, feels so good,” he babbles.
Marc shoves his hips up once, twice, reaching down to roll your swollen clit between his fingers. The pressure is so good, exactly what you need and you come with a cry of his name, suddenly. 
When you open your eyes again he’s already watching you, a tiny smile on his face that quickly shifts into a look of need when you clench down on him again. You can feel him twitch inside you when you cup your breast in your hand, swirling a finger around your nipple. He groans.
“Please, baby, where do you want it? I can’t–please don’t stop.” He’s staring at the slick leaking out of you onto his dick, the squelch when you lift yourself up and down so loud in the room, a harsh fuck tumbling out of his lips.
“Come in me,” you say, and that’s all it takes for him to throw his head back with a groan, muscles locking as he holds you down on his pulsing cock, letting you feel the surge of warm come deep inside you. You can feel it leak out when you lift yourself with a groan and flop back on the bed.
It’s quiet for a moment as you both catch your breath. He rolls over to face you, cupping your jaw in his hand, kissing you slowly. You melt into his arms, letting his steady breathing lull you back to sleep, and then your eyes fly open and you pull back.
“Maybe don’t, um, tell Steven I was here?” 
He gives you a crooked grin, eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry, honey–’m good at keeping secrets.”
masterlist here
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cowboymarcs · 6 months
Text
needy
steven grant x fem! reader
summary: steven grant was nothing if not needy in bed.
warnings: smut, slightly dom!steven, oral sex
steven grant was nothing if not needy in bed. his glazed over eyes, glossy lips and scrunched eyebrows said it all. he needed you. you could see it now, the hunger inside him. his eyes stayed locked with yours as he slowly sunk to his knees, the floorboards creaking underneath him. you were only in your panties now, wet at the crazed look on steven’s face. your body hummed with anticipation. you knew what he was going to do to you. you knew that he was going to take you and taste you until you were screaming.
steven’s fingers ghosted up and down your legs, raising goosebumps and making you clench, the lace of your panties becoming soaked. steven’s hands gripped your ass, pressing his mouth to your thighs, kissing and licking and sucking on your supple skin. 
“you’re so beautiful, darling. i want you so badly.” your whole body blushed and warmed at his sheer honesty. 
“then have me.” your voice was shaky but sure. 
it was all steven needed to hear as he gripped your thighs, turning you and bending you over the bed. you gasped. he was still on his knees you realized. he wasn’t going to fuck you - not yet. he spread your cheeks, hands cupping them and nails digging crescent shapes into the plump flesh. he nipped your right cheek, leaving a love mark there. his heart swelled while looking at it, knowing that he was marking you as his. 
he kissed his way to your center, tongue laving over your already wet panties. he could taste you through them, and his need for you strengthened. he wanted - no, he needed you on his cock soon. he wasted no time getting rid of your panties, sliding them down around your ass. he watched in awe as your pussy was exposed to him, mouth salivating. your pussy clenched and unclenched, needing to feel him inside of you. 
you subtly pushed your hips back, pushing your aching cunt in his face, and whimpering. steven took this as a hint to run his fingers along your slit.
“so wet, love. this all for me? such a pretty pussy.” you moaned at his dirty words, your core hot and tingling. steven’s fingers ran downwards, circling around your clit before traveling up again and teasing your entrance. 
“please steven.” you were desperate for him, almost as desperate as he was for you. although you were soaked and begging for him, his cock was achingly hard at the thought of you. he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, leaning forward and pressing his face into your dripping cunt. you couldn’t control your moans, burying your face in the duvet as steven lapped at your juices. 
his tongue fucked in and out of you, ravaging you. he stretched your hole with his tongue while his fingers ran tight circles around your clit. his own moans matched yours, vibrating along your cunt. you could feel his desperation through his tight grip on your hips. you could feel him rutting up against the bed, the sight of your pussy becoming too much for him to bear. 
steven swapped his fingers for his tongue, plunging his thick digits into your tight hole, sliding in easily. his lips sealed around your clit, sucking and licking frantically. you gasped at his newfound speed, moaning louder, and body shaking. your knees wobbled as steven feasted on you. you could feel your climax rising, pussy clenching around his fingers. 
“oh my god, don’t stop! please, please don’t stop steven!” you moaned, guttural pleasure racking through you. steven’s efforts doubled, sucking harder and fucking you faster. his other hand reached down to jerk himself off, imagining that you were wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers. 
your orgasm washed over you, your body on fire, you called out his name. steven’s fingers fucked you through it, slowing as you came down from the high. steven pulled his fingers out of you, coated with slick cum. you whimpered at the loss of them before turning your head to look at your lover. you watched as he popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, tasting you a final time. 
steven looked at you through his lashes. he wasn’t done with you yet. you could still see the need in his eyes, the hazy lust that flickered in his pupils. he stood, pulling his boxers down, his cock bouncing up and smacking against his stomach. 
“you ready for more, love?” your only answer was a moan as he took you from the back. 
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melodygatesauthor · 9 months
Text
Marc Spector - Venom Host Edition - Random Horny Thot #1 - Feral
I blame @guruan for planting the seed that grew these thots. (affectionate blame of course)
NSFW
----
Marc comes home, breathing heavy, so much sweat covering his body it's as though he's been swimming. He slams the door, narrowing his eyes. They darken as he charges forward at you. He grabs you, pulling you close and slamming his lips into yours desperately, nearly drawing blood with the force your teeth hit your skin. The kisses are passionate, but also very...hungry.
You can't hear the thing that has corrupted his body, working its way into every cell like a parasite. Venom, it calls itself. 'Hungry,' it keeps saying inside Marc's mind. What it's hungry for, Marc doesn't know yet. It isn't interested in food at the moment, it seems to be only interested in you.
He gets his bearings and steps back away from you, eyes wide and full of terror as he looks you up and down.
"Go! Get away from me!" He yells, seconds before he loses control again.
Black stringy tendrils cage you into his chest, and he starts melting his mouth into you again, but this time you feel something long and wet snaking past your lips. It's like a tongue, but longer, thicker. You gag on it, trying desperately to get free from its grip. This isn't Marc, or at least, it isn't fully Marc.
He can't stop himself from feeling your throat with the new tongue he possesses. It's like he is tasting it, but he can hear the voice in his head tasting you too, commenting on how delicious you are and how it wants more. The creature uses Marc's arms to bring you to the bed, and you writhe in protest.
You shriek, and that pisses the symbiote off. It uses its amorphous body to make a limb that covers your mouth. Marc is hovering over you, black, shiny tendrils sticking out in various areas, and he looks terrifying.
"Marc, we want to taste her..." the creature growls inside of Marc.
"No! No we do not!" He yells back to Venom, but to you he looks insane, like he's yelling at himself.
The creature wastes no more time, it's ripping your sweats from your body like they personally wronged him. It uses its fluid figure to push your knees up by your head, all while keeping your mouth covered. Marc's face is brought, against his will (although he didn't mind), down so he's eye level with your cunt.
"Honey, why are you so fuckin' wet? Are you enjoying-"
"Yes she is enjoying this, lick her, do it!" The voice orders, and Marc listens.
He focuses on your clit, he knows what he's doing, having done it a hundred times before. He circles around the swollen nub, relishing in your delicious arousal over his tastebuds. You moan deeply, arching your back. Normally Marc has to use his fingers to get you to sound like this, but that's when he stops to look down and realizes...Venom's made a phallic shape with its body and is pumping itself into you while Marc makes a meal of your clit.
"Keep going Marc, she likes it, and it tastes good...I'm so hungry..."
"You better not fucking hurt her." Marc says lowly, but continues flicking his tongue over you despite his concerns.
It was right, you do seem to be liking the extra stimulation the symbiote can provide, and you do taste delicious. Marc doesn't know if the symbiote he accidentally adopted from the lab is a sexual being, but it seems keen on making you squirm. It runs two thin tentacle-like arms under your shirt and Marc sees them teasing your nipples.
You start groaning like Marc had never heard you before, body convulsing and trembling. Is his tongue even doing anything for you anymore? Venom seems to have it all under control. Marc stops again, and your eyes shoot him a daring glare.
"Of course she can feel what you're doing, idiot. Keep going, she's squeezing around me...I think she's close." It sounds eager, rough, and like it's excited to feel you come.
Like minds.
When you do come, you're grateful that Venom has your mouth covered, otherwise you'd be explaining something very awkward to your neighbors. It's deep inside of you, hitting your cervix with ease while Marc continues licking your sensitive bundle of nerves. It's too much, you're done coming and they both keep going anyway.
"I like those sounds she's making, what happens if we go faster?"
You're wriggling, trying to break free, feeling the build up inside your core that you can't shake. You're fighting to tell them to move, to explain to them that this isn't what they think it is. It feels like...like you're going to...
The pressure releases, and you see the clear liquid spraying from your body and there's nothing you can do. You're ashamed, but it feels too good to fathom. It's so messy, so wet, and it's everywhere.
"There, that's good." The symbiote says slowly, before Marc is finally given peace.
He's breathing heavily, a heap on the bed, still drenched in sweat, and whatever you'd just covered him in. You're no better, finally able to get the oxygen fully into your lungs, chest heaving while you lay on the bed.
"Baby," Marc says when he's finally able to crawl up to the head of the bed and lay next to you, "are you alright?"
You look at him and nod slowly, "I...I want more."
----
Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!
Random Blurbs Masterlist
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sl-ut · 1 year
Text
tipsy
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: jake lockley x fem!reader, slight marc spector and steven grant x fem!reader (reader is in a relationship with the system)
description: y/n returns from a night out with her girls and can’t resist from how beautiful her boyfriend is.
warnings: SMUT, reader is intoxicated (just tipsy, not wasted) and kind of a bitch, mocking, oral (m receiving), shower sex, moonboys arguing
words: 3K
date posted: 18/01/23
The apartment was silent when Jake jolted awake, save for the bubbling of Gus’s fish tank and the faded roar of London’s nightlife. He groaned, neck clicking back into place as he leaned back into the desk chair, cursing at Steven for nodding off in such an uncomfortable position. His sight was fuzzy, eyes still heavy with sleep as he glanced at his surroundings; several books on Egyptology laid spread open across the top of the desk, an uncapped highlighter tossed carelessly on the floor and a series of fluorescent yellow smudges staining his fingertips. Sighing, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaving it exactly how he found it–Steven could clean up his own mess–as he reached into the cupboard for a bottle of amber whiskey. 
He took three small sips from it, careful not to allow himself to feel any sort of strong effects from the alcohol, as he always did when Y/n went out with her friends, always prepared to go pick her up in the early hours of the morning if he needed. He glanced at the clock on the oven, squinting to read the bright green letters.
3:36 AM.
His eyes immediately shot over to the bed, alarmed when he found the blankets in the same haphazardly made fashion that Steven had left them in as he rushed out the door to work; the boys had quickly learned to do so in order to avoid a lecture from their girlfriend. 
“Damn it Steven, you were supposed to stay awake until she got home,” He swore as he turned to meet Steven’s snarky stare in the reflection of the window. 
I’m sorry, but she’s not normally out this late, Steven huffed, Usually a night out has her home and in bed by midnight.
Jake, He turned his head to find Marc in the reflection of Gus’s tank, He's right, she should be home by now.
Panic arose in his chest. Quickly, he abandoned the bottle of whiskey on the desk as he crossed the small studio apartment, forcing himself through the closed bathroom door. He called her name frantically, catching Steven once again in the bathroom mirror.
I’m sure she’s alright, maybe she called after I nodded off.
Jake nodded, turning into the bedroom and pausing. The personal cell phone that they all shared was not in its usual place on the bedside table, nor was it in the pants that Steven had worn to work that day, or small pocket inside his satchel. Jake ignored the Brit’s yelling of discontent as he watched him dump the contents of his brown leather bag on the floor, searching through the mess of papers and granola bar wrappers.
“Where the hell did you leave it, Steven?”
He stopped in his tracks at the sound of a key shakily being jammed into the lock, trained eyes watching as the lock began to turn and the door slowly creaked open, and finally letting out a breath of air as he watched his girlfriend stumble over the threshold of the apartment. 
“Helloooooo,” She sang out, jumbled giggled falling from her lips, “I’m here, somebody come love me, please!”
Jake shook his head as he stifled his chuckle, stepping forward and into the dim lighting provided by Steven’s desk lamp. His eyes did a quick scan over her body, searching for any sign of blood or injury, though the only sign of a struggle was the long run in her tights and her lack of shoes.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, though a mischievous grin spread across her cheeks as she leaned across the back of the couch, “Well hey there, big boy.”
He smirked, copying her posture as he rested his shoulder against one of the many vertical beams. He could tell by the way that she was looking at him that she was attempting to figure out exactly who she was talking to. Her eyes flickered over to the desk, taking in the dishevelled appearance of the books and the man who had once been sitting there. 
“Are you just gonna stand there?”
He nodded at her, refusing to speak so that she would need to guess which one of the three it was. On a regular day, it would be easy for her, but in her state it might have been more difficult. 
“Well,” she slid forward to stand in front of the desk, “These are all Steven’s books here, but from the looks of them,” she fingered at the crumpled and folded pages before glancing over her shoulder at him, “And you, he fell asleep.” She turned, pushing the books back so that she could boost herself onto the edge of the wooden desk, “But Steven doesn’t drink whiskey.”
Jake nodded once more as she gazed at him through hooded eyes, slowly fluttering her lashes in a manner that she knew would have any of them weak in the knees. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest to mock the way that Marc might stand. 
“Hi Jake.”
He scoffed, dropping his arms as he crossed the room to stand right in front of her. He allowed her to tug him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her hands over his arms to knead his biceps gently. 
“How’d you know it wasn’t Marc?”
She smirked up at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “You didn’t look grumpy enough.”
His head rolled back as a hearty laugh rumbled out of his chest, growing even deeper as Marc shouted in protest and Steven agreed with her. 
“Oh,” He rested his hand on his belly, “He didn’t like that, princesa.”
She shrugged, leaning forward to nudge his nose with her own, “He can punish me for it later. But for now…” Her hands slid down his arms, around his back and landed just above his bum as she tightened her legs around him, “I’m all yours.”
He allowed her to press a warm, sloppy kiss to his awaiting lips, but didn’t allow it go any further as she began to wiggle against him. 
“We were worried about you,” He told her, “You’re usually home a lot earlier.”
“I know,” She shrugged, “I called and texted.”
“I couldn’t find the phone,” He admitted.
She raised a brow as she glanced down, nodding in the direction of where the phone was almost entirely covered in scattered paper, save for the corner. 
“Well apparently I didn’t look quite as hard as I could have.”
“Apparently not.”
Where are her shoes?
“What happened to your shoes?” He asked, both genuinely concerned and hoping to change the subject from his failure to find a scarcely hidden cell phone. 
“I took them off.” She shrugged, “I think Jenny has them.”
Now what if she had stepped on a needle or-or a sharp rock? 
Check her feet, they might be bleeding. 
Jake did as Marc instructed, stepping away and unwrapping himself from her limbs so that he could inspect her feet. They were dirty, of course, and the sheer fabric around the bottoms of her feet was torn up. There appeared to have been a few scrapes from the sidewalk, but the worst of the injuries were the two large busted blisters on each of her heels, oozing blood and various other fluids. 
“Shit, cariño.” Jake rushed to the bathroom, returning a moment later with the first aid kit. 
“That’s why I took ‘em off.” She shrugged, leaning back on her palms and allowing him to care for her feet, flinching as his fingers touched the swollen areas around the blisters. 
He sat in the unsteady office chair, carefully pulling her feet into his lap and tugging at the tights, “Can I rip these?”
She barked out a laugh, “Now you’re asking? You’ve ripped a lot of my nicer things off of me without any notice.”
He grinned up at her, ignoring the heat that grew in the tips of his ears at her lewdness. One thing that he always appreciated about these nights out was that she always lost all shyness and reservation the moment that a single drop of alcohol touched her tongue. 
“You certainly didn’t mind all those other times.”
“That’s because you rocked my world right afterwards. You gonna do that now?”
He glanced down, not ignorant to the way that his pants grew tighter at her words. 
She’s drunk, Steven argued, Don’t take advantage of her.
“You’re drunk,” He noted, tearing the material away from her feet and beginning to dab at the open sores. 
“Tipsy,” She corrected, “And horny. Please?”
He shook his head softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her kneecap, “Tomorrow, cariño.”
Y/n groaned, “I don’t want it tomorrow.”
He raised his brow as he finished cleaning her heels, “Oh really? I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”
She shook her head, pushing past him–making sure to bump his shoulder as she did so–and pausing in the bathroom doorway, “I need to shower.”
He sighed, carefully packing the first-aid kit back up and leaving it on the desk before making his way over to the bed. He leaned back against the headboard, glancing over to the partially closed bathroom door, only allowing him to see the vanity, though the mirror allowed him to see the figure he’d been longing for. 
He watched the reflection as she carefully peeled herself free of the ruined tights before reaching for the zipper on the side of her dress. His breathing became laboured as he watched each article to fall away, leaving her bare to the world as the mirror began to gloss over with steam. 
Go for it, Marc advised, If she’s really that mad about it then she’s definitely not that drunk. She’s never this unreasonable when she’s drunk.
Don’t, Steven argued, She’ll get over it.
Jake groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the two argued in his mind, “Shut up, both of you. I can’t even hear myself think.”
He pondered for a moment, then finally made his decision. 
The bathroom was frosted in steam, Jake’s body temperature skyrocketing as he stepped inside. He glanced down at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, withholding a groan as he recognized the familiar pair of pink lace panties that had been thrown on top, carefully dropping his own clothes on top. 
The curtain prevented him from spotting any details, but he could faintly make out her figure as she stood beneath the pounding stream of hot water. She did not seem surprised to hear the curtain run quietly along the track as he stepped in, refusing to turn to face him as he stepped into the stream as well, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist and holding her back to his chest. 
“I’m sorry,” He murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, mi amor.”
She was frustrated with him, but she simply couldn’t avoid the way that she slumped into his embrace so easily. She sighed, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder as their eyes met, a silent understanding.
“You wouldn’t be,” She argued softly, “But it’s okay.”
He kissed her lips softly, one hand coming up to grasp at her hair and help her to remove the remaining suds of shampoo. He pushed her gently to stand a bit further from him, allowing him to run a generous amount of conditioner through the ends of her hair. When he was finished, she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing herself against him.
“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder, but he heard nonetheless. 
“Yo también te amo angel.”
He felt the corners of her lips turn up against his flesh as she glanced up at him, wickedness clear in her eyes.
“What are you–oh!”
He gasped as her hand moved down, wrapping firmly around his length, which had been unabashedly erect against her thigh as they embraced, proving to her that he truly did want her. 
“Let me do you,” She whispered to him, beginning to administer slow pumps, “That’s all. Please, Jakey.”
NO!
Looks like she’s going to either way, bud. May as well enjoy it.
She kissed him softly, taking his eager response to her as permission. Cautious not to slip, she lowered herself to kneel in front of him, gazing up at him through her lashes as she carefully dragged her tongue up the bottom of him, cupping his sack in her slick palm. 
He groaned, leaning back against the wall in submission to her. She giggled, pressing the softest of kisses to his flesh before finally taking as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Jake choked on his own spit, one hand carefully finding the nape of her neck to support her movements while the other ran through his own locks, smoothing the wet curls out of his face so they couldn’t obstruct his view.
“Baby-shit,” His hips stuttered forward, his tip grazing the back of her throat.
Her mouth curved around him, though she did not pause or slow her movements to respond with some witty comment, as he knew she had wanted to. 
Hey!
His eyes snapped up, finding Steven staring back at him in the reflection of the stainless steel shower head.
“W-what now?” He stammered out, not noticing the way that she glanced up at him, but didn’t stop; she was more than accustomed to the boys talking and arguing with one another while she was having sex with one of them.
Shut the water off! I don’t even wanna look at the bill we’re gonna get this month.
Jake almost laughed, hell, he probably would have if he hadn’t been balls-deep in his girlfriend’s mouth. Reaching over, he grasped the handle and turned the water off before turning back to watching her. She raised a brow, a silent question.
“Steven complained about the water bill,” He explained, groaning as she choked slightly around him as a small laugh vibrated around her body.
He pressed on the back of her neck, prolonging the feeling of her choking around him for a few moments before pulling her back and hauling her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a furious kiss, tongues intertwining and teeth gnashing as he grasped at her thighs, carrying her out of the shower and dropping her onto the countertop as if she were a doll. 
Eagerly, she spread her legs, grinding against him. He pulled away, moving down her body in hopes of returning the favour, though he was stopped by her, grasping his chin tightly and pulling him back up.
“No, no,” She gasped, “I need you. Please, I just need–”
“It’s okay,” He soothed, pulling her to the edge of the counter and lining himself up, “I got you, I got you.”
He slid into her easily, her folds sopping with arousal. Another perk of these nights out was that she was always so ready for him, and was always so responsive to his touch. He laughed as she squirmed against him, crying out louder than she normally would as his tip kissed her cervix. 
Y/n rocked against him, meeting his every thrust without fail and shivering as her clit continued to be tickled by the dark curls on his pubis. Her arms wound around him, nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his muscular back as she gripped him for dear-life.
“Jake,” she gasped, “I’m not gonna last long.”
“I know,” He grunted, hands grasping her bum to pull her into his thrusts even more, “Me neither, princesa.” 
“I love you,” She cried out over and over as if it were some spell that she might have been using to bewitch him–that was the only way that Jake could explain how he was so easily manipulated by her every whim and became so enthralled by her simple presence. 
“I love you,” He panted, “I fucking love you.”
His mouth took her lips, absorbing every sigh and moan that dared escape and committing them to memory. He wanted to encase every little bit of her being within himself, consume anything that she was willing to offer, especially her jerking movements and desperate whines as she tightened around him, spilling her release all over his member as he struggled to hold on.
“Come on,” She urged him, eyes hooded and hazy as she came down from her high, “Jake, come on. Please give it to me.”
Her words were enough, his hips stuttering through his final few thrusts before white-hot pleasure exploded within him. He groaned out loudly, following through with a few gentle movements to work himself through it before he slipped out.
They remained there for a few moments, wrapped in each other’s arms as they both came down, melting into one another and whispering sweet nothings. She kissed his shoulder softly, then reached up to meet his lips once more, allowing herself to force every ounce of love she had for him to flow through the embrace.
He chuckled when she pulled away, “Aren’t you glad I said no now?”
She shook her head, “You only made yourself suffer, I could have woken up Marc or Steven to do me the second you fell asleep. I was getting it one way or another.”
He frowned at her, pinching her thigh in retaliation, “You think that either of them could do what I just did?”
Watch it, amigo. I could have done her twice as hard as you did.
Jake grinned at his reflection over her shoulder turning back to his girlfriend, “By the way, Marc called you unreasonable.”
HEY!
1K notes · View notes
moonkxit · 3 months
Text
Jerk [Marc Spector x GN!Reader]
Summary: Despite having plans for a date with you after meeting with his ex-wife, Marc seems to have suddenly gone off communication, leaving you to be a bundle of nerves until you decided to call him. Heavily inspired by episode 3 of scenes from a marriage. Word Count: 2k Warnings: Angst with no comfort !!!!!!!!! foul language, Steven cameo (that's a sweet surprise than a warning), no mention of jake A/N: Gosh! I apologize for being super late with this one,, this was meant to be a drabble but i got carried away lol. And I'm a little rusty with writing atm, so don't look at me if the writing feels a lil wonky. though, Constructive Criticism is greatly appreciated! PS; The ex-wife mentioned in this is NOT layla its some other lady because we love layla in this household
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
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The drawn out rings of the phone was slowly aiding to a upcoming migraine as you paced between rooms, silently praying that you would get an answer to your frantic texts. A rather uneventful Friday night that you expected to spend with the person you were recently seeing, an unpredictably mysterious man, had come to an abrupt stop.
There was a lot you didn't know about Marc Spector; and that was okay, because it was just the process of 'getting to know someone' was, right? Sure, You had rambled your head off on the first date, all which he listened carefully; but with Marc, you never felt the need to push information out of him. It was like befriending an fragile animal that takes time to trust, but the epiphany that comes after is unexplainably amazing.
Growing from acquaintances to actually seeing each other and looking forward to spending time as a couple was unrealistic, which was why your entire relationship was so fascinating. The patience of talking things out was a quality that you both shared; likely being the reason of such a bond with each other. If anyone would listen, you would never stop talking about how perplexing that was.
As you both started building a line of trust, You came to learn that he was divorced and was in the process of sorting things out with his ex-lover— which, of course, you were fine with. And today, he had mentioned about her coming over, which you were also on board with. But with the plans that were arranged for today still being overdue and Marc falling off the face of earth, you couldn't help but feel.. jealous? worry, even?
It was exactly why you were frantically texting your boyfriend, questioning on where he was and if his ex-wife had taken her leave. The only response that you received was being left entirely on delivered, adding fuel to your already anxious state. You felt like you were just being extremely clingy— and that they were probably still talking.
Your gaze travelled to the clock. 15 minutes to 1 am. Holy fuck. Had you really been texting him for over an hour? Had it been over two hours since you had set your dinner table, waiting for him? The latest that Marc had promised he would be was by 10:30, so it was just utterly ridiculous that it was past midnight and he was still unresponsive.
Swiftly grabbing the unopened bottle of wine kept on your table and making it to the couch, You set your phone down on the coffee table as you took a swing of the drink. It was crazy how this entire thing had gotten you so riled up, but as much as you hated to admit it, you were head over heels for this guy. So committed infact, that you were desperately checking on him for the past two hours; that you haven't even had your own dinner yet. One last call. Maybe he'll pick up.
That was the words that your guilty conscious prompted while you sat in the uncomfortable silence, eyes falling on the phone that lay discarded on the table. Obviously, you were going to feed into your thoughts. Of course you did.
And much to your surprise, it only took three rings to connect to the voice that you were just waiting to hear— but it didn't take you long to notice that it came off in a growl, much to the contrast of the soft spoken tone that Marc usually carried.
"Marc?" "Hey." You let out a sigh of relief, shaking your head ever so slightly at your own frantic actions. Atleast he was doing okay. "Are you okay? Where have you been? I've been—"
"Good. Uh, yeah, but listen, it's not cool to, like, bombard me with messages."
There was a short pause where you sat slightly bewildered. before you felt yourself sink into the seat, like a child who had just been scolded. Even with guilt creeping up, You wanted to still defend your own case, which was the endless worrying you had endured for the past hour, waiting for anything from Marc. Just a simple notice to cancel their date for the night or even to say that he was okay. But instead, You were simply left in the dark.
"Because you were supposed to call me, Marc."
"I told you, I'd call you when she left." "Oh, so she hasn't gone yet?" "No, She hasn't. She's still here." Sipping from the glass of wine and setting it onto the table nearby, your mind was quick to rush into many conclusions, but you kept your mouth shut. Whatever they had to discuss must have been really important. "Isn't it late? How are you both still talking?" "No, She— She's in bed." An exhale could be heard from the other end, as your brows furrowed. In bed? Marc lived in a single bedroom, so did that mean he was taking the couch? But before you could even question it, it was like the male at the other end had almost read your mind, because he immediately cleared your doubts, Albeit, you would have wished he never said anything. "..My bed." Oh. Feeling betrayed and lost would be an understatement of how you currently felt. Confused even, to some extend as a steady silence began to occupy the call. You weren't quite sure how Marc wanted you to respond to that. Did he want to hear you weep from the other side? Or be upset at him? Maybe even yell a few select choices of words for wasting your time? But instead of any of that, pure silence rang through the call and if it weren't for Marc checking if the call was still running, he would've thought you hung up. "Hello?"
The feeling of being let down was coursing through your veins at this point, making itself obvious with the lump that grew in your throat and how you stiffened up in your seat. You weren't sure what exactly to feel, a floodgate on sadness and anger opening like it was a pent up dam that was released. You sniffled quietly, trying to bite back the tears that were pricking at the corner of your eyes. It was unfair how distraught you felt. Another audible exhale could be heard, before you heard Marc's voice again. You weren't even sure why you felt like crying, but it was clear that this wouldn't end well. "Look, I'm suggesting that we should take a break because this is just not.. Not working out right now." "When did it work out, Marc?" "Wh— What are you talking about?" "I said." You spoke, recollecting yourself in a suspiciously gentle manner. "When were you not trying to use me as a way to move on?"
It was his turn to grow silent, and that was pretty much the answer you needed. To think that you gave him the chance, thinking that maybe this time around you could actually be with someone who cared— There were no other words to describe what you've been this entire time. You were foolish. "Goodnight. Sleep well." You'd be lying if you said that you didn't still want him to come back to you. Justify himself properly. Say that this was all some sick joke. But you were also aware that there was probably nothing that would save this. Still, You stayed when he spoke up again, for whatever reason. "Stop. Just Listen. This doesn't have to be.. what you think it is, I just need time to collect myself and honestly, I've been feeling for a while that—"
The urge to laugh was overbearing, and you didn't hold back. "You're so full of shit, Marc." Anger was finally settling in before the male at the other end could even respond to your words, but this wasn't about being courteous anymore. It felt like if Marc had cared for you even a little, this wouldn't have happened like it did. "Own up to what you're doing, asshole. I know you like to evade your responsibilities but just for once, if you have any respect for me, stand up like a man and say it to my face so I can just accept the fact that I've wasted my time and effort on you."
"Okay, Let me stop you here before you say anything else that you're gonna regret."
"No, fuck you. The only thing I regret is thinking that you actually cared enough to be with me. Turns out, your only concern is keeping yourself occupied and acting like you don't give a shit about everything that leaves you. You're a selfish prick."
"Fine. It's over then."
"Good. Lose my number and Have a good fucking night, Spector." The call was immediately cut, and so was the brightness of the candle that you had lit earlier by the dinner table. The dimness eased your volatile temper, but it bought the dejection and uneasiness that had failed to show up during the call. There was an option for you to cry it all out, but for reason, you didn't. A soft sigh escaped your pursed lips as you rubbed your eyes. Maybe you'd end up bawling your eyes out about this when you were nestled into the cold embrace of your bed.
You didn't even feel hungry anymore; so shoving the pasta that you had cooked hours prior into the fridge and cleaning up, you tried your best not to think of everything that just happened, which was difficult in it's own volition. It was just a few dates, so you were technically the one in the wrong for letting your guard down so easily and falling for a man who barely talked to you. That conclusion stung a little, but it helped you feel better as you picked up your phone and the bottle of wine again— too exhausted to take off the gorgeous outfit you had picked out for the night as you opened tinder; trying to scroll away like you were gonna move on.
On the other side, Marc had made the mistake of pacing through his room as he made the call, biting his cheeks as it reached it's abrupt and upsetting end. Guilt did lace his features, but reminding himself that this was the last he would ever hear from you made the circumstances a little less horrible. Glancing at the phone as his thumb hovered over your contact, He heard a meek voice call out to him. Not that of his ex-wife, but that of Steven's— who had seen everything from the reflection of the mirror that Marc found himself standing before. "Marc.." The reflection called out to him, a clearly disappointed expression lacing his features as he tried to find the words to even begin expressing how regrettable this would be. Steven didn't have to elaborate, though, because in the few seconds that Marc met Steven's concerned eyes, he knew this would just add into the contrition that already plagued his mind.
Marc tore himself away from Steven who made a lowly attempt at trying to reason with him; walking back to where he had just been previously. It was because Steven knew, and so did he, that he found what it felt like to be loved again through you. But he was undeserving of it. With everything he has done and all the secrets that he hid, he only deserved the toxic relation he had with his ex, which atleast kept his needs at bay; a fair trade for all the arguments he had with her. You were right about him being a selfish jerk. Though it was for all for the wrong reasons.
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224 notes · View notes
eyelessfaces · 1 year
Text
drenched flowers
marc spector x reader
summary: you and marc had a serious fight and have been avoiding each other since. the tension is hard to handle for everyone, and your only wish is to make things right again between you and marc, only he strictly refuses to front...
warnings: angst, allusions to fighting obviously, i think that's it but please tell me if you can think of anything else while reading?
tags: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, it ends well I promise, fluff, marc being his grumpy and angsty and emo self, steven and jake are here too for emotional support
word count: 2.2k
reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!
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Jake had yelled at him to confront you so the situation could get better; Steven had begged him to apologize because he saw how affected you were, but all Marc could do for now was to frown in disgruntlement and put a towel over the mirror to prevent himself from smashing it.
Not seeing them anymore didn’t change much as the two men still kept on ranting, but somehow it gave Marc the impression of having more control over the situation.
At least that was what he thought.
The resonating sound of the front door closing quickly left him to let Steven be in charge of the body for your return, to avoid heavy gazes and deafening silences in the flat.
It had been like this for a little more than a week. 
This freezing, uncomfortable atmosphere everytime Marc fronted – which he rarely did lately for those reasons –, with the both of you avoiding your presences and throwing snarky remarks at each other every time you really had to talk. You couldn’t say this was enjoyable, In fact this was a pain for everyone, including Steven and Jake, and you knew that this whole situation caused them to fight too.
Steven exited the bathroom, sighing loudly now that Marc gave up on fronting. 
He and Jake had found common ground in trying to convince Marc to apologize, but Marc was stubborn and headstrong so this was a lost cause.
Steven looked up and smiled at you when he noticed you were there.
“Hey love” he huffed out with a smile, walking to you to help with the bags of groceries. “How was your day?” he asked as he walked to the kitchen, putting the bags on the island. You followed him and offered him a sigh before answering his question.
“Really meh. Could have been better” you said while unloading the bags and putting away their content. “People at work were rude and people at the store were standing right in front of what I wanted to pick. Each time”
He chuckled in response and turned to stand in front of you.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll take care of the bags, go take care of yourself” he smiled before kissing your forehead.
“Thank you Steven. And you, did you have a good day? What had you sighing when I arrived?” you asked, smoothing the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, that? Had a little chat with the gentlemen. Didn’t go so well” he declared as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. 
You nodded, pressing your lips together skeptically, noting that you weren’t the only one having trouble talking to Marc. You closed your eyes and hugged Steven tight.
The only good thing about your fight with Marc was that the affection you didn’t give to Marc, you gave to Steven and Jake. 
Sadly.
Steven whistled softly as he beelined to the bedroom area with two hot chocolates in hands. You telling him you had a bad day always resulted in this and cuddles, and usually never failed to make you feel better.
But Steven understood the situation was worse than that when he noticed you were curled up on your side, wiping away warm tears running down your face.
“Steven.” Jake called out. Steven caught his alter’s glare in the full length mirror, an empathetic expression on his reflection. “Let me take care of that”
Steven surrendered the body to Jake without a word nor a question, and Jake walked around the bed to put down the cups on the bedside table before snuggling up behind you. 
He pressed his chest against your back and snaked his arms around your waist before brushing away the hair sticking to your face because of the tears, and nuzzled the back of your neck.
“Jake” you breathed out in a barely audible sound.
The tight grip around you made you notice the change.
Jake shifted and left a kiss on your damp cheek. “I’m here, amor” he whispered. “I got you.”
You sighed and interlaced your fingers with his.
You both stayed here in silence, Jake softly caressing your stomach and kissing your shoulder from time to time while you tried to calm down and stop crying. The silence was somehow comforting and cathartic, even though you would rather have Jake have a normal evening rather than having to bear with you and your feelings.
“I miss him.” you muttered under your breath after a while. “I miss Marc” 
Jake hesitated before talking, not sure of what he should say to try to make you feel better.
“I know, I’m sorry honey” he said as he blinked tiredly, hearing Marc sigh softly. “He won’t tell us anything but I’m pretty sure he misses you too.” he declared sternly as he caught Marc’s remorseful and shameful face in the reflection of the fish tank. “I’m sure he does.” he said as his brows furrowed at Marc and his hold tightened around you.
Marc’s shoulders slouched under the weight of guilt and the man couldn’t feel anything except utter frustration.
When you woke up the next morning they were gone. The spot next to you in the bed was cold as if a ghost was laying there and the flat was dead silent. 
The only sound present was the rain pouring in the streets of London, raindrops quickly running down the windows considering how violent the precipitation was.
You sat up straight, pushing the covers away from your body.
This wasn’t normal. 
Steven wasn’t supposed to be at the museum today, Jake wasn’t supposed to drive around today, and both of them would have told you if Marc was supposed to go on a mission for Khonshu.
The freezing temperature and that feeling of worry lodged deep inside of you made you shiver, urging you to put on one of Marc’s hoodies; the only proximity you could get from him from these past days.
You wandered around the flat, looking for any sign that they were here, but there were none.
You tried to be rational, you tried not panicking, so you ran to take your phone and call them.
He stepped into the flat, soaked from the rain. The previously slicked back curls were now falling in front of his face, thick drops of water falling on the old wooden floor.
He sighed as he watched the drenched flowers in his hand, petals falling down in a depressing way as they had been hammered by the rain.
Even buying you flowers he couldn’t do right, he thought.
Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the creak of the front door. You urged yourself to the entry, and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of your boyfriend back home.
“You’re here– Aw Jake” you cooed – almost out of breath from nearly freaking out – at the sight of the bouquet of flowers.
The man in front of you cleared his throat and pinched his lips in a signature awkward smile and you knew.
“Oh”
Marc adjusted his position of his feet and held out the bouquet to you.
“I, uh–” he paused and sighed. “You know I’m better with actions than with words, but I still need to tell you that I’m sorry.” he affirmed weakly, voice barely audible. 
You walked up to him and took the flowers.
They looked beaten up, tired, but still beautiful.
“It started raining as soon as I left the flower shop, sorry… For that and for everything else.” Marc muttered under his breath.
You looked up at him and observed his pained expression.
Marc looked just like the flowers. Beaten up, tired, but still beautiful.
“...Marc” you huffed out, shaking your head.
“I’m really sorry. I mean it. I’m an asshole” he said nodding. 
He was angry at himself, and he was sad, but he was first of all sorry.
He was sorry because he didn’t mean those words to slip out, sorry because he thought he couldn’t be the boyfriend you deserved to have, sorry because all of this should have never happened.
“They’re alright” you smiled, looking back at the flowers. “I think I like them more that way.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I mean it.” you cut him off, still staring at the flowers. There was something poetic about them being crushed by the rain.
“I hate pretending not to care about you.” he let out abruptly. You looked back at him, and raised your eyebrows. “I can’t stand it.” he declared, the inner corner of his brows angled up, attesting of his vulnerability.
You sighed as a shiver ran up your spine and tears started to threaten your eyes. 
“Marc–” you started. 
“You know I love you, right?” he cut you off, chasing your gaze.
You let out a shudder, quickly looking away from him because you knew you would start crying if you kept on looking at his face.
You looked at the rain-painted thin windows and nodded.
“I know”
Your voice resonated through the apartment, as if it was an abandoned building. 
The wood floors creaked under Marc’s feet as he took a step towards you, and you let the bouquet of flowers fall to the floor, a barely audible sound compared to the sigh of relief you let out when you crashed into Marc’s arms.
“Fucking hell, you’re a pain in the ass, Marc Spector” you groaned against his chest, and he let out a sigh of relief and chuckle.
“I know, I’m sorry” he replied almost too seriously, wrapping his arms around you too. “I’m sorry” he repeated, and you dug your nails into his damp jacket, holding him tighter. 
You stayed like this for a while, a few tears unwillingly running down your cheeks, just appreciating each other's presence and the relaxing feeling of being able to be in the same room without fighting. 
Being able to hold him close and to finally get that proximity you had been missing and craving felt reviving.
“Baby get off me, you’re gonna catch a cold” he advised.
“Damn, not even two minutes since we made peace and you already don’t want me anymore” you joked, quickly pecking his lips before reluctantly pulling away from his drenched clothes.
He chuckled as he took off his jacket and put it over the radiator, watching as you picked up the bouquet of flowers from the floor.
“Those flowers were expensive” he grumbled, pushing away the curls falling over his forehead.
“It’s okay. I don’t need flowers to forgive you, Marc” you declared as you went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and put the flowers in it. You didn’t need those flowers to forgive him, but your heart still ached positively at the action. He was worried about their depressing state, but you couldn’t care less; they were flowers and no matter how they looked they remained flowers: beautiful and significant.
A small smile formed on his face, and he quickly kicked his shoes off to go and change into dry clothes.
You came back to him, slouching down on the bed as he thoroughly searched through the drawers of clothes.
He let out a grunt of frustration. “Where’s my–”
“Hey” you called. 
“–Hoodie” he continued as he turned to you, rolling his eyes when he realized you were wearing it. He crashed next to you on the bed and you laughed. “Thief” he mumbled under his breath, laying his head over your stomach.
“Don’t be dramatic” you teased him as you covered your hand with the sleeve of his hoodie, ruffling his wet hair with it. “Want it back?”
“No that’s okay, my shirt’s not actually that wet” he said as he looked up at you. “And you somehow happen to look good with it, so…”
“‘Somehow happen?’ asshole” you laughed as you sat up to tickle his ribs, causing him to wriggle and writhe under your touch.
“Sto– Stop this!” he laughed, out of breath. You giggled and freed him of your tickles, laying back down on the bed. “You don’t want me to piss my pants on this bed” he affirmed.
“I don’t want you to piss your pants period.” you chuckled, and he shifted to plant his elbow right next to your face. He stared at you for a second, observing your face carefully.
“I love you” he whispered, stroking your cheek with the back of his other hand.
“Marc you can’t tell me you love me right after we talk about piss” you frowned, and he smiled softly.
“Oh yeah can’t I?” he asked teasingly, cocking an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say it’s not the most romantic thing.” 
“Jake says anything can be romantic,” he shrugged.
“Jake is fucking delusional” you huffed out with a laugh.
“Steven agrees”
You bowed your head. “Thank you for being a reasonable man Steven.” you laughed, mirroring Marc’s action and planting your elbow into the mattress and holding your face with your hand too. “That being said, I love you too.” you grinned. “I missed you” you continued, brushing back the humid curls at the side of his face.
“I missed you too” he muttered. “I regret what I’ve said and done.”
“I do too. We’ll be okay.” you promised, pushing him to lay against his chest. He caged you with his arms, burying his face into your hair.
“I think we’ll be.” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be.”
reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!
moon knight taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521 @wibblywobblytimesindeed
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peterthepark · 2 years
Text
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venus, planet of love
pairing: steven grant x f!reader
tags: 18+ graphic smut with plot, mentions of marc and khonshu, mentions of therapy and brief panic attack depiction, all the fluffy feels, mutual pining, idiots in love, inexperienced!steven and reader, the l-bomb and lovey dovey sex, aftercare, about 9k word count teehee, friends to lovers
summary: art models are surprisingly hard to come by in london. maybe they just don’t want to work with you. maybe they’re intimidated. steven thinks you’re pretty and marc thinks it’s time to act on it. who knew steven grant would be up for a portrait?
note: first moonknight fic!!! here’s to many more :) feedback and reblogs are 100% appreciated, thanks!
- masterlist - steven grant playlist
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“It just looks so smooth, like I want to touch it.”
“What? Her arse?”
The Rokeby Venus stands out as striking against the patterned red wallpaper of the gallery. The painted depiction of Venus is a stark paste of white, sensual and vividly nude as your eyes follow the curvature of brushstrokes on her backside. The soft greys, reds and creams compliment the fleshy paraphernalia of the painting; your starry eyes wander in a mixture of awe and engrossment, while your fidgeting friend beside you finds his gaze on another work of wonder.
“I’m appreciating the art, Steven. Not the arse.” 
The corners of your lips tweak into something in the sorts of regale as you deliberately scribble onto your notepad, the sound of the number-two pencil against paper filling the eerie solitude of the museum. Steven’s attentive stare follows the tiny scrunching of your nose and soon, he finds himself amused at how your expression slowly shifts into unmistakable concentration.��
It’s endearing. 
Especially when he sees the tip of your tongue poke out from between your lips, nestling against the bottom of one of your front teeth. 
Adorable. 
“Oh, you’d loathe the ancient Egypt exhibit then. Not a tad bit of arses there.” Steven finally catches your eye, your head lifting from hunched shoulders to listen to him. His comment draws a quiet chuckle out of you, to which you motion for him to go on. He doesn’t hesitate. “Well, I mean, nudity had a proper place and time then. The Egyptians prided themselves in — in fashion, in jewels and beads, fabric and linens. Really, nudity was practically associated with work or oftentimes, social status. Royalty loved to dress up. You don’t see many naked ushabti, yeah?”
The strewn sentences leave him with a deep exhale, mouth parting as he gauges your reaction carefully. You’ve always adored his bursts of passion. Youthful, exciting, like the first tall flame of a new candlelight.
Steven makes an effort to ignore the image of Marc harshly rubbing his temples in the golden frame of the painting.
“I don’t think Velázquez intended nudity to be the central theme.” You mindlessly tuck the notepad into the tote bag on your shoulder. The movement causes your elbow to brush against Steven’s forearm, and he gulps roughly at the tingling of his skin. “Nor do I think it’s completely about Venus.”
“Whaddya think then?” 
You quirk a brow at his question. “I think… I mean, it’s obviously an allusion to sexuality and the aesthetic of it. But not sex. More like—”
“Beauty.”
You glance at him briefly, voice getting caught in your throat as you lose your train of thought just by looking at him.
“Yeah. Beauty, women, attraction, it’s all very speculative…” 
His side profile is something you’ll never get used to. The singular curl that unravels down his forehead knocks the wind right out of you, the dark chocolate strand begging to be wrapped around your finger and the rest carded through your palms.
Sometimes, you think he deserves a museum exhibit of his own, dedicated to his constant busy mind and to the soft yet simultaneously roughened details of his face. 
Maybe most of the time, actually.
Steven doesn’t notice the stumble in your body language, too swept up taking the painting in for what feels like the hundredth time but really, his mind can’t stop replaying how ‘sex’ had rolled off of your tongue so beautifully, and now how Marc won’t stop fucking pestering him about growing some balls and manning up tonight.
His watch beeps and pulls you both from your respective trances while Marc sends him a hard glare through the reflection of the watchface. “Oh, bollocks.” Steven sighs out, jaw clenching as anxiety takes over the tranquility of his features. 
You turn to him with knitted eyebrows. “Problem?”
“Yeah, think we’ve got to run.” He frowns, gesturing for you to follow him to the front of the exhibit. “Donna’s gonna have my head tomorrow for bringing you ‘round again, love.”
“S’not like I’m breaking and entering.” You playfully smirk at him as you clutch your bag, jutting one foot in front of the other as he hastily takes you through the employee exit and resets the alarm on the door. “And if I did want to rob this place, I would’ve done it by now. No offense.”
“None taken.” He breathes out through a winded laugh, fiddling with the zipper at the bottom of his collared jacket. He treads carefully beside you in the alleyway. “Mind you, as long as you leave the gift shop out of it, yeah?”
The streetlamps cast shadows over your face, but he finds himself gazing at you even through all the darkness.
A lingering stare. An appreciative smile. A mirroring in how you both tilt your heads to the side ever so slightly. But Steven sees the second hand embarrassment on Marc’s face transcend into the golden swirls of puddles on the cobblestone, his eyes screwed shut as a pained scoff leaves him.
Could’ve kissed her right now, Steven. 
Your toothy grin is all in one airy and lighthearted. Despite Marc’s unmistakable jabs, he’s proud of at least one thing: 
Making you smile.
“Of course, silly.”
No one really expects a friendship between an art student and a gift shop-ist from the National Gallery to work in a manner that is so effortless, so easy, as if it were like clockwork.
Except, the hour hand and the minute hand will never line up. 
Because you’re semi-convinced that Steven doesn’t harbor any sort of attraction towards you, nothing more than feelings of friendliness and a dash of awkwardness. But then there’s that other part of you, the part that notices the stolen glances, how he looks at you all doe-eyed and regardful even when you have nothing to say, how he remembers your breakfast order every single day despite having trouble with his own, how your number is the only other emergency contact in his phone besides his mom who hasn’t called him back once. Hell, you’ve even been friends long enough to earn an alligator emoji beside your name. What a rarity.
Just friends. That’s all it could and should be. 
Steven thinks you’d never date a bloke like him. Marc is sold on the idea that you have feelings for Steven, in which the tension, he states, is painfully and terribly obvious. It’s difficult to watch, even from that other dimension. And Khonshu, well, that guy just thinks that the three of you are all bloody idiots. 
You try to push down the odd fluttering of your stomach when Steven opens the door to your car for you. He always does. You’re used to the chivalry, the old-fashioned kindness, but something about how he’s doing it tonight — hand hovering over the small of your back, then over your head as you dip into the driver’s seat while he watches you intently, wrinkles smoothing over his tan skin and eyes softening.
You look up at him before he shuts your door. “Tea at mine?” 
“Only if I get to make it this time.”
You scoff in offense, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he comes around to the passenger side then buckles himself in. “What was wrong last time?”
“Honestly, Y/N?”
“Yes, honestly!” You slightly turn up the radio, raising your brows at Steven as he immediately changes the station.
He sputters through a chuckle before he can even finish his sentence. “Tasted absolutely rubbish, I tell you!”
“Piss off!”
Abruptly, you both laugh heartily at that, shoulders bouncing as Steven recalls the memory of how awful it not only felt in his mouth, but how awful the brew looked in general. He finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from your face. Unable to stop replaying your sweet giggle that he drew out of you over and over again, and how his name falls from you like a bubbly chant as you reach over the console and slap his arm. Unable to stop his fingers from twitching against his thigh because he just wants nothing but to reach out and tuck that annoying wisp of hair behind your ear and tell you how much you truly mean to him.
The moonlight looks pretty on you.
Steven likes the comfort of your flat more than his own. There’s something remarkable about seeing a bed without ankle restraints and chains, or having sand stuck to the soles of his feet as he pads around the kitchen for once. Just you, him, an ugly red sofa, and the mess of unfinished canvases on your floor. Your lips twitch when he reaches around to help you get something off of the top shelf in your cupboard, his large palm gently pressing against your upper back when he pulls away to hand you a porcelain cup. 
You pour from the teapot. Steven adds an acceptable amount of milk. One long sip. Sigh of relief. Another sip. Then, smile at each other behind your delicate cups.
Like clockwork.
His kind voice feels warmer than the tea in your hands. “I enjoyed today.” Steven admits, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles as he speaks into his cup. 
You study the sincere tenderness in his dark irises. “I did too.” For a moment, the silence is nice. It’s comforting. You’re a safe haven, even as he fidgets nervously, drumming his fingers against the cool surface as you reluctantly look away from each other. Yet the longer you linger in the quiet, the louder the thoughts in your mind get. Your pinched voice comes out rushed and unsure. “Are you still seeing that therapist?” Steven tilts his head, unable to recognize your tone. 
“Seeing her? What do you mean?”
“Like, um, the sessions and stuff.” You chuckle softly, waving a dismissive hand at that with widening eyes. “Not in — in that way. I mean, are you?”
Why is she asking?
“Oh, goodness. No. Absolutely not.” Steven‘s dark eyebrows shoot upwards. His hold on the porcelain teacup tightens, knuckles tensing. “Why’s that?” 
You blink rapidly. “Just wondering.”
“We weren’t compatible. Professionally.” He sends you a close-lipped smile. It’s demure, and for some reason, nostalgic. “She had this — this big, caged bird in the room with us. Like a bloody parrot or something.” Then, he shrugs, eyes darting across the room with what seems to be an amused smirk as if you’re supposed to understand this implied sort of inside joke. “Wasn’t very soothing. Probably gonna find someone else in the time being, you know, hopefully with a… nicer therapy animal. Preferably one that doesn’t repeat everything that I say.” You nod slowly, taking another sip while he clears his throat. “And you? How’s your project coming along, dear?”
You snort. “Haven’t even drawn a single thing.” Your shoulders deflate as you sigh dramatically. “Due in a week, not a single idea in mind, canvas still as empty as ever.”
“You’d think it would be easy to find a model. Plenty of nudists in London.”
“Yeah, well, none of them want to be painted.”
“Then they must be intimidated.”
A tiny clink fills the air when you set the cup of tea onto the table behind you, arms crossing over your chest as you tuck your hands by your hips. The flat feels chilly beneath the illumination of the kitchen lamp. Steven feels too far away. But at the same time, he’s here. Here, in the tiny room, by the stove, dark circles beneath his lower lashes like he hasn’t slept in years, muscles straining against his jacket.
“And why would they be intimidated?”
If Khonshu could swallow him whole, this would be the perfect time for it. If Marc wanted to take the body, he’d let him. But the alters stay out of it, and for once, Steven longs for their interference. He can’t escape the way you stare at him, innocently chewing on your bottom lip as you await his response patiently. You don’t prod, just let time pass. Steven doesn’t know which is worse. The fridge rumbles. The shower next door shuts off. The cars outside whizz by. The moon peeks out from the blinds. There’s a wailing siren in the distance, but nothing is louder than the heartbeat drumming against your chest as Steven swipes a wet thumb over his mouth and gazes out the cracked window above your sink.
“Because — well, you’re a talented painter. You’re good, good at what you do and you — you’re intentional.” He locks eyes with you in the midst of his ramblings. “You’re purposeful in how you study people, how you look at them, memorizing every flaw and every detail between. You capture beauty, um, that — that I can’t even see and I don’t know how…” He lets out a nervous laugh, jaw clenching under the weight of gritted teeth. “I don’t know how anyone can just sit there and watch you paint without melting on the spot.”
Keep going.
“Steven…”
“You intimidate because you’re beautiful. And beauty makes people nervous, Y/N.” He clasps a hand over his heart, not because the words strike him deeply, but to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.
You collect your weight from the table, using your heel to slowly push yourself towards Steven and stand in front of him. You curiously toe at his white sock with your own, avoiding his gaze as you uncross your arms from your chest and entangle them behind your back with a frown.
“Do I intimidate you?”
Khonshu isn’t even in the kitchen anymore, and Marc is speechless. He can’t even watch.
At first, Steven’s voice comes out as small. And had you not been watching the parting of his lips, it easily could’ve been mistaken as the wind knocking against the walls. “Yes.” 
“Is it because you think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re more than that.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I am.”
Steven chuckles, shaking his head. His pupils are heavily dilated, darker than normal. “Trust me, you are.”
“Prove it.” You pick a stray thread off of his shirt, goosebumps erupting across his soft skin as your cold fingertips leave him. His eyes follow the motion before they flicker back to your face. “Sit on that sofa and let me paint you.” Steven can’t pinpoint the emotions behind your words. Close to playful. Far from joking. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious, but you’re grasping at paintbrushes with a glowing smile and quickly tying an apron around your waist that leaves him blushing shamelessly. 
“You do not want to paint me.” He awkwardly huffs out, raising his hands at you before you’re pouting at him. “Y/N, it would just be a waste of canvas.”
“And why would I not wanna paint you?” 
You pull your hair up into a ponytail, ignoring how Steven’s gaze trails up your exposed arms and the curve of your shoulders. You inhale deeply, and just from the way your throat flexes in the shadows, Steven suddenly brings himself to sit on the mass of pillows atop of the velvet couch. He watches you drag an easel out from your closet, placing it right by the footrest and the swiveling stool across from him. There’s a cart filled with discarded jars of scotch, tubes of different paint mediums and a wooden palette marked with an array of clashing colors beside you, an attest to the acrylic staining the Persian rug beneath your feet.
“Because I’m just me. Just Steven.”
Your eyes pop out from over the canvas.
“Well, I think ‘just Steven’ is perfect.” 
He winces, lines creasing together on his forehead. “So what do I do now? Just — just pose, or…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, teeth making indents on his bottom lip. “Do I smile? What do — what do your models usually do?”
“Well, most of the time, they’re usually half-naked and tend to be as still as a statue.”
“Oh.”
You peer back at him again, gaze full of sincerity and concern as he self-consciously situates his position on the couch. “But you don’t need to follow the naked part. Just the latter, okay?” 
“Alrighty then.”
He can feel the warmth of your smile radiating even from six feet away. “Relax your jaw. Don’t look so scared, the more natural the better.”
His pupils dart around the room, taking in your flat as if it’s the first time he’s been here. He can’t look at you. He can’t. Not when you’re concentrating on him like that, scouring the details of his features, the lines and moles that mark his face, the exhaustion, surveying the slump of his spine like that was meant to be beautiful to you.
Would you capture all his flaws and blemishes then turn them into compliments?
“I told you I’m intimidated.” Steven quips, squaring his shoulders when he sees your paintbrush take the first glide across the blank canvas. 
“And I told you that there’s nothing to be intimidated about.”
“You know, I quite hate it when you get down on yourself like that.” He glares at you with a heavy shrug. Even when he’s clearly upset at you, Steven has a certain calmness to him. 
He’s the striking resemblance of lightning without the explosiveness of thunder. 
You don’t say anything, just swirl a mixture of colors onto the battered palette as you return back to the painting. He can see your tongue prodding against the inside of your cheek, rumination coating your mind in the same manner that hues of beige, black and pink coat his portrait. Steven lets the silence talk. He lets you bask in the quiescence for the sake of your art, for the sake of peace and his embarrassing desire to get this over with. But at the same time, he doesn’t want this to end.
Sure, he hates the fleeting eye contact. But come tomorrow, you won’t be staring at him like this — won’t smile at him with such tenderness and intention, won’t let your gaze wander for longer than a best friend would. Come tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast together while an ABBA record echoes from the living room, then you’re driving him to work with morning road rage and leaving for a nine a.m. lecture as if domesticity didn’t have an effect on you like it did on Steven. 
There, you won’t study him like he’s the most interesting creature on the planet. But come tomorrow, he’ll continue to read you like you’re the rarest text of Egyptian lore. 
“You intimidate me too, you know.” 
Could you hear the cogs in his brain? Was this an answer to all of his speculations? Curiously, Steven turns his feet towards you. His ears perk up, full brows raising at your unanticipated statement. “What?” 
“Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. 
“Now why would I do that?”
This time, your face is completely blocked by the easel. You make it purposeful so he can’t discern your expression, even as the brush moves in slow and heavy strokes against the canvas. 
“I suppose for the same reason you find me intimidating.“
The sound of wet paint dabs onto the surface and drowns out your shallow breaths in the midst of Steven’s surprise.
“You find me… pretty?”
The scoff at the end of his question makes you cringe. Maybe you’ve said too much. Maybe you’ve stepped a line, or maybe he thinks this is all too odd. 
Your lips flutter upwards solemnly as you repeat his exact words from earlier. 
“I think you’re more than that.”
His heart could absolutely burst from his chest right now. He’s helplessly pinching at the bridge of his nose, unsure where to put his hands and why his hair suddenly feels so flat against his head. The couch beneath him is stiff, uncomfortable against his arse as he realizes that he’s been sitting in the same spot for too long. And now, Khonshu is simply leaning over your shoulder to look at the easel, thrumming with critique and amusement as the God towers over your hunched frame on the stool.
“Damn it.” Steven groans, placing a fist over his chest as he fidgets erratically. His eyes narrow, lips pursing together as he tries to blink back the chaos in his mind and fights off the urge to hand the reins to Marc. “God, I think I’m having a panic attack right now.”
“What?” You immediately place your brush down, peeking around the side of the canvas as Steven tries to even out his breathing. The stool nearly clatters to the floor when you stand and take long strides to his aid with wide eyes. “Do you need some air? I can — I can open a window, or — water? Water would be good?” He nods feverishly, tearing his gaze away from you and directing it to the stained carpet. You rush over to the sink, flicking on the tap and clumsily filling up a mug that Steven had given you from the gift shop. “Okay. Here, here.”
The dinosaur pun on the front isn’t so funny anymore when water sloshes over the rim as you hand it to him. He takes loud gulps as you cup your hand below his chin and catch the excess from the corners of his mouth.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — are you okay? What happened back there?”
You called me pretty, he wants to say. You don’t think I’m awful-looking, he wants to say. You think that I’m worth a second glance and worth all those lingering stares that I thought were parts of my imagination, he wants to say.
But instead, he saves those remarks for another time, and settles on one that seems fitting for the moment.
“I got intimidated.”
And you laugh. It’s brief and small, yet large enough to mend the brokenness of Steven’s haywiring brain when you set his mug down on the footrest and look down at him from where he sits awkwardly on your couch. The overhead light creates an unconventional halo behind your crown of hair, your shadow embracing the sunken essence of Steven’s face as he quietly admires you.
You send him a lopsided smile, dimples creating crescent moons around your lips and the bulb of your nose as anxious fingers twitch at your sides. “I’m no Venus.”
“Goddess or planet?”
He draws another chuckle out of you.
“Goddess, I think.”
“Well, Y/N, gods and goddesses are fairly overrated anyways.”
You bite your lip. “And if I’m a planet, then what does that make you?”
Steven lets his stare drop from your face, curls dropping against the shine of his forehead as he dusts away the lint on his pants. You study his distracted form, leg brushing against his bent knees as your stance hovers over him. He sighs shakily at the sensation, but then your fingers shift to wrap around the roughened hands that are interlocked together in his lap, thumbs hesitantly ghosting over his knuckles with a shyness he’s never seen on you. 
The notion causes him to ever-so-slightly lift his head. Those big, brown eyes meet yours in the humming of your living room, and the hand that’s wrapped around his own slowly travels up to the underside of his jaw. You can feel his muscles move beneath your gentle touch when his warm cheek leans into your palm, staining his skin with paint. 
“Must make me the idiot who sits in the observatory all day, all night, watching in awe through a telescope.” He closes his eyes when your fingers trace his skin, shifting higher and higher until you languidly card your nails through his dark curls. His head tilts back submissively with the soft action, nose pointing up at you as bliss falls upon his features. “Sounds a bit creepy now that I say it out loud.”
“You know people say that Venus is hellish, right?”
His eyelids flutter open, long lashes tickling you. “You’re pretty hellish to me.”
“I’m offended.”
“Don’t be.” He whispers, resting his hand against your outer thigh. 
Both of your heads follow the motion, as if his body had betrayed what he was trying so hard not to do — touch you, feel your heat against his, let his touch wander where his mind shouldn’t. But he can’t rewind time, and he certainly can’t stop how his palm stretches over your upper leg until it rests upon your hip. 
“Steven…” You stroke his cheek with amorous yearning, smudging the space underneath his eye with a shade of pastel pink. 
“Don’t — don’t say my name like that, love. Please, don’t.” Air escapes from his nostrils, his words fall from his lips in a longing tone laced with subtle desperation. But nothing is subtle anymore. Not with how he looks up at you like you’re the brightest star in the universe, staring at you like how you stare at famous masterpieces in a museum or even the works of art that never get noticed, but when they are, everything just makes sense. “You say it like…”
Now this all makes sense.
“Say it like what?”
“As if it’s more than my — more than just a bloody name.” Steven’s eyebrows furrow deeply, yet somehow he looks softer. 
“More than just Steven with a V?” He laughs at that, a deep rumble that vibrates through his belly and throat as his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, I like saying your name.”
Your fingers against his bottom lip bring him back to this painless reality, and the tension isn’t so unbearable when you stain his sun-kissed skin blue in the dull light above the sofa.
“No… not that.” Both of your hands cup his cheeks, ears tucked into the spaces between your curling digits as you caress his chin with your thumbs. Your pupils lull him into hypnosis, and he finds himself unable to stop gazing at the constellations in your irises. “You say it as if you like me.”
Fucking hell, Steven.
His hands tighten around your hips, anchoring you. 
“I do like you.”
“No, like — like more…”
“More than a friend?” 
“Yeah.” His blinks grow rapidly while his face contorts into something of shock and perplexity, teeth on display as he shoots you a panicked look. “Do you?”
“Do I? Steven, I’ve…” An exhausted chuckle racks through you. 
A pathetic noise of protest bubbles out of him when your palms leave his jaw. The cold isn’t so welcoming, and neither is the rest of your flat when you turn your back on him to tousle your hair with pent-up frustration. Meanwhile, Khonshu lingers in the hallways and curiously sorts through your vintage records. Marc wants nothing to do with this and resorts to plugging his ears.
Steven, here and now, is alone — alone with you and a giant, undeniable problem with the word ‘FEELINGS’ stamped right on top of it. He’s been decent about how to deal with emotions. He knows where his heart is, what makes his brain light up and what grows butterflies in his stomach. And even when you pace the room in worrisome, dizzying circles, all of the above outweighs the anxiety that shelters his bones.
“Y/N, dear, will you please sit down?” You don’t listen. He allows you two more laps around the couch and footrest until he beckons to you again. “Y/N.” Another two, then Steven himself is trailing behind your haste steps. “Y/N, what is the matter with you?” He takes the liberty of grabbing your wrist, pulling you back before you can escape once again. He squeezes your arm. Once, twice, till he understands that you’re fully listening. “Stop it, you.”
Normally, he’s the one running. But something about the way you look at him makes him want to stay, something about how your lips part and how you roll your bottom lip between your teeth then let it bounce back to its natural position makes him all hazy-eyed and helpless when your own eyes flicker to his mouth. You don’t know where to look, yet you strive to take in every single detail of him because you’ve never stood this close to one another.
You’re breathless, while his chest rises and falls steadily. You’re stepping on Steven’s toes, but he doesn’t mind. The hand around your wrist travels up your elbow, keeping you anchored when his other one does the same to your opposite arm. “Stop.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face as he shakes his head at you. 
“You stop.” Your eyes gravitate to his mouth again, plump lips pouting with temptation as you subconsciously take a step closer towards each other. 
Does he want this as much as you do? 
His knuckles run along your cheek and your droopy eyelids grow heavy at the tender feeling.  Steven’s fingers find that annoying wisp of hair from earlier, and he takes it upon himself to tuck it behind your ear. You try to stifle a moan when his nails card along your scalp, mirroring your gesture from before. But a whimper eases its way out of you, followed by a shaky sigh when your voice denounces you. His movement stills for a moment, but then both of his hands are cupping your face and his forehead is pressing against yours in a manner that is so indescribably intimate, you can’t even believe it’s real.
“You’re so pretty.”
There’s that desperate whisper again. 
Your mouth reaches for his. You can feel him holding you by the back of your neck, lips unmoving and lacking confidence against yours. It’s a short kiss, nothing too heated, but when you try to pull away through mumbling apologies, he can’t help but grab you by the chin and bring you back to him for seconds. 
You gasp into his mouth, the button of his nose resting against your cheek when you regain your self-control and hold onto his shoulders for leverage. “I’m sorry.” You blurt out.
“No, no,” He kisses you again, pupils wide and hands grasping at your belly when realization washes over. “Forgive me, I don’t — I didn’t mean to—“
“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” You smirk. The teasing grin is immediately wiped off of your features when Steven pulls you closer and tighter, almost as if you’d slip away from him anytime soon. “Are you going to do it again?”
“I think I want to, unless you don’t want me to, Y/N.”
“Of course I want you to. I want you, Steven.”
He chuckles in disbelief. “You do?”
“Well, I kissed you back, didn’t I?”
He gets lost in your eyes for the millionth time tonight. His accent draws out thick and frustrated when he finds the courage to pull your lips back onto his. 
“Oh, fuck it.” 
You moan instantly when his fingers undo your ponytail and tangle through your hair, flawed palms grabbing at each other’s clothing like you hadn’t felt the touch of someone else in ages — like you hadn’t felt Steven touch you in a fashion that is so sexual, so passionate and needy as if he’s been needing you all his life.
You kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he casts against your ear when you near his throat. He pinches himself when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder. It’s real. You’re real, with your hot tongue against his neck, with your chapstick molding him into shea butter and beeswax, with your paint-stained fingers dancing across the hem of his jacket like a tease. It’s real when his arms wrap around your frame, and your back immediately arches in response to his embrace while he ponders the skin beneath your shirt. 
“You can touch me.” You whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. He sighs at the consensual phrase, coffee-colored eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. “S’okay, Steven.” 
“Are — are you sure?” 
“I am.”
The couch creaks beneath him when he reaches over and gingerly holds you by the jaw, thumbing at your earlobe with hopeless adoration. It feels like two teenagers kissing each other for the first time. Awkward tangled limbs. Noses accidentally bumping and twitchy eyelashes poking at sensitive flesh. But it feels so natural, especially when your body reacts to Steven’s affections as if it has always known him.
He kisses you. A lot. 
And he kisses you some more until you’re practically sliding off the couch and resorting to becoming labyrinths of desperation on your rug.
Your shirt rides up as Steven drags a large palm over your ribs, tracing the bone beneath your titillating skin. His head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re eager for his mouth again. “You’re unreal, Y/N.” He groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you roll on top of him and straddle his lap. “Two years of my life I’ve spent pining after you.”
You giggle, “Try three. I win, yeah?” 
“Oh, so now it’s a competition?” 
“I’m just saying maybe you’ve been Venus all along.”
He smirks playfully, shrugging from where he lays on the floor. “I think we both know I prefer ancient Egypt over ancient Rome.”
“Planet.” You breathe out, fighting off the urge to close your eyes when his hands finally make contact with your lower back. “The planet, not the goddess.” 
Steven’s arm extends upwards, pushing your hair away from your face when you look down at him with a dreamy gaze. 
“Goddamnit, you’re so pretty.” You sigh in content at the praise. “My Venus.” 
The pet name nearly makes you melt.
No artist in the world could replicate the masterpiece of your skin against his. No artist could etch every detail of you and depict it in a manner so accurate or perfect — every mole, scar, freckle and fold as if you were carved from Venus’ hip at birth. No painting could hold the same beauty of Steven nervously taking your shirt off, unable to capture the quiet chuckles when your head gets caught in the fabric. Venus’ figure can’t compare to Steven’s tawny chest, faint abs rippling under your nails and lips as you kiss your way up to his pecs. 
Surrounded by pools of each other’s clothes, your burning bodies lay beside one another as sensual messes on the floor, rutting against each other gently and needily as Steven hikes your leg over his hip. You grind your mound against his crotch, gasping into his mouth when he holds you there.
“You’re so fucking sexy.” He remarks, gripping onto your waist before he suddenly looks to you for guidance. “I-I really… fuck, I really do want you.”
His touch is featherweight, flightless but not even close to fleeting when he takes the time to voyage the muscled wings of your back. 
“In what way?”
He exhales shakily, wetting his lips. “All of them.” You tuck your head under his chin after pressing a brief kiss to his temple. His voice rumbles against your body. The richness of his accent drops to a deeper octave when you reply in a high-pitched moan, hips grinding onto his front when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear. “Teach me how to take care of you, love.” 
“Touch me. Just touch me like you won’t ever stop.” Steven studies the desperation in your glassy eyes and nods softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. Yet, past the swirls of loving lust in his expression, you recognize that something’s bothering him. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” He says almost too quickly. “Yeah, I am. Are you? I just, um…” He laughs sheepishly, stroking the side of your head. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You haven’t?”
“I never… got to that point, really, with anyone.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better,” You shift closer to him, resting your forehead against his as you look at him through your lashes, “I’ve never had someone inside me.” And Steven moans. Loud, deep, desperate. You would’ve clenched your thighs together had Steven not hoisted your leg higher over his hip. “I’ve done stuff, but… never been fucked. Never been…” You sigh blissfully when his fingers trace the curve of your buttock. “… properly filled up by anyone.”
“You’re going to k-kill me, love.” He glances down at your clothed core, fingers begging to reach for you.
“I’m sorry, I know. I know.” You kiss him, earning a needy groan from the man. “Go on then, touch me, baby.”
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong. Tell me if it’s not what you want.” 
Agonizingly slow, his digits dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your cunt. The gentle notion makes you gasp once more, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit. His middle finger circles leisurely over the sensitive nub with feathery touches.
“Steven,  fuck… yeah, that’s it.”
His voice hitches in his throat as he gauges your reaction. “Oh, love, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?” You guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your slick against your wet entrance. “Y/N, you gorgeous, gorgeous thing.”
“Feels good.” You scratch at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. Your eagerness spurs Steven further and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. “Tease.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing and you’re calling me a tease?” He smirks proudly, repeating the gesture until he’s drawing a moan out of you each time. The outline of his dick protrudes against his boxers, and only then does he realize how hard he is for you. “It’s good, yeah?”
You’ve never seen him so smug.
Yet you like it, and you can’t fucking help but want more of it.
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, it’s — it’s… oh, Steven.”
Your sentence is interrupted midway when he pushes his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretching sensation. He inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. You shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. He hums at your facial expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his jaw.
It brings an innocent smile to his face thinking how he’ll have to show up to work tomorrow with remnants of you all over him. 
Steven mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his fumbling kisses. You rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own pleasure against your skin.
“You’re so perfect.” He groans, fucking his digits in and out of you. The noises that leave your cunt and his throat are sinful, but nothing beats the image of you resting your head on his arm, his hand cupping your mound while he fingers you on the floor impatiently. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, dovey? God, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to.”
“Steven, your fingers...” You watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. You nearly sob from the intensity. “You get me so wet.”
“That’s good, Y/N. That’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that.” You clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you. His touch is generous, obviously eager to satisfy you, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. “Can I tell you something?”
Your voice comes out broken, mind fuzzy as your cunt tightens around him. “What?”
“Those… those two years, I…” He moans in tandem with you when you nibble at his bottom lip. “I, fuck, it wasn’t just pining, Y/N.”
“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think I — I think I’m in love with you. And not just because I’m…“ He laughs. “… inside you right now, but I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment you spoke to me and — and fuck, being able to hold you like this only confirms it.”
And just like that, you come undone all over his thick fingers.
“Oh, fuck! S-Steven!”
You cry out into his chest, bite marks tattering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax. Your body shivers from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, which usually never happens from anyone else’s hands other than your own. Steven’s confession hangs heavily in the air even as he coaxes you through your high, fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you. 
Soft praises leave him in whispers, and he shares his affection for you with gentle pecks to your temples. 
A couple minutes pass by until you’re able to catch your breath, or at least, compose yourself.
“Was I imagining that or did you just say you love me?” You look up at him with big eyes, voice hushed and fearful as he wipes the sweat away from your brow with his thumb. 
He gulps, lashes fluttering dreamily when you cup his cheek with a shaky hand. “S’real.”
“Tell me again.”
“I love you.”
“More than best friends?”
Steven adores the childish glimmer of curiosity in your innocent gaze. He chuckles quietly, nodding. “Best friends included and more.”
“I love you, best friends and more.” You rub your nose against his before your stare drifts to his swollen lips. “But the next time you confess shit like that, don’t do it when you’re fingering me.”
He flashes you a weak smile. “Alrighty, miss.”
Although, Steven is unprepared for when you untangle yourself from his arms and settle between his thighs, nails raking over his muscled calves and mouth grazing over the bulging front of his boxers.
Your next words simultaneously fill and take the air from his lungs.
“Do it when you have your cock inside me.”
Marc nearly takes control of the body himself at that exact moment, and Steven immediately thinks he’s going to pass out when you tug his boxers down his hips to free his aching prick. His reddened tip is already leaking with pre-cum, thighs jolting beneath your slow and open-mouthed kisses to his skin. 
“You really are hellish.” He whines when you wrap your middle and ring finger along the middle of his cock, lips suctioning around the base. A long moan drawls from his throat as he rests his head back against the rug, eyes screwing shut when you run your warm tongue along a prominent vein. 
“Am not.” You chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the head.
He stifles a groan, forearm coming up to cover his eyes as you take just the tip of him into your mouth. “Oh, my god, Y/N. F-Fuck, yes.” You hum in amusement, the back of your throat sending the vibrations right to his cock. “That’s good. Really fucking good. Oh, fuck.”
You grin widely, but remain careful not to use any teeth on him. “You’re very needy, you know that? But, oh, you’re just doing so well for me, aren’t you?”
The mocking tone of your phrases make him squirm. He’s gripping onto a fistful of the Persian rug, wrinkling it with scarred knuckles. 
“Please.”
“Please?” 
“More. Touch me more.” He shakes his head at you, chin pressing against his chest as he stares down at you with a defeated expression. “Please, love.”
You’d be lying if you say that the way he looks at you doesn’t make you wet. You’re practically a puddle of desire, and Steven is melting jelly in your hands when your head quickly bobs down his thick length. 
He’s sputtering out a string of swear words, cursing more than you’ve ever heard him in your years of friendship. You can tell he’s trying his best not to cum prematurely, not that you’d care anyways, but with how his soft stomach ripples and flexes with each deliberate swirl of your textured tongue, you know he’s struggling.
And just when you’re about to give him that moment of release, you feel Steven pulling you back by the hair. Disappointment flashes over his features briefly when your mouth leaves him, but the boyish longing on his face quickly shifts into attentiveness when he catches a glimpse of the confused glint in your eyes. 
“Everything alright?” Your hands find his face once more. It becomes so natural in this new, sudden dynamic together — touching him, feeling him against you like you’ve always wanted. “Was it too much?”
“No, no, it was amazing.” He assures you, fingers pushing back the matted hair on your cheeks. “You’re amazing. I just don’t — I don’t wanna finish and leave you unsatisfied.”
“You could never leave me unsatisfied, silly.” You bite your lip feverishly, thumb stroking his chin for comfort.
He smiles. The tension of the conversation seems far from innocent now, especially when a near-indiscernible side of Steven appears as the words leave him confidently:
“I want to be your first, though. The first man inside you.”
“Steven…” 
“Only if you want, Y/N. Whatever you say goes, no matter what.” His hands grab yours, sweat sticking to each other’s skin. “It would be nice to have you be my first. And me as yours. I mean, it sounds so juvenile to want no one except you, but it’s the truth.” He lazily kisses across your knuckles, paving his way around the tendons with his lips. “I want to have sex with you, and I want to remember it.”
“Is he here right now?” Steven freezes and his jaw goes slack at the question. He can tell you’re nothing but concerned once your eyebrows knit together deeply. “Is Marc here?”
It’s the first time you’ve asked about Marc Spector without Steven bringing him up on his own account.
“Why? Did you want — do you want him instead?” 
“No! No, I don’t. Not for this.” You smile with brief panic, tracing the bridge of Steven’s nose to put his worries to rest. His frown gradually fades with the soothing motion. “I just want to make sure it’s you. Everything we do here, I want it to be with you.” You ruffle his hair teasingly once he sits up. “No offense to Marc, by the way.”
Steven chuckles, “I’ll give him your regards.” 
“Well, he has yet to talk to me.” You shrug casually, grabbing onto his biceps as he pulls you onto his lap. 
“He’s just shy.” He grins against your lips. His palm travels up the swell of your breast until he’s softly kneading the ball of flesh and rolling your nipple between his fingers.
Your breathing quickens, eyes fixating on his hardened erection. “Shyer than you?”  
“Oh, incredibly.” Steven jokes, shaking his head. 
He can just imagine Marc’s downturned expression of disbelief. 
“Tell him…” You nip at his earlobe, moaning against his cheek. “… that I’m already spoken for.”
“Are you now?” He’s abrupty cut off by his own gasp when your arm reaches behind and you wrap a fist around his dick, pumping him slowly in your firm grasp. “Rude. I was talking.”
“Were you? I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
She thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she?
“Stop a-apologizing and…” He hisses when you twist your hand, grazing the pad of your finger over his slit. “F-Fuck, Y/N.”
“There we go…” You grind against his tip, pre-cum smearing across your folds. “What do you want?”
“Want you to use me, darling. However you’d like.”
“So eager for me, Steven.” You breathe into his mouth, noses nudging against each other as you line his cock up with your entrance. “You haven’t even fucked me and yet you’re practically begging for more.”
“God, you talk so filthy for someone with such a gorgeous face, yeah?”
“I guess I truly am hellish.” 
And yet nothing about this feels like hell. 
Especially once you sink down onto his length, the heavy tip of his cock ready to stretch you out. It’s only slightly painful — a brief sting, the awkward shifting of bones so that Steven can sit back and have your thighs on either side of him, the echoing of your quiet whimpers beneath the soft light as you take every inch of him into your core. Your slick spreads onto his thighs and balls, wetness coating his digit as he instantly reaches for your clit like its become second nature.
“You — you’re really tight.” He groans, looking down at where your cunt swallows him whole. 
You laugh wryly, whimpering when his hips subconsciously rut into you. “And you’re really big.” 
Steven tilts his head back and looks up at you with a hazy smile, raising your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. For a split second, you think it’s Marc — the darkness in his eyes, the sudden dominance dripping from his tone, but it’s a big mistake on your part to second-guess him once he finally thrusts into you.
“Say it again, love.” 
It’s completely Steven — his wandering hands, grasping and grabbing at flesh, grounding you, feeling every crevice and fold of your body like it’s a sanctuary that he’s been dying to enter.
“You’re so big.” Your mouth gapes, eyes widening when you submit to his touch and let him take you. “Oh, fuck. Steven, please.”
“Yeah?” He grunts gruffly into your neck, teeth marking the virginal expanse of your throat. “You like it this way? My lovely Y/N enjoys getting fucked on the floor of her own flat?”  
“I love it.” You meet his strokes halfway, tits bouncing in his face as he leans forward on his knees and wraps your legs behind his back. “Oh, s-shit. Mmm, right there — right there feels so — so good, Steven. Fuck!” 
Steven bites down onto your shoulder when he lays you down onto the rug, cock burying itself deeper inside your cunt while he puts his weight on top of your body. His whiny moans are muffled, gasps and slaps filling the ambience of the messy living room. You’re sure that the neighbors below your studio can feel every force of Steven’s hips pounding into you — hard, slow and full. 
You scratch down his spine, red marks drawing angry lines across his tanned muscles. Juices are running down your inner thighs and cream coats his cock as he fucks you needily. While his skin is stained with paint, your skin is littered with his stinging handprints. He spreads his palms over your ass, carefully maneuvering you up and down his length as you sob into his chest.
“Oh, Y/N, you’re everything I could’ve dreamed of.” Steven pants out incoherently, nipping at your jawline. “This pretty cunt… jus’ wrapped ‘round me. I could get used to this, you know that?” 
Your throat feels raw from your mewling, the exhausted and desperate need to cum written all over your features. “You can have me anyday and anytime. I want you to…” You swallow roughly. “… fill me up, Steven. Take me whenever.” Your tone grows hushed, breathy whispers ghosting over the shell of his ear. “I wanna see how drunk you can get off of my pussy.”
“Holy f-fuck.”
You laugh together, even during the heated moment. “You love it when I talk dirty, don’t you?”
“I just love you. Anything you say, anything you do, it just absolutely riles me up.” His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling you to him till your foreheads are touching and your naked bodies beg even harder for release. “God, dovey. You’re a perfect work of art. 
“Mmm, I-I’m close.” You gasp out, nails digging into his shoulder blades when his cock begins to hit that unforgivable spot inside you. 
Steven takes a moment to pull out of you, running himself against your folds until he dives right back in. His tip prods and prods at your walls, your wetness leaving his prick damp with each deep stroke. 
“Fuck, Y/N. S’good, I can’t — oh, hell, I can’t think anymore.” He whines, arms resting on either side of your head as he pounds into you. 
“Stevie.”
He shushes you tenderly, thumb sliding across the corners of your eyes to wipe away the brimming tears. “I know, darling. I know. I’ll get you there, promise.” His breath fans out across your lips, and you take advantage of your proximity to reel him in for another drowning kiss. 
His thrusts grow sloppy, hips losing their graceful rhythm as he continues to snap into you. He beckons your name like it’s a song on loop, while your tiny whimpers turn into loud wanton groans of lust. He pulls you back into an embrace and sits up again, hooking his arms under your knees so that they’re bent and your ass hovers over his lap. 
The position leaves you vulnerable when you hold onto his torso for dear life, fluids making a mess between your bodies.
“I love you.” You croak out, opening your eyes to gaze into Steven’s dilated pupils. “Best friends and more.”
“And I love you.” You moan in tandem, feeling yourselves near your orgasm. “My sweet, perfect Venus.”
You clench around his hard cock, cumming intensely on his length as he cries against your neck. His hands are everywhere, but all you can focus on is the way your cunt contracts around him, tugging and milking him till he discovers his own high. This time, Steven doesn’t shy away from moaning and allows himself those deserved minutes of relief as you ride out your orgasms together.
“Oh, my god.” 
Momentarily, neither you or Steven move from the rug. He keeps you on his cock, too scared to face the emptiness that’ll come once you leave him. But it seems that you share the same sentiment, sighing against his bicep as you draw circles on the back of his hand. 
He decides to break the comfortable silence.
“I do okay?” 
Steven can feel your smile form against his skin, eyes sleepy and droopy from where your head lays. “You did so good.” 
“You wanna get cleaned up?”
“Please.”
With ease, Steven helps you off of him, already missing the comfort and warmth of your core as you both shakily rise to your feet. For a split second, it’s awkward — your palms shift to cup your naked breasts, while his limbs fumble to fetch you a quilt from the couch till he realizes his own indecency.
But then you share another bubbly laugh and offer the other half of your quilt to Steven, who doesn’t hesitate to cozy up beside you and have you lead one another to the bathroom. You take him under your clothed wing, ankles bumping together clumsily as he finds the light by the sink and quietly flicks it on.
He unravels himself from the quilt first and sits by the edge of your bathtub while he waits for the water to heat up. You watch him lovingly from the doorframe, tired and hair matted, but nevertheless, Steven thinks you look ravishing.
“Come on now.” The Londoner makes grabby hands towards you, taking the blanket from your hickey-covered frame and folding it neatly by the bathroom counter. 
You sit with him in the tub — back to his chest, his back to the tile, your hands interwoven amongst the soapy suds and lavender, chamomile-scented bubbles. 
A soft sigh. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. An adoring chuckle as your lover brushes his nose against your ear and tells you stories of how the sun loved the moon.
Like clockwork.
Steven is everywhere. On your lips, the scent that wafts through your closet, your bedsheets and the Persian rug in your living room, in how you make your tea, in what mug you drink water out of, what songs you play to start your morning.
But most of all, he lingers in the unfinished painting on your easel. Jaw sharp and nose prominent, eyes youthful yet wise, lips pillowy and inviting. 
He is in the shades of brown, pastel pinks and the added hue of orange from how his marked skin glistens in candlelight.
He is your Venus.
Not the goddess, but the planet.
Either way, neither of them are able to truly equate your love for him.
6K notes · View notes
sweetly-yours-and-mine · 11 months
Note
“you have a daughter?” with single dad! marc pls🥺🥺
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Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader
Word Count: 2k (we're off to a strong start lol)
A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests!
Warnings: fluffy, a little angsty, marc is a bit of a nervous mess bless him
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Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy to take it slow. 
He took his time with her, bought her flowers and pretty necklaces with jewelled pendants that he gave her when he took her out to dinner. 
She’s never been charmed the way Marc has managed to charm her. 
He walks her to her door after taking her out, kisses her cheek and then asks if she’d like it if he kissed her on her mouth. 
The stories her grandmother told her of the dashing, charming men that wooed her off her feet when she was young finally start to ring true to her ears. 
She feels that maybe, after years of looking, she’s managed to find a real treasure worth holding on to. 
She feels that maybe all those ruined dates and talking phases and endless swipes on the dating apps were worth it, if it meant that one day Marc would stumble into her life like he always belonged there. She’d do it all over again, ten times over, to get to Marc. 
Marc, she’s come to find out, is worth close to anything she’s able to give, and he always asks so little from her in return for all he does, as if she was worth all that he gives her and more. 
He’s flurrying about his kitchen now, having banished her to the living room with a glass of wine and a quasi-demand to make herself at home, despite her insistence on helping. Dinner would be ready in just a couple of minutes, he said. He’d already set the table. 
Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy who liked having things done his way. Found it easier to take on the load himself than to let others help. 
It’s the first time he’s invited her over to his place. The first time that he asked her to have a date night in, with soothing music and soft lights, just the two of them together. 
Marc, she’s come to find out, was an utter, sappy romantic at heart. 
She wonders if tonight will be the night he’ll take her to his bed, she wonders what the brown of his eyes will look like shrouded in desire and lust. 
Her cheek is still tingling from where he’d kissed her, the small of her back warm from the heat of his palm. His cologne lingers in the air. There’s an anticipatory ache in her thighs and she tries to distract herself from it.
Her eyes are wandering, not looking for anything specific except for him, but because she’s scared that would be too weird, she looks out the window. She’s soaking in the view of the London skyline, dingy and dark from the near consistent rain they’ve had all week. 
In Marc’s place, she barely feels a shred of the cold seep into her bones. There are only warm, yellow lights on, nothing too direct. She might as well be looking at a hyperrealistic painting. 
She goes to set her glass down when her eyes fall on the picture frames, hung up beside the window. The wood is stained a deep brown that reminds her of Marc’s eyes, as all brown things usually do. 
She hadn’t meant to pry, but now her curiosity has been stoked to life. The oven timer goes on and off, there’s a waft of something savoury as he opens and shuts the door. 
The girl is too similar to Marc to be able to pass it off as a niece or a coincidence. The same head of dark curls, matching noses and bushy, unkempt eyebrows. She’s sure this is what Marc would have looked like, when he was a child, had he been a girl. 
There’s a picture of her as an infant, still in the hospital and in a younger Marc’s arms, dark circles under his eyes and a nervous smile on his face. It’s the unmistakable traces of new fatherhood, she feels as if she’s seen thousands of pictures just like it, the same words, in different handwritings. 
First day of school, mile-wide grin, heavy, sombre eyes from her father that were jarring against his smile. The girl’s pulled tight into his frame, Marc seems to be holding on to her as if she were a shadow. 
Eyes flitting up and down, she takes in the rest of them. Days at the beach and nights at home. Milestones stacked on top of each other. Dance recitals, a small bouquet of roses clutched in her hands, held proudly in Marc’s arms. 
They even grinned the same way. 
Marc’s daughter was well-loved. 
Happiness like that could never be faked. 
She drifts back towards the kitchen. Marc’s curls, normally neat and tamed back are loose and carefree now. 
He tugs on them when he’s nervous. Gives them two or three harsh pulls before drifting down to rub at the skin of his neck, exhales a nervous breath. 
She’s underestimated the effect his presence can have on her. There are drawings on the fridge, drawings she hadn’t noticed, not until now. 
She feels as if her lack of attention should be justified. Marc is pretty. Pretty in a way that makes her breath hitch, her head somersault on itself. She’s always a little tongue-tied during the first few minutes of their dates. 
She knows now that it wasn’t just because of his little belly that tucked out comfortably when he sat down, or the crooked angles of his nose. Tenderness and patience radiates out from inside him, the kind people usually only get when raising children with love. 
The thud of his knife against the cutting board, slicing through lettuce and cucumbers is comforting. Though she’d made him promise not to go all out, not to bother himself too much for the dinner, Marc has done exactly that. 
“Hungry?” 
“Hm?” There’s a dog in one of the drawings, a cat in the other. 
“Just gotta finish the salad.” 
She knows that it’ll be fruitless to offer to take anything to the table. She wants to ask him if he’d like some wine and is instead surprised by the words that flow out of her mouth. “You have a daughter?” 
He freezes. A cucumber slides off his knife. It may have well been a scene out of a sitcom. She would have laughed, had it not been for the hold Marc already had on her heart. 
She keeps her gaze steady on him, watches intently as he sets down his knife and looks at her. 
There’s nothing she can tell from the expressions in his eyes, the hardened tilt of his mouth. She’s come to accept that it will take months before she’ll feel confident in reading the man in front of her, one who spoke so much with his body. 
If she gets to take months to learn his language. 
It’s an unpleasant little tumour of a thought. She swallows to apologise, to grab at whatever the string was that has managed to tie her tightly to Marc and make sure it stays there. 
His throat bobs up and down. Marc speaks before she gets the chance to, “Yeah, I have a daughter.” 
“What’s…” she wonders if it’s appropriate to ask, and the question dies on her lips. 
“Maya. She’s seven now.” 
Maya. She rolls the word around her head like a marble, tries to connect it to the photos and drawings hung up around the place. “She looks just like you.” 
He laughs, an awkward, fumbling thing. It’s like a flat ball. “We get that a lot.” 
“Well, it’s true,” she smiles and tentatively reaches for his hand. It’s a little rough, a little wet from the freshly-washed vegetables; she wonders if he would like it if she bought him some cream, something with glycerin. “And you’re both very beautiful.” 
He pauses, emotions fighting on his face until he settles for steering the topic away from him, “You really don’t mind?” 
“Why would I?” 
He shrugs, casts his eyes away from her. The pressure of his hand in hers fades ever so slightly and she stumbles forward to make sure it stays. 
“I don’t mind,” she swallows, rounds over the counter so she comes to stand beside him and looks up at him. “I really don’t. And I’d love to meet her, whenever you think it’s time.” 
There’s a familiar expression in his eyes, one that she’s able to figure just from the sheer amount of times he’s looked at her with it on. 
“I don’t lie about these things, Marc.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, squeezes his hand at the same time. “And I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner.” 
He pauses, mouth hardened into a firm little line, “You like kids?” 
She nods. There’s the footprint of her lips on his cheek, a faint brush of rusty pink that plants a little seed of possession inside of her. 
“Good.” His voice is gruff, serious like a boulder of sandstone. 
“Sorry for springing it on you like that, I saw the photos and-” 
He shakes his head, his free hand comes to rest on her waist. Water seeps into her clothes and onto her skin and she revels in the feeling of it, a physical trace of his touch on her. 
It amazes her how quickly he can quiet the static inside her mind. “I meant to tell you tonight.” He sighs, his breath rolling over her face, a stitch forming on his forehead. “Forgot about the pictures.” 
She presses away the stitch, smiles and delights when he smiles back, retracted and tight, the corners of his eyes wrinkling like well-loved and sunkissed linen. 
His phone starts to ring, turns their soft bubble into shattered ice. The grimace returns to his face, “Sorry.” 
The cadence of his voice is soft, soft in a way that’s never been directed at her, when he answers the call and goes into his room, “Hey baby…” It sounds like honey, syrupy and nutritious, she feels if she listens hard enough she can hear the gentle hum of bumblebees underneath. “I miss you too.” 
She’s finishing the salad when he returns, cutting the rest of the vegetables the way he’d started and hoping that she’d done a good enough job. 
His gaze falls back to her hands, “Sorry.” 
“Nothing to apologise for,” she slides everything off the cutting board and into the bowl, sets everything aside and comes close to him. “Is she alright?” 
“Yeah,” his fingers are tentative as they reach for her again. Her hands come on top of his and press down. A never ending cycle of reassurance. “She’s at my cousin’s. Told her to call before she goes to bed.” 
The thought that he has the place to himself tonight makes her stomach flip-flop on itself. 
She dares to cup his face between her hands. She’s never done it before and finds the feel of his clean-shaven skin addicting, “You’re a good father.” He stiffens in her arms but doesn’t move out of them. The picture of young Marc in the hospital with his daughter rises again in her mind, “Thank you for making me dinner.” 
He frowns, eyebrows furrowing together like two fuzzy caterpillars, “You haven’t fuckin’ eaten it yet.” 
It makes her laugh, and she lets him go, kisses him on his pouty mouth. The way he moves is like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. 
He’s all business now, rushing about the kitchen to finish the food. Her eyes fall back to the drawings, flit over to the curly head of his hair, “Do you want some wine, Marc?”
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phantomspiderr · 1 year
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Happy Birthday, Marc
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Pairing: Marc Spector x afab!reader & Steven Grant x afab!reader
Word Count: 3k+
Summary: You think birthdays are something important, a chance to celebrate your favourite person, to give them anything they want and make them feel good. And maybe Marc will look forward to his birthday from now on.
Warnings/Tags: 18+ smut bby, unprotected p in v, fingering, a little manhandling, it's fluffy i'm ngl, use of the nicknames baby & sweetheart
a/n: besties i'm ngl i'm exhausted and i've probabaly missed things in order just to post this cause I started writing it like a week ago and just got the urge to finish it. So i'm sorry if i'm missing tags and stuff, let me know if there's things missing. But I hope you like it anyways, love you, appreciate you and now i'm going to sleep
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“Marc,” it comes out in a breathy whisper and your lips are pressed back to his skin before you’re even finished drawing out his name. For once, by some miracle, you’d woken up before your boyfriend so it was only right to wake him in the best way you know how. It was also just coincidentally his birthday and you think today should be all about him and things that make him feel good.
Continuing at your slow pace, you place kisses on his cheek, moving down to his jaw and then his neck. If he was awake he’d call you a tease, especially with the way you’re straddling his waist, and definitely for your choice of clothing—or lack thereof. You’d maybe went online and bought yourself a cute, new underwear set and maybe you’d planned to buy it the week before Marc’s birthday. Now, you just have to hope it will be Marc fronting when he wakes, not that you’d complain if it was Steven or Jake. 
You call his name again, hoping that will somehow unconsciously pull him to front as you gently tug on the neckline of his tshirt so you can press kisses to his collarbone. Your hands move delicately against his skin too, lightly brushing over his arms or holding his face and they sneak under the hem of his shirt to feel the relaxed muscles there.
“Baby.” This time his body stirs a little, a deep, quiet groan escaping him. A smile creeps its way onto your face as you sit back to admire him. He looks so pretty like this, hair all tousled against the pillow and face completely relaxed, the frown lines that seem like a permanent feature faded with sleep. 
Your hands are still resting under his shirt against his stomach, slowly creeping higher before coming back down. His body begins to wriggle every time your featherlight touch runs across his sides and a giggle bubbles in your throat when he half-heartedly swats your hands away. Mercifully you stop your hand's cruel pursuit and go back to pressing tender kisses to his neck. You quietly call out for Marc again between kisses and this time he shifts more, the quiet groans turning more into little whines. The sounds only spur you on more, holding his chin in your hand so you can switch sides. Your ministrations continue until you feel his hands anchor themselves on your hips. He’s pushing you down more into his lap, the contact forcing a whimper out of you. 
You keep his face delicately held in your hand and go back to kissing his cheek. His hands start moving up your sides, shivers running up your spine at the movement. 
“Well this is some way to wake up,” his voice is groggy and any other time you’d smile and egg him on to talk more until the rough tone faded but it’s not the voice you’d hoped for. You physically deflate, your head briefly sinking into the pillow over his shoulder before you sit up again. Fighting the urge to quietly moan when you accidentally grind against him. 
“What’s wrong, love?” The sweet British accent you’d normally swoon for only causes your pout to grow. Upon your withdrawal from him, Steven’s eyes had shot open, the creases between his eyebrows harsh again. 
“I was hoping for Marc,” you sound like a spoilt child. You know that’s not how it works, you can’t just request who you want at that moment. And anyway, you love all of the boys equally so it shouldn't matter. Never do you want one of them to feel inferior to the others but the quiet oh that leaves Steven has you panicked you’ve done just that. “No! I didn’t mean I don’t want you, Steven! I want you, trust me. It’s just… it’s silly. I wanted to do something for Marc because it’s his birthday.” Your voice dies out before you even finish. You’re looking everywhere but into his eyes and suddenly you wish you had more clothes on to cover up. 
“Oh love,” Steven props himself up on his elbows, fingertips just grazing your knees. “You know how Marc feels about his birthday.”
The more seconds that pass the more silly you feel for trying to do anything. 
“I know.” It comes out meekly, your eyes fixed on your hands that pick at the threads of Steven’s old shirt. 
“Hey,” suddenly Steven sits up, his hands soothingly cupping your cheeks and your gaze moves straight to his face, “if this is what you do for Marc’s birthday, well then I can’t wait for mine.”
Your face cracks, the sad exterior fading the longer you look at Steven's cheery features. The man seems to have a way of always making things better. 
“You know,” his eyes flicker to your lips only for a moment, “just because Marc’s not here doesn’t mean you have to stop.” Steven's rare boldness always surprises you, “it’d be a shame to waste all of this.” He leans back just a little so he can rake his eyes over your body, his hands moving down to your waist and pressing you impossibly closer. It causes you both to let out a satisfying sigh.
“You do have a point…” you let your own eyes trail down his body as your hands slowly pull up the hem of his shirt, exposing more of him. You quickly grow impatient with your own actions, tugging his shirt up and instinctively Steven raises his arms so you can pull it off. You’re both moving in the second his shirt is off, lips crashing against one another in a hasty, messy kiss. You’re sinking further into his hold as his hands grip onto you for dear life. It’s completely impulsive when you grind yourself down in his lap. It clearly takes Steven by surprise because his head falls back and a low grunt escapes him. You do it again, this time placing a kiss on his jaw and he holds you down, one of his arms wrapped securely around you. He’s back to looking at you and already he’s wrecked, panting, and disheveled. Still, even in his tight grip you manage to roll your hips, the friction feels so good and you crave more of it. 
“Right, as pretty as this is, take it off now.” He snaps the elastic of your underwear causing you to squeal and jerk in his lap again. It’s ungracious and desperate the way you climb out of his lap and tug your underwear down your legs. It seems Steven’s just as desperate as he awkwardly pulls off the sweatpants he’d slept in until he’s completely naked.
Steven looks into your eyes with pure adoration, his hands touching your thighs delicately as you settle back in his lap. You sit back on his thighs and Steven’s hands curl around to rub your back. He even blushes and has to look away when you hold his face and smile at him, a glimpse at the sweet Steven you’re used to. His head rests on your collarbone and automatically your hand slips around into his hair, gently combing through the wild curls. The soft moment has you relaxing in his hold so much so your body flinches when Steven’s hand unexpectedly grazes the inside of your thigh. Then he has you gasping in seconds, his fingers running through your soaked folds. His movements have your body rising, almost like it’s trying to get away from his touch. The hand in his hair tightens, especially as he begins to circle your clit, and your other hand grips his shoulder so much your fingers ache. The stimulation is enough to have you breathily moaning already then he’s raising his head to look at you with that dopey grin before he pushes two fingers into you, causing your jaw to drop. There’s a welcome sting before your senses are steeped in pleasure. Steven’s fingers build a pace slowly, his thumb now brushing against your clit each time he sinks into you. 
Steven looks at you like you’re the pyramids like you’re some unexplained wonder in the world that very few people get to experience. The eye contact becomes too intense that you have to close your eyes and your head instinctively rolls back. You allow the pleasure to consume you, your hips now grinding against his hand and whimpers of his name filling the room. You’re so lost in the growing feeling of your climax creeping closer that you don’t hear him speak, let alone hear the change in accent or the way his grips got a little tighter. It’s only when you feel a sharp bite to the top of one of your breasts that your head snaps back down with a yelp. 
“Look at me.” That thick Chicago accent is prominent in your ears now. “Keep your eyes right here, sweetheart,” and he smirks when you dumbly nod your head. 
“Marc.” You’re panting now as he moves a little faster and rougher than Steven had. It’s his turn to be impatient, he’s trying desperately to use speed and more force to pull your orgasm out of you quicker. It takes a second for your body to adjust to the change but then you’re crying out for him, begging him to keep going. Your hand's can't stay still, they keep moving to touch him anywhere; his shoulders, his back, his neck, and then they finally rest on his face. Your fingers dig into his cheek and his jaw and you keep your eyes on him like you were told. 
“That’s it,” he hits the perfect spot that has you squeezing around his fingers, “just a little more baby.” Marc keeps his speed steady now, using his arm that's wrapped around you to assist in grinding your hips. Your head’s spinning now, your heart thudding in your chest and you can’t think straight. Now, you’re kissing him or at least trying to between cries of pleasure. Marc chuckles as you gasp and clutch onto his shoulders when he ceases movement of his fingers. He continues to rock your hips and instead moves his thumb faster against your clit. Your forehead is pressed against his, your eyes are screwed shut and you’re climbing higher until you’re plummeting off the edge. 
“Couldn’t miss this,” Marc’s taking advantage of your hazy state, nuzzling himself into your neck, “gods I can’t wait baby. I need you now.”
Your mind is still somewhere in the clouds, not really comprehending what he’s saying but you’re nodding. You trust him enough to let him do anything to you.
Marc’s moving eagerly, his soaked fingers slip out of you which causes a whimper to escape you. You’re pretty much a dead weight, your body feeling too heavy to move but that doesn’t stop Marc. He moves you like you weigh nothing and you let him manhandle you, flipping you over onto your back so he can be on top. 
“I love you so much, baby.” You’re smiling up at him when he says it, head still all floaty. He looks so ethereal like this, his eyes focused on his hand that’s now stroking himself. His toned chest heaving quicker now. “So lucky to have you,” his free hand pushes one of your thighs down, exposing you more to him. Normally you’d hate being this exposed, you’d want to cover up and hide yourself away but Marc looks at you like you’re it. You’re everything he’s ever wanted or needed like he would physically wither away without you.
It’s different from the way Steven looks at you, everything about Steven is gentle and soft but Marc’s more meticulous and complex. Marc’s gazes say more than he thinks he can articulate, his eyes always full of love whenever he looks at you. Only in truly intimate moments like this does he let his guard down enough to be able to share all those feelings that swim around in his head. 
“Need you, baby.” Your eyes fall shut when he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, quiet whimpers flowing past your lips as he slowly pushes himself in. Your hands loosely cling to the sheets and unconsciously you’re bearing down your hips toward him, unexpectedly forcing him deeper. Marc’s hand slams down on the mattress next to you, a curse sharply coming out of him. You open your droopy eyes to see he’s closer now, leaning over you completely with his furrowed brow and tense features. It’s hard to keep your eyes open, Marc seems to have this power to make you feel fuzzy no matter what. 
“Hey,” you’re blinking up at him the second you hear his voice, “look at me.” 
It’s not a command like the last time he said it, no, it’s more like a plea. He wants you to look at him like he’s the only person to ever exist, or that he’s the best person to exist and you do. You look at him as if it’s the last time you could lay your eyes on him, soaking up every detail and trying to portray all of the love you feel for him. 
Your hand moves up to hold his face again, the other finding purchase on his side. You raise your head just enough so you can kiss him, it’s only brief but a smile creeps across his face. Marc lowers himself to rest on his elbow so he can kiss you again, over and over while he slowly starts to rock his hips. The gentle pecks quickly turn fervent as his thrusts pick up their pace. He’s not going too fast but it’s consistent and deliberate. His free hand lovingly rubs the outside of your thigh that’s crept up to encase his hips.
You can feel the familiar tightening warmth already blooming again. The hand that was cupping his face moves into his hair. The messy curls slip through your fingers as you pull him impossibly closer. 
“I-I need-ah-I love-“ you can’t even form a coherent sentence. You want to tell him that you need him, that you love him, that he is truly all you’ll ever want. You’d planned all these things you wanted to say to him, how exactly you wanted to pour out all the good things he makes you feel. You wanted to make him feel loved, to maybe replace some of those bad memories he holds with new happy ones. You were supposed to be the one making him feel good and here you are an intelligible mess because of how well he’s treating you. 
“I know-I know, baby.” He’s breathing so hard, panting from exertion. The hand that’s resting on your thigh holds on a little firmer, a sign he’s found a rhythm that works for him. Marc kisses you again, it’s surprisingly tender for the situation you’re currently in. It is however cut off quickly when he lets up the prettiest sound. His forehead thuds against your shoulder, a mixture of moans and grunts freely falling past his lips. It drives you insane in the best way possible, you think maybe you could get off on that sound alone. 
“Hey-hey, look at me. Look at me.” You’re almost whispering, practically sounding like you’re begging. You tap your fingers against his head to grab his attention more. He’s a sight to be seen when he lifts his head, half-lidded eyes and lips parted and heaving in air. Loose curls flopped against his forehead and the crease between his eyebrows is so prominent now. You don’t care about anything other than the way he looks right now. You don’t care how many times you get to see him like this, you want to memorise every single time. 
Marc stutters on his words, his mind clearly just as muddled as yours. You can tell his body is tiring despite his hips moving faster as he chases his climax. Your body feels frozen pressed against his, you can only cling onto him. You squeak out his name as the hand on your thigh tightens, almost certain there’ll be fingerprints imprinted there for the rest of the week. 
Suddenly, he’s mumbling out the sweet nicknames he calls you, his face screwing up even as he fights to keep his eyes on you. Then it’s sweeping him under, his energy spikes and he thrusts a little harder. His orgasm washes over him completely, you catch his eyes slightly rolling back as they close before his head falls back against your shoulder again. His hips keep moving as he cums, slowing the longer he goes until he just stops moving completely. Your hand moves out of his hair to soothingly rub his back as he comes down from his high. You can feel his breath panting against your collarbone, his chest heaving still. You turn your head so you can press a kiss into his hair, whispering words of love into the dark curls. 
“I’m sorry.” Your face instantly scrunches when you hear the apology, waiting to hear the reason why. “I couldn’t miss this. I needed you so bad.” You laugh once before pausing and doing it again until you’re full-on giggling. Marc lifts his head with that same furrow of his brows for a different reason this time. “What?”
“This was for you,” his eyebrow cocks up a bit at that. His eyes just briefly glancing down at your chest, still covered in the nice-looking lingerie. Your hand slips back to hold his cheek again, your thumb rubbing back and forth lovingly as you look up at him. “I wanted to do something special for your birthday. I know it’s silly and we don’t-“
“Oh we’re doing this every year now,” Marc’s smirking at you now and the insecurity is flushed out of you, “however you’re gonna have to make it up to Steven.”
“Me?!” 
“Poor guy’s a mess, you can’t just leave him in that state sweetheart.” He laughs when you begin protesting that it’s not your fault. Marc’s chuckles die out as he looks down at you smiling up at him. Your heart thumps in your chest still when he looks at you. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together they all still have a way of making you feel giddy with just one look. You push up unexpectedly to kiss him briefly, your head falling back against the pillows so you can look at him again. 
“Happy birthday, Marc.”
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Text
Lazy Summer Rain
AN: Heyyyyy y'all. I'm starting 2024 of a lil slutty with my first fic for @moonknight-events' MK Bingo. 🙌 Hope y'all enjoy. 😌
You’d had other plans, plans to spend the day with Marc outside—maybe grab breakfast at the cafe downstairs or have a picnic at the park across the street—but waking up to the rain had quickly quashed them. Can’t say you’re too disappointed by that at the moment, though.
(Un-beta’d)
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Prompt: Rainy Day Words: 943 Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, morning sex, soft!Marc, praise kink (if you squint), cockwarming (please let me know if i missed anything) AO3
——————
The rain taps rhythmically on the windows, the sound of it soothing, just loud enough to drown out the sounds of the outside world. It makes you want to forget where you are, forget what time it is, what you had planned on doing today, makes you want to forget everything but him, everything but Marc.
He’s braced over you, forearms on either side of your head as he kisses you sloppily, deeply. He grinds into you, hips pushing you down into the plush mattress with every thrust, the slight squeak of the bed mixing with the soft pants and moans you exchange as you kiss. You get lost in him, running your hands lazily up and down his back, over his shoulders, up his neck, and back down toward his ass.
You’d had other plans, plans to spend the day with Marc outside—maybe grab breakfast at the cafe downstairs or have a picnic at the park across the street—but waking up to the rain had quickly quashed them.
Can’t say you’re too disappointed by that at the moment, though.
You break the kiss with a gasp as Marc shifts, his cock hitting that special place inside you. He grunts as you flutter around him, his warm breath puffing against your lips as he pulls your leg higher over his hip.
“You close, baby?” he rasps, jaw tightening as he somehow sinks even deeper inside you. “Gonna come for me? Hmm?”
You whine his name as pleasure sings through your body, his fingertips digging into your thigh as he holds onto you, his thrusts becoming sloppier, faster. Thunder rumbles in the distance, the rain falling quicker now, beating harder against your window. His nose bumps against yours as he leans in, searching for your lips, and you sigh just before he claims them again.
You’re close, so close, can feel the coil inside you tightening, about to snap, the heat building and building— 
Marc’s groan is choked as you come, your body bowing and shaking beneath him as you drench his cock with your release. The wet squelch of his thrusts is loud in your ears despite the rain now as he fucks you through it, prolonging it. 
He’s still hard inside you as you come down, his face hovering over yours as he watches you closely. You smile at him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek in your palm, his dark curls tickling the tips of your fingers. He smiles back, shifting slightly to press a gentle kiss against your wrist.
“Okay?” he asks, eyes roving your face.
You hum, pulling his mouth down to yours for a quick, sweet kiss. “That’s one way to put it.”
He sniffs a laugh, stealing another kiss as he begins to grind into you again. You’re still a little sensitive, but the gentle stimulation is pleasurable all the same. You hold onto him as he works himself (and you) back up, smothering the soft little noises he makes with your lips. He groans, breaking your kiss when you begin to meet his thrusts, his brow furrowing in concentration.
“You’re doing so good, Marc,” you praise, running your hands up and down his back soothingly. “So good.”
He swallows thickly, eyes watching you closely for a moment before leaning in. His pace never falters, even as he shifts, bringing his hand down between your legs. You whine when he circles your clit with the tip of his thumb, the pleasure building inside you once more. He groans when you clench around him, pulling his lip between his teeth as he slowly pushes you toward the edge again.
“Please don’t stop,” you plead, pulling weakly at his shoulders. 
Suddenly he’s not close enough, not deep enough. You want to be covered by him, surrounded, you want to drown in him. He seems to understand what you need, shifting again so he’s draped over you, hands fisting in the sheets on either side of your head, his thrusts quicker, harder.
You moan, peaked nipples brushing against his chest as he presses in closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your hands slide down his back, goosebumps raising on his skin, as he continues thrusting into you. He’s so close, you know he is, can tell by his clenched jaw, half-lidded, almost black eyes—but he’s holding himself back, he’s waiting for you. 
“It’s okay, baby,” you breathe, your hands sliding down to cup the muscled cheeks of his ass. “Let go for me.”
Marc groans, burying his face into your neck, thrusting into you rapidly as you cling to him, as you whisper encouragement in his ear. Your breath catches as you reach your peak again, but this time it’s softer, warmth flooding your body, making your fingers and toes tingle pleasantly. The gentle fluttering of your cunt is enough to finally drag Marc over the edge, his moan smothered in the crook of your neck as he empties himself inside you.
You stay connected, entwined, for what feels like hours, the constant patter of the rain against the windows soothing, lulling you both back to sleep. When you wake again later, you’re beneath a plush duvet you don’t recall pulling over yourself, the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. Marc lay on his belly, his face half-buried in his pillow, arm curled loosely around your waist. For a moment, you just watch him, smiling softly, marveling at how peaceful he looks in sleep, how content. Then you shift closer, doing your best not to disturb him as you burrow into his side, sighing as his warmth envelopes you, and you drift off again.
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wwinterwitch · 2 years
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the giver and the taker
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summary: one of your lovers is a complete giver, the other is a huge taker
pairing: fem!reader x steven grant, fem!reader x marc spector
word count: 4k
warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), polyamourus established relationship, kinda sub!steven and dom!marc, dirty talk fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), various kinks (hair pulling, praise, spanking), penetrative sex, gentle then rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms.
note: I don't have DID so please let me know about any harmful/incorrect/inaccurate stereotypes you see. This fic does contain a brief reference about marc being able to see what steven does tho.
read part two here(!)
a reblog and/or comment is always appreciated!
You are somewhat of a workaholic. Even on the weekends, you would be on your computer finishing reports and starting assignments that were supposed to be next week's job. Despite being a very good trait to be responsible, you took it to an extreme.
One night, your boyfriend Steven walked up to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm going to bed, are you coming too?"
"I'll join you later, maybe. I need to finish this."
"Don't you think you've worked enough today?" he tried again.
"I'll be there in five minutes, I promise."
Steven seemed to give up, letting go of your shoulder as he walked back to your shared bedroom. "If you're not here in five, I'll come back to annoy you!" he said from the other room, making you chuckle.
"Please, don't!" you joked back, hearing no response.
After a couple of minutes passed, you kept your promise and went to your bedroom to find Steven already in bed, reading one of the many books he has laying around the apartment. You sat at the end of the bed to remove your shoes when you heard him move, leaving his book and glasses on the night table and crawling towards you.
"You look tired," he pointed out.
"That's because I am."
Steven sighed, but didn't try to argue with you about how you should maybe try to get a free day from work to actually have time to relax. He'd be lying if he said he's not concerned about the extreme pressure you put yourself under and the incredibly high standard you set when it comes to work. Not because he thinks you can't get to said standard, but because you actually can reach it, meaning you always try to push yourself even harder to an unhealthy level.
Instead of saying something, he moved your hair out of the way so he could leave tiny kisses on the exposed skin of your neck. You completely gave into him, leaning your head to the side to give him more room to kiss wherever he wanted. When you were done removing your shoes, one of your hands moved up to his hair, your fingers interlocking with his messy curls as he continued to kiss you. He gently moves the sleeve of your shirt out of the way to expose more of your skin for him.
Knowing Steven would like it, you gently pulled at his hair in an attempt to encourage him to do more than just kissing. The gesture made the effect you wanted, as he began nibbling on the skin of your neck, making you let out a sigh as you enjoyed his mouth and teeth marking you however he pleased.
"Let me make you feel good tonight," Steven muttered against your skin. "Please."
He stopped what he was doing just for a moment so he could look at you. You moved your head so your eyes could meet his and you immediately noticed how eager he was for you to accept his offer. Steven was that kind of lover. The giver. The kind of guy that would give you each and every star in the universe if you asked him to. He lived for you and you only, ready to do whatever you wanted.
In bed, he was no different. He lives to please you, and would never dare to do anything you didn't like or asked. Sex was all about making you feel good, which inevitably makes him feel good.
You replied to his proposition by leaning closer to kiss him. He allowed you to take full control of the kiss, parting his lips just enough so your tongue could enter his mouth. A soft moan left his body as you devour him, one of your hands still lightly pulling at his hair.
Steven was visibly disappointed when you pulled away from him, but disappointment soon turned into excitement when you stood up from the bed and gently pulled him back so he could lay in bed. You quickly joined him, sitting on top of him with one leg at each side of his body.
When you began taking your shirt off, he quickly sat up. "Can I?"
Of course, you weren't going to say no to that.
Your arms fell to the side and Steven immediately started taking your shirt off. He grabbed the piece of clothing by the very end of it, slowly lifting it up just enough to expose your belly. He looked up at you with puppy-like eyes as his hot tongue licked from your lower belly to the edge of where your bra started. Your back arched and your head flew backwards at the sensation of his mouth once again against your skin, kissing, licking and biting every bit that he wanted.
He finally removed your shirt and his lips moved to the newly exposed skin of your chest, leaving kisses all over the part of your tits that wasn't covered by your bra. When he noticed your hands moved to your back to remove that piece of clothing, he once again looked up at you with innocent, yet disappointed eyes.
"You said I could take your clothes off," he says, sounding almost sad that you dared to lie to him about something that apparently means so much to him.
"I'm sorry," you replied.
Steven moved his hands to your back so he could be the one removing your bra, leaving a quick kiss on your lips as he did. "Always so impatient," he jokes.
Lucky for you, he wasted no time to start kissing your tits. He would put one on his mouth, using his tongue to play with your nipple, while his hand worked on the other, gently massaging it. As he took turns with each one, he never once moved his eyes away from you. What he loved the most is watching you enjoy what he was doing to your body. To see you moan for him. It drove him insane to see what he could do to you with his touch.
At this point you could feel his erection beneath you, so you slowly began rocking your hips back and forth, the friction somehow helping to relieve how painfully unattended your pussy has been. You grind against him slowly, making him move away from your chest, letting out a low grunt that made you increase your speed just enough.
"You like that?" you asked, barely able to hold back a chuckle when you saw him frantically nodding.
"Y-yes..." he was able to say. "A lot. Very much."
Both of his hands moved to your hips to help you keep your balance as you continued to grind against him, increasing your speed. He wasn't intending to rush you or change your rhythm in any way. As for Steven is always about you feeling good, he would never dare change a thing.
The way your tits bounced with each movement of your hips was almost a hypnotizing scene for Steven to admire, and he immediately went back to what he was previously doing. Once again, his eyes focused on you as you enjoyed his mouth on your chest and his still clothed cock against your wet core.
"Fuck- Steven..."
You once again pull at his hair, this time much tighter, guiding his mouth to yours for yet another heated kiss. His hands trailed down your back giving you goosebumps on each part his fingers would travel. As you continued to kiss him, one of his hands made its way inside your joggers and panties. The moment you felt his fingers against your cunt you moaned again, this time the sound muffled almost entirely against Steven's lips.
He moves away from the kiss to be able to watch you as he moves his fingers against you in a painfully slow motion, almost forcing you to move your hips again as you silently pleaded for him to go faster. Instead, he puts his hand out of your pants.
You watch as Steven move his fingers up to his mouth, cleaning them off right in front of you. The fact that this was coming from Steven, your awkward and innocent-looking boyfriend, somehow turned you on even more. Only you were the one that could see this side of him.
"Can I taste you?" he asked, once again looking needy and desperate. "Please?"
His eyes light up in excitement when you got off of his lap to lay your back on the bed. He got on his knees in between your legs and began taking you joggers off. The only item of clothing on you were your panties, and you couldn't wait for Steven to get rid of them too.
Your back arches and a moan unexpectedly escaped your lips the moment you feel his teeth bite the skin of your inner thigh, continuing to kiss and nib all around the larger bite mark while one on his hands went up and down your other thigh, stopping dangerously close to where you needed to feel him the most.
He continued slowly worshiping your body and you swore you were going to explode any second now. Lust and desire clouding your judgment as you watched him.
"Baby," you whimper. "Just– I need you."
Steven looked up at you, doe-eyed. "Tell me what you want and it's all yours."
"Fuck– I need you to fuck me with your mouth."
Once again, he wasted no time to give you exactly what you wanted. He left one last kiss on your thigh before he licked one single strap with his tongue, savoring you still with the underwear in the middle. Just when you were about to protest, Steven removed your panties and threw them to the floor.
The sight in front him was absolute perfection. You, laying in bed with your legs open for him. He could stare at this image for hours if only he wasn't so desperate to do other things. You could see he was enjoying what he was seeing, looking almost like a hungry dog who just got offered its favorite treat. Like a thirty man in the desert who just happened to find an oasis– a true miracle. Like he just obtained the biggest reward.
There's nothing Steven loves more than eating you out. To make you cum over and over until you're a sweaty mess. To hear you scream his name. To hear how good he is and how much he pleases you with his tongue. If he were to choose, he wouldlove to stay in between your legs forever.
Holding both of your legs in place, he started to literally devour your pussy. You let out the loudest moan yet, not expecting him to immediately start at such a fast pace. He drags his mouth against you and he's greedy, and loud, and wet, and all you can do is moan as you completely lose yourself to the feeling of Steven eating you out like his life depends on it.
Steven began teasing your entrance with his tongue for a bit before continuing to lick upwards, starting to suck on your clit before repeating the cycle.
You look down at him and his face is completely buried in between your legs. The sight and the filthy sounds filling the room alone almost made you completely lose it.
Your fingers found their way back to his hair and as soon as you pulled slightly at his hair, he let out a groan that made your entire core vibrate. The reaction made you do it again, much harder now. Steven was loving the feeling of you pulling at his hair with such strength, that he focused his mouth on your clit while on of his fingers entered you without you really expecting it.
"Do you like that, love?" he asked, barely pulling away from you before continuing to suck your clit.
"Yes. Your mouth feel so good...oh, I– I'm going to cum all over your face."
You could practically feel the low grunt coming from him when he heard that. Steven loves the confirmation of your pleasure. The way your moans increase when your about to reach your orgasm, the way you'd pull his hair, to hear you say how good he is for you. He just loves to see and hear every confirmation of the pleasure he's providing you.
"Can you look at me? I want to see your face when you cum."
You did as he asked, meeting Steven's eyes already looking at you. His fingers kept fucking you while his mouth sucked at you clit, and you felt yourself closer and closer to reach your climax with each second that passed. Meanwhile, all you can do is repeat over and over how much of a good boy he is for eating you out so incredibly good.
Your muscles tighten, your vision goes blurry and all you see is white as you reach your orgasm with a loud exclamation of his name. Steven surely knew you came, but that doesn't seem to stop him from continuing his attack on your pussy. His fingers were no longer inside you, but his mouth continued to devour you with an insatiable hunger. Your body is on fire, but he gives you no time to rest before your starting to feel your second orgasm building up at the pit of your stomach.
Sure enough, it didn't take very long berofe you cum again. Hard. He was almost in a trance, watching you squirm, moan and scream out his name. You were already a sweaty and moany mess for him and he loves it.
This time he gave you a few seconds to relax, his tongue occasionally licking up your cunt to test how sensitive you still were. "You're beautiful," he compliments you, kissing one of your thighs again. Right after, he started to climb up your body. "And you taste so good," he adds just mere inches from your face.
You grabbed his face to pull him in for a kiss, savoring your own taste still lingering inside his mouth. He groans against your lips, his hands trailing down your sides to rest on your legs. Just a second after, you felt his fingers once again on your pussy. In the heat of the moment, all you could do was bite Steven's lower lip as you continued to make out.
He pulled away just enough to look at you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. "You want me to continue?" You nodded hoplessly before pulling him in for another kiss. Steven gladly returned the kiss, his thumb increasing its speed. "Can you cum for me again? Just one more," he pleaded in a whisper.
"Yes," you replied almost immediately.
"Yeah?" Steven insisted, once again putting his fingers inside of you, a smile appearing on his face when he saw your reaction .
"Mm-hmm," you moaned, desperately wanting him to go faster.
"Is this okay?"
You barely shake your head. "Faster."
He did as instructed, feeling proud of himself when your moans increased at the change of speed. "Like that?"
"Yes, yes– exactly like that...fuck, Steven, you're so good at this...make me feel so good."
Steven continued his rhythm in and out of you, his lips mere inches from yours. He could kiss you, but he'd hate to silence the noises coming out of you with each thrust of his fingers. Instead, he would watch every move you make underneath him, treasure every moan and whimper leaving your lips, getting goosebumps every time you would trace your fingers down his biceps and back.
Soon enough, you reached your third orgasm of the night, holding onto Steven's shoulders as you combusted with pleasure. He smiled down at you, burying his face on your neck to leave tiny kisses all over your skin.
As you were trying to catch your breath, Steven continued kissing your neck, both of his hands resting at your hips. He wouldn't dare to touch you now, allowing you a much needed rest after three orgasms. His touch and lips were gentle, incredibly sweet and loving. Very Steven. However, you could feel his grip on you suddenly tightening, his mouth hungrily attacking your neck. The sudden shift in his behaviour took you by surprise at first, but it didn't take long for you to realize the one on top of you is no longer Steven.
Marc pulled away from your neck to look at you, already aware you probably figured out if was him. You could just tell by looking into his eyes. He is nothing like Steven despite looking the same.
Steven is a devoted, honest and committed type of lover. You have never felt as loved and cherish as you do now that you're dating him. He treats you like you're a miracle that unexpectedly came into his life, still not understanding why a woman as incredible as you settled for a man like him. You are the most precious thing in his life and he does his best to remind you how happy he is to have the chance to love you every single day. It's like he lives to serve you in any way you need. Whatever it is, he's willing to give it to you.
But Marc is the complete opposite. He is a much more demanding, passionate and complicated man. He has managed to bring into your life something you and Steven lacked off: uncertainty. One day he's cuddling with you on the couch watching movies, the next you're helping him pack for yet another undercover mission to some deserted place to do whatever it is Khonshu has ordered, leaving you to wonder when will you see him again.
Marc is the thrill and excitement you can't provide for yourself. He's constantly encouraging you to push your limits and try new things, helping you to forget about the routine and be more spontaneous. Marc is fun, mysterious, exciting, always leaving you to wonder his next move. With Marc it's you the one who does the serving. Trailing after him with any new adventure he comes up with and willing to do whatever it is he wants you to do.
You were lucky enough to have found two lovers so incredibly different that complimented each other so well. Each give you something that you crave and make you fall in love with them over and over. The gentleness and roughness. The stability and the adventure. The honesty and the mystery. One lives to serve and the other to take. Balance.
Marc is staring down at you, his eyes dark and lust-filled and his hands still gripping each side of your hips, keeping you in place underneath him. "Steven had his fun with you already," he says, the tone of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "It wasn't fair I had to sit there and watch the two of you, was it?"
"No..." you muttered as a reply.
He grinned just slightly after your answer, standing up so he would be kneeling on the bed in between your legs. "There's so much I want to do to you," he confessed, shamelessly scanning your naked body.
Marc quickly removed his shirt as you admired his exposed torso, his muscle flexing exquisitely in all the right places when he leaned back down to kiss you. He completely devoured your mouth, his hips beginning to rock against yours to give himself some relief, his dick impossibly hard at this point and practically begging to get some attention. Your fingers traced down his muscular arms and firm back before one of your hands trailed down to palm his dick on top of his sweatpants. A low grunt escaped his mouth and he immediately pulled away from you.
"Naughty girl," he teased. "Did I tell you to do that?"
"No," you say out of breath, still touching him. "But I wanted to do it."
"Mmm– you want my dick in your mouth, honey?"
You nodded eagerly at his question. Marc gave you one last kiss before standing up again. You quickly got on your knees and pull his sweatpants down, revealing his painfully neglected erection. Your mouth almost watered at the sight in front of you, not wanting to wait any more seconds to put his dick inside your mouth.
Your head leaned close enough as you looked up at him, your tongue tracing a single strap across the length of his dick, watching as Marc closed his eyes at the sensation of it, letting all the air leave his lungs as he muttered a barely audible, "Fuck."
Encouraged by that reaction, you grabbed his dick with one of your hands and put it inside your mouth, trying your best to cover as much of it as you possibly could every time it went in and out of your mouth. Soon enough you found a comfortable rhythm, helping yourself with your hand to cover the part of him that couldn't fit inside your mouth.
The sounds leaving Marc's mouth were absolute heaven. His brows were slightly frowned as he stared down to watch as you suck him off, his muscles flexed, a hand tightly gripping your hair so it wouldn't get in the way, and his hips thrusting along with your movements as he completely lost himself in pleasure.
"You surely know what to do with that mouth of yours, huh?" he asks, knowing very well you wouldn't be able to reply. "Yeah, you're doing so good, baby."
The compliments only encouraged you to go faster, making Marc let out a louder grunt at the change of speed, gripping your hair even tighter as his hips also thrust harder and faster. He quite literally begin fucking your mouth, making your eyes tear up at the speed and intensity of it all. Of course you wouldn't mind that detail, absolutely adoring to have him in and out of you and hear him enjoy every second of it.
"Holy fuck– if we keep it up like that I won't last long," Marc says, completely out of breath. "Turn around," he instructed shortly after, pulling himself out of you and using his thumb to clean the drool off your chin.
You did as told, putting yourself on all four as you waited for him to take his sweatpants off and throw them to the floor. As you turned to look at him, you saw Marc lick the palm of his hand and press it against your pussy, grinning when he realized how wet you already were before he even touched you. His grin only grew wider when he slapped one of your ass cheeks, hearing you whimper right after.
He grabbed both of your hips and he thrusts inside you without a warning, his entire length filling you up and making you let out a loud moan at the sensation. He immediately begin fucking you mercilessly, carelessly, intensely. His body slamming against you loud and hard, the two of you a moaning and sweaty mess as Marc continued to thrust in and out of you like his entire life depended on it.
At the speed he was going you knew you wouldn't last very long, feeling your orgasm building up at the pit of your stomach. Marc's grunts, the sound of your bodies, the grip on your hips that would definitely leave a mark, the sensation of him filling you up so incredibly good and the fact that he just slapped your ass again was too much for you to bare. You were completely lost in pleasure, enjoying every second of Marc roughly fucking you. Finally, you reached your fourth orgasm with a loud scream of Marc's name. He reached his own orgasm just seconds later, and you could feel him filling you up with his release.
You practically collapsed on the bed, exhausted, trying to catch your breath. As you rolled to lay on your back, you saw Marc moving so he could be laying next to you. He took your hair out of your face, leaving a quick and gentle kiss on your shoulder.
"You're okay?" he asks softly before leaving yet another kiss on your shoulder, looking up at you through his lashes.
"I'm great," you muttered, clearly referring to the four orgasms you just had, making Marc chuckle.
"Good," he replied. "Seems like that's the only way to keep you away from your work."
"I mean, if that's what I get for working too much...you'll end up doing the opposite."
Marc rolled his eyes at you, pulling you closer to his body as he did. You immediately accepted his embrace, resting your heard on his bare chest as he wrapped an arm around you. Neither of you said anything else, and so you started to fall asleep faintly hearing Marc's heartbeat and the sensation of him inhaling and exhaling, accompanied by his fingers tracing patterns along your arm.
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modern-vellichor · 1 month
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i told you so.
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-summary; you're one of them. -warnings; violence, injury, angst, fluff, explicit language, suggestive ending, -a/n; when i tell you that this is the most self indulgent fic i have ever written. i will read this to myself. this is for me.
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break his legs.
"Okay," you whispered.
You could feel Sekhmet hovering over your shoulder, her breath scorching your skin. Your knees cracked when you stood up to scramble onto the street.
kill him
"I'm not killing him," you say.
he deserves it.
"Fine," you sigh, pulling your knife from your pocket.
Your ankh was being pressed against your chest, tucked safely under your shirt. You jumped from your perch onto the cobblestone. Marc watched from a distance, his own Khonshu whispering to him. They watched as you crept up behind the man, a molester, and kick his knees out. He collapsed with a scream. You clamped your hand down over his mouth and whispered something Marc couldn't hear.
she's a menace.
"i know," Marc grunted.
You hit him in the head, his unconscious body falling to the floor. Marc watched as you worked quickly, strategically. You were following orders. Marc didn't know that. He winced when your blade was plunged into your victim's chest. The man didn't move. You brushed yourself off when you stood again. Marc set out for you.
Sekhmet smiled proudly at your handiwork. You were useful. You always followed her orders. And you were fast, intelligent. A little bit useless, romantically, Sekhmet thought. She liked you. She wanted the best for you. And apparently her company wasn't enough.
the job is done. go.
"wait," you held your hand out. "do you smell that?"
it is time to go. leave, now.
"its incense," you ignored her orders. "someone's here."
you turned around to flee only to be stopped. You smashed into the broad chest of a hooded figure. You looked up only to be met with burning bright eyes staring down at you.
run.
you tried to. you began to turn away when a gloved hand snaked around your throat and squeezed. Sekhmet's voice was gone. You scratched at the man's hand desperately. You kicked and squirmed but he wouldn't let go. In one final bid, you pulled your ankh out from under your shirt and pulled it towards him.
drop her.
Marc dropped you. You crumpled to the floor, a gasping heap. You scrambled away from the figure, panting. You felt Sekhmet appear behind you.
"look who decided to show up," you muttered to her. "talk about divine intervention."
quiet.
She turned to Marc, and even though he was staring at you, he moved out of her way. You opened your mouth to say something but Sekhmet interrupted your thought. You half listened to her as you watched Marc half argue with himself.
he is useful.
"Yeah."
he needs us. we must keep him.
"uh huh."
he is handsome, no?
"ye- Wait, no."
why not?
"You're not Bastet , yeah? Stick to violence. I don't think passion is your strong suit."
You zoned out while Sekhmet went on a rant about you disrespecting her. Over the years, she had come to appreciate your... odd sense of humour, your witty banter. She'd miss you if she let you get killed. You shut your eyes and the gods were gone. Marc was standing in front of you when you opened your eyes again.
He didn't say anything. He examined your expression for a few seconds before turning away. He called out for you to follow as he walked. You did. Sekhmets words echoed through your head. You hadn't thought about a partner in years, not since you became her avatar. You never even tried to bring someone home, you knew she would disapprove. You had stopped feeling lonely a long time ago. Sekhmets company had become enough for you. Sometimes you found yourself missing the silence.
While you followed Marc, you could hear him talking to himself. You didn't bring it up. You didn't know Marc. You didn't know if you wanted to. He prowled through the streets, gaze anxious and darting down roads and back alleys. You followed him wordlessly. He knew the area well. You followed him out of familiarity and into inner city London, a place you avoided. You followed him through a back alley, down a road and up the stairs into a lavishly large apartment, especially for the city. Books were piled high, and everywhere. There was a fish tank bubbling quietly by the wall.
It had started lashing rain on the walk to the apartment. You were too busy taking in your surroundings to notice Marc slip away. You stood in the middle of his living room, dripping rain water onto the hardwood floor. You didn't even realise he had returned until his hand was gripping your shoulder and he was offering you a hoodie and some sweatpants.
"Warm and dry, yeah?" he urged.
You nodded. He pointed to the bathroom and you wandered off. As you struggled out of your clothes, Sekhmet started whispering to you again.
I like this one. good sense of self preservation. he is an avatar.
"i know," you sighed. "he nearly killed me."
yes, because he cares. he is a good one.
"please, babe," you muttered. "i don't think this is a good idea."
trust me. i am the goddess of-
"healing and medicine, i know," you winced as you pulled the hoodie over your head.
let me help you. he can heal your heart.
"Thats the cheesiest fuckin' thing I've ever heard," you left the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.
You sat next to Marc, who had since told you his name. You both stares aimlessly at the tv, the history channel droning on. In the corner of his eye, Marc could see you falling asleep. Khonshu was whispering to him, wary of the other avatar in the room.
i like her.
"I thought she was a menace?"
i changed my mind.
"of course you did."
she will not interfere with my mission. unlike the idiot.
Marc sighed. He didn't respond. He just watched as your head dropped and you fell asleep. When you woke, you had been moved. In a moment of primal fear and panic, you scrambled out of bed and in search of a weapon. You couldn't hear Sekhmet and you were in unfamiliar territory. You heard heavy footsteps approaching and in your haste, you reached for an ornate vase next to the bed. The door swung open and you launched the vase. It narrowly missed the man's head, he dived for you. You grappled for a but until he managed to pin your arms to your sides. He was pressed against your back, his head buried in the crook of your neck. He was whispering to you, soothing you, calming you.
"It's me, it's just me. It's Marc, calm down. You're safe, I've got you"
You listened, and you were soothed. You relaxed in his grip, so much so you almost melted. Your hands held tenderly onto his forearms. If a passerby were to look in, they would see a happy couple that were very much in love.
kiss him.
you shook your head gently, grateful to hear Sekhmet's voice again, but growing tired of her romantic advice.
I like her. Keep her around.
Marc sensed an almost affectionate tone in Khonshu's voice. He nodded gently. Marc slowly guided you back towards the bed. He still doesn't know what came over him in that moment, but he lay you back down, took one look at your fragile looking figure, and crawled into bed behind you. He snaked a hand around your waist, and one arm pushed it's way under your head. He leaned over and pressed a gentle, nervous kiss onto your shoulder, and then one on your neck, and then he ventured up onto your jaw. And as his hand slid down towards the waistband of your trousers, you heard a voice ring out.
I told you so.
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melodygatesauthor · 10 months
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Marc Spector - Random Horny Thot #1 - The (almost) 40 y/o Virgin
NSFW
——
Marc doesn't want to tell you he's a virgin because he thinks it's embarrassing. He's a grown man, approaching his 40s, and he's never had sex before. Something about the thought excites you to no end.
You’re hovering over him while he’s on his back. His normally stern face looks (very slightly) desperate, like he’s begging you to just fuck him already. You can feel his needy cock twitch between your thighs. He’s leaking precum down his cock and you think he might come before you even have the chance to feel him inside of you.
His hands are on your hips, and he’s trying not to push you down because he wants you to have control. He’s never done this before and doesn’t want to go to hard or too soft. He doesn’t know what you like. Marc doesn’t even know what he likes.
You finally get yourself down so just the fat tip of his heady cock is inside, and already he’s trembling. His breathing is shaky, rapid and so fucking pathetic. You love it. You drop a little lower, his head flies back and almost cracks open on the headboard. He moves his hips upward ever so slightly, unable to help himself.
“F-fuck honey, sorry I just, fuck I want it so bad.”
“Sh, baby I know, be patient,” you tell him.
You’re able to lower yourself down once. One. Single. Time. Before Marc Spector is choking on the moan inside his throat and holding onto your hips so tight you think he might break you in half. His entire body shakes with his orgasm while his cock explodes and he empties inside of you.
He looks at you, so embarrassed that lost himself so early, face rosy and flush, but you just smile and kiss him softly.
“Let’s go again, this time you’re on top.”
——
Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!
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