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tkaulitzlvr · 8 months

Note

I love your writing so much!! Could I request reader giving tom the silent treatment cause he did something and it goes like him getting irritated and then comfort and then smut ??

SILENT TREATMENT- T. KAULITZ

synopsis: refusing to talk to tom even days after he had forgotten about your date night, he begins to get frustrated, doing whatever it takes to get you to speak to him again.

content: little bit of angst, smut.

a/n: i love writing this kind of stuff omg, thank you for requesting!!

“jesus baby are you still not talking to me?” tom sighs, sitting down onto the couch beside me as i ignore him announcing that he is home, after spending the day at the studio. “you can’t still be mad?”

stupid question - of course i was. it was now tuesday, and i hadn’t spoken to him since saturday night. we had both agreed that we had been spending less time with each other, with tom so busy preparing to release his new album with the band. so, we had planned a small date night at home, which was going to involve ordering take-out and watching movies, maybe taking a bath together before bed. we had agreed on 6pm, giving him thirty minutes to begin the drive home, allowing for traffic.

so i had sat on our couch, my pyjamas on, all of his favourite snacks laid out on the table with a few of mine, waiting for him to come home. 6:04pm - maybe he had to stay behind at the studio for a few minutes, this happened sometimes, and it was usually out of his control.

6:17pm - it could be traffic, everybody else was leaving work at the same time, the roads were bound to be jammed, i can’t blame him for that.

6:32pm - he could’ve gone to the store? maybe he wanted to get some more snacks for tonight?

my mind was thinking of any excuse that it could, trying to convince myself that tom wouldn’t stand me up - we had had this night planned for over a week, and he seemed pretty excited about it. but as the popcorn on the coffee table began to get cold, my body aching from sitting in the same position for so long, i knew. i knew that he wasn’t going to show. my phone was silent, no text, no call coming through, at least letting me know if he was running late, or not able to come at all. no apology, no promise to make it up to me - absolutely nothing.

9:56pm - my eyes were growing heavy, no longer paying attention to the random movie on the screen, my hand lethargically dipping into the bag of skittles that were meant to be for tom, but i had given up on him coming home long ago, deciding to eat them for myself - it was better than them going to waste. my tired eyes suddenly shoot open when i hear the front door opening and closing, keys being dropped onto the table, and shoes being taken off. i roll my eyes, shaking my head and turning my attention back to the movie, not in the mood to speak to him at all.

“baby?” i hear him call out, his body appearing in the door frame of our living room.

silence. i stay quiet, ignoring him completely and gluing my eyes to the tv screen. he sighs, slowly walking towards me and sitting beside me, trying to wrap his arm around my shoulder, but i shrug him off.

“liebe…i am so sorry.” he apologises, taking my hand in his. i accept his touch, though i still refuse to look at him, way too furious to properly listen to his pointless apology. “the guys, they kept me back at the studio. we want to get this album perfect and i just, i lost track of time-”

“you lost track of time? are you fucking serious?” i finally snap, quickly taking my hand out of his, turning to look at him with my eyebrows furrowed, completely shocked at his shitty excuse. “could you not have texted me, at least let me know in advance? you’re an asshole.”

“look, i promise i’ll make it up to you. i’m really sorry baby.” he says, his voice soft.

“we had this planned for fucking weeks! you agree that we never spend time together, and then you don’t even come home when we plan something? you basically live at that damn studio and i’m sick of it! go back there, i don’t want to see you right now.” i scoff, turning away from him and getting up, turning the tv off and walking to our bedroom.

he quickly follows behind me, not giving up that easily. “come on baby, don’t be like this. i promise you, we can have a date night way better than this, i’ll take you somewhere real nice, yeah?” he suggests, standing in the doorway of the bathroom as i do my skincare, getting ready for bed.

“what so you can stand me up again? saying you got ‘carried away at the studio’ exactly like you do every fucking night? do you know what’s funny, i can’t even remember the last time we spent the day together.” i say, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror, his face dropping a little.

“schatz- look i’m sorry, okay? work has been really hard lately, just give me a chance and i’ll fix this, i swear.” he pleads, walking towards me and trying to put his arms around my waist from behind, but once again, i shrug him off.

“whatever, i’m too fucking tired for this shit.” i sigh, walking out of the bathroom and into our bedroom, switching the light out and leaving him in the dark. “i’m going to bed, do whatever you want.”

i climb into the covers, hearing him take off his clothes and crawl in beside me. he gets closer, trying to wrap his arms around my waist and spoon me as he usually would, but tonight, his touch is the last thing i want. in response, i move his hands away, shuffling to the end of the bed. he sighs in frustration, but accepts my silent request for space, laying flat on his back.

“i love you.” i hear him say from behind me, his voice slow and quiet.

i don’t respond, laying beside him, seeing his face drop a little at my silence. no matter how bad our fighting got, i would always tell him that i loved him, and he would do the same. but this time, i didn’t want to, tired of him throwing me aside.

that was how it had been since that day. i refused to speak to him, despite his constant attempts. he had tried everything, just flat out speaking to me, complimenting me, buying me my favourite snacks, giving me expensive gifts, even coming home early from the studio, but i didn’t budge, still not wanting to talk.

“please, meine liebe, you can’t ignore me forever.” he sighs, shuffling closer to me, beginning to plant slow and soft kisses on the bare skin of my neck, my body shivering at the sudden contact, not used to it as we hadn’t had any physical intimacy since that night, not even a small kiss or cuddle in bed, my stubbornness pushing him away each time.

“i said i was sorry, please forgive me baby.” he mutters against my neck, continuing to kiss it slowly, getting a little more sloppy with his movements.

i push him off me, my hands flat against his chest. he groans in frustration, becoming angry at my determination to keep this going.

“seriously, i don’t know how much longer i can go on like this. come on my love, please just forgive me.” he sighs, not giving up as he returns back to his position, his head in my neck.

he moves his hand to my waist, lifting my oversized t-shirt and caressing the smooth skin of my hips, testing the waters and waiting for me to push him away yet again. but i don’t. i let him carry on, his lips attaching to my neck once again, thumb running up and down my hip, but i know exactly what he wants, the way he gently uses his hold on me to move my body against his lower half giving me a pretty good idea.

“schatz…” he mumbles, his sounds muffled into my skin, breathing against my neck slowly, his teeth slowly grazing against it. “let me make it up to you. let me show you how sorry i am, hm?”

my breathing hitches, my heart running ahead of my mind as i find myself unable to speak, feeling tom smirk against my neck as he realises that he has finally won. he gently turns my body and lays me down so that my back is flat against the couch, climbing on top of me and quickly pressing his lips against mine. he is eager, desperate to feel me against him, wanting to make up for the lost intimacy, kissing harder as a silent way to encourage me to kiss back. i finally do so, threading my hands through his dreads, pulling his cap off of his head before pulling him closer to me, feeling him smile against my lips.

“i love you.” he whispers against my lips, running his hands smoothly up and down my waist before continuing the kiss, not even giving me chance to respond as i am far too lost in the moment. his hands reach for the hem of my t-shirt, stopping for a second and breaking the kiss, looking into my eyes, waiting to see if i am okay with this. i nod my head and he smiles slightly, a cocky smirk on his face as he lifts the material up and over my head, studying the red lace bra i have on before impatiently reconnecting our lips.

he slips his tongue into my mouth, mine moving together with his, the kiss now heated and desperate, my hands moving to cup his face, bringing him closer towards me. i hear him reaching for his belt buckle, pulling away from the kiss to undo it as i take this as an opportunity to lift the large hoodie off of his body, revealing his toned frame, my hands instinctively running down his chest, feeling each muscle as he groans at the contact.

“what happened to you being so angry earlier, hm? haven’t seen you this desperate in a long time, i would’ve done this ages ago if i had known this is all it takes for you to forgive me.” tom says, enjoying the way i gaze upwards at him, my eyes filled with lust, completely different to the coldness i had showed him these last few days.

“who said anything about forgiving you?” i breathe out, looking into his eyes as my hands run down his back, enjoying the way i can tease him. “you haven’t done anything yet, and, who knows, maybe this will show me you aren’t sorry enough.”

“oh baby…” he mocks, slowly tugging my leggings down, leaving me in only my lingerie. he pauses after doing so, leaning downwards so that his lips are right next to my ear, gently sucking on it before speaking again. “i’m gonna fuck you so good that you won’t even remember why you were mad at me in the first place.”

my breathing hitches in my throat, my body feeling hot as his words are enough to make me cum right there on the spot, no need for him to touch me. his lips place a single kiss on the spot directly below my ear, nipping at the skin slowly, taking advantage of the way i angle my neck upwards, giving him more access.

but he doesn’t carry on for long. his lips move lower, starting at my collarbone, planting a few tender kisses there, moving to the flesh of my breasts that are on show, kneading the one that his mouth isn’t paying attention to with his hands, soon becoming tired of my bra still being on, wanting to feel every inch of me. his mouth still on my chest, he reaches behind me, undoing the clasp of my bra with one hand, throwing it somewhere on the floor - neither of us really caring where.

he moves backwards, staring at my breasts in front of him, his lips slightly parted, curving into a gentle smirk, his brown eyes full of desire, watching the way my chest moves up and down with each heavy breath i take.

he wastes no time in reattaching his lips, moving them to my nipples this time, taking them in his mouth and letting his teeth graze them lightly, my back arching in pleasure as i move my hands, using them to push his head further downwards.

“so fucking hot.” he mutters against them, paying each one attention before moving downwards. his lips begin to kiss my upper stomach, his eyes still staring into mine, never breaking eye contact as he crawls further down my body, making sure nothing goes untouched, until he reaches the hem of my panties.

his fingers tease the top of the material, slowly dipping inwards and caressing my lower abdomen, a quiet whine escaping my mouth as i become more and more desperate. he lifts the material upwards with his pointer and ring finger, letting it go as it snaps back into place, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

“please.” i breathe out, tired of his teasing as he has pretty clearly made his point, i just need to feel him inside me.

“please what?” he teases, his lips dangerously close to my inner thighs, planting a single kiss there, enjoying the way i squirm a little from the smallest of touches. “use your words, or i won’t know what you want baby.”

“please just touch me.” i sigh out, slightly embarrassed as i have to verbalise my needs, tom knowing full well what i want, loving how he has me at his mercy, willing to do anything if it means he will pleasure me.

“where?” he trails off, tugging my underwear down at an agonisingly slow pace, leaving the red lace on the floor. he kisses my inner thigh again, closer to my heat this time.

“here?” he asks, acting oblivious, getting closer and closer to the place i need him most.

i cannot even respond, my chest heaving up and down as i attempt to utter any sort of coherent speech, my mind too focused on the pleasure that i am so close to receiving to be able to do so.

“or…” he starts, moving his lips from my thigh and hovering directly over my clit, my heart racing as i anticipate his touch, finally where i want him. but, to my disappointment, he moves his head, placing a short kiss, directly above it. “here?”

he knows what he is doing, teasing me beyond belief, leaving me a complete mess, never having to wait this long to feel any kind of pleasure. i make eye contact at him, seeing him already looking upwards at me, a proud smirk tugging on his lips whilst he uses his hands to spread my thighs apart. i rest my head back against the couch again, an exasperated sigh escaping my parted lips.

“stop fucking playing and just-”

my needy rambling is soon cut off by a loud moan as his tongue quickly collides with my clit, his hands pressing into my inner thighs, prying them apart, the pressure he is applying definitely leaving marks, but i am too hazy to care, my mind lost in pure satisfaction. he uses his finger to slowly enter me, my mouth falling open as he picks up a steady pace, his tongue never leaving my clit as all i can do is cry out, incoherent curse words escaping my mouth, tom lowly breathing into me as my release is fast approaching, his slow torment before meaning that it really didn’t take much to get me there.

“fuck- don’t stop.” i let out, this signalling to him that i am close, my climax within arms reach, my hips beginning to grind against his face, yearning to let go of the knot forming in my stomach.

my head falls backwards, back arching off of the couch, seconds away from letting go, tom only speeding up his pace, but, before i can even release, he suddenly stops. my head shoots up in confusion, forehead glistening with sweat, more frustrated than ever.

“tom what the fuck?” i whine, pulling his body upwards so that his face is inches from mine. “why’d you stop, i was so fucking close!”

“be patient baby.” he whispers, planting a soft and quick kiss to my lips, reaching downwards and pulling his boxers down, letting them join the rest of our clothes scattered around the living room. “i said i would make it up to you, so that’s what i’m going to do, no rush.”

he rests both his arms at either side of my head, his hands positioned above it as he starts slowly stroking my hair, dipping his head downwards as he meets my lips, the kiss messy and heated. i am too lost within it to notice one of his hands slipping downwards, taking his dick in it as he positions it at my entrance, a soft whine muffling into the kiss from my lips.

he continues kissing me as he slowly slides in, stretching me out completely, my body never getting used to his size despite the countless times we have done this. he stops kissing me for a second, his forehead pressed against mine, his dick about halfway in.

“you okay?” he asks, wiping a single tear that i hadn’t even realised had fallen from my cheek.

“yeah…keep going.” i reply, placing both hands on his neck and pulling him back downwards, reconnecting our lips as he continues to move inside me until he bottoms out, so deep that i swear i feel him in my stomach. i wince a little, trying to see the pain through, the pleasure building up little by little whilst he stays still inside of me, letting me adjust, his lips still working against mine.

“move.” i manage to say into the kiss, tom pulling halfway out before sliding back inwards, my eyes squeezing shut as he builds up a steady rhythm, moving in and out of me at a slow pace.

“faster.” i say, the pain quickly subsiding, leaving me feeling nothing but pure pleasure. he wastes no time, now thrusting in and out of me at a much faster pace, low grunts emitting from his mouth as he moves his head, kissing my neck slowly, running his tongue over where he had been sucking, soothing the marks a little.

“fuck- you feel so good…” he groans, taking my hips and grabbing a stable hold of me, kneading the flesh and allowing himself to thrust in and out of me easier. “missed this so much, missed you so bad baby.”

all i can do is let out a barely audible ‘mhm’, clinging to his back and running my hands down the soft skin, feeling his muscles flex with each strong movement. my body is flush against his chest, moving in sync with his own, chasing my release as he does the same.

he moves his head, resting his forehead on my own, staring into my eyes as he fucks me, his mouth open, breathing heavy, face glistening with sweat as his pace never falters. i watch the way his eyebrows furrow and eyes flutter shut when i clench around him, knowing exactly how to get him to his climax, his tip brushing over my spot as he helps me get to my own, the familiar knot soon forming in my stomach.

“i’m getting close baby, you close?” he breathes out, his hips stuttering a little, letting me know that he can’t hold on much longer - and neither can i.

“mhm, fuck- please tom, don’t stop…” i cry out, eyes rolling to the back of my head, breath hitching as i am almost there, seconds away from finding my release, chasing it desperately as my hips begin to meet his thrusts, lazily hitting his pelvis as he lets out small moans.

“where do you want it?” he asks, his movements slowly becoming irregular. “fuck- i can’t hold it, where?”

“inside.” i say, tom saying nothing in response as i feel his dick twitch inside of me, followed by his cum coating my walls. his head falls backwards, chest heaving up and down as his eyes screw shut, mouth open as a long groan leaves his mouth, his hips moving at a slow pace, riding out his own high, this triggering my own release.

tears roll down my face as the pleasure takes over, the feeling so strong i question wether i am on the verge of passing out, or, perhaps i am in heaven, the sex almost too good to be true.

he collapses on top of me, his breathing loud and heavy, bodies glistening with sweat as we lay in silence, tom stroking my hair, moving the loose strands that had fallen onto my face.

“did that show you how sorry i am?” he breathes out, slowly pulling out of me and caressing my waist, looking into my eyes as i manage a lazy smile.

“you need to be sorry more often.” i say, holding his face in my hands as my body lays limply below him. “if it means you fuck me like that then you can mess up every single day.”

he grins slightly, kissing my collarbone gently, looking upwards at me as our eyes meet.

“seriously though. i’m really sorry baby. please forgive me.” he says, moving so that his face is hovering over mine, his thumb caressing my cheek.

i smile upwards at him, placing a soft kiss on his lips as he kisses back, pulling away and kissing my forehead quickly, sitting upright and pulling me into his lap, my legs wrapping around his torso, arms around his neck.

“i love you.” he says, bringing me in closer to his embrace. “please say it back, you haven’t these past few days and i fucking hated it.”

he lets out a small laugh, but i can tell that it genuinely hurt him, guilt beginning to rise in my stomach.

“you know how stubborn i can be, but you were also a massive asshole.” i say, looking upwards at him, his eyes already gazing into mine. “i love you though, you know i do.”

not even bothering to get dressed, or go to our bedroom, we both fall asleep in each other’s arms, silently promising to never let our arguments get to that point, although we now knew that we had a way to fix it, no matter how bad it got.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #kaulitz #kaulitz twins #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tomkaulitz #bill kaulitz

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dameronalone · 10 months

Text

cozy night in

marc spector x f!reader

wc: 6,700

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

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

ao3

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

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

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

But it's better like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because it means you trust me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not that far gone.

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

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

"I want you to touch me, Spector."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He always would.

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you gasp, “please, please-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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