#marc spector smut

[oscengrim]

Unique concept.

snow white

kinktober, day fifteen

a/n: i really wanted to play around with a fairytale this kinktober season and i came up with maybe too many ideas for a bunch of different ones, but this one just stuck with me for months, so i had to go with this one.

summary: that was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

warnings: snow white!reader x various, dark!prince!billy russo, miners!steve rogers, bucky barnes, thor odinson, miguel o'hara, marc spector, matt murdock, frank castle, dark content, smut, fairytale retelling, innocent!reader, references to loss of virginity, arranged engagement, assassination attempt, violence, poison apple, kidnapping, somno, polyamory, reverse harem, time jump (for domestic and slutty purposes), kissing, fingering, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, oral, handjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, gangbang, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, double penetration in one hole, unprotected sex, creampie, dark ending

word count: 6746

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masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

Once upon a time, there lived a princess. 

You, to be exact. 

However, your day-to-day life, that wasn’t a part of you that one could define as something very regal, not lately, not since your father had died and left you in the hands of his late wife, a vain woman he had only married a short time prior to his passing. 

There wasn’t much you were allowed to do any longer as your stepmother was perhaps a bit too overprotective of you in her own cold way, even though many of the chores the sea of servants that buzzed within the castle took care of, that for some reason wasn’t off limits to you, if not encouraged by the queen. 

But it was all out of love, wasn’t it? 

“Oh, there you are!” your gaze fluttered up to find the prim and familiar figure stalking towards you in the gardens, “what in the world are you doing out by this ghastly old well?”

“Prince William,” you stiffened up slightly at his presence and swiftly did a curtsy, “w-what are you doing here?” 

“Ah, come on, Snow,” his palm brushed against the edge of the stone well, briefly cleaning it a bit before he leaned against it, “how many times do I have to tell you to call me Billy?” 

“Your Highness,” you swallowed nervously, “I���m just not sure that would be completely appropriate. You deserve to be paid with the utmost respect.” 

“Oh, I agree,” a sly smirk slithered across his chiselled features, “though, I do think my fiancé should be allowed just a little leniency.” 

“Oh,” you put on a smile for the royal, “you got engaged? Congratulations! Is it to someone I know?” 

“I’d sure hope so,” he grinned, and the next words that rolled off his tongue caused your face to drop, “it’s you.”

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but flinch as he stepped to get closer to you.

“…excuse me?” you breathed, your hand fluttering up to the neckline of your modest gown as you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest.

“We’re to be married,” he caught your hand and kept on smiling, “I just sorted the last of the details out with your mother a few moments ago.” 

“Stepmother,” you corrected him hazily before uttering, “I–… how come I didn’t know about any of this? Why didn’t anyone think to ask me what I wanted?” 

Billy’s face then scrunched up at your question, as if it was the strangest of reactions to have at such news, “well you know now.” 

“That’s–,” you stared back at him, your eyes wide and horrified before you ripped your arm back out of his hold, “no.”

“What?” 

“No, I don’t wanna marry you,” the words flowed out of your lungs. 

But to your astonishment, the prince of the neighbouring kingdom then only chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t want to marry me? Of course you do, everyone does.”

“Well, I don’t.” 

Slowly, he seized your arm in a bruising grip before inching closer to you and leaning down to sternly whisper in your ear, “you better get rid of this attitude before you become my wife.”

The following week when the queen suggested that you go for a walk through the nearby woods, an activity you’d formerly thought to be banned as all your previous pleas throughout the years had failed, you nearly stumbled as you rushed to accept the opportunity. 

Where this newfound kindness had come from that you had no clue of, though you weren’t going to argue now as the chains around you slowly began to slacken. 

The queen’s protective nature for you stayed fast however when she sent a guard to accompany you, though one you’d never encountered before as you spent so much time in the castle that you knew all of the others by name. Perhaps he was just new? 

Though when you eventually came upon a clearing and you decided to take a small break in that peaceful and serene glen, it all changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash. 

One moment, you were grinning up at the treetops, whistling back to the birds building a nest up there, and the next, the guard shadowing you had raised a dagger up high and lunged it down upon you. Thankfully, luck was for once on your side and you managed to twist just enough for it to miss your sternum and instead slice through your sleeve and cut your shoulder. 

When you tried to run, a shrill scream erupting your frame, the knight caught your arm before you could manage to escape.

Though just as all hope seemed lost, when the dappled sunlight caught and reflected in the shiny blade as he rose it back up high, it never pierced your heart as a pickaxe instead suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, flying through the air and lodging itself right above the guard’s brow. 

He stayed standing for a second, blood trickling down his face, before the warrior’s body fell backwards and collapsed on the forest floor. 

Your frame shook like a leaf on the wind as you stood there, eyes wide with horror, watching his brain leak and stain the moss below your feet. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” a deep voice called from behind you, though it still took you a moment before you were able to rip yourself out of your petrified state. 

As you slowly twisted around, you saw seven men standing at the edge of the clearing, all of them except the blonde one in the middle with a pickaxe clutched in their hands. 

“Are you hurt?” the miner missing his tool spoke again, taking a ginger step closer. 

Still reeling, unable to fathom that you nearly just lost your life, you blinked, “I–… I–…” though just continued to stand there, frozen in the middle of the storm. 

“You’re bleeding,” a dark-haired man further down the line uttered before the muddled confusion that bloomed on your horrified features caused him to gently gestured to your arm and guide your gaze down to your shoulder. 

“O-oh…” you blinked back at the gash, though still couldn’t pierce through the fog to do anything more. As your glossy eyes flickered back up to gaze at your heroes, the woods around you began to spin as you then blubbered, “you saved me… I–… I–…” before the whole forest went black and you collapsed into a pair of quick arms. 

“Wow, it’s alright,” a voice washed over you as soon as you came to, “you’re okay.”

After your eyes had found the source of the deep timbre, they then flickered around to take in the unfamiliar home you now found yourself in.

“Where am I?” you asked hesitantly as you sat up in the bed you’d been planted on. Looking around the space, it wasn’t the only one as the whole room was filled with enough sleeping arrangements for all of the strangers. 

“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” the long golden locks on the man sitting by your feet rustled slightly as he raised up both hands in a gesture of goodwill, “you’re in our home,” he informed you before his neck twisted and he shouted out the open bedroom door, “hey guys! She’s awake!”

As the rest of the men from the forest began to filter into the dormitory, your legs curled up beneath the blanket and you swiftly hugged your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” one of them asked in a careful tone. 

“I–…” you felt your heart thump in your chest as your wide eyes danced between the burly figures, “what do you–, w-why did you take me with you?” 

Taking a step forward, a dark-haired one said, “well, we couldn’t in good conscience just leave you back there and let you bleed next to your assassin,” he then tilted his head, “plus my healing supplies were all back here.” 

As you glanced down to discover your slashed sleeve cut off and missing with a bandage instead wrapped around the ghastly cut on your upper arm, you then blinked back up at the stranger and asked, “you’re a healer?”

“No, not really, I’m a miner, we all are,” he gestured to the others. 

“Yeah, we work in the mines out west on the other side of the village,” the one leaning against the doorframe shared. 

You faintly recalled the mines they spoke of, though you hadn’t been out there since you were a child, the memory however of the glimmering jewels it produced still sparkled brightly in your mind. 

“Hey, do you mind me asking,” the one standing beside the pickaxe-throwing blonde spoke, “why in the world would a royal guard want to kill you? I mean, forgive me if your looks are deceiving, but you look like just an innocent young girl.”

Averting your gaze to the quilted blanket draped over your form, you uttered, “it’s probably because my stepmother commanded him to…”

“Wow…” one of them breathed, “she has that kinda power? Then you must be, what–, some kind of lady?”

“Princess, actually,” you blinked up at them and watched as they all froze up, instantly growing so quiet that you would have been able to hear a single pin drop in the cottage, “thank you all so very much for saving me. I can’t even begin to fathom what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened.” 

“Oh, well…” the blonde one in the middle shifted slightly, visibly nervous at the discovery of who you truly were, “you’re welcome, your–, uhm, highness.”

“Please, just call me Snow. That’s what everyone does,” you waved a hand and offered him a soft smile, “what are your names?”

“Well, I’m Steve,” the one who’d thrown the pickaxe pressed his palm to his broad chest, “and that there is Bucky, Thor and Marc,” he gestured to the other miners, “and that’s Matthew, Frank and Miguel.”

“Miguel,” you spoke the name of your healer, “thank you for patching up my arm.” 

“Does it feel alright?” he glanced down at the bandage, he too clearly not having a clue how one should act around a royal, “because I could go get some herbs if you–”

“No, thank you, I think I’ll manage” you gently declined before uttering, “although, I–… what’s to happen now? I can’t just go back to the castle, I’d be dead within minutes.”

“Don’t you have anyone you trust somewhere else? Someone you could stay with?” the one named Matthew asked. 

The only person your mind managed to scrounge up was the prince you’d been unwillingly promised to, and he wasn’t just an individual you didn’t trust, but also one you feared.

“No…”

“Uh…” Marc exhaled before his glance flickered across the rest, “would you excuse us for a moment?” 

And as you offered a nod, they all filtered back out the bedroom and huddled up just outside the door, though you could still faintly catch a word or two in their discussion.

“Okay,” Steve crossed his burly arms across his chest when they all entered the room once more, “you can stay here for tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll help you come up with a plan.”

The following day, when all the miners had gone off to the mountains for the day’s work, they’d said their goodbyes before leaving you in the cottage, fully expecting you to no longer be there once they returned. 

But you didn’t leave, you couldn’t have. Where would you have run off to?

So instead, to both try and convince the entire group of you staying, yet also in a makeshift attempt at thanking them for how they’d come to your aid, you spend the day cleaning their messy abode and welcoming them home to a dining table brimming with a roasted feast, a simple comfort none of them had seen in a while. 

It had only been one of them who hadn’t instantly jumped onto the unanimous agreement to let you become a part of their household, but he swiftly received an elbow to the rib to help change his tune.

Not long passed before you soon grew close, and one night, after weeks of you experiencing a sensation you’d never even known existed, something unfamiliar that each and every one of them evoke and flooded your senses with, you finally couldn’t hold your tongue any longer as your innocence had begun to thrust you into the abyss of worry. 

You still hadn’t received a permanent sleeping arrangement even though you’d been here for a while, each one of the miners still took turns letting you borrow one of their simple beds, all of them lined up along the perimeter of the shared bedroom, and let you rest there for the night while they took the humble couch. 

So as you sat on your bed for the night and your gaze shadowed the men as finished getting ready for the night, shedding their clothing and washing up in a small basin by one of the windows, the unfamiliar feeling fluttered once more in your lower belly and drove you to part your lips and utter, “hey Miguel?” you caught the attention of the healer of the lot, “I think there might be something wrong with me…” 

Patting his damp face dry with a small rag, he brought it down upon his shoulder as he furrowed his dark brows over at you, “why would you think that?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you met his glance, “I feel strange…”

“Strange how?” he took a seat at the foot of the mattress you were curled up on, “explain it to me.”

“Well,” you began hesitantly, “ever since I got here, since I met you all, this weird feeling keeps bubbling up inside of me, like I’m about to faint or something, like I can’t think, and all I can focus on is just this odd tingling sensation almost, like–, I don’t know how to explain it, I know it sounds weird, but I swear, something’s going on, I don’t know what, but it’s weird.”

The man’s head then promptly tilted to the side and you heard him exhale, “oh, honey…” 

Your explanation also caught the attention of the rest of the miners and even conjured a small laugh in some, though Steve swiftly stepped in and barked, “hey! Shut it!” rapidly putting a holt to Bucky and Marc’s amusement. 

Placing a palm on your blanket-covered shin, Miguel then uttered gently, “I think what you’re describing isn’t something bad.”

“Are you sure?” you sat up a bit more. 

“Positive,” he nodded, trying his best to keep a straight face unlike some of the men behind him who still struggled even after getting scalded. 

“So, I’m not sick?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you’re not.”

“Your Highness,” Frank then spoke up, “have you never–, uhm, been with someone else?” 

“What do you mean?” your brows knitted together. 

“Okay, uh…” Thor sighed softly, taking your confusion as enough of an answer, “have you ever–, let’s say, kissedsomeone before?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve been kissed before,” your thoughts drifted to Prince Billy, though none of those times had stirred any sensations of this sort, “but I’ve never felt like this, not ever,” your gaze then danced between and caught each of the stares the seven miners directed at you, “what’s going on? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Have you touched yourself while you feel like this?” your eyes suddenly grew at Bucky’s bold question, “does your little honeypot get all wet from this feeling?” and when you found yourself too stunned to conjure an answer, he went on, this time with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “I mean, if you’d like, one of us could help you. Teach you how to make it feel better…” 

“You know how to make it better?” you blinked back at him.

“Oh yeah,” his gaze dipped a bit as his grin grew wider. 

“Do you want one of us to help you?” you then heard Steve offer. 

And as your head began to rock in a soft nod, Marc asked, “which one do you want?”

But as you stared around at all of them, you murmured, “I–… I don’t know…”

“Just pick the one that gives you the most butterflies,” Matt tried to aid your decision, “the one that makes you feel like your heart lives between your thighs.”

“…do I have to pick?” you asked quietly as you blinked around at all of them, now clustered by the small bed, “couldn’t you all just help me?”

“…you want all of us to help you?” Miguel’s head dipped slightly as he tilted forward in surprise. 

“At once?” Frank asked. 

And as you offered them a nod, they all exchanged looks, silently agreeing before Steve uttered, “alright.” 

With all of the miners surrounding the bed, they swiftly kneeled down on the floor in a half-moon around you before they began. 

Before Marc, Thor and Frank the furthest from you grabbed a hold of the blanket draped over you and began to tug it down and let it crumble below your feet, Matt and Miguel to your right gently prepared you and began to undo your confusion. 

Each of their touches were feathery in the beginning as their fingers ghosted over your frame. At first, it wasn’t even in that scandalous of places as Steve and Matt even continued to hold your hands long after the thin chemise you wore had been tugged at, the neckline pushed down to expose your boobs, heaving with every fierce breath you sucked in, and the skirts shoved up, letting the linen bunch well above your hips to uncover the place where the dizzying sensation peaked to unimaginable heights. 

When the first touch fluttered between your legs, your eyes swiftly flickered up to find Bucky and Steve’s directly to your left as the pleasure was one you’d never even thought possible. 

You rapidly melted into the bliss as lingering embarrassment faded away and you soon let them crack you open even further, folding up your legs to grant them all better access to your haven. 

Even before your eyes fluttered closed, the job of deciphering which hand belonged to who was an impossible task. Floating in the sea of touches, not a millimetre of your skin was left unexplored, and neither were your untouched holes as they all turned you so molten that at one point everyone had at least one finger warm within you at once. 

Four digits stretched out your lips and both gave your mouth something to drool around and also let your moans melt against their flesh. Three of them slipped in and worked in tandem to stretch out your virgin cunt. They’d even gotten you so relaxed that two managed to sneak a finger inside of your tight little ass, plugging you up completely.

And when the still unfamiliar high began to bubble within you and creep near, worry first began to billow out of you once more, though after some soothing sentences and an ask of trust, they carried you through the overwhelming ecstasy till you were trembling in their hands and begging them to grant you that gift one more time, like an addict, already craving that sweetness once again.  

ONE YEAR LATER

“Ah-ha-ha!” Thor’s jovial rumble was the first sign you got that any of the fellows had returned after a day at the mines, “come here, princess!” 

As he entered the cottage, arms spread out wide, he excitedly caught you in a hug and lifted you up as he swung you around till you became no more than an ethereal giggle in his hold. 

“Oh, no,” you complained light-heartedly through your laugh as his stale smell of sweat mixed with soot flooded your senses, “you’re so dirty!” you tried to glance down at your dress to see if any of the grime from the mine had transferred.

Letting out a chuckle as he only tightened his hold around your frame, “you love it,” he tilted his head out of the crook of your neck and planted a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re not–,” you continued your giggle even as his own mouth tried to smother the sound, “Thor, you need to bathe first.” 

“Oh, really?” he cocked his head and slyly narrowed his eyes, “you sure you don’t wanna repeat the welcome home you gave me yesterday where you couldn’t wait? I mean, I could barely get in the door before you had your lips on me, struggling to fit my balls inside that little mouth of yours?” 

His lips first pressed against your now hot cheek before they wandered across in a straight line down to your own, not simmering down his eagerness even as the rest of his fellow miners began to filter into the cabin. 

“Oh, so that’s why you ran ahead,” Marc’s sigh caused you to break the peck, “of course.” 

Still entangled in Thor’s strong arms, you glanced over at the familiar men who crossed the threshold and slowly began to set down their tools and peel off their muddy boots.  

“Heya, boys,” a warm bubble burst within you as you flashed them all a smile. Attempting to slip out of the burly hug, Thor still kept his palm interlocked in your own as you made your way around through the crowd and began to greet the others, “how was the mine today?”

“It was fine,” Frank muttered in your ear when you hugged him. 

And as your free arm lastly found Steve’s broad shoulder in an embrace, his low voice tickled the side of your neck as he exhaled, “hi Snow.”  

“Hi,” you pressed a soft kiss to his bearded cheek. 

As you retracted and let Thor pull you back against his warmth, Miguel asked, “so, what’s for dinner tonight?” as Thor leaned back against the sturdy dining table and dragged you with him, half planting you in his lap as he leaned you back against him. 

Though as the softness of your bottom came to rest against the miner’s pelvis, a palpable hardness distracted you even through the layers of your dress, “uhm, I’ve got a lentil stew going over the fire,” your breathing began to grow unsteady as he discreetly grinded you down against his desperation, “it should be done soon.” 

“Good,” Miguel smiled, haven not yet noticed the nefarious activities that had begun right under his own nose, “I’m starving.” 

“What else have you gotten up to today?” Matt asked as he sat down on the bench where Marc had already planted himself, “did you begin that book we were talking about?” 

“I–, uh, I started it, but I didn’t get that far,” your words became a struggle to form as you tried to fight through the fog Thor thrust you into, “ended up taking a nap instead.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky noted, “you were tossing and turning so much last–,” though his sentence then promptly crumbled as a soft whimper finally slipped out past your lips and drew his attention to the way Thor’s hands on your hips subtly rocked you down against him, “seriously?” he swiftly scalded him, “you couldn’t keep it in your pants for even two seconds?” 

“Right,” Thor scoffed, “like I'm the only one who’s desperate,” he then buried his grasp in your skirts and before you had the chance to protest, picked it up to prove his point. 

It was frankly a bit embarrassing how wet you already were, though when Thor grabbed ahold of your thighs and lifted you up, your back plastered against his chest as his hold on you spread you wide for all to see, your cunt couldn’t help but drool for them so fiercely that even the one furthest away from you could catch a glimpse of the glimmer glinting back at him in a lewd plea.  

“Hm…” Bucky hummed warmly as he kneeled down before you, though only let his palm come up to ghost against your inner thigh and didn’t grant you the sweet relief of petting your pussy as she cried out for his touch, “your Highness, are you sure it wasn’t something else you were doing all day while we were off at work?” 

“I–,” an airy chuckle innocently escaped your lungs, “what are you implying?” 

“Well, either you were too impatient to wait for us,” you sucked in a breath as his hand finally drifted up to offer your core the softest of pets, teasing you further into madness, “or just the mere sound of the front door opening got you dripping the way that you are right now…” 

“So, which is it, princess?” Frank smirked, arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace, “are you a whore or is it just for us?” 

“You already know the answer to that…” you hazily smiled, though swiftly let out a whimper as Bucky removed his hand, denying you of any further pleasure. However, before you could part your lips in a complaint, Thor set you back down on your now wobbly feet. 

Your gaze found Steve’s as he took a seat beside Marc, unlike the rest of the men who began to swarm around you, their broad hands swiftly reaching for your dress. It nearly didn’t even get the chance to drop back down and cover you from how Thor had torn it up, before they nearly ripped it to shreds. 

And when no fabric was left to conceal your frame, your moment with your feet on the ground turned out to be more fleeting than you’d thought as both Frank and Miguel then shifted to stand behind you and their grasps found your form, first guiding your arms around their necks for support before they plucked you up. 

As Matt stepped up and seized your flaming cheeks to dip his lips down to yours, a whisper then washed over you as the sweet kiss ended, “can I have a taste?” and as your head began to nod, your nose momentarily nuzzled against his own before his knees buckled. 

Both Thor and Bucky enveloped a hand around your ankles, keeping you spread wide even as Matthew dropped down and made you squirm as his hot breath fanned across your glistening core. 

As your lips parted in a gasp, staring down at Matt as he dipped down to kiss your puffy pearl, in your periphery you just managed to spot how everyone’s free hand had found the tent in their pants, squeezing it for an ounce of relief as they watched you intently. 

When Matt’s tongue lapped through your petals, it wasn’t till he tilted his chin and sucked your clit into his mouth that your gaze fluttered up to find Marc’s across the room. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moaned into the cottage, “I need–, I–, I need more–,” the plea left your lips as you tried to keep your stare lock. Though the love pecks felt incredible, it was bordering the line of crude torture, only tickling at your senses and not granting you the sweet relief the deepest depths of you yearned for so fiercely. 

It seemed like an eternity that Marc took to get up from his seat and actually cross the small room, though when he did, his palm briefly patted Matthew’s shoulder and caused the kisses to cease. 

“How much more, princess?” Marc asked as Matt got up and let him switch places. 

Though when your answer came in the form of your gaze dropping to his hard length, freed and heavy in his tight fist, one of the men holding you up murmured in your ear, “you want him to fuck you, huh? Is that what you want?” Frank’s deep timbre seeped directly into your bones as his lips dipped down to nip at your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded hazily, keeping your eyes glued as Marc stepped up and briefly swept the bulbous head of his cock through your folds. 

For a second, you thought it had been Marc himself who had slowly thrust his entirety inside of you, though in actuality when Miguel and Frank’s hold on you tightened, they’d been the ones to tilt your body just as the girth caught your entrance, and lower you down on it in one fell motion. 

“There you go, Snow,” Bucky breathed as your eyes fluttered at the stretch. Halting his palming of himself, Bucky’s hand soothingly swept up the length of you till it found your tit and cupped it gently, his calloused thumb stretching up to flick against your pebbly nipple and get your eyes to blink back open. 

Marc’s efforts were purposely slow and he gently began to warm you up for what you expected was in store. Though on one of his long and deep strokes, plunging all the way inside of your little pussy before yanking himself out completely, you only blinked and when your eyes fluttered back open, it wasn’t Marc’s cock that was buried deep within you, but instead the last man to join the fray. 

“S-Steve, o-oh!” your head tilted back slightly as his fat girth split you open. 

“Oh, how do you always feel better than I recall?” Steve groaned, the tip of him already bumping against your cervix. 

“It’s that fucking princess pussy,” Thor grunted, “I swear it’s like magic or something.” 

“No matter how many of us try and fit inside of you at once, we just can’t ruin you,” Miguel kissed your cheek, “you just snap right back and we have to stretch you all the way back out again.” 

Steve, Marc and Matt before you then took turns, fucking you slowly and building a rhythm till they became like a river, each of them only sinking in and letting their balls tap against your slick skin before they pulled back out and let the other one take a dive. As the silky pattern pushed you closer to the peak and made you dazed out of your mind, you stopped being able to tell who was fucking you when, as they all just flowed together and worked your body as one soul being. That was often how it was with your seven miners. In certain moments, they just became something else, something entirely different and much more ethereal than seven mortal men, but instead fused together into a sea of love that they let you float in. 

Once your first of many orgasms washed over you and rocked through your soul, your body was set back down, though only for a mere moment before Bucky picked you up into his arms and carried you with him as he lowered himself onto one of the long benches that stretched out on either side of the dining table. 

As he settled you atop of him and slipped inside your still throbbing cunt, your head tilted up in the direction of the men whose hard lengths were still glistening with your juices and your hands fluttered up to motion for them, grabbing for their girths, way before your fingers could reach them, though when they did, Steve didn’t let your touch linger on himself but instead plucked up your face and parted your lips with his cock, letting your hands take care of Matt and Marc on either side of him while he gently fucked your mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” Frank then appeared before you, wedging himself in beside Steve’s bulky form, “share some of that sugar,” his palm found your cheek and stroked it softly. As your lips left Steve with an audible pop, Frank’s fingers drifted up to bury themselves in your locks before he guided you to him and groaned as he finally felt you swallow his cock, “yes…”

However, what you didn’t expect was how Steve’s hand too fluttered up to tangle itself in the other side of your hair before they both took over your head’s movements, passing you back and forth between the both of them, though only granting themselves one long bob at a time.  

When a pair of fingers softly swept over the last of your holes, your eyebrows knit together at the familiar teasing. 

“What do you say, Snow?” you heard Thor utter from behind you as he brought his palm down to smack the curve of your ass, watching intently as Miguel’s fingertips rub against you, only shyly dipping inside the hole just above where Bucky split you open, “exactly how much more are you in the mood for today?”

And when you took your chance to catch your breath, you shot back your needy answer through your heaving intakes of air, “all of it.” 

It wasn’t till Miguel let out a gravelly groan that you knew which one had gotten the chance to claim your ass first. When a dollop of his spit landed upon your skin, his thumb wasted no time to soar up and rub it in, swiping over your little rosebud as it stretched to take his girth. 

The task of keeping up your attention to the four miners at your head became an impossible task as they gave your mouth a break for your breathless moans to flow freely and they instead came to your aid and helped guide your hands around to grant them all a bit of affection. 

With both of your holes snuggly filled up, you felt yourself near the edge once more, though it was Thor who pushed you over it as his hand coiled around your waist and snaked down to find your swollen clit in a lavish pattern. 

Though when you buried your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and trembled between his and Miguel’s burly forms, Thor’s touch dissipated and though you half expected him to join the rest up top, it still didn’t manage to surprise you what he opted for instead. 

“Holy shit!” you shakily gasped, your palm nearly slapping Bucky in the chest as you felt Thor angle himself behind you and press his cock in beside Miguel’s, who’s dick was already more than enough for you to handle on its own. 

“Shh,” Bucky tilted your chin down for you to catch his eye, “don’t act like this is your first time, princess,” he kept his own pace selfish as the silky wall parting him from the rest grew thinner than ever, “you can take it,” his palm tapped your cheek lightly as he smiled at how you overcame the staggering sensation, “just as you always do.” 

And take it you did, soon gushing all over them as the three miners emptied themselves into your holes, pumping you full and leaving you a leaky mess for the remainder to enjoy while they all found a seat to relax in and watch you descend further into madness. 

It was Frank who then flipped your molten form around, planting himself on the very same bench, and twisted you around for your back to be melting down against his front. He slipped in effortlessly as the two loads that dripped out of your ass aided his fat girth as he buried himself completely, fucking the other miner’s cum that much deeper inside your utterly wrecked hole. 

“How’s she doing, huh?” Steve asked as he and Matthew stepped up between your parted legs, his fingers coasting down to spread open and inspect your pussy as it too leaked, “you think she can take a bit more? You think she can take on the two of us?” he briefly pumped two of his fingers into your quivering hole as he awaited your answer. 

“I–, you can try,” you panted, hazily blinking down at how Matt’s digits too came down between your thighs and began to draw rude patterns over your puffy pearl, “I don’t know if I can do it, but you can try.”

“Atta girl,” Matt flashed you a smile before each of their touches was traded out for something much more overwhelming. 

With Marc as the last one remaining above your head, he stayed patient and simply stood there, stroking your hair and even dipping down to press his lips to your cheek as your poor pussy struggled to take the two cocks your loves attempted to ease in there. Though, when your eyes widened at the eventual success, the man behind you only let you stare at the severe stretch a moment before he tilted your head back, supporting it with both of his hands as you caught on and parted your lips for him. 

As he fucked your face, one of his hands briefly swept down to your throat as he fed you more of his length and spotted how a dull bulge of him appeared each time you gagged around his girth. 

You felt as if you’d slipped into a trance by the time everyone had gotten the chance to cum inside your sweetness, yourself falling apart around them enough times that you lost count. Though even so, as you layed there, various burly men enveloping your half-continuous form in their warmth, your eyes blinked open and spotted the few who’d gotten the privilege to go first and how they’d at some time grown hard once again and were now pumping their cocks in their fists, with all of their greedy gazes glued on you.  

The seven miners always warned you to be careful while they were off at work and you were all alone in the secluded cottage. Even though it was located in the middle of the woods, they still advised you not to open the door for anyone, not even if their looks deceived you. 

You should have heeded those warnings the day when an old hag knocked at the cabin door, because she didn’t turn out to be just a sweet old lady as you had thought when you first spotted her through the window, dark cloak drawn up over her grey hair as she clutched onto a heavy basket of apples in one arm and thumped her free fist against the front door. 

All she’d asked for had been a sip of water, one your kindness couldn’t deny her of. 

Though your gravest mistake came when you accepted her seemingly kind offer of gratitude in the form of one of her apples, because when you sank your teeth into the crisp red fruit, the produce suddenly turned rotten in your grasp, granting you a brief glance of the truth, of the potent poison it withheld, before the effects took ahold and cast you into an eternal slumber. 

The enchanted sleep however wasn’t like the one you’d heard tales about as it in truth only shut down your body as the rest of your senses still stayed awake, alert and aware as ever to the things around you, though forever helpless to whatever could occur. 

When your dear miners returned that day, the sight that found them utterly broke them all. 

And when they discovered that you’d received a fate worse than death, a few of them had to lean on superstition in order to cope. 

Though superstition was what superstition often is, just a fairytale. 

No matter how many of them attempted to press their lips to yours, you stayed asleep as true love’s kiss turned out to be no more than a bedtime story. 

That’s how you ended up in a blossoming glen, not far from the cottage that had grown to become your home, encased in a glass coffin. 

But that’s also how he found you again…

Prince Billy had been on a hunting trip the day he stumbled over the clearing you rested in, his deepest desires he’d assumed forever lost, so perfectly on display for him in the middle of the woods and with no one to stop him from taking you with him back to his castle. You had been his fiancé after all, so if your fate as his wife included you being a little less of an active participant than you’d been previously, then so be it. He could be content with you as nothing but a living doll… in fact, perhaps the royal even preferred it… 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[st4rymoon]

I'd like to ask for Steven's thoughts as Marc made reader say he (steven) can't fuck us like this

୨୧⋆ ˚𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 • 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯

! 𝘮𝘥𝘯𝘪 !

Steven’s a jealous lover, a jealous spiteful lover. I don’t care what anyone says!

Steven will whine and complain about how much attention you give Marc </3

he’ll say you have an obvious favorite (even if you spend more time with Steven than Marc)

He’ll even sometimes try and guilt trip you about it but to no avail :( he’d just get more whiney and bitter about it.

But Steven’s true jealousy comes out when he heard those slurred words come out of your mouth.

No, Steven can’t f- fuck me like you!

“Don’t be mug love, not even you believe that!” Steven huffed through the mirror as Marc chuckled at his words as you let you another desperate moan.

Marc leans into your shoulder, whispering softly “someone’s jealous”

You hummed with no sense of self awareness, completely unaware of his words.

Steven decide to be spiteful instead of proving his point when he managed to push Marc back into the back seat.

“I can’t fuck you like Marc? Really love?” Steven cooed as he pulled out of you mid build up to your orgasm. “N- no plea- please Stevennn” you gasped out in pitiful cries.

“How about you show me how good you can make yourself feel huh?”

[lostalioth]

☆ hi my loves here we go with a what 3rd or 4th i don’t even know attempt at doing kinktober lmaoo. now as always i can never seem to finish kinktobers which is why i lower how many days i do as well as i pick a variety of characters to write for so i don’t get bored writing all month for the same 3-4. the same as last year i will plan on posting a fic sort of every other day so (sun, tue, thur, sat) which is why it’ll be 18 days and not 31. if you recognize any as repeats in last years kinktober prompt lists, yes i carried some over from past lists that i didn’t get to.

☆ i do not do taglists on any of my fics and kinktober is no expection however you can follow my library acc → @aliothslibrary i reblog all my fics on that account seconds after i post it, and only my fics so if you wanna be notified of my posts for kinktober follow that acc and put notifications on :) you can also search up the tag #lostalioth kinktober for all my past kinktober fics etc.

☆ MY BLOG IS 18+ MEANING MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!! ALL OF THESE FICS INCLUDE SMUT AND EACH WILL HAVE THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS.

day one → body worship + love marks w/ roommate!stucky

day two → dry humping + handcuffs w/ steve harrington 

day three → high sex + bribery w/ eddie munson

day four → bondage + fingering w/ tasm!peter parker

day five → creampie + master kink w/ loki laufeyson

day six → face sitting + thigh biting w/ marc spector

day seven → piercing + cock worship w/ bucky barnes

day eight → pain kink + praise w/ dean winchester

day nine → obsession + belly bulge w/ logan howlett

day ten → overstimulation + hand job w/ sub!miguel o hara

day eleven → semi-public sex + against a wall w/ steven grant

day twelve → dacryphilia + corruption w/ perv!bsf!eddie munson

day thirteen → cock warming + begging w/ steve harrington

day fourteen → free use + primal play w/ logan howlett

day fifteen → lap dance + choking w/ mob!bucky barnes

day sixteen → edging + sir kink w/ steve rogers

day seventeen → caught masturbating + anal w/ sam winchester

day eighteen → double peneration + drunk sex w/ steddie

☆ hope you enjoy my babes!! please send me feedback, don’t be shy to comment or reblog your reactions to the days as i love seeing how you guys feel about my fics :) thankk you so much for reading and supporting my writing if you do and if you don’t for whatever reason that is perfectly fine as well!!

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

(18+) horny brainrot & hcs about the men I write for..

includes: bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, miguel o’hara, moon boys, peter quill, pietro maximoff, spencer reid, tangerine

fem!reader, mdni

cw. mentions of edging, blow jobs, dry humping, cock warming, oral (f receiving) fingering/ clit play, pinv sex

bucky barnes: likes to eat you out after you've had a bad day. he likes to listen to you try to formulate words describing the details of your day while his tongue flicks over your clit - the feel making your mind blank and hazy. he loves listening to you restart your sentences over and over and over because you keep cutting yourself off with noises - with moans

.

logan howlett: likes to play with your clit while he’s fucking you. palm resting on your public bone, thumb extended down to your clit — the motion slow and unrushed. each little circle and swirl matches the pace of his strokes, his cock fucking into you. the sensation of his dual touch earning him all your beautiful sounds and noises. every little one acting as fuel, as his momentum to keep going for you.

.

matt murdock: he knows the moment just as you're about to let go. he listens to your body, to your heart - listens to it pick up in rhythm, to it pump wildly just before that moment. he listens to your breathing stagger and heighten, listens to the change in your body, to your muscles seize and tense. though that's all he lets you feel. he snatches himself away just as you're about to cum - pulling away his cock or tongue or fingers, not allowing you that sweet moment of release. he plays with you, endlessly working you up until you're just shy of your orgasm, then yanks himself away - listening to you whine and protest, panting wildly. he tells you he'll be nice on you and let you cum, but it'll be the same story again. working you up impossibly more, leaving you on the cusp of your high

.

miguel o'hara: he won't always fuck you with the full length of his dick. sometimes, he's just too much for you to take, so you have to satiate your need with just the tip of his cock. he'd keep his fat head wedged snuggly inside you, not moving or giving you any friction you desperately need. only placing his thumb over your clit, circling it slowly as he essentially uses his tip as a plug. he'd look down at you almost pitifully, cooing at you when you'd pout and whine, trying to take more of him. but he won't allow it - placing a large hand on your hip, stilling you as he continues to toy with your clit

.

moon boys: they make you wear a blindfold while they take turns fucking you. you have to figure out who is fronting solely by their touch - no talking, no communicating, no nothing. you have to differentiate them by their strokes and rhythm, by the way they fuck you, by how they touch and caress you. they don't like being mistaken for one another, so you best not guess wrong - they won't be so lenient with you

.

peter quill: a lazy, heated makeout in bed under the covers. both wearing comfy, cozy underwear, quill hovering atop, your legs wrapped around his hips - keeping him snug to you. kissing each other carnally, all slow and sloppy, breathy muffled moans into one another's mouths as he nudges his clothed chub-on on your pussy. leisurely winding his rock-hard cock against the pit of heat between your thighs. one hand on your throat deepening the kiss, the other holding your hand beside your head

.

pietro maximoff: before you both get down and dirty one night, he'd pull out a deep, dark red lipstick from his nightstand, asking you to put some on before you suck him off. he loves to see the red kisses scattered along his chest and stomach - your lipstick marks littered over his pale skin as you work down to settle between his thighs. he'd smear the red over your mouth, his thumb dragging over your slightly bruised lips - smudging the lipstick around. he keeps his eyes glued on you the whole time, watching the way your mouth wraps around his cock, leaving a messy red ring at the base - streaks running up his shaft

.

spencer reid: enjoys the intimacy of touch during sex. loves the feeling of your fingers in his messy curls, your hand soft and gentle on his face as his cock rocks into you. it would all be slow and sweet - the encounter so leisured and unrushed. the steady wind of his hips into yours and the warmth of each of your hands on one another faces, creating a beautifully tender moment

.

tangerine: loves to play with your cunt while he's sat behind. you'd lean into him against the headboard, your back resting against his chest, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, the other between your thighs. he'd extend his neck, reaching around to kiss up the side of your throat, peppering your skin in soft, light kisses as he lazily rubs over your clit. middle and ring finger leisurely circling over the swollen nub. just him mindlessly toying with you as he kisses your cheek, whispering sweet words into your skin as he palms your tits with his spare hand

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

had some of these ideas floating around for ages, but never done anything with them—so finally finally wrote about the brainrot that’s been eating me up

added bucky and reid mar 5th

added logan oct 11th

[runa-falls]

my turn

part 1 | part 2

pairing: marc spector x reader (a bit of steven grant x reader)

summary: marc has had enough of watching you take advantage of steven and not him...

cw: smut (18+), voyeurism, masturbation, rough sex, dirty talk, degrading words, pining omg so much pining, angst, creampie, fluff?, ft. steven

wc: 3.4k

a/n: long time coming (cumming) -- i just realized i barely have marc fics so hopefully this holds up to expectations!

masterlist

----

You know Marc. But you wouldn't necessarily say that you're friends. And even if you were, you're definitely not 'friendly' with him the way you are with Steven.

If you were to ask him though, it wasn't for the lack of trying.

Since you've met Steven, Marc has merely been a shadow behind him, stopping in to check on Steven's personal life every so often before disappearing again.

What you aren't aware of, though, is that the only time he trifles in Steven's life is when he gets to see you.

Usually, Marc is uninterested in the daily life of his other half.

Steven wakes up, catches (or misses) the bus, gets to work, grabs some food on the way home, then calls it a day. It's a bland routine that Marc set up specifically to make sure that Steven is safe and sane. So, of course, when there's a change, Marc starts to pay attention.

Suddenly, out of the blue, you're everywhere.

A smile in the background of Steven's phone, a sticky note on the fridge reminding him to get more blueberries, and the oversized sweater you leave on the armchair one day that Steven steals whenever you're away.

He has no idea how you came into the picture, how he's never noticed you, or how Steven of all people captured your attention.

All he knows is that Steven is fumbling. Hard.

Marc had no idea what the nature of your relationship was until he had a front row ticket to one of your friendly favors.

---

Steven isn't subtle about his feelings. Anytime he's exceptionally scared or excited, Marc is called forward by his subconscious mind just in case he's in danger.

Usually, Marc is forced to front when Steven is about to burn his flat down from his nth attempt at cooking, or when he nearly walks into a busy intersection because he has his nose stuck in a book. But he never expected this.

He knew you liked to baby Steven. Take care of him because he had no one else to turn to (except Gus of course), but he just assumed you were being friendly, a kind soul willing to take Steven under your wing.

Nothing could have prepared him for when he woke up to the sight of you on your knees in front of him. It's odd being in the back seat of his body while Steven is getting all of your attention. He can feel everything, from the way your soft lips brush so sweetly against his cock to the hot suction of your mouth, but there's something that's holding him back from taking what he wants.

He wants so badly to bury his hand in your hair and push you down onto him until you're making a mess of yourself, eyes welling with pretty tears and drool dripping down your chin. He needs to tell you what a good girl you're being for him, so desperate for his cock in your throat. He wants to pick you up and carry you over to the bed to show you just how beautiful you are.

He wants you to look up and know it's him.

But he can't. Because who knows when this development started.

You acted platonically just the other day, and now, you're begging for Steven to cum on your tits.

What are you to each other?

If interferes now and messes this up for Steven, you might leave their lives altogether. Damn, how have you lured him into your clutches without even talking to him?

For all he knows, it could be a one-off thing...

---

It's decidedly not a one-off thing.

Marc has barely had the chance to front since the first time you made a move on Steven. You're always coming over, whether it's a spontaneous movie night or an offer to cook Steven some dinner, you always find a way to slither your way back into his bed. Not that Steven minds.

But Marc does.

With each fumbling move that Steven makes, Marc gets pushed closer to the edge. He could do it so much better. Make it clear that you're wanted. Give you the pleasure you deserve.

He cringes inside with every wary arm that gets thrown over your shoulder during a movie (one of Steven's signature moves to get you to cuddle -- somehow it works, every time). With the messy, unpracticed kisses that Steven haphazardly presses against your sweet lips.

He physically holds himself back from taking control of the body whenever you fall asleep in Steven's arms. He wants to hold you, feel your body molded against his, even if you have no idea it's him.

It's painful watching the two of you walk circles around the truth.

"I'm always thinking about you." Just tell her that you like her, you idiot! What is there to be afraid of? She looks at you like you painted the stars and hung the moon!

At this point, he doesn't even know why he tries.

Whenever you're around, Steven has total tunnel vision. He practically follows you around like some lost puppy. He lets sweet words spill from his lips without even thinking first and you lap up any type of affection he'll give you.

It's a vicious cycle of obliviousness.

Steven is a lost cause. But he isn't.

He can't take it anymore. He can't take waking up with a lingering taste of you on his tongue, or seeing your lovesick smile directed at someone else. He can't take the way you treat him like a stranger, like someone to avoid.

He wants you. So he's going to show you.

---

It's been a long day.

Marc's been out, jumping on top of roofs and kicking ass, all while Steven's 'sweetheart' blows up his phone.

Marc narrows his eyes, shuffling through all the smiley faces and hearts that litter your messages (and the thumbs up messages from Steven).

This book made me think of you <3

A cute little picture of you holding a book next to your face stares back at him, painting his face in a soft glow as he stands in the darkness of the night. He wants to crush the device in his hand.

Call me when you get home safe :)

You know exactly where Marc is right now, and what his life consists of, but you always avoid talking about him directly. You're always just waiting for Steven to come home so he can sleepily tell you he's back in bed and give you the green light to come over and snuggle your face into his chest.

Marc likes to think that he makes measured decisions, but what he does next is completely out of character:

Come over.

---

He's a little impatient, sitting on his worn couch as he waits for you to show up. You said you'd be 20 minutes, but it's been 30 since he texted you.

Sory thought the cookies would be done earlier! I'm otw now!

Your hastily typed out text blinks up from the forgotten phone that lies next to him. He read the sheepish reply when you sent it, but didn't bother to text back because of course you baked cookies for Steven.

He's starting to regret tricking you over. All he can think about is the inevitable rejection he'll get once you realize he's not Steven.

Marc leans back against the collection of overstuffed pillows and (your) gifted squish-mallows that decorate the couch, not caring that he's taking up as much space as possible. Flashes of your time with Steven override his doubts, reminding him of the softness that only you can provide.

He doesn't even realize he's unbuttoning his pants until his hand slips himself out of his briefs. Fuck, he's already so hard just thinking about you.

He doesn't want to get himself too worked up so he attempts to take it slow, stroking and squeezing himself until he's teetering at the edge, pretending that it's your hand instead of his. He quickly gets lost in the feeling, floating in a euphoric dream of you and your touch. It isn't until he hears the door click open that he returns to reality.

You're here. The thought alone nearly makes him spill over himself.

"Steven!"

-- And he's good.

"I'm here--oof," He hears you run into a kitchen stool, "why is it so dark in here?"

He should shove himself back into his pants and greet you like a normal human being, but some sick thing inside of him wants you to see what you do to him.

You place a container of freshly baked cookies on the counter with a smile, satisfied with your work and excited to see him try one. You've been working on a new vegan snickerdoodle recipe just for him.

A sweet treat for your sweet treat. You nearly giggle at your thoughts.

You take a second to smooth down any wrinkles on your dress, desperate to look nice for him. Steven has no idea how obsessed with him you are. You want him all the time. You're constantly craving to coax out soft whines and stutters from your favorite boy.

You look around the dim flat.

Where the hell is he?

Usually you'd find him in front of his makeshift desk, sprawling through various books under a harsh lamp, but tonight his spot is empty.

A soft grunt guides you to the couch, your usual movie night spot. No way he's starting without you.

"Ah, there you are." You're slightly put out that he doesn't move to greet you, but maybe Marc's mission just took a particularly harsh toll on his body.

It's only when you're standing at the side of the couch that he meets your eyes. And you meet his...hard cock, desperately throbbing in his hand. What a sight. Your eyes nearly glaze over at the sight of his mussed hair and laid back positioning.

He just looks up at you, casually. He's been expecting you. He wants you to watch him. It makes it that much more delicious.

He doesn't shy back at your presence. If anything, he sits up to give you a better view. His hand moves methodically -- controlled, stroking himself from tip to base as his half-lidded eyes stare straight back at you.

His dark look and posture nearly make him unrecognizable. It's not just the clothes he's wearing, or the 5 o'clock shadow, but the way he furrows his eyebrows and grips himself so confidently, like he does it all the time.

You shake off the odd feeling settling in your stomach and move over to him with the practiced grace that usually makes him weak in the knees for you.

"Mm...Steven...you're quite needy right now, aren't you?"

He raises a dark eyebrow, briefly squeezing himself in his hand as he unabashedly takes in your figure, draped in a soft dress. He's not backing down like you're used to. At this point, he's supposed to be begging for you to touch him, not staring you down like you're a piece of meat.

"M'not Steven, sweetheart." His voice makes you freeze in front of him and all of the confidence you once held rushes out of your body.

"M-marc?"

A cynical smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You remember me?"

You capture your bottom lip into your mouth, holding yourself back from crawling on top of him and skipping the conversation. The dark and intense version of your lover is serving himself up on a silver platter, and all you can do is watch.

"Why wouldn't I?" He shrugs.

You can tell he's enjoying this, watching you squirm uncomfortably as he teases himself right in front of you. He touches himself like it's an afterthought, something to simply accompany the sight of you.

"W-where's Steven? I was supposed to meet him here..."

"I'm the one who texted you."

You freeze, not knowing what to do.

He wants you here?

He wants you?

"You...?"

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna be a good girl for me like you are with Steven?"

What would Steven think?

"I-I don't know..."

"C'mon, you're always dying to suck him off."

Your face flushes at his bluntness. Are you that obvious?

A hand comes up to hold you by the waist before you're pulled closer to him. He looks up at you, eye-level with your chest, looking as predatory as ever, despite his position under you.

"What's the difference, hm?" He slides a warm hand under the hem of your dress, gently caressing the bare skin of your outer thigh. "It's the same body on top of you. The same cock stretching you out..." You shiver when you feel his fingers tease the edge of your panties, the deep red lace you picked out specially for Steven. "...even the same cum filling you up."

You look down, mesmerized by the way his hand moves under the thin fabric of your dress. You watch his shrouded arm pull at the fabric until it barely brushes at your upper thigh as his hand slides up over the softness of your stomach and the dips of your ribs, before stopping at the curve of your breast.

"You want this."

It's not a question, it's a statement. And he's right.

He watches your eyes flutter close as he cups you in his hand. Despite the heat in his eyes, he handles you so softly. Like you're a porcelain doll in his hands. It's a familiar touch, but there's a hint of something more.

"Steven..." You breathe out. It's said out of habit. This feeling inside of you has only been associated with one person. It's always been him. But now, a whole other side of yourself is opening up.

You quickly realize your mistake when his grip tightens around your waist and on your breast, demanding your attention.

"No." His voice is low, "Not him."

"M-marc."

He hums and rewards you with a teasing flick of his thumb over your nipple. You're disappointed when his touch suddenly leaves you, but before you can complain, he begins to work his pants all the way off.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart." He pulls you close enough that you nearly fall over him, causing you to straddle his lap and sit chest-to-chest. "Tonight's about us." The skirt of your dress falls around your thighs, shielding the way his length presses against your inner thigh.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, flustered by the feeling of his hot body against yours, at the idea that this is really happening.

You breathe in once. Is that..?

And then, once again.

He smells like him.

"You good, baby?" He rubs over the tops of your thighs comfortingly while subtly shoving your skirt up to your waist.

"Mhm..." You hum against his skin, relishing in the feeling of his embrace. You experimentally push your hips against his, grinding your needy center against his. He groans at the contact and cants his hips upwards, forcing you to feel just how hard he is.

Your cunt pulses in desperation as he continues to rut against your clothed clit. You're nearly soaking through your underwear with how wet you are. And by the way he groans against you, he can tell.

An eager hand shoves between your bodies to shove your panties to the side. "Need to feel you." He drags a finger against you, spreading your slick until it runs down the palm of his hand. "Fuck. You're so ready for me."

"P-please." It's a hushed whisper against his shoulder, but he hears it loud and clear.

"Please, what?" He pushes you back, forcing you to look at him as he lines himself up. Heat pricks at the tops of your cheeks before you cast your eyes downwards.

Is he really going to make you say it?

"M-marc." You whimper as he brushes the tip of his cock through the seam of your cunt, covering himself with your lust. He mouths at your neck, ignoring your pleas by keeping himself busy sucking bites and bruises into your skin. "Please, fuck me, Marc."

He barely gives you a second before he's pushing in with a single fluid motion. The feeling is indescribable. How can he share a body with Steven, but make this feel so different?

"So big..." You gasp out, thighs trembling around his.

"Taking me so well, baby. Just let me in."

He pushes up until you're filled to the brim, drawing out a broken moan from your lips. The stretch is exquisite in this position. You feel like you've never felt anyone as deeply as he is right now.

As soon as he's sure you're comfortable, he starts moving, grinding up against you until you're looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. You're mewls fill the room as his cock drags perfectly against your slick walls. You arch your back and start moving over him, desperate to feel him entirely.

He watches you bounce on his lap, timing his movements so his thrusts meet yours.

"Such a greedy slut aren't you?" His harsh words are punctuated with sharp thrusts, causing you to clench around him involuntarily. The sensation almost leaves him breathless, but he continues talking through gritted teeth. "You couldn't get enough from Steven, hm?"

His pants turn into rough grunts as he speeds up. He thrusting into you like he's taking revenge, like he's proving that he's the piece that's been missing from your life.

You shake your head, "Need b-both."

"Yeah, you do. Always so desperate to be filled by this cock." He holds you in place and begins to viciously thrust up into you.

"O-oh-!" He's hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You can't help the way your mouth gapes at the toe curling sensation.

Everything around you quickly fades away and all you can see, hear, and feel is him. You can't even articulate anything when pure ecstasy blooms in your core and permeates throughout your body.

You seize in his hold as he continues to roll his hips against yours, feeling boneless from the pleasure that hums through every nerve. He groans at the flutter of your walls around him, gripping him so tight in your warmth. He can barely get out a handful of thrusts before he's spilling inside of you.

You're a mess on top of him, soaking his lap in a mixture of the two of you. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, but it doesn't matter when you can still feel him pulsing inside of you.

Your eyes flutter open as a gentle hand caresses your jaw and guides you to lean in.

You meet vulnerable eyes framed by dark lashes.

He takes a breath, like he's bracing for the worst, but he doesn't have the chance to let it go before you're pressing your lips against his.

---

You sleep like a rock. It's almost like no time has passed. Why dream when you have everything you want right in front of you?

Or behind you, that is.

You can already tell it's Steven with the way he nuzzles himself against the back of your neck. "G'mornin', darling." He's adorable with his roughened groggy voice.

"Hi, baby." He curls up at the pet name and holds you closer, already flustered before he has fully woken up. You can tell it takes him a few moments to blink the sleep away because suddenly he's stiff against you (and not in a good way).

"W-what. What happened?"

You sigh, "Marc happened."

"Did he hurt you? Oh my god," He pushes away to get a better view, "was he mauling your neck?!"

"Steven, it's fine." You feel your face warm up at the thought of the night before. "I...kinda liked it."

Steven huffs to himself as his thumb lightly brushes over a particularly obvious bruise on your neck, "He's trying to steal my girlfriend."

You nearly choke on yourself, "G-girlfriend?"

"Yes...? I mean, you are, right? Unless," Steven's eyes widen, "I-uh, didn't mean to assume--"

"No, Steven. I-I'd love to be your girlfriend."

[fettuccin-e]

It's Never Easy

Kinktober Day 24: Edging

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley, yeah that's right they're all here baby, afab!fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), unprotected piv (wrap it irl I am begging you), edging, crying during sex, orgasm denial (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Yeah that's right the boys are back in town, and by that I mean all three moonboys. They're all little shits and I adore them (For Kinktober, I've been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

You think that you’re finally wearing Steven down.

He’s been at this for hours now, you think, burying himself between your thighs and losing himself like he never wants to leave. He’s fucking incessant when he gets you like this, licking at your cunt until his eyes have glazed over and he’s grinding slowly into the bedsheets. He moans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations from it going up your spine.

“Fuck, Steven, I need-” you moan, your chest heaving with the way Steven sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at you in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your hips hump into his face, chasing the sensation. “I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna- think I’m gonna-”

He pulls his face away just like that, watching as you shout, your hips grinding into nothing but air as your pleasure and your orgasm dissipate. He holds your thighs apart and just looks at the way you tremble, his eyes wide and a blush high on his face.

“That’s it, darling, so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, and you grind your teeth together. This is the third time, the third fucking time, he’s done that. Gotten you so close, your body locking up and threatening to fall off that precipice, before he pulls himself away, leaving you with nothing.

It’s fucking maddening, and Steven just watches, squeezing at his thick cock as it aches between his legs.

“Please, Steven,” you whine, high pitched and needy. “Need you to let me cum, fuck, please let me cum.” You sound so pitiful, so desperate, that Steven’s eyes soften at your begging.

“Oh, I know, love,” he murmurs, sliding a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. “Need it so bad, yeah? It’s okay, darling, I’ll let you cum,”

You nearly sob with relief when he leans back down and sucks your clit into his mouth, sinking two fingers into your entrance. He’s relentless, playing with your clit with his tongue, nudging the tips of his fingers into a little spot inside of you that makes you want to cry. Your orgasm surges back up inside you without warning, and you can’t fucking breathe.

You brace yourself for him to do it again, to pull away when you start babbling, “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum,” between heaving moans. But Steven doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, and you start to smile with the fact that he’s actually going to let you have it this time without pulling away.

Except, he does pull away.

You cry out as Steven’s head shoots up from between your legs again, but you can only watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, his jaw clenched.

Marc looks up at you from his place between your thighs, a cocky little smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh baby,” he says, and his voice is gruff, dark, so unlike Steven’s. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” You gasp for air as Marc sinks a third finger into you, and he grins. 

“So pretty when you’re almost fucking there, sweetheart,” Marc murmurs, and he leans close to brush his lips against yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Whining, pleading for us to just let you cum. Steven was going to let it happen, put an end to your misery, but me?” He fucks his hand into you so hard that you choke on a moan. “I like seeing you squirm.”

And the process starts over again.

Marc fucks you on his fingers without a hint of remorse, driving into your g-spot in violent, debilitating thrusts that have you reeling.

You get so close so many fucking times, over and over and over again, your body drawn tight with the overwhelming need to cum. You beg, plead, gripping the bedsheets so hard that you fear you might tear them. But Marc. Doesn’t. Stop.

Every time he feels it, that tell-tale tightening of your body, hears the way you start to go quiet as you focus on finally falling over that precipice, he pulls his hand out of you without any finesse, any mercy.

Around the third time he does it, you really do start to cry, sobbing for Marc to finally let you cum, that you need it so bad it hurts.

“Can’t- it’s too much, Marc, please, please let me, need it so ba-ad,” you hiccup through your moans, tears bubbling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

Marc leans down and kisses them away, cooing at you as he grinds the calloused tips of his fingers into the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, come on,” he murmurs, his thumb coming up to press against your clit, grinding little circles into it and sending you fucking flying. “Don’t cry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank-” you’re in the middle of thanking him, practically tasting your orgasm on your desperate tongue, when Marc’s eyes roll back, and his hand rips away from your cunt.

“No,” you whine, choking on your tears as your body quakes beneath his, “no, no, please.” You’re practically hysterical, desperate for it after so fucking long, after Steven and Marc have shredded you apart.

“Princesa,” Jake grins down above you, unmistakable with his dark gaze and a smile that is purely fucking primal, feral. “If you think you’re going to cum on anything but my cock, you’re wrong.”

And you can only gasp at Jake notches the thick, leaking head of his cock against your gaping entrance, and shoves himself in to the hilt.

You scream, your back bending into an obscene arch as he fills you up so perfectly. 

“Jake, Jake,” you sob through labored breaths, “I can’t, it’s been, I don’t know how long it’s been, please, please. I need to cum, fuck, ‘m begging.”

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Jake croons, “Of course you can.”

Of course you can. Like you’ve had permission all along, like it was that easy. Like you haven’t been broken apart by each of them, over and over again, reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess beneath their body.

He’s only one, two thrusts in, but you’re coming anyway, screaming with it as tears flow down your cheeks. Your entire body locks up with it, your cunt squeezing tight around Jake’s cock in rhythmic pulses that have him clutching painfully at your hips. Sweet, sweet relief fills your body, like water in a desert, the sun after a hurricane. It’s fucking bliss, incomparable, absolutely debilitating.

“Mierda, that’s fucking beautiful, fuck,” Jake growls, and he presses into your body so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach, and pumps you full of his cum. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, “Good fucking girl,” before darkness grows into the edges of your vision and quickly swallowing it whole, leaving you to fall into pitch black oblivion.

When you finally come back to yourself, you feel warm, safe. It’s no surprise to you, since you usually feel that way in this flat, in this bed.

“I didn’t fucking kill her, Steven,” you hear Jake growl. “She’s breathing just fine. And don’t act innocent, you and I both know that you worked her just as hard as Marc and I did.”

“And you all better pamper me,” you croak, still refusing to open your eyes, “As soon as I take a nap.”

“Hermosa,” you hear Jake breathe, and you feel his lips press to your forehead. You crack open your eyes to meet Jake’s gaze, his eyes wide and more worried than he usually lets on. “Are you alright? You- you passed out.” he asks, and you giggle.

“Never been better,” you murmur. “But any of you try that shit again, it’s no sex for a fucking year.”

Jake grins in that roguish way that makes your heart flutter. "As if you could resist any of us for that long, mi vida."

[spicyllewyn]

Kinktober 1. - Accidental stimulation.

Marc Spector x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Accidental stimulation + semi-public. (+18)

Word count. 1.4k

Summary. The only space in the car is on your best friend's lap.

Kinktober masterlist.

Dragging Marc out of his apartment was undoubtedly always an odyssey for anyone who tried it. Fortunately, you had a little something hidden in your pocket called 'the best friend privilege' that always resulted in him fulfilling your whims.

That, and the slight feeling of jealousy that invaded him when you spent time with friends who weren't him.

It was a good day for both of you, after all, no matter how big the group of people you went out with was, it was as if you were always in your little world, just him and you. Chatting alone, walking behind the others, and always taking a few minutes to take photos at your request.

In the end, the rest of your acquaintances had already gotten used to it, and as distant as you might seem, they still loved and included you two. So it was no surprise to either of you that after lunch, the arcade, and the movies, they were relentlessly urged to take you back to one of your apartments.

"There's no way we'll all fit in your car." Six people in a car meant for five. You leaned a little after saying it, your eyes calculating the space in the back seat.

"Sit on Marc." The owner of the car shrugged as he jingled the keys in his hand, waiting for a response. It was a lost battle; both he, Marc, you, and the other ones knew that there was no way out other than simply accepting the offer.

"I'm not sure how safe that is." You hummed, pursing your lips before turning to Marc. "What do you think?"

He shrugged too.

"It's a short ride from here to my apartment."

You sighed; if he was convinced, it meant you were being the difficult one.

In a matter of minutes, everyone was squeezed into the car, you on top of Marc, the others having to shrink their bodies to avoid invading each other's space.

"Sit properly," he murmured, irritated by the way you were sitting almost on his knees to avoid bothering him. Because yes, both of you were basically inseparable, but Marc was a bit of a cat when it came to his relationships – sometimes he wanted physical contact, sometimes he wanted to push you into another room so that he could have some space.

He slid an arm around your waist and pulled your body until your back was leaning against his chest. Of course he didn't think through his actions and the consequences they could bring, or at least that's what he realized when the car passed its first stop and he felt you jump on his lap.

He gasped, low enough that you wouldn't hear it.

“Did you have a good time today?” You whispered as your fingers softly caressed his forearm until you reached the only bracelet Marc wore on his wrist. A gift from you.

He only could hope that you wouldn't see how the hairs on his arm stood up at how delicate your fingers were, causing chills to run down his entire spine.

“Mhm.” It was hard to concentrate with your ass pressed against him like that.

The music in the car wasn't loud enough to be annoying, but it was loud enough to cover your conversation as well as any curses that left Marc's lips. Next to him, one of his friends was dozing, the other was scrolling on her phone lazily.

Marc pretended to settle into place and mentally prayed that you wouldn't feel something between his legs starting to wake up, right against the inside of your thighs.

Was it necessary for you to wear that sundress specifically today?

Another small bump in the road and it was enough for Marc's cock to completely harden while you looked out the window and continued making those imaginary drawings on his arm. Of course you felt it, but there wasn't much you could do about it, especially with the way he held you to his body with his arm.

“Fuck.” He muttered, breathless as you shifted in your spot, returning to sit on his hip after the movement of the road caused you to slide down a few inches.

You could feel his hardness pressing between your legs, at one point the clothes being the only thing stopping him from fucking you mercilessly until your legs wouldn't work. His arm tightened around you and you swore the air was escaping your lungs, not knowing exactly if it was because of the way he was crushing you against him or because you could already feel your underwear becoming damp, a heat that you recognized perfectly in your lower abdomen and between your legs.

He pushed your entire body down with his arm, seeking to satisfy himself with that same friction that the pressure of your body gave him, until, of course, that was no longer enough. He pushed his hips up, a discreet movement, somehow, but you could feel it perfectly.

The fact that you weren't facing him gave you the chance to bite your lower lip and silence any noise that Marc tried to snatch from your throat with his actions.

The second push was less discreet, more desperate. He buried himself between your legs as if he wanted to tear both of your clothes and dig into you once and for all.

“Are they ever going to fix these damn streets?” The boy mumbled from the driver's seat. Small cement bumps provoked the car to make an almost vibrating movement for just a few seconds.

Marc almost fainted.

You knew it was too much for him when his forehead rested against your shoulder, his curls tickling your cheek and making you smile with how agitated you both were. You raised the hand that was on his arm to stroke his hair, pushing a few strands away from his forehead.

That would be the perfect position for both of you, or at least that's what he thought. Plunging into you to the hilt, your walls milking him as he listened to you moan his name loudly, with you pulling his hair and moving your hips to your liking, maybe he'd even let you keep that beautiful dress on, just lifting it up and moving your panties just a little to the side.

But for now, he'd have to settle for this. For the playful way you pulled at his curls as if it would bother him.

On the contrary, he almost made his lip bleed by having to silence the groan that was stuck in his throat. At this point your juices were wetting his pants and that was what gave him the clue that maybe this wasn't bothering you much.

Or nothing at all, he himself could feel you putting pressure on his erection as you pushed your ass down. As well as the way you spread your legs almost imperceptibly to let him settle between your thighs.

“You are going to make me cum on my fucking pants.” He whispered right in your ear, and you swallowed hard.

His left hand, which was between the car door and your body, slid under your dress, where he squeezed your thigh, his nails digging into your skin. You looked to the opposite side to verify that neither of the two guys had their attention on you and without looking away you moved your hips slowly.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

By the fourth movement you felt Marc's arm tighten around your waist to keep you still, he scratched your thigh, you could feel it. He let the air out of his lungs in a sigh of relief.

You felt the warm liquid against your skin making his jeans wetter and stickier.

“Was it left or right on this corner?”

"Left." Marc stammered, his voice slightly breaking as his forehead remained on your shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest moved your entire body now that you were comfortably leaning against it.

You chuckled.

A few more seconds of silence and you trying to ignore the way Marc's body shook as the car went over a couple more bumps.

His poor cock was too sensitive and he was getting over stimulated.

"See?"

You and Marc looked back at him in the rearview mirror. You smiled, he didn't.

“It wasn't that much of a problem.” He unlocked the car from the driver's seat. “You have to learn to accept favors.”

“Well, tell that to Marc.” You cleared your throat as you opened the car door. “He had to carry me all the way, he must be exhausted.”

He pinched your thigh and you chuckled again.

tag list. @ninebluehearts If you want to be tag please comment it, i'm not adding the usual tag list since i don't know if you want to be tagged on nsfw stuff 👀

[moonknightyws]

I need to bring this gif back oh my goddd

[variety-fangirl]

Thinking about reader having a tough time, a tough couple of weeks, of just feeling awful. Your mental health had taken a toll and gotten bad again. You weren't exactly sure what specifically set it off this time. It was most likely a combination of things.

Your workload had picked up due to the increase in your rent, which put you financially out some, and you didn't want to bother others with that problem. You would feel too awful to even think of asking. You'd put on some weight due to the late nights and long hours working, so you didn't have as much time to prepare proper or healthy meals, which of course meant you had been snacking on the go. You'd overheard a few of your coworkers make some unkind comments on your weight and how "unkempt" you seemed as of late, whilst they finished early and had a dual income, so they didn't understand. But that had given your demons some fuel to get to work.

You were one of the very first people in and one of the last out. You had finished late every night for the last two weeks, running on caffeine, instant foods, and fumes. You pushed yourself, every day, just to make ends meet and it still didn't seem enough. You had almost fallen asleep a few times at your desk and had to down an energy drink or hurriedly drink coffee to stay awake.

You also had slacked on the household chores, which meant things were more messy and disorganised than you liked. It meant everything felt chaotic. It made things difficult to find when you were rushing around and late. You also felt like your relationship was suffering because of it, which just added the final nail in the coffin. Plus, your boyfriend seemed to be ignoring you as of late. So everything was just too much.

It was finally the weekend. You finally had some days off to do what was neglected through the weeks. You thought you'd start off easy, you did the mounds of laundry that needed washing. But the whole time, you were mentally berating yourself for not doing it sooner. You next cleaned the kitchen, mopping the floor and disinfecting the surfaces. Which is then followed by the living room and dining room. But, again, you just kept thinking about how gross and lazy you were, punishing yourself for not taking care of it.

You were doing mental hoops of insults, all the while making your mood worse and throwing you further into a pit of depression. You spent the whole of Saturday cleaning, putting away, and sorting your solo home out. You wanted to do nothing more than relax, but your brain kept saying how you didn't deserve rest or to relax until everything you'd neglected was completed. You hated it, which made you hate yourself.

It took you 5 hours to do everything. It took all of your energy to force yourself back upstairs afterwards. You still had more to do up there, so you got to it. You sat down on the floor where you had set out the weeks' worth of piles and piles of laundry to put away, but you quickly got frustrated and overstimulated with exhaustion. You just wanted a nap, things to be easier, and to stay on top of things. Was that so much to ask for? Apparently.

The tears began falling and refused to stop. Weeks of pent-up and pushed-down emotions had finally caught up to you and erupted. You were sobbing, loudly and hysterically, as you curled in on yourself and fisted the laundry in your hands. You were tired, so fucking tired. Of everything. You just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a while. You knew it wasn't healthy, this lifestyle that was taking absolutely everything out of you, but you didn't know what to do or how to break the cycle to give yourself some reprieve.

But here you were. The fumes that were running on nothingness had finally caved in under the mass of enervations and pressure. You weren't sure how long you sat there wailing and sobbing out your frustrations and complete exhaustion, just holding yourself and pulling at your hair. Your phone had vibrated multiple times in a short period but you just couldn't physically move, you couldn't do anything but weep to your heart's content. Not that you could look at your phone anyway, your vision was blurry from the constant stream of tears.

At some point, you hear the door open and footsteps coming up. Coming straight in your direction. You knew you had never unlocked the door from last night when you came home late. And only one person had a key to your place, your boyfriend. You watched with teary vision as he came around the doorway and walked towards you, pushing the laundry out of the way so he could kneel in front of you.

"W-what are y-you doing h-here?" You gasped out, whimpering about him seeing you in such a state of disarray and collapse. He had never seen you have a breakdown before, he'd naturally seen you cry, but not this bad.

"You butt-dialled me, sweetheart. I was so worried and stressed out that you wouldn't answer me and just kept sobbing. I dropped everything and came straight here. Think I broke multiple speeding laws to get here." He breathlessly chuckles as you giggle sadly through your tears, an accidental whimper following. You feel his hands gently grab your face to look at him.

"Talk to me, my love. What's wrong? Do I need to kill someone for you?" He half-jokes, a look of pure worry filling his beautiful features. You shake your head in his hands as you reach up to grasp his wrists in your palms to ground yourself.

You tearily explained everything to him, spilling all your stresses and worries to the man you love. You knew he wouldn't ever judge you or invalidate your feelings, so you felt comfortable laying everything out for him. He listened, hooked on every word, and patiently worked with you. All while stroking your face lovingly.

Once you were done, you sobbed once more. All the emotions pouring out of you in one go. He made you feel safe and gave you a space to be vulnerable and transparent with him. That was irreplaceable.

He wordlessly pulled you into his lap, manoeuvring you where he wanted you. You just let him, ending up with your face in the crook of his neck and straddling his lap. You immediately latched onto him, wrapping your arms around any part of you could, your hands fisting his clothing for dear life. He stayed there for some time, comforting you with sweet words and back rubs, until you calmed down enough. He was patient and kind, giving you everything you needed.

He eventually picked you up with him as he stood, not once releasing you and walked to your bathroom. He started the water, letting it warm up as he placed you down on the floor. He undressed you slowly, placing feathery kisses in the pattern and traces of where his hands once were on each and every inch of exposed skin, all the while adorning you with compliments and telling you how much he loves you. You were now crying for a completely different reason, but much less aggressively.

Once he finished his worshipping of your body, he undressed himself, discarding both of your clothes in the hamper. (So thoughtful). He then helped you into the shower, following closely behind, and proceeded to wash and massage every bit of you. He completely pampered and worshipped you, from your hair down to your toes. He took his time, being the most gentle and soft that he had ever been with you or anything in his entire life. He made all your stress and worries melt away. He allowed you to wash and tend to him in return after a lot of convincing, expressing you wanted to and it would make you feel better.

You worshipped him in return, not wanting to make everything about you. Especially with how well he was treating you, he always did, but he was extra attentive tonight to help meet your needs.

Once you were both done in the shower, he dried you and carried you into the bedroom. He spent the next hour on top of you and in between your legs. Being slow, affectionate, and gentle. His lips kissed every inch of skin he could while making love to you, wanting to express every bit of his emotions he could to you. You received mindblowing orgasm after orgasm, all while your hands stayed intertwined. And afterwards, you fell asleep on his chest with one of his arms wrapped around you and the other stroking your hair.

You were awoken the next morning with breakfast in bed from your favourite breakfast place, your favourite flowers and a fully cleaned home. Which of course made you cry again but from happy tears. You spent the afternoon in bed, making love and enjoying the calm and happy mood.

By the end of the following week, he was fully moved into your place, after a few months of dating. He made you cut down on your work hours, claiming to handle everything and helped you to keep on top of anything that needed doing. You were so thankful he was yours and didn't know how you would ever repay him.

(Multi) I had Simon, John, Johnny, Gaz, Gojo, Geto, Megumi, Nanami, Marc, Eddie, and Steve, in mind while writing this.

[alwaysmicado]

Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year. 

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him. 

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive. 

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying. 

You’re trying so hard. 

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live. 

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.” 

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did. 

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this? 

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected. 

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting. 

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.” 

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent. 

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive. 

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air. 

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache. 

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t. 

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away. 

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you. 

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it. 

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much. 

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this. 

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole. 

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down. 

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes. 

Sadness. 

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft. 

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth. 

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile. 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you. 

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life. 

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it. 

You’re so fucking good. 

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face. 

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him. 

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones. 

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are. 

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high. 

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks. 

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan. 

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm. 

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…” 

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?” 

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you. 

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.  

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin. 

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna  hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do. 

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you. 

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself. 

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his. 

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him. 

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name. 

Not baby. 

Not Sunshine. 

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you. 

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe. 

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it. 

Just this once. 

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares. 

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you. 

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late. 

The spell is broken. 

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette. 

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. 

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.  

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask. 

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh. 

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you. 

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain. 

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching. 

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.” 

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone. 

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.  

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.  

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas. 

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free. 

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice. 

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.” 

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does. 

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight. 

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night. 

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange. 

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone. 

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–” 

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

[lokischickadee]

SUB MOON BOYS>>>

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

→ premise: marc could get possessive, very possessive infact and when that happens he cant seem to hold back.

→ pairing: marc sceptor x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, face sitting, thigh biting, oral [f receiving], nicknames [mine, my girl, sweetheart], possessiveness,

→ a/n: kinktober 06

Marc tended to be a little hotheaded and possessive when it came to matters involving you. It was normally Steven taking the brunt of it, though it made no real sense for him to get jealous. Though in instances that didn’t involve Steven, you were normally able to pull him aside and calm him down.

this was not currently one of those times, the two of you were attending a work party at your office. A coworker of yours had practically pulled you from Marc's arms to go talk. Though his version of talking was him flirting relentlessly and trying his hardest to get you to leave the party with him.

By the time Marc found you again, he was seething in anger at the man. As he walks up he starts noticing your coworker was flirting with you and trying to touch you. Marc had been tired and ready to go home so he let his possessive nature take over, though he knew once it did it was hard to shut off.

“Yeah, hey bud she's with me and we're leaving now” he nearly growls out at the man as his hand snakes its way around your waist when he walks up next to you. His sudden and fuming presence beside you makes you jump slightly though you were grateful for the save.

With a small scoff and not so cleverly hidden eye roll, your sleazy coworker stomps off. You barely have time to question the latter half of Marc’s statement about leaving before he rushes you towards the exit.

The ride home is silent besides the soft hum of the car and the sounds of the night flooding the air through your open window. Marc tight knuckled the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as his gaze was fixed to the road ahead. You’d normally be worried or scared in a moment like this with someone else, but with Marc you knew he wasn't mad at you. He was protective as well as possessive and so he was more pissed off at your scumbag coworker who didn't seem to grasp the concept that you were taken. You were sat clenching your thighs, he looked so good in that damn button up shirt you made him wear to the party that you were ready to stay home, so you were more than happy to be headed back.

In the blink of an eye you’ve made it back home and Marc is quick to jump out of the car and rip open the passenger car door, pulling you out of the seat and throwing you over his shoulder. “Guess I’ve just gotta mark you up sweetheart, that way you go into work tomorrow and all those men you work with know you’re my girl” he explains as he walks towards the house, holding you up on his shoulder with one hand on your waist and the other across your thighs right under your ass. You loved when he marked you, proudly showing them off when you could, though you could never show them off at work sadly, and he knew that.

“Marc I could’ve just walked inside on my own- hey!” He cuts off your protest with a short but solid smack to your ass.

You let out a huff and try to ignore the ache settling deep in your core at the action, your pussy already aching for his touch. You’ve never told him although he already knew that you secretly liked it a lot when he’d get like this. It made you feel wanted, even if Marc had no problem telling you and showing you in a million and one other ways just how much he wanted and loved you.

You let out a squeal when Marc drops you on your back onto your shared bed, you bounce slightly catching yourself by leaning back onto your elbows. Marc stands at the foot of the bed, eyes already full of lust and lidded as they raked over your body. “Strip sweetheart, you’re gonna sit on my face” he commands, his voice oozing with impatience.

You move fast to peel your clothes off along with your soaked panties, quickly un-clipping your bra and letting It fall off your shoulders, discarding it all on your bedroom floor. He's on you within the blink of an eye, maneuvering your bodies so he is laid out on his back, your thighs either side of his head and your pussy hovering over his face.

“My girl, all fucking mine nobody else’s” he growls and grabs ahold of your leg, opening his mouth and biting the inner plush of your thigh. You let out a gasp in both surprise and slight pain, squirming in his grip. He switches over to your other thigh when he is satisfied with the mark his teeth leave behind. He hums against your thigh as he bites down, rubbing softly at your leg to try and soothe you. The pain morphs into pleasure the more you get used to it, the indents of his teeth in your thigh makes your core tighten.

While you're lost in your own train of thought, Marc’s mouth lets go of your thigh with a small pop. He licks over the mark of his bite, a smirk growing on his face, he knew they wouldn't show as you couldn't wear short skirts to your office but he has never been more graceful for an HR rule than that one. Being pleased with his marks he now focuses all his attention on your leaking cunt above his mouth. With his grip on your legs he pulls your body down onto his face, licking a strip through your folds, drinking up your slick.

You moan out in response as your hips involuntarily grind against his mouth. “Mhm! Fuck Marc.. baby~” you whine out as his nose nudges your clit when his tounge licks and pushes through your folds. Vibrations float through your body as he tries to mumble out something against your pussy. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you use that leverage to pull his face away from you. “What was that love?” You question, using the short moment his mouth is off you to catch your breath.

“Maybe I’ve gotta put a ring on ya’ finger, that way those assholes at work will definitely know your spoken for, that youre all fuckin mine” he groans and pushes against your grip to dive back in and resume his mouths asssult on your throbbing cunt. His tongue pushing through tour slit distracts you from his statement about potentially proposing to you. Finally giving your aching clit attention, wrapping his lips around it and sucking, even biting softly at the bundle of nerves. His teeth send shivers down your spine, your thighs slightly shaking at either side of his face, he uses his hands gripping onto your legs as leverage to pull you even further down, forcing all your weight to be put on his face.

→ a/n: this wasn’t proofread, i rushed it and i kinda hate it lmao but I needed to get this out, i can already feel my effort and motivation for kinktober dwindling a bit.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

MOONBOYS [JAKE & MARC] day 13 (25, oct) — limo sex

18+ fem!reader, 353 words. mdni!!

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ⋆ ˚｡𖦹.

You’re in the backseat of the limo, straddling Jake’s lap with his cock tucked nicely inside you. Your chest is pressed to his, keeping yourself close as you hold onto him, gripping the muscular, meaty part of his shoulder blade. The bounces from you are soft, each one light and faint, the motion from your hips seemingly a way to hold him close.

He flicks over your face, dark brown eyes darting over you as he repositions his hands, sliding his grasp from your waist down to your ass — fingers spreading over each cheek to feel more of you. 

He twists his head slightly, lips grazing the skin of your neck as he does so. 

“Eres hermosa,” (you are beautiful) he speaks against the side of your throat, words quiet and muffled against you. The praise simply a way to encourage you with your winding and grinding.  

And with his short praise, your hold around his shoulders moves to the back of his head, arms enwrapping him tightly as you keep him there — right under your chin. 

Jake presses a kiss into the base centre of your throat before shaking from your hold, looking past and over your shoulder to the rearview mirror in the front. His grip on your ass loosens as he stares at the mirror ahead, mumbling something briefly before refocusing his attention — looking up at you in your slightly elevated position.

“Marc?” you question tentatively, picking up on the difference in his expression.

His touch on you shifts as Marc now fronts, one hand moving to your throat, the other sliding under your ass to hold under your thigh, keeping you up. The hold is far different than Jake’s, far more rough — his grip around your throat similar to that of asserting control. Despite that, he’s still gentle with you, never squeezing or pulsing more than you can take.

His dual anchored hold on you like a way of taking over the fucking, his hips winding up to meet your elevtaed ones, cock hitting into your cunt from below. Making you replace those prior breath-like murmurs for gasp-like cries.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[mcondance]

backshots with marc. yeah.

marc likes you face down, ass up. not in the “i’m in control way” but. . in the “jus lay there and let me take care of you” way.

he likes the visual of you laid down, back arched and pussy swallowing his cock up while you moan and curse and babble whatever fucked-out thought comes to your mind. the act of letting you just take it and letting him give it to you the way he’s learned you love is something he can’t get over.

his hips slapping against yours, his hands roaming your back and ass, your pretty moans cascading throughout the air as he fucks you good— it’s irreplaceable.

“takin’ me so good, baby, just like that, yeah,” he nods, and you are taking him good.

when it hurts too good, when his cock is pressing too perfect on that spot, and you slur out “feels too good, feels like- god”, when your words are more like jumbled up letters, is when he knows he’s doing it right.

“jus keep taking it baby, just like that, right there, hm?”

he’s spurred on by your drawn-out moans, your whiny whimpers of “fucking me so good, shit”. every sound that escapes your slick lips makes him feel so perfect, the thought that you feel this good because of him, that he’s the reason you feel this good has his heart racing a mile a minute.

but he never gets caught up in his head, because you, and the way your pussy feels wrapped around his dick are enough to keep him grounded for days.

“look so pretty takin’ it, so fuckin’ pretty baby.”

and in his eyes, you do. everything about you is pretty, from the milky white ring you leave around his cock to the way your ass bounces with each of his thrusts to the way you just let him spoil you, allow him to allow you to be your pretty ass still and let him take over.

the way you look cumming on his cock, though. . that’s heaven. shaking and sobbing, you keep cumming, and he keeps fucking you until you’re both so blissed out you can barely move. and when you’re too tired to even move, he takes care of you then, too.

[fettuccin-e]

Man in the Mirror

Kinktober Day 19: Voyeurism

Tags: Marc Spector x Reader x Steven Grant, afab!fem!reader, consensual voyeurism, unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life omg), dirty talk, slight degradation, Steven watches Marc fuck you through a mirror idk what to tell you (w/c: 1K)

A/N: Back with the boys because I love them and I cannot help myself okay!!! And this is consensual, even though Steven doesn't exactly know it at the beginning, he just thinks he's being a perv. But in my fics, everyone is a perv alright! (this month I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Steven knows it’s wrong, God, it’s fucking wrong, but it’s like he can’t stop himself.

There’s something about the way Marc fucks you, the way you scrabble at the bedsheets when the shoves you into a lewd arch, his hand pressing into your back. The way you moan for it, heaving breaths into your lungs. It’s the way Marc talks to you through it, talking to you like you’re the filthy one, like you’re the one who’s desperate for it, even though Steven knows it’s both of you.

“God damn, baby,” Marc snarls, fucking into you hard enough that tears are starting to leak down your cheeks. “You’re fucking sucking me in, sweetheart. Feels good, huh? Getting fucked like you need?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you gasp through the moans he forces out of your mouth with every thrust. “It’s so fucking good, Marc, you’re so fucking deep.”

Steven should stop, right now. Go hide in the headspace, go to sleep and let you both have some privacy. Fuck, he's as naked as Marc is right now, he should feel exposed, have some god damn decency. But it’s like he’s stuck in place, staring in through the mirror as Marc rips you apart in ways he’s never dreamed to. It’s fucking addicting to watch the way your eyes roll back, the way your ass smacks back against Marc every time he shoves himself in, in, in. He reaches down to his bare cock and squeezes, unable to help it.

You’d only put this mirror up a week ago, and he hadn't even thought about the positioning of it. It’s placed on the wall right across from the foot of your bed, and fuck, he can see everything. He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought about this view when he had helped you set it straight, Marc coming into view in the reflection and smirking at Steven like he knew something he didn’t. Steven had brushed it off.

He shouldn’t have fucking brushed it off.

Because he’s sure, almost fucking positive, that Marc had somehow known. He’d known that Steven would watch, just like this, how Marc takes care of their girl. How he destroys you in ways that Steven can’t even think up on his own. It’s a special kind of torture, seeing you like this and not feeling it, not feeling you.

Marc’s thrusts are brutal, violent like the man himself. He treats you with so much care normally, Steven has seen it, but this isn’t gentle in the least. And you love it, crying out and drooling onto your sheets as Marc rips you to pieces, pulling you back onto his cock with thick fingers digging hard into your hips. He’s not sure how long he’s been watching intently, unable to tear his gaze away, when he sees Marc’s head snap up.

Looking right fucking at him.

Steven should go, disappear from the consciousness entirely, but it’s like he’s glued to the spot, his gaze locked with Marc’s. Marc’s thrusts don’t stutter, don’t stop, and you’re blissfully unaware as Marc watches Steven watch you.

Until Marc grins like the bastard he is, and leans down to mutter, just loud enough for Steven to hear, “Guess who’s here, gorgeous?”

“Wh-what?” you gasp through Marc’s unrelenting thrusts.

“He’s watching, baby,” Marc smiles, glancing up at Steven. “Just like you wanted.”

You wanted- you wanted? Steven’s breath catches in his throat, he’s pretty sure his heart stops fucking beating. 

“Steven,” you moan like it’s been punched out of you. “Steven’s here.”

“He’s watchin’ in that mirror you put up, sweetheart,” Marc says, “Watching me fuck you.” Steven is flushed beet-red, he knows it, but still, he watches. “Look at him, baby,” Marc growls, “Fucking look at him.”

Marc reaches up and curls a fist into your hair, tugging your head up to look straight into the mirror, straight at Steven. And God, you’re beautiful, tears falling down your face, your lips plump from the way you’ve been biting at them. You can’t see him, Steven knows that, but you look anyway, like you really can.

“She wanted this,” Marc snarls, and you clench your eyes shut, like you want to hide from Steven’s gaze. “She put that mirror up, hoping you’d watch like this. Wanted me to watch you both too, Steven.” You whine, and Marc’s thrusts seem to get even harder. “Our baby’s a little slut, just wants someone to watch her get fucked, isn’t that right, honey?”

“Your-” you gasp, staring into the mirror, like you’re talking to Steven, too. “Your slut, fuck, just yours.”

Marc fucking growls, his hips driving his cock into you. Steven can hear the way your pussy squishes around him, so wet you’re dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Your body is covered in sweat, glinting in the light, practically glowing.

“Gonna let him fuck you after this, baby?” Marc grits, “Fucking whore for this cock, can’t get enough.” You slur a stream of yesyesyesyes as Marc reaches beneath you to start rubbing furiously at your clit, and you tremble beneath him.

“C’mon, gorgeous, cum for me.” Marc glances up at Steven. “Cum for both of us.”

Your eyes go wide, your mouth gaping open around a silent scream as you gush down Marc’s cock, body shaking as Marc fucks you through it, letting out a strangled groan of his own. Steven is hard as a fucking rock, straining against his stomach, begging for your touch. He watches as Marc thrusts deep and stills, his eyelids fluttering as he pumps you full of his cum.

You slump into the sheets, and Marc slides out of you, leaning down to kiss down your spine, muttering little praises of “such a good girl,” and “took it so well, looked so pretty,” into your skin. You roll onto your back, tugging Marc down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Marc smiles against your mouth, and Steven feels that familiar pull to the front.

He shuts his eyes, and when he blinks them open again, you’re smiling up at him, reaching up to brush a reverent hand across his jaw.

“Enjoyed the show?” you whisper, and Steven can’t help the way he grins, the way his heart flutters.

“More than you know, darling,” he mutters, and leans to lick into your mouth. “Got to give Marc a show now, yeah?”

[jayke0]

Just The Tip

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem reader

Summary: Marc admits his love for you, and you both end up a little more desperate for each other than expected, so much so that he can't even get inside you properly.

Rating: 18+, smut

Warnings/Content: a bit of angst at the start, fluff, romantic, desperate Marc, just the tip, oral (f receiving), male masturbation, unprotected sex, totally unrealistic and self-indulgent, creampie, fingering, multiple orgasms, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 1,605

Credit: @automnepoet (who also requested this btw) for proofreading ily.

…………………………………………….......................

"Marc…" is what you can barely mutter as your boyfriend slides his tongue over yours and licks into the heat of your mouth ferociously.

"Marc–"

Your second attempt at getting his attention is futile.

"Marc!"

Finally, he releases the suction he has on your lips, looking at you with wide blown out pupils that make you think Steven might've fronted in the short time he's been sucking your face off.

"What's gotten into you, sweetheart?" Your tone is soft as you run your hands through his curls and you feel him press into your hold, his eyes fluttering shut briefly to calm himself.

They had been away for a few days on a mission, nothing too big, which is why you're so confused now. They've been on much longer trips away, much more dangerous trips, but they'd never come home like this. Maybe he hadn't been totally honest with you, maybe something bad had truly happened and now he's trying to make out with you like it's his final chance… the thought makes your stomach coil with anxiety.

A sharp inhale brings you back into the room, and you notice he's staring at you again, though his gaze is more lidded; more "Marc" like.

"Nothing, I just…"

The anxiety builds stronger in your gut, stretching up to your throat to clench it in a vice grip.

"I don't want you to freak out, but-"

Uh oh.

"I almost got killed," he brings a finger up to stop you from interrupting him. "and it really put everything into perspective for me… I realised how much I love you, and how fucking much I'd miss you, even in death."

A cocktail of relief, sadness and anxiety all bubble inside you, making your ears hot and your expression evident on your face.

"Baby…" You can't help it, but tears start forming in the corners of your eyes despite the attempts to blink them away. "I love you too, so much–" You're leaping forward before he can even get another word out, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as if he might melt away from right underneath you. "Please be more careful… I need you, all of you." The mumbles are quiet in his ear, and you're both left with just your slow breathing for a few moments, Marc's hands rubbing your back comfortingly.

You pull back and admire his big, soft eyes, ones that you could even say you enjoy a bit more than Steven's, purely because it's a rare occurrence. Raking your fingers through his curls, you lean forward into his lips again and give him an affectionate peck, one that soon turns into you both panting against each other's mouths once more.

"Mmm, missed you so fucking much, baby." Marc whines, like actually whines, and it's a noise that has arousal spreading in your tummy and between your legs.

"Show me how much. Please, darling."

The man is jumping on you before you can go back to your heated kiss, his necklace dangling above you as he situates between your legs and grinds himself against your core.

"Lemme taste that cunt, sweetheart, please?" Your boyfriend asks as he's already kissing down your body until his lips reach your lower tummy. You nod, eager to feel his tongue again, and lift your hips so he can pull your pyjamas off. "Want you on your front though, can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Marc, whatever you want. Just want you inside me."

A growl fills your ears and spreads to your wet cunt as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your front, the gesture making you grab the cushions for a second to steady yourself. Looking over your shoulder, you can just about see Marc leaning down to lick a long strip up your lips, making you instead rest your head on the armrest with a soft sigh.

His tongue is delving between your folds in seconds and tasting your arousal, lapping up every inch of that sweet stickiness he'd missed so damn much. A pleased hum makes your desperate cunt throb before his nose bumps your lips and his tongue slides over your clit perfectly. The action makes you jolt and whimper, which only makes him do it again, purposefully teasing your poor clit till you're writhing on the couch and begging for a release while his nose teases your aching hole. You're clenching around nothing in minutes, pressing back on his tongue and nose as white hot pleasure surges through your body and makes your muscles tense and relax all in one go.

You whimper softly and look back at him again. "Please baby, let me feel your cock." You give your best pout, craving that initial stretch and feeling of being filled that only he can satisfy.

When Marc pulls away, the shininess of his chin makes you blush; were you really that wet? Or was it his saliva? you don't have time to ponder as you feel your boyfriend leaning over you, peppering kissing over your neck and whatever parts of your back he can get too.

"Such a pretty girl, my pretty baby. Been waiting to feel your cunt again, it's made me fucking crazy."

Maybe being away had made him a poet too.

You feel his tip suddenly pressing against your hole and you brace yourself for the delicious stretch… but it never comes, instead you just feel the blunt tip rutting against your walls. For a moment you think your boyfriend has malfunctioned somehow, but when you look back at him you see his head tilted back in pleasure, brows knitted together tightly while his jaw hangs slack.

"Marc? Are you o—"

"Just stay still baby, stay just like that babygirl." His words are breathless.

One hand rests on your ass, while the other wraps around your thigh and pulls you back on him just barely.

"Feels good like this." Your hole feels like a massage for his swollen tip, and he finds himself getting swept up in the feeling of it, the tightness of just the entrance and the lewd 'pop' sound it makes when he pulls out.

You expect this from Steven, maybe even Jake on a submissive day, but never Marc. He's always so good at holding himself together and fucking you for your pleasure, but he almost seems feral right now, just fucking what he can.

"Missed you so much baby." He repeats with a mumble and moan.

As he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, you realize he must be close, so you start clenching around him, making soft noises for him. "Fill me up Marc, wanna feel you cum in me again baby."

A low groan rumbles in his chest as you barely feel hot ropes painting your walls before he's pulling out and painting your hole instead, coming onto it and your thighs rather than inside. You kinda wish he'd filmed it or something, because ultimately the idea of him jacking off on your hole had made you much more excited than you'd thought, finding yourself pushing back on him and his softening cock.

He pants softly and rubs your ass, giving it a soft pinch and slap that makes you giggle.

"What was that all about then, hmm?" You tease with a grin.

"Don't you dare tell the other two."

"Oh, I'm going to."

His fingers splitting you open makes you gasp and grit your teeth, rolling your hips back on them.

"We'll see about that, baby."

You feel his free arm snake around your body and pull you up flush against his chest, your own chest resting neatly on top of his thick arm as he holds you close to him and draws shivers over your body with his breath.

"Y–you really don't have to do this Marc—" You stammer, but your body disobeys your words and continues to grind on his thick digits, showing him all he needs to continue pleasuring you.

"It's ok, baby. You know I love doing this, love pleasing you, alright?" His breath ghosts your ear and his tongue pokes out to lick the shell, teeth nipping it softly. "Just lemme pleasure this cunt, my cunt."

Oh lord, you haven't heard him say that in a while, but it makes you moan mortifyingly loud, your voice cracking a little as your breath is shortened by the firm grasp he has on you. Zealously, your hands struggle to grapple his arms when his fingers work faster inside you, dragging over the spot that has your orgasm rushing towards you all too fast, building from your toes all the way up to your flushed ears.

"You love my fingers, tell me you love them, babygirl."

"I do! I l–ove them baby-." Is all you can stammer.

Instinctively, your head tilts to the side to allow Marc access to your neck, and he does just that. He marks you like he hasn't seen you in months, drawing gasps and soft sobs from your chest as he breaks the soft skin and heat blossoms underneath, all rushing too your cunt until finally—

"Fuuuuckk!"

Your body rolls against his while you ride out your second orgasm, your thighs shaking and struggling to keep you up as your whole body shudders, whimpers and whines being all that's left of the intense pleasure.

You come down slowly, leaning back against Marc with all your weight so he can hold you close and pepper your neck with kisses.

"Good girl. I love you sweetheart."

"Mmmm…" You simply mumble at first, brain still foggy. "I love you too."

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Tagging people 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose