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astroboots · 2 years

Text

Fit to Burst

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant

Summary: Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: Marc's dirty filthy mouth, Steven's over-eager mouth, Marc is wee bit jealous, cunnilingus, overstimulation, refraction period? — we don't know her, established relationship.

Word Count: 3.5k (I have no excuse, pure self-indulgent filth)

Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist | Moon Knight Masterlist

“Does that feel good, love? Think you can come for me again?”

You don't know how many orgasms he's pulled from you already. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. You can't tell if it’s Marc or Steven fronting right now. If it's Marc who is talking to you, or Steven, taking you apart inch by inch, one devastating orgasm at a time.

Love. He called you love. Steven calls you love. This must be Steven.

Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs.

“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.

You can’t help but give him what he wants.

You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.

There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.

“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”

Fucking hell. This man…

He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it.

"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.

As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you.

The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you.

He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.

“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for.

The only thing you can do is nod.

“You say stop if it gets to be too much,” he rasps out as lines himself up against you.

The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb.

And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth.

"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."

He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming.

A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?”

His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do.

"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."

He stills.

From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven.

You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again.

The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you.

There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out.

“Fuckohfuck, Marc!”

“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”

Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob.

"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands.

You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit.

“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"

His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge.

It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"

That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed.

There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does.

If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair.

“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”

Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.

Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone.

"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"

His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop. “That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.

He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system.

��It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done.

Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute.

When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.

Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.

The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him?

Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven.

You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling.

He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.

“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”

You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it.

You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again.

The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear.

“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.”

You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs.

“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.”

This man is the devil.

You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you.

You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.

He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.

Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...

"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.

"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.

You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to—

“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”

His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.

It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.

When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real.

Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you.

Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin.

In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.

As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high.

Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming.

Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…

“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face.

In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."

At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness.

“Good. That’s good, yeah.”

Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness.

“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.

“Do you think we could go again? …please?”

Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse.

You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride.

Dedication and Credits:

@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.

@frannyzooey for succeeding to make me cry on a Tuesday afternoon in the office with her kind words and support. You're someone that I'm endlessly proud to call a friend, for your humour, your kindness and your warmth. You are just one of the best humans and I hope you wake up everyday and know that and if you don't, I will remind you everyday.

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spctrsgf · 11 months

Text

morning banter

summary: something about you and marc? he wakes up early, and you most certainly do not.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language, my shitty spanish (i’m trying okay)

a/n: took a quick break from b+h for a lil marc spector drabble!!! hope you all enjoy

Es tan temprano para esta mierda, Marc. Jake’s annoyed Spanish drawl smacks into the side of Marc's head. The combination of his drowsy, slow mind and that Marc knew next to no spanish caused the said man’s eyebrows to crinkle. “What the fuck did you just say?” He can barely hear his own voice, but he knows Jake can.

Don’t worry about it.

“Jake.”

Marc. Only Jake would pitch up his name in a high voice: it’s a mimic.

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Yeah you do.

“No, I don’t! Back me up, Steven.”

Don’t bring me into this.

C’mon, Stevie— Jake cuts off abruptly, probably the doing of Steven.

“Jake,” Marc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you said.”

Go to sleep, puta.

“Okay, I know that one,” Marc hisses, toiling you in closer to him. “Rude.”

You deserved it.

“You wanna know what you deserve?”

Oh, yeah, Jake taunts. What’s that?

“A fucking pun–”

His voice goes legato as soon as he senses you moving, causing him to fall silent. You curl tighter into a ball, spiraling the covers more into your fists and tucking them again beneath your chin. Jake, by some miracle, also goes quiet, as if somehow his words could expel themselves out of Marc’s mouth and to your ears.

But, the soft exhales are the only noise you left out, and if you heard them, you didn’t show it. Marc’s shoulders roll back from where they were hunched, surely Steven’s gentle gesture to the position he hadn’t even realized he’d been in.

Would it kill the two of you to just be nice to each other? The Brit muses.

Absolutely. Jake’s response is automatic.

“One hundred percent true.” Marc chimes in.

HAH! Steven ejects the exclamation in triumph. Now I got the two of you agreeing.

“Sure, whatever.”

Only time we agree is when you finesse us into it, hermano.

Marc slides his arm out from where it was wrapped around your waist to give the two a thumbs up in agreement with Jake, reluctantly.

Or, he tried to.

“Noooooo…” You groan groggily, tightening your hold.

Marc freezes. “Baby?”

“Mmmmm?”

“I- I didn’t know you were aware.”

“Well,” you snuggle closer into his chest, his warm embrace. “You ‘n Steven ‘n Jake aren’t exactly quiet when you argue.”

He sighs, guilt pooling in his stomach. “Listen, ‘m sorry. You know how we can be.”

“Yeah, I do. And I love you all,” you reach back, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. “But I also love my beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep to be beautiful.” He ducks his head to place a featherlight kiss to your neck, savoring the sigh you let out in return.

“You’re sweet, but we both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?”

“Mhm,” you turn, nudging Marc’s arms off of you as you face him. “‘M a menace without it.”

“That’s true,” he chuckles when you slap his arm, letting out an effortlessly beautiful smile. “But it’s nothing a cup of nice, warm coffee can’t solve.”

You giggle softly. “That’s true.”

“C’mon, sleepyhead,” He moves to slide you both out from under the covers. “Let’s get going.”

“Nope.” You let him go, rolling to burrito yourself in the covers again.

“Nope?” He inquires, rounding the bed to stand over you.

“Nope.”

His shadow covers your shut eyelids and you know he’s bent over your face. “I’ll make you coffee to apologize for waking you up, baby, I promise.” You scrunch your nose. “Tempting, but no.”

“Not even because I’m asking you?”

“Not even if you were on your knees and begging.”

“Oh?” The sentence your half asleep brain had kindled clearly took him by surprise.

You huff, flipping over in the bed dramatically. ��Go away, I’m tired.”

“What’s so great about this bed that I can’t give you, huh?”

“Well,” You take a deep breath, and some small, rational part of your brain tells you that maybe the spew of words about to come out of your mouth is what he wanted to happen all along. “The bed is warm. It’s cozy. The covers are just the right heaviness and just the right thickness to provide optimal warmth and the right amount of pressure to keep me sleeping like a bear in hibernation. ‘Nd my pillow is the right firmness, but has my desired amount of sink to put me out as soon as you turn off the light and wrap your arms around me. Even though that only happens sometimes.”

Marc huffs in frustration. “Hey!”

“Yeah, Marc, my bed is always here on time. It never goes anywhere, and the only life it’s saving is your sorry ass right now.”

“Uncalled for.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Thought you liked a bit of banter.”

“I like a kick or two,” He leans over and pulls your shoulders to level on the bed and your eyes to meet his own. “But not at eight in the fucking morning.”

“Neither do I,” You reach up, pulling his face in for a kiss.

He gives in almost immediately, setting a knee on either side of your legs and scooping his arms underneath your body to pull you up.

“Nuh uh,” you pull away and unwrap his arms, flopping back onto the bed. “Sleepy. Time to sleep.”

“You can't leave me hanging like that!”

You yawn, pulling the covers up to your chin again. “I can and I did.”

For a second, a naive, small second, you think he’s going to leave you be. Your brain relaxes, you feel yourself on the precipice of sleep, the hypnotic, rich swirl of unconsciousness sucking you deeper into its whirlpool. But then you feel the covers lift, and Marc’s— frighteningly cold— fingers are dancing along your sides to a tune you illustrate with laughs. You slap his hands away, reaching out towards the lure of sleep that now sneaks away to taint another victim.

“You ready to get out of bed now, sweets?”

You groan, turning to face him in defeat. “You fucker.”

He throws his arms mockingly. “What’d I do?”

“You manipulated me! I hate you.”

“I did no such thing. What are these accusations?”

“You knew I would get worked up,” you sit up in the bed now, and Marc shrinks ever so slightly under the weight of your deadly stare. “You knew that would wake me up.”

“Hey, let’s calm down–”

“You knew that if you pushed the right buttons, you would get what you wanted.”

Marc’s face is ghastly, and he looks two steps away from summoning his suit and flying away.

“I warned you earlier about this, Marc, were you listening?”

He nods frantically. “Of course–”

“I’m a menace when I get woken up early.” You launch off the bed, and you might as well be Moon Knight yourself with your accuracy.

The takeaway from this event? For Marc, it’s to never try waking you up before you’ve recharged fully, or to have some coffee made ahead of when he was to attempt it. For you, though?

It’s that Marc shrieks like a little girl.

translations (HELP I FORGOT):

es tan temprano para esta mierda - it’s too early for this shit

puta - bitch

i felt very fancy using these