luvpedropascal - Tumblr blog

luvpedropascal · 3 months

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Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner.

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement.

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items in the gift shop.

He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you.

Ask her now

It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known.

He’s right, ask her

It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop.

“I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

You said yes before he could even get the words out.

That was a few months ago.

****

Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened.

I told you to just give her a key hermano

Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you.

You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that.

He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs.

Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder.

****

“I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys.

“It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys.

“Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping.

“Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.”

Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first.

He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other.

“There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms.

“Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.”

He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I would do what she says if I were you.

He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

****

Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions.

You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him.

His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong.

Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him.

The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs.

“What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside.

“I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer.

“Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

“Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

Say yes Steven

It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would.

“Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying.

It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires.

You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times.

He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him.

The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind.

The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted.

He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop.

Fuck

Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine.

You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven.

Put your hand on the back of her head

“What?” He rasps out above you.

You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow.

“I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud.

Idiota

“Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little.

“Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping.

Listen to me and don’t say anything

Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray.

Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements.

You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it.

You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least.

You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions.

The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain.

You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually.

“I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.”

Cállate y déjale

“It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest.

You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face.

The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon.

“That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin.

“I’m glad I could help.”

The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax.

“Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on.

He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment.

“You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life.

“I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.”

I love her

Ella es perfecta

You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch.

“I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it.

He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food.

His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands.

“Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Smooth

“Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

“Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.”

You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it.

“Eat up, before it gets cold.”

Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece

He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you.

****

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work.

Steven: where are you love?

On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

Steven: It was quite dreadful

I’ll be home soon to make it better

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

#Love love love the way you write Steven #he’s perfect #steven grant

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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"BEG." + JAKE LOCKLEY

afab/fem!reader x jake lockley (fills a @moonknight-events bingo square!)

content: light d/s dynamics, sub!jake, femdom reader, dry humping, begging (duh), maybe a little bratting from jake

"Amor..."

The plea comes breathlessly. The man who has you on your knees at least twice a week is nearly whining beneath you.

It feels amazing.

"Jake..." You drag out his name as you roll your hips over his bulge once again- slowly. Deliberately. As you start to roll your hips again, Jake grinds up into you. You stop abruptly.

He lets out a frustrated groan and you swallow the urge to giggle at his desperation. "What, baby?"

"Te nescesito," Jake says through gritted teeth. You know he means it; his cock is leaking from where it's pinned between your thighs, creating a wet patch that's smeared over his boxers. Or maybe that's you. Your panties are soaked through at this point.

He clears his throat, and his hands come up to lightly grab your hips. "Come on, mama, give it to me..."

This time, you do laugh. You gently take his hands and pin them on either side of his head as you lean forward to whisper in his ear. Jake huffs to cover another desperate moan.

"And what makes you think you get to tell me what to do now, hm?" you say, your breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. He shivers, thighs trembling as he tries to keep his twitching hands still. You feel him press his arms into the mattress to stop himself from squirming. Power surges through you. You've got him. "That's right, good boy..."

Jake whimpers. He actually fucking whimpers. "Please."

Oh. That's good. You lean back up to see Jake's brows knitted together with his bottom lip pinned under the other.

"Please, what?"

Jake swallows. "I want you to ride me..."

You hum, like you're considering giving him what he wants. Then, you click your tongue and shake your head. "Where are your manners, sweet boy?"

Jake breathes deeply- exasperated- as he shuts his eyes and throws his head back. A heavy exhale comes through his nose and you hum again, disapprovingly this time.

"C'mon, Jake. Beg. I won't ask again," you say with a firm tone. You feel his cock twitch and fight back a smile. You know he wants it. You know he needs it. But you let him figure it out for himself.

Jake's eye squeeze shut even tighter. "Please fuck me..." There's still a bite to his tone, but it dissipates when he opens his eyes to see you staring down at him, eager for more.

"I need you. Fuck, I need your pussy," he rambles, weak to your stern gaze. "Ride me- use me- I don't care."

His hips twitch again. "I just... I just need you so bad, mi sol. Please." You think he's done, but he says one more thing as your lips part.

"You make me feel... so, so good."

You soften at that, smiling and leaning down to kiss him, letting your fingers lightly tease over the skin of his wrists before grabbing them and pressing down again.

"I know, my love..." You kiss his cheek. "Just lay back and let me use you, okay?"

I'm chewing on the bars of my enclosure I need to top him so fucking bad

thanks for your patience on new fics everyone- I've just been relaxing this holiday season and spending time with my family and partner and doing some crafts and traveling... new semester starts up soon but it's gonna be a good one! best of luck to my fellow students out there!

also, I'm almost at 2,000! I'd appreciate a reblog to help get me over the hill. it'd be nice to have some new friends around here!

#nothing better than sub jakey #jake lockley

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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PEDRO PASCAL 2024 AWARDS SEASON ICONS featuring photos from the 2024 Golden Globes, AFI Awards, Critics' Choice Awards & Emmys!

80 icons! 5 photos, 4 colours, 2 designs, 2 shapes

250 x 250 px

please like/reblog if you plan on using one

if you want another colour just ask!

icon links: {Dropbox} {MEGA}

#gorg icons!

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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thank you so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Sanctuary update - new works and authors added ⋆｡°✩

I'm kinda lazy today, so just <3

random fics of the day ⋆｡˚

Consuming internet content is your own responsibility. Most of it is 18+, also mind authors’ notes.

If you'd like to recommend a fic - welcome here.

by @morallyinept — Adrift With You — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales; Pop Goes The Javi — Javier Peña

by @walkintotheriveranddisappear — poor baby — Joel Miller

by @oonajaeadira — LOSING MY RELIGION — Din Djarin

by @something-tofightfor:

by @thot-of-khonshu — All Access — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

Birthday Smooches 2024 — miscellaneous Pedro characters

Birthday Kiss #4: Frankie Morales

Birthday Kiss #6: Tim Rockford

Birthday Kiss #2: Marcus Pike

Birthday Kiss #1: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Birthday Kiss #9: Oberyn Martell

Birthday Kiss #3: Daniel Harper (Wing Pit Guy)

by @toxic-seduction — I'm a feminist obviously , Blossom (Hanahaki AU) — Joel Miller

Birthday Kiss #8: Din Djarin

by @djarincore — Your Hobbies , Awkward Confessions , The Name of Love , Drawings — Din Djarin

by @starry-eyes-love — Darlin', You're Beautiful — Joel Miller

by @eupheme — looking back , will you show me? — Joel Miller

by @hier--soir — ripe — Joel Miller

by @flightlessangelwings — The Bet — Comandante Veracruz

by @luvpedropascal — the light — Javier Peña

by @notjustjavierpena — 4.0 — Javier Peña

by @chloeangelic — Sympathy For The Devil — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @yespolkadotkitty — Take What You Need — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @albertasunrise — Hope — Joel Miller

by @luvrxbunny — soft — Joel Miller

by @beskarandblasters — Voyeuristic Tendencies — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @dindjarindiaries — In Sickness & In Health — Din Djarin

by @mrsmando and @swiftispunk — mine all mine — Joel Miller

by @magpiepills — Same Time Next Week — Marcus Moreno; I’m Not Really A Waitress — Javier Peña

by @thefrogdalorian — The Best of Both Worlds — Din Djarin

by @auteurdelabre — Palpation — Joel Miller

by @anabdaniels — Piece by piece — Jack Daniels / Whiskey

by @prolix-yuy — Beautiful Release — Din Djarin

by @janaispunk — the dress — Dave York

by @max--phillips — On the First Date — Javi Gutierrez

by @javiscigarette — Teacher's Pet — Joel Miller

by @whxtedreams — Drabbles for When they’re ill / injured — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @kiwisbell — Gloves Off — Joel Miller

by @cavillscurls — tender loving care — Joel Miller

by @jobean12-blog — Helping Hands — Joel Miller

by @flowerpotmage — statue at the bedside — Din Djarin

by @atticrissfinch — Underneath Kitchen Lights: A Meet Me in the Back Ficlet — Joel Miller

by @toomanystoriessolittletime — Falling for you — Javier Peña

by @ezrasbirdie — facial — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @agentmarcuspike — give and take — Marcus Pike

by @wannab-urs and @Multiple writlers — The Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2024 — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @undercoverpena — isn't it — Din Djarin

by @entitled-fangirl — His perfect little Cyar'ika. — Din Djarin

by @5oh5 — sun kicks out — Joel Miller

by @tightjeansjavi — snooze — Joel Miller

by @awesumsaus — pretty when I cry , cave — Joel Miller

by @leslie-lyman — Menagerie — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @loslentesdepedrito — 4K — miscellaneous Pedro characters

by @phuckinphia — camgirl — Joel Miller

by @missredherring — Warming Up — Joel Miller

by @omgreally — Defeat — Din Djarin

by @corazondebeskar-reads — you know you never stood a chance — Joel Miller

*smooches*

#people being the best #thank you!#the light #javier peña

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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Commissions now open!

Hi friends! I've found myself in a tight financial spot.

While fighting a very severe depression episode for a few months, I was unable to work as much as I needed to. That mixed with travel leaving my dorm and christmas break, I spent a lot of my money. I am behind on a few payments of things, including tuition, and will need gas money to get back to school. Im not super worried as I have most of january to work and save, and im working a lot! but A little bit extra would be helpful just to get caught up.

Who I write for: Most Oscar Issac characters (if you aren't sure, just ask. I'm open to trying something new!), The Four Miller Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Joel, Tommy, Will, Benny), Javier Pena, Han Solo, Kylo Ren. Open to other ideas just ask! As a note, my best writing, I feel, has been done on Santiago Garcia, Marc Spector, and Joel Miller. They are my special guys.

I'll write about any pairing except the obvious no's like incest and underage. X reader, gn!reader, trans!reader, NB!reader, oc's, threesomes, LGBT parings and so on. I've never written male reader, but I'm willing to give it go. Any mix of race, religion, gender, sexual or romantic orientation etc, I will write and do my best to research the experience and listen to your voice on it.

Content I will write: All the usual, from fluff to non con. dark does not phase me. Again, there's a few no's, and I really can't think of all fetishes off the top of my head so, just ask! No shame from me, I'm into feet and piss lol. Threesomes or group sex are a yes, so is mixing characters from different media (for example, im writing a santiago garcia x reader x javier pena fic)

Pricing: $5 USD per 1000 words.

Will take payment via paypall, cashapp, venmo, but for your safety b ware you can often see full names or numbers. I don't really care but just so you know! Also willing to do other stuff like zelle, as long as i trust they are reputable.

Any questions just go ahead and DM me or comment! I'm pretty wide open.

Thank you!

#boost

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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i’m dusting off my graphic design skills as we speak to get you guys some good graphics and pictures of my available products. i’ll also be starting an instagram under the name “knottydesigns” soon :))

hi friends!

i finally returned to tumblr after a long hiatus! as some of you may know, i’m chronically ill and the last year or so has been particularly difficult for me. as of a few months ago, i actually had to quit my job because of how often i had to stay home sick and in pain.

because of this, i’ve been really short on money and even though my parents are trying to help me out a bit, the bills are really hard to keep up with.

i have a major surgery coming up at the end of March that costs thousands of dollars and i’m really freaking out about paying for it.

so..

one of the things that really gets me through my days is fiber art, particularly crocheting. i’ve been doing it for a couple years now and recently i’ve been considering starting a little tiny business out of it on Etsy or something like that. i haven’t started my Etsy yet but i was thinking of maybe selling a little more casually while i get started.

please let me know if you’re interested, and i can send you some pictures of my work. i can make anything from clothes (sweaters, tops, hats, gloves, anything) to blankets, amigurumi plushies, tapestries, keychains, you name it!

i never thought i’d have to do this, but I’ve also created a Kofi account. if you have a few dollars to spare, any size donation would mean the world to me and really help me pay for this surgery.

here’s the link to my Kofi, where you can send a basic donation, as well as (eventually) commission custom crochet products.

link to my Kofi

if you read through all of this, i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏼

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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hi friends!

because of this, i’ve been really short on money and even though my parents are trying to help me out a bit, the bills are really hard to keep up with.

i have a major surgery coming up at the end of March that costs thousands of dollars and i’m really freaking out about paying for it.

so..

here’s the link to my Kofi, where you can send a basic donation, as well as (eventually) commission custom crochet products.

link to my Kofi

if you read through all of this, i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏼

#mutual aid #small business #donations #commissions #open commissions

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

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Filthy

summary: that’s the thing about illicit affairs, clandestine meetings and longing stares.

pairing: jonathan levy x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, car sex, professor kink, glasses kink?, dirty talk, kissing, creampie, longing, love confessions

wc: 1.7k

an: the professor kink went a little crazy in this one so if that’s not your jam, skipperoni! if it is…enjoy <3

oscar characters masterlist | writing masterlist

This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t be in his car, in his lap— in his vicinity at all because it always leads to something like this. Messy and sloppy and hurried, so desperate. The two of you gave up on resisting this a long time ago, but that doesn’t keep your brain from questioning it.

He’s not even divorced yet, can’t even convince himself to sign the papers given everything that Mira had done. You’re his breath of fresh air, the only thing besides his daughter that makes him feel alive these days. But you’re also his closest colleague’s graduate assistant. The reasons that getting caught would end poorly for both of you are not small, hidden, or easy to brush away.

Those reasons don’t change the delicious way his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs under the skirt you have on. The dip of his tongue into your mouth, licking and searching feverishly. They don’t lessen the arousal sitting in your lower belly. You’re not sure if anything could because when you’re at the center of Jonathan’s attention, it feels like nothing matters beyond the two of you.

You groan into the next kiss, and Jonathan shivers beneath you, some desperate sound of his own echoing into your mouth. Accompanying the intoxicating taste of you is rain on your lips. You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes skintight and a few shades darker from the rain that continues to pour outside of the confines of his car. Every kiss, every touch of his warms you from the inside out.

“We’re committing public indecency,” He murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop using his grip on your ass to grind you down against the swell of his clothed cock.

He isn’t wrong but this is the best you could do in a pinch.

Your roommate is another graduate assistant, and though she doesn’t work in your department or Jonathan’s, she’d surely recognize him if you were to bring him over. There’s some unspoken agreement about his place, the house where he lived with Mira. You don’t feel ready to go there yet and thankfully, he isn’t quite ready to let you in. So he picked you up from your apartment complex and drove to the nearest park. Usually, the two of you plan a little better— there’s a long drive a couple hours away, some cozy little Airbnb on the edge of the city with the promise of going unrecognized hanging in the air.

This thing that shouldn’t be happening is practiced, meticulously planned but today is something different. If you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of him against you, you’d ask what has him so riled up. A little voice in your head can guess, but that would just complicate things. Instead, you’d really like to focus on this, that warm feeling he brings, and you hope that his concerns about breaking the law aren’t too intense.

“Do you want to stop?” You ask, breaking the kiss but only to kiss at his neck.

“No, don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”

And there is nothing that compares to the sweet sound of Jonathan calling you baby. You've never said no to Jonathan and you don’t plan to start when he begs for you like this.

“Kiss me again.”

Jonathan obliges, grasping the nape of your neck with gentle strength and pulling you forward to kiss you as if he’s trying to consume you.

You use your knees to raise up, sliding your hand between the two of you so that you can palm at his erection through his jeans. He whines into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. Both of these things spur you on and your other hand drops from his curls, working with the other to undo his jeans so that you can slip your hand into his boxers.

“You’re so sweet, so soft,” He murmurs as he begins to kiss and bite his way down your neck. You can hear the strain in his voice, how he’s trying his best to keep it steady and show that you aren’t affecting him.

There’s not a world where you have even half the discipline that he does. You are nothing but desperate for him— needy, always prepared to beg and whine until he gives you what you want. But, there’s no harm in trying to make him show how desperate he is for you too.

“Professor, please. I need you.”

“How am I meant to say no to you when you call me that?” He teases the skin of your neck with his teeth and you writhe in his lap, just like he wanted you to.

“You’re never supposed to say no to me, that’s the point, Levy,” You tease, hand tightening around his cock. His hips jump into your touch and you know that if you work just a little harder he’ll be exactly where you want him.

Jonathan’s hand skates up your torso. With your wet shirt, your nipples are practically on display through the fabric and he runs his thumb over one playfully before rolling the peak between his fingers, “And where’s the fun in that? You don’t want to earn it today, sweet girl?”

“No—“ You gasp through short breaths, chest heaving into his touch, “I just want you to give it to me. Please.”

His other hand finds your other breast, his touch more insistent as he pinches your nipple, “Desperate, sweet girl. Tell me what you want, I need to hear it.”

You fix him with that look that you know will get you anything you ask for, “I want your cock, I want you to let me sit on it.”

“You’re so fucking filthy, so needy for me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jonathan, please.”

And while he thoroughly enjoys the way you call him professor, or Levy, his name rolling off your tongue makes his heart skip like he’s some teenage girl having her first kiss. Any teasing and pretense of having discipline go right out the window. His hands are gentle but sure as he moves yours out of his boxers and lifts you to bare himself to you.

“Are you ready? Can I—“

“Yes, please, fucking yes.”

Jonathan uses one hand to line himself up with your entrance, the other immediately gripping your hip and sliding you down onto the length of his cock. The kiss you two share is hardly that, but messy teeth and tongues that meet as you both moan.

“Ride me,” He says against your mouth. He wants it to sound like a demand but you both know what it is. He’s finally just as desperate as you are— he’s begging.

There’s nothing in you that wants to fight him, there never is, all you want is more and more of him— whatever you can get because despite the passion, the ease of spending time with him, there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that screams this is temporary.

It’s unhealthy to think that each time you and Jonathan fuck it might be the last, but you refuse to take him or any moment spent with him for granted. You place one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching back to find purchase on the dash so that you can bounce on his cock in earnest.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, it’s made for me,” He groans.

Your eyes are glued to his face, drinking in the sight of him. He rests his head back against the seat rest, mouth ajar. His glasses are propped up on the crown of his head so as not to fog up, and a light goes off in your head. Shifting most of your weight onto your thighs you swipe the glasses from his head, sliding them onto your face.

The sound he makes has you upset that you haven’t thought of this move sooner. His hips snap up into you harder, making you yelp as the tip of his cock presses against the spot deepest inside of you.

He’s breathless as he says, “Oh god, you filthy fucking girl.”

“Do they suit me, professor?” You pant with a smirk.

His eyes go dark, as he gazes at you from under his lashes, “All of this suits you, everything about us together suits you. My name in your mouth, my cock in your pussy, all of it.”

His words make your head spin, and you quickly remove the glasses so that you can kiss him properly, smashing your mouth to his. You roll your hips, taking him as deep as you can before you start to rock, bouncing in his lap once more.

The back and forth between you dissolves into a frantic madness, both of your bodies focused simply on giving and receiving pleasure. His hands find your hips, helping you bounce more quickly and firmly as both of your breaths go shallow and whiny. The pleasure in your lower belly builds, chugging higher and higher each time you come down against him. You’re surrounded by the smell of sex, the sound of it, the heat of it. The windows fog and with each thrust of his hips up against you there’s the sound of skin on skin, of how incredibly wet you are for him.

“Jonathan, I’m—“

“You’re so close aren’t you, baby? Gonna cum for me so I can fill you up nice and deep? So I can make you mine again?”

“M-make me yours,” You repeat his words but your version is a beg, full of desperation.

He shushes you, hand sliding between your slick bodies to find your clit, “Let me help, let me give you what you need.”

Despite the soft gentleness of his fingers against your clit, the shockwaves of pleasure they provide melt away the last of the barriers between you and your orgasm. You melt around him, so warm and tight as you cum with a soft cry. It’s impossible for him to resist, and he joins you, body going stiff as he fills you up.

“I love you,” He whispers unthinkingly in the postcoital haze.

“I love you too,” You whisper back easily, leaning forward to rest against his chest.

Neither of you allow that usual feeling of dread of returning to your lives as they are— of having to deny each other day in and day out— to settle in. Instead, you let the softness in, the love so young and new but no less meaningful. He holds you right, like he’ll never let you go. And for the moment, you let him.

if you’d like to be on my jonathan levy/oscar issac taglist lmk!

jonathan levy taglist: @honeybrowne, @angelfxllcm, @sweetascherrylies, @hotchs-bitch, @jakelcckley, @mrspector, @jitterbugs927, @myorestes, @winwin70 , @ninebluehearts, @whatthefishh, @fanofverymanythings, @marc-spectorr, @toracainz, @rmoonstoner, @roseqzpd, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings

#god #🤭🤭🤭🤭#so hot #jonathan levy

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

Text

the light

summary: javi rethinks his position at the DEA after you are put in danger because of his job.

pairing: older!javier peña x gn!reader

contents: talks of minor injury, reader is put in danger, javi has an anxiety disorder, intrusive thoughts are depicted

wc: 853

an: okay so i know i disappeared off the face of the earth for like over a year but i’ve been lurking and waiting for inspiration to hit me and! it finally did! i’m hoping i won’t go right back into writers block after this, bc i have soooo many fic ideas for you guys. this is just a little one to start, so i hope you guys enjoy!

—

“Javi, baby, look at me. I’m okay.” You said, taking his hands into yours tentatively. They were trembling slightly, almost like an extension of his quivering lips.

You got caught between him and a cartel member. Stupid, yes, but you had just gotten nicked, the injury so minor that you didn’t even need stitches. He got to you just a fraction of a second later. Soon enough to you, too late to him. His team took down the guy immediately, while Javi froze for a second, looking between you and the body laying across from you. Running over to you, he cursed when he saw the blood, his eyes wide with fear. A mixed string of anxious questions, apologies, and curses was spilling from his lips, so incoherent that you were worried he would pass out from the stress.

“Javi.” You repeat firmer this time, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. His eyes finally landed on yours for more than a second, filled with a look of pure guilt you had never seen in them before.

His fear of losing all of this, you, was consuming him. Already, he was picturing himself losing your future together, the possibility of kids, building a home together. It was swallowing him up so quickly that you wondered if you would even get a chance to show him that it was just a little scratch on your shoulder, thankfully. The only reasoning he could find for this whole situation was that he was at fault. He was too slow. Too old. Too distracted.

Before you could calm him down, he was rushing you over to the paramedics, demanding, rather harshly, that they treat you immediately. They cleaned the tiny wound, applying a bandage no more sophisticated than a normal bandaid. You were free of any other injuries and within a few minutes, you were turning to Javi again. He had that look in his eyes still, and without another thought you wrapped your arms around him. He let out a deep breath, pressing his nose into your shoulder.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” You murmured.

Javi carried that guilty look home with him. You had both taken deep breaths together, grateful that your injury was so minor. Both of you had calmed down for the other, making yourself available for comfort. But even now as you laid on the couch with him, your legs curled underneath you and your head resting on his chest, you could feel how tense he was against you. The arm he had wrapped around you had a certain weight to it, like he was scared to let you go but just as scared to touch you.

You could tell he was thinking about something, his expression looking so distant and unfocused. There was a space between the two of you as you let him sit with his thoughts, not wanting to disturb him just yet. He took his time, holding you close, purposefully entangled.

“I’m taking the job,” he said, after a long silence.

Looking up at him, you furrowed your brows a little in confusion.

“The lead agent job. The 9-5. M’done chasing around these guys for leads, putting you in danger.. I’m too old, too tired, too slow.”

You looked at up him with worry, parting your lips to speak before he interrupts you, “Baby-“.

Javi shakes his head, “I’ll be home for dinner, making more money. We could save up, get a new place.”

“Baby” you reach up to cup his cheek, “If this is because of what happened, please don’t quit. I’m okay, you’re okay. Everything’s okay, these things happen.”

This look flickers through his eyes, something you’ve never seen in him before. He looks younger for a moment, just a boy. A scared- No, terrified, boy. His eyes gloss over the slightest bit, and he shakes his head again, weaker this time.

“Once was enough. I just- I c-can’t, okay? I can’t do this anymore, not after today.”

His voice shakes a little this time, your heart breaking as that fear becomes more obvious. For a second, you consider countering him, but there’s no point. Javi’s about as avoidant as they come when it comes to his anxiety, but this was different. This was visceral and rooted in logic, and you quickly realize that there was no way he’d change his mind.

Nodding softly, you sit up and hug him around his neck, “Okay. You’ll take the job.”

He nods quickly, desperately into your shoulder, those words reassuring him, “M’taking the job.”

You repeat it back to him a few times, processing this change with him every time he repeats it. Running your hand up into his hair, you stroke his short curls, soothing him. Javi’s mind shifts from obsessive images of you, injured or worse, that his brain creates just to haunt him, to a future he can now guarantee. A safe, predictable future. One where he can be home every night for you, and hopefully your kids one day. The new thoughts calm him and he lets out a deep breath, sighing against you.

“Thank you.”

#javier peña #javier pena #narcos #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction

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luvpedropascal · 4 months

Note

I think you’re not on here but your writing is amazing I just wanted to let you know

Awe thank you so much! I don’t really post much anymore but I’m still lurking haha. I definitely want to get back into writing though!

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luvpedropascal · 6 months

Text

Honey

kink: thigh riding...sort of

about this: steven/f!reader. Also includes: cum eating, submissive Steven, femdom, cuntwarming, oral sex.

Movement from beneath the desk. Hidden behind the pages of your book, you can’t help the little grin that spreads across your mouth. He nuzzles against your knee briefly, though it is against the rules. You hum lightly, pleased. Steven always knows when to behave and when to push—and whenever he breaks a rule, it is out of love. He really is so fucking sweet. To reward him, you let one hand drop from your book, seeking his curls. You smooth through them softly before gripping with a little more strength and guiding his mouth to your wet, bare cunt.

Steven groans, meeting your sex tongue-first. He is all soft kisses and gentle sucking, knowing how sensitive you are after a day of keeping him at your feet worshiping your cunt. Your fingers tighten on the spine of the book, and you are no longer reading the words as he drives you with the most gentle dedication towards your peak. Reaching out, you set the book down in time to grab his curls with both hands, looking at the pussy-drunk expression in his eyes as he sucks your clit until you burst so sweetly, fresh slick on his tongue, full-body shakes making him smile even as he tongues you through it.

“Good boy,” you breathe.

He whines. “Yeah?” he asks when you let him pull back, his mouth and sharp jaw wet with your arousal. “M’ a good boy for you? Your good boy?”

“Only mine,” you remind him firmly. “And so good, baby. The best. I think you deserve a reward.”

His eyes widen. “Yes, please, oh please—thank you.”

You shift until your shin brushes against his hard cock where it juts from between his thighs. Steven sucks in a breath, body shuddering at even this brief stimulation. Perhaps he thinks you mean to tease him—and in a way, you do, but not truly. You rub more firmly, feeling warm precum smear across your skin from his leaking head.

“Go on, honey,” you urge him. “Ride my legs. Rub off on me.”

Steven’s hips jerk towards you on instinct, a groan rumbling from deep within his chest. Marc would struggle, Jake would outright fight such a ‘reward’, but Steven. Sweet, sweet Steven. All he does is give a breathy: “Can I? Can I really?”

“Yes honey. Show me. Make a mess of me.”

He begins a tremulous rhythm, humping your soft shin while his head full of curls rests in your lap, his panting breaths fanning hot across your thighs. He loses track of himself, of his surroundings, of everything as he chases his pleasure. At last it bursts and he gives a strangled shout, his thrusting becoming discoordinated as warm seed sprays across your legs and your foot and drips down to the hardwood beneath the desk.

“Good boy,” you coo as he shivers and shakes. When he’s recovered somewhat, you press him back and tell him: “Now clean up your mess, honey.”

#RAAAAA #fuck this is so good #steven grant

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luvpedropascal · 7 months

Text

TELEPHONE CALL

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: You and Santiago can be very distracting when Frankie is on a call.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Frankie x female reader (you) x Santiago

Word Count: 3,800

30 Pieces of Home Masterlist | Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' masterlist

"Don't answer," Santiago tells him with a gruff tone, with his lips muffled against the soft skin on your neck.

The ring tone is blaring in Frankie's pocket.

Frankie's mother has the worst timing.

She has an uncanny ability to call whenever he is at work, or in the garage tinkering on his latest project, or otherwise occupied and cannot come to the phone.

"Just let it go to voice mail," you add, and Frankie knows he should. He does. But he can't help the way cold sweat breaks out across his spine. Fingers itching against the sofa cushions as he's already reaching for his pocket.

Because the thing with his mom calling is that inevitably whatever he was doing has to be put on hold. If there is one thing that Frankie has learnt from an early age is that Beatriz Renata Morales cannot stand for is to be ignored. Not by anybody and certainly not by her one and only son.

The consequences of doing so are never pleasant.

Seventeen year old Frankie once came home from the cinema after having turned his phone off during the movie to a police car standing outside their curb, and his mother crying by the front door explaining to the police that her son was missing and most likely already dead. Then he had to spend a weekend comforting her and apologizing.

It's why, even though Frankie was sitting on the sofa, with you straddling his lap. Even though Santiago was sat right next to him, without an inch of space between Frankie's back and Santiago's chest, when he hears the customised ringtone he has for his mom, the one that he's been conditioned to never ignore.

Frankie answers his phone.

"Hola mama"

He ignores the protesting whines from you and the chorus of "seriously Fish?" from Santiago,

And as the voice of his mom comes through the speaker, against every nerve in his body and his achingly hard cock screaming at him to hang up, Frankie doesn't. Instead Frankie, sets you down on the seat cushions besides him as he gets up from the sofa, and walks away to the other end of the room.

"Francisco why do you sound out of breath."

Shit.

"Uhm... I-uh I went for a run. I just-- yeah I just got back."

"A run? At this time of the night? It's past nine. It's dark outside. You live in Florida, it's not a safe state. Do you not watch the news?"

Frankie resists the urge to roll his eyes. Nevermind that he's a trained Delta Soldier. Nevermind that the three of you live in the middle of nowhere, with the next house being miles away and at least 10 minutes by car. Nevermind all of that because talking back to his mom is out of the question. If his mom decided tomorrow that she believed the earth was flat, then world had better adapt and get flat, because she won't be convinced by facts and reason.

But he doesn't bother to stop his mom and instead decides to wait until she's tired out of lecturing him and moves on to gossiping about his distance cousins and how scandalous it is that Sabrina, his second cousin removed is dating a man half her age.

From the corner of his eye, Frankie spots Santiago casually slotting in behind you on the sofa. At the movement, Frankie can already feel the nervous tic in his jaw as the small muscle there jumps.

Technically, Santiago hasn't even done anything yet. Has barely even touched you, his hand settled on the side of your hip. But it's the way that Frankie knows Santiago has never been the biggest fan of his mom, not since their early military days for... well... for a lot of reasons that Frankie prefers not to think about.

And it's in the way he's looking at Frankie over your shoulder, dark honed eyes holding the contact and not letting up even for a second that Frankie can just tell that the man is about to start some shit.

Frankie shoots him a flat, discouraging look, a preemptive warning. Not that any of Frankie's warnings has ever stopped Santiago before. And he sure as shit ain't stopping him now.

The man will never pass up a chance to start something. And that goes double for when Frankie's mom is involved. Can't resist to show his discontent with her in every conceivable way that is in his arsenal.

In front of him, Santiago's hand slides from its resting position from your hip to your waist, eyes still watching him. Then he's making his way over your stomach to snake under your shirt until he's resting it snug against the underside of your breast. The whole goddamn time, the bastard is staring Frankie down, daring him to do something about it when Santiago knows damn well he can't right now.

The only thing Frankie can do is narrow his eyes further, shaking his head in a silent but sharp signal that 'Now is not the fucking time!'

But of course, the pendejo just smirks right back, lifting his chin until his lips are resting next to your ear. "You gonna let me entertain you while our husband is busy, carino?"

The words are just loud enough for Frankie to hear and it sends a shock of heat down his spine. The obnoxious, cocky expression on the man's face tells Frankie that he raised his voice just loud enough for that to have been intentional. But just because Frankie knows what Santiago is up to, doesn't mean that it stops his cock from hardening against his jeans all the same.

"Santiago..." you begin, sounding reluctant.

Thank fuck, one of you at least have some sense.

Your eyes meet Frankie's from across the room holding the contact. "Nothing too loud, okay?"

And with that, Frankie's last hope of any semblance of peace of mind falls flat, even as his stupid, over-eager cock continues to rise.

He always does manage to forget that Santiago isn't the only one who has a vendetta against his mom. You've never been a fan either.

Santiago's touching you in earnest now, and you're letting him. His wayward hand fully cupping your breast, and Frankie can see your nipple perk up though the fabric under the touch of those clever fingers.

Fuck.

Frankie is so damn screwed.

"Of course, cariño. I'll be quiet as a mouse." Santiago stage-whispers in your ear, as though his hands aren't rucking up your sensible work blouse to expose your bra, nipples straining against the thin fabric as his talented fingers continue to toy with them.

You hum, a soft, breathy little sound, and Frankie stands no chance at that, cock twitching against the restrictive denim of his jeans. And it's made even worse when he hears Santiago tut-tutting you.

"Quiet, sweetheart. We don't want to distract Frank while he's on the phone now do we?"

Frankie grits his teeth, and shoots Santiago the bird. But the infuriating man is completely undeterred, just huffs out a quiet laugh. His other hand slides between your legs, pressing down, as best as he can with the restriction of your clothes.

You make another little breathy hum. It drowns out the voice still droning on in his ear until all Frankie can hear is you.

His cock aches, and he has to reach down to adjust himself, trying to ease some of the pressure from his previously well fitting jeans. He does his best to be surreptitious, but there's no escaping detection with two sets of eyes trained on him.

"Problem, Frank?" Santiago asks with that oh-so-casual tone as if nothing is wrong. As though he was not the cause of every damn problem Frankie is having at this exact moment.

There's nothing Frankie can do about it. Because his fucking mother is on the other end of the phone with him, and this is the most inappropriate thing that Santiago has ever put him through (and that's not a short list of things to begin with). There's nothing to do except shoot Santiago his middle finger, with feeling this time, and stew in his frustration and arousal.

The voice in his ear rises in pitch, and then there's a pause.

Shit!

His mom asked him a question, but he has no idea what the fuck it was. Frankie shuts his eyes to block out the distracting sight in front of him, and wracks his brain, but he can't pull up any of what's been said. The best he can do is respond with a non-committal grunt. He holds his breath hoping it'll pass as an answer to whatever his mom wanted to hear.

"I knew you'd agree Francisco."

It seems to do the trick. The non stop stream of chatter picking back up again,

and Frankie breathes out a sigh of relief.

It’s echoed by a louder, breathier sigh close to him, and Frankie’s eyes pop open despite himself, taking in the debauched site that's playing out.

Your skirt is bunched up around your waist, Santiago’s hand tucked into the front of your panties, and Frankie can see the movement of his hand though the thin material. Your head is tilted back, breath coming out in soft pants as Santiago works you over with his fingers.

Santiago is still staring back at Frankie. But the defiance that was there moments ago has melted away. Those pitched obsidian eyes have gone heavy-lidded, gaze heated under tightly-knitted browns, with a look that Frankie knows all too well.

Your left hand has disappeared behind you, tucked between your back and Santiago's chest. Obscured as his view may be, Frankie doesn't need to be able to see it to know exactly what you are doing to the man. Not with the say Santiago's frame flexes ever so slightly as he rocks his hips upwards.

You are giving as good as you've got.

Santiago licks his own lips, eyes fluttering as he bites down on the lush bottom lip, a half-hearted effort to stifle a groan.

Then his lips part again, the bottom one slick and shiny and blooming a darker pink from the press of his teeth.

“Fuck, cariño.” Santiago’s voice is low and hoarse in a way that goes directly to Frankie’s already aching cock. “You’re playing with fire there.”

"No, I'm not," comes your teasing, breathless reply, "I'm playing with your cock."

Frankie's cock jolts at the perfectly over-enunciated word, like it knows you're talking about it. His hand flies down to press against it without conscious thought, and now he's the one who has to bite down on a groan.

"Don't you like it when I play with your cock, Santiago?"

You might be talking to Santiago, but you're staring directly into Frankie's eyes, wearing that gorgeous, naughty smile.

It's a miracle Frankie doesn't come on the spot.

Santiago doesn't seem to be faring much better than Frankie is. The man's hips hitching forward into your grip, the line between his brows digging deeper until he wears an almost-pained grimace.

Frankie watches Santiago gather himself in a visible act of willpower, face smoothing out as he puts on that familiar cocky grin.

"Oh, I do, sweetheart. Let me show you how much."

With that, Santiago locks you against him, chin hooked over your shoulder, one arm around your ribs, and the other hand diving deeper. Frankie may not be able to see exactly what's happening in your underwear, but he can see it on your face when Santiago presses his clever fingers inside you. Can tell he must have gone in with more than one. That he must be curling them exactly the way you like against that one perfect spot but the way your eyes practically roll back in your head.

You mouth falls open on a silent moan, your free hand coming up to clutch at the arm Santiago has wrapped around your middle, fingernails digging into his skin, but Santiago doesn't stop.

Frankie can see the motion of his arm as the man drives his fingers in and out of you. Not slow and deliberate, the way Frankie expects of him, but fast and almost harsh. Jolting into you, each push inside driving staccato little gasps and grunts and squeaks from you. You always poke fun at yourself for those noises afterwards, claiming you sound ridiculous, but Frankie thinks they're fucking perfect. It's the sexiest damn thing in the world when you're so lost in pleasure that you lose control of the sounds you're making.

You haven't quite lost control yet -- voice still as low as you can manage -- but fuck, Frankie feels like he's about to lose it. He's rocking his hips up into his own hand in time with Santiago's movements. Can't make himself stop, even when it drives a muffled grunt from his own throat.

There's a pause in the voice on the other end of the phone, then, "Frankie? Are you alright?"

Shit.

He'd forgotten he was even on the phone. Has no idea what his mom has been rambling about all this time.

"Yeah, uh.." He coughs, trying to clear his throat though his voice still comes out too deep, "Something's come up. I've got to go, mom. I'll call you later."

He slams the end call button before she can say anything else, knowing he'll pay for it later, but right now he doesn't care if she spends an hour lecturing him on how rude it was. He has something else he needs to do.

Santiago's eyes widen as Frankie stands abruptly.

He unfastens his belt, and unzips his jeans as he advances on the two of you. You remain seemingly unaware, too lost in pleasure to notice his approach, but Santiago does.

"Good of you to finally join us, Frank," Santiago says, raising his chin in challenge, clearly unrepentant. That's okay though.

He will be.

He spares Santiago a single quelling look, staring down at him until that stupid cocky expression falters. Santiago's throat bobs as he swallows with, and Frankie can't help the satisfied smirk that grows on on his own lips before turning his attention to you instead.

You're looking up at him with glazed eyes, slightly out of it but you still have a welcoming smile there for him, arms already raised to wrap around his shoulders and pull him into you.

"C'mere, baby," Frankie murmurs as he grabs hold of you. "Let me finish what Santiago started."

He doesn't bother with any sort of prep, Santiago's taken care of that, just pulls his dick out of his underwear with one hand and Santiago's fingers out of you with the other. Then he bends his knees, hooks your underwear to the side, and pushes inside.

You're hot and wet and tight around him, clutching his shoulder and moaning against his throat as you take him oh-so-perfectly, the way you always do.

Frankie can't help the groan that forces its way out of his chest as your body flutters and squeezes around him.

An echoing groan sounds from behind you, and Frankie looks up to find Santiago, eyes dark and dazed staring back at him. The man looks stunned. Chest heaving, mouth and pants both hanging open.

Clearly your clever fingers had been busy as well.

The bulge of Santiago's hard cock is protruding obscenely from his open fly. He's still wearing his boxers, but the material is dark, nearly saturated with precome in a wide sticky spot and clings wetly to the contours underneath, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

Fuck he loves how worked up Santiago gets when you touch him. The man himself, so clearly completely gone for you, but never quite willing to admit it.

Santiago makes an abortive moment towards his dick, then stops, throat working as his hand hovers there in midair, and Frankie grins.

"That's okay, Santiago. You can jerk your cock if you need to. Isn't that right, baby?" he asks you, as if it's your permission Santiago needs to touch himself.

Frankie's forcing his voice to level despite the way you're still shuddering in his arms, that perfect pussy still squeezing him just right, "It's okay if Santiago jerks off, isn't it?"

You nod, forehead sliding against his jaw with the movement, and he breathes in the smell of your shampoo as he watches Santiago.

The man's hands inch closer and closer to the twitching mess of his sticky, covered cock, but still hover indecisively like he doesn't trust that it's not a trap.

Smart man.

Frankie pulls back, tired of waiting, and grins against your temple as you clutch at his shoulders again.

"I got you, baby. I'm not going anywhere," Frankie croons to you, as he presses back inside as slowly as he can manage, his eyes never leaving Santiago's, "I'm just gonna fuck you right here, nice and slow, while Santiago watches. Gonna show him how you come so pretty on my cock. How many times you think you can come for me this time?"

You don't answer him with words. Just a deep moan that has his chest fill with pride.

"What do you think Santiago? How many times should we make our beautiful wife come?"

Frankie has a front row seat to see the way Santiago's eyes widen, pupils blowing out so far they look nearly black.

"Five," he says. "Don't stop until she's at least come five times."

Frankie has to laugh at that. Greedy brat.

"You hear that baby? five times," Frankie murmurs into your ear, and you whimper breathlessly back at him.

Besides him, Santiago moves in a rush, grabbing at his crotch, curses under his breath when his fingers fumbles over each other as he struggles to free himself from the clinging wet fabric. He finally manages it, and his cock emerges, looking almost painfully hard, the head dark red and shiny, before it immediately disappears into his fist.

Santiago's eyes slam shut with that first stroke, and he groans, the sound loud and rough, like it was torn from his very soul, the damn drama queen.

That doesn't stop you from reacting, that pretty little pussy of yours clenching down around Frankie, making him groan too, and you clench again, tempting him to fuck you hard and fast until you come around him, that perfect way that you do.

And he will. You will... just not yet.

Frankie keeps his strokes slow and measured despite the temptation, teasing you both, even as you squirm and moan and squeeze him tight.

Santiago shows no such restraint. His hips are pistoning up into his fist, driving his cock through the circle of his hand fast and rough, the loud wet slap-slap-slap of it clearly audible.

"Fuck, Frank. Move it on along. Make her– ngh– Make her come already," he jeers, obviously meaning to sound cocky, but failing miserably. The words come out breathless, interrupted by gasps and grunts he can't seem to contain.

The asshole never did have any patience.

"Oh, I'm gonna," Frankie tell him, tells you both as he slides one hand down to put pressure on your clit, right where you need it, as he continues to fuck up into you with at the same slow pace. He grits his teeth in a strained smile as you immediately squeal and flutter around him. "Gonna make you come so hard for me baby."

He can tell it's coming, can feel it in the way you tighten up around him. Another minute or two, and you're gonna come so pretty on his cock. And Santiago doesn't look to be far behind you, ass bouncing as he jerks his cock with sloppy-fast strokes.

"But Santiago better not."

"Wha-? I– What the fuck, Frank?" The worlds stumble, barely coherent off Santiago's tongue, and Frankie...

Frankie... is not a good man.

A good man would not take so much pleasure from watching the way Santiago gapes up at him in confusion, clearly at a loss. A good man wouldn't enjoy watching the man fumble for understanding. He should not get off on watching Santiago struggle, clever fingers going clumsy, strokes slowing to a stop, even as hips continue to stutter into his fist like he can't control himself. The shiny of his cock emerging and disappearing and re-emerging slowly, almost as slowly as Frankie is still fucking in and out of you.

"That's right, Santiago," Frankie tells him, appreciating the way Santiago's cock jerks in his grip at the sound of Frankie's voice, precome leaking out to dribble down over his already slick knuckles. "You're going to go just as slow as I am."

"The fuck I am–" Santiago begins, but Frankie just keeps talking right over the top of him.

"You're going to go just as slow as I am," Frankie grits out, somehow managing to hold onto the commanding tone despite the way you're panting and moaning so sweetly against his neck, hips rocking in time with his own, "And you're not going to come. Not until Boa's come five times. Not if you want a chance to fuck her next. Do you understand me, Santiago?"

"I– Fuck, Frank. I–," Santiago stutters, but Frankie's out of time, he can feel it in the way you're tightening up around him, in the way he's having to hold up more and more of your weight as your knees start to go out from under you.

"I said, Do you understand me, Garcia," Frankie barks out, and Santiago's whole body jolts, curling forward, his hand jerking to the base of his cock and squeezing so hard it must be painful.

Frankie has half a second to worry he just tipped him over the edge early, but then Santiago's straightening up, eyes wide and empty.

"Yes, sir."

And just in time, because you suddenly stiffen in his arms, breath leaving you on a keening wail as you make good on his promise, and come hard on his cock.

Fuck, you feel so good, clenching and fluttering around him, and Frankie has to grit his teeth until his jaw aches, struggling to keep his composure, to keep fucking you through it, to make it as good for you as he can, without following you over the edge.

He manages it, but just barely, his vision starting to grey out slightly at the edges by the time you finally relax, sagging against him. He cradles you in his arms, holding you against himself as you come down, stealing a much-needed moment to just breathe and let his own tension ratchet down a notch.

He hears Santiago's voice, strained and near despairing from besides him, "One."

I don’t have a tag list. 😅Please follow astroboot-writes and turn on notifications for writing updates! 🥰

Dedications: This is all Thirstworldproblemss beautiful sexy horn brainchild. She wrote it for me in our DMs when I was having a particularly rough week to cheer me up and I love her endlessly for this one.

#🤭🤭🤭

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luvpedropascal · 7 months

Text

Love Bites

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Marc wakes up with a lot of hickeys in the mirror.

Content: a cup of yearning, a spoonful of angst and a heapful of horny and mix well with masturbation.

A/N: Inspired by @guruan amazing art series of love marks and hickeys on the Moon Knight boys. See her twitter for the pieces.

Word count: 4.9k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Marc is no stranger to finding marks on his body.

Black and yellowed bruises scattered across his ribcage. Angry pink abrasions on his knuckles or jaw, the dark reddish brown of old blood crusting around deeper gashes.

They never bothered him too much. The suit takes care of it in the blink of an eye when he needs it to. Well before Steven wakes up so that Marc can make sure that his other half will always stay none the wiser of what their body is put through on a daily basis.

Marc is usually the one responsible for most of the marks and bruises. But Steven, with his clumsiness, isn't altogether blameless.

There are nights when Marc will wake up with a sore arm from a box of souvenir junk that's fallen onto Steven during inventory time. Sometimes, Steven in his half-conscious stupor will bump into a particularly hard corner of the shelves leaving Marc with a purple blotch on his hip or shoulder. It happens often enough that when Marc wakes up fronting and find his body marred with big ugly bruises, he doesn't react with even an ounce of surprise.

After all, pain and bruises are routine for him. It's what Marc has known for as long as he can remember. But Marc can't say he's used to this.

He's standing in front of the small mirror of the bathroom. His eyes lingers over the maroon-red mark that's discoloring the junction of his neck, right above his clavicle. It's the length of three fingers. It's bright, splotchy and glaring.

It's so unexpected it takes Marc several long seconds before he registers it for what it is.

Not a mosquito bite, it's too large for that. Not a bruise caused from a punch.

A hickey.

A grumble simmers in the back of his throat. Marc has a pretty good idea how the body ended up with a hickey.

Steven was going to take you out on a date last night. Some restaurant you’d been wanting to try “for ages.”

You'd looked so excited when you'd told him about it over breakfast that morning. Eyes bright, smiling cheek to cheek that made his chest squeeze tight within, as you had devoured the pancakes he'd made for you.

Marc stares back at his reflection in the mirror. At the big showy red blotch on his skin. If Marc leaves it as it is, it's sure to spread even wider until it turns purplish and blue and covers half of his throat.

Shit, you really went to town on his— on Steven's neck.

The two of you must have had fun.

His fingers trail the outline of the discoloration of his skin. The skin is bruised and a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt. Not in the way he's used to.

This isn’t the lingering pain from the impact of blunt knuckles or the sharp throbbing of broken ribs. This is different.

This bruise was made, not with a fist or a weapon, but with care. Made with your soft lips dragging across his neck. Your exploring fingers digging into his hair as your teeth scrape down his jaw and down his --

Fuck. What is he doing?

He glares accusingly at himself in the mirror.

What the hell was that?

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn't let himself think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That's the rule he set for himself early on when you entered Steven's life: Marc is going to stay out of your way.

Leave you and Steven to live a normal and happy life without his interference... Except he fucked up.

Marc feels like a goddamned Disney villain most times. It's bad enough that Marc steals away hours—sometimes days—from Steven's quiet London life without the man knowing.

Somehow, and Marc isn't entirely sure how he's managed to land the three of you in this position, but not only do you know about Marc now. Marc's also cornered you into the impossible situation that you have to keep his existence secret from Steven.

Leading to the present status quo. One where Marc eats away at the poor man's life like a bottom-feeding parasite. Stealing time from Steven, on mornings that you wake in their bed. Hours that Marc could and should be ceding back to Steven. Instead, Marc finds himself lingering more and more often. Standing in the kitchen, cleaning up waiting for you to wake.

In the beginning he told himself that it was to keep an eye on you. After all, he can't have you wandering around in apartment flat and uncover something that is not meant for your eyes. But he'd be lying to himself if he said that was still the case. Because Marc trusts you after all.

No, he knows why he does this. Why he stays in the mornings, sat across you from the table, watching you eat with warmth fizzing pleasantly in his veins. He knows even if he'd never dare to put words to what it is.

He wants to take.

A heavy, sick feeling spreads in his stomach—his old familiar friends, shame and guilt—because Marc has already taken enough.

He doesn’t get to take this too. Doesn't get to think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That time belongs to Steven. You belong to Steven.

Marc is just an interloper.

His eyes pull back up from the floor of the bathroom and he catches himself frowning in the mirror.

He hasn’t moved his hand. His fingertips linger, thumb dragging over the pulse of his throat before pressing down on the bruise, hard. Digging in until he can feel the ache of it. Until the mark stings like it would have when it was freshly made by you.

A sharp thrill sparks down his spine, and warmth streaks across his lower stomach. Marc ignores it. Ignores the heavy ache that pools in his groin. It’s fine. As long as he ignores it, doesn't take things further, then he can let himself have… this. The fading echo of the love you have for Steven.

Marc leaves the hickey.

He wears his civilian clothes when he goes out at night on Khonshu’s business so the suit won’t heal it. Tries to avoid getting hurt so he won’t leave any other bruises for Steven to find. It feels strange. It's been a long time since Marc approached a fight with anything like caution.

Over the course of the next week, he wakes up each night to see that the hickey has bloomed. Marc maps its journey as it spreads from the small spot on his throat up the length of it until it almost reaches his jaw. Then it begins to fade.

On the fourth day the stark red has grown subdued. By the fifth, the blotches on his skin are well on their way to healing. And on the sixth...

On the sixth day, Marc finds a second mark right below the fading one at the base of his neck and long red streaks marking scratches on his shoulder.

New marks keep appearing with each week. Small finger-nail shaped crescent moons on his shoulder blades. The indent of teeth on his clavicle. More hickeys, the small and gentle bruises scattered across the body like a treasure hunt for Marc to find.

He's not sure how he feels about that. Except that there's a strange and unsettling flutter deep in the pit of his stomach everytime he catches sight of one of them in the mirror.

Shit. He's probably not supposed to feel anything about them at all. After all, they shouldn't affect him one way or the other at all. None of them actually hurt.

Judging from the frequency they're appearing, Steven obviously likes them. What’s Marc gonna do about it? Sit you down over the breakfast table, as he ladles up pancakes on your plate and casually drops that he keeps finding marks you've left on Steven? That it makes him feel... (funny? strange? good?) some way about it?

No, this is fine.

There's nothing to be done with the strange situation the three of you find yourselves in. All Marc can do is catalog each and every one of them. Each and every bruise and scrape and bite you leave on Steven, pressing harsh fingers over them until the blunt ache sets in so that Marc can feel them too.

Nothing is wrong. It's fine.

As long as he doesn't think of anything more, doesn't let his mind wander, then Marc isn't crossing a line. After all, there's nothing else he can do about the situation.

The only thing he can do is to keep his silent inspection of each hickey and scratch left on the body. He tells himself it's because he has to know what's going on with the body. To make sure it’s in good enough condition for Khonshu’s missions. That’s all it is. It has nothing to do with the fact that it's a tiny window into the part of Steven's life with you that Marc won't let himself intrude or eavesdrop on.

He almost believes it.

And if there’s a bittersweet feeling that weighs heavy in his stomach, it doesn’t matter. He can ignore it. Marc is no stranger to wanting things he can't have, things he doesn't deserve.

It's fine.

Everything is fine.

And it would have kept on being fine if it weren’t for the fucking lipstick.

The first time it happens, Marc wakes up alone in the apartment slumped over a chair, a book in his lap. Steven must've fallen asleep while reading. Nothing unusual there.

Marc doesn't even notice anything’s wrong until he steps into the bathroom and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Smears of glossy scarlet stand out glaringly against his skin. It's on his face, his mouth and neck, bright red like a traffic light, warning Marc to stop.

Against his better judgment, Marc doesn't heed the warning.

His hand comes up to trace a pristine, perfectly-defined lip print on his cheekbone, trying not to let himself imagine what caused it. He pushes the invading image of your smile and the sweet curve of your lips down into the depths of his mind where he can't reach.

This is different from the hickeys and scrapes. Completely superficial. There is no underlying injury for him to punish himself with, but he catalogs the marks anyway.

The one on his neck is less pristine, smeared at the edges. His fingers drag over the skin in the same place your lips would have.

There's a bright-red smear at the corner of his mouth.

Marc stares at that one for a long time, breath coming in faster and heavier as his fingers hover, not quite touching.

He doesn't dare touch it because he knows what sort of contact made those marks. Can almost feel the weight of your arms wrapped around his neck, the slight sting of your fingers twined into his hair. The bridge of your nose alongside his as your plush lips press to his in a desperate, devouring kiss.

Shit. Shit!

His heart thrashes hard and fast with the fluttering panic of a trapped hummingbird inside his chest. Stepping backwards, a rush of blood floods his body and he feels lightheaded with the pace of it.

He can't look at it. Has to turn sharply away. Grabs a washcloth and the soap and scrubs until his skin feels raw. He doesn't let himself look again until the marks are gone because it feels like crossing a line. One he wasn’t—isn’t—going to let himself cross.

"It's my four month anniversary with Steven," you tell Marc as you reach for the toasted bagel with cream cheese in front of him.

Marc slides the plate back out of your reach and begins to layer smoked salmon on top.

"Where are you two going?"

"Steven booked Gloria. It's the cute Italian place with all the flowery corner booths and pretty porcelain dishes, remember?"

He nods as though he has any idea which restaurant you’re talking about. He doesn’t. Marc doesn’t spy on Steven’s dates with you.

"Their truffle pizza is delish, and for dessert they have this heavenly lemon meringue pie which is—and I am not exaggerating in the slightest—eight inches tall.”

"Sounds nice," he says, adding the finishing touches to your bagel. He barely has time to place the last caper before you swipe the plate from his hands and take a large bite out of it.

You moan your approval, then chew and swallow, smiling at him as you lick your fingers clean, and Marc doesn’t let himself think about anything at all.

"We'll go there sometime," you say, and it makes Marc stop in his tracks. "We can share it together."

He doesn't say that there’s no way in hell. Doesn't tell you that he doesn’t get to be together with you outside of the bubble that is these stolen mornings here in Steven's apartment. Doesn’t try to explain why somehow that would be crossing the last tenuous line he's set for himself.

Instead he turns around, stowing the cream cheese back in the fridge and steadfastly ignoring the insistent itch under the collar of his shirt. Your latest mark is there, simmering with heat where the shape of your lips are still branded onto his skin.

"Sounds nice," he says again.

Marc doesn't peek on your date with Steven.

It's not easy to stay away. His consciousness keeps floating to the surface, an involuntary reaction to Steven's feverish excitement that buoys Marc closer to awareness. Trapped in the dark purgatory where he’s peripherally aware of the palm of their hands going clammy with sweat and the whole of their body flashing hot and cold. He has to constantly swim down into the nothingness to avoid being inadvertently pushed to the front.

But Marc holds steady, even when he can feel their heart pounding away in their chest like Steven is running a goddamn marathon. He's determined to let you and Steven keep your private time private. The two of you don’t need him hanging around peeping like some perverted fly on the wall.

But…

It's a special kind of hell when Steven gets this excited.

It takes everything Marc has in him to fight the instinct to step in and take over, but he manages it somehow, holding on by his metaphorical fingernail until Steven finally succumbs to an exhausted sleep.

As the first dim light of the morning sun slinks through the windows, Marc wakes to find himself in bed, tangled up in twisted sheets.

His thighs ache, his back is stiff and it takes him several moments to orientate himself. Sandy-eyed and more exhausted than he should be, he peels back the bedding, to reveal…

Red.

His bare chest and stomach are smeared in bright crimson red.

Blood.

He's covered in it.

Adrenaline cracks through him, bright and sickening, and Marc jolts upright.

Oh fuck, what has he done now?

No. He forces himself to regulate his breathing, air hissing between his teeth as his chest heaves. It couldn't have been him.

The last thing he can remember is ceding the body to Steven, and then the fight to keep his consciousness submerged. Steven wouldn’t have done this either, which means– Shit! Shit!!

It's everywhere.

Splotches parade across his torso, bright and glossy and so very red. Really red, almost… too red. He tips his chin down to get a closer look, and…

There's a perfectly defined shape of a set of lips on his left pec.

Marc stares at it, then raises a trembling hand to press two fingers over the ruby red lip-print and sags with relief.

Not blood. It's fucking lipstick.

Your lipstick.

His face prickles with heat, his fingers trembling against the skin of his chest.

There's another, less well defined print next to it, and he traces that one as well, and then the red ring smeared around his nipple. He follows the trail of color down his chest and abdomen. It's fucking everywhere. Way more lipstick than could possibly come from a single application.

Marc can picture it. Fuck, he is picturing it, as clear as day. Your bright eyes gazing up at him through lush lashes as you kiss your way down his– down Steven's heaving chest, pausing your assault every now and then to reapply your lip color. The tip of the waxy red stick smoothing over your plush lips, leaving the shiny red color behind. The way you would purse your mouth before leaning back down to stamp another mark upon his skin.

Marc's fingertips brush over another red smear low on his belly. One that’s just barely visible before it disappears under the edge of the sheet.

There’s static in his head, so loud that it drowns out everything else. He can barely hear his own thoughts so it’s easy to ignore the little voice in his head screaming that this is a bad idea and push the sheets aside to follow the red streak down the crease of his thigh.

Tired muscles jump under the brush of his fingers, skin prickling, and he's suddenly, uncomfortably aware that he's hard. Achingly so, his dick throbbing just inches from where he's touching the trail of lipstick on his skin.

The soft cotton of the sheets drags against his overly-sensitive skin as he shoves it the rest of it off, and–

Fuck.

He stops, every muscle in him tensing up because the red smears and kiss marks don't end with the one on his hip. Of course they fucking don't. They continue down the sparse trail of hair leading to his groin where there's a perfect bright red ring circling his aching dick, right below the leaking head.

There’s several rings, the red streaked and smeared up and down the length of him. Oh fuck.

His dick pulses, jerking against his stomach, and a drop of precome wells from the tip. He watches as it rolls slowly across the flat plane of the head which is graced with a single, only-slightly smeared kiss mark.

Marc feels that mark as if it were branded onto him.

He takes himself in hand without thought, thumb slicking though the slippery fluid, smearing it across the impression of your lips. His whole body jerking as he grinds his thumb into that red spot, pressing as though he could somehow imprint your touch into his skin—into the very fabric of his torn and fucked up soul.

He gets lost in the feeling, pleasure just short of pain that has him shuddering and shaking under his own touch. Lets go only long enough to lock his fingers over the circle of scarlet right under the head of his dick. Then it’s on to the other ones, covering each of the marks in turn, squeezing and sliding between them, rubbing the seemingly endless stream of precome he’s oozing over his cock. The lipstick spreads, smearing further until it’s staining his hand as well. The skin of his palm and the length of his dick both streaked with that bright alarming red.

Everything aches. It's overwhelming. Sharp pleasure pushes along every nerve, filling up every empty crevice in his hollow chest until there’s no room left for anything else, and he doesn't know if it's from the touch of his own hand or the knowledge that these marks are from you (from your soft, plush mouth wrapped around his dick) or both.

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn’t do slow. Or soft. Doesn't let himself indulge in this kind of languid, drawn-out touches.

Sure, he jerks off. When the need arises, he takes care of it. He handles his hard-on the same way he deals with the other tasks involved in the upkeep of their body—with little patience and just enough effort to get it over and done with as efficiently as possible.

More often than not, it's him in the shower, fisting his cock with quick, perfunctory motions as he stares at the wall and tries not to think of anything at all (something that's been harder than usual these past few months). It's something he does as a matter of routine. Just one more item on his hygiene checklist: wash hair, jerk off, wash body, dry off, brush teeth.

This is.... not that.

If he stopped long enough to acknowledge what it is he's doing. To put words to what this is, he's not sure he can think of anything but "fucked up". Fucked up and entirely alien and new to him. Slick and soft and slow. The drag of his fingers over the stained, sensitive flesh of his straining, aching dick almost sensual, and it drives a low, guttural gasp from his lips.

The sound is met by a sleepy sigh from behind him, and Marc freezes.

Fuck.

He doesn’t dare turn his head to confirm what he already knows. That you must have spent the night with Steven, and you’re still lying there in his bed now.

And Marc is sitting less than an arm's length away from your sleeping body, smearing your lipstick up and down the length of his leaking, jerking cock.

And you're about half a second from waking up and catching him red handed and realizing just how fucking disgusting he is.

Terror spears through him as images of what happens next flash behind his eyes.

The shock on your face. Your redredred lips parted in surprise and disbelief. How disbelief would shade into horrified disgust when you see the proof of just how fucked up he is; the way he's made himself sick with yearning over you. Over something that's not his—could never be his because you're a thousand times too good for him.

Marc wants nothing more than to curl up into himself and disappear forever, but he forces himself up and out of bed. Keeping his back towards you, he retreats toward the bathroom as quickly and quietly as he can manage. He doesn't dare turn around.

If your eyes are on him…

If it's already too late…

He doesn't want to know.

That resolve lasts until he's reached the questionable safety of the bathroom. He can't help but sneak one a last look over his shoulder at you as he slides the door closed.

Your eyes are closed. Thank fuck. The knot of fear in his chest loosens slightly at the sight of you sleeping peacefully, unaware of his disturbing behavior.

But– Oh fuck, your lips.

The delicate contours of your plush mouth are smeared and stained with the same color that's streaked across his body, a fucking beacon in stoplight red.

His skin, every square inch that's tinted with the evidence of your touch, starts to burn, and Marc burns with it.

He doesn’t remember shutting the door. Doesn’t remember turning to press his back to the wall. Marc comes back to awareness staring down at one of his hands where it’s wrapped around his aching, leaking, red-smeared dick. The other hand is pressed against the lip print on his chest, fingernails digging in. A bright spark of pain courses through him, and he pushes harder, clawing at the stained flesh as though, if he just presses hard enough, he can peel back the layers of himself to reveal the memory of what it felt like to have your lips against his skin.

Marc is excruciatingly aware that he is fucking things up. Has fucked them all to hell and back already.

The line he told himself he would never cross is somewhere miles behind him along with his self control and any shred of decency. This is wrong. He should not be doing this. Has no fucking business with his hand anywhere near his dick when his mind is full of you.

The knowledge of how fucked up all of this is, makes him slow his strokes. Guilt and shame weigh him down, as heavy as Khonshu’s armor, flooding his body almost as thoroughly as pleasure.

But he still can’t make himself stop.

The floodgates are open. Marc can’t stop rubbing his dick any more than he can stop seeing you, eyes wide and knowing; your ruby red lips pressed to his, sliding over his stomach, wrapped around his cock.

His chest heaves, breath stuttering painfully in his lungs. His fingers tighten around his cock, and the pleasure that sears through his veins is blinding. It’s consuming, all-encompassing, burning through every reservation and shred of morality until it robs him of the ability to tell right from wrong.

Everything is a haze. There are no thoughts left in his head. Nothing left except you.

All he can think of is the look of pure delight on your face after you take your first bite of the breakfasts he makes for you. The way he'll sometimes catch you gazing at his back when he's standing by the stove and you think he can’t see. The forty-five minutes each morning that you're his alone.

Warmth seeps through his chest and takes root beneath his ribs, a counterpoint to the almost painful heat rippling in his gut. It climbs his spine and spreads outward along his limbs until all of him, from his stomach to the tip of his head, is filled with the sensation. It feels good. In a way that Marc can't ever remember having felt.

There's a strange sound pushing against his throat, and if Marc wasn't so far gone, he'd register it as sounding dangerously close to a whimper.

His eyes flutter open, (and fuck he can't remember when he even closed them) to find himself staring up at a stranger in the mirror. He doesn't recognize this man. The messy black hair that falls over his brow doesn't belong to him. Nor do the swollen lips, parted slightly as if their owner is about to plead for something. Dark eyes have gone glassy and wet, with an unfamiliar drunken glaze.

He doesn't know this man, but it’s not him.

Can’t be him.

Or maybe it is.

Need, ugly and grasping, is written across his face. He can feel it dripping out of him, can see the full extent of his depravity, staring back at him. He looks desperate, nearly unhinged.

Out of control.

All the things he doesn’t get to be, because he’ll just fuck things up.

But that doesn’t stop the jagged heat blossoming in his stomach. It starts from the tip of his toes, wrapping his limb with aching bliss until his knees go weak and he's nearly doubling over unable to hold his own weight.

His hips cant up to meet each stroke of his hand. Chasing after the pleasure eagerly, even as the residual shame clings to every inch of him.

He presses his eyes shut again so he doesn't have to look at himself in the eye as the looming promise of his orgasm rises higher.

He regrets it immediately.

In the dark, without the distraction of his reflection to look at, there's nothing to stop his mind from filling the blank space with you.

Your gaze from across the room.

Your touch when the back of your hand accidentally brushes against his when you help him with the dishes.

Your voice...

“Together,” you'd told him yesterday. You'd go tho the restaurant together. As if you two were a couple.

The breath catches in his lungs, searing pleasure streaking along his limbs, achingly sweet and…

Wrong.

This is so fucking wrong.

Wrong of him to think of you here with him. Wrong to imagine the warmth of your body pressed against his, your smaller hand wrapped around him in place of his own. Wrong to wonder how soft your lips would be, trailing down the length of his neck, teeth sinking into his neck to leave another fresh mark, one meant only for him.

The feeling is too large, too overwhelming. It's fucking unbearable. Pleasure doubling and redoubling to fill every inch of flesh, every cell, until his body feels alien to him.

It rips through him, chaotic and endless. A cacophony of static, fills his head as his climax explodes through him. Pulse after agonizingly blissful pulse rips through him, and he spills himself across the white porcelain of the sink.

It goes on and on and on until he's empty and wrung out.

Until the only thing left in is the harsh noise of his uneven breathing wheezing out of his chest and the acidic guilt and shame that are lodged in his throat like bile that he can't spit out.

The strength has been zapped out of his limbs. His knees are weak, threatening to give way, and his hands shoot out, gripping the sides of the cold and dirty sink as he slumps forward, barely holding himself upright. His forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror, but refuses to look at his reflection.

It's there all the same. The incriminating flush of his skin nearly as red as the marks from your lipstick. The evidence of your lips pressed to his skin with intent, with care, with… love.

But not for Marc.

It’s never going to be for Marc.

He closes his eyes again and lets the world fade away.

Dedications:

To my favorite clown @thirstworldproblemss who had her mastery hands all over this and wrote majority of this pieces (all the best parts of it).

Also dedicated to @guruan who is currently in tumblr jail and if tumblr could let her out that would be great!!! I need my beautiful MK boys in art form and Leslie's presence in my life on tumblr.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#this 😭😭#marc spector

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