Summary: You’re FWB with the ever-elusive vigilante Spider-Man (2099) who unfortunately, for you, is not too fond of being ghosted.
Content Warnings: dom!Miguel, sub!reader, face sitting, biting, overstimulation, webfluid!bondage, dirty talk (and in español también !!🤭)
WC: 645 (ik ik it’s short my bad lol)
AN: heavily unedited and my Spanish is rusty (gotta love being a no sabo puerto rican ) so I apologize for that!! part 2 maybe? who knows lol
MDNI!!!
Your phone buzzed on the bedside table, your roommate’s photo and caller ID popping up. In your current state, you would just have to let the call go to voicemail—it’s not like you would be able to answer now or any time soon, anyways.
Especially since your thighs were bound by thick muscular arms (and ropes of webfluid) while Miguel’s tongue and lips flicked and sucked over your clit hungrily. The obscenely wet sounds emanating from your thighs held much more sway than the buzzing phone to your right.
Wave after wave of pleasure lapped over you as Miguel forced orgasm after orgasm from you. Your thighs shook around his head, and you squirmed as you felt the familiar rise of arousal leading towards another release.
“Ah!” You cried as you felt Miguel’s teeth lightly rake over your clit, quivering from the sensation. It was a warning from him: take it.
Sit there and take it.
Dios mío, you absolutely couldn’t take another orgasm—your clit was beyond sensitive, overly aware of every rough flick and wet swirl of his tongue as he licked up everything that dripped from between your thighs. His soft groans didn’t help the situation either, soft vibrations from his lips and throat running along your now-aching pussy.
Miguel’s hand tightened on your thighs, hard enough that you were sure the marks would be there by the time you made it back to your apartment.
This had to be a punishment, you thought. How orgasms could even be considered a punishment you didn’t know but you knew the roughness, the little care for how much you ached (despite the overflow of pleasure) had to be some sort of retaliation.
Sure, you hadn’t talked to Miguel in over a week, and sure, you had a blind date with a coworker of your roommate’s but that was nothing! Miguel was just a nice little friends with benefits.
Well…a vigilante friend with benefits.
A vigilante who swung you into his apartment, tearing your panties off with his fanged teeth and trapped you over his face without even taking his suit off—he’d merely lifted the mask up to free his lips and tongue for your torment. You hated how much it turned you on to see his lips and the tip of his nose peeking out from the blue and red suit material.
The orgasm rising in you once more was enough cause for you to squirm more, trying to ease off the side of his face. Miguel’s grip tightened and his lips left from your clit to trace your inner thigh. In seconds, his teeth—his fangs specifically, gripped the soft fleshy part of your inner thighs and pain sparked there. He bit, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to keep you as still as you could manage.
Hard enough to leave marks for you to find later.
“No te muevas,” he growled against you, his lips finding your clit once more, “you can take it, amor.” You whined at the sensation, his lips and gruff voice against your sensitive pussy, the way the ‘r’ in “amor” rolled so delicately off his tongue and onto your clit.
“Puedes hacer uno más,” he said and continued to devour you as if it were the only sustenance he needed to survive. Within seconds, the orgasm came bursting from you, your thighs dripping desire and release which Miguel lapped up with ease. Your entire body shook from the effort and you slumped over, legs tangled on Miguel’s shoulders from the ties still taut and biting into your skin.
Your phone buzzed again and Miguel eased himself you, pulling you free from the webfluid ties without a second thought. He picked up your phone, answering it and held it to your ear,
“Tell her you won’t be coming home just yet, cosita linda. I’m not finished with you.”
As someone who thinks their writing sucks:,) I just wanna say y’all are great 🥺! I haven’t been posting (life man what can ya do?🤷🏻♀️) but seeing that ppl enjoy what I put out makes me feel happy! Fulfilled! (Even if it is godless dirty smut lmaooo)
Pisses me off that some people are taking the ONE female spiderman (gwen) and insisting she's actually trans woman. Like they can't let us have 1 female spiderman!!! Wtf!!!
But trans women ARE women??? People headcannoning her being trans doesn’t actually take representation away from women at all right? She’s not a trans man, she’s a trans woman? Unless I’m misunderstanding this post
It’s screaming TERF. Trans women ARE women!!! YALL CANNOT BE DOING THIS DURING PRIDE MONTH.
Gwen being trans does not take away from female representation, and she was not the sole token of representation of women in the movie??? Did Jessica not exist for you guys? Did Malala Windsor not exist? I know Lyla’s AI but does she not exist? They’re all played by WOMEN.
It’s one thing to disagree with the canon of Spider-people in the ITSV/ASTV movies in comparison to the comics and it’s another thing to just be a hateful person spewing misinformation and bigotry.
If you want more representation read a comic book, there are so many female Spiders.
I will not take transphobia/TERFs any sort of hate on my blog, if y’all disagree unfollow me. Block me. IDGAF. What we’re not gonna do is be harmful and hateful in a time like this.
When will you post part 3 of Eucteniza relata? It is soooo good you had me gripping my chair 😤😫🤌🏼✨
Sneak Peek:
AN: To those who wanted a preview to the third part of Ctenizidae and Eucteniza relata, here you go!
Content warnings: smut
MDNI
“Do you want me to stop, baby?” Miguel asks, tone mocking and mean. You can’t get any words out, writhing and whining in pleasure. “C’mon, work with me here. I can’t understand you. Speak up.”
Suddenly, he stops. The mounting pleasure you felt from his ministrations faded away almost instantaneously.
“No, don’t stop. Please,” You whined, to no avail. Miguel was a man made of steel. No matter how many times you squeezed around him and moaned his name, he refused to move an inch.
“I need more than that, baby. You fight me at every turn, you tell me you don’t want this, you don’t want me. Then when I stop, give you a chance to leave, you ask me to keep going.”
He tuts at you, rubbing your hips in a circular manner, short circuiting your decision-making abilities. “I’ll need something more from you if you want me to keep fucking you.” He was hot and hard inside you, throbbing as you pulsed around him.
PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE my godly, sex god ridden, Shakespearean writer may you perhaps continue the “Naughty Neighbors”? It was too good and the cliff hanger really, really killed me.
Like legit was dying and screaming begging on my knees for that man.
Summary: Tensions rise a week after “the incident” and the both of you are doing your best to get on each others nerves. Tonight, you take it too far—and face the consequences.
Content Warning: masturbation, use of sex toys, mention of casual sex/bar hookups
WC: ~1.1k
AN: once again, heavy on the UNEDITED. I HAD to cut it short chickies it was tooo fucking long but part 3 WILL be posted on Monday!!
MDNI!!!
It had been a week since the incident with Miguel. A long and insufferable week. A week of trying to get on with your life, hooking up with random strangers to try and scratch the itch that he'd created--to no avail, mind you. No one you found in seedy bars and dazzling nightclubs after your shifts at work could manage to do an inkling of what he'd done to you in a matter of minutes (seconds, if you were being completely honest).
But that didn't stop you from making sure Miguel was home to hear every minute of it. Sure, your moans were...well, fake, and the men didn't last long and you kicked them out shortly after, but you gained a sick satisfaction from hearing his door slam shut angrily and the music in his apartment grow louder to combat the sounds you were making. In retaliation, Miguel would dump your mixed up mail on your welcome mat, and make even more noise than usual in the early mornings when you slept.
You were both intent on making each other absolutely miserable.
You may have taken it too far tonight.
This entire week, you always waited until Miguel left to try and finish yourself off with your new-and-improved rechargeable vibrator you ordered the day after the incident. However, you never seemed to make it over the edge and cum.
Today, of course, you used it after the latest disappointment you picked up from a random bar down the street had left. You'd just finished taking a shower and didn't even bother to get dressed into pajamas. You merely laid on your sheets, legs spread and towel unwrapped as you started working on the annoying urge that Miguel had built up.
Your thoughts began to wander as you held the head of the wand against your clit, soft pants leaving between your parted lips. Flashes of the hallway began to flicker beneath your closed eyes: the hard and cold walls pressing into your flushed skin, hot breaths fanning over your neck, rough callused hands that gripped you hard enough you'd spent the past few days examining the small bruises they left.
You thought about how good it felt to have him nearly rip your clothes to pieces, pushing his hard dick against your panties before he eventually pulled them down too, sliding it between your slick thighs to fuck between them. Now, your thighs were slick again, your pants now becoming breathy and audible moans as you got closer and closer to reaching your climax. You imagined Miguel's thick and generously sized dick pushing into you, filling you up more than any man from the bar, and even your ex, coming so so so close to the edge of the orgasm you'd been chasing for the entire week.
"Oh, fuck, Miguel. Don't stop," you whined, unable to stop the words leaving your lips as you dwelled in your fantasies.
You heard a door slam but the sound was too far away to even dwell on it. Especially not when you were so close to reaching what you'd been so rudely denied. You could barely contain yourself anymore, sweat slicked on your nude body as your body began to melt into sweet sweet bliss.
That is until rough hands banged loudly on your front door.
You started with a jolt, sitting up with your vibrator in hand, and wrapping the towel over you in the other. The banging started once more and your knees knocked closed just as a voice growled loud enough for you to hear from your bedroom.
"Y/N! Open up, I know you're in there!"
Ooooh, you were in for it now. Miguel was going to kill you.
You panicked, standing up completely and looking around the room. Your thoughts raced faster than your heart as it pounded heavily in your chest.
He wasn't supposed to be home!
Oh God, you should answer the door--wait, you should put some clothes on first!
Why is the vibrator still in your hand?
You turned off the vibrator and tossed it on your nightstand, already starting to rummage through your dresser for something to wear when you heard his voice again.
"I swear to God, if you don't open this fucking door right now, I'll kick it down." You could not lose your security deposit.
“Fuck!” You tugged the towel around you tighter, hoping to cover as much of you as you could, hoping the sheen of sweat glistening off your skin would make it seem you'd just gotten out of the shower.
"Alright! Alright, I'm coming," you yelled through the door, "Don't get your sweatpants in a fucking twist."
You unlocked the door and swung it open, your free hand clasping the towel closed.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck.
Miguel was seething when you opened the door. His bare chest, also shining with sweat, heaved as he huffed deeply. The muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he crossed his arms, even more muscles rippling underneath his skin. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he too had been tossing and turning in bed. But he shouldn't have been. You were sure he'd left his apartment way before you even took a shower.
"What?" You asked, annoyed. It took everything in you to look him directly in the eyes. You hadn't dared to look farther than his chest upon first seeing him, but your peripheral was giving you a sneaking suspicion about a certain something pressing against the fabric of his blue boxers. You knew he'd given the same once over to you too, with how pink the tips of his ears had gotten.
"Don't give me that bullshit," he started, "You don't get to act annoyed with what you've been doing all week."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." You smiled innocently.
"The fact that you haven't actually cum all week says otherwise. Your dates not up to snuff?" His scowl turned into a deep smirk and your cheeks heated up in response. How could he even know?
"Oh please," You shoved his chest away from the threshold, "Like you could even do the job. You barely lasted two minutes, I'm sure you had to rush back inside before you busted all over the walls."
In a flash, you were back in your apartment...with Miguel inside too. You winced as your back was pressed against the cold door, Miguel's hands on either side of your head.
"So you're going to keep denying it?" He asked, his voice softer now only in volume--the intensity was still enough to make your knees weak. You didn't look him in the eyes until he forced your chin up, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger. "Answer me, fiera." You scowled at his pet name for you.
— so anxious. - m. o'hara.
warnings : nsfw [ minors, do not interact. ], degradation [ reader gets called whore, cumdump, etc. ], sex in various place [against the wall & on the bed ], rough sex [ biting, groping, cervix kissing, dumbification, hair pulling, etc. ], overstimulation, plot? don't know her, google translated spanish, size kink, unprotected sex [ wrap it up, people! ], slight dom/sub dynamics, aftercare, etc.
"mi-miguel, please! ah~ sl-slow down," you panted, tightening your grip around his neck as he pounded into you with no restraint. he didn't slow or soften his pace as he adjusted you higher onto the wall, allowing himself to enter you deeper.
"puedes tomarlo, chiquita. you always do," he whispered into your ear as your head fell to rest on his shoulder. his thrusts caused the tip of his generous cock to press into your pleasure point, causing your strength to weaken a bit. he was pushing you closer to your third release of the night, having pulled the first two from you with his mouth and fingers.
tonight, miguel was feral.
you weren't exactly sure what brought it on as he didn't give you a chance to ask for an explanation, walking into your shared apartment and ordering you to strip as he removed his suit. you assumed that something set him off during a mission or at headquarters as he wouldn't let you out of his reach, pulling you impossible closer as he fucked you.
"i'm gonna cum," you moaned out, your volume increasing as he grabbed your braids at the roots to gain access to your neck. using his fangs, he nibbled along the length of your throat, fucking into you wordlessly. you let out a pleasure yelp as you reached your climax, legs around his waist. it didn't take long for miguel to reach his climax as he came inside your spent cunt as your insides throbbed from your own release.
he maneuvered you so that both of your legs were over his arms before carrying to the bed, not removing himself from your core as he walked. he laid you on the bed, frame covering yours as he trapped you under him. he pressed your legs to your chest and pulled out until it was just his tip before pushing back into you pussy, coming in direct contact with your cervix.
"fuck, miguel! i can't- i can't! 's too mu-much," your voice wavered as he fucked into you deeply, repeatedly hit your cervix.
"you're my cumdump. yo decido cuándo terminas. eres mío y solo mío, ¿entiendes?" he growled out into your neck, increasing the harshness of his thrusts.
"i understand! mmh~ please, i'm gonna come again~,' you drawled out, eyes rolling back as he bit harshly on the crook of your neck, littering your neck with dark hickies.
miguel loved to see you like this, your smaller frame withering under his large body with droll and tears covering your face. he couldn't get enough of your swollen lips as they released babbles when he rubbed the deepest parts of your pussy. he loved the feeling of your full breasts pushed against his body, the peaks hard as they raked against his abdomen.
"look at me when you come, whore. ¿dónde está mi agradecimiento, bebé? hmm? forgot your manners?" he muttered, grabbing ahold of your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze as you came. your convulsing orgasm triggered his own as he pushed himself as deep as he could before stilling, releasing his seed at the entrance of your cervix.
he relaxed his tense body for few seconds, allowing you both time to catch you breath before loosening his grip on your face.
"come back to me, mi vida. you did so well. always so good for me, hmm?" he whispered to you, observing as your eyes focused back on him.
"hi, baby," you sighed out, closing your eyes and letting your head fall onto your ruined comforter.
"no puedo hacer que te duermas, cariño. gotta' clean you off before you can go to sleep, okay?" he hummed, pulling you up in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom.
"yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumbled, arms wrapped around his neck as you rested your face in the crook of his neck.
Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant
Summary: Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: Marc's dirty filthy mouth, Steven's over-eager mouth, Marc is wee bit jealous, cunnilingus, overstimulation, refraction period? — we don't know her, established relationship.
Word Count: 3.5k (I have no excuse, pure self-indulgent filth)
“Does that feel good, love? Think you can come for me again?”
You don't know how many orgasms he's pulled from you already. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. You can't tell if it’s Marc or Steven fronting right now. If it's Marc who is talking to you, or Steven, taking you apart inch by inch, one devastating orgasm at a time.
Love. He called you love. Steven calls you love. This must be Steven.
Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs.
“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.
You can’t help but give him what he wants.
You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.
Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.
There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.
You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.
“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”
Fucking hell. This man…
He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it.
"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.
As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you.
The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you.
He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.
“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for.
The only thing you can do is nod.
“You say stop if it gets to be too much,” he rasps out as lines himself up against you.
The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb.
And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth.
"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."
He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming.
A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?”
His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do.
"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."
He stills.
From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven.
You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again.
The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you.
There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out.
“Fuckohfuck, Marc!”
“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”
Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob.
"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands.
You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit.
“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"
His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge.
It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"
That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed.
There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does.
If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair.
“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”
Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.
Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone.
"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"
His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop.
“That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.
He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system.
“It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done.
Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute.
When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.
Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.
The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him?
Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven.
You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling.
He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.
“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”
You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it.
You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again.
The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear.
“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.”
You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs.
“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.”
This man is the devil.
You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you.
You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.
He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.
Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...
"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.
"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.
You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to—
“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”
His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.
It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.
When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real.
Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you.
Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin.
In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.
As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high.
Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming.
Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…
“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face.
In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."
At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness.
“Good. That’s good, yeah.”
Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness.
“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.
“Do you think we could go again? …please?”
Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse.
You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride.
Dedication and Credits:
@krissology for chasing her dreams with such boundless courage and gumption, I'm forever proud to have a friend like her who is so absolutely fucking fierce and fearless. She's one of the most talented writers I've come across and she is publishing her debut novel Forget Me Now, available for pre-order here. Go support this brilliant human being, you won't regret it.
@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.
@frannyzooey for succeeding to make me cry on a Tuesday afternoon in the office with her kind words and support. You're someone that I'm endlessly proud to call a friend, for your humour, your kindness and your warmth. You are just one of the best humans and I hope you wake up everyday and know that and if you don't, I will remind you everyday.
