riding marc with his puppy dog eyes
but like. . not rlly? i’m thinking about the position where marc is sitting up against the headboard and you’re on his lap, and he has to look up at you to make eye contact.
having marc like that? yeah. he already worships the ground you walk on, eyes filled with admiration at every little thing you do. but when you’re rutting your hips against him, desperate to fuck him, he goes a little dumb. “feels so good,” you moan, and he’s dragging his gaze from where you grind your hips against him to your watery eyes. his chocolate eyes meet yours, and he’s whispering “yeah?”
and your nod, earnest and awe-filled, has him huffing out a groan and shifting his legs so he can fuck up into you, watch the way you move with each one of his sloppy thrusts.
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“fontaine is a brat tamer” no he’s not he’s a brat pleaser. a little. . too much of a pleaser. cw slapping, overstim
at first, you think he’s just giving you what you want. bending you over and fucking you like you’ve been acting up just to get. and he is giving you what you want.
but as your climaxes start racking up and the pleasure starts to sting, it’s a vain push and a “uh uh, n’more” from your messy lips, two things that fontaine shrugs away— your hands flattened to your chest and your words disregarded.
“uh uh,” you shake your head when he starts to rut into you again, like you haven’t cum so much it’s running down your thighs, like your chest isn’t heavy with it, like he can’t hear how sloppy everything is.
“this what you wanted, huh? what you was actin’ a fool for.” you don’t answer, too focused on his hips meeting yours, on his hands squeezing your waist so hard you know he’s bruising, on the deep groans and moans he sends right into your ear . . and he ain’t having that shit. “huh?” he asks again, bottoming out inside you, grinding his hips around so he kisses that spot so hard you have to gasp a breath out before you can even try to speak.
“shitshitshit, i can’t-” you squirm, pushing against him again.
“uh uh, ain’ tryna hear that shit. you gon’ take what you wanted,” he mumbles, and he’s humming at the way your weak arms come to circle around him, nails scratching at his back for some form of relief.
“we gotta do this every time ma?” he’s deep now, pulling out just to sliiide right back in and you swear you feel him in your throat, his cock splitting you open so good that you do feel it in your stomach.
“you can’t just use that mouth ‘n tell me you want it? you know i’ll give it to you.” it’s purred into your ear, and he’s wiping the tears from your face with one hand, settling onto his knees so he can drive his hips onto you a little stronger.
your response isn’t a response at all— a high-pitched moan and your grip on him gets tighter, eyes rolling back until all you see is white, and that’s where you stay for a second; in a state of. . whatever this is, spaced out and experiencing everything through a fog.
until fontaine’s hand grips your face, tapping once, twice, three times to get you back here, to make you take what it is you all but begged for.
“nah, baby, you gon’ feel this. it’s what you wanted, ain’ it?”
and it is what you wanted. and it’s what you get. by the time fontaine feels like he’s fucked and filled you good enough, you’re so out of it you couldn’t act up if you wanted to, and fontaine’s wiping you down with a wet rag and tending to you softly.
“know you gon act up again. but it’s aight cause imma take care of you every time.” he already knows; and he doesn’t miss the blissed out little smile you crack.
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