#mcu fanfic asks

[dungeonpuppykai]

Hey sweetheart 😘 I really hope requests are opened and you don't mind me sending in a request 🤗

I thought of something where you and Bucky are close friends with huge feelings for each other but you're both too stubborn to admit. So one time you're having movie night at the compound and you take your spot besides Bucky, enjoying the closeness. As some intimate scene appears, you feel Bucky all tense up and excusing him, so you later find him in his room wondering what's wrong, and finally he admits that he got nasty thoughts about you doing all that to him so he had to leave. You think about his words and before he can back out, you push him on the bed, straddling him, riding him, giving you both the pleasure you held back for too long. Afterwards he's a huge cuddle bear and asks you to be his girl ? 🤗 Hope that's okay with you 🫶🏼

Hello! And yes, requests are open and you certainly can send them in! Yours is definitely okay with me and maybe a bit too okay because it made me stray from my usual hc form 😵‍💫 I really, really hope you like it. Thank you for requesting! Happy reading 🩷

| Clueless |

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes | Avenger!Reader. 

Warning(s): Kissing, unprotected p-in-v sex, cowgirl, nipple play, thumb sucking, Bucky's vibranium arm because I am a mental slut, Bucky mildly being the old man that he is, size kink, dirty talk, creampie, fluff. Minors do not interact.

"Bucky?" You call after softly knocking on his door before opening it. Your eyebrows furrow when you don't get a response and so you peek inside to scan the room. 

You're about to turn on your heels and go look someplace else when you notice him on the balcony, back turned to you as he leans on the railing, a bottle in hand. 

"Hey," he doesn't turn his head to look at you when you approach him. The super soldier probably already heard you when you were down the hall. "What happened? You didn't come back." You lean one arm against the balcony confine on the spot besides him, leaning your head to the side and watching him as he takes another swig.

Bucky takes his time swallowing, his heavy Adam's apple bobbing as he keeps his eyes trained on the grounds of the compound. His broad shoulders shrug only when he has gathered his thoughts a bit, legs shifting before he answers. "Just because." Your features scrunch in confusion. 

What?

"Just because… what?" You voice your confusion and he sighs at your cluelessness. When he just shakes his head to himself you roll your eyes with a huff. "What, talk to me! What even happened?" The way he turns to his other side and his vibranium arm barricades you away from him pisses you off as you stomp to the other side. 

Bucky has confusing moments like this sometimes that he eventually gets over but never provides you any explanation for them. 

"Bucky, I can only know if you tell me…" You try though you know it'll be in vain, as usual. "What the hell happened? We were watching a movie and then you said you'd be a second and then half an hour later I realize you're not back and then I find you sipping beer in your room all by yourself like we weren't having movie night!" 

The male sighs and shakes his head again before lowering it and turning once more. "Just so clueless…" When you go to speak again, he spins a 180° and walks back into his room. "But what else can I expect from this generation?" That makes you scoff as you tail him like a vulture, hot on his heels.

"What the hell does that even mean–"

"Language!"

"Oh, my God!" You throw your hands up in frustration. "What has gotten into you lately?! You're becoming more and more like Steve by the passing day!" The mention of the male shifts something in his expression and he half turns his head to look at you with an unreadable expression on his face. "And that means annoying!" The addition seems to ease the tension in his huge shoulders.

Just a bit.  

Something has been going on with him and he refuses to share it with you even though you are the closest with each other out of the entire team.

"You seriously don't know what was wrong? Are you really so clueless?" You rake your memories to recall what he is on about since the movie was quite innocent in that sense except… 

Oh. 

You roll your eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. "Well, I am sorry not all of us are conservatives from the '40s, gramps" now it is Bucky's turn to scoff.

"Oh, really?" When you hum and nod with just as much agitation his frustration gets the best of him. "You know what a conservative from the '40s would really do?" 

"Yeah, no. Do enlighten me please!" You know he doesn't appreciate it when you get too sassy with him but what is he going to do about it? 

You are a girl with a mind of your own and no one is going to tell you or give you any shit.

"He would ask the potential lady love out on a nice dinner instead of hanging out with her right in the beginning!" Your eyebrows furrow as he sarcastically emphasizes the words. "I mean, what even is that supposed to be?! It doesn't make any sense!" Bucky clicks his tongue in disdain as one of his hands move in the air to help express his frustration. "There is an order, a code, a way to do these things! Fancy is not supposed to be treated so casually! You kids have ruined the sanctity of the whole idea!" 

"What even are you on about, Bucky?!" You go on cluelessly. "This is absurd! So what, friends can't watch movies together now?! I am sorry that things are less complicated now?!"

"They're not less complicated!" He is beyond annoyed and you can tell. "Not by a long shot! If anything, it's worse! Because now I have to deal with watching a provocative scene while the girl I like is cuddling into me but I can't do anything because we are just friends having a casual hangout and I can't do anything about my hard cock that wants nothing more than to show her that the scene that has her gripping my arm so tight is nothing in comparison to what I can do to her if she just stops being so fucking clueless!"

Bucky's teal blue eyes are wide and he is nearly breathless by the time he finishes his little speech. Your own state is not much different as you blink up at him in shock. It is only when he has recovered a little that he realizes what he has said… or rather, confessed. 

"I-" the super soldier goes to shake his head but then stops before half tilting it to the side, visibly at a loss of words as his ears turn beet red. "Y/n–" 

Your fingers are curling around the neckline of his shirt before you know it, the pull of your hand tugging you towards him instead of doing what you had intended, his heavy body unbudging. 

Bucky's arms hang limply at his sides as he stands against you utterly dumbfounded, barely kissing you back if at all as he tries to decide whether this is another one of his dreams or you, the only girl that has managed to reach into his heart after so long that it honestly feels kind of like the first time, really is kissing him.

What he doesn't know is that you are having difficulty with determining the same thing. 

You pull back when your lungs are on fire and you are heaving for air desperately, fingers still tightly holding onto his shirt in bunches with the fear that he might vanish into the air if you let go. 

Bucky blinks as he sputters out some incoherent nonsense, eyes wide as he watches your face to try and grasp what just happened. "I–" 

You shake your head with a roll of your eyes and a tut. He's insufferable with all that chivalry. You do find it endearing at times but it's moments like these when he's so clueless and formal about it that it gets annoying. 

"Just shut up and kiss me, old man" you whisper as your eyes flicker down to his pink lips and you're on him again. 

This time though, your words seem to have snapped him out of it and his hands shoot up to your sides as he holds you back just as tightly, fingers reaching down for your ass cheeks before he squeezes them hard. You are forced to break the kiss, your face still remaining against his lips as you audibly shudder at the feeling, shivers shooting down your hips and straight to your intimate parts from the delicious ache that it causes. 

Within the next few minutes, you have managed to back Bucky into the bed as he's distracted with touching, feeling and groping as much of you as he possibly can. He lands on the bed with a heavy thud but before any words can be exchanged, you are straddling his thick and muscular thighs. 

Your hands hurriedly snatch his shirt off before you push him down, raising your own arms above your head to let him do the same as you grind into his hard on that feels so thick that some tiny part of your brain cannot help but fear for your pussy. 

"Mmm, solnyshko, you're so fucking pretty" Bucky rasps out the nickname he gave you when you both realized you had reached that stage in your friendship. But now, with his very recent confession fresh in your mind, you see the meaning of the word, 'little sun', that he had told you with an air of awkwardness in a very different light. 

"Look at all this pretty fucking body, solnyshko. I could cum just by looking at it alone." Emotion overcomes your senses and you suddenly feel a bit sensitive. A whimper escapes you as a result and you can't help but clench against his bulge, hands reaching to squeeze his hands that are feeling up your boobs now that he has fished them out of the bra cups. 

"B- Bucky…" He seems to have sensed it already, and so one of his hands trail down to your side to caress it encouragingly. 

"Go ahead, baby" the endearment is just as foreign for you as it is for him. "You're doing so good, keep going for me" you feel a twitch below you and you can't help but parrot the curse that slithers from his lips. 

Though you are on top, Bucky still seems to have the upper hand as he always does. But you have never really minded that with him because he isn't nasty about it and you know he only means well. You have learnt that through various outcomes many times. Besides, not that you'd ever admit it but you do need the extra care and guidance sometimes. 

It is tough to play the all-knowing hero all the time. 

Bucky is your sanctuary to deconstruct and just be yourself after a long day.

You hope you are the same for him as well. 

With newfound confidence that you have his praise to thank for, you whine as your hips start to circle and twist against his stuff bulge, your clothed pussy already pleased because of how needy and desperate it really is. 

Your back arches as you moan out loud when his fingers go to circle around one of your nipples, twisting it between them before his fingernails dig in them while his vibranium hand finds your mouth. "Bucky!" Your face is flushed and cheeks hot as you feel his thumb graze the shape of your lips before pushing inside them. "Mmmm~" your brows furrow when you feel yourself leak some more before clenching around the air again.

Okay.

Grinding isn't gonna cut it. 

You need him inside you. 

You have waited for way too long to rub it out. 

He just has to be all over you… and that includes all the openings to your insides. 

Your lips tightly wrap around his thumb as you suck so hard that the sound of it resonates in the air, pulling a sharp string of whispered curses from Bucky. Letting go of his arms you now claws at his belt until it gives way to your ferocity and you nearly tug the fly off the fabric.

You whine louder than you would ever like to admit when he goes to tug your shorts off and you have to shift away from where you are grinding against him, the rude protective growl you end up letting out causing him to chuckle as he pulls the shorts off your legs with a soft spank to your ass; a signal for you to improve your crazed behavior.  

Bucky has a way of keeping you in your place. 

"Tsk, solnyshko, patience!" His playful words fall on deaf ears as you literally jump back up on his cock, planting two stubborn hands against his shoulders before pushing him down flat against the mattress from his half risen position. 

Your single-mindedness once you zero in on something is a joke amongst the team. And though you deny it with every fiber of your existence, your actions and manic possessiveness over his cock right now is not helping your case. 

"Mine" you whisper as you move back to now rub against him skin to skin, your fingertips tracing over the bumps of his body as your usually bright eyes watch him with a dark hue over them. A hiss leaves Bucky when your warm and soaking pussy drags against his member, causing for his hands to bolt to your ass as he squeezes with all his might to withstand the sensory overload. It is to avoid flipping you over to fuck you into oblivion. 

Because that can come later. Right now is your first time with him and he prefers for you to take things at your pace; ease into whatever this will become. 

"Just like that, solnyshko, good girl" the words cause you to whimper as you raise yourself by propping your body up against your heels, wrapping one hand around his intimidating girth before you slowly pump and spread both your precums along its destructive length. 

Your bottom lip juts out a little at his scary size and you can't help but look up at him with a whimper. It is so easy because he is your safe place and understands every single one of your quirks with no words exchanged. 

Everything makes sense with Bucky.

"It's okay, baby. You can take it, I know you can" he reassures you as he caresses your thighs comfortingly. "Go ahead, I'll take care of you if I have to" you nod gratefully, your usually smart mouth mum. Though when you look down at his rather monstrous cock again, you have to gulp to yourself as you arch your back before moving the thick tip against your entrance, the sensation causing you to hiss almost instantly.

"Hnnng, Bucky!" You feel yourself stretch and widen around his smooth skin, but then you slide down further and the shape of his thick bulging veins grazes against your trembling walls and your thighs quiver, causing your knees to shake. "Oh!" The most vile moan you have ever let out rings in the air as you reach for his shoulders sensitively, wincing and lowering your head against his to let him kiss you everywhere he can reach while your hips lower against his. 

"Fuck, solnyshko, you're so fucking tight for me" his hands fondle your ass and breasts rather bluntly as he peppers kisses all over your face, moving his own hips in sync to yours to help you out because you are clearly struggling with accommodating and handling him. "Good girl" his lips capture yours in a clingy kiss, your mouths nearly sticking to each other's. You break away for enough time for Bucky to let out, "such a good fucking girl for me, baby" before you sink down on his cock again and bite his bottom lip as a result, loudly whining into his mouth. 

The super soldier curses as he twitches inside you, his tip easily reaching the sensitive bundle of nerves that ks hot and eager to be touched. "Fuck, you're so biiiig!" You mewl as your eyes roll to the back of your head, fingers clasping around his shoulders as you find a rhythm and start bouncing, the aid of his hips causing a loud smacking sound to fill the otherwise quiet air. 

You feel your loins tense each time his stiff veins graze your weeping pussy that desperately tries to return to its original state whenever he lifts you almost all the way up and off his cock only to have you sheath it back again from the tip. 

You are trying your best to keep the control to yourself but the truth is, were it not for Bucky's guiding hold on your hips, you would have collapsed from the sensitivity of your core and the size of his impaler long ago. 

"Look at you, solnyshko" the male cooes while panting but doesn't break off the sync of your bodies, one hand now dipping between your legs to let his vibranium thumb rub your clit. The action causes your limbs to spasm as you moan loudly, your back arching while your pussy clenches again. "Lookin' so pretty bouncing on my cock. Almost as if that's all you were made to do" his words make you grunt as you dig your nails into his skin.

Fuck, he is too good. 

Not so chivalrous after all, was he?

"Oh, Bucky!" You have never moaned like this before. "I am gonna–" in control yet so powerless. "I- I am gonna cum!" No one has ever made you feel so good, so dirty, so used and yet so taken care of all at once. "Oh, please!" You have no idea why you are even asking his permission to do so. Before him you had always been the boss of your life. 

But with Bucky, it just feels right. 

Like that is the order of things.

That is just the kind of man that he is. 

"Go ahead, my sweet solnyshko" his other hand slaps your ass and stars appear in your vision. Fuck. You had not expected him to be this dominant. "Fuck yourself dumb on my dick like the cock starved slut that you are" his referral to your crazed greed from some minutes ago makes you blush furiously but before you can protest, his thumb swipes faster and faster against your nub and renders you speechless. 

Your toe curling orgasm os one that leaves you momentarily numb and deaf, the only thing your mind being able to register the overstimulation of your walls as Bucky chases his own orgasm now, basically using you as a cock sleeve as you motionlessly slam up and down his length, the upper half of your body hunched forwards as your cheek rests against his. Your mouth can only let out incoherent murmurs in his ear as you snake your arms around his neck and nibble on the skin of his shoulders until his hot seed explodes through you, filling your cavern up until it overflows and the white liquid trickles down your legs. 

You are eventually moved down and off his cock to which you whine, your hole blinking around air at the loss of contact. That causes Bucky to chuckle as he wraps you up against him in his thick arms and moves your bodies further up the bed until you are resting against the pillows. 

"Don't go~" you softly murmur with a pout when he turns to reach for his bedside drawers. 

The arm that he has around you further tighten in reassurance as he fishes something out. "Aw, baby, don't worry. I am not going anywhere" your pout deepens when he turns towards you and the object comes into view. "Just–"

"Noooo~" you whine as you tighten your arms around his chest and nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. "L- Leave it on~" one of his eyebrows raise before a little smirk appears on his face. 

"Oh, solnyshko, you sweet girl" Bucky puts the tissue box away as he moves your hair out of your face before pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. "Aren't you precious, hm?" As he untucks your flushed face from his neck to look at and caress one of your cheeks lovingly, you blush harder and busy yourself with examining his dog tags to avoid his eyes. "Who would have thought that the baddest avenger would be such a cutie deep down?" You roll your eyes when he playfully quotes what you like to refer to yourself as. "Not wanting to be cleaned so she can remain covered in my cum–"

"Alright, alright. You can stop now" your voice is hoarse due to your vocal exercise from a couple minutes ago. 

"Stop?" Your eyes flutter when his nails comfortingly scratch your scalp before one of his fingers snake through the strands of your disheveled hair. "But I haven't even started with you yet, baby" a snort leaves him when he feels you clench with a whimper at his words.

Your limbs are tangled as you lay relaxing in each other's scents, one of Bucky's thick thighs buried between your legs. 

"Not even started with me yet?!" Your shock makes him snicker. "After all that?!' 

It is safe to say that he has fucked the living daylights out of you.

… And he was not even on top when he did so. 

Bucky shrugs. "Only one way to find out…" His eyes search for yours with hope. 

You finally look up at him with a small smile, your heart thumping as your fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags. "I would love to, Bucky." Before you could shy away, your now boyfriend has captured your lips in his. 

"Oh, and honey?"

"Yes… b- babe?"

"We really have to do something about those sassy little eye rolls of yours."  

I know I made him dominant but it's literally Bucky, how could I not?! 

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #mcu smut #marvel mcu #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #ask kai #request kai 🩷 #talesofreading

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 13 | FINALE

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: The end is the beginning is the end. Or alternatively: You finally get to have Marc's beautiful face buried between your thighs.

Content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations.

Word count; 17k (guys I'm so sorry)

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS]

Your face, small and pinched and dirty, looks back at you from the tiny mirror in Steven’s loo. The unflattering fluorescent lights aren’t doing you any favours. Eyes wide and strung out. A burst bottom lip. You look dreadful. 

Your clothes are soggy and cold underneath Marc’s somewhat drier jacket, mucky with grime and mud (and god knows what else), clinging wetly to your skin. 

You look like something the cat dragged in. 

You shiver. The idiom feels a little too on the nose, considering you were dragged across East London’s dirty concrete not even an hour ago. Just… not by a cat.  You shiver again, harder this time, trying not to think about it.

A shower. Marc sent you in here to take a shower. “Go get clean,” he’d said, “Warm up.” 

Right now you feel like you’ll never be warm again.

Marc’s jacket comes off first, and you hang it carefully on a hook, running two fingers over the cuff. You stare at it for a moment, fighting the urge to clutch it to your chest and bury your face in it. On autopilot, you reach out to undo your wristwatch instead, fingers running over the bare skin for a moment, searching, before you stare down at your wrist in confusion. 

Right. Your watch is gone. 

Or… not gone. Probably still out there in the alleyway, lying face up, cracked glass and all, on the concrete in the rain… next to the carcass of some invisible monster.  You shake your head, pushing away the image. It’s as good as gone, then, isn’t it? You’re certainly not going back out to search for it at this point. You’re bloody well never going down that alleyway again if you can help it. Hell, even going outside ever again might be off the table.

Pulling the shower curtain aside, you start the shower and peel off your ruined clothing, letting everything plop in a solid, sodden mass on the corner of the bathroom floor.

The muscles in your arms and shoulders are stiffening up and threatening to cramp up as the last bit of adrenaline abandons your system, leaving bruises and all-encompassing exhaustion in its wake. Your knees throb with the leftover pain. The water stings your scraped shin when you step under the spray. 

At least it’s warm. 

The heat of the water feels like a balm on your aching limbs, and you close your eyes, tilting your head back under the spray, trying to let the comforting warmth relax you.  

In the darkness behind your eyelids, the shower sounds like rain. Your nakedness feels like vulnerability. Like maybe you never made it back. Maybe you’re still out there, in the narrowness of the alley, under threat from an otherworldly creature that you cannot see, let alone fight. 

Your chest squeezes painfully sharp, and your eyes fly open, half expecting to see the hazy moonlit sky overhead. But no, there’s nothing but the expanse of the blank white ceiling. 

You’re still here in Steven’s shower. Safe, or as safe as it gets right now.

Dropping your gaze, you watch the blood and muck sluice down your legs and onto the tiled floor in rusty red-tinted waves to pool on the tile floor. The dirty water leaves lines of fine grit behind as the rest is sucked down the drain. 

You feel strangely numb. Like some part of your brain (probably an amenable survival mechanism) is trying to block out what happened so you don’t go mad. But maybe it’s too late for that. After all, you were a hair's width away from meeting your maker tonight at the claws of an invisible blob monster. 

It’s impossible to not think about. An irritated half-healed scab itching to be scratched. You turn it over in your mind, trying to process the fact that the supernatural is real—or those creatures were, at any rate. And apparently Marc dons a mummy costume and goes out into the night to battle them like he’s magical girl Sailor Moon. 

God. All of this is right proper insane, isn’t it? You want to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness.

You almost died; your understanding of the world as you know it has fundamentally changed; yet none of it feels real. The world itself doesn’t feel real. 

The water by your feet is running clear now. The dirt and grime finally washed off, but the film of exhaustion still clings to your limbs. Turning off the tap, you step out, grabbing the towel Marc left for you in the corner by the door. Your eyes linger on the set of clean clothes waiting for you underneath, folded into a neat square. 

You can't reconcile the man who does this for you with the same man that pummelled a supernatural monster into a whimpering pulp without hesitation. Didn’t recognise the Marc you thought you knew in the man in the alleyway standing over the creature and curb-stomping it into the ground with cold and blank disdain in his eyes. Couldn’t see that man in the Marc who escorted you home and gently bullied you into the shower. 

Reaching for the clothes, you quickly dress and pull aside the accordion door only to find the very man you were thinking of right outside the door, arms crossed and back plastered to the closest wall as he stands guard.  

You barely cross the threshold before he's already pushing away from the wall and moving in to guide you gently but firmly towards the kitchen like a particularly insistent herding dog.

There’s a fairly extensive first aid kit laid out on the counter, well used by the look of it, and you try not to think too hard about why that might be. 

"Up," Marc commands, curt as ever, swatting a hand down on the surface of the countertop, and you feel like a lamb being rounded back into the pen. 

A ‘please’ wouldn’t have hurt him, but you let it go with just a glare as you shuffle over, too drained to put up a fight over something so small.  You lift your arms to brace against the countertop, getting ready to hop up, and flinch a little as your shoulders twinge and ache. 

Marc is in front of you in a heartbeat, watching you with worried eyes and a furrowed brow. His hands hover, like he wants to help but doesn't dare to touch, and any testiness in you fizzles out at the sight of him.

You give him a small nod, barely able to complete the motion before his hands come down on your waist, lifting you. Even though you’re expecting it, the loss of ground beneath your feet feels sudden, unbalancing you, and you gasp, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. 

Part of you expects him to drop you, but he doesn’t. Marc’s warm and solid under your palms, strong muscles bunching as he perches you on the counter. 

Blood rushes to your head with furious speed. It must be from the sudden change in altitude. That’s what you tell yourself no matter how doubtful that is considering the standard kitchen counter height is not even three feet above the floor. You're not exactly climbing the Himalayan mountains. But you don’t want to think of the more probable reasons right now. 

You're still reeling from lightheadedness when he lets you go in favour of busying himself with the large tin box on the counter, rifling through the arsenal of medical supplies, and sets down what he needs next to you. Then he's dragging a nearby chair to position himself in front of you. Sitting so close he's practically nestled between your legs. 

It does nothing to help with your newly discovered vertigo symptoms. 

"I’m going to check you over for injuries now,” he says perfunctory, pulling you from your thoughts, “Left leg.”  

You stretch out your leg into the air, glancing down at him, unsure of where to rest it. There’s no space on the tiny kitchen stool. Do you just… put it down in his lap? On his crotch?!?! Or–

Marc's hand wraps around your ankle, and his executive decision-making ends your flailing, as he gently guides your foot to rest against his thigh. Then his head ducks down, and he starts to inspect the patch of scraped skin on your knee, dabbing gently at the scattered dots of blood with a square of clean gauze.

With how tender and swollen everything feels, you expect it to hurt. That at the slightest pressure on your skin, it is bound to sting and snag and tear. But it doesn't. Marc is gentle, barely pressing down and showing such minute care as he tends to you that you barely feel the brush of the cloth at all.

It's such an impossible contrast. The tenderness of his touch as he fusses over you, placing a plaster on your knee, compared to the brutality you’ve now seen him capable of.

You still can't make sense of it. What happened, or what that invisible monster in the rain was. Why Marc was out there. Or what he meant by that being "what he does." 

"Marc," you start tentatively as you lean forward to get his attention, "What happened toni--"

“Wiggle your toes,” he interrupts. 

His odd demand cuts off your line of thought. “What?”

“Try to wiggle your toes for me”, he repeats, without looking up. “Want to make sure you didn’t get any nerve damage.”

You frown, you’re not blind to the fact that his request conveniently just cut you off from asking a question that undoubtedly Marc doesn’t want to answer. Still, you comply, angling your foot upwards and wiggle your toes for his inspection. 

Whether you passed his ad hoc medical examination, Marc’s expression isn’t giving you any clues. His face is as stoic as ever as he sets down your foot. He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches over to your right side to draw your other foot into his lap. 

Marred with bruises, looking like something that got mangled in a bear trap. Your right foot does not make for a pretty sight. It’s swollen and bleeding sluggishly from long gashes where the blob monster’s claw-like grip must have broken through skin. 

It's a gruesome picture, but miraculously, the injury doesn’t seem to be too serious. It stings more than it actually hurts, and it’s not even bleeding much anymore. Not even worth a trip to A&E really, as you doubt it’s deep enough to need stitches. 

At least that’s the assessment based on your own limited medical knowledge. If you based the severity on Marc’s reaction, you’d think it needed amputation. 

The line of his shoulder is pulled taut and reminds you of a live wire. Mouth set in a grim tortured line. He has the expression of a doctor about to give the nearest kin some heartbreaking news as he’s staring down at your foot with haunted guilt in his eyes. 

"I'm all right. I’m sure it just looks a lot worse than it is," you tell him. 

He doesn't meet your eyes or reply for that matter. Instead, he begins to gently tend the wound. Mouth pressing down so tightly his lips go pale white from it. He dabs away the oozing blood, carefully applying antibiotic ointment to the worst of the broken skin, and covering them with large squares of gauze that he tapes in place. It’s all quite professional, really, the practised ease that only comes with repetition. 

You wonder how many times he has done this before. You wonder how much harder it must be for him to suture his own gashes and gaping wounds. Wonder how long he’s been doing this by himself, fighting these hellish creatures. These things that you still have no bloody fucking idea as to what they are. 

"Marc,” you start tentatively, “what was--" A ticklish sensation rushes through you. In panic, you think a centipede is crawling down the sole of your foot. You instinctively jerk your leg up and away, nearly kneeing Marc in the face before you realise what’s happened. 

Your eyes fly downwards to Marc who is entirely unfazed by the close call as you stare at him in shock. His index finger rests on the arch of your heel and you blink up at him in a dumb stupor, not believing your eyes.  

Did he just– did he just fucking tickle you?!

There’s no hint of wrongdoing in his expression. No grin, or crack in his stony facade. He is unflappable as always as he continues cleaning your wound with a straight face. 

"Needed to check if you still had sensation in that foot," he offers up as an explanation as if he thinks that tickling was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to do in the circumstances. 

You frown, biting down the tart comment bubbling in your throat. You want to call him out on it, that you know what he’s up to and he’s acting like a child. But you know that the moment you do, the conversation will derail into an argument and in the flare of your temper, you’ll lose track of your questions. You’re pretty sure Marc knows you well enough that that’s exactly what he is aiming for. 

Gathering a deep calming breath into your chest, you steady yourself before you take a second shot. 

"What was that thing in the rain?" you ask again. 

He acts like he doesn't hear you. "Roll your ankles side to side," he requests instead. 

Irritation prickles your face. This bastard is still trying to evade your questions. 

"Marc," you start again, "what was--"

"Press down your weight on my hand with your foot."

"Marc!" you bark. 

He finally drags his eyes upwards to meet yours without bothering to lift his chin, seemingly as detached and reposed as ever. But there's something else in there too. A tiny flicker as you hold his gaze, and he has to look away. 

He looks… scared. 

Scared of what you don't know. The man practically single-handedly beat three monsters straight out of a Lovecraftian horror story with his bare fists tonight. With strength like that, you don't think anything should ever be capable of scaring him. 

"Can we talk about what happened tonight?" you ask again, trying to keep your voice even. 

His head ducks back down again, and he busies himself by rechecking the bandaids on your injured ankle. 

“There's nothing to talk about,” he murmurs offhandedly, but his hands betray him. 

There's no mistaking it. Even though his shoulders are obscuring your line of sight, you don’t need to see it in order to feel how unsteady his hands are. How his fingers stutter against your skin as they trail over your ankle.

He’s not letting go, as if he’s afraid that if he wasn’t holding onto you, you’d get up and walk away.

Gazing down on him from your vantage point of the counter, Marc doesn’t look as imposing as when you were looking up at him from the rainy concrete in the alley. From up here, he looks small and scared even. 

Even though there is nothing in this flat that should intimidate him. No invisible monsters lurking in the dark shadows behind Steven’s piles and piles of books. The scariest thing in Steven’s flat is dust mites. 

No, the only thing Marc is scared of, you realise, is this conversation. 

That’s what Steven told you, wasn’t it? That 'there are things that Marc hasn't told you.' That 'once you know everything,’ Marc thinks ‘you'll walk away'. 

It’s the final puzzle piece, slotted into its rightful place, and you can finally see the picture that was blurred out before, crystallising in startling detail. 

This is it. This is the big secret. The thing that Marc hasn't told you. 

You get it now. Why he has avoided you all this time. Why he stayed away even after you told him you love him. 

Because how on earth would anyone even begin to explain what happened tonight to someone who wasn’t there? 

How could he possibly have explained any of this to you before now? How would he possibly convince you those things out there (whatever they are) were real without dragging you into danger, head first, to see it with your own eyes? 

Didn't you struggle with the very same thought when you’d first tried to tell Marc what you’d seen in the alley on your own before all hell broke loose? The fear that he wouldn't believe you. That he'd think you were insane. 

Even if he had managed to explain and get you to believe him– what then? 

You can understand it. Why he was convinced that you would leave not just him but Steven as well, causing further collateral damage, if he told you everything. You can see from where he was standing, why he’d worry. 

But this is where Marc is wrong. You still want this. Him. Them.

"What happened tonight, it doesn't change how I feel about you," you start, and his hand on your foot spasms, grip tightening. It’s how you know your guess was right on the button, so you press on. "What I told you on the phone, I still mean it. I–"  you hesitate on the word. 

The last thing you want is to spook him away again by repeating it. It might be too much too soon. Instead, you settle for second best. 

"I want you to come back. Steven and I both do."  

Marc lets go of your foot. You can see his hand shaking despite Marc’s attempt to make it stop. His fingers flex and curl in agitation until he gives up and reaches up to drag it through his matted curls in frustration. 

“You don’t want this,” he says quietly, and his face is still turned downwards, staring at the floor refusing to look up at you. 

Knowing Marc, you know that he could very well mean the situation or himself. After everything that’s happened tonight, the part that upsets you the most is that he still feels this way about himself. 

"I do," you counter, saying the words with the whole of your chest. “I. Want. You. I want all of this.”

In the face of your certainty, he flinches, face pinched as if telling him you want him is a physical slap that pains him. It takes him a second to recover, to shake his head in refusal as he stares down at the floor like it committed a great wrong against him. 

"You want a normal life. Steven can give you that if it’s just the two of you. I can't,” he tells you. His voice, low in that weary and tired tone you overheard in the bathroom. 

"I don't need you to give me a normal life. What does that even mean? ‘Normal,’” you say derisively. “I don't need or want normal if it means you're not there Marc. That's not the life I want.”

He's still not looking at you, biting the insides of his cheek, and you can almost see the walls closing in around him before your very eyes. 

"You said you wanted me safe”, you say, ducking your head to try to catch his gaze, and you manage to see his eyes peer up at you from his lashes, as you continue. “And happy. I'm telling you now, I'm not going to be happy if you're not here."

Marc’s eyes widen with alarm. “You were awake?”

"I–" you start, but he cuts you off before you finish. 

“You were pretending to be asleep?” 

"No, I thought I was dreaming, I–"

“What else did you hear,” he asks. There’s panic in his voice, and he’s already rising from his seat in preparation to flee the room. 

Fuck, how are you fucking this up this badly this fast? Seeing his distress almost makes you want to backtrack, to fold it up and call it a night, try again tomorrow maybe. Because you know in his mind Marc is already bolting for that door, ready to leg it and put as much distance as he can between you and him. 

But… your mind flashes to the weight of his gentle touch on your shoulder. To his fingers brushing away the hair on your forehead. To his quiet voice as he whispered, 'I love you too'. You know what you heard in the dark: a testament of Marc’s feelings for you, and it emboldens you. 

“Marc.” You lean forward, reaching out to take his hand in yours. He stiffens with a jolt as your fingertips brush up against his knuckles, and you can almost see the line of his shoulder vibrate. But he doesn't make any moves to pull away at your touch. 

“I want you. Do you want me?” you ask. 

He stills. Marc looks at you for a long unflinching moment. It’s the same conflicted set in his jaw when you were standing next to him in front of Gus’ tank. The same hesitation written over his face when you were watching him through the back window of the taxi as it pulled away from him in the night. That same pained look when your eyes met in your office before he fled from you. 

His mouth parts with hesitation, but then he bites down and grinds his jaw hard enough that you think you can hear his molars grate from where you sit. “What I want doesn’t matter,” he answers you stubbornly. 

It's enough to make you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him back and forth and scream into his face. 

“It does!” you say, almost half-shouting. “Of course it matters. You matter.”

"Don't. Don't do that.” Marc shakes his head, and he moves his free hand over yours, gently prying it off of him. “Save that for Steven. He deserves it. Deserves… you. I… I don't.” 

“And what about what I deserve,” you demand, fed up to the gills with his tendency for self-sacrifice, “What I want? Don’t I deserve to decide for myself?” 

That seems to catch him off guard. For once he doesn’t have a ready response, just glares at you, his jaw still set at that impossibly stubborn angle, but his eyes are full of so much pain that it hurts you to see it. You reach out again and cup his cheek.

"Remember that night Gus died? You came to me for help. You said I was the only one you could think of to ask, and it made me so happy that you did. I want you to ask me for things.”

There’s another moment of indecision in his eyes. The upper half of his body tilts in your direction, almost like he’s reaching for you, even if he won’t let his hands do so.

"I just want to be with you,” you continue, “I want to be your person. The person you come to when you need something. Can’t that be enough?"

His eyes are glued on you, mouth gaping open. For a moment you think you've succeeded, managed to stun him into silence and maybe even convinced him. 

It doesn’t last. 

He closes his parted mouth and clamps it shut until it’s compressed into a thin determined line. Then before you can react, he’s abruptly pulling away, turning with wordless efficiency, and walking away from you.  

"Marc?" you call after him, but his determined stride doesn’t even falter,  "Marc!"

Oh goddamnit! 

You hop off the counter, your sore ankle twinging when you land on it, but you ignore the dull ache as you run after him. 

“You don’t have to do this, Marc!" you shout. Slinging your arm out, you only just manage to catch him by the back of his shirt. Your fingers grip onto the fabric for dear life to stop him from getting further away, "You don’t have to do everything on your own. You don’t have to be alone. Steven and I are here. Stop running away from us! We want to support you. Please! You can lean on us.” 

He stops, turning about sharply, fire and brimstone in his eyes. The fuse of his already short temper burnt to a crisp. 

“You and Steven were never supposed to know about me or get caught up in any of this,” he snaps. “I’ve– My life is dangerous. It’s not safe.” 

“Yeah, I noticed the red flags already, you dunce. I still care about you regardless!”

“I don’t want you to care!” Marc roars, and it hits you with the force of a punch to the chest. 

You suck in a sharp pained breath, and he must see the hurt in your face because his eyes soften slightly, but his voice is no less emphatic, “You can’t go poking around in my life. Running out after me in the middle of the night. It's dangerous! You got hurt tonight. You could’ve been killed!"

And that does it. The pain of his implied rejection, the scolding tone, the way it feels like he’s blaming you for getting yourself hurt. It all rubs you the wrong way. All of the patience you had in you up until now evaporates, replaced by a fiery heat burning up your chest until it comes to a boiling point.

“Me?” you bite back indignantly. “What about you? Running around in a bloody Halloween costume in the middle of the night. Fighting invisible monsters? What if you got hurt? What on earth were you doing out there?”

“This is exactly why you needed to stay away from me. You do not want or need my fucking mess, okay!?"  

“Yes, I bloody well do! I'll take your fucking mess, Marc—every speck of it—as long as I get to have you too.”

His gaze bores into yours, eyes dark like spilt ink and brimming with anger so stark it practically sparks. 

“You really want to know what I do? Why I was out there tonight?” he asks, voice quieter, but the anger is still there, simmering just below the surface waiting to erupt. 

The sudden change feels like a gauntlet being thrown down, challenging you to a metaphorical game of chicken, daring you to back away and run for the hills while you still can.

You stand your ground, heels digging into the floor as you nod, swallowing the anxiety you feel pressed up against your throat like an acidic heartburn.  

“I serve Khonshu. I’m his avatar,” he says matter-of-factly as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world. As if any of this is supposed to make sense to you. 

It doesn’t. It makes no fucking sense at all. 

Your mind scrambles to connect the dots. Khonshu? Avatar? What the hell is he on about? Avatar as in James Cameron’s Pocahontas in space? And Khonshu? What even… You can’t even begin to think of what that is supposed to mean. Don’t recognise it save for a passing familiarity that it’s a word that Steven has used when passionately serenading you with facts on Ancient Egypt. The connection between the two is lost to you. 

“What is… ‘Khonshu?'” you ask, and this time, you don’t have to drag the answer out of Marc. 

He answers you willingly and as plainly without varnish as before. “Khonshu’s the ancient Egyptian god of the moon. Years ago, I was stabbed and left for dead. He saved my life and in return, I work for him now.” 

There’s no hint of emotion as he says it. He’s not pleading for you to believe him despite how fantastical it sounds. Not trying to convince you of anything. Marc is leaving it to you whether or not you believe him, almost like he wishes you wouldn’t. Like this bizarre rambling will hopefully finally send you packing and out of his life. And that’s… how you know he’s not lying to you. 

“Work for him… how?” you ask. 

His eyes flick upwards, grinding his teeth as if he’s biting down on a curse, before his gaze settles back on you. 

“I swore to protect travellers of the night.”

And once again, that tells you absolutely nothing. What does that even mean, ‘Travellers of the night’? As in prostitutes?! 

Marc’s obfuscation and frankly dodgy-as-fuck explanations have your blood boiling. You’re almost positive he’s doing this on purpose to get you hacked off, and he’s succeeding. 

“Can you speak in plain English?”

“I take care of bad guys so they don’t harm good people. Protect civilians who can’t protect themselves.”

“So you’re… what? Like a supernatural police officer? A monster hunter? A guardian of the night?”

He grits his teeth. 

“Something like that.” The answer is dismissive, and so is his attitude. He folds his arms across his chest, trying to distance himself from you, casting a glance at the door. “Satisfied? We done here?”

“No! No, we’re not ‘done here.’ We are the furthest thing from done. I already told you, Marc. Nothing that’s happened tonight changes how I feel about you.”

He shakes his head, jaw set mulishly, before tearing his eyes away and turning towards the front door. 

And that just won’t do. If you let Marc walk out now, you know he’ll do everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of his life.

Moving quickly, you dart around Marc and slide between him and the door. In your single-minded hurriedness, you bump into the small table by the door, sending several things clattering over and probably adding yet another bruise to your already abused body, but you don’t care. You cannot let him leave. Plastering your back to the door, you stand tall and raise your chin, prepared to act as a physical barrier if you have to.

Marc’s eyes narrow into slits, a snarl of pure exasperation erupting from the back of his throat.  

“Move,” he orders, taking a step closer to you, but there is no real threat behind it. He doesn’t reach out to touch you; doesn’t grab you or shove you out of the way

He just looks at you like you are an actual obstacle he cannot surpass. But you know that he could move you by force if he wanted to. It’d be easy for him to force his way out of the flat with little effort. 

Between the two of you, physically he’s the stronger one. You’ve witnessed him take out supernatural monsters tonight. If he wanted to, he could shove his way straight through you. Carry you into another room and lock you in. Could easily snap every bone in your wrist in the blink of an eye.

But he won't. After all this time, if there is one thing you’ve learnt about Marc, it is that harm is only ever his last resort. 

The man is squirmish at the prospect of physically harming a goldfish. Would rather visit all the pet shops in all of London in the middle of the night to find a mythical one-finned fish to avoid that outcome. At the core of him, he wants to shield and protect, not break. 

And towards you? He would never use brute strength on you. Would never hurt you. Would give his very life to make sure you’re safe and unharmed. Happy.

In front of you, Marc takes another step forward, closing the distance. His commanding presence crowds you in against the doorframe until there’s barely any space between you anymore. 

Marc is angry. Jaw tense, shoulders tied up in a tangled knot, nose flaring like an angry bull emitting a bright and blaring warning signal for you to move. But you stay put because if he’s a bull, then that must make you a matador, practically waving a red cape at him to come charge you.

He’s staring down at you again. That look in his eyes, like he knows what is best for you. That same stern gaze when he swore you to secrecy, deciding what was best for Steven. The determination there that tells you that this is not up for discussion. 

It’s a recurring pattern with Marc. He decides what he thinks is best for everyone else, with no consideration of what the person in question actually wants. 

“Last chance,” he warns, through gritted teeth, “I won’t ask again.”

Marc probably thinks this is a threat. But it’s only because he can’t see himself, the pain-filled eyes that look back down at you. Nothing is menacing about it. 

“I’m not moving,” you tell him. 

It’s only a fraction of a second, but you catch his eyes flickering to your lips. A near-growling sound tears out of his throat, and then he’s moving forward further into your space.

What is he–?

His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you to him, and then his lips are on yours. 

Oh.

Marc Spector is kissing you.

It’s hard and demanding, his lips crushed to yours, clearly driven by the frustration and anger that seems to vibrate just under his skin. But it doesn’t matter. You have dreamed of kissing this man for so long. Even with the harshness, you can’t help but respond to him, meeting the brutal press of his lips with your own more eager one. Mouth parting in invitation for him. 

Something shifts. 

All the fight goes out of him, leaking away like hot air out of a punctured balloon, whatever anger was there fizzles out of him, and you feel him melt against your lips. The kiss slips into something softer, sweeter. Something that steals every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. 

You don’t know how long it lasts, the only thing you know is that it doesn’t last long enough. If you could have the choice, you’d want it to last forever. 

It doesn’t of course. Marc retreats from you with an unsteady step. His eyes are etched with shock as you take him in, brows pinched and pupils wide, and you already want to kiss him again. 

The two of you have been here before. Staring at each other from so close a distance that your foreheads are inches from touching. Except this time it’s not in front of a fish tank with an imposter goldfish between you. A stray curl falls into his eyes and tickles your nose. It’s the hint of clean linen, the note of coffee you brew for him every night that he will unfailingly drink because you made it for him. It’s the smell you wake up to embedded in Steven’s sheets. 

You want this man, all of him, to be yours. 

Your face tilts up to him. So close, his lips ghost over yours.

“Marc,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker over your face. “Stop running.”

Part of you expects him to stop you again. That he will pull back, eyeing you like you’re something dangerous, the way he did that night in front of the fish tank. 

He doesn’t. 

You tip your face forward even further, your nose dragging along the bridge of his.

“I love you.” 

You can hear the sharp inhale just like last time you said it over the phone when you did not know if he was on the other end or not. When you didn't know if the sound was imaginary or real. Now you know. 

You couldn’t see his face then, but this time you get to. The pinched furrow between his brow, that look in his eyes that makes your heart seize in your chest. There’s no doubt about it now. 

"And you love me,” you say. 

His lips part, and you brace yourself for another protest or denial, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his head does the slightest tilt forward. A nod, you realise. 

“Yeah.” He whispers it so quietly you nearly miss it at first. 

You smile. Happiness surges through your insides, weaving through your ribs until you think that your chest might burst. 

Marc Spector loves you. 

You swallow in relief, smiling even as you feel a sting prickle the corner of your eyes. Then Marc leans down and closes that infinitesimal space between you, bringing down the final barrier of separation that he has maintained since you met him. 

It’s a soft press of his lips to yours. So soft, it’s scarcely there, but it feels perfect all the same, a fluttering warmth that you can feel down to the curl of your toes. 

It’s an admittance. An invitation. A sign of trust. 

Marc kisses you again and again with lingering kisses that he deepens with each gentle press of his mouth to yours. His hand moves to cup your face in his palm, cradling your cheek like you're the most precious thing he’s ever touched. 

You feel like you ought to be surprised by how gentle he is, but you’re not. Not at all, because of course he’s gentle.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Marc’s hardness is all smoke and mirrors, hiding the vulnerable softness that lies under the hardened skin. Beneath it all, Marc is protective and caring, kind even. 

And now, you finally get to have him in all his confounding complexities. This stubborn, kind, impossible idiot, right here in your arms. 

You pull him closer, even as you keep kissing him, fingers twisting into the brushed cotton of his shirt, and he lets you. Head leaning down as he adjusts his angle so he can slant his mouth fully over yours. He’s pressed up against every single inch of you, from his knees to his chest, your lips fused and somehow it’s still not even close to enough for you. You tug his collar, encouraging him to come even closer and he does, obedient, in a way that you’ve never known him to be before. 

Stepping forward, he follows your lead, inching closer, until the solidness of his chest presses you flush to the door. His arm comes to brace the side of your head, hand cupping behind the back of your neck, and you realise only belatedly it’s the reason why your head isn’t colliding with the hard wood behind you. 

Not that it would matter if you did. You don’t even think you’d notice if your head went through the wall right now. Too focused on the softness of his lips. Too lost in the quiet, near-silent humming sound he makes as he kisses you that sets your nerves alight. 

God, he’s perfect. His closeness is heady. There’s a growing hunger in your stomach that makes your limbs shake and tremble. After all the time he's been away, hiding from you, you feel starved for this. For him. You want to bite his neck, lick along the protruding line of his collarbone and swallow every inch of him down to the marrow if he’d let you. 

For all the gentleness that Marc is showing you, you have no intention of returning the favour. Your teeth sink in, biting down on his bottom lip, and he lets out a quiet involuntary gasp into your mouth. Your veins burn at the sound. Fuck, you want him to make that noise again, that careless pitch of pleasure that sounds so unguarded coming from him. You want to bite and nibble and scratch and claw and have him make every noise known and unknown to mankind. 

You drag your teeth along the swell of his lip, and he shivers, eyes squeezed firmly shut like he’s teetering on the very edge of his self-control. Then you nip down again. 

His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and he curses, the sound breathless and raw, like you tore it out of him before he was prepared. It’s all you want. To hear that sound again and again and again. You want to hear his tiny moans in your ear, the involuntary muffled growl as he buries his face into your neck trying to keep quiet, hear him gasp ‘fuck’ in barely audible decibels. You want everything. 

Hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, you haul him closer as if he wasn’t already pressed alongside your body. Thighs nestled between yours, the coarseness of denim scraping against your bare legs. You can feel the hardening bulge trapped between you, and you want him to grind against you, to rut into you mindlessly until you can feel his cock twitch against the softness of your belly. 

But Marc isn’t showing any signs of obliging you in that department, and you’re not willing to stop kissing him in order to give him directions. Instead, you arch your back away from the wall, tilting your pelvis until you rub up against his crotch. He jolts hard at the contact, the line of his body wracked in shivers with a gorgeous groan that is cut off too soon. 

"Shit!”  

His hand leaves your neck. Then he’s pulling back and away from you in retreat. You immediately miss the warmth of his body, reaching up to try to chase after the loveliness of his lips, but he stops you. A gentle but firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pinning you against the wall. 

You stare up at him, and you’re not sure you’re breathing anymore at the sight of him. You should be used to how preposterously beautiful this man is by now. But you never are. Each time feels novel and so much worse–no, better than the last time. The collar of his shirt is stretched and askew. Curls a mess against his forehead. Lips, slick and kiss-swollen as his mouth hangs open, chest heaving as he pants. 

As stunningly pretty as Steven is when you’ve succeeded in making a mess out of him, to do it to Marc is something else entirely. This orderly, neat freak of a man who makes it his life mission to repress his emotions and jam them shut inside of himself with a tight lid. You did this. You’ve made a mess of him. It’s electric, your veins buzz with the thrill, and your brain is screaming for more. 

Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through his hair as you reel him in by the back of his neck. Your mouth finds his, kissing him hard before he has time to overthink it or, god forbid, change his mind and try to bolt again. His mouth parts, and you swallow the soft oomph of surprise that escapes his throat and lean in, licking desperately into his mouth. If this is all you get, you want to try to savour him. 

Marc doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, his hands settle on your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he’s pulling you closer. It has the whole of your back from the base of your spine to the tip of your nose tingling. 

This time he’s the one grinding into you, the hard outline of his cock pressed tight between you. Even through the thick layer of denim, you can feel how hard he is, and you shiver pleasantly.

You moan into the kiss, rising on your tiptoes to meet him. There’s not an inch of space between your bodies, and you swear you can feel his cock twitch against your hip. 

And fuck, fuck– that’s– 

You need to get him in bed now before you hitch your legs and clamber onto his thighs to climb him like the trunk of a tree. Why the fuck did the architect place the bedroom section at the opposite end of the flat.

Stepping one foot sideways, you tug at the neck of Marc’s shirt to steer him towards the bed. There’s no resistance. He shows you the same obedience as before, easily letting himself be pulled by you as you start walking blindly backwards, navigating the two of you through the junkyard of Steven’s mess. 

Any second now you’re expecting to trip over the damn ottoman, except this is Steven's flat, not yours. And this isn’t Steven; it’s Marc in your arms. Steady and composed in his every step, with none of the charming incoordination of Steven. No, Marc steers you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Arms bracketing your side to make sure your hips don’t bump into any hard-edged furniture, preemptively pushing back a teetering book from the shelf before it even has the time to leap off the ledge. 

Marc—beautiful, stubborn Marc, who is as immovable as a rock in his decisions—is letting you pull and tug him in whatever direction you’re choosing to go. Kissing you with each unbalanced step backwards, like you’re the only air he ever needs to breathe. 

There’s a flicker of light as you pass Gus’ tank, and it dims when you move past Steven’s desk and the telly. God. It’s a journey of fewer than 20 feet that should take you less than ten seconds and not the eternity that it seems to take. 

When you finally feel the fine, gritty sand beneath the sole of your foot, it feels like victory. The soft brush of the sheets pressing up against your calves is the rope of the finish line that you’d never imagined you’d reach. 

You want to memorialise this moment somehow. Etch it into your memory so you’ll never forget. Carve it into the wooden beam structures of this very flat so it’ll outlast you both. 

Marc’s hands on your hips guide you gently to a stop, and you realise with a rush of giddiness that you’ve finally reached your destination. You break the kiss long enough to sit down on the edge of the bed, and you don’t even need to tug at the corner of his sleeve for Marc to dutifully follow you down. He helps you lay back and leans in after you, the firm weight of his body settling over you, pressing you down into the mattress. 

The weight of Marc feels perfect, as his head tips down to your face, kissing over the curve of your jaw to your neck. He’s pressing open-mouthed kisses down the line of your throat and the swell of your chest. It’s tender. Reverent almost.

Marc is unbothered by the cotton layer of clothing that separates his mouth from your bare skin as he goes. His mouth grazes your knuckles, kissing the inside of your wrist. He’s soft yet insistent. Hungry but slow. God, he’s slow, infuriatingly so, to the point where you wonder if he’s taking the mick out of you. 

His lips trail a row of devoted kisses against the bare skin of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, barely lifting the hem up and letting it ride up against your ribs as he puts his mouth there too. If it didn’t feel so good to have his mouth on you, you’d consider it torture with the pace that he’s going. You’re aching, everything inside is pulled so taught and tight you might burst out of your skin.

Those cotton soft curls tickle against your thighs on his way down, and you spread them for him in a not-so-subtle invitation. But Marc doesn’t pay you any mind, that earlier obedience that had endeared him to you is nowhere to be found now. He continues down, knees sinking into the sand lining the perimeter of the bed until he’s kneeling down in front of you on the bed. 

Then he stops. 

You hold your breath waiting for him to continue. But nothing happens, and your first instinct is that he’s changed his mind again. You’re almost lunging after him. Fully prepared to tackle him down with a wrestling move you’ve seen on the telly and pin him against the sand and wooden floor. 

But he’s not moving away from you. 

Opening your eyes to peek, you lift yourself on one arm, tilting down your head to find yourself staring back at those pitch-dark eyes. 

You’re not prepared for the sight of him. Of Marc on his knees, peering up at you through his lashes, like you’re a solemn prayer that he’s clinging onto by his fingertips. The vision of him flattens your lungs, taking any oxygen away with it. He’s looking at you like you’re something to be protected and cared for. As if you’re all he’s ever wanted and would never allow himself to have. 

Marc’s bending down again, lips brushing your skinned knee as his warm breath ghosts over the raw skin. He goes over every scrape and scratch with his mouth. It’s his way of atoning for ever letting you get hurt. 

And as good as that feels, as much as you never want him to stop. You need more. More than this torturous, drawn-out pace that he’s giving you, or you think you’ll tear your hair out by the roots and go mad with it. 

“Marc.” You’re trying to say it with urgency, maybe even hint at your annoyance, but it comes out as a high-pitched, delirious plea, “Marc please, I need–” 

He doesn’t answer you with any words. Instead, his hands come to the side of your hips, fingers slipping into your sleep shorts, hooking the hem of your knickers with them as he pulls them down. 

“Lift,” he commands, in the same brusque way he had before when ordering you to sit on the kitchen counter. But this time you’re only too eager to comply. 

You’re so excited you nearly deal a high kick to his face, miraculously missing him by only a couple of inches. 

From the corner of your eye, you swear you catch an amused half-smile quirking the corners of his lips. But before you can take a better look to confirm it, he ducks his head back down, even though you think you can see the line of his shoulders shake from what might very well be laughter. 

But your mind doesn't get to linger on it for long. His hand curls over your thigh, and he settles your leg on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the inner side that his mouth can reach. Then he hooks your leg over his back, and sharp heat settles deep in your stomach.

His warm breath fans against the bare skin raising goosebumps in its wake. He continues to lick  over the softness of your belly. Nipping at your hip and the insides of your legs, covering every inch of you he can reach with his mouth. Purposefully avoiding the slick ache between your legs where you need his mouth and tongue most. 

Fuck, you could kill him for that. 

“Marc.” His name is a whine between your lips. It sounds pathetic to your ears, but you don’t care. You’re not above begging. Not if there’s a chance it will get you more of this, of him. 

“Please, Marc, just– I need you to–” 

“Baby,” he murmurs, cutting off your pleas. It’s almost reproachful, but it doesn’t matter because that’s not what your mind is focused on. This is the first endearment Marc has ever used for you and it sounds so sweet on his lips. Makes you feel loved and cared for despite the admonishing tone. 

“Be patient,” he scolds, but there’s so much fondness in his voice for you, it makes you lightheaded. “I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

There’s only a brief second as you catch a peek of the pink tip of his tongue, glistening against his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he dips down. Heat crackles throughout your limbs, and your lungs pull tight in anticipation. The air around you thins, and for a moment as you try to desperately swallow down the air in your throat, the room seems to tilt. 

Then he gives you his mouth, and as cliche as it sounds, it’s heaven. A long, controlled press of his tongue through your wet and slick folds. Endorphins rush through you to the top of your head, and you can’t help how your body reacts, arching up against his mouth with a gasp that is punched out of your lungs. 

Then he does it again, and somehow, though you can’t even fathom how it’s not defying the laws of science and time as you know it, he goes even slower. The velvet softness of his tongue drags with an unhurried press across the seam of your pussy until he reaches the apex and licks with a silken glide on your wet clit. You nearly swallow your tongue to tamper the whine trapped in your throat. 

This is not the pace you were expecting. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on your part, but you thought he’d be impatient. Almost anticipated that his movements would be sparse and efficient like every other aspect of his life, pushing you to a high-speed climax like a carcrash.  

This is not that. This is Marc taking his own sweet time. His tongue is a slow decadent drag against your clit, and you feel his warm breath ghost over you, inhaling the scent of you as he takes you in. 

Sweet heady pleasure climbs up the back of your thighs, filling your stomach with it. It’s so much, you don’t know if you can fit it all within, all the emotions that are welling up in your chest to spill out of you. Your fingers grip his solid shoulders to anchor yourself. You roll your hips against his mouth in an attempt to urge him on, but he refuses to take the hint. His tongue makes a slow, thorough exploration, interrupted only by the open-mouthed kisses that he presses against your mound, your hip, your cunt. 

You can feel the tension in his shoulder under your thigh. Can hear it in the quick rasp of his breath, but still, his pace remains slow and measured. Steadily kindling the smouldering heat beneath your skin, lick by torturous lick. 

It’s perfect. Hot as sin and twice as glorious, but you could scream with how agonisingly glacial the build-up is. A strange, high-pitched sound escapes you. An unflattering blend between a moan and a sob. It sounds like you’re in pain when all you feel is pleasure, and then you hear Marc shushing you again. This time softer, comforting even. 

“It's alright. You're alright. You can take it for me,” he says into your skin, mouth pressed against your clit with a warm hum that rumbles through your flesh. Your veins drip with something sweet and honeyed at his tone. 

Marc is so exacting, not at all like Steven’s wild hunger. His tongue laves at you, warm and wet, with an unceasing gentle pressure, gliding over and around your clit. Decadently slow, but never stopping. The feeling is intense and unrelenting. Somehow dragging you closer and closer to the edge but never quite enough to push you over. 

Digging your heels into his back, you tilt your hips as far as the strain in your muscles will allow you to get closer. You rock yourself against his mouth, and Marc groans, a pleased, encouraging sound, even as his hands grip the flesh of your waist and hold you firm against the pillowy softness of the bed to make sure you don’t try to ride out your own pleasure against his face at a faster pace than he has set for you.  

You could scream with frustration. If the left hemisphere of your brain responsible for speech wasn’t so severely compromised by Marc, you would be screeching until your throat goes raw with it. Instead, you hiccup a broken sob, his name quiet and cracked on your lips. 

"That's right. You're alright," he soothes, as he presses his forehead against your stomach. If you didn’t know better, his voice almost sounds a bit shaky, slurring on the last word as he bends back down and puts his mouth back between your thighs, onto your sensitive flesh and gently sucks. 

Those unruly curls tickle against the soft skin. You only meant to brush his hair away, but as soon as your fingers curl into the soft heat of them, you can’t help but grip tighter at the silky touch. Carding your hand through the curly locks. 

You don’t mean to tug, but the careful drag of his teeth against your clit sends a sharp electric jolt up your spine, short-circuiting your lungs and sending you clawing at his curls for dear life. It should not feel this good, and yet you find yourself chasing the sensation, nearly buckling over, as your heel digs into the firm muscles of his back to anchor yourself. 

You can’t even look anymore. Why torture yourself with the sight of him buried between your legs. Cheeks dusted crimson, and those breathtakingly expressive eyes burning into yours as if he’s trying to memorise every minute detail of your expression. You can see his jaw working on your pussy. Can feel him as his tongue keeps sliding hot and insistent without reprieve against your overstimulated clit. 

It’s so much. Too much. All your senses feel overloaded. Your vision goes blurry. You’re not sure if it’s tears that are stinging behind your eyelids or if they cross at the back of your head as everything dims and darkens, like a fuse box blowing out. It’s all too much, and you’re being dragged under and drowning in the sensations. You need to pull up above the surface to breathe again or you’re sure you’re going to die. 

You grab at Marc’s hand like he’s your life preserver, and he weaves his fingers between yours. It’s surprisingly intimate, as he squeezes your hand back, pressing your intwined hands to your hip bone, reassuring you he’s right there and—fuck, it’s… It’s so much, too much. 

It’s chaos. A mayhem between your violently beating heart and burning lungs. You think there must be something wrong with you. Can’t possibly contain the pleasure that keeps pouring and pouring into you. For a fraction of a second, as your mind is torn apart by the sensations, and you are convinced that you must be having a heart attack. What other explanation could there possibly be?

“Ma–Marc, I–I’m– Fuck, oh god, oh fuck."

Marc eases back, “It’s okay.” He presses his mouth to your clit and kisses it, and the slick sound his mouth makes have you trembling and shaking so hard you’re convulsing against the sheets. “You’re okay,” he soothes. “Let go. I’ve got you. Come for me.”

Warmth floods your veins touching every part of your body, humming through every nerve and cell as your orgasm washes over you. It’s hard and unforgiving. Your body is trying to claim revenge on you for allowing it to take so long as it did. Everything else around you disappears, pulling you under with a vengeance that blots out your vision and all sounds with it. 

But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters to you anymore is how everything in you tingles pleasantly. It lingers long after it’s over, and you can still feel it from the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes as you come down on Marc’s tongue. 

His face is still buried between your thighs. His tongue curled against your entrance as he laps every drop of slick out of you. Drinking you down and swallowing every trace of your pleasure. He doesn’t let up for long moments until finally he’s satisfied and drags his head up your body. 

“Did so good,” he praises, voice raspy and raw as his tongue trails a long affectionate line down your femur. 

He presses his mouth to your knee with the same gentle care he did when he’d applied plasters. It’s intimate. Sweet. 

Part of you feels silly to feel this affected by such a simple affectionate gesture considering what preceded it, but your heartbeat flutters at the touch. 

It doesn’t matter that you’ve barely just come down from your orgasm or that you’re still throbbing and sensitive between your legs. Limbs so wrung out, they’re tingling and numb. You’re already craving the closeness of him all over again. 

“Marc,” you call out for him, arm outstretched in an invitation for him to join you on the bed. 

He doesn’t move, and it takes you a few moments, your mind fuzzy around the edges with the afterwaves of your orgasm to register that something's wrong. Everything is blurry and obscured by a warm haze, and you have to blink through the watery periphery of your vision before you can see him a bit more clearly. 

Still on his knees, Marc’s mouth parts slightly open, like he maybe wants to say something but he doesn’t know how. There’s hesitation there in the tenseness of his jaw as his eyes flick away from your gaze, as if there’s still some invisible barrier that he won’t let himself cross.  

It is a little bit ridiculous. After all, what barriers between you are there possibly left to cross? You and him nearly died together tonight. You love him, and he loves you too. Bloody hell, he’s just spent the better half of this night with his head buried between your thighs. There’s no stone left unturned.

But you know it’s not that simple. There’s a deeply embedded seed in Marc, buried under his skin and flesh and left to sprout for decades, long before you came along. Making him doubt himself and his place with you. It doesn’t matter how far you two come. He might always struggle with letting himself have what he wants guilt-free. Because he still doesn’t think he has a right to, that he doesn’t deserve it. 

You plant an elbow on the mattress to raise yourself. But your arms have turned into boneless gelatine, wobbling under your weight, and you nearly topple over. Marc moves so fast, you only register a blur of movement, before he’s by your side. Steadying you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“Easy. Lie back,” he says, eyes narrowed and worried, as he’s ushering you back down. The man’s got a protective streak a mile wide. 

“Marc, please—” you start, but you don’t have to finish. 

He breaks with your plea, and his knee dips into the bed, fully climbing in. His arms brace your sides as he lowers himself onto the bed. 

“What, baby? What do you need? Tell me.” He says it like you only have to speak the words, and then your every wish will be his command.  

There’s no fight left in his tone anymore. Voice gone soft. Any internal doubts have melted out of him. The look in his eyes as he gazes down on you tells you that Marc would give you anything you ask for. This man would insist on throwing himself under a double-decker bus if he thought it would make the ride a tiny bit smoother for you. 

And oh… You get it now. 

It’s taken you far too long, but you might have finally solved the puzzle that is Marc Spector. For all his aversion to let himself have even a morsel of happiness, there’s always been one overriding drive. There’s one thing that towers above the shame and guilt. One thing that’s more important to him than everything else. It’s in the way he’s always trying to meet the needs of those he cares for. Their happiness. Steven’s. Yours. 

All you need to do is ask for him. 

“You. I need you. Want you. Please.” 

You can see it in real time as it happens. How the last traces of hesitation in him crumble, replaced by a determination that carves into those rich brown eyes. He drops forward, then he's sealing his mouth over yours like he’s signing on the dotted line, giving himself over to you.  

It's everything.

Marc leans back again, fingers hooking into the hem of his t-shirt and dragging it off over his head in a single fluid motion. There’s no tangling of fabric, and it doesn’t get snagged as he tugs it over his head. There’s none of the clumsy adorableness of his alter. Marc undresses with practised ease like it was choreographed for the sole purpose of making your heart race faster. 

Good fucking grief, you might’ve already seen this man before you naked on more occasions than you can count. But as he towers above you, skin golden in the dim light, the sight of his bare chest feels novel in a way that has your heart dropping to your lungs that must be entirely medically unsafe. You can’t help but stare shamelessly. 

Chiselled and hard from the top of his head to his toes. You remember being surprised by how fit Steven was the first time, but somehow on Marc, it seems right. His physique reminds you of mythic Greek heroes memorialised in marble, and you're taken aback at how soft and warm he is under your hands. That he's human, made out of flesh and bone, and that he shivers as you drag your palms across the bare skin of his chest and stomach. 

The anticipation crackles in your thighs, burning with a searing intensity at the thought of undressing him, gingerly unwrap him like a decadent present. But you’re greedy and have none of Marc’s patience. You wrench at his belt with little to no finesse, reaching down and wedging your fingers along the hem of his jeans to shove them down forcefully against the generous curve of his ass. You tug hard enough that you hear Marc choke out a wheezed breath, but you’re not even paying it any attention. 

His hardened cock slaps against his stomach with a heavy thud and everything in you roars to attention at how thick and swollen he is for you. You feel heavy with need at the sight of it, and your brain is on autopilot, acting without conscious thought as you’re already reaching forward. Your knuckles skim down over his stomach before greedily wrapping your hand around his cock. 

A deep groan tears out of his chest, and his hand snaps up to grab your wrist, holding you still. He clamps his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, inhaling heavily through his nostrils, breathing in and out with great struggle.  

As much as you enjoy getting a rise out of him, you’re not trying to make things difficult for Marc on purpose. At least you don’t think you are. But you can’t look away from his cock. You can feel it straining and twitching in your hold, can see the trickle of glistening precome welling up from the flushed tip. 

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, practically salivating as your thumb gently drags over the slick wetness there. The touch has his hips bucking, stuttering into your hands with a sound that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper. Your cheeks burn and tingle, your whole body flashing hot. 

“Fuck,” he snarls and knocks your hand away, “You fucking ruin me, you know that?”

You want to retort that he’s the one to talk. Point out that he’s left you a dripping slick mess that’s soaked into the bedsheets and mattress and made them unsalvageable; that your thighs are an aching mess and you’re still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. But all vocabulary flies out of your head at the sight of him, as he replaces your hand with his own, wrapping one large hand around his cock.

Your heart stutters somewhere in your chest, and the breath in your lungs still with anticipation as he drops down to settle himself into place between your legs, knees nudging against your thighs to spread you wider for him as he notches the fat tip against your slick entrance. 

His eyes lock on yours, the tip of his nose brushing alongside yours. He leans down to kiss you again, mouth warm and slick. You can still taste yourself on him, tart and almost sweet. Then he pushes inside of you, and your mind goes numb.

The first slide of him inside you is perfect. A sweet filling stretch that threatens to blot out everything else into nothingness.

Even though it’s your first time with Marc, your body already knows him. Craves every inch of him, and he’s willing to give that to you now, inch by slow maddening inch as he eases inside. Large hands clutching your sides, as his hips press forward and he works himself inside you. His cock pushes deep until he’s buried  to the hilt. Then he stills, shuddering. 

“Shit—,” he groans, dipping his head to press his face into your shoulder. “You gotta be kidding me.” His voice sounds shaky and strained. You’re not entirely sure what he means or what he finds so implausible. If he can’t believe he’s finally inside you after all this time or how good it feels. You just know you can’t believe it either. 

It's flawed logic, but you’re not exactly coherent at this moment. Lungs squeezing tight in your diaphragm, you’re only capable of sobbing nonsensically at the consuming sensation of him filling you. Can barely focus on the warm tingle on your spine that settles over you. Your mind has been filled with cotton, soft and hazy as he’s completely sheathed inside, as deep as he can physically be.   

Marc holds there for a long moment, his breath hot on your skin where he pants against your collarbone. He doesn’t move. Hips pressed flush against yours, taking his time to let your body adjust to the girth of him. 

His mouth is on your bare skin, pressing kisses to your lips and then the apples of your cheek, before he drags himself downwards to mouth at the side of your neck, and under your jaw. Hands roaming along your ribs and hips like he cannot stop touching you. It’s devoted, loving even, the gentleness to his touch. It makes everything all the more overwhelming for you. He’s ruining you, with every caress on your flesh, and kiss to your skin, and he has barely even moved yet. 

And god, you need him to. 

"Marc."

He doesn't seem to hear you, mouth continuing to dot lazy kisses across your clavicle. 

"Please.” You arch your back towards him, but you don’t get very far with his weight flattening you down against the bed. 

“Marc, need you to move," you try again, voice high-pitched and needy, but you could be pleading to a stone wall for all the good it seems to do. His hips don't move from his position, immovable like a boulder. Instead, his palms fan out against your ribs, fingerprints permanently searing into your skin with the heat of his touch. 

You can’t take it anymore, everything inside you is screaming, bursting at the seams for more and you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to force him deeper. To move. 

Your heels dig into the rounded curve of his ass, and he jerks and gasps. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, as those stupendously gorgeous eyes flutter open. He’s looking at you again, stirred from the spell and the soft expression on his face hardens with determination. 

"Yeah, baby. I got you," he says, and he finally complies. His hand comes to rest on the small of your lower back, tilting you up to him as he moves again. The hard drag of his cock slides out of you until only the blunt tip rests inside, and then he thrusts back, unhurried and deliberate. 

Slow simmering pleasure bubbles up in your veins and you have to swallow it down with a hiccup of a sob. It's still the same ruthlessly slow and thorough pace. The one that tells you he won't be rushed, won't be hurried, even as he's giving you exactly what you asked him for. 

Stubborn. Unreasonable. Maddening. You won't survive him. 

The next thrust is demanding. It strikes heat along your spine and squeezes the air out of your lungs, until there's none of it left so you can fit more of him inside. A strange squeaky noise punches out of your throat, and in panic you clamber onto him.

He does it again. Hips dragging back as he pulls himself away, altering the angle of your hips with a small adjustment as he cants your hips upwards again. This time he lifts you further up than before and he pushes his way in with an almost testing stroke. His eyes narrow as he gazes down on you, brows furrowed in concentration and you realise what he’s doing. 

Marc is slow and exacting, studying your every reaction, learning the best way to intricately pull you apart. 

Staring up at him like this feels like you’re witnessing your own demise as it unfurls. Those unwavering eyes are focused on you, watching your every expression. He’s tilting the angle of his thrusts until he drives the pleasure deeper inside you with devastating precision until there is nothing left of you. Until tears are stinging in the corner of your eyes because you’re sure that you can’t fit more within you — the pleasure and him— and then he does somehow. 

He catches your leg, hitching them higher so that he can slide a few inches deeper. The angle shifts, striking against something raw and overwhelming. You think you go blind with it and you swear you see stars collapsing behind the darkness of your eyelids. 

"Yeah, there we go." His voice in your ear is calm, but he also sounds proud and pleased, and you're not sure if it's with himself or you. It’s all you can hear, and then he’s moving again.

A rich pleasure fills you at the slow glide of his cock dragging out of you, and then he pushes inside again, deep and determined, until his cock is kissing that deep perfect spot that robs you of your ability to breathe. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Can feel–” he groans, rolling his hips into yours, and it’s fucking devastating. 

Your mind goes blank. A clean slate with no thought left in you except how good it feels. All you can do is moan and whimper, hands clutching desperately to his shoulders. "Oh– Oh, god. Marc, I– oh!"

He groans, slanting his mouth over yours and swallows the words down, cradling your head with his fingers. Soft doting presses of his lips to yours. 

"Fuck, you feel so–" His sentence is cut off, and you never get to hear the rest of what he was going to say. 

His mouth is on yours again and it’s nothing like the starved and overwhelmingly eager kisses you’re used to from these lips when it’s Steven who’s kissing you. This is slow and measured. Patient and deliberate as he takes his time with you. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to tell you a secret. Like he’s entrusting you with something important, to protect and to keep for him. 

His finger rubs small circles under your ear, his hips slow and consuming as he fucks his cock into you. His arms never leave your side. Mouth never lifting from yours. His whole body pressed as deeply into you as he physically can. 

It feels like a confession. 

The ‘I love you’ that he can’t bring himself to say in front of you and can only admit to in the dead of night when he thought you were asleep. 

His kiss is a soft and devoted touch. A complete contrast to the rest of him, as he continues to thrust into you, fucking his cock deeper inside you and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up. 

It’s pleasure. It’s aggravation. It’s love and a defeat and a million other contradictory emotions between you and Marc that may never be resolved. 

And you’re not going to try to. You’re happy to take him as he is, cracks and all. You accept it, his lips pressed against yours. Accept his demanding rhythm as he drives himself into you deeper and deeper. Accept the insistent heat that curls at the base of your spine, until it is a searing and smouldering burn and sparks like ember, numbing your legs with it. It is threatening to consume your very being and burn you into ashes as it flares bright in your lungs and you can no longer breathe as the pleasure of it is ready to overspill, and—

“Baby, you close again?” 

And fuck, that’s—that’s— Your stomach tenses up again. The warmth spreads, twining and branches out along every single vein flooding it with blinding bliss until you’re dizzy with it. 

You’re trying to say yes, trying to nod, but your body isn’t responding to your will anymore. It has a mind of its own, and all it wants is to be closer to Marc, to grab onto him and never let go. Your limbs are wrapped all around him, legs locked around his waist, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders so hard you know you’re breaking skin. The only thing you’re still in control of is to helplessly squeeze down tight on his cock as it slides thick and heavy in you. 

“Oh fuck, that’s–” his voice sounds pitched and almost vulnerable, the arm curled around your leg, squeezing tighter. 

Pleasure builds in you like the tide, rising slow and steady but inexorable, filling you until there's no room for oxygen or thoughts or anything else except the consuming push of Marc’s cock inside of you. 

And then it breaks, ecstasy streaking out along your every nerve, overwhelming and inescapable, threatening to wash you away with it, except that you’re pinned, held safe by the grounding weight of Marc’s body and the reassuring press of his forehead against yours as you come on his cock.  

You open your eyes to find yourself staring up at him, still bleary-eyed and drunk on bliss. You can only make out the colour of his eyes, the dark ink of his hair. But blurry as he is, you’re intimately aware of how he can see all of you. The glazed look that you must be holding in your half-open eyes as wrought out with pleasure as you are. The hair plastered to your forehead. The absolute mess of a state he’s left you in, and how debauched you must look in front of him. Face to face, all of you bare and uncovered, there in its unembellished form for him to see. 

But that means you can see Marc too. As your vision clears, you can pick out every small detail of his expression. The subtle tic of the muscle in his jaw. The furrow in his brow. How his mouth is slack with pleasure. Those rich eyes of his are blown wide open until they’re left exposed. You can see it clearly now, how he’s clearly trying and struggling to hold back. The vulnerability that he’s been trying to hide from the world the entire time you’ve known him. 

Not for the first time, as he holds himself above you, you find yourself marvelling at how beautiful he is. Identical to Steven, yet worlds apart. 

Steven is hope and light and the curve of a gentle smile. Marc is sharp lines and dark shadows and heat behind his pained eyes. Jagged edges to Steven’s soft curves. Jaded cynicism to Steven's cheerful enthusiasm. Dark secrets and carefully hidden skeletons lurking in closets to Steven's forthright honesty.

And god help you, you love them both beyond measure.

The weight of his body is pressing down against you now. Every inch of the smooth golden skin pinned against yours, warm and flushed against your heated flesh. He grinds himself against you, needy, and desperate. There’s no longer any rhythm or logic to it. Just an instinctual primal need to get closer. You spread your legs as wide as you can to welcome him deeper, to take all of him as much as you can even as your thighs ache in protest from overexertion. 

His mouth moves against yours, stuttering and trembling, and it takes you far too long to register the words that are coming from him. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck I’m–” he chokes out brokenly against your lips, his hands on your hips holding on tighter. 

He stills, and you think maybe this is it, that he’s about to come. Anticipation rises in your chest, and you hold him tighter, body clenching down in preparation. 

But he doesn’t come. Just holds himself there, shuddering against you, his forehead against your chin, panting breaths, hot and humid, against the base of your neck. His cock is pulsing where it’s buried thickly inside you. Thighs quivering and barely able to keep them upright where they’re pressed between yours. You know that he wants to come. Needs to come. You just don’t understand why he’s refusing to give in. 

“It’s okay, Marc. You can let go. Come for me,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your voice hoarse and scraped raw in your throat. 

There’s a long moment of stillness, then he heaves a sigh so weary it makes your heart clench, as he starts shaking his head.

“No,” he grits out, voice low and determined as it so often is.  His head comes up, dark, fuck-drunk eyes meeting yours, jaw set at that stubborn angle you’ve come to know so well, and he says it again. 

“No. I– I’m not–“ He cuts off, shaking his head again. “Not yet,” he says. Then he rallies through, lifting his body away from yours and drives himself deep inside you with a shudder. “Not ready for this to end.”

It sounds like a plea, and you’re not sure who he’s pleading with, you or himself, and there is a pang of pain in your chest for him. Because this idiot still doesn’t get it. 

It’s like he’s never known softness. Hardness forged from a lifetime of a man who’s always had to hold himself up without respite. There’s a loneliness in it, of being the one who always has to take care of everyone else with nowhere to put down his burdens. 

Fondness swells up in you and there is nowhere to direct it except for the object of your affection. You wrap your arms tighter around him, smoothing one palm over the sweat-slick, heaving muscles of his back, and whisper reassurances into the hair above his ear. 

“Marc,” you breathe out and at the sound of you calling his name, his eyes snap up to yours. “Nothing’s ending.” 

His arms buckle and he lets out a small choked sound that almost sounds like a whimper. He looks like he can barely hold himself up anymore.  

“You have me,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his. You kiss the arch of his jaw and mouth at the column of his neck. “Have had me for a long time.” 

He tenses at your words, whole body trembling above you. But he still refuses to let go. 

How many times will you have to keep reaching out to this impossibly stubborn man before he starts believing that you mean it?

Your hands come to the sharp edge of his cheekbones, cradling this face that you have fallen in love with twice over. Not just because it is Steven’s face. Not just because he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. But because it’s Marc too. 

“I love you.” 

At your words, those determined eyes pitched with dark concentration blanks into a stupefied daze.  

His head tilts slightly, a movement so small it doesn’t register at first that he’s nodding. Then his face drops closer, pressing his lips to yours. The line of his shoulder softens under your locked arms, lowering himself down onto you. His hips sink into you, his cock dragging thickly inside you as deep as it goes. 

You watch in awe as his mouth falls open, eyes rolling back, and you can feel it as he comes inside you. Pulse after devastating pulse. 

And god, he’s so beautiful like this; unruly curls wild and ruined, cut cheeks a faint crimson, skin slick with glistening sweat in the dim light. So perfectly undone and at peace. The pulse of his cock inside you as he spills himself deep inside you is almost secondary.

You bask in it. The warmth of his arms caging you in, his forehead pressing down firm against yours. The feeling of him so deep inside you, you’ll happily drown in the feeling of this man after waiting for him so long. His body slumps, dropping his weight on yours, completely depleted. 

His cock is still hard, arms still trembling when Marc shifts on top of you, trying to raise himself on one elbow. It's too soon for him to move, you don't want him to move, want him to lie on top of you forever.

Logically, you know it’s out of consideration. He’s probably worried that he’s squishing you, but an irrational fear swoops low in your stomach at the idea that he’s going to leave again. Your fingers dig into his forearm, dragging him back towards you. 

He lands on top of you with a quiet and tired grunt in your ear, but there’s no other protest from him. Marc lets you, shifting ever so slightly to make sure that his elbow doesn’t jab into your ribs as he settles on top of you. Then he stays, and you get to listen to the slow steadying of his breath, as the erratic rise and fall of his chest ease into something more even. 

The two of you stay this way for a long time, staring up at each other, with half-lidded eyes worn from exhaustion without speaking, and you catalogue his face as it cycles through a series of micro-expression with each second that ticks by. 

If this was when you’d first known Marc, at first glance, each expression would have looked the same to you. But you know him well enough now that you can tell that the tiny pinch of his brow means something is troubling him. That the narrowing slant of his eyes means he can’t find the right words to express it. That him biting the inside of his cheeks means he’s hesitating on whether he would be offloading on you. Every detail says just as much as Steven’s openly variable animated expressions. 

His eyes blink in quick succession, and Marc takes a deep heaving breath as if bracing himself. Then he’s lifting himself up and away from you by his forearms, slipping out of you to a sharp pained hiss as you whine in response at how empty you feel at the loss. 

He rolls to the side of the bed next to you and settles there, and you feel a bit nervous about what’s going to happen next, because you don't know what is going to come.

“Is this still what you want?” Marc asks. 

He’s looking at you as he says it, but somehow you feel like he’s looking through you, eyes not quite meeting yours. His voice sounds impassive, and if you haven’t spent so much time with him by now, it could easily be mistaken for disinterest or even boredom, instead of the defence mechanism that you know it is. 

“Yes, of course, it is,” you say without hesitation.  

There’s no response from Marc, he’s lying so still next to you. So quiet you can’t even hear him breathing anymore. If it turned out that he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open you wouldn’t be surprised. 

You turn onto your side so that you can scoot even closer to him as you watch him. One sole stray curl is draped across his forehead, and it’s fallen into the line of his big gorgeous brown eyes. So ridiculously pretty, this one. 

Yeah. This is definitely what you want. Him.  Steven. Both. All of them. 

“You’re– okay with all this?” he asks hesitantly, and he looks genuinely puzzled as to why you would be. “With... what happened earlier too?” 

A breathless huff pushes its way up your chest. “I don’t know if ‘okay’ is the right word here, Marc. I’m not sure how to deal with the revelation that gods and monsters are real, and there’s a very high chance I’ll freak out about it tomorrow or next week. But…”

You press a kiss to the side of his cheek as you draw your eyes up and meet those rich expressive eyes of his. There’s no mistaking it, you feel it, in the same way that you do for Steven. Even if it’s different… there’s no doubt in you, haven’t been for a long time about this. 

“What I’m sure of is that I want to be with you. You and Steven. No matter what. I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said. I want to be your person as well as his. And– and I hope you can be mine.”  

Marc tentatively draws his hand towards you, fingertips searching across the length of your arm until he finds your fingers and weaves them with his. 

The palm of his hand is warm and sturdy, sending a pleasant buzzing sensation across the back of your neck. It’s your favourite thing in the world, whenever Steven does this, and you’re pretty sure it’s going to be your shared favourite when Marc does it too. 

“Yeah”, he finally says after a long moment, “I’d like that.” His voice is soft and quiet, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies swoops your stomach at his warm tone filled with affection.  

Tilting your head upwards, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. It’s sweet and tender as his hand cups your cheeks protectively, like a promise that he’s not going to run anymore and it makes your toes curl into the sheet until you’re giddy.

You clutch at him, hands cupping the back of his neck and lace your fingers into those ridiculously soft curls of his. Marc shivers against you, and you smile like a loon as he ducks his head and buries his face into the crook of your neck contentedly, and exhale deeply. 

Who would have guessed that post-sex, the man would be the world's most grumpy cat turned soft and cuddly, asking to be petted. You comb through the matted locks and the blunt tip of his nose nuzzles into your damp skin. He makes a quiet, content little sound somewhere from the back of his throat like he doesn’t want you to stop and who are you to deny him? 

Your fingertips trail his scalp, from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, when it occurs to you that you should probably be more careful with his head. 

He was flung several feet in the air and landed head-first into a concrete wall with a bone-cracking sound that still makes you sick to your stomach. You continue to card through his hair, mapping him out in search of any signs of injuries, but you can’t find any and your fingers still. 

It doesn’t make sense. You weren’t put through the ringer in any way near what Marc was tonight and you’ve still ended up with your fair share of scrapes and bruises. But there’s nothing on Marc. 

No swelling, no bumps. No wounds. 

On top of it all you’ve spent the better part of this evening, pulling and tearing at his hair. Your nails had been digging so deep into his shoulders you might as well have been excavating for gold and he hasn’t so much as hissed or flinched in pain even once. 

There’s a faint muffled sound of complaint from Marc as he lies on top of you. It’s so distorted that it takes you a few moments to appreciate that they’re words.

“What's wrong?” Marc asks. 

“You don’t have any injuries. You were hurt.” 

“I was wearing the suit,” he answers in his typical deadpan manner. No background information, no context, no painting out a scene for you. To Marc, the limited information he’s given you should make perfect sense to you. 

You grimace, and you’re just about to have a moan at him, when Marc seems to realise how confusing that explanation must be. He lifts his head from your neck as he continues. “Khonshu’s ceremonial armour. It protects me. Heals me when I need it.” 

An image of the swirl of bandages wrapping itself around Marc’s body to form an otherworldly magical suit plays out behind your mind, and you can’t resist teasing him. 

“So you transform like Sailor Moon and then fight evil at night?”

Marc lifts his eyebrow inquisitively, with a completely blank expression. “I don’t know what that is.” 

“Really? Sailor–” you sputter, shocked he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “Steven would know that reference.”

“Steven has too much free time,” he sighs, but the fondness hiding under his gruff tone is unmistakable. 

The playful jab at Steven brings a small smile to your face. The levity of it is a nice change of pace from the whirlwind of seismic events and paradigm shifts tonight, because there’s been a lot to take in. Much of which, you’re pretty sure you haven’t fully taken in… Don’t even know how to start to process it. 

Ancient Egyptian gods are real, and your boyfriend—(boyfriends? Just exactly how involved is Steven?)—is some kind of indentured fighter priest who battles invisible monsters—also real—for one of them. 

What is the correct reaction to a revelation like that? How does one even begin to mentally process that? 

“Any other questions? Now’s your chance,” Marc says. 

There is no hostility like before and this time you don’t have to drag it out of him with the persistence of a detective in an interrogation room interviewing a suspect as you ordinarily have to. 

You’re not entirely sure how you feel about that, except that you’re a little bit stunned and you realise that something has shifted between you and Marc. 

He’s… opening up to you. 

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes steadily. There are a million things you still want to ask: What’s the deal with his and Steven’s mum? What did he and Steven go through while they were away? How did he almost die, and how on bloody earth did he manage to just stumble upon an ancient Egyptian God to end up in his service?

Marc hasn’t moved from the spot as he observes you. Still seemingly expressionless, except… 

There’s a tension to the set of his shoulders, isn’t there? And he’s too still—even for Marc… It hits you all at once he’s holding his breath, the line of his lips set in a thin nerve-biting straight line.

He’s waiting for you.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, there’s only so much his body language can repress. The ring of his eyes is dilated and vulnerable. 

He’s nervous. 

Marc’s jaw tightens in anticipation and maybe something a little like fear, and it makes your chest ache with an overwhelming need to protect him. Those other questions can wait. You have all the time in the world together. Right now you want to make him feel as safe and cared for as you do. You want to make him smile. 

"So..." you begin, and you see him stiffen, watching as he braces himself like he’s expecting a blow. It’s how you know you’re making the right decision. "Do you actually like my coffee?"

His eyes widen and he sputters out "You– Your–" then barks out a laugh. 

Even in the dark, you can see it, a soft smile on his face that illuminates the darkness of the room with it. A gentle curve, as the dimple of his cheeks carve a deep dent into those hollowed cheeks, the soft crinkle of lines around his eyes. It’s like nothing you have ever seen before. It’s bright and uninhibited. An electrical socket has been plugged in and every nerve in you is flicked alight with excitement. 

It stuns you and takes your breath away, and for the longest moment, you forget about everything else. 

Because god, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

It takes you several seconds, maybe even a full minute to compose yourself enough to ask him again. 

"Well...?" you prompt, and you’re gifted with the pleasure of watching him try and fail to hide that perfect smile.

"It's… a little more complicated than that," he says, and you narrow your eyes at him, trying to look playfully peeved while tampering your own smile that’s twitching at your lips and failing.

"I like that you make it for me," he tries.

"That wasn't the question, though."

Marc shifts in the bed, scooting closer to you until he’s brushing up against your knees. That small but near-magical smile is still on his face. 

"Tell you what,” Marc murmurs, as he tightens his grip around you, pressing his forehead to yours, sweat-slicked curls tickling your nose. “Tomorrow, let's make it together." 

His voice is so assured, it feels like he’s promising you a certainty, and you trust him with every inch of you. 

A warmth spreads in your chest, and you can feel the dopey grin pulling at your lips until your cheeks almost hurt, but you can’t stop yourself and you don’t think you want to either. 

There is so much that is still unresolved, so many more things you need answers to, but it’s a good start and that’s good enough for tonight. After all, as Steven would tell you: you have all the time in the world.

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. 

When you wake, the morning light is filtering in through the large windows. The sun is blinding and makes it difficult to see anything at all. 

Reaching out your hand, the spot next to you is cold and empty, any residual heat long gone from the sheets. You’re alone in bed again. 

Marc has really got to stop fucking doing that. 

“Marc?” you call out, but there’s no response. You hesitate for a second before adding, “Steven?”

“Here.”

Then you hear familiar noises coming from the kitchen, and the tension in your chest melts away at the sound of porcelain clinking together. There are no folded clothes by your side, but to your surprise, your watch sits on the nightstand, cracked face turned up, waiting for you. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your stomach warms at the sight. Marc must have gone back to retrieve it while you were asleep. 

You sit up on the bed, bending over to grab a discarded shirt from the floor as well as your knickers from last night, and pull them on, smiling to yourself as you start to make your way across the flat to join him in the kitchen. 

The familiar sweet, bread-like smell wafts out to greet you, and you falter.

Pancakes? That isn’t right. Today’s not Sunday. 

In the bright morning sun, you see him standing, with his back turned against you over the kitchen stove. Wearing only his jeans, bare from the waist above, the carved muscles of his back flexing as he flips the frying pan with a dramatic flair. Even before he speaks, you already know what’s happened.  

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greets you. He's turning his head just enough to throw you a quick glance, and a one-sided crooked smile. 

You stop in your tracks. The cadence is alien, the smile off, but you recognize it immediately. 

Not Marc. Not Steven. But you have met this man before. 

That first night at Steven’s; the man you woke up to who looked at you like you were a stranger; the man who followed you to the lift to return your watch; the same man who towered over the invisible creature with nothing but cold contempt in his eyes as he snuffed out its time on earth with precision and brutality.

All this time, you thought that the first night you’d spent with Steven was also your first encounter with Marc. 

But Marc doesn’t call you sweetheart. Marc doesn’t flirt. Marc doesn’t smirk like he’s trying to imitate something he’s seen on the telly. 

This is detached and impersonal, like he’s not really smiling at all. When Marc smiles it’s snow thawing in the spring.

 It’s funny how you didn’t see it until now. Marc was never the wolf. 

You cross your arms against your chest, planting your feet firmly on the floor, standing up straight and tall as you confront the man before you. 

“You’re not Marc, and you’re not Steven,” you say and you shift on your legs, puffing out your chest in a display of put-on courage. “Don’t you think it's time you introduced yourself, seeing that you’re in my boyfriends’ flat?” 

The man huffs out a laugh, and his accent is different when he speaks again. A New York accent, you think, but almost cartoonishly so, like he’s watched one too many Martin Scorcese movies. It’s oozing out of every word as he speaks with a slow and nasal hum. 

“Nothing gets past you, does it, sweetheart?” 

He sets down the frying pan on the stove, turning it off before he wipes off his hand on a flower-patterned tea towel and extends it towards you, a polite invitation to shake. 

“Name’s Jake Lockley.”

You take a step towards him, and maybe you should be nervous—afraid of this stranger wearing your boyfriends’ face—but the panic and fear from that first night you met him is absent. That painful pounding in your chest is no longer there. 

You accept his hand, looking up into this man’s familiar eyes that are staring down at you in an entirely unfamiliar way. Not Steven’s wide and adoring gaze. Not Marc’s protective and gentle attention. No love resides in those eyes for you at this moment, just curiosity. 

But you’re not scared this time. 

Because come what may, you already know the most important part. Whatever happens next, whoever this Jake turns out to be, it’s not going to change your mind about Steven or Marc.

You’ll take them as they are. Red flags and all.

THE END.

Author's notes

This is the end. I wish I was more coherent to write a meaningful and heartwarming message about what this story has meant to me. How grateful I am to everyone reading it, but I do not think I have any words that can do it justice.

The only thing I can say is thank you. Thank you for reading this, whether you've read this from the first chapter, or whether you only read the first chapter or you've only read bits and pieces. Whether you've commented or liked or reblogged or simply just lurked-read, from the bottom of my heart thank you for giving this story your time, I'm really grateful to you all.

A big thank you to my friends who have listened to me whine and bitch and moan and generally emotionally terrorised them with this story, and especially thank you to my cowriter: thirstworldproblemss who has been put through the ringer with this story and suffered alongside with me. I love you the moooooooooooooooooooosetest

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes #💌 asks

[abbyromanoff]

G!p Mommy Wanda pleaseeee

Here To Help

Pairings: g!p Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 1933

Had to skip a few requests to get to this one as I’ve been wanting to write this for days now, so, I apologize!!

Warnings: mommy kink, little reader, somnophillia, fingering, jerking off, hand jobs, innocence kink, mentions of slapping

Summary: Wanda couldn’t help herself seeing your helpless form all ready for her.

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

The moment you mentioned to your girlfriend that you’ve never been camping, she made it her mission to fix that. She planned out everything, where you’d go, the food situation, renting a lodge, anything you could ever want in a trip. She didn’t tell you, she waited till the last minute to inform you that you’d be taking a little trip with her. The day before, you wondered where all your stuff had gone. But Wanda secretly stuffed it into your bag and put it in the trunk of her car. When you woke up to being carried over Wanda’s shoulder in the middle of the night, you were confused but didn’t say anything.

After a few hours of a drive, you both arrived at your destination and Wanda took a moment to admire your peaceful state before waking you up. You were almost immediately greeted by the harsh sun and a wooden cabin, turning to look at your girlfriend, you gave her an odd look that she chuckled at before bringing you inside.

“Mommy, where are we?” Came your small, fragile voice. Wanda’s heart melted hearing the pure innocence in your tone, she could listen to you speak for hours.

“Well, I know you’ve never been camping, so, I thought, why not take my favorite girl out on a trip? Just me, you, and the wilderness.” You leaned back to look at her, a smile growing on your face.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so excited! Oh, can we go fishing? Or catch frogs? Did you bring our board games? We could play those and-” You continued your rambling as Wanda chuckled and set you down, you looked over the cabin and ran around each room at least five times.

“So, what do you think?”

“I love it, mommy! It’s perfect!” Your body plopped down on the couch in the living room, feeling the cozy blankets fall on top of you. Wanda took a quick look around the place, making sure everything was alright for her little one. She promised to make this the best trip of your life, she wasn’t going to break that.

“Well, I think the first step in this place is to cook something. I know you don’t like the whole hunting aspect so, I bought us some fruits and pre-cooked food to make. And, I may or may not have snuck in a little dessert that we could make if you’re good.” She trailed on, watching the happiness in your expression.

“Yay! Thank you, mommy, this is already the best trip ever!” She walked you both over to the kitchen, well, she followed behind you as you ran to the room.

“Slow down there speedy, don’t need you tripping over yourself.” You mumbled out a small apology and grabbed the food from the bag, which she soon set you aside to do herself.

The rest of the night was spent with laughter, treats, and your adorable rambles about nature. Wanda wouldn’t trade it for the world. And now, she was helping you get ready for bed. She brushed your teeth, did your skincare, and dressed you up in your cute pajamas. You wore a tank top looking shirt with little bears on it, your shorts matching. She bought them specifically for this day.

“Alright my little bear, time to get you to sleep.” She handed you your stuffed animal and laid beside you, puffing up the pillows behind her. You whined lowly and looked at her with pleading eyes, ones you knew she could never resist.

“Please mommy! I don’t want to go to bed, I want to play.” Your pout was adorable, it had to be Wanda’s favorite thing about you. But she had to deny, she couldn’t have her little one all sleepy during the trip.

“Sweetheart, if you want to play, you need to sleep. I promise, tomorrow will be so much fun! I’ll even teach you how to fish, but only if you’re good and go to sleep.” She bargained, making it impossible for you to say no to her.

“Fine, but only because I want to catch fishies!” You giggled, cuddling your build a bear closer.

“Alright baby, lets go nighty night. I’ll wake you up extra early just so we can watch that beautiful sunrise.”

“Goodnight mommy, I love you.” Your body leaned into hers and your head landed on her chest, using her boobs as a pillow.

“I love you more, my sweet little angel.” And with that, you both fell into a peaceful sleep. Well, for her at least. You were in dream world, a very interesting dream you could say.

“Mommy! Feels so good!” You whimpered out as she pounded into you mercilessly, not letting you mutter out a sentence without moaning in between each word.

“Yeah? You like my dick filling up this tiny little cunt? Oh I bet you do, I bet you fucking love it. You know why?” She panted, trying her best to keep up the hard and fast pace. Her hand landed across your ass, creating a loud cracking sound that mixed in with your thighs slapping together.

“I asked you a question, baby, I expect an answer.”

“W-why mommy?” She chuckled darkly and leaned towards your ear, taking the lobe in her mouth before speaking.

“Because you’re my dirty little whore, you just love to be used by mommy, don’t you? You love being her sex doll? Her pet?” You nodded desperately, already feeling your orgasm approaching for the third time this night.

“Yes mommy! I love it! Love being your toy, your cockslut.” She could feel you clenching around her, the desire to breed you plaguing her mind.

“I can tell you need to cum, fucking do it. Cum with me baby, let me fill this hole till you’re dripping.” She grunted, pre-cum already dripping into you.

Wanda was awoken by soft movements near her thigh, when she looked down, she was greeted with the sight of ler little one humping her leg. Your soft moans filled her ears as she watched in amazement for a moment. Her arms trailed down to your body, twisting your nipples ever so gently through the fabric of your shirt. Her other hand curiously made its way down to your soaked shorts, your arousal making a dark wet spot on the thin clothing.

“Oh Y/N, so needy for mommy even in your sleep. It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” She didn’t care if you couldn’t hear her, she still treated you like her baby. Her dick grew hard just at the thought of your dreams, she knew she shouldn’t, but she needed to see what you were thinking about.

Her small gasp echoed throughout the room, she couldn’t believe your innocent self would be dreaming about that. She always showed you care in the bedroom, she never thought that you might actually like being tossed around a bit.

“Oh my, you’re getting mommy all hard from that little brain of yours. And you’ve made such a mess! You’ve practically ruined your shorts, the ones mommy picked out just for you.” She fauxed concern and made her way down the bed, spreading your legs just enough to pull down your undergarments.

“Shit, you’re even wetter than I thought. You really are a slut, aren’t you? My little slut.” Her tongue made it’s way to your dripping folds, moaning as the taste of your sopping cunt. She needed more of you, she needed to feel you clench around her mouth as she licked up all of your juices. She dove back in, making sure to lick every inch of you.

“Fuck baby, you taste amazing! Wish I could eat you out every second.” Your body moved slightly, your eyes starting to flutter open.

“Mommy?” Came your small, groggy voice, clearly still being tired as you slipped in and out of sleep.

“Shh, my love, it’s all just a dream. Go back to sleep, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You gave a short nod and did as she said, falling back asleep with little to no effort. She laughed quietly and removed her own clothing, stroking her hard dick. Her palm went under your shirt, playing with your nipples teasingly. She pinched the swollen buds, picturing it was her mouth on them instead. She lifted the article of clothing just above your tits, moving to take one in her mouth just like she wanted. Her hand continued her motions on her throbbing length, feeling the coil in her stomach tightening.

“Mm, wanna cum all over this cute body. So dumb, such a dumb baby, can’t even register mommy fucking you. I bet if I slapped this precious face, you’d wake up, I know you’d want that.” She muttered, not talking to anyone in particular but fueling her needs. When she heard you whine in your sleep, it only brought her closer.

“Yeah, that’s it, moan for me, you bitch. I know you want this, you love the thought of me whoring you out, making you my precious toy.” Her hands sped up, her mouth moving from your puffy nipple to the neglected one, sucking as if milk would come out. Cum spurted out of her length as it twitched so deliciously in her palm, coating your pussy. Her hips stilled, her eyes screwing shut.

When she looked down, she admired your dripping pussy covered in her release. She used her digits to slowly finger the cum inside of you, your hips jerking up in your sleep.

“M-mommy? What are you doing?” She didn’t take her eyes off of your cunt, being too engrossed in your body.

“Shh, you were just having a wet dream, I had to take care of you. You understand, right? Just had to make my baby feel better.”

“But, it’s all tingly down there. It feels weird, mommy. I-It feels weird in a good way.” She smiled down at you and moved to sit next to you, giving a little pat to your stuffie that you picked back up. You looked down and saw your shirt had ridden up, you quickly and embarrassingly pulled it back down.

“Oh that’s alright sweetheart, I’m here to take care of you. I can’t leave my baby all tingly without any help, now can I? Now, sit back and let me lead the way, just do whatever mommy asks of you.” You nodded and spread your legs slightly, shyly moving your hand to her cock.

“Can I play with you too, mommy?” She could’ve came on the spot hearing your sweet and soft voice, the words you muttered with it making it even harder not to destroy you right then and there.

“Of course you can, baby. Remember that time I taught you how to please mommy? Do exactly that while I play with your little cunt, just sit there all pretty and let me touch you.” You did exactly what she asked, smiling when you heard her moan.

“Like that?”

“Yes! Just like that, you’re doing amazing, my love. Now let me finger this sweet little thing, I know you want it. Or did you want me to fuck you with my dick like in your dream? You want me to destroy you for anyone else?” Your eyes widened hearing the last sentence, how did she know?

“Don’t give me that look. When I woke up to you humping my thigh, I just had to help. What kind of mommy would I be if I didn’t help my angel?”

#wanda maximov #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximilf #wanda x y/n #wanda mcu #mommy!wanda #mommy!wanda x little!reader #mommy!wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #mommy!wanda smut #wanda smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda imagine #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x gn!reader #anon #anon ask

[feralforfrank]

hiii bestie i hope you’re doing well 🌷 can i request a fluffy frank piece that includes “i can’t sleep without you” <3 the quote doesn’t have to be exactly that ofc you can change it however you see fit :) please feel free to disregard this if it doesn’t inspire you!! 💛💐🌟🌷

can't sleep without you.

FRANK CASTLE X FEM!READER

cw fluffy drabble. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

a/n THIS IS BAD. OH MY GOD. also this request is so old, IM SORRY IM SO BAD AT DELIVERING.

masterlist | taglist

The big window to the right of the bed shook as if someone was trying to open it. You rolled your eyes and huffed in annoyance. After tossing and turning for the whole night in worry, you had just settled to your left side. With a grunt, the window opened, and you knew who it was exactly.

You sat up, waiting for him to drag himself inside and shut the window. You pulled your knees to your chest and glared daggers at your boyfriend—albeit sleepily. He hadn't noticed you, for darkness consumed the room, and his large form covered the light the moon shone towards the bed.

"Look, what the fucking cat dragged in," your tone was as sarcastic as it could get.

Frank jumped and jerked his body to face yours. He breathed in relief when he saw your silhouette under the covers, but his frown soon returned, as did the pain on his side. He hissed, and your irritated expression fell, morphing into one of worry and fear. 

"What?" Your voice shook. "What is it?"

He dropped his bag by the window and walked by the bed, heading to the bathroom—all while holding his side, which worried you more. You threw the covers off, running after him.

"Frank!" 

He waved his hand and tried to shoo you and shut the door so you wouldn't see how bad he looked, but because his limbs were heavy and his moves slow, you managed to slip inside with him. 

"It's okay, baby. You can go back to bed. I'll join you after I take a shower." Frank's voice was deep by nature, but this tone was underlined with pain.

You shake your head and move to get the small first aid kit you keep for situations like this one. Frank leans on the sink, takes his shirt off, lips pursed, and stares at you. He studies you carefully, from head to toe, ensuring you're okay. Is that his shirt?

"Is that my shirt?" He asks, but you don't answer. 

You're worried, yes, but you're also angry at the man for not contacting you and having you worry so much. 

"Baby...talk to me, please," he speaks so softly, and how do you not break at that moment?

You press your fingers to the massive bruise forming on the side he was holding, biting the inside of your cheek. He hisses, and a small smirk slips on your lips. Serves him right.

"Oh, you find my pain funny?" Frank tries again, but you just look up at him sharply.

His head tilts to the side. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

You sigh at the honest confusion in his tone. You can't be mad at this buffoon—as much as you want to.

You shrug, applying cream to the scratches on his shoulder now. "Couldn't sleep without you," you say quietly.

"What's that, honey?" You know damn well he heard you.

"Don't push your luck." 

He hisses when you slap the bandaid on his shoulder blade harder than needed. He manages to chuckle and moves his hand to pull you closer once you try to move away.

"What?" Your angry facade is slipping more and more by the moment, as sleep tries to evade all of your senses.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, sweet girl." Frank smiles down at you, and you blink, gaze softening completely.

"Apology accepted. Now, go shower. You smell like gunpowder and fish."

[ taglist @scoliobean @fanboyluvr @spookys-girl @j-deimos @torresbarnes @this-is-a-bad-idea @mylifeispainandiloveit @mvnsons-slvt @alexxavicry @oksloan3 @luluwinchester @xoxabs88xox ]

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle fanfiction #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #marvel #mcu #nmcu fanfic #slight angst #frank's asks #frank writes

[lanabuckybarnes]

Omg I’m literally dying for more princess and bucky

18+ | Please send more asks I love them!! | 18+

They’re literally all I can think about right now anonnie!

I have another lil fic of them festering but while you wait: can you imagine how Bucky would punish her in public.

He can’t do the usual elaborate and strung-out disciplining but Bucky is creative; he knows exactly how to make sure his brat stays in her lane.

One time she got real lippy to a tailor, he’d stitched the dress all wrong, I mean who would even wear something like that? She scoffed at the way it hugged her frame incorrectly and chewed the older man out. Bucky heard the earful from the other side of the door and slid in silently, making sure the tailor didn’t hear him as he leaned against the wall.

A pointed look her way, that’s all the warning Bucky gave, letting her know she’d done fucked up. She suppressed the slight wobble in her legs, chalking it down to ‘the most uncomfortable pair of fucking heels she’d ever graced with her feet’.

“I-I-I’ll help you out” the man spoke, accent running thick as he reached out to help her.

“That won’t be necessary, go take five” Bucky interrupted, voice as smooth and as stable as ever, not a hint of the domineering attitude he held towards Princess, he didn't even react when the tailor squealed like a pig at the sound of his voice.

As soon as the man scurried off Bucky was in her face, middle and ring finger pushing roughly against her plush lips.

“Suck.” He growled but a look of defiance crossed her eyes, she’d been challenging him more recently - he’d let some rules slip unpunished since she was being such a good girl but it only manifested into this.

“You’re gonna want them to be wet Princess” Bucky warned, pinching the back of her arm until she yelped. She gagged roughly as his thick fingers buried themselves to the hilt, running along her tongue, saliva dribbling out the sides of her mouth and joining with blackened tears from her running mascara

“That’s all that fucking mouth is good for, you hear? Think you’re fucking special? Hell no, you ain’t shit, nothing more than a set of fucking holes for me to use and I don’t like my things being such fucking brats” his free hand had made its way up to her neck, thumb squeezing over that point that had her head fuzzy and knees weak.

“You want my cock? Is that what you want…you’ve not had it in a couple of days, is this how you think you’re gonna get it? His digits slipped from her hot cavern, pinching her tongue and pulling on it a little as they fell across her face in a soft, wet slap. His eyebrow raised, face inches away from hers as he waited for her answer.

“I want it..want your cock” fucking whimpering slut, didn’t take for his Princess to fall back into line.

“Oh yeah? You want it? You want it, Princess?” He bucked his hips into her side, his tented slacks running delightfully over her hip and hand.

When she nodded frantically, pushing against him, fingers twitching to touch him, squeeze him - anything, but she knew better - he’d won. He bared his teeth in a smug grin before releasing her entirely.

“Shouldn’t have acted like a spoiled little girl then hmm?” He mocked, moaning softly as he squeezed himself, biting back a wider smile at her whimpering form.

She never did get his cock that night, or the next one, or the next.

- Bonus -

“Please Bucky!! I’m fucking desperate” tears fell from her eyes as her thighs clenched at the shuddering breaths falling from his lips.

He chuckled breathlessly, tongue poking to wet his lips, his throbbing length pulled from his slacks and resting against his shirt, plush red tip drooling all over the material. He sucked up the rest of the brandy from his glass before wrapping a hand around his cock. Her eyes rolled back into her skull at the sight.

“Ah-ah Princess you fucking look at me, I’m gonna please myself and you’re gonna watch… keep those fucking legs open wanna see those panties fucking soak themselves at the sight of me” he couldn’t suppress the mocking laugh that bubbled from his throat at her desperate pleas.

-

Whew lord have merthy 🫠

#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #marvel #bodyguard Bucky x reader #brat reader #bucky barnes imagine #mcu bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #Bucky x princess #anon ask #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction

[mochie85]

Poker Face

These Wicked Games Collection | Complete Masterlist

Summary: Will you win a game of strip poker against the god of mischief? A/N: A special cameo of my dear friend. Word Count: 1.7K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Explicit. No details of smut, but heavily implied. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Loki looked around the table trying to stifle his smirk from giving him away. He had a great hand – a winning hand. All he needed to do now was bait you in and he would win.

Rogers and Barnes had shown him how to play Texas Hold’em. They needed a third player as their usual playing mates were out on a mission. Things got more interesting when the women decided to join and turned it into ‘strip poker.’

Loki kept his cards face down on the velvet green table and placed his hands behind his head waiting for everyone else.

You knew that look. That pompous I-have-a-trick-up-my-sleeve look. You knew all his looks. His tired look. His hungry look. His annoyed look. Right now, he thinks he’s going to win.  You watched him stretch, his shirt untucking, riding up to give you a peek at what you could be winning tonight.

Nearly everyone was on their last piece of clothing. Steve and Bucky were now in their boxers, having negotiated that each sock was one piece of clothing. Nat was in a white undershirt that barely hid the dark pink dusting of her nipples underneath.

Vision wasn’t allowed to play because he would count cards and calculate the odds in his head. Instead, he opted to hold Andrea, the new computer engineer Tony hired, in his lap as she happily lost each round. One by one, a piece of her clothing came off and Vision had to hide her body strategically, making you think she was losing on purpose.

You and Loki were the only ones who were fully clothed. You kept your head low and played safe up until now, letting the others lose their bets and hands. Your father would be damn proud of you.

“Geez, Loki. You have a horrible tell. I know you’ve got a winning hand,” Natasha said as she took a gulp of her beer. “I fold.”

“Ya, work on that poker face, buddy,” Bucky groaned. “I fold. I’m not losing my boxers.”

“I fold too,” Steve said.

“I can’t fold,” Drea said, smiling.

“That’s because you have nothing left, darling.” Vision said as his grip on her tightened.

“Well, my dear, that just leaves you and me,” Loki said in a smoldering voice. If you didn’t lose this hand, you would’ve taken off your clothes anyway just by the way he looked at you.  His deep voice caressed you from across the table, making you squeeze your legs tighter together. “What do you say we up the ante? Last play for all your clothes.”

“Don’t you mean all your clothes, Laufeyson? You forget that I have a Las Vegas past.” You fired back, as resounding ‘oohs’ and heckles came from everyone else.

“All right. Bet.” He smiled.

“If I win, you take off all your clothes, Laufeyson. Including the next time we play poker, whether it’s strip poker or not. You will play naked - as the day you were born. No matter who else is playing.” You arrogantly raised your chin, calling out his bluff. His smile grew wide, reaching from ear to ear.

“And If I win, dear pet, not only will you strip down, but then I want you to walk your pretty little arse down the hall to my room and we can continue our own little game.” Gasps and jeers were heard all around the table as Loki finally admitted to some semblance of an attraction towards you. How genuine that attraction was, or how deep those feelings went, was still a mystery.

“Now hold on just a minute, Loki,” Steve said being protective of you.

“No, no. It’s ok, Steve. I accept.” You steeled your nerves and looked into Loki’s swirling eyes. Your body shook visibly, feeling his stare reach past your clothes and stroke your waiting skin underneath.

You looked down at the table where four cards were laid out. They were clubs, a 10, a 9, and an 8. Then there was the queen of diamonds. You had a King and a Jack of clubs. You already had a great hand with a flush, matching the suit to all five cards. But if that last card turned out to be a 7 or a Queen of clubs, you’d win with a straight flush.

But what did Loki have? Would his hand be better than yours? Would that last card help you or condemn you?

“Are you both ready?” Nat asked, burning a card and readying to turn the last card down onto the river. You looked into his eyes, deep and promising as you both nodded. Nat turned the card over and placed it on the table.

It was the queen of clubs.  

You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Loki’s eyes turned deadly as he turned his hand face up. An 8 of spades and the queen of hearts. “I believe that I have a full house,” he prodded, misinterpreting your sigh as a sign of defeat. Everyone’s mouth hung open in shock at his assertion.

He leaned back onto his chair and placed his hands behind his head. A proud grin on his face. “Go on love, show everybody what I’ll be playing with later.”

His comment bristled your edges. He was so arrogant. So cocky. You’re going to relish taking him down a notch. Everyone silently watched with shock and awe as you stood up with your poker face still on.

Loki’s eyes changed into pools of desire as you decided to play with his emotions a little bit more. You traced the hem of your shirt, pinching it and scrunching it up in your fist.

His greedy eyes followed the movements of your hands as you reached for your cards and turned them face up. “A king and a jack of clubs. A straight flush. Which beats your full house.” The last part of your sentence was drowned out by the screams and yells of everyone at the table.

Surprised by the turn of events, Steve, Bucky, and Vision couldn’t stop laughing. Drea and Nat just sat there and whistled as they leered at Loki to start taking his clothes off.

Loki’s eyes were full and round- devastated that he had lost. He looked up at you, at your gorgeous playful face. That angelic smile that had him enraptured from the moment he laid his eyes on you, caught his breath. He was stunned.

It wasn’t until Bucky jostled him out of his reverie that he took a lungful of air. “You gotta do it now, man,” Bucky said, laughing at him.

Loki’s smile grew wicked as he stood up and looked straight into your eyes. “My pleasure,” he ground out, making your skin flush at his promise.

He wouldn’t stop staring at you. Not when he pulled his scarf down one side and threw it in your direction. Not when he started to unbutton his shirt, painfully slow. His grin growing wider with every button. You watched as his hands trailed down onto his belt and the sharp clank of metal resounded in your ears.

“Should we leave? I feel like I’m watching something intimate,” Steve whispered to Vision and Drea.

“You can leave if you want to. I’m getting my free show,” Nat said finishing her beer.

Loki had all but taken off his shirt, socks, and shoes. All that was left were his pants. His thumbs hooked into them, watching your reaction as he pushed them down revealing all his godly glory.

A resounding “OHH!” could be heard from everyone else as Loki stood there in front of you naked. His sculpted body was on display as your eyes took in all the details that they could remember. His wide shoulders, his defined abs, and the ‘V’ of his Adonis Belt leading your stare to his semi-erect cock.

“Do you like what you see, pet? Anything I can offer you later?” He asked with a proud smile.

“All right. All right. Put your clothes back on. I think we should all call it a night. I’m done,” Steve said.

“Awe boo, Cap.” Nat leered, getting up and gathering her clothes. Bucky laughed and followed her into the bar as he struggled to get his jeans back on.

Loki flicked his hands. In a flash, all his clothes were back on and put into place, immaculately.

“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” you asked, still watching him.

“Because I wanted to give you a show,” he winked, and he strode off down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Not long after, the compound had gotten dark and silent. The remnants of the game you all had played earlier are gone. The table was dismantled, and the cards were put away.

Your soft feet patted down the hallway and stopped in front of Loki’s door. You raised your hand to knock, but the door slightly opened to reveal a sliver of yellow light coming through. You pushed the door open, taking that as an invitation to go in.

Loki was sitting in front of his fireplace, a book in hand that he thumped shut as he took you in shutting his door behind you.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you grace my bedroom?”

“You reneged on our deal.” You said confidently. Loki looked confused as he ran by the terms of the bet earlier.

“I don’t think so, darling. The bet was, that if I lost, I would be the one to strip down naked. And I did.”

“What was the next part, Loki?” you whispered. His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, making him visibly tremble. You held his name on your tongue. Your breath invoking it like a prayer.

“The next caveat was that the next game of poker I played, no matter who I was with, I would have to play stripped as well.” He recited as a gleam in his eyes sparkled at your mischief. You took out a deck of cards from your back pocket and proceeded to shuffle them in your hand.

“Care for a game of poker, my prince?”

He bit his lips at your words. “With pleasure,” he smiled as he got up to unbutton his shirt.

⬅️ These Wicked Games Collection | Chapter 2: The Chase ➡️

@alexs1200 @a-witch-with-words @athalialaufeyson @britishserpent @cakesandtom @crimson25 @el-zef @fictive-sl0th @gigglingtigger @glitterylokislut @goldencherriess @holymultiplefandomsbatman @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @immersed-in-mischief @kellatron55 @kikster606 @kkdvkyya @lokidbadguy @lokiprompts @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @lokischambermaid @lokyxryss @loopsisloops @lucylaufeyson3 @luvlady-writes @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @muddyorbs @nopenottodayson @one-oblivious-nerd @ozymdias @peaches1958 @salempoe @sarahscribbles @sarawr-reads @silverfire475 @springdandelixn @theaudacitytowrite @thedistractedagglomeration @thomase1 @user13cabs @vickie5446 @vbecker10 @wheredafandomat @xorpsbane  

#writing ideas #fic prompt #loki fanfic #loki fluff #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #tom hiddleston fanfic #loki x you #loki oneshot #loki x reader #answering asks #lovely asks #marvel fanfic #loki series #strip poker #loki smut

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

all the talk of gaming is making me think of gamer!wanda… she would be so mean, having you suck on her strap while she plays to “get it all nice and wet for mommy” and tells you that if she hears a sound then she’ll put the headset on u while she fucks you. “if you can’t be quiet for mommy, let’s see if you’ll shut up for them.” with a cruel smile on her face and petting your hair in faux sympathy “you wouldn’t want all mommy’s friends to hear, would you pup?” 💝

"Be a good girl now."

You get on your knees, positioning yourself on the pillow that Wanda so graciously provides. She looks down, and you think she looks absolutely regal from this angle with her jawline sharp and her long fingers pushing your hair away from your face and pulling it into a high ponytail.

"Yes, mommy." Your voice is already breathy, but you can't quite bring yourself to care. She smiles, and you feel yourself grow warm all over. Pulling your face towards her, your eyes fall to her strap as you tentatively run your tongue over it and kiss the tip.

"Go on, sweetheart," You hear, as she scoots her chair all the way in. "Get it all nice and wet for mommy, and if I hear a single sound out of you... then it'll be your turn for the headset."

You really can't help yourself, and find your hands making their way to Wanda's thighs as you attempt to take her whole strap in one go. You manage it, and feel her jerk under you as she starts her stream and opens the latest game she was playing.

Getting lost in the action of sucking, you start moving your head up and down enthusiastically. After a while, your jaw starts to ache, and you slow down slightly. Wanda can't have that, and so she sneaks a hand down and pulls your head down forcefully, choking you in the process.

"Oh, puppy." You see her face as she rolls her chair back slightly. The headset appears, and you can hear the chat notifications ringing in the background. "if you can't be good and quiet for mommy, let's see if you can shut up for my viewers, hmm?"

Your eyes widen, and her hand pets your hair as a false smile appears on her face. "Be good for mommy's friends sweetheart, you wouldn't want everyone to know what a whore you are, would you?"

She doesn't let you up until the stream is long over, your jaw is aching, and your knees are thoroughly bruised. You've never felt better.

---

thank you for this one, anon!!

#what i wouldn't give #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #dom!wanda #answered asks #mcu #marvel #anon ask #mean!wanda #mean!mommy wanda #gamer!wanda #wanda smut #wanda maximoff smut

[liminalpebble]

Hi ya, my ask would be for Loki....

For some reason his magic is glitching. He needs to understand why before anyone finds out.

Oddly, when he's around [insert character name] the effect is better/worse*

*delete as appropriate

Hello dear nonny!

Sorry it has taken me a thousand years to write this. It's kind of a long one but I hope it warms your heart. It's kind of silly and fluffy but unexpectedly emotionally real. I hope you enjoy.

CW: Fluff, all fluff. Loki x gn reader, surprisingly wholesome, just bit of cussing.

----

The Glitch

“DAMN!” Loki screamed for the tenth time that morning, smacking his fist against the kitchen counter. In the privacy of his quarters at Avengers Tower, the god of mischief was having a horrible morning.

He woke up as usual and tried to spark up the green glow of his magic to help him get ready more quickly for the day. Although long hot showers were pleasant to him, so was sleeping in after reading late into the night. Being able to magic oneself clean and ready for the day in seconds was a major convenience...one he had always taken for granted.

Although his fist was no longer magically charged, the strength of his hand still left divots in the counter top, frustrating him further. Finally the god of mischief screamed so loudly and smacked the wall so hard in rage that it was a miracle the whole building didn't hear it.

He was very lucky, in that case, that there was only one person walking quietly through the hall to the morning meeting (something Steve cutely called the “Superhero Roundtable”). You rolled your eyes thinking of the name, but Steve was too much of a sweetheart to burst his bubble about it. As your steps clicked over the polished floors you were feeling a bit proud of yourself that you would actually be early for once.

“DAMMIT!! NORNS SPIT UPON YOU, YOU HORRIBLE FICKLE FORCES.”

You jumped at the sudden avalanche of sound. His biting baritone tirade crashed into the hall from behind Loki's door. Your superhuman reflexes were the only thing keeping your files and your coffee from hitting the floor. Sighing in exasperation, you considered whether or not to get involved with whatever the hell this was. Ever since you joined the team a few days ago, your dramatic Asgardian coworker was none too thrilled to have another non-human demigod on the roster. Sharing the spotlight was never his forte and he made it everyone's problem, especially yours.

But...you were kind, sometimes to a fault. The idea of simply waking by and ignoring him, of enjoying some schadenfreude as this arrogant ass was finally being inconvenienced by something, was incredibly tempting. But pity welled up in your heart, knowing what it's like to be a stranger in a strange land, to feel alone and angry, so you knocked on the door despite being afraid of whatever hurricane was behind it.

Loud steps trudged closer, then the door swung open as Loki barked, “WHAT do you WANT?!”

You took a step back, eyes wide and coffee still death-gripped in one hand.

“I...uh...I heard you screaming, and breaking things. You know, you'll never get your deposit back if you keep it up,” you attempted to joke, painting an uncertain smile across your face, brows peaked in concern.

His aquamarine eyes stared down, boring into yours as he clenched his jaw, then said dryly, “How very perceptive of you.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “God, you're such a bellend.”

He flinched at the insult. He didn't know what “bellend” meant, but he could infer from your tone that it was not a compliment. As he tried to swing the door shut again, you slapped it back open, “But! I really am concerned about you, so can you please let me know what's wrong?”

“Nothing!” he growled out, chest heaving.

Your eyes scanned him up and down, taking in his disheveled hair, wrinkled pajamas, and the slew of objects strewn across his living room. “I'm not an idiot, Loki. I can see the obvious. Will you please just talk to me?”

He flinched again, this time struck by the genuine care in your voice and in your eyes. It rendered him uncharacteristically unsure of what to say or do. As he paused and you stepped closer, he could feel the surge of his magical energy building back up within him. Loki's face suddenly cracked into an unnerving gleeful grin. He hastily cast a green glow over his body, rendering himself dressed, scrubbed, and ready for the day. Although he knew he might be stretching his luck, he waved a hand behind him to reset the apartment back to its immaculate order. To his delight, it worked. “I'm ready, your highness. Let's go, shall we,” he said lightly, as if he wasn't in a tyrannical rage moments earlier.

You stared, eyes and mouth wide open in confusion, then shook your head and shrugged. “Whatever, Vlad the Complainer. Let's just go,” you said, striding quickly down the hall towards the conference room.

The demigod strutted after you, in much less of a hurry, until he felt the magic within him wither and shrink as the distance between you increased. He gingerly tested a theory, picking up his pace so he gained on you. As he suspected, each step closer caused his magic to re-energize within him.

Damn he thought with a huff, as the two of you entered the conference room, just in time. You settled in the only two seats left at the table, next to each other.

Great. You thought, realizing that at least for the next few hours, you would be stuck next to the intergalactic diva. That's what I get for being nice.

-------

The meeting went on far too long, but while Steve droned on, you turned the issue of Loki around in your mind. He sat next to you, not bothering to hide his boredom; arms crossed, chin tilted haughtily and legs spread wide. By the end of the first hour, you finally couldn't stand his long limbs sprawled out into your own space, so you swiftly kicked his shin under the table. He glared, but the message was received, loud and clear, as he wheeled his chair slightly away from you and crossed his legs.

As you touched, it happened yet again, the flaring of your own magic levels and a definite feeling of transfer to him. You could sense it ever since he answered his door this morning; the fluctuating magic. It didn't take you long to put two and two together. His magic was faltering, and for no reason you could discern, your proximity was jump-starting it again. You made a mental note to immediately drag Loki with you to Bruce to get this all sorted out.

You're welcome, Loki. You thought to yourself, considering that you could have just brought it up here in the larger group to get everyone working on the problem, but you instead decided to preserve his fragile pride. Finally, Steve dismissed everyone and you waited until the room was completely empty with a hand on Loki's arm, urging him to stay seated as well.

When you were alone, Loki took the opportunity to speak first. “Well, well, wellll,” he teased, “eager to prolong my charming presence, darling, and just the two of us, no less.” He winked and smiled. And although it was corny it was also devastatingly sexy coming from his stupid handsome face.

“Can you, for once, cut the crap? Just tell me what the fuck is going on with your powers.”

Those gorgeous icy eyes went even wider than usual, as he forced out a breathy chuckle while saying, “Why, what ever do you mean?”

Your expression remained knowing and unamused as you explained. “I know, Loki, I can feel the movement of my magic in my body, just like you can, and I can tell when someone's siphoning off of it like a gas tank. We have to go to Bruce, see if he can sort it...”

“NO.” he growled, deep and articulate, close to your face, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can you put your enormous ego on a shelf for a few moments and just go with me? This won't just fix itself, you know.”

He sighed. “Very well.”

“You're welcome,” you quipped as you already left your chair and made your way to the lift. Loki was dragging his feet until he felt the magic seep away as you left. Reminded of his predicament, he jumped up and followed closely.

------

Several hours later you were sitting in a strange plastic shell of an observation room with Loki, a transparent, zipped divider between you. You sat in opposite corners trying to get comfortable while Bruce ran his tests, sometimes unzipping the middle panel, and sometimes closing it again to isolate each of you. Dr. Banner's warm voice rang in through the intercom as he looked through the observation window, “You okay in there, kid? Got everything you need for awhile?”

You laughed. “I'm 100 years old, Bruce, and I'm totally fine,” you said gesturing to your comfortable pajamas, piles of books, laptop, pillows and blankets. “It's...uh...it's like a slumber party. I'm doing great.”

“Except for the company,” Loki quipped under his breath, as he sat against the wall reading, not raising his eyes for a moment. Unlike you, Loki refused any creature comforts besides a book to keep him occupied over what would probably be long hours of testing.

---

When you arrived at the lab earlier that day, Bruce welcomed you warmly with a kind hug and chit chat. He definitely did not do the same for Loki. Instead he frowned warily and gave him a wide berth. After a few initial tests you asked, “What's the verdict?”

“Well, it looks like you two have powers that behave on similar principles but for some reason, they're interfering with each other like when radio signals cross...or maybe more like magnetic fields...still figuring that out...anyway. We never knew about this problem before because we never had two...uh...similar beings living in the same building. To bring it all back to normal, I need to find a way to separate the signals and keep it that way...some device to wear or even a nano device planted under the skin.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki said, brows furrowed and expression indignant. “You want to cut open my skin and implant something?”

Bruce smiled wryly. “You're making it sound medieval. I'm not chopping anyone open. It would be a tiny laparoscopic incision. It would take seconds and then you'd be back to normal.”

“That's great news!” you chirped.

Dr. Banner, held up his hand. “but I have to keep you both here for an extended period of time to collect enough data...eight hours or more. It might be best if you come in the evening and just sleep overnight. That way I can take readings and it won't interfere with whatever else you have to do today. It might not be the most comfortable sleeping ara...”

You put a hand on Bruce's arm. “It's fine, Bruce. I just appreciate your help.”

Loki was still glaring, arms crossed, but nodded his reluctant agreement to the arrangement.

-----

So now, here you were, locked in a bubble with Loki until morning. You almost wished the divider in the middle were opaque, so it could block his moody glares and sidelong glances. Although you bristled at his comment, you made the best of things, arranging your blankets and pillows and reading a book just as you would if you were in your own bed, in your own quarters.

Before long you heard huffs of annoyance and shuffling coming from the other side. You ignored him until you found yourself reading the same page three times because of the interruption. Finally, you gave in.

You looked over to your cellmate and asked blandly, “Can I help you?”

He grunted. “I can't get comfortable.”

“Yeah. You didn't bring a sleeping bag or blanket or pillow or anything.”

He stepped closer to the divider, as did you. “Well, I thought I could conjure what I needed. I didn't think the good doctor would ask us not to actively use our powers.”

You tutted. “A remarkable lack of foresight from the god of cunning.”

He put his hands on his hips and be began to rush his words out, “And I should have...what? Made my side look like a damn nursery as yours does? With those bizarre creatures, and that atrocious nightwear. I am a god, not a toddler.”

You braced yourself, responding as he paced. “Well, for one fucking thing those creatures are called Squishmallows and they are incredibly comfortable as pillows...and they're cute. They make me smile, Loki.”

The god of mischief raised an eyebrow, looking skeptically and derisively at a large plushy winking mango you had been using as a pillow. He asked, “And what is this apparel you have donned for your captivity.”

You blushed, looking at the zip-up hooded onesie you were wearing, and mumbled, “Shut up. It's warm and very soft on the inside.”

“In the semblance of what? A bear?”

“A capybara.”

“A what?”

“A capybara. They're cute and peaceful...look a bit like overgrown guinea pigs?”

His face screwed up into a a cringe. “I wouldn't know. I haven't been spending my long godly lifespan on a silly little eternal holiday, playing with midgardians and forsaking my dignity,” he pronounced loudly, in his most aristocratic tone.

You were now facing each other only inches apart, breaths fogging the plastic divider, arms crossed pugnaciously. You paused, gathering what little patience and compassion you had left to muster, then asked. “And which of us seems happier, Loki? Hmm?”

You didn't wait for a reply, knowing it would just raise your dander even more. Loki, however, found he didn't have any rebuttal. He watched, puzzled, as you crossed the room and spoke something Loki couldn't hear into the intercom. He watched curiously, as a lab technician took several pillows and blankets from you and brought them to Loki in the other compartment.

He held them, staring blankly at the pile in his arms. You held back a chuckle at the incongruity of the scene; the proud ancient god in his regal clothes holding a pile of soft, pastel-colored material.

To your surprise, he spread them out very carefully, returned to the divider and said quietly, “Thank you.”

As he was turning to resume his pacing at the far end, you finally asked, “Loki. Why do you hate me so much? What do you have against me? I've been nothing but kind to you...even kinder because I know what it is to be like us...to be the only ones like us, alone and misunderstood in a foreign world.”

You tried to keep the hurt from your voice, but it seeped in, and the perceptive Asgardian saw it easily. Loki's stony face softened unexpectedly, eyebrows peaked in concern and a little shame at his behavior.

“Look...I...I don't hate you. I just....I took me years...years to gain the midgardians' trust after...everything. And then it took so much time and so much effort for these Avengers in particular to accept me, respect me, acknowledge me as someone other than Thor's little bastard brother and a nuisance to the planet. But eventually, finally, I had my identity as unique and glorious and a vital member of the team and finally...finally even, perhaps, gaining friends here.”

His voice dropped to an angrier growl, “But then there was you, and in mere days...days...all of that had unraveled because of you; because of your understanding of their ways, and your intelligence and your skills and....and your kindness...your incredible, unwavering kindness.”

He sat down heavily, slouching with a bowed head, as a barely perceptible tear rolled down his cheek.

There were a few moments of silence as you came closer to the divider sitting down to match him on the other side of the plastic wall. “Loki,” you said so softly, putting your hand up on the divider.

He raised his head and met your eyes, this time not bothering to hide his tears as he barked, “Spare me your pity!”

“I don't pity you,” you said, and he could see you were telling the truth. “But I do feel for you because I have been where you are. I'm sure none of it has been easy for you, but Loki, I've wanted to be your friend since I arrived here. I'd heard all about you...all those good things you said they finally thought and felt about you were the things I heard. I was honestly, a little star-struck over you.”

He chuckled at that. “Really? Star-struck?”

“Yeah. You seemed so fascinating, and bright, and...well...and handsome obviously.”

He smiled broadly at that.

“Yeah. Yeah. Don't let it go to your head. I know everyone says that about you.”

He looked puzzled. “Actually, no one has said that to me.”

“Well. I assure you, they all think it.”

He smiled, looking you up and down in your ridiculous plush onesie and said, “And you're very...I don't remember their word for it...yndig in your...your....”

You smiled and chuckled, “In English the word is 'adorable' and I think this thing is called a onesie...which..actually is also what they call the ones babies wear so I guess you're a bit right.”

Now he was laughing too and neither of you could stop.

----

In the morning Dr. Banner smiled triumphantly as he strode into the isolation room. He held up two little syringes and said, “I've got it, you two! I hope you haven't torn each other's throats out after we unzipped the barrier.”

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the two of you curled up together in a pile of blankets and pillows. The laptop was still streaming movies you had long since fallen asleep during. Loki's hand was around your shoulders and your sleepy head was resting in the crook of his neck. Sometime during the night, you had even convinced Loki to don your extra onesie (a black cat). Then, dressed up like animals, you had snuggled together and drifted off that way.

Bruce smiled, chuckled and walked right back out, deciding to let you both sleep a little longer.

He shrugged and quipped, “Guess it was a good slumber party.”

@goblingirlsarah @lokihiddleston @lokisgoodgirl @unlucky-number-13 @thedistractedagglomeration @gigglingtiggerv2 @muddyorbs @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @joyful-enchantress @marcotheflychair @mischief2sarawr @icytrickster17 @loz-3 @loopsisloops @peachyjinx @peaches1958 @lokischambermaid @ladyofthestayingpower @sweetsigyn @november-rayne @little-wormwood @littlespaceyelf @mochie85 @sarahscribbles @alexakeyloveloki @holdmytesseract

#loki fanfic #loki asks #loki x gender neutral reader #loki #lovely fanfic friends #sas #mcu loki #loki fluff #lovely asks #lovely anons

[figsnpassionfruits]

i've seen you reposted some size kink stories- where are you finding thoseeeee?? i have been looking for so long trying to find them- i just love how they make me feeeeeel

Ugh, trust me I know! I have a bunch of writers that follow and I just love their work. Usually, I just look through their Masterlist to try to find anything that mentions what I am looking for. That way you can explore all the works of a specific writer instead of just using the search bar on the tumblr dashboard, because for some reason, it never is accurate enough for me.

But don't even get me started on the size kink stuff.

I just love how feeling small and vulnerable, lying underneath a man who could tear me apart if he wanted to. There is just something so hot about it. Here he is, with the strength, but he's using it to make you feel good. ugh.

Also, here are some authors whose work I am in love with:

@stargirlfics @starktonyx @wadedickpool @holylulusworld @thorsthot @littlefreya @pastafossa @imaginemegood @hotdamnhunnam @carni-val @rayslittlekitten @little-diable @twola @emmcfrxst @messrmoonyy @lovearthur

#anon #anonymous #anon ask #send asks #send anons #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #multifandom #marvel #mcu #size kink #size difference #smut #rdr2 #arthur morgan #king arthur #sons of anarchy #soa #jax teller #raymond smith #x reader

[whateveriwant]

Hi Love, May I Please Request A Smut Where Reader And Bucky Are Making Out And He Accidentally Cums In His Pants?

A Long Night

Summary: Date night with Bucky takes a sticky left turn.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, 18+ content (slightly sub!Bucky)

A/N: Hello! This is the first thing I've written in months so I'm a little bit anxious about it. I also wanted to try something a little different so now I'm doubly anxious lol. But anyway, thank you to the anon who sent this a while back! I'm sorry it took me so long to get to, but hopefully you're still around and you enjoy! :)

An eager tongue licks at trembling lips, mixing the sharpness of wine-stained mouths. A movie ignored in the background, volume turned low, the flickering images imprinting on closed lids. A nervous breath, an even more uncertain touch, and the mind wilts as the body takes over.

If you could retrace the steps it took to get to this point, chances are you'd get lost along the way. And yet, despite the shaky start, the months-long journey through unexplored terrain, you'd forge ahead all the same so long as it led you back to this very moment.

Because this moment has been worth all the build-up.

There's a shuffle, a small dip in the cushion beside you, and the figure to your right shifts as you taste the roof of his mouth. Another readjustment, this time a leg, and suddenly you're hearing a clink-thump as the coffee table wobbles curiously.

"Oh, shoot, I—"

But the words are clipped as you pull his face back to yours, hands cradling that perfectly-angled jaw. No distractions. Just him.

You can't remember the last time you felt like this, the last time you were in this blood-pumping position. It's been months at least for you. As for Bucky… even longer.

Hence, the slow beginnings all those months back. You were both just getting back into the chaos of the dating world and were equally as unconfident. While you were quick to find your footing again, as for Bucky, that timid shell was tougher to break – even now, there's still pieces intact.

Not one to get ahead of yourself, you let him set the pace. Nearly a month before a first kiss, another before an invite inside, and yet another before a night spent over. After more pg-rated dinner dates and movie nights than you can count, slowly but surely, Bucky began opening up to you.

Now it's all culminated in tonight. With a nice home cooked meal, a bottle or two of wine, and an agreement to spend the night behind you, you found yourselves snuggling on the couch, half-watching the television. Though neither of you had any specific ideas about where this evening would lead, with the lingering touches of hands here and soft caresses of thighs there, before you knew it, the movie was an afterthought as you were pressed up against him, shoving your tongue into his mouth.

You sigh as you let yourself get lost in the moment – the taste, smell, touch of him intoxicating; invigorating, even. Your head bobs rhythmically with Bucky's and the hulking man responds in turn, gingerly mirroring your moves as he attempts to follow your lead.

As his scruff scrapes the skin of your palms, you feel Bucky's own fingers fluttering around your body, nervous butterflies afraid to land. Undiscouraged, you release his cheeks to take his hands within your own, brazenly planting them on your lower back, permitting him to venture even lower. You return your hands to the sides of his face, and with a little more encouragement on your part, eventually, Bucky starts to mimic your enthusiasm, his massive hands rubbing, groping, pulling at you.

Emboldened, your lips and fingers explore the marble-smooth contours of his face. Plump lips lead to an angled jaw, chiseled by one of the masters himself. Soft earlobes trail down to a pulsing neck, hot and red as a flush creeps under his collar.

Your hands inch their way towards the back of his head, tickling the damp skin of his nape. As your fingers stretch out and catch the hairs at the base of his skull, you hear a moan, almost a whimper, as your fingers scratch at his exposed scalp.

You pause, unsure if your ears deceived you, before cautiously trying again. Another pull, another moan, and your lip curls triumphantly as you nip at his carotid.

The loop repeats undisturbed – tug, groan, grin – as you pluck at the string holding Bucky together, winding his limbs taut. As you connect with his mouth once again, absently, you sling a leg over one of Bucky's own, brushing a hardness at the convergence of his thighs. 

A gasp parts his lips in shock. He pulls away from you suddenly, arms stiff as he holds you at a distance. His abruptness catches you by surprise and you too pull back, hands suspended mid-air.

Bucky's breathless as he takes a moment to collect himself, then two, then three, as the air gradually returns to him. You similarly steal a breath or two for yourself, your body frozen as you fear you've overstepped your bounds.

After a while, he gulps. "S-Sorry, I—" he mutters, his hands drooping by his sides. "I just wasn't… I-I didn't— I haven't—"

"It's okay," you reassure him, palm coming to gently cup his face. You know this is all a bit fast, a bit uncharted, so you can't say you blame him for being jumpy. "Do you want to stop?"

"No! No," he responds hurriedly, his hands flying back up to your waist, fingers pressing urgently into your flesh. "No, it's— I'm alright, just— Don't stop… Please."

You offer a sympathetic smile, thumb brushing the highpoint of his cheek. You nod. "We can go slow, okay?"

He wets his lips and takes a slow breath. After a beat, he returns your nod.

Steadily, you lean forward to give him the barest of pecks on his bottom lip. You pull back an inch. "Is this okay?" you check.

His eyes are already shut as you look at him, his lips red and swollen, slightly puckered in anticipation. His lashes flick open just a sliver at your question, and he nods again, his hands sliding to your hips.

You kiss him once more, a little stronger this time, and then lower your hands onto his shoulders. "How about this? Is this okay?" you repeat.

With a third and final nod in blessing, this time as you capture his lips with yours, you deepen the kiss, letting your eyes fall closed as you make no move to pull apart.

Soon enough, it's as if no disruption happened in the first place. You kiss him like he breathes life into your lungs, like his taste is one to rival the nectar of the gods. Your skin almost buzzes from an unseen force, the air crackling and sizzling as if electrically charged. 

The current makes you restless as it surges through your veins, and your hands begin to wander like they have minds of their own. With your left, you trace his clavicle downwards, steel beneath silk that entices your fingertips. With your right, you descend along his torso, a steady thump beneath your palm keeping time with the clock.

The more you explore, the stronger the temptation is to roam, finding excitement in all the new discoveries you make. How the hollow of his throat vibrates as he hums, tingling the pads of your fingers. How his ribs expand and deflate as he takes in air, each thick breath headier than the last. How his hips twitch, his abdomen tenses, as your curious touch creeps lower and lower and lower.

You could get drunk off this moment if you'd let it consume you, the feeling nearly addictive as his warmth bleeds into you. It's like your mind is filled with static, your limbs with lightning, and you just can't get enough. Enough of now, enough of this, enough of him… Nothing can sate you, not that you want to be yet.

Reaching the jut of his hip bone, you're hardly cognizant of the way your wrist rocks, the dull note from his chest turning sharper. You feel him start to draw back as if he means to speak, and your body acts on instinct as he tries to halt your measures.

"Maybe we should— Nnngh," he groans as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth; animalistic, possessive, territorial.

With a hand on his neckline, you swiftly pull him back to you, delving your tongue into his velvet mouth. Now's not the time for words. Now's the time for actions; for raw, unrestrained emotions.

Silenced by your lips, Bucky can only mutter feebly into your mouth, a whiny, nearly desperate sound. He mewls and squirms as your hand drops to his thigh, kneading the junction where his leg meets his pelvis.

God, he sounds so pretty, and he tastes twice as good. You can only imagine how the rest of him feels.

Your hands continue to rove Bucky's sturdy body, searching for what, you're not entirely sure. He jolts and shakes at your blind ministrations, and soon you find you're fidgeting alongside him, the tinder catching spark in your belly. 

The flames within you surge higher and higher, stoked by your insatiable probing. The fire is scorching, branding your viscera, reducing your organs to ash and smoke. And yet, despite the carnage, the boiling pit in your stomach, the burn is oh so delicious as it envelops you.

You grab at him, needy, like you can't get close enough, like you'd crawl in his skin if possible. Your fist on his sternum, collar twisted in your hold, aching fingers pulling him further into you. Your mouth against his, lips forming bruises, tongue swallowing every last one of his murmurs. Your hand at his lap, fingers outstretching, thumbnail grazing the hot, hard—

"Ahhhh."

A sharp intake of breath renders your lips alone. Dazed, dumbfounded, your eyes spring open, taking in the scene before you. 

Bucky's head is tilted back, neck fully exposed, mouth propped wide open in a sigh. The couch shakes as he bucks wildly against the air, his hips rolling, pulsing, quaking. His eyes are squeezed shut like he's just stared into the sun, his hands clutching at the waist of your shirt, pulling roughly.

For a moment, you're bewildered as you gaze at him, the pinched expression creasing his face. His stuttered movement draws your attention downwards, and you look low to find…

Oh.

Gradually, sluggishly, Bucky regains use of his senses. His eyes blink open a fraction at a time, like each lid weighs a ton. His arms sag by his sides like his body has liquefied, sand and cement in the place of blood and bone. 

As he slowly comes to, it's clear he's just as confused as you were a moment ago, his brows slanted in question. But then he looks down, and too discovers the large, wet splotch darkening his groin, and the realization soon follows.

Delicately, you untangle yourself from  his embrace, releasing his collar from your hungry grasp. The pressure cooker in your stomach slowly lets off steam as the gravity of what just happened sinks in. 

With his chin still tucked, Bucky lets out a tense breath, a huff of disbelief escaping his lips. Then he's shyly raising his head towards you, muscles stiffening in unease, blush streaking up his neck, his cheeks, his ears. 

You're both silent as your eyes meet again, neither one wanting or knowing how to address the situation. You didn't intend for things to peak so quickly, and you have a feeling you're not alone in the sentiment. While it's easy enough to decipher the look on his face – embarrassment, shame, horror – as for your mind, it's harder for you to get a read on your thoughts. 

Before you get a chance to dissect your own brain, though, Bucky's voice is filling your head, fragmented sentences spilling out rapid fire.

"M'sorry," he says breathily, exhaling through his words. "S'just been so long since— W-What I mean is I didn't— I wasn't expecting—"

As the apologies – the explanations – tumble forth from his mouth, you can't help how the noise diminuendos, fading to the background until you can't discern it from the sound of the television.

That was… interesting, to put it plainly.

The series of events may have had an unexpected ending, sure, but unseemly? Unprompted? Unwelcomed? That's what you're trying to unravel.

While this isn't the first you've been with a hair-trigger partner, there was something this time that was inexplicably different. In these circumstances, normally, you're left disappointed but understanding; frustrated but sympathetic; optimistic but unsurprised when your own release is lackluster, if you even get that far.

Now, though… Now you're frenzied.

You're feverish, the heat still rolling off you in waves, practically melting you from the inside out. You're frantic, your imagination running wild with possibilities, fantasies of 'What if? What next? What more?' You're free falling, body plummeting through the sky, burning a hole in the atmosphere as you try to come back down to earth.

You take a deep breath, if only to slow your racing heart. You uncurl your nails from your palms as you consider what your next move is.

Where to go from here? 

Bucky's still a broken record in your periphery, apologizing profusely despite it being unnecessary. Even with that premature dip in the road, this evening has been pure, unwavering bliss, your cheeks hot with an enjoyment you can't put into words. While you'd be a liar if you said you weren't a tad upset at the early curtain call, the memories amassed through the night are enough to keep your core tightly clenched.

The dinner, the drinks, the dreamy atmosphere of it all. Not to mention the sensations, the sounds, the sinful taste of his tongue. And, of course, that alluring sight; that knuckle-tearing, lash-fluttering, positively rapturous look on his face as he…

As your mind continues to wander, your eyes follow suit, and soon enough you're drifting back to that sullied spot on his bottoms. The stain is just as apparent as ever, making a spark shoot up the length of your spine. But as your eyes find their mark at the center of his lap, your vision rapidly tunnels, another unnoticed – unexpected – aspect grabbing your attention.

You glance back up at his face, seeing but not hearing the words as they leave his mouth. If he's even aware of himself, of the still-straining fabric of his trousers – tenting, enticing, inviting – then he doesn't show it.

You take one more peer below, the gears turning in your head, the embers in your belly slowly reigniting. Past experience had deemed that the final stroke of midnight, your prince replaced by a pauper. Instead, this night seems to be full of surprises as a path ahead suddenly reveals itself.

"I swear this has never happened befo—"

Bucky's muted as you rear forward, smothering him with a fervent, fiery kiss. 

"Shhh," you hush, then you're pushing, insistently so, so that he's falling backwards, taking you with him.

His back meets the cushions with an ungraceful ooof, his legs sprawling awkwardly across the couch. He looks up at you with all the confusion of a lost, little puppy, but you don't give him a chance to question your actions. 

"It's okay. You don't have to worry," you promise, deftly maneuvering around his frame, planting a knee on either side of his waist.  

Pointedly, you lower your pelvis until you're hovering just above his lap, one more inch and you'd be slick with the mess of it. You chase off any lingering concern with a press of your mouths together, a soft lick at the seam of his lips. Then you lean down slowly, a tease more than anything, until you're tickling the shell of his ear with your whispers.

"We've still got a long night ahead."

__________

A/N: I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

#wiw asks #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #marvel #mcu #oneshot

[ivystoryweaver]

Based on a request by @mintellaine: Moon Boys married prompts #6&7: being able to predict the other's moves & predict the other's words

Content: f!reader, established relationship, action, violence, fluff, kissing, mentions of food

Word Count: 805

Moon Knight's cape swished valiantly behind him as his muscular thigh thrusted outward in a punishing kick. The foul-smelling, ghastly supernatural creature yelped, its phantom bones crunching as it careened toward you.

"Drop!"

"Yep!"

Your body had already instinctively reacted. Sprinting forward, you dropped to your knees, skidding under the creature. Raising your arm, you dragged your curved dagger through its hairy abdomen.

Your enemy's ear-piercing shriek momentarily disoriented you, propelling you into a stumble, rather than you flipping to your feet with your usual grace.

Before even your shoulder could graze the bruising asphalt, a white gauze-wrapped arm slid underneath you, absorbing your fall. Tucking you in tightly to the solid safety of his chest, the two of you hit the rooftop with an "umph."

Heavy breaths pushed past your lips as you came down from your adrenaline rush, cocooned carefully inside your husband's white cape. His glowing, moonbeam eyes narrowed into slits as he inspected you for injury.

"Give me a second?" You panted, grateful for his protective embrace.

"Yeah, I can do that," he answered, his mask disappearing.

"Hi," you breathlessly whispered, smiling at his handsome face.

"Hey," he casually returned, admiration etched into his cute smirk. "That was a hell of a move."

"Thanks, I - "

" - learned from the best," he grinned.

Pulling you to your feet, Marc grasped your arms to steady you.

Suddenly, white gauze melted away as a shining, three-piece deliciously tight suit appeared.

"Darling, you were amazing," Steven bragged...but before he could compliment your attire, which he was always prone to do, even mid-fight, his warm brown eyes widened in panic.

You were already ducking as the word left his mouth. Scrambling away from this newest threat, you heard the crunch of bone.

White, gloved fists brutally connected with the jaw of yet another vile creature. Where were these things coming from?

Rolling out of the way, you scurried around behind the beast, mindful of the roof's edge. But before you could attack with your daggers, it lunged backward, knocking you dangerously close to your doom.

Steven, whose white mask was in place now, leapt into the air brandishing his signature heavy batons. "Get away from her, you!"

Having gained the creature's attention, it turned and attacked him with a screeching howl. Steven became a flurry of moonlit precision, striking blow after kick after thud with his batons. This gave you time to attack from the back. With a cry of fury, you lunged forward with all your might, sinking two daggers into the creature's gangly back.

It screeched - its ghastly body arching in agony as Steven tipped his sassy chin in a final salute. "That's m'wife, mate."

Then the creature was ash.

You stood across from your husband - a dagger in each hand, hair a wild mess, chest heaving, hoping that was your final fight tonight.

"Wow...look at you," Steven marveled, his mask disappearing once more.

"I probably look as crazy as that thing...before it disintegrated," you laughed, tucking your daggers away.

"Not possible," he chuckled. "But let me guess: you're bloody starving." You always were after a good fight.

With a cute shrug, your nose crinkled in delight, "You read my mind."

"Dumplings?" He proposed, knowing how much you loved them.

"Mmm, the way to my heart," you murmured, yanking his tie and pulling his lips to yours.

The adrenaline of a fight always brought some spice to your marriage, and your knees gave out a little as Steven's tongue ran along the seam of your lips. Opening your mouth to him, you felt the beautiful proof of his life - his hot, panting breath, mingling with the slightly salty tinge of sweat from his exertion.

He was safe. And all yours.

Strong arms swept you up into a possessive embrace. Marc. His tongue licked in hotly into your mouth, tangling with yours, as the fullness of his lips caressed your own deliciously.

"Do we have to get vegan dumplings?" He pouted, nibbling your lips one at a time.

"Babe, you know that place on the corner always adds pork dumplings to Steven's vegan order."

With one final kiss, his mask and hood cloaked his face once more.

"Ready?" Marc proposed, nodding down to the street below.

"Do you even have to ask?" You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck trustingly. The moon was full tonight, so its Knight would glide across the sky with ease.

With you tucked closely to his side, Marc leaped into the night sky. The thrill of flying...or falling gracefully overwhelmed you, making you giggle childishly in delight.

"This is my favorite way to travel!" You called over the whoosh of air around you.

"Thanks, but - "

" - don't tell Jake, I know," you finished his sentence, knowing how much Jake liked to drive you around (and drive you wild).

IvyStoryWeaver's 500 Follower Celebration

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#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon boys #moon knight system #ivy replies #asks #inbox #500 follower celebration #married prompts #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #mcu #oscar isaac fic #moon knight x reader #marc spector x f!reader #steven grant x f!reader #moon knight x f!reader

[wildglitch]

Spider-man x Batfam Prompt's

Ok so lately I have seen a lot of "Spidy goes to gotham and gets adopted fics" probably cause of Dark Matter by mysterycyclone cause like, duh, that fic is a goddamn masterpiece. But I feel like a lot of them are sort of the same thing with diffrent fonts ans it feels a bit saturated. Not all of them...but most of them.

Am I saying that there needs to be less of these fics? Hell no! Keep writing them please. I just feel like there could be more variety is all.

I suggest maybe try one of these ideas out

1: Peter going straight to the Batfam or other heros (dosent always have to be Batfam) and they try to work together on how to get him home, while slowly realizing "omg, your life is terrible! We want to help you, we do, but maybe we shouldnt and try to give you a better life here. Then its just a moral delema on what to do as they get to know the spider child.

2: maybe another Spider-man is the one that goes to Hotham like Andrew or Toby. Insted of being sent home at the end of NWH, they where accidentally sent to the DCU. Or maybe one of the Spider verse characters or a cartoon version of the character. Dosent always need to be Toms Spider-man.

3: on that same note. Please give more love to What If...Zombies Peter. You guys have no Idea the amount of angst and "haha, my world ended and im fine" potental there is. And you can have the other surviving member also be there as they look for eachother (characters that "survived* (no one survived that episode) are Peter, King T'challa, Scott Lang+cape, and Ig Bruce Baner/Hulk, and Bucky Barnes since we never saw them get turned or eaten) just think about Spidey and the Batfam investigating a lab or sometbing and all of a sudden they find floating head Scott in a crate. Everyone if scared shitless while Peter is crying tires of joy as he moves to hug the floating head. Think about that and tell me Im not on to something here.

4: Have the fic start our like halfway through. Maybe skip him getting to Gotham and have him be there for a few months already or something. This will help with adding more crack fics.

5: Maybe have the fic be that Peter is there for a while, he knows everyone, they know him, they might or might not know the identitys but they trust eachother. And Peter has been looking for a way home and he finally finds it! But... he accidentally brings some of the Batfam with him. So now its the Batfams turn to learn to live in the MCU with help of Spidy and they finally understand so much about him, how he lived, and vigilanties he knows (team red!) As they learn the history and pubilc opinion or Spider-man and the world.

6: Just a react to fic. Yk, those fics where they're stuffed in a room and forced to watch something? Yeah. Have the Dark Matter cast stuffed in a room and watch some MCU clips. It dosent even have to be some magic forth wall bull shit if you dont like that. In chapter 44, Peter and co. are said to be going back to the cave, and Peter still have is suit. Canonically, Karen records everything. Maybe Peter ends up so tired he dosent even want to try to explain everything. So he just hooks up Karen to the computer and and has her show them everything from the suits recordings to security cameras and news reports, to the memes and videos spiderman fans have made.

7: have the Justice League get involed cause "Hes to bright to be one of yours Bruce!" And have him be a honorary member of the league of have them put him on Young Justice. Peter gets adopted by Batfam? Yes. Peter becomeing Bffs with the Young Justice kids and actually forming normal relationships with kids his age? Also yes.

Do I have more? Probably but Im too lazy for it rn

If you for some reason use one of my ideas, pls tag me and maybe credit me for the original idea (but I mostly want to be able to find the fic if you do make it ( o_o) )

Who knows, I might just write some of these myself if I ever get the motivation lol

#writing prompt #fanfic writers #fanfic #spider man #batfam #marvel mcu #mcu #dcu #dc universe #peter parker #dark matter #crossover #crossover fic #fic ideas #please #I have had some on these ideas in my head for so long now TvT #send asks

[astroboots]

Can we just think about somno/cock warming with Steven for a quick sec? Like imagine getting sweet doe eyed Steven semi hard to sink down onto him just to sleep. Waking up to the poor man whimpering and begging for you. Lord take my soul now.

Summary: Steven is preoccupied by a research task for Marc that keeps him away from bed with you. You decide to keep him warm until he's done in the most distracting way possible.

Word Count: 2,850

Content: somnophilia, cockwarming, overstimulation.

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

It's dark in his flat, the only light is coming from the small desk lamp in the corner and the blue aquarium lighting from the fish tank that bathes everything in a shade of pale neon blue.

The rain is pitter-pattering against the large windows. There is a faint scraping sound of pages being turned every so often.

You're lying in bed, head propped up against your pillow, as you try to keep your eyes open and observe Steven where he's hunched over his desk that's filled with piles and piles of books that he's completely consumed by. He's drowning in the books. Face practically pressing up against the ink that you're convinced will leave smudges on his soft cheeks. His outdated librarian glasses are slipping down the arch of his nose.

"Steven," you murmur sleepily, asking him for the third (or is it the fourth time tonight?) to come join you in bed.

But you get the same reply you got last time. A gentle hum, followed by, "in just a minute, almost finished love."

You give it another minute, then two-- until a good half hour must have passed before you call out for him again.

"Steven."

The only response you get from his is a distracted hum. He doesn't look up.

"Come to bed," you try again, but it's a lost cause.

Ordinarily, you barely have to finish the second syllable of his name before Steven's head pops up like a meerkat, with his alert and undivided attention focused all on you.

In the rare times he didn't, you'd certainly get his attention by the time you finished the first repetition of his name.

Tonight though?

This is probably the fourth or fifth time for the evening you've asked for him.

You're… annoyed to say the least.

With a heavy sigh, you raise yourself into a sitting position in the bed.

"What is so important it can't wait until morning?"

It comes out just a tad sharper than you had meant it to.

That seems to finally snap Steven out of his trance.

He looks up from his book, turning in your direction as his eyes flicker over to you with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Like someone's just stirred him from a spell.

"Oh! Sorry sorry," he closes the book in front of him and holds it up to you.

"Marc needed me to decode the location of some ancient map, and it's a bit more complicated than we thought. It's a bit like a treasure hunt, quite fun actually. We're trying to retrace the steps of Hargrave Marks, he's an archaeologist from the 60s, who had this detailed journal of his treks. But I also have to cross-reference it with several history books cause the accounts aren't exactly contemporaneous or accurate even for the time it was written. Hargrave had a tendency to opt for good storytelling instead of accuracy and--"

His excited ramble pewters out as you cross your arms across your chest. It's rather hostile, you realise when you see him bite his lip in worry at the sight and follow up with a much quieter: "Sorry, love.. am I being too loud? Am I keeping you up?"

There's an apologetic smile on his lip, and normally that would be enough to make any traces of irritation thaw and melt into dew. You're soft for Steven that way.

But this time, his cluelessness at the source of your irritation only serves to make you more irritated.

"No, that's hardly the issue. I want you to come to bed with me."

You can admit that you're acting spoiled.

Because you are spoiled. Used to being spoiled rotten by Steven's profuse adoration. The way he constantly showers you with his affection and full attention at all times. It's probably why it feels like something that is rightfully yours (him) has now been unfairly ripped from you by someone else (Marc), and you're not happy about it, childish and unreasonable as it may be.

And poor Steven, he looks genuinely torn, eyes flittering between you and the book pages. Hesitation etched over the line between his brows, his eyes lingering at the reflection of the TV screen for a few conspicuous seconds too long (Marc).

Whatever Marc is saying to Steven, has him sheepishly ducking his head back down towards the books.

"It might take a while longer," he murmurs, eyes not meeting yours. "Maybe half an hour? Or an hour? If you're sleepy you shouldn't stay awake for me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

You lie back down on the mattress with a huff as you turn away from him. Trying to shut out the white noise of his pen scribbling away as the pages continue to turn.

Mad as you may be. It's cosy and warm underneath the sheets. And you had a long day at work. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. The odds were against you. You don't know how long you are out for, but you wake to the weight of the bed shifting.

Blinking your bleary eyes open, you see Steven with one knee clambering into bed, books strewn all across the mattress, and another half dozen huddled up in his arms, and a pen tucked behind each ear.

"I'm sorry, love. This was taking longer than I thought, and I hate being away from you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

God, this sweet adorable man. All at once, guilt washes over you for having been so harsh to him earlier.

Stretching out your arms, you wrap them around his back and curl one hand around the back of his neck as you pull him down to you, relishing the small "oof" sound he makes as he plops down on top of you with a soft thud against the mattress, books landing somewhere besides you both.

"You finished?" you ask.

He shakes his head, apologetically. "Not quite yet, sorry. But I thought I could maybe do the rest in bed? That way I can at least be close to you. If you don't mind? I'll try to be very quiet."

You hum, pressing your face into the warm crook of his neck. He's so soft and warm. Comforting and steady. You draw in your breath and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but he has that familiarly pleasant smell that reminds you of a bookshop. Notes of coffee and a freshly turned page. Drawing up your lips, you mouth a small path along the line of his neck, and relish the keen little sound that he makes. A quiet little whine as his hips hitch up and press up against your legs.

"Lo-love that's-- oh god that feels--wait, I still--" he's babbling, the way he always does when your lips are on him.

You nip at the soft skin with your teeth, not enough to hurt, just with enough strength that you know will have his toes tingling as he tries to curl them against the sheets for reprieve.

"Wait," he murmurs, even though he's the one who's bearing down his weight down against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against the softness of your stomach, separated only by the comforter. "I--I need," he licks his lips, trying to find his words. Eyes glazed in a way that tells you the blood in his head has travelled south, and his capacity for speech is quickly going with it.

You hum softly, one hand travelling between your torsos as he hisses sharply at the touch of your hand when it brushes up against his clothes then underneath, your knuckles dragging against the bare skin of his soft belly. "Hmm? Need what Steven?"

Reaching for his waistband, you slip your hand into his boxers. He's already half-hard, and still rising as if to meet your fingers as you wrap them around the girth of his cock, and he gasps brokenly with a half-strangled noise.

"Tell me what you need," you remind him.

His pupils are blown wide as he swallows, Adam's apple constricting against that graceful throat. He's trying to find his words again.

"I need to finish my reading. I promised Marc."

"So finish, I'm not going to stop you."

Steven's gaze darts downwards between your body, to where your hand is still wrapped around him under his sleeping pants, with a pointed look in an unspoken accusation that you are in fact: stopping him.

His cock twitches in your grip. You can feel the slick wetness of precum leaking down from the blunt tip, trickling down your knuckles even as Steven is trying very hard not to react.

You can't help the smile that spreads on your lips as you tilt your head up, until they're brushing against his sensitive ear, letting your breath fan against the shell of it as you speak.

"Don't let me distract you, keep going, keep reading. Finish your work." You're still holding him in one hand, as the other moves to the waistband clinging to his backside and drag it down.

You let your nails gently graze along his spine, round hips and thick thighs as you do, enjoying the way he shivers defenselessly under your touch.

"Uhm, love-- you're--"

It doesn't take much encouragement or strength on your part. You grab hold of his hips as you roll him onto his back, and he lets you. No resistance on his part, as you straddle his hips, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

"I'm what Steven?"

The tip of his tongue, pink and glistening darts out in a nervous habit against his lower lip.

"No-nothing, nothing..." he manages. Words slurred and clumsy in his mouth as his hands grip onto your thigh as if he never wants to let you go.

It's all you can do, not to laugh. Whatever promises he had made Marc, it seems to have flown out of the cuckoo's nest.

You really should let him finish his work for Marc though, it won't do to make Mr. Grouchy even grouchier. Problem is you're not quite ready to let go of Steven or to relinquish his attention that you've finally earned from him this evening.

Dragging your hand, you let it caress the soft cotton of his shirt from his chest to his stomach then further down as you grip his cock again.

"Don't worry, let's make a compromise" you say as you stroke his cock up and down the fully hardened length as it twitches and jumps in your grip.

Steven is already nodding forcefully before he's even heard what he's agreeing to. You grip his cock angling it between your thighs and you can hear the soft gasp erupting from his mouth as the tip catches against your slick entrance.

"Keep reading, and when you finish--" you tilt your hips, sliding down in a slow and steady pace. The pleasure is sweet and heady as it skitters through your spine.

Steven's fingers grip the flesh of your thighs, trying to drag you down deeper onto his cock. But you refuse to let yourself be rushed, taking your time to prolong the sweet stretch of the thickness of his cock splitting you open as you sink down on him inch by slow, gorgeous inch, until he's buried to the hilt of you.

His eyes are on you, wild and frenzied, like you're the only thing he can see, his whole world: sky, ocean, and every atom in between are composed of you.

Leaning down, you lie flush down on his firm torso, until your breast are pressed up against his chest, you tilt your head up just enough to press a much too chaste kiss on his lips.

"Keep reading" you tell him again and he whines.

"Love, I can't--"

"Finish the work" you interrupt. "You've promised Marc and I'm not going to move an inch until you finish."

His eyes widen impossibly large at your words, as he starts to realize what he's signed himself up for. Then his bottom lip pushes forward. He's actually sulking, and god, he has no right to make pouty look so gorgeous.

Without any words, his right arm reaches out along the mattress, patting it down until he finds one of the books and brings it to his chest. He lets out a slight testy murmur, in a grouchy tone that is much more characteristic of Marc than it ever would be for Steven.

Once the book is settled in his hand and he starts to read, you nestle your face into his chest. It's the best solution to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter when you hear Steven mumble discontentedly about how: he's never going to do Marc any more favours again.

He still smells of books and coffee, of warmth and happiness that makes you feel weightless against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he reads, hypnotic, like being rocked to sleep, and before you know it you drift to sleep.

You wake to pitch blackness. A sweet syrupy pleasure that flutters somewhere deep in you, but you can't tell where it comes from, and you can't grasp it in your hold. It skitters to your stomach and down to your thighs, warm and soft that makes you clench down to chase the sensation.

A keen gasp fills the room. Too low to be your own voice.

You blink your eyes against the darkness, mind still fussy and drunk with sleep, as you shift your body and are rewarded with that sweet-honeyed pleasure swirling through your stomach, except brighter this time, sharper, and you can't help but clench down again, hoping you can catch it this time and make it stay.

The sound comes again, a sweet gorgeous gasp, except this time, it breaks off in the middle with a quiet whimper.

"Love, please..." the voice pleads with you.

It's such a pretty voice, soft-spoken and gentle, but it sounds almost pained.

Steven...

You dart up, elbow anchored against his firm and solid chest as you look down on him, the small patch of drool on his white shirt, shit...

Trying to raise yourself further, the warm pleasure drags against your insides, and you can't help the moan slipping past your lips. Thick and heavy, his cock is still inside of you jerking from the movement in protest.

You fell asleep on him.

"I finished all my work now." He says it like an announcement.

You look down until your eyes meet. They're sharp. Mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then his hands grip down on the outside of your thighs, hard enough that you think he might leave permanent dents.

Patient, sweet, polite Steven is at the end of his ropes it seems. He pushes you down flush against him until you're pressed down as far as you can take him. It's white and electric, no longer the slow and lazied pleasure you've dreamt of in your half-awake state.

"Been having a nice restful nap, you have," he says, and you don't miss the sarcastic tone in his voice even as he groans, low in his throat, while he continues to reprimand you.

"Did you know that you've been shifting and squeezing down on my cock the whole time? No, I don't imagine you did, love."

The firm weight underneath you shifts, and you barely have a second to breathe and regain your composure before Steven raises his hips, thrusting up and into you as far as he goes.

"Felt like I was going mad."

He lifts you up, hands beneath the underside of your thighs, as he drags his cock alongside you, slowly. Maddening.

It feels like payback. The sweetest lesson you've ever earned.

"Said you weren't going to move until I've finished," Steven reminds you, as he holds you still. "But I've been done for quite a while, and you've been moving quite a lot before then actually. Writhing, hot and wet around me. I can actually feel it dripping out of you."

He pulls out of you until only the fat tip is resting inside you, his hips flush back down against the mattress. One hand draws down between your legs, his thumb sliding wetly against your folds, infuriatingly slow, until he's reached your clit but doesn't press down. He holds it there, without any pressure as if he's waiting for something.

"You ready love?" he asks, holding you poised against him, his hips canting up in preparation

Steven searches for your eyes, and the look in his eyes, focused and honed, has your heart beat fast and excitedly with no logical rhythm against your ribs.

"Yes, Steven."

It's all he needs, he thrusts up as his hands pull you down on him in a devastating stroke that incinerates the air in your lungs.

You're in for a long night, and whatever shortlived sleep you managed to catch earlier won't be enough for what Steven has in mind for you two. Not when you've gotten him riled up like this.

But that's alright.

You look down at Steven, eyes glassy with a feverish sheen. All of his attention pinned on you.

It's not so bad is it? To get to have all of Steven's devoted attention for yourself like this.

Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who was indispensable as always, for the brainstorming, the coming up with the hottest Steven dialogue (jesus fucking christ her lines are fucking fire) and for the beta-ing and putting up with my atrocious run-on sentence, tenuous grasp of grammar and wilful typos. I love you.

Also to the secret nonny. You don't know what your ask did to me (and TWP) we went into a horny frenzy and I couldn't sleep haunted by the horny images that were flashing behind my eyes because of your ask. I adore you! thank you for sending this in.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #💌 asks

[abbyromanoff]

4 19 33 48

Dom g!p wanda x fem!reader

Pls

Disobedience

Pairings: Wanda maximoff x reader

Word count: 1595

Warnings: mentions of stoner Wanda, smut, Wanda has a dick, blowjobs, overstimulation, Dom/sub, mommy kink, think that’s all

Summary: When you arrive home late, breaking Wanda’s rule, she had to punish you

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

Here you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you finished up the final touches to your makeup. You couldn’t lie, you looked good. A tight and silky red cloth laid over your body, it didn’t do a great job at covering your cleavage, but you loved it.

“Wanda! Can you help me put this necklace on?” You yelled out, the woman walked out of the bathroom and stopped in her tracks, staring at you with her lip in between her teeth. Her eyes landed upon your ass, moving closer to give it a harsh squeeze. You gasped, slapping her lightly but sternly on the shoulder. Her mouth landed on your neck, leaving love bites that made you hum in content. Her hand trailed under the fabric, grasping your inner thigh tightly.

“No panties? Is it my birthday or something?.” You moaned quietly when her fingers found themselves between your wet folds, rubbing gentle circles against your clit.

“Is this all for me?”

“No, it’s for my friend's birthday, the one I’ve been telling you about for the past week.” She paused, looking at you through the mirror and resting her head on top of yours. Her digits didn’t leave their spot, your juices coating her fingertips.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot. I can go get dressed-” You cut her off before she could finish, shushing her with a finger to her lips.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to go. It might be best, you know how my friends feel about you.” You said, a hint of guilt in your tone. She sighed, it was obvious your friends weren’t the biggest fans of her, they didn’t like your dynamic. Wanda had always been known for her notorious acts, smoking weed, partying, drinking, just being a normal college student. You and your friends were different though. Student councils, the debate team, you were basically known as the goodie two shoes of the school. You never got in trouble, and if you did, it was because of Wanda. She often convinced you to skip class, party, basically do anything she wanted. You could never say no to that beautiful face of hers.

“You’re not going out dressed like that, at least not when I’m not there.” The way she spoke could’ve made you fall to your knees on the spot, but you weren’t in the mood for her games, you wanted to go to this party.

“Wanda, this is my best friend's party, I have to go! Look, I promise I’ll text you every hour so you know I’m safe. Besides, all of us are boring, we’re just going to have a few drinks and talk for a while.”

“But I don’t want you to leave, can’t you just stay home? With your girlfriend? I’m gonna be all lonely without you, baby.” She pouted, hoping you’d finally give in. You grabbed her hand, taking her digit covered in your slick up to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around it, your eyes fluttering shut as your muffled moan rang loudly in her ears. A popping sound could be heard as you let go, staring at her with doey eyes.

“Hmm, no.” You swayed your hips lightly as you left the room, saying one last goodbye before closing the door behind you.

It was nearing midnight when you finally got home, you promised Wanda you would be home by 11:00, you were fucked. You tiptoed over to your room, taking your heels off at the front door to limit the noise. Suddenly, a light turned on, illuminating the dark room.

“11:56,” She exaggerated each letter with a small pause. “I thought I told you to be home before eleven o’clock? Did I not?” You nervously chuckled, staring at the woman with some sort of hope she’d have remorse on you.

“Now, you deliberately broke my rules, and to top it all off, I see a photo of you sitting on that birthday chick's lap? Did she fuck you? Hm? Fucking tell me!” You shook your head faster than you thought was possible, gulping down your fears before speaking.

“N-no, she didn’t. We just wanted to take a photo, it was nothing more!” She got closer to you, something you didn’t know was possible, and wrapped her hand around your neck still littered with her marks.

“I bet you wanted her to though, didn’t you? You wanted that annoying mouth of hers all over you, over my cunt?” Her free hand went under your dress, cupping your heat like earlier.

“Did you not wear any panties for her? Or for me? Tell me baby, who owns you?” She whispered hotly against your lips, you had to fight the urge to lean in and capture yours together.

“You do, you own me Wanda.” She hummed, a large smirk taking over her face.

“And who owns this cunt? Who’s pussy is this?”

“You do! You own me Wanda, every part of me!” She nodded, wetting her lips as she stared down at you with hunger in her eyes. She gripped your arm and yanked you forwards, causing you to almost fall on the couch behind you.

“Strip. Now.” Were the only words that fell out of her mouth.

“But-” She cut you off, clearly tired of your bullshit.

“No! I gave you an order, you follow it. God, you really are trying to piss me off tonight, aren’t you.” Giving in, you did what she asked, staring directly at her as you removed your clothes. The dress was slowly peeled off, revealing your nude body. She eyed you up and down without shame, walking forward to place her hands on your hips.

“Fuck, still so damn sexy. You have no idea what you do to me baby, you make mommy so fucking hard.” She let out a small moan, placing your hand on her crotch where you found a large imprint.

“You feel that? That’s all from you, baby.” Your legs folded as you dropped to your knees, surprising the woman. Your fingers undid her pants, pulling them down as you looked at her with innocent eyes. Her boxers were revealed as you licked over the bulge ever so lightly, beating her at her own game.

“Mm, sweetheart, I need you to suck me off. Need your sweet little mouth.” Her head was shot back, the pleasure consuming her. The last piece of clothing was thrown to the small pile next to her, your hand wrapping itself around her almost immediately.

“Mommy, look at me when I jerk you off, look at your angel.” You pleaded. She looked down at you, using her palm to slap you on the cheek before stroking the now shaded red skin.

“Don’t tell me what to do, honey. I’ll watch you if I feel like it.” Apologizes left your mouth, your hand still continuing its motions. She replaced your palm with her own, slapping her throbbing length against your lips. You opened them slowly, letting the tip enter your mouth. Her pre-cum hit your tastebuds instantly, causing you to moan around her. She smiled devilishly before holding both sides of your head in her hands, making you bob up and down. Your own digits trailed up her legs, leaving goosebumps behind. Your fingertips tapped her balls lightly, grasping them in your hands as to cause her more pleasure. She couldn’t help herself, she forced your head further down on her cock, hitting the back of your throat as you gagged. Tears escaped your eyes at the feeling, no matter how many times you took her, you still found it difficult to deepthroat her.

“Shit! That’s it, gag on my fucking dick, cry for me you little bitch.” She loved the fact that you struggled to swallow all of her, it turned her on more than she could ever admit. Knowing that she was the biggest you’ve ever had, it just did things to her.

“You gonna soak my cock with your tears? You filthy whore, can’t even suck dick without mommy’s help.” You nodded around her, your eyes fluttering shut as her tip rammed against the back of your throat repeatedly.

She didn’t stop until she released, filling your mouth up with cum. And now, your legs were spread on the couch as she ate you out for the third time, not letting up even when you finished multiple times. You were overstimulated, she knew that too. And she loved it.

“Mommy!” You screamed as you came once more, panting heavily as you collapsed. Wanda let you relax for a moment, making you think you were finally done until her hands started prying you open once more. You whined, not ready to do this again.

“Mommy, no. I’m too sore!” She only laughed, she fucking laughed.

“Oh baby, you know I’m not stopping until you squirt in my mouth. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs for me, I won’t ask again.” You slowly complied, watching the territorial gaze she gave you before she dove back into your weeping cunt.

“Good girl, now shut your pretty ass up before I gag you.” Your eyes shut, her tongue running through your folds like an expert. You looked over to your side, seeing the small jar of weed she planned on smoking with you. If you just followed her rules, listened to her, you wouldn’t be here, your leg over her shoulder as she fucked you dumb. You wished you stayed home. But at the same time, you’re so fucking happy you went.

#wanda maximoff smut #wanda smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda my beloved #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda mcu #wanda maximilf #wanda x you #wanda x gn!reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader smut #anon ask #anon request

[sokoviansimp]

can you please do one of wanda and nat x child reader and getting them to do homework and eat hahahahah i love ur fics btw it makes me feel so warm

✒ Pairings: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff x Child!Reader (platonic)

✒ Summary: Wanda and Nat try to get you to do your homework and eat your vegetables.

✒ Tags and Warnings: Homework, stubbornness, fluff, anxiety, making friends

✒ Author's Note: I really appreciate the request! I thought this was such a good idea, hopefully, I did it justice! Sorry, it took so long. To the other requests in my inbox, I am sorry I am so slow but I will be getting to them, they're all so good :)

✒ Word Count: 4744+

✒ Read Time: 24 minutes

Masterlist : The Package AU : Socials

“It sounds like a good opportunity, I don’t think it’s ever really too early to start” Nat urged. 

“I guess, but she’s just so young,” Wanda claimed as she moved to join her friend on the couch. 

“They’ll all be her age, it’s just for a week,” Nat insisted. 

Nat had found a program for young children to learn science and math for a week, it was kind of like a day camp. The parents would drop off the young children daily for 4 hours of hands-on learning. She thought this would be good for you since you have been following very closely in Peter’s footsteps when it comes to his interest in math and science. It would also introduce you to a school setting so that it isn’t so far out of your comfort zone next year when you go to attend preschool. 

To be truthful, you and Wanda were all Nat could think about lately. She wanted so badly to be there for you two, to help you achieve success and be given opportunities that she could’ve only dreamed of at your age. This sent her down a rabbit hole searching for events or activities you could take part in. Most of them were geared toward older children, but the science camp stated all ages so she jumped on it. 

Wanda was hesitant about the program, she didn’t want to push school onto you too early. You should be able to enjoy the time before it completely takes over your life for 14+ years. Nat had a point though, it’s only a week and you would probably really love it. She wasn’t sure how you would react to being left without her all day though, hopefully, now that you have been coming out of your shell the process would be easier but it was hard to say. 

Though, it’s inevitable that this will need to happen eventually. One week of practice would be helpful to smooth out the process once it's mandatory. Wanda really admired the way Nat was so enthusiastic about this program, like the way her voice became more animated and expressive. Wanda could hear the slight rise in her tone as she described the activities that you’d get to experience, and the way she leaned closer in proximity to show off the different amenities on the webpage had Wanda holding her breath and overthinking every little movement of her body. As she got lost in the sparkle in Natasha’s eyes, she couldn't help but scrutinize herself for making everything so awkward, ‘don’t move, don’t breathe. Okay, breathe but slowly. Does she notice? why is this making me feel this way? It’s not like we’ve never been close to each other before.’

“What do you think?” Nat jolted her from her spiraling thoughts, both mentally and slightly physically as Wanda startlingly looked at her. Of course, she hadn’t been paying attention to a thing Nat was saying, but she couldn’t know that. 

“Hmm, yea that sounds great,” she admitted, hoping she hadn’t just agreed to send you to a shield boot camp or something that only Natasha would find fun. 

 “Really?” Nat was beaming at the fact that Wanda liked her idea and genuinely hoped you would have a great time. 

“Ye- yea, I mean, it’s just a week and she’s going to have to get used to spending time without us.” Wanda went on to explain.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat. Us. She knew what Wanda meant by it and even though she recognized it wasn’t anything that she should read into, Nat couldn't help but analyze it. Such a simple phrase, but it had the prospect to hold so much meaning. Wanda had included her in her vision of your future, as a unit, as us. In reality, Wanda knew Natasha would always be there for you, but Natasha couldn’t help but feel a wave of warmth and happiness wash over her at the thought of it meaning something more, causing her cheeks to flush and a smile to form on her face. 

When Wanda and Nat told you about the camp, you were initially really excited, until you found out that you’d have to go alone. Sure, they would drop you off, but then they would leave, and then, who would protect you if something went wrong? Who would be there to hold you when you got nervous around the crowd of unfamiliar faces?

“Mama?” you broke the silence as you sat snuggled into her side on the couch of the common room, enveloped in mostly darkness except for the soft glow from the television. 

“Yes, detka?” she glanced down at you as your head tilted up to meet your eyes with hers. 

“Do I have to go to da sciewence schoowl?” you asked softly, just barely above a whisper, not wanting to make trouble but you couldn’t get the fact that you would have to go alone out of your mind. 

Wanda immediately shifted her full attention to you in an attempt to create a safe and open space for you to express your worries, “I thought you were excited?”

“Well, I am- I was, but, I don't want to go wiffout you or Natty.” you admitted as you translated your fears from thoughts into words. 

"I see, I understand that you're feeling nervous about going without us, and that's completely okay, my love. It's natural to feel a little anxious when we step out of our comfort zone," she said as she gently rubbed your arm in soothing motions. She wanted to help you work through these feelings instead of blocking off new opportunities due to fear. In the end, she wouldn’t force you to go, but she would do everything she could to get you open to the experience. 

“You know, even adults get feelings like these when they're about to try something new or go to unfamiliar places. I remember when I first joined the Avengers, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. But you know what?” 

“What?” 

“It turned out to be an incredible journey filled with wonderful people and unforgettable adventures. I got to meet my two favorite people in the whole world"

“Me?” your expression shifted from nervous to curious, as you wondered where Wanda was going with this. 

“Yes you, and Nat,” she says unable to mask the smile that forms near automatically from the mention of her best friend.

“What if, der is no one der for me?” you wonder 

"You will have so many other kids there that are your age that you can make friends with, malysh"

“What if dey don’t wike me?” You were genuinely worried about meeting other kids your age. You’ve only ever been around adults and you weren’t quite sure what to expect. Would they all already know each other? Would there be a certain way you were expected to act around them? 

"What’s not to like? You have the kindest heart and the most beautiful spirit of anyone I know.” she was speaking from the heart as she genuinely believed what she told you. Wanda watched you go from this scared little girl who was being held captive in a Hydra base to a kid who gets excited to talk about the solar system and wildlife habitats with Peter. She watched you open up and accept these people, even the men on the team,  into your life despite your wariness. She’s sure you are capable of anything you really put your mind to, “Making friends has one simple rule and if you follow it, it's practically foolproof, do you know what that is?”

You just shook your head in response, waiting for her to continue.  

“Just be yourself. If you do that you'll attract real friends who appreciate you for who you are," she said as she tapped your chest, pointing to your heart. 

“Be myself?” you wondered what it meant as you repeated the words on your own tongue. You don’t recall ever acting like someone else. “Who else would I be?”

Wanda couldn't help but chuckle at your innocence and how cute you were, “Some people try to change for others. They change their personalities, their opinions, and sometimes even their looks just to fit in with other people.”

“Oh. so, wike, pwetending?”

"Exactly! You are capable of so much more than you realize, my little one. Have faith in yourself."

You thought over her words as the show continued to play in front of you on the TV. You were so close to being on board with it, but you couldn’t get over the possibility of being stuck there without a way out. The way Wanda spoke so highly of you, gave you the confidence you needed to believe you could make friends, but what if everything really did go horribly wrong, would you be stuck there all day? 

“Mama?” you continued the conversation after a few minutes of watching tv had passed. 

“Hmm?”

“I want to go to da sciewence schoowl, but what if I need you when I der?”

Wanda thought about this for a moment, You're far too young to have a cell phone, but a communication line wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you. It could help calm your anxiety and in her line of work, anything could happen so it would make things safer. 

“Well, if there is something really important, you can tell your teacher and she can get ahold of me,” Wanda explained. You didn’t seem too satisfied with that answer though as you gave a somber acknowledgment. What if you weren't able to get the teacher's attention, or the teacher just plain refused, the plan just didn't seem very solid. 

Wanda could see that you weren’t content with her solution, “Or I can show you a trick,” she offered. 

Your face perked up, immediately intrigued, your little hands clutching a stuffed toy tightly, gazed up at Wanda with wide-eyed wonder, “a trick?” you asked

“Close your eyes, my little one,” Wanda explained and you did as she instructed, “now, take a deep breath. Imagine a warm light surrounding us, enveloping us like a soft, protective blanket. or a big fluffy cloud”

As you sat with your eyes closed, a serene smile graced Wanda's face. She concentrated, allowing her own powers to flow through her, and extended her thoughts toward you. With a gentle touch of her mind, she created a bridge between your thoughts, a telepathic connection unique to you.

"Now, detka," Wanda whispered, "I want you to think of something you want to tell me, but without saying it out loud. Just focus on the feeling and the words in your mind."

Your brows furrowed and your face scrunched in concentration, your little face reflecting the effort of trying to convey your thoughts through this newfound connection. Wanda could feel your tiny mind reaching out tentatively, like a fragile thread stretching between the two of you.

With each passing moment, the connection grew stronger, and soon your eyes fluttered open, revealing a mixture of surprise and delight. "Mama, can you hear me?" your innocent voice echoed softly between your minds, blending with the quiet hum of the room.

Wanda's heart swelled with joy as she nodded, her eyes shimmering with pride. "Yes, dorogoy, I can hear you!" she exclaimed, "Our thoughts are connected now, and no matter where we are, we can talk to each other like this. Whenever you need me, I will be there for you,” she explained.

In that magical moment, your minds intertwined, You two shared a connection that transcended words. With telepathy, you could communicate your deepest thoughts, dreams, and feelings, strengthening the unbreakable bond between mother and child. Perhaps most importantly to you though, you were able to reach Wanda without the confines of distance. 

As you sat there, immersed in your newfound ability, Wanda couldn't help but marvel at the wonder of it all. She knew that this telepathic connection would serve as a source of comfort and reassurance for you, a constant reminder that you were always connected, even when physically apart.

With that, you were content with the decision to attend the science camp. Not only that, but you were excited again. Instead of focusing on the parts that worried you, you were able to shift your focus onto all the exciting things you were bound to learn and discover. Your mind ran wild with outrageous theories, like discovering fossils or trying to figure out the speed of a flamingo by simply racing beside it. 

The first day of camp approached rather quickly. In the days leading up, you would often use your new ability to have silent conversations with Wanda. Sometimes you would do it to practice and make sure that you still could when you needed to, and other times you did it to express feelings and emotions that you had trouble translating into words. 

Wanda and Nat were both there to drop you off on your first day, you were less nervous than they expected you to be which they were grateful for. Now that you were able to contact Wanda you felt safe in exploring new experiences alone, and maybe that's because you never felt alone, because she would always be there for you if you needed. 

The camp was divided into different age groups. The majority of the kids were 4th and 5th graders, but there was a small group of children your age. Wanda and Nat were grateful that you would have enough children to socialize with but not so many that it would seem overwhelming. Hopefully, with the smaller group, it would be easier to make friends. 

In fact, you didn't even get to the classroom before you made your first friend, “Hi, I’m Matthew, what's your name?” you turned to the voice that spoke behind you, “Hi! I’m Y/N” you greeted. “Y/N! Dat’s a cool name! You wike space too? I wove space!” he mentioned as he noticed your shirt that showed a playful astronaut floating in space, holding a slice of pizza in one hand and giving a thumbs-up with the other reading Pizza Planet Explorer, “Wanna be fwreinds?” he asked. 

You were caught off guard by how quickly he spoke and became distracted, but of course, you wanted to make friends and you already had something in common, “Yes, we can be fwreinds, I love space too. My favowite planet is Saturn” you enthusiastically replied. 

“I wike Jupiter da most cuz it’s da biggest,” Matthew responded. 

The two of you sat next to each other throughout the demonstrations and even shared a table at lunch. Wanda had packed you a container of yogurt, sliced strawberries and baby carrots, and some Mini turkey and cheese roll-ups which were basically just a turkey sandwich rolled into bite-sized pieces for easy eating. At the bottom of your lunch box, there was a note that read, 

My Dearest Y/N,

I hope you're having a wonderful day at school! I am so incredibly proud of you. Remember, my little superhero, you have the power to do anything you set your mind to. Each day, you're growing stronger, smarter, and more amazing. I can't wait to hear all about your day when you come home. Keep shining bright, my sunshine.

With all my love,

Mama

You couldn’t help but smile as you attempted to read the note, you still weren’t really able to read but you were able to pick out keywords like love, smarter, amazing, and superhero, so you got the vibe and felt comforted by it, which is all Wanda had hoped for.

 “What’s dat?” Matthew asked as he saw you set the note down next to your baby carrots. “Oh, my mama wrote me a note” you explained. 

“Oh wow, she must really love you,” he stated as he wondered why he never received any notes with his meal. 

“Yea, she does,” you said with a gleaming smile. 

You managed to survive the entire day without contacting Wanda at all. She hoped it was a good sign as she and Nat headed to pick you up. They were made sure to be there 5 minutes before pick-up so that you wouldn’t have to wait, knowing you’d be excited to see them and tell them all about how it went. 

As soon as the door opened for dismissal, you immediately found Wanda’s green eyes and ran full speed with your arms stretched out reaching for a hug. She enveloped tightly you as she lifted you off the ground for a long embrace. The two were happy to see that your face was filled with nothing but joy. 

Wanda continued to carry you as the three of you headed toward the car. Wanda ducked into the driver's seat after getting you settled into your car-seat and Nat took the seat next to you in the back so that she could hear all about your day. 

“Sooo, how was it? Tell us all about it!” Nat insisted. 

“Was so fun! We learned bout uhm- OH! JUPITER HAS A RAINSTORM! And Mafwew said dat if we went to space, der wouldn’t be any noise.” 

“Matthew?” Wanda asked as she caught glimpses of you speaking through her rear view mirror. 

“Yea mama! My new fwiend! He wikes space tew!” you excitedly announced. You went on to tell them all about the things that you learned and how much fun you had with Matthew. Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough. 

“Did they give you any homework?” Nat asked once you had finished. 

“Oh yea, is in my bag” you answered as you showed Nat where it was in your bag. She read over the instructions and mentioned that you could do it right when you got home. The assignment wasn’t anything too difficult, but it sure was time-consuming. 

The project was about energy and showing how much we consume every day. The worksheet was laid out so that all you had to fill in were blocks of color. You were given a piece to plug into your outlets and once you had the item mentioned plugged in, it would show an amount. Then you had to fill in the bubble that corresponded with the range on your outlet. 

Nat and Wanda both helped you through this but you soon became bored and no longer wanted to do it. It was so repetitive and your toys were sitting right there just waiting to be played with. Eventually you got through it without making too much of a fuss and you could finally get on with what you wanted to do, except that didn't last long because before you knew it, Wanda was telling you it was bathtime. 

“But mama, I just stawrted pwlayin” you said somberly. 

Wanda wanted to give you more time to play but it was already getting late and you had to be up early tomorrow, “I know, I’m sorry baby, but it’s late and you need a bath before camp tomorrow.” Without a fight, you reluctantly followed hoping that tomorrow would be better. 

When you arrived home from camp the next day, the same dreaded question was asked, “Do you have any homework today?” You remembered how long and grueling your homework was last night, and instead of showing them the papers that your teacher gave you, today, you simply shook your head. Of course, Nat, the trained super spy, noticed the hesitation in your response as the gears turned in your brain and saw right through you. Deciding that she would look in your bag herself once you all arrive at the compound.

You immediately ran to the common room to play with your toys. Natasha, in the kitchen with Wanda, investigated your bag as Wanda cleaned your lunch box. “No homework huh?” Nat muttered as she held up your papers for Wanda to see. They shared a knowing look as Nat mentioned she would talk to you while Wanda finished cleaning out your lunch. 

Natasha entered the common room, a concerned expression on her face, holding your backpack in her hand. She had a feeling something was off when you claimed there was no homework. She sat down next to you, as you played with your toys.

"Hey, sweetheart," Natasha said gently, placing the bag on the coffee table. "I happened to find something interesting in your backpack. Do you want to explain why you said you didn't have any homework?"

Your eyes widened, realizing you had been caught in your little white lie. You fidgeted with your toys, avoiding Natasha's gaze. "I... I didn't want to do it. It- it takes SOO long, and den I don’t get to play." you admitted. 

Natasha reached out and gently turned your face towards her, meeting your eyes. "Sweetheart, I understand that homework can sometimes feel dull, but it's important to be honest with us. We're here to help and support you, but we need to know what's going on."

Wanda entered the room once your bag was all cleaned. Sensing the tension, she knelt down beside Natasha and spoke in a reassuring tone. "Y/N, we want you to succeed in everything you do. And that includes being honest, even when it's hard. We're a family, and families trust and support each other."

A family. 

Natasha noticed the term and felt elated that she was included in the phrase. The three of you were a family. It didn’t matter whether Wanda and Nat were best friends, or something more than that; the three of you were family. You felt their endless love, even if they hadn’t figured out that part of that love lay within each other. 

Your lower lip quivered, realizing the weight of your actions. "I'm sorry, Natty. I didn't mean to lie."

Natasha's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "It's okay, sweetheart. We all make mistakes, and the important thing is to learn from them. Let's work on being honest with each other, alright?"

Wanda joined the hug, enveloping you both in her warm embrace. "We love you, Y/N, no matter what. And we're here to help you with your homework too. It doesn't have to be boring. We can find fun and creative ways to learn together."

You sniffled, feeling a mix of relief and remorse. They were right. Lying wasn't the solution, and you knew deep down that they were always there to support her. You nodded, determined to make things right.

“It can be fun?” you wondered how they planned to turn such a mundane task into something, fun.

“We can turn it into a special challenge!" Nat chimed in

You looked up, curious about the proposal. "A challenge?"

Wanda chimed back in, joining the conversation. "That's right, sweetheart! We'll create a reward system for each task you complete. Once you finish your homework, we can all have a movie night or make your favorite dessert together."

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? We can have a movie night?"

Natasha nodded. "Absolutely! But first, we need to get those homework assignments done. Let's break it down into smaller tasks, so it feels less overwhelming. We'll be right here with you, cheering you on."

Wanda took your hand and sat beside you at the table. Nat and Wanda each took turns reading different questions out for you. 

With their gentle encouragement and the promise of a fun reward, you felt motivated. They both stayed by your side, offering guidance and praise as you worked through each task. They made the process enjoyable by adding some playful moments and even turning math problems into little games.

As you completed each question, you couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. With every finished task, you grew more confident and proud of yourself. By the time you completed your last assignment, you practically beamed with joy. Almost as if homework was just as fun as playtime with your toys. 

Natasha and Wanda gathered around you, excitedly applauding your efforts. "Great job, Y/N! You did it!" Natasha exclaimed.

Wanda hugged you tightly. "We're so proud of you, sweetheart."

You grinned, feeling a sense of pride and happiness wash over you. With your two favorite people by your side, even homework could turn into an adventure filled with love and support; and as promised, you all enjoyed a delightful movie night, celebrating your achievements. You had shocked both Wanda and Nat with your choice of movie for the night, Planet 51, purely because it was something other than Frozen. 

For the rest of the week, Natasha and Wanda made it a point to create a positive and engaging homework routine for you. They turned studying into a fun activity, incorporating games, rewards, and plenty of encouragement. You learned that honesty and open communication were far more rewarding than any short-lived escape from homework.

Together, you tackled assignments, explored new concepts, and celebrated each milestone. You discovered that learning could be an exciting journey, especially when shared with your favorite people.

//

A few days later, the aroma of a freshly cooked meal wafted through the air of the kitchen, tempting your taste buds and filling the room with mouthwatering scents as you sat patiently at the table. Once Wanda had begun serving up plates of food, you noticed that the meal was something that you had no interest in eating. Your once adventurous appetite had transformed into a discerning palate, making mealtime a challenge for your loving guardians, Natasha and Wanda. 

"Come on, Y/N," Natasha coaxed, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to eat your vegetables. They'll make you strong like a superhero."

Your bottom lip jutted out, and you crossed her arms, proclaiming, "I don't like vegables, Natty!"

Wanda, with her patient demeanor, joined in, her voice filled with warmth. "But sweetheart, vegetables have magical powers! They can give you energy to run fast like-" Wanda abruptly cut her sentence short at the sudden realization that you had never met her brother. Pietro never had the chance to become an uncle before his life was tragically taken from her, him. She struggled to come up with a new comparison, as her mind was scrambling to revive her sentence. Nat immediately picked up on Wanda’s distress and quickly put a reassuring hand on Wanda’s shoulder as she took over, “They can make you strong like Mr. Bucky and Peter,” Nat concluded. 

The presence of Nat’s hand on her shoulder quelled Wanda’s mind from running in circles trying to backpedal as she focused on the way it felt to have Nat soothingly move her hand from her shoulder to her back in a messy circular motion, subconsciously leaning into her ever so slightly.

You glanced skeptically at the colorful array of vegetables on your plate. "Really?"

Natasha nodded, a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely! And if you eat your vegetables, you might even develop some superpowers of your own."

You carried the skepticism into your look back to Nat, “I alweady hab powers!” You said as you called her out. 

Nat’s eyes widened ever so slightly as she remembered that little detail but you didn’t catch the slight crack in her resolve. She was so used to treating you like a kid, like a normal kid, that she began to suppress the fact that you are in fact enhanced yourself, “New ones,” she responded as she covered up her slight oversight.

Wanda smiled as she watched the interaction, her voice filled with excitement. "Perhaps you'll develop the power to talk to animals or create beautiful flowers with just a wave of your hand."

Your imagination ignited, and you tentatively reached for a small piece of broccoli, eyeing it with newfound intrigue. Hesitantly taking a bite, to your surprise, a burst of flavor danced on your tongue.

"Yummy!," You exclaimed, a hint of both shock and amazement in your voice.

Natasha and Wanda exchanged triumphant glances, their plan unfolding successfully. They knew that sometimes a dash of imagination and a sprinkle of superhero magic were all it took to conquer a picky eater's heart.

Encouraged by your enthusiasm, Natasha and Wanda continued to weave tales of vegetable-powered adventures, turning each bite into a step closer to unlocking extraordinary powers. With every vegetable conquered, your confidence grew, and soon the plate was empty—a victorious battle won against the picky eater dilemma.

As you savored the last bite, you looked up at Natasha and Wanda, a bright smile lighting up your face. "I did it! I ate all my vegebles, just wike a real superhero!"

Natasha and Wanda shared a proud glance, their hearts brimming with joy. Together, they celebrated the triumph of a small victory, knowing that love, creativity, and a touch of superhero magic had transformed a picky eater into a courageous little hero.

Taglist: @mymommawanda@livslifeonline@reggierizzoli@mythixmagic@lesbicentism@marvelogic@katethewriter @inluvwithfictionalwomen @spooky-reader1 @marvelogic ​@kissforvoid

#the package au #sokoviansimp fics #sokoviansimp requests #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #anon ask #anon answered #marvel #wanda marvel #wanda mcu #wanda maximoff fanfic #natasha romanoff mommy #natasha romanoff #mommy wanda #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x child!reader #wandanat x child!reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat fanfiction #natasha romanoff x child!reader #little reader #child reader

[on-my-contrarian-sh1t]

speak now - can you do something with mine and bucky barnes? maybe like an au or smth?

ofc!!

“ YOURS, MINE, OURS. ” BUCKY BARNES + FEM ! READER ( blurb )

You begrudgingly pulled your eyes out of the book in front of you as the bells above the bookstore door jingled. The man that just walked in was tall and muscular. His hair was entirely tucked under a baseball cap and he had a rock-hard, surly expression on his face.

“Hi,” you said, not bothering to stand up. “Every book is 20% off. That doesn’t include stationary, pens, bookmarks, or anything that’s not a book. You don’t look like an idiot but you have no idea how many people have gotten pissed because they thought that the entire store was 20% off.”

“People are stupid,” he replied, glancing at you before glancing away.

You nodded in agreement and murmured a “yeah.” You heaved a sigh. “Well, happy browsing. Let me know if you need any help.”

“Actually, I do,” he said. He strode over to the counter you were sitting behind and just barely leaned forward on the surface. “See, my friend told me that I needed to get a hobby. He offered sports ’nd stuff but that just seems entirely too boring. Painting was a no go for me, I have zero creativity. My next best go was reading. Do you have any recommendations?”

You, now intrigued, put your book down and stood up. “What are you looking for? Thrillers? Romance? Classics?”

“I don’t really know,” he admitted.

“Classics are usually pretty fairground for everyone,” you told him, leading him to an aisle. You scanned it hastily before grabbing The Picture of Dorian Gray off the shelf. “The Picture of Dorian Gray, man sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.” You handed it to him before picking another. “Little Women, follows the lives of four sisters as the go through life.” You stacked that book on top of the first. “Treasure Island, pirates.” You continued to stack more books in his arms until you had given him at least ten.

“Wow,” he said, surprised. “You certainly know a lot about this.”

You nodded before smiling. “It’s my job, you know.” He smiled back and met your stare. You inhaled as you looked away. “You get the 20% off discount plus a new customer discount.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

You beamed and nodded at him. 

“You have to let me know what you think of those books,” you told him as you began to check-out the books. “You know, some people really love ‘em but others don’t.”

“I will let you know,” said the guy with a grin. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Bucky? That’s a cool name. I haven’t heard that one before. I’m Y/N,” you answered warmly.

“Y/N? I like that,” he said.

“Thanks. Well, here you go, I hope you enjoy them,” you told Bucky with a wide smile. 

“I appreciate it,” Bucky responded, reciprocating your smile. He gently took the books out of your arms and walked out the door, the bell jingling above him. 

When he left you couldn’t help the gut feeling that crawled up your stomach and spread throughout your body like a disease. You fell for him, you realized, somewhat shocked. The shock wafted away and become a feeling of contentment. He was a good person to fall for.

#sunny <3 #cleo's mutuals <3 #cleo's asks <3 #cleo's celebration <3 #cleo's celebration asks <3 #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes x reader