#Moonknight x reader

[buckyssugarchick]

“The Moon Haunts You.”

Khonshu baby, the only thing that haunts me is this video. 😭😭😭

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

STEVEN GRANT day 3 (05, oct) — thigh fucking

18+ fem!reader, 260 words. mdni!!

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ⋆ ˚｡𖦹.

Steven hovers atop, his cock grazing heavily along your stomach, the slight desperate motion of his kissing making him grind up against you. He has an eager hand cupped around one of your tits, his fingers almost pawing at you – his hold like a physical testament of his self-control. His other flat on the bed beside your head, scrunching the sheets, his weight propped on his bent arm.

You reach between yourselves and wrap your fingers around him, holding onto his dick you guide him between your thighs. Only this time, you don’t open your legs, instead you clamp them together – purposely pressing the inners of your thighs to one another. 

He eases himself into the tightness of your thighs, his little hump-like motions pushing his dick further into the warmth. He mutters against your lips, the sound incoherent as it muffles into your mouth.

You pull your head back, breaking from the kiss as if you were silently asking him to repeat himself.

“Good,” he pants, the word faint. His forehead pressing against yours, the tips of your noses bumping with the short thrusts of his hips. “Feels really good.”

“I know it does,” you whisper, snaking a hand up the back of his head, fingers raking through the dark curls.

Your other reaches down to his ass, palm laying flat on a cheek as you help him with the wind — wordlessly encouraging him.

His moans are delicate, like they’re whimpers. The sounds strangled and strained with his gentle humping, each noise soft between the closeness of your mouths. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[lostalioth]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

→ premise: it was meant to be just a simple quick visit to your sweet boyfriend at work, a regular thing on your days off, something steven looked forward to. especially when the both of you snuck off to the bathroom.

→ pairing: steven grant x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, against the wall sex, bathroom sex so semi-public sex, creampie, nicknames [baby, love, darling]

→ a/n: kinktober 11

It was merely meant to be a short visit to Steven, your lovely boyfriend, at his job in the gift shop. You just missed him and wanted to see him, you didn't intend for it to end with the two of you sneaking off the bathroom.

“Darling I really need to get back to work, my boss won't like that I'm gone so long” he groaned out, his voice soft as his breath fanned across the back of your neck. His body betrays his words however as he makes no move to stop pinning you against the bathroom wall. His hands grab onto your hips as he drills into form behind. Your chest up against the cold tile wall, your hips bouncing off of his making a slapping sound that filled the echoey bathroom alongside your whines. Your knees grow weaker and weaker the closer you get and the faster and harder Steven thrusts inside you. “Mm baby please just a little longer im s’close” you whimper out about too loudly, the words slurred as your head was going hazier from the pleasure.

Steven's large hands leave your hips, one comes up to cup over your mouth muffling your loud moans, the other drifts between where your bodies are connected and rubs at your clit. “As heavenly as you sound love you‘re gonna get me fired if you aren't quieter” his voice trembles as he can feel you clench around him in response to him silencing you. His eyes screw shut in bliss as he can feel your cunt trying to milk his release from his aching cock. “Gonna cum baby oh fuck-” your words come out mumbled and broken from beneath his hand though Steven can hear you enough to understand.

“Cum for me darling” he moans out, his hips speeding up even faster trying to push you right over that edge. His cock hitting just right deep inside you and his thumb playing with your bundle of nerves you cum hard on his cock. Biting your lip to help further muffle the wanton moan that threatens to escape, it comes out as a strangled desperate whine instead. “Good girl baby, fuck im gonna cum okay love?” He grunts out as his hips falter in rmyth fucking you through your high. With an almost pathetic sounding whine leaving his lips, Steven’s orgasm hit him, shooting hot ropes of cum inside you. After a minute or two when the both of you catch your breath he slowly pulls out, the mixture of his cum and your own leak out of you, trailing down your thigh.

“Maybe you should visit me at work more often darling” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss at your exposed shoulder. You smile sweetly at him as he quickly works at cleaning you up best he can before he goes back off to work with a short but loving goodbye kiss.

→ a/n: i have never written for steven, this is really short and kinda ass as i rushed it cause its like 2 days later than when i wanted to post this, im trying to get back on track and not fall further behind so there will hopefully be another kinktober day posted today as well.

[st4rymoon]

Been thinking of this story so here’s a continuation :3

On film

Prn star Steven Grant x Roommate Fem Reader | 18+ MDNI

“Look at you love, taking it like a big girl” Steven cooed with his phone in hand and the cameras bright flash on, recording the lewd scene of your slicked cunt taking him like a pro.

You replied in a pathetic whimper as he played with your messy clit. His thumb rolling over your sensitive bud and cock fucking you with the intention of making the sex all the messier.

Steven moaned at the sinful visual being captured on screen. Your pretty cunt on full view, thick strings of cum leaking out of your cunt and his length stretching you perfectly.

A selfish thought washed over Steven as he admired the way you took him. Maybe he should keep you all to himself, not show a single soul what he’s won himself. Even if he said this little video was for his followers.

Too preoccupied with the real thing, Steven found no use in his silicone toys. The beloved Steven wasn’t as active on his page and his fans began to notice. So he’d repay them with the filthy video of him making a mess out of you as an update.

But another far more selfish thought came to mind. He knows all the perverts following him on Twitter would only grow even more envious of him. And now his followers would be envious of you.

“I- oh my godd” you slurred in bliss as Steven’s pace grew heavier. His hips snapped at the perfect rhythm, keeping you dumb and weak at his mercy as he let out all those years of fucking his pathetic toys out on you.

“Yeah? Yeahh lovie? You love me don’t you? Love the way I make you feel, love the way I feel?” He purred in a condescending yet loving tone “mmhm I love you love you” you dumbly drooled.

You gawked up at Steven, admiring his pretty curls sticking to his forehead, and the way his eyes scrunched each time he rolled his eyes back. The look on your face as you stared at Steven was making it all the more difficult for him not to let go.

“Ri- right the- oh my god right ther-“ you hiccuped as each of his thrust grew deeper and harder. He could feel your walls pulsing around him as he held your leg to the side, giving him a better angle to hit the gummy spot that always made you scream his name.

His hand roughly slapped onto your mouth, knowing his name would be coming out. Your hands clawed at his arms as your eyes lulled back into your skull.

The phone was somewhere in the sheets as he threw the phone to kept your mouth shut, his other arm cradling your head, and his thrusts still slamming you into the bed “shh darling shhh, can’t have them knowing my name now can I?”

[moonknightsonata]

Acts of Service

pairing: moon system x reader, marc x reader centered

summary: You learn Steven and Jake’s love languages quickly, Marc’s takes a little longer to realize but it doesn’t surprise you.

cw: not many, a brief non-explicit mention of sex, Marc getting anxious about your relationship

wc: 1199

a/n: Happy new year! This is not beta read, my first time writing for the moon boys and also my first time posting and sharing a fic in probably like 5+ years. Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings, and let me know what you think! I tried keeping the reader as inclusive as I could, but please let me know if I slipped up with anything.

—

When you first started seeing the system, they all showed affection in similar ways. Holding hands, chaste kisses, flowers at the start of dates and walking you home at the end of them. They each had their own ways of going about it, but at the start all 3 of them were stereotypical in their affection.

Now, months later, you could easily tell each of the boy’s love languages.

Steven fluttered between quality time and words of affirmation. He was a romantic at heart, so in reality, he would do anything you asked of him, really. But you could tell he was happiest just being near you, telling you how much he loved you, and hearing the words in return.

Date night with Steven would be art galleries, museum tours, site seeing, or just walking around the markets hand in hand. Cafe’s and bookshops for rainy days, which there were plenty of in London, filled weekends with him where you could just sit in each other’s company and read besides one another.

Jake was the master of physical touch. You think it’s because he didn’t have as much time fronting as the other two, and his only physical touch with humans up until the three started getting along was when he took over the body in emergencies like in Cairo. When Jake was fronting, his hands were always on you.

Jake always had his arm on you when in public. Around your shoulder, or on your waist, he didn’t have a preference as long as he had you in his arm in some way. You liked to compare him to a livestock dog. Not like sheepdogs who herded them, but like a pyrenees that would fight a wolf off a lamb.

He was also the most handsy in the bedroom.

Marc took the longest to pinpoint his love language. Mostly due to the fact that he was the last to open up to a relationship with you.

You had met Steven first, dated Steven first, and then met Jake and Marc along the way. The relationship with Jake blossomed easily, but Marc still had walls he had built standing steady, that he wasn’t ready to break down yet. For a while even, you weren’t sure he liked you. After anxieties about it were aired out, Marc reassured you he did like you, he was “just shit at showing it” as he had put it. He hadn’t wanted to get close, mess things up with you and risk everything Steven and Jake had with you. That was the turning point for you and Marc’s relationship.

You thought it was behind you, until you noticed Marc’s odd behavior one day.

“Marc, baby, are you alright?” You asked him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he washed dishes.

“Hm?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding as he kept his attention mostly on the pan he was scrubbing. “Yea, fine, why’d you ask?”

“Because you’ve been scrubbing that pan for about 10 minutes now. I think it’s clean.” You smiled softly, as his brow scrunched when he realized.

“Fine… yeah. I just… you know I love you?” He finished his sentence more like a question.

“Of course I know. I love you too.” You moved closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek to look him in the eyes. “What brought this about?”

“I don’t… I don’t say it enough. When we met you weren’t even sure I liked you, and now I don’t even say I love you as often as Jake or Steven do. So I just…” Marc lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand to his hair, pushing his curls out of his face as he steps away from you. You give him his space, you know when he needs it. To work out emotions without feeling suffocated or closed in.

“Just thought maybe you weren’t sure again.”

Marc avoids looking directly at your face as you look at his. You understand him, more than you probably know, which scares Marc. Not in a bad way, but scares him in a way he can’t believe there was someone out there who could.

Which is why what you say shouldn’t surprise him, but it does anyway.

“You don’t have to say it in the same way Steven or Jake do for me to know.” You start softly. “You have a different way of showing it, than they do.”

Marc’s eyebrows furrow, even more than the wrinkled brow he usually has.

He can only describe the look on your face that you give him as adoring, as you continue.

“The days that you front, you’re always up before me. Whether you’re an early riser or you never really fell asleep that night - you know exactly how to make my coffee in the morning and I always wake up to a cup made the way I like sitting on the counter waiting for me.

“I also know that it isn’t Jake who had my car’s oil changed, or the tires rotated a couple weeks ago.”

Marc shrugs at that one, mumbles something that you think is “That’s not a big deal.”

As you tell him all this, you can’t believe it took you this long to realize that Marc’s love language was acts of service. Because of course it was. Marc, the giver. Marc, who always felt he needed to prove his worth and make up for sins of his past, by any means necessary. Your Marc, who did so much for you without expecting a ‘thank you’ because that was how he showed he cared.

You kept going with more examples.

“Last week I forgot my umbrella and my lunch in the apartment and you came all the way to my job to drop them off for me.” You wrap your arms around Marc’s waist at this, resting your head against him in a hug.

“Or, when it’s cold, you always turn my heated blanket on the bed while I’m doing my night time routine, so that the bed is nice and warm by the time I climb in. And when -“ You could keep going, listing the things you notice Marc does for you, but he stops you with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I do a lot for you.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully as he wraps his arms around you to return the hug. “I like taking care of you.”

“You take care of me because you love me.”

Marc nods, kissing your forehead. “Yeah, I do. I’m just sorry I don’t say it more.”

“I don’t need you to. It’s nice to hear, but I still know it. You show me every day.” You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss, which Marc gratefully returns.

“And I’ll continue to show you every day, until you get tired of me.”

“I’d never get tired of you, baby. You, Jake and Steven are all stuck with me.”

Marc laughs. “Stuck with you? Making it sound like that’s a bad thing. Honey, I think you’re the one ‘stuck’ with the three of us.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[hellsenthero]

Kinktober Day 5: Overstimulation

Moon Knight System X Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

---

You smile up at your sweet, sweet boyfriend. His brown eyes wide with adoration. Just looking up at his little dopey smile, you know that it's Steven that's fronting.

"Enjoy your nap, love?"

"Yeah," you answer as you nuzzle your face into his palm. He's leaning over you, one hand propping himself up while the other gently cups your face.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while now." Steven admits.

"Oh?" Steven nods, his dark hair falling in front of his face. "You have something planned?" You ask.

Steven shrugs a shoulder before leaning down and kissing you softly. "Not really, just miss your company."

"You were napping with me, Steven." You laugh out.

"Yeah, but I want more." You don't need to ask what more means. You can tell by the way Steven trails his lips down your neck, mouthing at your pulse point.

"Is someone feeling a little needy?" You tease.

"No." Steven says.

"Oh, so I guess I can get on with my day then?" You ask as you push Steven away from your neck. You nearly coo at the little whine he let's out.

"Yes," Steven admits quickly. He's always quick to fold. "I'm needy. Been missing you."

"Baby," you coo. "That's all you had to say."

No more words are spoken for a while as Steven trails his hands up your shirt. Skimming his fingers up your naked torso. He nips and sucks at your neck like a child with their pacifier. Your own hands run up his naked back, trailing through the ends of his hair and lightly pulling. You're quick to capture the moan Steven let's out with your mouth.

"Bloody hell," Steven breathes out as he pulls away from the kiss. His hands make their way to your underwear, having taken your pants off before getting into bed earlier for your nap."I need you, darling."

"You got me, baby." You tell him as you shimmy out of your underwear. They're damp with your arousal and Steven is quick to toss them off the bed along with his own.

"Just wanna be in you, love." Steven admits.

"Go for it." You tell him, but he's quick to shake his head.

"No, love. Gotta prep you, yeah."

"Steven," you whine as he slips a finger inside of you.

"Been waiting for this for a while." Steven tells you as he thrusts his finger inside of you. He adds a second finger when you start to tilt your hips down towards his hand. "Now you gotta wait just a bit, love."

"Steven," you warn. Wanting nothing more than his cock in you right now.

"Almost there, love."

After adding a third finger and thoroughly teasing you, Steven slips his fingers out of you and lines his cock up at your entrance. He's slow to push in, much unlike his alters, Steven likes to take his time entering you.

"Oh God," You moan.

"Not God, love, just me." Steven says rather cheekily.

You laugh as you move to meet his thrust. "I need you to pick up the pace."

"You got it love." Steve says and true to his word, his next thrust comes faster and harder than the last. "Like that?"

"Yes," You hiss in pleasure as Steven continues to fuck you. When it comes to sex, hard and fast isn't typically Steven's style. But he likes anything that brings you pleasure and today that's this. "So good, Stevie."

"Oh love," Steven coos. "Feel so good wrapped around me. Gonna make me come."

"Do it." You order.

"Not without you. Gotta make you come."

"I'm close," you whine. "So close." Your hands grab onto Steven's ass, pulling him in closer. "Gonna come, Stevie."

"Oh love, come for me." Steven begs. You moan and cry out as you reach your climax, crying Steven's name just as you feel him reach his own end, filling you up with his spend.

You expect Steven to pull out next. To get started on cleaning the two of you up and laying down for cuddles. But instead he's lifting your legs over his shoulders, his cock still hard inside of you.

"Steven!" You shout as his cock hits even deeper into you.

"Try again." A deep voice orders. You look up to meet your boyfriend's gaze and you can tell that Steven is no longer the one looking back at you. Marc is fronting now and he doesn't seem to be satisfied the way Steven was.

"Marc," you lament.

"There we go." Marc chuckles. "Thought you were done?" He asks.

"Wasn't expecting you." You tell him truthfully.

"Oh, would you rather Steven come back?" He asks. Despite his hard cock inside of you, you know that if you said yes that Marc would get Steven back in the body instantly.

"No, as long as he's not upset. I know he likes our down time after sex."

"He does," Marc says as he slowly thrusts his cock in and out of you. "But he's happy to watch, too." Marc leans down and kisses you. It's different from Steven, harder, but still tender. "Let's give him a show."

You can't help but cry out in shoke and pleasure as Marc gives a hard thrust into your channel. Your hand comes down to grab the meat of his thigh and your sure that the both of you are going to have bruises from each other once this is done. "You know," Marc grunts as he fucks you. His hair falls into his eyes but he doesn't move it, his hands stay wrapped tightly around your ankles, holding them over his shoulders. "I've been watching for a while now. Watching you moan and cry for Steven."

"Oh fuck," you babble. Your eyes close in pleasure for a moment before opening back up and meeting Marc's dark gaze.

"All I could think while I watched you get split a part on his cock was that I could do a better job."

"Marc!" You cry as you quickly reach your second orgasm. Still sensitive from Steven, you're quick to climax a second time.

"Now I gotta show him how a real man does it." Marc says before crashing his mouth onto yours. Your kiss is dirty, a mess of teeth and tongues. Your hands reach up for his dark strands of hair, pulling and grabbing.

"So good, Marc. So good." Your words are slurred with pleasure, more babbling than anything. But Marc answers you still.

"Gonna come inside of you, baby. Gonna pump you full. You'll be leaking with me."

"Fuck Marc please!" You beg.

"Fuck baby, take it!" Marc orders. His grip on you tightens as he reaches his end. "Fucking take my cock, take my come!" Marc groans as he comes inside of you. Leaning down his his face buried in your neck. Marc pulls his cock free of you and you whine at the emptiness despite feeling the beginnings of being overstimulated. You don't register that he's moved again until you feel a mouth at your entrance, a tongue licking up the come that leaks out of you.

"Fuck!" You cry as you jolt back, further into the pillows. "Too much!"

The licking stops for a moment before you hear your boyfriend speak. But it's not Marc that speaks this time, but Jake. "Common princess, you can handle it. Just tryna clean you up a bit." You don't get a chance to answer before you feel Jake's mouth back at you entrance, lucking and sucking you clean. You squirm away, for back into the headboard, but Jake is quick to grab onto your legs and pull you back to were he kneels between your open legs. He doesn't appreciate you trying to take away his little treat and pinches your thigh in warning. "Stop moving." He orders before he continues to suck your fucking soul out of your body.

"Jake!" You yell. You yell loud enough for the neighbour's to hear, no doubt giving them the idea you're having one hell of a foursome. Your next release comes so fast it's nearly painful. There's no more of the slow, teasing buildup. "Too much," you sob just as Jake pulls away from between your legs. His right hand rubs you leg gently, a stark contrast to his attitude earlier.

"Too much?" He asks with a faux pout.

"Too much, Jake."

"Okay, " Jake says softly. "In that case just one more then." You don't get a chance to answer before his mouth is back on you. Licking and sucking and devouring. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know that your boyfriend is full of his when he says just one more, but you can't complain. Not too much, at least. Not when he's making you feel so good. Your body is limp and your half conscious by the time your faith, six? Climax comes barrling through you. Jake's mouth must be sore, he's been at it for a long time, but he doesn't say so.

"Too much." You whimper. Your limp hand gives a weak attempt at pushing Jake's head away, but it quickly falls flat on the bedsheets.

"I know, princess. All done." You breath out at the promise of an end. You're more than ready to take another nap now, to go back to sleep and not wake up for hours. You're just about to do so when your boyfriend's voice has you peaking your eyes open at him. "We're all done." He promises again. "Just as soon as I get one more from you." He says with a smirk before diving back into your center.

[oddballwriter]

Whipped

Summary: A blurb in which Steven swears that he's not whipped for you.

Warnings: None really

Author’s Snip: I like the idea of all the moon boys being absolutely whipped for you while also denying it hard.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (request to join the list!)

'Whipped'

It's a word that Steven hates being called... even if it is a little true.

Okay, it's not like you made him like that. You don't make him do all of the things that he does for you like he's some sort of servant or trained dog. He's just polite and likes doing things for you. It's not him being whipped, it's a love language, he likes doing things for you.

Like holding the bags when you two go out shopping or to the grocery store. Your arms get tired and he's more than able to hold them since the body definitely has some muscle that can handle the weight. You can press the buttons and open the doors along with way. Sure, whenever you two pass a reflective surface you both look like every caricature of a couple where one is made to hold all the bags while the other person isn't holding a single one, and some people laugh. But it's not like that!

You don't tell him what to do or what to wear. Unless you're going out together because you both like to match and you have a keen eye on how to have anything in his wardrobe match your outfit. And you really do have a keen eye because one time you had told him to wear his "tan button-down shirt with the stripe patterns". He had two that fit that description and settled on one. But when he put it on you shook your head and said "No, not the one with two big stripes on each side," and clarifying that you meant the other one. So he changed into the other one. But that's not controlling what he wears, you just have a better eye. It's not being whipped if you're right.

But at least he doesn't do the part where he does as you say just because you told him to. He doesn't. He does not do that. All the times that he did was because you were busy with something. Okay maybe there's been a few times...

But it's called "acts of service"! It's a love language! It's not being whipped! He's just doing something for you because he loves you! And he hates it when Marc and Jake mention the time he went all the way to the home decor store because your favorite candle was running out and apparently it's only sold at that home decor store and you don't want a dupe because "They all smell wrong". He's not whipped! You just prefer Cherry Lemonade Sunset! And you wanted some chocolate too.

[nocturnewidow]

the different moonknights and their ways of showing affection,, °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Steven !! <3

Steven is the definition of soft love. he treats you like you are his earth to his moon ,, he always showering you with affectionate touches ; forehead kisses, warm hugs, fingers tracing over your knuckles as if memorizing them.

He writes you little notes and tucks them into your things: "Hope you have a lovely day, darling! Miss you already. xX"

Loves teaching you about Egyptian mythology, but gets adorably flustered when you tease him about how excited he gets.

Wakes you up with sleepy "good morning, love" murmurs and a hand smoothing over your back.

He's a cuddler, always tucking you into his arms as if you might disappear,, please don't ever disappear on him

Marc :3

Marc loves through acts of service and quiet devotion,, he’s the kind of guy who won’t always say I love you, but you’ll feel it in the way he pulls you closer in his sleep, arm slung over your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you. >_<<

he will always be super gentleman-y when he can or when he wants ,, likee hand at the small of your back when walking through a crowd, stepping in front of you when he senses something off, making sure you’re on the inside of the sidewalk. ^_^!

because he’s an adrenaline junkie and loves watching you keep up with him. He’ll pin you down, grinning smugly, all “C’mon, baby, I know you can do better than that,” just to get you to fight back. anndd when you flip him? Oh, he’s in love. <33

When he’s hurting, he won’t ask for comfort, but if you come to him first? If you touch his arm, brush his knuckles, tell him you’re there ,, he’ll fold, bury his face in your neck, and let himself just be with you.

Jake ^_^!

Jake is intense in his affection. His love is deliberate, consuming, and unwavering ,,

not controlling, but he’ll drape his coat over your shoulders when it’s cold, straighten your necklace if it’s off center, and tuck his fingers under your chin to tilt your head up when he talks to you 🤗

If you get flustered, he’ll just grin wider, lean in closer, murmuring a low qué bonita before brushing his lips against your temple

A hand always ghosting along your waist when he passes ,,

If he ever says te quiero in Spanish, know it means more than anything in English ever could ^_^

He doesn’t give out love easily, but when he does? It’s fierce, unwavering, and solely yours .

a/n plsplsplsplspls send me requests ,, 🙏🙏 i wanna make moots so bad on here ohmigosh

[januaryembrs]

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force. 

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in. 

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

[the-offside-rule]

S.G, M.S, J.L (Moonknight) - The Three of You & Me

Requested: gotta love the moonknight ppl

Warnings: not really no

Steven Grant fumbled with his keys at the door of the flat, the heavy thunk of the lock finally giving way as the door creaked open. His face showed a mixture of exhaustion and that unmistakable, endearing Steven charm; hair a bit tousled and his shirt wrinkled from a long day at the museum. He stepped inside with a weary sigh, tossing his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes, not caring where they landed. “Ridiculously tired doesn’t even cover it.” He muttered as he spotted his girlfriend, Y/n, sat on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs. He trudged over and collapsed next to her with a gentle thud, head immediately falling onto her lap. Y/n chuckled, her fingers tussling through his hair as his eyes shuttered shut, his body relaxing into the comfort of her presence.

“Love, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” Steven groaned, his voice tired yet animated as he began to recount the day’s events. His hand traced absentminded patterns on her arm, seeking comfort as much as he was giving it. “So, yeah, Donna’s been on me all day. She goes, ‘Steven, I need you to catalog all these artifacts before lunch,’ right? And I’m thinking, that’s impossible. She’s giving me-" He paused dramatically, lifting his head slightly to make his point. "Mummified cats! Actual ancient felines, Y/n. Who just tosses that at someone before lunch?” He shook his head in disbelief before lowering it back against her shoulder. “And the tourists, don’t get me started. Asking me questions like I run the whole museum. I’ve had to tell people ‘I'm not a bloody tour guide’ at least six times today, because Donna like, freaks out when I go about 'nattering' on about Egypt.”

Y/n smiled softly, letting him rant, knowing he needed this space to unwind. She ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke, his voice growing softer with each complaint, the day clearly catching up with him. His eyelids drooped, his words becoming slower and less coherent. “I don’t know how you put up with me.” He mumbled sleepily, already half-asleep in her arms. She kissed the top of his head gently. “Because I love you, Steven.” He muttered something unintelligible, trailing off as sleep finally claimed him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing becoming slow and steady.

But after a minute, Y/n felt the subtle shift she had come to recognize. Steven’s body tensed slightly, his muscles twitching in a way that was different from the usual sleep movements. His breathing changed, becoming deeper, more controlled. When his eyes fluttered open again, they no longer carried the soft, dreamy expression she knew from Steven.

Marc Spector was awake now.

Y/n smiled knowingly as his gaze met hers, his expression focused and alert. Marc gave her a small, almost apologetic smile as he stretched, cracking his neck with a quiet sigh. “Hello, Marc.” She greeted him softly. Marc’s lips tugged into a brief smile. “Hey.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Steven was exhausted.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell.” Y/n said with a chuckle, watching him stand up from the couch and head to the kitchen. “You hungry?” Marc asked, already rummaging through the fridge, pulling out ingredients without much thought. “I can make something.”

“Sure, I could eat.” She replied, leaning back into the couch, content to watch him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone used to taking over when needed. In a matter of minutes, Marc had whipped up a plate of grilled cheese. He sighed as he plopped down beside her, handing her the plate and grabbing the control for the TV. "I expected some alfredo or something." Y/n joked. "You said you were starved, pasta takes too long to make." Marc replied, the quiet hum of the television filling the space. "How righteous. You sure it's not because you can't cook?" He scoffed. "Steven can't cook, I made our food before you came along." He said, putting the control down and grabbing a half.

After dinner, Marc flipped through the channels yet again, landing on something mindless, and sat back down, pulling Y/n close as they watched TV. But even Marc couldn’t stave off sleep forever. He yawned, stretching as he set the remote down and leaned back into the couch. “Guess it’s my turn to knock out.” He murmured, his voice rough with fatigue. Y/n smiled, brushing her hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Marc.” He mumbled something in response, already slipping into sleep. But it didn’t last long before that familiar shift happened again—his body changing, his posture becoming more relaxed yet somehow more confident. When his eyes opened this time, they held a sharp, mischievous gleam.

Jake Lockley was awake.

Y/n couldn’t help but smirk at the sudden change in his demeanor. “Buenos días, Jake.” she said with a teasing smile, despite the fact that it was still very much night-time. “Buenos días.” Jake replied with a chuckle, heading straight for the coffee machine. He moved with a smooth, confident ease that was completely distinct from either Steven or Marc. “Coffee? At this hour?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup, the rich aroma filling the room. “I’ve got a job to do.” Jake said, taking a sip and leaning casually against the counter, his dark eyes focused on her. "Cab driving or cab driving." He chuckled. “Don't worry about it, cariño. Won’t be long.” He said finishing the cup of coffee and placing it in the sink. "Marc will clean this later, right?" She chuckled. "He won't like it but probably." He nodded along, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "Vale, hasta luego, cariño." He was about to reach for the door handle when he felt a delicate hand on his arm. “Be careful, okay?” Jake’s grin softened just a bit, his rough exterior giving way as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her temple. “Siempre tengo cuidado. No te preocupes por esa carita bonita.” He murmured, his voice low and full of quiet reassurance. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, watching as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He gave her one last glance, his expression full of unspoken promises, before slipping out into the night. The flat felt a little quieter with him gone, but Y/n knew better than to worry. Jake always came back, and she’d be waiting for him.

[aspenmissing]

I am so stupid and managed to send in my last ask without correcting it. Would you pretty please write that ask but instead of arcane characters do bucky, steve, tony, moonknight (both their reactions🙏) and loki.

I mean it's not like I'd get mad if you wrote the arcane character but yea I definitely get you getting burned out from writing so much for them.

❤️❤️

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ | ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ | ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ | ��ᴏɴʏ | ʟᴏᴋɪ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7711 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅɪᴅ (ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ) - ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ɪɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴊᴀᴀɴᴏɴ!! ɢᴇᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴏ ʙᴏᴛʜ (ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ), ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ 'ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ'. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ᴅᴏ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ, ɪ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ Qᴜɪᴄᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ | ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ | ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ | ᴛᴏɴʏ | ʟᴏᴋɪ

STEVE

Steve Rogers and Y/N had been inseparable ever since they first met on the battlefield. They’d fought side by side, saving the world together, and had always shared an unspoken bond that felt stronger than any words could describe. Over the years, their connection had grown into something deeper, something only they truly understood. It wasn’t just about being teammates—it was about being two halves of a whole.

Y/N was Steve’s right hand, his partner in every mission. They were the strategist, the thinker, the one who kept him grounded while he led the charge. They were often the calm in the storm, the one who saw the bigger picture when Steve’s instinctual drive was to dive headfirst into the fray. They balanced each other perfectly, as though their very souls had been crafted to complement one another. If Steve was the shield, Y/N was the hand that guided it, the brain behind the operation, always one step ahead. Their connection was so seamless it felt as though they were a single entity, a force that no one could break.

Despite the intensity of their bond, their relationship had always remained professional. They had never put a name to it—at least, not out loud. Others often assumed they were married, the way they finished each other’s sentences, the way their eyes met across the room and spoke volumes without the need for words. And Y/N, ever the quick-witted one, was always fast to correct anyone who made such an assumption. They didn’t want to label it. They couldn’t. Not when the unspoken understanding between them was all that mattered.

But today was different.

The Avengers had just returned from a mission, the weight of their latest victory hanging in the air like a faint glow. They had survived another harrowing battle, and now, they were gathered in the briefing room for the usual debriefing. Y/N was standing beside Steve, both of them scanning over the latest intel. Their shoulders were close, but not touching—no need for that when they communicated so effortlessly without physical contact. It was as though their very presence was a conversation.

As the group discussed the mission’s success, Tony, ever the instigator, was the first to break the silence with his usual mischievous grin.

"So, when’s the wedding?" Tony asked, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. "I mean, you two are practically married at this point. Always together, finishing each other’s sentences, always on the same wavelength."

Steve chuckled awkwardly, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink. He opened his mouth to correct Tony, to deflect the attention with a joke or a comment, but before he could speak, Y/N, who had been standing silently beside him, simply smiled and spoke up.

"I think we’re already married in spirit," Y/N said softly, their voice playful but carrying a weight that made it impossible to ignore. Their gaze never left the data on the screen in front of them. It wasn’t a joke, not like the others they’d thrown back at Tony in the past. They said it as if it was an undeniable truth—something they had both known for a long time, but never dared to say aloud.

The room fell silent for a moment, the impact of Y/N’s words settling in like a calm after a storm. Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He was surprised—not by the fact that Y/N had said something so bold, but by the weight of what they’d said. They didn’t correct Tony. They didn’t laugh it off or brush it aside like they usually did. This time, they let the moment hang in the air, unchallenged.

The others exchanged knowing glances. Natasha raised an eyebrow, Clint smirked, and even Bruce looked over with a subtle, thoughtful expression. But it was Steve who spoke next, his voice softer than usual, laced with curiosity, uncertainty, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

"Y/N…" Steve began, his voice trailing off as he looked at them, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t expected this shift. It was different. And, maybe, he realized, that was what they both needed.

Y/N finally turned their head to meet Steve’s gaze, and when their eyes met, it was like a quiet understanding passed between them. No words needed to be spoken. They didn’t need to explain themselves, because Steve already knew. He always had, deep down. Their connection was something far beyond labels. It was something that couldn’t be captured in the words ‘partners,’ ‘friends,’ or even ‘lovers.’ It was something uniquely theirs.

Steve’s expression softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t upset. If anything, he felt a sense of relief. For once, Y/N had allowed their bond to be known, without deflecting it, without pretending it was anything less than what it was.

Tony, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to get all mushy on me," he teased, though his tone was laced more with amusement than anything else.

But Steve couldn’t help it. His heart swelled. Maybe Y/N was right. Maybe, in every sense that mattered, they were already married—connected, not just in battle, but in life. They had fought for the world together, but more than that, they had fought for each other. And in that moment, Steve realized that their bond wasn’t something that needed to be explained to anyone else. It just was.

The moment passed, the conversation drifting to other matters, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling of something shifting inside him. A realization was dawning on him, one that had been lingering beneath the surface for far longer than he cared to admit. Maybe it was time they stopped denying the depth of what they shared. Maybe it wasn’t just about being right-hand and left-hand anymore. Maybe it was something more.

=

As the team began to break apart, Steve lingered behind, waiting for Y/N to finish up with the mission notes. The room slowly emptied, but Steve remained, not wanting to let the moment go just yet.

When they were alone, the silence between them was different. It was heavier, filled with the weight of everything they hadn’t said. Finally, Steve spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"Y/N," Steve said, his hand reaching out to gently rest on theirs. The simple touch sent a wave of warmth through him. "You know that was… different, right?"

Y/N looked up at him, their gaze meeting his with that same quiet understanding they had always shared. There was no need for words to explain it—everything was already laid bare between them, everything that needed to be understood had already been understood. This time, they didn’t correct him. Instead, they smiled softly, the kind of smile that said everything Steve needed to hear.

"Yeah, Steve," Y/N replied, their voice full of unspoken affection, "I think I do."

Steve’s heart fluttered at the words. For a moment, he was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so vulnerable, so open. The truth had always been there, but it had taken this moment—Y/N’s simple words—to bring it fully to the surface.

Y/N’s eyes never left his, and Steve could feel the pull between them, a magnetic connection that neither of them could deny any longer. He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts, but the words still didn’t come.

"You know," Steve said after a beat, his voice a little rougher now, "I’ve always known, you know? About us." He shifted, taking a small step closer. "I guess I just… didn’t know how to say it."

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and genuine. "Steve, you don’t have to say anything. We’ve always known, haven’t we?"

For once, Steve didn’t argue. He didn’t try to push back. He simply nodded, his hand still resting on theirs, fingers gently brushing over their skin. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with everything they had been too afraid to put into words before.

"You’re right," Steve finally said, his voice softer, but more certain than ever. "We always have."

And in that quiet moment, Steve realized that the bond they shared was enough. It always had been. And maybe that was the way it was always meant to be.

BUCKY

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes was many things: a soldier, a friend, a complicated man with a past full of shadows.

But to you, he was also something else—someone you couldn't imagine life without. From the moment you had been paired together, it had been as though fate had woven your lives together, one thread at a time. You were his right hand, his left brain, his balance. Wherever Bucky went, you were right there beside him. Whether in the heat of a mission or the quiet moments in between, you were always there, completing him in a way that no one else could.

It had taken some getting used to, the two of you always in sync, always working together. At first, it felt like you were trying to figure out how to best fit into each other’s lives. But over time, you’d learned how perfectly you worked together. You could anticipate his moves before he made them, just as he seemed to know yours. You could finish each other’s sentences, pull off complicated plans with ease, and calm each other’s nerves without a word. You were his anchor, and he was yours.

And it didn’t hurt that Bucky had a way of looking at you that made everything feel just a little more right, even when the world around you was falling apart.

People had noticed, of course. It was only natural for them to assume that you and Bucky were a couple. The way you complemented each other, the way you moved as a unit, made it seem like there was no one else who could possibly take your place. You were always by his side, whether on a mission or at the compound. You worked together seamlessly—more like partners than anything else.

Normally, when people commented on your closeness, you were quick to correct them. You’d laugh it off with a quick “we’re not married” or a wink, making it clear that, while you and Bucky were incredibly close, the title of marriage didn’t quite fit. But today, for some reason, you didn’t correct them. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t feel the need to.

=

It was a quiet moment in the common room of the compound, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the fading sunlight outside. You and Bucky were sitting side by side, poring over the details of an upcoming mission. The tension from the mission was light, just enough to keep your minds sharp, but otherwise, it was an easy rhythm between you both. Your voices were low as you discussed the mission, your conversation punctuated by glances, hand gestures, and quiet chuckles.

The door opened, and Steve and Sam walked in, exchanging a look as they noticed the easy atmosphere between the two of you. Sam couldn’t resist the opportunity for some light-hearted teasing.

“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe.

You froze, your words halting as you glanced over at Bucky, your mind instantly on alert. Normally, you would’ve jumped in with a quick correction, a gentle reminder that you weren’t married. But today… you didn’t. Instead, you let the words hang in the air, unspoken.

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you. He didn’t move at first, simply letting his hand rest on the arm of the couch. There was a moment of hesitation, almost like he was waiting for you to react. His face, usually so controlled, softened just slightly as his gaze lingered on you, as though asking if you would correct them.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you gave him a small, nonchalant shrug, your lips curving into a faint smile, and his eyes softened further, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t that you didn’t care, it was just that, in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Sam’s grin widened, clearly seeing the tension in the air. “Wait a second. You two aren’t married?”

Steve glanced between the two of you, a knowing look crossing his face. He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because you two look like an old married couple.”

You couldn’t help the playful smirk that tugged at your lips as you glanced at Steve. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest with a knowing look. “Old married couple?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Steve, you’re the one who’s over a century old. Maybe you should be the one talking about being ‘old.’”

Sam snickered, clearly enjoying your jab, while Steve shot you a mock glare. The twinkle in his eyes, however, betrayed the humour he found in your comment. “Alright, alright,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll give you that one. But seriously, you two are inseparable. It’s like watching a married couple bicker without the commitment.”

You laughed softly, feeling a warm comfort in the back-and-forth. But you didn’t correct them. What Steve didn’t know—and what didn’t need to be said—was that you and Bucky didn’t need to define your connection. It was perfect as it was, no matter what anyone thought.

Bucky gave a low chuckle, eyes still on you, his lips curling into a playful grin. “Guess that makes me the grumpy old husband,” he teased.

You raised an eyebrow, your smile softening as you shook your head. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have it any other way, grumpy old man.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s response. “Well, you guys are definitely something,” he said, glancing back and forth between the two of you, clearly sensing the unspoken bond.

You met Bucky’s eyes for a long moment, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to correct them. You didn’t need a title or a label to define what you were. What you had with Bucky was enough. It was perfect just the way it was.

Bucky’s expression softened, his eyes tender as they met yours. Slowly, his hand moved from the armrest to rest lightly on your knee, a simple, quiet gesture that spoke volumes. You didn’t need to say anything. He understood. No words were needed.

=

Steve and Sam eventually moved on, but Bucky remained still, his hand on your knee, his gaze lingering on you. The quiet felt sacred—like the two of you were the only ones who truly understood what was between you. Then, when the others were far enough away, Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice low and just for you.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’m okay with it. If they think we’re married.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard for a moment. Then, a soft laugh escaped your lips, the warmth in your chest undeniable. “Yeah, me too,” you replied, voice quiet but sincere.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you, the tenderness never fading. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And in that moment, you realized something important: despite the teasing and the questions from others, it didn’t matter whether you had a title or not. What mattered was that you were together, perfectly matched, right hand and left brain, now and always. You didn’t need anything else.

Bucky’s smile deepened as he leaned back into the couch, hand still resting on your knee. He didn’t need to say anything more. Neither of you did. The silence between you felt comfortable, knowing, and full of understanding. It was everything.

STUCKY

Y/N had always been the glue that held the trio together. Whether it was during intense missions, late-night strategy sessions, or just mundane days spent at the compound, they were never far from Steve and Bucky. The three of them had been inseparable since that first mission together. In the eyes of the world, they were a team—no, more than a team, they were family. But there was something else, something that everyone seemed to pick up on. Their chemistry was undeniable, so much so that everyone assumed they were all married, or at least in some kind of romantic relationship.

It was a regular mission debriefing when it happened. The room was filled with members of the Avengers, a quiet murmur running through the air. Y/N was leaning against the table, half-listening to Steve’s deep voice as he outlined their next mission. Bucky stood next to Y/N, his hand resting casually on their shoulder, their bodies almost fitting into each other like puzzle pieces. They moved together with an ease that was both professional and intimate.

“So, when do you two get married?” Tony Stark’s voice cut through the air, as his eyes flicked between Bucky, Y/N, and Steve. “It’s been long enough, right?”

Steve choked slightly on his coffee, and Bucky’s hand immediately slid off Y/N’s shoulder, though his eyes didn’t leave them. The room fell into an awkward silence, everyone waiting for Y/N to correct the assumption, as they always did.

But this time… Y/N didn’t say a word. Instead, they simply exchanged a look with Steve and Bucky.

Steve froze. His mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. His blue eyes flickered between Y/N’s face and Bucky’s, confusion mixed with something deeper. It wasn’t anger—just surprise. “Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not going to correct him?”

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to stiffen next to them, his gaze intense, his features unreadable. He didn’t say anything either, but the way his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed showed his discomfort. He was used to Y/N setting the record straight immediately, but now… now something had shifted.

Y/N just shrugged nonchalantly, their eyes flicking around the room, before looking back at Steve and Bucky. “I don’t know,” they said, their voice smooth, almost playful. “What if we were married? It’s not like it’d change anything.”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the implication, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was Y/N trying to push some boundaries? Were they trying to tease them? Or was there something else going on that he wasn’t picking up on? His fingers flexed, itching to reach out and hold them again, but he stayed still, waiting for Steve’s reaction.

Steve blinked, processing the words. His lips curved into a small, unsure smile, though his gaze lingered on Y/N longer than necessary. “I mean…” He looked at Bucky. “I think I’d be okay with that.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to Steve. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low but steady, as if testing the waters.

Steve chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, we make it look pretty good.” He threw a glance at Tony. “I think we might be getting ahead of ourselves, though.”

“Yeah, but the way you three are always together?” Tony’s smirk grew wider. “It’s the way you’re always looking at each other, like you can’t get enough of one another.”

Y/N gave a slight, nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing to make a big deal out of. We’re just really good at working together. You know, complementing each other.”

It was clear to everyone in the room that something deeper was going on, but Y/N wasn’t offering any answers today. Steve and Bucky shared a look, both trying to figure out what had changed, but neither spoke their thoughts aloud.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I guess it’s not that important right now.”

Steve nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/N. There was a flicker of something—longing, uncertainty, a question he didn’t have the courage to ask. “Maybe not. But it’s hard to ignore.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world around them had quieted, the noise fading away. They gave Bucky and Steve a small smile, one that seemed to say everything without words.

Maybe, just this once, the assumption was right.

=

In the aftermath, as the meeting broke up, Steve and Bucky lingered in the hallway, still thinking about what had just transpired. Neither one of them knew what to make of it, but there was no denying the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them.

The sounds of footsteps echoed around the compound, and both Steve and Bucky found themselves walking in a slow, purposeful silence. Steve, ever the leader, tried to break the tension with a question.

"So..." He trailed off, glancing at Bucky. "What do you think?"

Bucky’s hands were shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable, but his mind was working at full speed. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them act like this before.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, still unsure of his own feelings. “Yeah, me neither.” He paused, stealing another glance at Bucky. "But it's not like we haven't been thinking about it... I mean, not just today. It's been... building for a while now, right?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, and he let out a short, frustrated sigh. "I don't like how this feels, Steve. It feels like we're… I don’t know, leaving things unsaid."

Steve nodded, his tone turning more serious. "Yeah. I get it. It’s like Y/N is testing us, pushing us to see how far we’ll go, or maybe they’re waiting for us to make the first move."

Bucky’s expression softened a little as he glanced sideways at Steve. “You think we should?”

Steve’s gaze was steady, his blue eyes searching for something in the moment. “I don’t know, Buck. I don’t want to mess things up with them. With either of you.”

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Same here.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them heavy with possibilities, their silence louder than any words could have been.

Finally, Bucky broke the quiet, his voice low but with a hint of humour. "I think we’ve been dancing around this for too long, don’t you?"

Steve didn’t answer right away, but his lips twitched into a smile, and he let out a short, quiet laugh. "I guess so."

As they continued down the hallway, neither of them had the answers, but one thing was certain—whatever they decided, whatever direction this took them, they were in it together.

And for once, they didn’t need to rush to figure it out.

The days that followed were quiet but charged with anticipation. The trio still worked together, still laughed together, but the dynamic had shifted. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Y/N noticed it immediately. There was an unspoken weight between Steve and Bucky that hadn’t been there the day before. It was like they were both holding their breath, waiting for something—waiting for Y/N to make the next move.

At the same time, Y/N found themselves becoming more aware of the subtle way Steve and Bucky looked at them, their touches lingering a little longer, their glances more intense. It was like they were all caught in a game they didn’t know the rules to, and yet, they were all playing it together.

=

One evening, after a long day of training and strategizing, the three of them found themselves in the lounge, a rare moment of downtime. Y/N was lounging on the couch, flipping through a book, when Steve and Bucky appeared at the door. They both paused for a moment, exchanging a quick look before stepping inside.

“You want some company?” Steve asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it. Something in his tone made Y/N sit up straighter, their heart beating a little faster.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “We were thinking... maybe we should talk.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, closing their book. “Talk about what?”

“About everything,” Bucky said simply. “About us.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back at Y/N. “About... what we didn’t say earlier.”

Y/N felt a knot form in their stomach. It was finally happening. The conversation they had been avoiding, the one they knew would come sooner or later. The question was—were they ready to face it? Were they ready to stop dancing around the truth?

Y/N met both their gazes, the air thick with unspoken words. “Alright,” they said, voice steady but their mind racing. “Let’s talk.”

TONY

Tony Stark’s eyes flickered over the headline in the morning paper.

"Stark and Y/N: Power Duo or Power Couple?"

The photo accompanying it was one of you and him walking out of one of his private meetings, side by side, both of you dressed in suits that practically screamed 'we own this city.' You were laughing at something he said, and he was looking at you like the world had stopped spinning just for that moment. The chemistry between you two was palpable, even in still images.

He snorted, holding the paper up to his face and waggling it in front of you, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Well, looks like we’ve made it. The world thinks we’re officially married now. I’m touched. Honestly, it’s a good look. I could get used to the headlines."

You, who had been working on an equation for a new tech prototype, didn’t even look up. You heard the sarcastic tone, but you were deep in thought—nothing new. You were often the one to correct people when they assumed you and Tony were a couple, mostly because the line between work and personal had always been blurry when you two were together. There was no distinction between "partner in business" and "partner in life" for the two of you. People always jumped to conclusions about your relationship. It wasn’t your fault. You just clicked, in every sense of the word.

"Tony," you said absently, adjusting your glasses and scribbling a new set of numbers. "You know we’re not married, right?"

Tony grinned, dropping the paper and leaning back in his chair, spinning it slightly as he watched you. "Well, that’s the thing, isn't it? We are married—in the sense that you and I are practically conjoined twins when it comes to running this whole operation. Hell, you’re probably the only one who can keep up with me. Maybe it’s time we start accepting it."

You sighed, rolling your shoulders back before finally looking up at him. "Yeah, but people will think we are. You’re not going to let them run with that idea, are you?"

Tony paused. His expression softened just a bit, but the cocky grin didn’t quite leave. It was replaced by something more contemplative—still playful, but with a deeper edge. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's about time the world knew how well we work together... in every way."

Your brow furrowed at his tone, unsure of where this was going. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering directly, Tony raised the paper again and pointed to a particular sentence: "Close personal relationships between Stark and Y/N have always been under the radar. Sources say the duo is inseparable, with speculation about a much deeper connection than just business partners." He lowered the paper and looked at you with that familiar smirk.

You stared at it for a moment, your face unreadable, then shrugged. "I mean... we are inseparable. It's true, but that doesn’t mean—"

Tony cut you off with a smile, his usual playful spark flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I think it’s cute they’re so invested in our 'relationship.' I mean, how many people can say they have a 'right hand' like you?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly, his tone teasing but not entirely lighthearted. "Maybe they just don’t understand how perfectly we complement each other. Hell, maybe I’m just tired of having to tell people you're not my wife every time they make that assumption."

You frowned, deciding to just let the whole thing slide for once. You hadn't expected Tony to bring it up like that, but his words made you pause. It was always you and him, always working side by side, tackling problems from every angle. You knew how much he depended on you, how much you relied on him. Maybe it was time to stop fighting the idea.

"Alright, fine. Let them think what they want," you said with a small shrug. You shifted in your seat, leaning back slightly as if to signal the conversation was over. You didn’t want to get caught up in something so trivial. There were bigger things to focus on.

Tony raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your sudden lack of rebuttal. "Wait—hold up. You're giving up that easily? You're not going to correct them this time?"

You gave him a deadpan look, not bothering to hide your exhaustion. "It’s a busy day, Tony. The world can think whatever they want." You returned to your work, hands flying over the keyboard and tablet in front of you.

For a moment, Tony stared at you, a little surprised by your uncharacteristic lack of correction. Then, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't one of his usual smirks or playful grins; it was something more... genuine, warmer. A look that lingered for a moment too long. Something unspoken passed between you two—something more than just partnership.

He placed the newspaper down and pushed it aside, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "I guess you’re right. Who needs the press to tell us what we already know, huh?" He sighed, as though coming to terms with something, a little smile still tugging at his lips. "I can’t deny it though. You and me? We’re a hell of a team."

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you felt that familiar weight of his gaze on you. It was comforting, yet there was something a little unsettling about it this time—like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. For once, neither of you felt the need to clarify anything. Maybe you didn’t have to. After all, you knew what you had, and so did he.

Tony tilted his head, just a little, as if testing the waters. "What I’m saying is—if we were a thing, I’d probably get a whole lot of attention. I’m talking movie deals, book deals—maybe even a reality show. You'd love that."

You let out a small laugh, the tension easing between you two. "Yeah, sure. We could call it Partners in Crime."

Tony shot you a look. "I like that. I think it's got legs."

Your smirk mirrored his, and for the first time in a long while, neither of you felt the need to correct the narrative. The world could think whatever it wanted—because what you had went beyond labels, beyond definitions. You were a team, in every sense of the word. No one had to understand it except for the two of you.

But maybe, just maybe, the world was onto something with that "power couple" business.

And Tony... well, he liked the idea more than he let on.

MOONKNIGHT (ALL 3)

It had become a routine.

You’d swing by the museum on your off days, usually bearing coffee or some odd snack Steven had been obsessing over that week. Turkish delights. Jaffa Cakes. One time, he’d mentioned Egyptian honeycakes offhandedly in the middle of a tangent about burial rituals, and you’d spent the whole weekend perfecting a recipe just to see the way his entire face lit up when you handed him the tin. He’d looked at you like you’d brought him treasure pulled straight from a tomb.

It wasn’t official, any of it. Not your presence. Not your role. Not even the dynamic between the four of you. You weren’t listed on any museum roster, and yet most of the staff had assumed you worked there at some point. That’s how often you were around. Always flitting between the break room and the gift shop, trailing behind Steven during lunch, slipping into quiet corners with Marc when the lights went low, waiting in parked cars with Jake in the late hours after the museum closed.

You were Steven’s right hand. Marc’s backup. Jake’s trusted secret. And somehow—despite all of that—never just a friend.

Even Donna had noticed.

Especially Donna.

So when you step into the gift shop today, two warm lattes in hand and your coat still speckled with spring rain, it’s no surprise that she clocks you the moment you walk in. Her eyes flick up from the register with laser precision. Her smirk forms before she even says a word.

Steven doesn’t notice right away. He’s knee-deep in a battle against gravity and a particularly rebellious tower of scarab keychains—the cheap kind that never sell, but Donna stocks religiously like they’re museum relics. His brows are furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly between his lips as he tries to wedge one more into the crooked stack without toppling it.

And then he sees you.

His whole expression transforms in an instant—like someone hit a switch. The anxious fog behind his eyes clears, the corners of his mouth lift, and something warm and open rushes into his face. His posture loosens, shoulders dropping with visible relief.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he breathes, stepping forward like you’re gravity itself, like you’ve pulled him into orbit.

He reaches for the coffee before you’ve even fully held it out. Your fingers brush his—just for a second longer than they need to—and something sparks in the space between you. Not literal, not cinematic. But real. Tactile. A quiet buzz under your skin that feels a little too intimate for something so casual.

“You say that every time,” you tease, your voice soft with fondness.

“Yeah, well. Still true every time,” he murmurs, casting a shy glance your way before sipping gratefully.

You smile, watching him relax around the first mouthful like he’s just been handed peace in a paper cup.

And then, right on cue, Donna calls out from the front counter—arms folded, tone smug as ever. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Grant. Come to rescue your husband again, have you?”

Steven freezes.

His eyes flick to yours, wide and blinking. You’ve both heard it before. Variations of the same joke. Donna’s favorite little jab. Usually, you roll your eyes. Laugh. Say the line like it’s part of the script.

We’re not married, Donna.

But today…

You don’t.

You take a deliberate sip of your drink. Let the silence stretch. Let it hang between you like tension pulled tight on a string. Then you shrug—easy, unbothered—and smile.

A small one. But telling.

Steven is staring. Absolutely stunned. His mouth hangs open like he forgot how to close it. You can practically see the error message flashing behind his eyes. Donna, meanwhile, blinks. Then cackles.

“About bloody time you two admitted it,” she mutters, ducking behind the register and vanishing with a rustle of receipts and bubble wrap.

What’s left behind is silence. Thick and tangled.

You glance at Steven again. His face is still frozen, but you see it—just a flicker. The tiniest shift in the way he holds his weight. Not outward. Inward.

You know that shift.

Marc.

You’ve never seen the changes in a mirror. Never needed to. It’s in the way they carry themselves. In the silence between one breath and the next. Marc is stillness where Steven flutters. A quiet density that settles into the room like pressure before a storm.

“You’re messing with us,” Marc says, his voice lower now—more grounded, laced with suspicion. There’s a guarded edge to it, like he’s circling the perimeter of something he’s afraid to want. “That what this is?”

You tilt your head slightly. Not backing off. “Am I?”

His gaze sharpens. Marc doesn’t just look at you. He studies you. Like he’s waiting for a tell that doesn’t come. You feel it in your chest—the way he’s bracing himself. Ready to be disappointed. Ready to dismiss it all as a joke or misunderstanding.

But then something shifts again.

You don’t see it. Not exactly. But you feel it, the way the air changes. Cooler. Calmer. Like a slow tide slipping in under the surface of things. A quiet control that curls at the edge of your awareness.

Jake.

You don’t hear him like a voice in your ear, but he’s there. Present in the way Marc’s sharp tension fades into something looser, more confident. In the way your skin prickles with anticipation, like you’re being watched by something careful and amused.

“Careful, cariño,” Jake murmurs in the back of your mind, smooth and velvet-soft, brushing against your thoughts like a gloved hand on bare skin. “We might take that seriously.” (Love)

Your lips curl into a smile before you can stop them.

“I’m not messing with you,” you say at last—quiet, but sure. Unshaken. You turn your attention back to Steven—because you know it’s Steven now, feel it in the nervous flutter of his hands and the way his eyes dart to yours like they’re afraid of what they might find there.

“You’re not?” he asks, voice tight, uncertain.

“I’m not.”

And suddenly, the stillness in the gift shop feels sacred. Like the whole world just took a breath and held it.

Steven looks down at your hand again—at where your fingers had brushed his earlier. He stares like it’s new. Like it means more now. Because it does.

You don’t rush to fill the silence. You let them—all of them—sit with it.

You know they’re talking in there. You can feel it. Quiet conversations in the corners of a shared space. Thoughts layered over thoughts, like echoes in a cathedral. You can’t hear the words, but you sense the shift.

Then Steven clears his throat. It cracks halfway through like a boy trying too hard to sound smooth, and you bite back a laugh.

“…Well,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual, “I suppose we’ll need to plan the honeymoon, yeah?”

You bump his shoulder with yours, grin blooming wider. “Only if it involves not organizing another scarab display.”

That gets him. A laugh bubbles out—relieved, genuine. And it’s not just Steven anymore. You hear the flicker of Marc’s low, reluctant chuckle beneath it. The deeper sound of Jake’s amusement, warm and unspoken.

For just a heartbeat, everything aligns. Like the world settles. Like you all belong—right here, right now.

Exactly as you are.

LOKI

The conference room on the Helicarrier was uncomfortably bright. Stark had insisted on LED renovations — something about reducing eye strain for the “lesser geniuses” who couldn’t handle prolonged screen time. It only made Loki’s headache worse.

He sat at the long metal table, gleaming under the synthetic lights, dressed in his usual sharp green and gold, fingers steepled under his chin in that calculating way that always spelled doom for whoever spoke next. His jaw was tense, his expression unreadable save for the faint twitch of an eyebrow every time someone said something particularly stupid — which, unfortunately, was often.

Beside him, you were the picture of calm efficiency. Eyes flicking across a folder of debrief summaries, pen tapping against your lips in time with the rhythmic bounce of Loki’s foot beneath the table. It was unconscious, the synchronicity between you. Like a song only the two of you could hear.

You were his right hand. His second brain. His strategist, his handler, his first and last sounding board. If Loki was all sharp edges and wicked smirks, you were clean lines and quiet precision. Where he wielded chaos like a weapon, you crafted control like armor.

And everyone knew it.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to assume you were together — romantically, domestically, secretly. The way you moved in step, answered questions he hadn’t spoken aloud, the way he leaned in when you whispered something only for him to nod once and completely pivot strategy without question. There was an intimacy to it. An ease.

So when Maria Hill strode in briskly, dark eyes scanning the room, and said without fanfare, “Do you and your spouse have anything to add, Loki?” — the room didn’t even blink. No one laughed. No one corrected. It was almost routine by now.

Usually, you would. Immediately. With a dry, “We’re not married,” or a breezy, “Just partners — professionally.” You’d always been quick to define the boundary, quick to draw the line before someone else drew it for you.

But this time?

You stayed silent. You raised your eyes from the folder — briefly, steadily — and met Loki’s gaze.

He had turned his head slowly, sharply, like something had snapped into place behind his eyes. Green met yours, narrowed slightly. Waiting. Calculating. And then, as if nothing had happened, you looked away again and flipped to the next page. Loki blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The silence stretched. Stark cleared his throat. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Somewhere across the room, Bruce gave you a confused side-glance, as if you’d forgotten a line in a well-rehearsed script.

Then, softly — almost curiously — Loki leaned in and murmured, “No corrections today?”

You didn’t look at him. “Seemed like a waste of energy.”

A beat. He tilted his head, watching you with the unnerving attentiveness of a predator smelling a shift in the wind.

“Ah,” he said. “Does that mean you’re finally admitting the truth?”

You raised an eyebrow but kept reading. “What truth is that?”

“That we function as one,” Loki said, as if stating a universal constant. “That you complete my sentences, counter my moods, sharpen my plans, and soften my rage. That we are, to everyone with eyes, the picture of unity. Undeniable. Inseparable.”

Now you did look at him. Slowly. Deadpan. “I didn’t say all that.”

“But you didn’t say not that,” he replied smoothly, and his smirk was unmistakable now — amused, delighted, but laced with something else. Something heavier. “Fascinating.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What is?”

“That I find myself… pleased by your silence.”

“Because you enjoy being right?”

“No,” he said, and the tone shifted. Softer. Lower. Real. “Because it means I might not be the only one who wants them to keep assuming.”

The air thickened. Your pen stopped tapping.

You stared at him — really stared — and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fall away. The murmuring agents, the flicker of the screen, the dull hum of machinery behind the walls. None of it mattered.

“…Loki,” you murmured, mouth dry, “are you flirting with me during a debrief?”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned closer, voice a velvet purr meant only for you. “No, darling. I’m proposing.”

Your breath hitched.

You choked.

Across the table, Stark muttered, “Jesus Christ, just kiss already.” Natasha snorted. Bruce was too afraid to look up.

And then, as if on cue, Thor’s booming voice entered the scene, shaking the air as he strolled into the room with his usual easy confidence. He had clearly just finished with another one of his ‘heroic duties,’ his cape sweeping behind him in grand fashion. As he caught sight of the two of you, his face split into a grin.

“Aha!” Thor boomed, his voice filling the room. “I knew it! Well done, my dear brother!” He slapped a heavy hand on his brother’s back with enough force to make the chair creak.

Loki winced slightly, not from the slap but from the sheer volume. Still, he didn’t move from your side, even as his older brother all but towered over the table, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You finally put a ring on it, eh?” Thor continued, a gleam in his eye as he turned to you. “I always thought you two were too inseparable to just be ‘partners.’”

The room went still. Stark, still reeling from his own comment, looked at the two of you in a mix of disbelief and awe.

Loki didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes locked with yours once more — no trace of discomfort, only that familiar spark of something deeper. His lips twitched into a small, private smile.

“Seems they already assume we’re married, brother,” Loki said smoothly, addressing Thor, but his gaze never left you.

“Hmm,” Thor mused, scratching his chin. “Well, I do believe that means congratulations are in order.” He raised his mug of ale, as if toasting to something grand, his grin widening. “Finally, Loki, you’ve found someone who can match your brilliance.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling slightly. “And who says I’m matching him, Thor? It might be the other way around.”

Loki’s smirk deepened as he raised an eyebrow in mock affront. “What’s that, darling? Have I been upstaged by my own right hand?”

You chuckled softly, turning to him with a look that was both teasing and warm. “Oh, Loki, you know better than anyone that we’re the perfect balance.”

Thor clapped Loki on the back again, a booming laugh filling the air. “Ah, partner banter! I shall leave you two to your plans, but know this, Loki — I support this union fully.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Just don’t make it too official before I get to witness the wedding!”

As Thor left the room, Tony turned to you both with a smirk. “Well, that was a show.”

Loki shot a glance at you, that unspoken communication between you two louder than anything he could say. A brief moment of pure amusement flickered in his eyes before he straightened his posture and addressed the room again.

“Let them assume,” Loki said, voice cool but with a subtle warmth at its edges. “For once, they might be right.”

And you, for once, didn’t argue. You only smiled — slow, warm, and undeniably dangerous. Let them assume.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

[buckyssugarchick]

Layla said it’s my turn with the body.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

(18+) horny brainrot & hcs about the men I write for..

includes: bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, miguel o’hara, moon boys, peter quill, pietro maximoff, spencer reid, tangerine

fem!reader, mdni

cw. mentions of edging, blow jobs, dry humping, cock warming, oral (f receiving) fingering/ clit play, pinv sex

bucky barnes: likes to eat you out after you've had a bad day. he likes to listen to you try to formulate words describing the details of your day while his tongue flicks over your clit - the feel making your mind blank and hazy. he loves listening to you restart your sentences over and over and over because you keep cutting yourself off with noises - with moans

.

logan howlett: likes to play with your clit while he’s fucking you. palm resting on your public bone, thumb extended down to your clit — the motion slow and unrushed. each little circle and swirl matches the pace of his strokes, his cock fucking into you. the sensation of his dual touch earning him all your beautiful sounds and noises. every little one acting as fuel, as his momentum to keep going for you.

.

matt murdock: he knows the moment just as you're about to let go. he listens to your body, to your heart - listens to it pick up in rhythm, to it pump wildly just before that moment. he listens to your breathing stagger and heighten, listens to the change in your body, to your muscles seize and tense. though that's all he lets you feel. he snatches himself away just as you're about to cum - pulling away his cock or tongue or fingers, not allowing you that sweet moment of release. he plays with you, endlessly working you up until you're just shy of your orgasm, then yanks himself away - listening to you whine and protest, panting wildly. he tells you he'll be nice on you and let you cum, but it'll be the same story again. working you up impossibly more, leaving you on the cusp of your high

.

miguel o'hara: he won't always fuck you with the full length of his dick. sometimes, he's just too much for you to take, so you have to satiate your need with just the tip of his cock. he'd keep his fat head wedged snuggly inside you, not moving or giving you any friction you desperately need. only placing his thumb over your clit, circling it slowly as he essentially uses his tip as a plug. he'd look down at you almost pitifully, cooing at you when you'd pout and whine, trying to take more of him. but he won't allow it - placing a large hand on your hip, stilling you as he continues to toy with your clit

.

moon boys: they make you wear a blindfold while they take turns fucking you. you have to figure out who is fronting solely by their touch - no talking, no communicating, no nothing. you have to differentiate them by their strokes and rhythm, by the way they fuck you, by how they touch and caress you. they don't like being mistaken for one another, so you best not guess wrong - they won't be so lenient with you

.

peter quill: a lazy, heated makeout in bed under the covers. both wearing comfy, cozy underwear, quill hovering atop, your legs wrapped around his hips - keeping him snug to you. kissing each other carnally, all slow and sloppy, breathy muffled moans into one another's mouths as he nudges his clothed chub-on on your pussy. leisurely winding his rock-hard cock against the pit of heat between your thighs. one hand on your throat deepening the kiss, the other holding your hand beside your head

.

pietro maximoff: before you both get down and dirty one night, he'd pull out a deep, dark red lipstick from his nightstand, asking you to put some on before you suck him off. he loves to see the red kisses scattered along his chest and stomach - your lipstick marks littered over his pale skin as you work down to settle between his thighs. he'd smear the red over your mouth, his thumb dragging over your slightly bruised lips - smudging the lipstick around. he keeps his eyes glued on you the whole time, watching the way your mouth wraps around his cock, leaving a messy red ring at the base - streaks running up his shaft

.

spencer reid: enjoys the intimacy of touch during sex. loves the feeling of your fingers in his messy curls, your hand soft and gentle on his face as his cock rocks into you. it would all be slow and sweet - the encounter so leisured and unrushed. the steady wind of his hips into yours and the warmth of each of your hands on one another faces, creating a beautifully tender moment

.

tangerine: loves to play with your cunt while he's sat behind. you'd lean into him against the headboard, your back resting against his chest, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, the other between your thighs. he'd extend his neck, reaching around to kiss up the side of your throat, peppering your skin in soft, light kisses as he lazily rubs over your clit. middle and ring finger leisurely circling over the swollen nub. just him mindlessly toying with you as he kisses your cheek, whispering sweet words into your skin as he palms your tits with his spare hand

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

had some of these ideas floating around for ages, but never done anything with them—so finally finally wrote about the brainrot that’s been eating me up

added bucky and reid mar 5th

added logan oct 11th

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

→ premise: marc could get possessive, very possessive infact and when that happens he cant seem to hold back.

→ pairing: marc sceptor x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, face sitting, thigh biting, oral [f receiving], nicknames [mine, my girl, sweetheart], possessiveness,

→ a/n: kinktober 06

Marc tended to be a little hotheaded and possessive when it came to matters involving you. It was normally Steven taking the brunt of it, though it made no real sense for him to get jealous. Though in instances that didn’t involve Steven, you were normally able to pull him aside and calm him down.

this was not currently one of those times, the two of you were attending a work party at your office. A coworker of yours had practically pulled you from Marc's arms to go talk. Though his version of talking was him flirting relentlessly and trying his hardest to get you to leave the party with him.

By the time Marc found you again, he was seething in anger at the man. As he walks up he starts noticing your coworker was flirting with you and trying to touch you. Marc had been tired and ready to go home so he let his possessive nature take over, though he knew once it did it was hard to shut off.

“Yeah, hey bud she's with me and we're leaving now” he nearly growls out at the man as his hand snakes its way around your waist when he walks up next to you. His sudden and fuming presence beside you makes you jump slightly though you were grateful for the save.

With a small scoff and not so cleverly hidden eye roll, your sleazy coworker stomps off. You barely have time to question the latter half of Marc’s statement about leaving before he rushes you towards the exit.

The ride home is silent besides the soft hum of the car and the sounds of the night flooding the air through your open window. Marc tight knuckled the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as his gaze was fixed to the road ahead. You’d normally be worried or scared in a moment like this with someone else, but with Marc you knew he wasn't mad at you. He was protective as well as possessive and so he was more pissed off at your scumbag coworker who didn't seem to grasp the concept that you were taken. You were sat clenching your thighs, he looked so good in that damn button up shirt you made him wear to the party that you were ready to stay home, so you were more than happy to be headed back.

In the blink of an eye you’ve made it back home and Marc is quick to jump out of the car and rip open the passenger car door, pulling you out of the seat and throwing you over his shoulder. “Guess I’ve just gotta mark you up sweetheart, that way you go into work tomorrow and all those men you work with know you’re my girl” he explains as he walks towards the house, holding you up on his shoulder with one hand on your waist and the other across your thighs right under your ass. You loved when he marked you, proudly showing them off when you could, though you could never show them off at work sadly, and he knew that.

“Marc I could’ve just walked inside on my own- hey!” He cuts off your protest with a short but solid smack to your ass.

You let out a huff and try to ignore the ache settling deep in your core at the action, your pussy already aching for his touch. You’ve never told him although he already knew that you secretly liked it a lot when he’d get like this. It made you feel wanted, even if Marc had no problem telling you and showing you in a million and one other ways just how much he wanted and loved you.

You let out a squeal when Marc drops you on your back onto your shared bed, you bounce slightly catching yourself by leaning back onto your elbows. Marc stands at the foot of the bed, eyes already full of lust and lidded as they raked over your body. “Strip sweetheart, you’re gonna sit on my face” he commands, his voice oozing with impatience.

You move fast to peel your clothes off along with your soaked panties, quickly un-clipping your bra and letting It fall off your shoulders, discarding it all on your bedroom floor. He's on you within the blink of an eye, maneuvering your bodies so he is laid out on his back, your thighs either side of his head and your pussy hovering over his face.

“My girl, all fucking mine nobody else’s” he growls and grabs ahold of your leg, opening his mouth and biting the inner plush of your thigh. You let out a gasp in both surprise and slight pain, squirming in his grip. He switches over to your other thigh when he is satisfied with the mark his teeth leave behind. He hums against your thigh as he bites down, rubbing softly at your leg to try and soothe you. The pain morphs into pleasure the more you get used to it, the indents of his teeth in your thigh makes your core tighten.

While you're lost in your own train of thought, Marc’s mouth lets go of your thigh with a small pop. He licks over the mark of his bite, a smirk growing on his face, he knew they wouldn't show as you couldn't wear short skirts to your office but he has never been more graceful for an HR rule than that one. Being pleased with his marks he now focuses all his attention on your leaking cunt above his mouth. With his grip on your legs he pulls your body down onto his face, licking a strip through your folds, drinking up your slick.

You moan out in response as your hips involuntarily grind against his mouth. “Mhm! Fuck Marc.. baby~” you whine out as his nose nudges your clit when his tounge licks and pushes through your folds. Vibrations float through your body as he tries to mumble out something against your pussy. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you use that leverage to pull his face away from you. “What was that love?” You question, using the short moment his mouth is off you to catch your breath.

“Maybe I’ve gotta put a ring on ya’ finger, that way those assholes at work will definitely know your spoken for, that youre all fuckin mine” he groans and pushes against your grip to dive back in and resume his mouths asssult on your throbbing cunt. His tongue pushing through tour slit distracts you from his statement about potentially proposing to you. Finally giving your aching clit attention, wrapping his lips around it and sucking, even biting softly at the bundle of nerves. His teeth send shivers down your spine, your thighs slightly shaking at either side of his face, he uses his hands gripping onto your legs as leverage to pull you even further down, forcing all your weight to be put on his face.

→ a/n: this wasn’t proofread, i rushed it and i kinda hate it lmao but I needed to get this out, i can already feel my effort and motivation for kinktober dwindling a bit.

[st4rymoon]

I'd like to ask for Steven's thoughts as Marc made reader say he (steven) can't fuck us like this

୨୧⋆ ˚𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 • 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯

! 𝘮𝘥𝘯𝘪 !

Steven’s a jealous lover, a jealous spiteful lover. I don’t care what anyone says!

Steven will whine and complain about how much attention you give Marc </3

he’ll say you have an obvious favorite (even if you spend more time with Steven than Marc)

He’ll even sometimes try and guilt trip you about it but to no avail :( he’d just get more whiney and bitter about it.

But Steven’s true jealousy comes out when he heard those slurred words come out of your mouth.

No, Steven can’t f- fuck me like you!

“Don’t be mug love, not even you believe that!” Steven huffed through the mirror as Marc chuckled at his words as you let you another desperate moan.

Marc leans into your shoulder, whispering softly “someone’s jealous”

You hummed with no sense of self awareness, completely unaware of his words.

Steven decide to be spiteful instead of proving his point when he managed to push Marc back into the back seat.

“I can’t fuck you like Marc? Really love?” Steven cooed as he pulled out of you mid build up to your orgasm. “N- no plea- please Stevennn” you gasped out in pitiful cries.

“How about you show me how good you can make yourself feel huh?”

[scarletsoldierr]

Petals

the moon boys x gn!reader snippets

a/n: small piece while i write some longer work!

warnings: fluff, comfort, mention of being drunk, implied trauma

Steven who leaves your favorite flowers on your nightstand in a vase he got at the museum, knowing you’ve had a shitty day.

Marc who grabs you by your wrist as you walk out the door, pulling you into a hug. He takes in the scent of your hair, running his rough hands down your neck to your collarbone.

Jake who drives you everywhere, anytime. Call him and your drunk? He’ll be there in 10. Cant afford an uber? Bet your ass you are in the passenger seat of his car, listening to the mixtape you curated over the past few months.

Steven who cries for you. The sight of you being upset churns his insides, the fact that someone hurt you, hurts him

Marc who even though he can’t truly love himself, still loves you like its the last thing he will ever do. He will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you don’t end up like him, broken.

Jake who despite everything you are, you are still his. No matter what, he still loves you.