Oscar Isaac during "The Beirut Live Reading", 2020
Part 1: https://shorturl.at/qCRS9
Where’s My Goddamn Money? [Marc Spector x Fem!Vampire!Reader]
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: Blood drinking, lack of consent, groping, nudity, suggestive language. Minors DO NOT INTERACT
Summary: Marc Spector wants his wallet back.
A/N: I wrote this fic a long time ago, but removed it in a fit of angst shortly after posting. I’ve been thinking about Ula recently because of spooky season and wanted to share her with y’all. I hope you love her as much as I do!
“I know you’re here Dracula, you big fucking nerd. Where’s my Goddamn money?!”
Hurried steps and the swish of a crescent-shaped cape accompany the echoing voice of Marc Spector as he descends the slate steps of your abandoned-chapel-turned-temporary-home. Seems ironic to live in the belly of a place so full of crosses, but it reassuringly houses a small family catacomb, and it just might be the last place anyone would think to look for a vampire… unless they knew who they were looking for. And would you look at that, Spector figured it out.
“Took you long enough, Spector.” You sip your wine, curled up on the velvet divan, the ceiling drips steadily above you, and you couldn’t look more like a fucking vampire if you tried. You look like a boudoir photoshoot they’d sell at an alternative gift shop, and if you were able to appear in photographs, you’d consider posing in a calendar for real. Eternal life has it’s disadvantages certainly, but it is easy on the eyes.
“Where’s my fucking money, Ula? I know it was you.”
He stalks closer to you now with a slow intensity. It’s funny; for how rushed he seemed to be making his way down the steps, he appears to have lost some of his impatience upon reaching his destination. The sight of you totally naked in the candlelight on the blood red velvet fainting couch has the desired stunning effect on poor Marc Spector. His steps grow slower, edging closer to you, but scanning his surroundings now with creeping mistrust. Smart boy.
You pick at a button on the sofa and purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marc.” You smile wickedly at him, taking another sip from your glass.
Marc’s mask dissolves and he flips back his hood to reveal an unamused angular face, inky curls hanging handsomely over his brow. What a tasty looking treat. And so thoughtful. To bring himself all this way.
“My fucking wallet, Ula. Black. Leather. Full of cash. Ring any bells?”
You put an affronted hand on your bare chest, making sure to caress a nipple with your ring finger while you give him a cartoonishly innocent doe-eyed look “Why, whatever could you mean, mister Spector? Are you accusing me of being a thief?”
“You this lonely, huh? You have to take things of mine to lure me down here. You’re obviously not expecting… company.” He shakes his head and gestures to your curled nude form.
“I’m deeply offended, Marc. I assure you, I did not take your wallet.” You set the wine glass down on the lacquered table, next to the flickering candelabra. “Tell you what” You stalk toward him, very slowly as not to frighten him, “You can even search me if it’ll make you feel better.”
Marc gulps and takes one step backwards for every advancing footfall you trod across the damp stone floor. His back eventually reaches a column and he pauses wide eyed allowing you to slowly and carefully close the distance between your bodies.
You thought an avatar might be a little harder to hypnotize, but he was no more of a challenge than any other man. His eyes are effortlessly tractioned by your own and his jaw loosens in wonder as you step between his legs.
He puts up no fight when you grab his hands and place them on your waist. Oh darkness, his hands are warm, warm and sweet like his candied brown eyes. And fuck, the way his panicked heartbeat vibrates through his hot fingers and into the flesh of your ass? The radiance is akin to the memory of sunlight… you can smell he sun on his golden warm skin. Everything in you screams with a bat-shriek to bite into him now, to suck the sweet life out of his sun-kissed neck, with its thick ropes of tense muscle, fatigued from carrying that pretty head around.
He won’t fight now, not while you’re looking at him like this, but you can’t hold his gaze forever… or perhaps you could. You’d wager your hypnotic gaze could theoretically keep him here for as long as his biology could remain stasis without rest and water— but there’s no chance your patience and lust could wait that long. Not while the throbbing vein in his neck, so thick, so appetizing, is inches from your face. You’ve improved upon your restraint in the last few hundred years, but it’s yet to be perfected. And why wait? You don’t want the stupid bird to come looking for him, do you?
Your eyes are heavy on his own when you purr, “search me, Spector.” He nods like a zombie and his hands are rough on your body, zeroing in on the fleshiest part of you— your bare ass, he squeezes and pulls your cheeks apart and his lip curls like a dog when he growls softly. Whether the vocalizations are a demonstration of pleasure or defiance, you don’t care.
“Ooohh,” Your eyes tighten in mirth and you nearly lose the gaze before you widen them again.
“Good boy, Spector.”
You bite your lip, letting your pearly fangs hook on your bottom lip. He’s delightfully obedient to the gaze. You let your long nails scrape along his scalp, scratching him affectionately before you take a handful of his unruly curls in your grasp.
“Such a good boy that I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”
Marc gives no indication that he understood and he continues to stare dumbly into your eyes and pinch and squeeze the softness of your backside in his warm, wide palms.
You huff impatiently and use the reign of his thick strands to nod his head in agreement for him. You smile with satisfaction. “I did take your fucking wallet, Marc.”
Again, no reaction from him, thoroughly caught in the haze and muck of your sticky spell.
“I took it to lure your cute little butt down here so we could have some fun.”
Still silence, hardly a trace of recognition on his dazed face.
You trace a long fingernail down the side of his cheek, poking up the corner of his mouth into a half-smirk. “Gods, I love a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.” You laugh, scraping your nails gently down his neck and down his suit, to the crescent emblemed breast plate. You nearly, very nearly, break the gaze to look at the plate while you tease your fingertips across it. But your gaze is steady.
“But that’s not the secret, Spector. You knew I took it. The secret is this, and I’ll drain you if you ever tell anyone, but the secret—” You pitch your voice down to a breathy whisper, “You know how mortals have to invite a vampire into their home before we are allowed to enter?”
No response, no matter.
“Well, the opposite holds true for mortals entering a vampire home.”
Again, not a flicker of recognition from him, his thumbs are rubbing needy circles at your backside and the closer you step into him, the more pronounced you can feel the pulsing heat between his legs. Fuck, maybe you should drink from him there. It’s been a long time since you feasted on a femoral artery of a man.
“You see, Spector, once you enter a vampire’s lair, you can’t leave without express verbal permission.” You lick your fangs to punctuate your point. “Like a mouse in a glue trap, I could keep you here as long as it pleases me,” you laugh.
You think you see a subtle widening of his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candle light.
“Oh don’t be scared, Marc. I’m not going to kill you. Not even going to change you. Just going to take a few good mouthfuls of you, and then I’ll let you go.” Your mouth waters at the visual you’ve painted for yourself. Mouthfuls of his thick pulsing blood, straight from the femoral artery. Christ, you need to feed.
“Does that sound good to you, Marc?” His nostrils flare a bit and you grin. “Oh look at you, baby. You’re excited, I can tell.” You place your palm at the inside of his knee and drag it up, up, up, till it’s resting over the booming ventricle at the center of his thick, warm body, it’s playing a quickening beat and you can feel your fangs grow at the temptation of it.
“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s harder to talk the more your throat fills with the analgesic fluid and your fangs thicken and extend. Your tongue gets hard to control in your attempt to swallow the flood of venom that pools in your mouth. You drop to your knees, never breaking eye contact while you kiss his inner thigh. Your lips are right above the searing pulse point he smells like heaven itself. You rip off his stupid loincloth with impatience. Nuzzling your face into his thighs as best you can while still holding his eyes with your own.
Your bare knees sting slightly on the cold wet floor, You grip onto his thighs, nails biting into the grey linen wrapped coverings while you affectionately nip at his clothed inner leg, never breaking the gaze. In your mad craving, you hardly register as a string of venom drips to the floor from your mouth in a debauched display. You admit you can’t remember the last time you went on your knees like this for a warm suck, but Spector looks delicious from this angle, leant back against the cold stone column, legs obediently spread for you. His hands, unable now to “search” and grope you, are balled into fists at his sides.
Your fangs are at full extension and they grow itchy and painful, if you had any patience left you’d have asked Marc to vanish this part of his suit, but he’s likely capable of fuck-all since the gaze kicked in, so you sink your teeth right through the gauze of his leg coverings, hitting that sweet throbbing vein that’s been calling out to you, begging for relief, begging you to slow its rapid pace down.
Your eyes close in relief and ecstasy, and it’s no matter that they do, the damage is done. You don’t have to hold the gaze any longer, your prey is paralyzed. Though, you think briefly you might enjoy it more if he were able to struggle, to vainly wriggle his thick thighs against your predatory hold. He would be so much fun to play with! To wrestle him down, to fight for your meal— for each suck to drag him further and further away from his own strength… but mortals are so fragile, if it weren’t for the gaze, many would perish from a heart attack before you could get to the meal. Only the most unrefined of your kind ever resort to such discourteous practices when feeding.
He tastes so thick and sweet, and so very very warm, much warmer than a neck bite. The heat of his thighs on either side of your head adds to the burning delicacy, the muscles are more tender down here as well… as much as you had fantasized about the ropey texture of his neck under your lips, this holds its own delights. Sure, you can’t taste the sun, salt, and stubble of his neck— but the flesh down here is soft like butter-seared fois gras. Blood syrupy and warm like hot mead. You don’t want to drink too much, but you don’t want to drink too little either. It’s unlikely Marc Spector will be fooled twice and pay you another visit, so you must savor and make this last as long his blood will hold.
When his heartbeat eventually slows to a resting rate, you make an irate little sound against his blood soaked thigh and force your teeth to pull back into your mouth. Fuck, its so painful to do when your lust isn’t slaked, much easier to just drain him… but a promise is a promise.
You nip your finger and squeeze a few drops of your own blood till it pearls on your skin and you swipe the healing blood onto his puncture wounds, effectively sealing him up. It does nothing for the staining though, and the dark red continent is prominent against the light grey of his suit. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and smile, rising up to your feet. You step in between his legs and snake your arms around his trim waist, planting a bloody kiss on his dazed mouth. He kisses you back faintly, like one might groggily mouth a kiss in their sleep.
“Mmmm, darling, you tasted even better than I dreamed you would.” You wipe of the stain of blood you transferred to his lips with your thumb and you pout at him.
“Baby is tired, isn’t he?”
Marc blinks slowly at you in response, eyes rolling back in delirium, and he heavily collapses into your embrace. Luckily your senses are heightened from having just fed, so you’re able to support his weight with ease and bring him to rest on the divan. You prop him up comfortably. Poor baby is helplessly unconscious… Perhaps you took a tad too much from him? You climb on top of him, still naked, and straddle his limp form to press your ear to his chest.
Still beating. Strong enough.
You sigh with relief. If he was dying you’d have to change him and then you’d have that fucking bird on your ass for turning his avatar. Nearly 600 years old and you still can’t control your lust to a conscionable level. Just imagine, Spector as a vampire! You laugh at the idea and slap his sleeping chest as if he were the one who came up with the thought. “Ha!” He would make a miserable vampire, he’d never have fun with it. No imagination. He’d be the type to be wracked with guilt at every kill. Sad silly boy. A regular Louie du Pointe du Lac, feeding on cats in shame and writing disconsolate letters to no one with his own blood tears. What a mess he would be!
You prop yourself up in a cobra pose on him, forearms and elbows on his breastplate, laying on him fully, the tops of your feet pointed atop his shins. You shake your head at his handsome face and smooth the curls from his brow. For the first time in a long time you have a whim to sleep for a moment… but you can’t, you haven’t slept in nearly 600 years, so you prop your chin on your fist and stare at the pretty avatar while he sleeps, drinking in his slumber with your eyes, savoring the slow rise and fall of his chest.
You reach under the decorative pillow and pull out a black leather wallet. You grin as you tuck it safely in his belt and you kiss his warm cheek before whispering in his ear, “I grant you permission to leave when you wake, Marc Spector.” You rest your head in the crook of his neck, lips teasing his weak pulse point. You sigh when you close your eyes and pretend that you can dream.
[If you enjoyed, please consider a reblog! 😘]
My softest gaze reserved just for you
Steven's been bad...
Summary: Steven's been a bad boy. You punish him. And then take care of him afterwards :)
Warnings: Smut, fem reader, mommy/mummy kink, sub/bratty Steven, reader doesn't cum, meandom!reader, cbt, spanking with a riding crop, usage of the words "manwhore" "slut", Steven gets his balls spanked, yeah reader is very mean in this one, but dw there is some BOMB aftercare, subspace Steven, separation anxiety Steven, no beta we die like harrow, let me know if I've missed anything!
Notes: I really needed to get some anger off my chest can you tell? Lmao.
Steven’s eyes were wide. "Darlin' 'm sorry, shouldn't have said that I know, please love-" A glare from you cut him off, and he whimpered. You were fuming.
He had been such a fucking brat, you were through with it. The fire in your eyes was clear that begging for mercy would not work this time...
Seething was your gaze, it forced Steven to stare at the floor. "Oh you're sorry? You're sorry??" You brought your hand forward, and dug your nails into Steven's cheeks;
"Get on your knees and open your fucking mouth."
His eyes go wide, and you can see the fear pool in his pupils. The feeling of your nails digging into his cheeks stings almost delightfully. A part of him wants to do as he's told.
And so he does. Steven does as he's told, lowers himself to his knees in front of you and obediently opens his mouth. Patiently he waits, for whatever punishment you have in store for him.
You gather up saliva in your mouth, roughly spitting into Steven's open one, in a show of possession and dominance.
"Swallow it all."
Steven does as he's told and swallows immediately. He's trembling slightly, and moans as he feel it go down his throat. He's not used to you being this dominant, but then again... he's never been this much of a brat before. He likes it. He feels his jeans become a little too tight.
You hum at the sight, somewhat satisfied by Steven's obedience.
"I would call you a good boy, but you're not very good, are you?"
Suddenly, you push one of your stiletto heels into Steven's groin He gasps in pain when the stiletto heel is pushed into his groin. It hurts, but there's something about it that's pleasing, and Steven finds himself grinding up into the pressure of it. "No...I'm not...momma." He whimpers, but he's still being brave and not crying.
"Ohohoh, you think you'll impress me by not crying? Huh? Want me to think your mummy's brave boy?"
You cruelly press your heel down further. "Cry for me, come on, fucking cry, filthy little boy."
He cries out, and sniffles. Tears fill in his eyes so cutely, but he bit his lip in an effort to halt himself from breaking down into tears. "M...momma...your heel hurts...so good," he whimpers. Steven's body is trembling, and his dick twitches in his pants, you feel the heat of it through your shoe. "I-I'm...I don' wanna cry...I'm not a baby...I'm your man," he says, scared, but it feels so good.
You laugh in his face. "Oh really? Men don't argue with their girlfriends like that. You really hurt my feelings, yeah? Only baby boy's do that. And mummy is going to treat you like her baby boy until you learn to behave."
You finally withdraw your heel from his crotch, he sighs in relief, but also whines pathetically from the loss of pressure.
"S-sorry, 'm sorry," he whimpers. Steven would never have considered you dominating him in such a way would feel so good. Being treated like a naughty boy, who needs to be disciplined by momma.. it drove him wild.
You sigh, looking down upon the mess of which you've made of your boyfriend. As Steven looks back up at you, he thinks to himself how angelic you look. In a soft show of affection, letting him know he was still safe and loved, you extend your hand and help Steven up to his feet, walking him to the nearest table.
"Bend over for me."
He whimpers and does as he's told, bending over the nearest table and waiting, not knowing what's coming. But he'll do anything for you. He's your baby boy.
"Stay." You command, exiting the room to fetch something Steven can't see, and even though you return soon enough, with Steven falling deeper into subspace, he feels a sense of anxiousness of you not being with him. He doesn't disobey, staying right where you left him, but he finds himself whining quietly for your return.
Once you do, you quickly pull down Steven's jeans and boxers down his legs in one go, exposing his cute bum to the cold air. A lithe, leather thing was ran slowly up his skin. A riding crop. "How many do you think you deserve, hm?"
He's shaking. His body is ecstatic and his mind is filled with thoughts of you and the pleasure that he knows he's about to feel. Steven’s cock is already leaking in anticipation, dribbling pre onto the floor. You were right, he was not a good boy. He looks back at you, eyes big and shiny; "I deserve everything, momma...please hurt me...I've been awful," he whimpers, but he's smiling at you. Little fucking brat. He wants it to hurt? He wants pain? He'll get it.
You hum, disguising your annoyance. Once, you spank him with riding crop.
"That's true... how about I spank you until I feel better, yes?"
Steven shivers and whines when you spank him. The pain is harsh, and hot, but it feels just so good. He wants more. "Y-yes! Please...just as much as you want to give me," he moans. He bites his lip, as pain-filled as the spankings are, they twist inside him, transforming into pleasure that runs deep to his cock, throbbing with every hit. You free hand rests on the small of his back, a small comfort as you continue to spank him, making sure none of his rear end was spared. You even spanked his tight rim, and his balls. You really were pissed.
He moans loud with each, swift stroke. Each one pushes him further and further toward climax. It hurts, so much, but it's just so damn good. He begs for more hits, each one feeling just as spine-tingling as the last. "More...please, mummy', more."
"You fucking manwhore- it's not supposed to he enjoyable." You hit his balls harder with the riding crop, only now noticing how hard Steven's cock had gotten.
"Slut. Is this supposed to make mummy feel that you're taking your punishment? Huh? Getting hard? Your little tiny dick all red and leaky, huh?"
Steven isn't sure what to feel. Half of him is full of shame, hoping you wouldn't have noticed. The other half is just so bubbly with pleasure, that he doesn't even care. The brattiness in him wants to smirk and piss you off, so that you'll spank him even harder. Instead, he choses the route he thinks will sate your lusting anger. Steven is nothing if not a people pleaser. "I...mumma, I'm sorry...I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, 'm sorry-" He just keeps whimpering, poor thing. It's so embarrassing to be turned on by this. But he loves it at the same time.
You growl. But, you become more willing to forgive him. Finishing your spanks, Steven's rear now red and raw, as well as his hole, and his balls. You leans forward to kiss each of his buttcheeks, wrapping your arms around him from behind, teasingly inching your hands closer to his leaking member.
"Have you learned your lesson?"
Steven whimpers and moans as you kiss him. He can never escape your love, and he doesn't want to. His eyes roll back and he lets out a little shriek of excitement when your hands draw near to his now painfully hard dick.
"M...mummy',felt so good. I've learned, I promise I've learned," he says, trembling uncontrollably, but he's still smiling.
You hum, once again, still not yet gracing him by touching his cock.
"And what lesson was that? What did you learn not to do?"
"I'm...sorry for what I said. I hurt your feelings...I won't ever do it again," he mumbles. He's happy to apologize for anything if it means that you will keep holding him in your arms. He feels so lucky.
You nod slowly. Finally grasping his length, thumbing the sensitive tip and dragging your hand up and down to create pleasurable friction. Steven keened, leaning into your hand, revelling in the feeling of your thumb teasing his length. You're so gentle now, so sweet with him. His tears flow freely this time, and you lean around him to kiss them away, secure in knowing that they are tears of finally having his sensitive cock touched properly. You kissed his cheek, and your grip got tighter and faster, and due to already being so sensitive, Steven reached his climax quickly, spurting himself all over the floor, simpering and moaning, knees almost bucking underneath him. It took a few moments longer for him to finish cumming, and there was so much of it! Shining wetly on the floor. What a messy little boy. You gently coax him through it though, knowing that at this point he'd be too far gone into subspace to look after himself properly.
Your voice was soft now, your eyes weren't firey anymore, only warm and soothing. "Let's get you into bed baby boy, yeah?"
His face is soaked with tears. You're right, he's deep in subspace. But he's never felt so loved, and so thankful to be loved.
He nods up at you. "Yes mama.." Poor steven can barely even stand on his own two feet. He's so exhausted and worn out now.
"Please, take me," he whimpers. "I need you, mama.."
You can't help smiling at him. "Come on baby, you did so well. Mummy's so proud of you." Gently, you lead Steven to your shared bed, laying him down. Quickly, you grab some wet wipes and rash cream from the bathroom, trying your hardest to not drop everything and return to him when you hear his pained whines for you to come back. You do come back as fast as you can, cleaning up his messy cock, and apologising for how cold it the wet wipe was, then turning him over, and rubbing a thin layer of sudocrem onto his sore bum, to sooth the pain the riding crop had inflicted. Soon you'd removed Steven's sweat covered shirt aswell, and replaced it with some comfy pajamas for him to wear. Finally, you tucked him into bed, kissing his forehead.
He had moaned when the cold wet wipe ran across his length, but your touch felt so nice, he's able to overlook the coldness. You make sure he's comfortable, that he's clean and safe. And when you tuck him in and kiss his forehead, a whimper of relief exits his body. You're going to take care of him and love him forever, and that just makes him so happy.
You sit on the bed next to him, and he looks up you softly, his eyes filled with adoration. "Baby, I need to go clean the kitchen for a moment, okay? But mumma's gonna be right back, okay honey?"
He whimpers out a positive response... but then his mind races.. what if you just disappeared? What if you never come back? Afterall, he's just a little baby, who needs his mumma.
"W-Will you come right back, mummy?" He mumbles quietly, his voice filled with desperation and anxiousness.
"Of course baby boy, in fact-" You reach under the bed, "I got my baby boy a little something for just such an occasion."
In your hands you now hold a cute, fluffy Teddy bear. "He's for you, baby. You can name him whatever you like, and whenever you need mummy, and she's not there, you can hold him instead, ok baby?"
Steven's sparkly eyes go wide. You got him a teddy bear? Just for him? He's such a lucky little boy! He's wants to say "thank you so much," but all that comes out is a happy whine. You've given him the best gift. He's going to be okay. Even when you're not here, he'll be okay. Because he's got his teddy bear.
You kiss Steven's head again. "Good boy baby, I'll be right back."
Before you go, you hear a soft noise from Steven. He cuddles his new teddy bear tightly, trying very hard to stay calm and not cry for you to stay. He's still in subspace, but he's trying. As he waits patiently for you return, steven stares up at the ceiling. He wonders where you are... but he still doesn't leave the bed. He wants to stay where you put him. That's what a good little boy does. He waits, and he's patient. And he's so very, very happy to have his teddy bear.
It's hard for you to leave him, but you do, letting Steven snuggle up with his new toy. It only took a couple minutes to wipe up Steven's spend from the floor- but you had another thing planned, inadvertently leaving Steven alone for longer than you intended.
Luckily you weren't gone for too many minutes more. You returned, bearing a tray of soothing warm tea and biscuits, and you set it on the bedside table. "Come here baby, you don't have to drink it all but have a little sip of tea for Mummy, ok?"
Steven sits up, and he takes the smallest sips of his tea. His teddy bear sits next to him, and he pets it as he drinks. He makes sure to obey you and drink his tea. He doesn't want to be a bad boy, not now at least.
You didn't expect him to, but finishes all of his tea, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I-I drank the tea for you. Was that good, mummy?"
You stroke his dark curls. "Yes, good boy. I'll leave the biscuits here on the side, you can some whenever you like okay? But if you want to have a little nap now, that's ok too."
Finally, you climb into bed next to him, Steven noting how tired you looked aswell. Domming could be tiring too.
He nods happily at you, and he looks to the tray of biscuits. He'd like some, but not right now. He lays back down, and gets comfortable, cuddling his teddy bear.
"Mmm...mummy, can I keep my teddy bear in bed with me? You know...so I don't get lonely or anythin'," he murmurs, his voice soft. Poor baby doesn't want to be difficult, but a teddy bear is a very important thing for a little boy.
You chuckle. "Of course you can baby boy," you say, wrapping your arms around Steven as he nuzzled himself into your breasts.
"Mumma's so proud of you baby boy."
"Thank you, mummy," he says, nuzzling in to you further, his face buried in your chest. " 'm glad you're proud of me..."
Steven makes himself as comfortable as possible, and as he does, he relaxes. He's exhausted. All of the spanking, and the tea, and the comfort...it's finally starting to catch up with him. "I'm so..." He starts to drift off. "So...tired."
"Go to sleep then, baby." You smile, and kiss his head.
"Mummy loves you."
He's too tired to fully grasp what you say, but he hears the words "mummy loves you," and that makes him feel so warm and fuzzy, so loved. And subsequently the thought of being so loved by you, makes him a little emotional. He looks up at you, and for a second, you can see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. But then, he drifts off, softly snoring in your arms...
jake lockley core
avengers : kang dynasty
so hype for this cause
kate bishop, ms marvel, yelena belova, captain marvel, cass lang, SHURI, new captain america, ant man, daredevil, namor, hawkeye, moonknight!?
i better get namori in this or im suing marvel
Tumblr is intimidating as hell but atleast he's handsome.
please, run away while you still can
llewyn davis x reader
summary: llewyn is used to things turning to shit by now. this time, he tries to anticipate it.
warnings: angst, insecurities, llewyn being self destructive and trying to sabotage the one good thing in his life because he's like that, cigarettes because it's llewyn
tags: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort
word count: 1.7k
I haven't posted any actual fic in like two months what the fuck
This sight is growing to be so familiar to you, and unlike your other friends, you don’t mind. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s early, but Llewyn is up already, smoking his first cigarette of the day by the window like you had asked him to.
“Did you miss sleeping on the couch?” you half-joke, tearing him out of his thoughts, and that’s when he turns to you that you notice the obvious saddened frown over his face.
You had known something was wrong, but your mind had been too hazy with sleep to truly make out what was up. He had left your bedroom in the middle of the night, and when you reached for his arm so he wouldn’t go, he disregarded it, still leaning over to leave a kiss at your temple.
Now that you were fully awake, you were pretty confused as to why he had wanted to sleep on your worn out couch when he could have slept in your much more comfortable bed, now that things were clear between you.
“I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to bother you by tossing and turning all night long.” he mumbles as his gaze shifts towards the couch, a thick blanket messily thrown over it. He sighs as he puts his cigarette out in the ashtray you had specifically bought for him. “I should go. I’ll ask Joy if I can spend a few days there” he declares as he picks up his discarded pants on the floor. You hadn’t even noticed he had brought them with him in the living room. You frown as he puts them on, closing the window before turning back to him.
“You can stay here, you know. I don’t mind.” he looks up and raises an eyebrow at you as he buckles his belt. “I actually enjoy having you around, despite what you might think.” you nod.
He nibbles on his bottom lip as he looks around for his patterned shirt, which might have stayed in your bedroom. He hadn’t truly planned on leaving yet when he left the bedroom, after all.
“I know you do.” he exhales, “That’s the problem” he mutters under his breath, kinda hoping for it to go unnoticed, but you’re studying him hard enough to make out what he’s saying.
“Llewyn wh– What’s wrong?” you frown and sigh, plopping down onto your couch, reaching for his hand.
“Why–” he sighs, slightly shaking his head. “What are you doing with me.” he rhetorically asks, sitting down next to you. It’s stupid that he sat down with you, it will be even harder for him to leave now.
Your hand settles at the nape of his neck, and your thumb rubs that spot under his ear, just the way you know he likes, just the way it appeases him.
“That has to be the stupidest question you’ve ever asked me.”
“I’m serious.” he sighs.
“So am I.” you say, shifting closer to him. “What’s this about?” you ask, a hand resting at his knee.
“I’m the worst guy you could get” he declares, a small, stupid chuckle leaving his mouth as he says the words. He means it. You can see it with the way he’s avoiding your gaze, with the way he’s trying to pick the loose ends of the seams of his pants.
“Why are you saying things like that? I’d consider myself to be lucky, actually.” you frown, taking a hold of his hands, so he wouldn’t tear apart one of the few pairs of pants in his possession, but especially to show him that you’re meaning what you said.
“No, I am lucky. You, you’re setting yourself up sweetheart.” he declares as his thumbs brush the back of your hands, when one part of him wants to push them away to make this all easier.
"I have nothing to give you." He should have left in the middle of the night. It would have been much easier. No explanations needed, no hard goodbyes. "I'm not good enough for you, I’m a mess.” he fiddles with your fingers, looking down at them as he talks.
You tighten your grip onto his hand, squeezing hard enough to draw a reaction out of him. He looks up at you, making eye contact with you for the first time since you both woke up.
“What the hell are you talking about, Llewyn” you shake your head, astounded that he thinks so little of himself when you have always been so admirative of him, so impressed by everything he does, so enamored with him.
“I’ll hurt you too, I’ll fuck this up like I fuck everything else up” he says as he pinches his lips. You can see the weight of the world in the brown of his eyes. “I’ll say or do something stupid at some point, something that’ll hurt you, that’ll make you regret this all, it’s not too late for you to go.”
He frowns, looking confused as if you just said the stupidest thing he's ever heard in his whole life.
“Why?” he snorts, an almost offended expression over his face, and you can see he’s beginning to lose patience; you know how he is, and you know this could quickly turn into a much more complicated conversation if you don’t do something quickly.
“Because I love you, you fucking idiot.” you say squeezing his hand again. “That’s what’s wrong with you. You’re an idiot for not realizing this.”
He closes his eyes, letting go of your hand, shaking his head before he gets up from the couch. You're quick to follow, ready to prevent him from doing anything stupid.
He turns, opens his mouth to talk again, and you know he's prepared to say something neither of you is gonna like, because that's his habit of defense.
“Shut up. I’m not letting you fuck this up deliberately." you stop him, and he sighs as you follow him to your window where he picks up the pack of cigarettes he left there. "I would be a fucked up idiot to let you go. Even more fucked up than you think you are" you joke as you snatch the pack from his hands, and he snorts. "I know what I'm doing with you. Trust me" you nod, and his lips pinch in a defeated smile.
You throw his cigarettes onto the couch, and he tuts and sighs. You grab his arm to stop him from going there. "Hey." you call, gripping his arm tight, and he turns to you. "I love you." you nod, and he falters and huffs out the breath he didn't even realize he had been holding, and takes you in his arms.
He holds you, tight. Borderline too tight, but you know he needs it so you don't say anything. You rub his back up and down, your chin settled over his shoulder; you feel his warm breath against your skin as he buries his face into your neck, his beard pleasantly tickling the area.
"I'm sorry angel" he eventually whispers, before letting go of his tight grip on you. His hand comes to settle at your cheek, and he looks at you like he has already fucked it all up. "I know I'm an asshole. But I’d be miserable without you. I'm sorry" he repeats as his dark eyes study your whole face, looking for any hint of how you feel about him at this moment. Your faces are just inches away, and yet he still can't tell what is beyond your eyes.
Maybe that's it, you hate him. Maybe this is the moment this turns to shit.
"Please, say something." he chuckles, helpless. It didn't happen often, but he was pretty sure he could burst into tears at any moment now. He would hate you to see that.
And he would have left already, if this was anyone else.
Now he realizes he probably should have, it would have been easier for the both of you.
He should have thrown a tantrum like he’s so used to, should have been selfish and should have hurt your feelings, so he could leave being angry, so the pill would be easier to swallow.
But hurting your feelings was the last thing he wanted; even though in this case, it would be for your own good, so you wouldn’t have to bear this burden, so you wouldn’t have him slowly poisoning your life like a cancer progressively eating you until nothing’s left, like a wave of toxicity swallowing you whole.
You weakly smile at him, and brush back his curls when you see the beaten expression over his face. He looks like he’s decomposing, his eyes about to fall out from how hard he’s repressing what’s trying to escape.
You leave a kiss at his nose, it’s random and you do it with no forethought, but it’s the only thing you can think of at the moment.
A sigh of relief escapes his mouth when he sees you're not mad at him, and his forehead comes to rest against yours.
“Sorry.” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he closes his eyes.
“It’s okay.” you declare as you cup his jaw, your nails softly scratching his beard. "Just don't leave, please."
“I won't” he mutters in a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t actually wanna go to my sister’s”
You snort, turning away, and it’s his turn to grab you by the arm, pulling you back to him.
"I'm miserable, c'mon, kiss me. Please”
A small chuckle leaves your mouth, before it comes to slot against his.
His breath smells of cigarette and his lips are chapped and rough from the cold, but the way they move against yours with ease reminds you of why you like kissing him. He hums softly as his hand comes to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer.
"Breakfast?" you ask as you pull away, smiling at him and playing with a curl behind his ear like nothing even happened, because you know that's what he wants.
He mirrors your smile, leaving a quick kiss at your lips before plopping down onto the couch, lighting himself another cigarette.
"Breakfast." he nods, walking to the window when he remembers you want him to smoke there.
Maybe he'll fuck this up at some point, but he'll stay with you as long as you still want him.
please reblog and tell me what you thought about this, this helps a lot thank you<3
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Hi can you write something with Marc Spector meeting the readers parents for the 1st time? Please and thank you!
Marc Spector x reader
Word count:- 400
A/n:- I actually enjoyed writing this one. Let more such requests come in.
Marc stood infront of the doorway, inhaling a deep breath. You turned around before entering your house and found Marc standing like a statue, the man who's a literal superhero, the ex mercenary is now nervous.
"Marc?" you called him, gesturing to enter with you. He nodded stiffly but his legs barely moved. "my parents won't eat you marc".
Your words might've sound a little ruffle, which was definitely not your intention but you had things on your mind too, you too wondered if your parents will like him or not, you also thought how will he act infront of them. All of these and more which were hard to explain was circling around your head, and to see your support system like that? it was the last thing you needed, him nervous.
"I.." Marc tried to speak but words died before coming out.
"Marc, baby" you said affectionately walking towards him, "what's wrong?" you asked placing your palm on his chest.
"family" he spoke finally, but more like a whisper.
"it's never been my thing" he said with such pain in his voice, and the pain was no secret to you, you felt a little blue too, to see him in melancholy.
"hey" you smiled as you cupped his face, looking into his eyes as you tried to cheer him up, "you know what? I know everything about you, yet I love you.. don't I?"
He nodded at this, trying hard not to cry remembering the small moments of joy with you, the things you did out of love, the times you were patient with him and never left.
"and they're my parents, they're just like me, you'll see, they'll love you Marc."
"really?" his voice contained disbelief yet a sense of relief.
"ofcourse, and I must say, if you get more love from them than I get, I'm gonna be so mad" you joked with one of your serious face.
This made him chuckle, wiping his tears he looked at you smiling, "so let's see who gets more love?" he said like a fun challenge.
"oh?" this sudden enthusiasm was something you appreciated, "let's go in".
As you two sat down and chatted with your parents, Marc just stared at you three, how joyful you guys are, how happy you made him. He finally felt included, he finally got a family who welcomed him like he's one of them.
First of a short series of follow-up gags to Moon Knight Annual (2022).
Marc has gotten therapy, but not "stop trying to appeal to people by making extravagant promises you'll never be able to fulfill" levels of therapy! Luckily, Marlene's been around for enough of his publication history that she knows this pattern by now.
kissing the brain of whoever thought of using "a man without love" for steven and "my way of life" for jake, i lose my mind every gd time
Scarlet Witch #10, Knight's End variant cover by Marc Aspinall
Moon Knight #24, October 1982, cover by Bill Sienkiewicz
more moon knight art for tonight ✨