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hopeymchope · 1 year

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No hardcore fandom has ever died so quickly and so completely as Veronica Mars. This is the story of its murder.

They should study Veronica Mars in Hollywood. I'm serious. It's an incredible story of how to go from "loud, passionate fanbase with its own fandom name that campaigns and advocates constantly for it" to "absolutely zero fucking interest" damn near OVERNIGHT with just ONE epically terri-bad decision.

If you weren't there, you don't understand: From 2007 to 2014, the fandom — the "Marshmallows," as they called themselves — were everywhere in the Internet's geek spaces, my friends. They routinely beat the drum about the series' three seasons and its excellence, lamented its cancellation, pushed others to give the show a try, and always - ALWAYS - proudly and loudly called for the series to be revived.

FULL DISCLOSURE/CONFESSION: I've not even watched that much Veronica Mars, frankly... ? Yeah, I'm sorry! it does seem pretty good from like the four-or-five hours I've experienced firsthand. I just never took the time to sit down with it. Regardless, I find fandoms and their dynamics — both how they operate internally and how they display to others externally — deeply fascinating. And I honestly find them easier to study from the outside than the inside. Like, if I'm IN a fandom, I'm more likely to stay in my corner and ignore places that seem negative. But being on the outside lets me just... absorb what's out there, looking into every forum without judgment. It's like studying pop-culture sociology or something? And it helps that I'm very close to some serious(-ly burnt) Marshmallows. It makes it so much easier to find and absorb the gamut of the fandom.

Besides: There is NO fandom story I've ever seen that's anything like what happened to Veronica Mars and the Marshmallows.

(Time to insert a brief explainer for the uninitiated: Veronica Mars was a TV series that aired from 2004-2007 on the now-deceased UPN network wherein Kristen Bell played the titular character, a high school girl whose single dad was a private detective in the fictional community of Neptune, California. She grew up working "unofficially" as his assistant, which meant that she herself was effectively a teenage private detective.

The three core elements of the series were: 1) Veronica investigating each week's big mystery with plenty of quips and snark, 2) Watching Veronica's various relationships develop and shift, with most of the focus given to a) her relationship to her father and b) Her romantic pursuits (which began as the Veronica/Duncan/Logan triangle before eventually becoming focused on the slow-burn, off-on Veronica/Logan love story), and 3) The gradual development of that season's "mytharc" — the overarching BIG MYSTERY that doesn't get resolved or wrapped until the season finale. So it went over the course of two seasons that took place in high school and the third, shorter season that was at the start of Veronica's collegiate career.)

Just how big and how passionate were the Marshmallows? WELL! When series creator Rob Thomas (not the Matchbox 20 guy) and star Kristen Bell announced the Kickstarter campaign for the Veronica Mars movie in March 2013, it achieved its heretofore-unprecedented goal of TWO MILLION GODDAMN DOLLARS within less than 12 hours. At that time, it was the biggest Kickstarter goal to ever succeed — and certainly the fastest to reach that kind of height. Fans fell OVER themselves to pay out for it. Hell, my own significant other was DEEP in the tank for VM at the time and invested enough to get multiple t-shirts as backer rewards as well as a disk copy of the movie when it eventually came home.

And AFTER the movie hit in 2014? It was thankfully beloved and embraced! The once-teenage characters were adults who were actually out living on their own and working for a living, but the fandom had grown up with them, so it wasn't like they were begging for them to stay young students. They embraced Adult Veronica and her new adventure. The fandom rejoiced loudly and continued to be all over the geek side of the Internet... where they, of course, still wanted more. Sure, there were new novels in the aftermath (which were written by the creator of the series), but most of the Marshmallows were calling for more movies or a streaming revival.

And then, at long last... season four was actually announced. And there was much (premature) rejoicing yet again.

Yes, Veronica Mars returned for a fourth season on Hulu in 2019. It was just eight episodes, and it was heavily centered on one season-long mystery instead of sprinkling that amongst a bunch of smaller ones, but it would still feature the same ol' Veronica. They promised a new, more "adult" mystery/investigation plus a strong focus on Veronica and Logan's love story.

New Hulu purchased the rights to the first three seasons and hyped up its presence on the platform while marketing the return for the new run. The marketing team played up the most popular quips from the show's history plus put out TONS of stuff centered on the Logan/Veronica ship to pump up the fans.

The season was dropped all at once using the classic Netflix "binge" model in July 2019. And then... afterwards?

There was a brief explosion of LOUD RAGE from the Marshmallows at what series creator Rob Thomas had to done to burn and spite the fandom and ruin his own goodwill.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4: See, at the end of the movie, Veronica and Logan finally entered into a long-term relationship. In season four, they've been dating for years, and Logan proposes marriage. But of course there has to be drama/obstacles: In this case, Veronica isn't sure she's ready to marry... or capable of being in a marriage. Ah, but of course she eventually realizes how much Logan means to her. The two are married, and, in the season finale... Logan is killed by a car bomb in the penultimate scene. The final scene is a flashfoward to a year later, where Veronica leaves Neptune alone.

For most fandoms, that'd be a memorable point of pain. A big ol' speed bump that ultimately throws some people off the bus, leaving only the die-hards. But the fact that fans had been invested in this relationship for literally 15 years and that Hulu (and creator Rob Thomas) had heavily marketed the new season as being a big romantic event for the ship... it was too much. Unlike the aftermath of the Star Wars sequels, there was no lingering group of die-hard fans who were open to whatever was next — at least no significant one. I did some Googling and could only find TWO people who still wanted another season.

Funnily enough? Critics LOVED this. Hell, Vanity Fair infamously penned an editorial about how Veronica Mars had "finally grown up" with this finale. I suppose all the other murders and deaths and drug overdoses and r*pe weren't "mature" enough before now for... some... reason. (The same editorial also featured the author openly hating on Veronica ever being in a relationship because it causes "arrested development" and declaring that the movie -- which was acclaimed by both critics AND fans alike, I remind you -- was a lame dud. So. The writer must be a reeeaaaal fun person.)

But a series doesn't live based on critical acclaim, as it turns out. The fandom was murdered overnight. "Marshmallows" stopped appearing in geek spaces online entirely. No one expressed interest in seeing the next season or the next movie. The constant flow of fan AMVs on YouTube and fanfics on AO3 dried up to nothing or damn nearly so.

Since 2019 ? Nothing. Chirping crickets. An intensely dedicated fandom of 12 years was just... vaporized.

I've never seen anything like it before OR since.

That's why it's so fucking fascinating.

So what went wrong?

Creator Rob Thomas was adamant about two things: ONE, the series was intended to be a noir show, which meant there couldn't be any happiness for its protagonist. And TWO, the death of Logan was necessary to evolve and grow the series.

Thomas thought that having Veronica in a relationship would be holding her back, and that a marriage would absolutely kill the series and leave her stagnant. It never even occurred to him that marriage isn't the end of a character's life and growth. It never occurred to him that plenty of drama can be had AFTER someone is married, or that development/growth could be that the characters mature enough to be capable of maintaining a committed relationship. Thomas' view of his own universe was so myopic that he couldn't conceive of any possible way that Veronica could still be a private detective involved in life-threatening investigations AND be married at the same time. Futhermore, he felt that fans just wanted Veronica to become a pregnant housewife, which is about as far from what Marshmallows were after as you can get without straight-up killing Veronica and/or Logan. He managed to do the only thing wronger than what he wrongly thought was their insistence.

On top of the above, Rob Thomas only viewed "noir" as a vehicle for total fatalism... despite the fact that many of the most famous noir stories are cynical and full of moral ambiguity, but they still feature a positive outcome. The Big Sleep still has the protagonist get the girl. The Set-Up arguably ends with the happiest possible ending in spite of the beating the hero receives.

Perhaps most importantly? Despite Thomas own insistence that Veronica Mars was always "noir," the majority of both TV critics and fans did not think that designation ever truly applied. I suspect that's the reason why Thomas decided to go as dark and fatalistic as possible: He wanted to be noir, and he was being told that he wasn't. So he went so far into noir that he killed his own most popular property.

He was adamant that it was the only way for the series to grow. But as it turns out, it was instead the only way for the series to permanently end. Without that season four finale, a passionate group of fans would still be begging for more. With it? It's over. Nobody fucking cares now.

That's kind of amazing.

#veronica mars #rob thomas #fandom #dead fandom #marshmallows #burnt marshmallows #fandom histories #the death of veronica mars #the day veronica mars died #gifs #television gifs #tv gifs #veronica mars gifs #vmars

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wandasaura · 1 month

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YOU ARE IN LOVE

summary — after a long day spent on the beach with your girlfriends, wanda and natasha’s love is loud enough to hear in the silence of your bedroom

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, domestic dominance, mommy kink, daddy kink, exploration of subspace in nonsexual situations, fluff galore, fainest appearance of bratty reader, warning spank, wanda taunting natasha, hot mommy wanda in a bikini, sexy daddy nat on the beach in a bikini, dare i say more?

authors note — i combined like six different requests for this, so it’s quite a bit longer than my other summer oneshot! also, i can’t believe how perfectly this title fit a soft little moment written towards the end, it wasn’t planned at all but the full circle moment is beyond fulfilling!

The thin flamingo pink straps of your favorite summertime bathing suit made elegant crosses against your back whenever you allowed the unrelenting August sun to fall against you intimately. They were intricate enough that Wanda spent most nights tracing the evidence of once fairer skin with soft fingers, hot breath fanning tantalizingly across the nape of your neck as she spooned you in bed, but still simple enough that the lacy top didn’t take any more than a few seconds to slip on while dashing to get ready and meet them by the front door before Wanda came up to find you herself. The vibrant bathing suit that had been purchased by Natasha brought out a spark in your eyes that was addictive, and frequently you found yourself reaching for it whenever a pool day had been declared by your girlfriends.

Today, Natasha had decided to do something different, and like many others that had fallen into the cycle of outdoor activities while the warmth of summertime lasted, you found yourself submerged in the waters of the Atlantic, granules of coarse sand embedded throughout your scalp while the aroma of salt air captivating your senses. The rush of people had died down since late June and early July, leaving mostly locals around you as you frolicked and splashed through the waves that crashed against your back. Droplets of water clung to your skin, creating racetracks and mazes out of your arms and belly as you bobbed in and out of the waist deep water, only tracking the location of your girlfriends sporadically when you thought you’d drifted too far in another direction.

Up higher on the beach, surrounded by granules of sand the color of a perfectly roasted marshmallows – in your opinion at least, Natasha was a freak who liked her smores black and charred – Wanda and Natasha on their bellies, their arms folded beneath their heads as they pleaded with the sun to allow them even an ounce of golden color to bear through the early weeks of approaching fall. Wanda had been more fortunate than Natasha in the months leading up to this impromptu outing, bearing a gorgeous bronze sheen against her limbs and face, while Natasha had burnt to a crisp within minutes despite every technique she’d tried to use. It was endearing, but desperately you wanted them out here with you. You’d spent three hours building sandcastles and pouring sand over Wanda’s feet whenever she’d explicitly told you not to do that, but eventually she’d sent you off to the water when your relentless energy grew to be too much to handle all at once.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out in the depths of the ocean for, diving into waves and body surfing back to shore whenever you grew tired of keeping yourself afloat, but as the sun faded farther into the horizon, you knew that at least a considerable amount of time had elapsed since Wanda sent you off to burn off some restless energy. With one final somersault into a massive wave, you trudged back up the expanse of sandy shorelines, marveling at the the endless abyss of blue that stretched on for miles above you. The cloudless sky had been a rarity in recent days, unpredictable sun showers and thunderstorms wreaking havoc on Westview like many other neighboring towns in New Jersey, but today had been a yearned for glimpse of peace that thankfully wasn’t quite over yet, and while you would absolutely never admit it, you were glad that Natasha had woken you up sweetly at seven in the morning instead of letting you sleep like you’d demanded.

Your girlfriends were easy to spot, the large blue and tan umbrella one of the only ones that littered the shorelines. There was an endless array of color schemes spread across the beach, so much so that it was honestly an eyesore, but Wanda and Natasha had always preferred simpler things, and a refined palette of baby blues and muted tans made up most of their beach equipment. Everything had been custom made by a small boutique just a few blocks away; from their towels, chairs, umbrellas, down to the cooler packed with crisp waters and hard seltzer, it was all the same palette, which only made spotting two redheads on a beach full of bottle blondes and brunettes easier.

When you reached them, water dripping off your frame as the wind blew and developed you in a gentle chill, you made sure that you stood directly over top of Wanda, not only blocking her back from the sun, but getting her wet in the process. You grinned cheekily down at her, kicking sand up at Natasha’s ankles when the fleeting thought of her being left out crept up on you. The russian cursed beneath her breath, turning over to send you a very pointed glare, only to be ignored as you continued to grin down at Wanda, who refused to budge despite your ministrations.

“Mommy!” You whined when you didn’t get your way, shuffling your feet against the sand in a petulant fit, though her head was still burrowed into her arms as she lounged against the thick blue and tan towel that you decided now was your worst enemy. Your own head was fuzzy and light as a result of her constant babying since leaving the house that morning, having apparently discussed taking you out in subspace with Natasha while you were upstairs taking forever to get ready. Since that first time you’d gone to the aquarium and explored the limits of their dominance and your willingness to submit, you’d found an easy comfort in their domestic control, and that didn’t falter for a second even on a crowded beach. You trusted them, and more importantly, they trusted themselves to steer you clear into a blissful haze of intimate submission without pushing you too far over the edge and sending you into a drop. So much of their effortless love and careful time had been poured into shaping your trust, it felt like another lifetime ago when Wanda had been the very thing you aimed all of your fears and insecurities at, but now she was the one thing that you wanted so unabashedly that you weren’t above throwing a fit in public to get it.

You screeched in startled shock when she abruptly turned onto her back, emerald eyes narrowed into thin, unamused daggers before she was reaching up and grabbing your wrists, pulling you down firmly on top of her, hardly caring that your wet body made an impression against her own dry bathing suit. She was planning on getting in the water with you anyways, so the evidence of your frame against her front was hardly of any significance. You whined in shameful embarrassment when her palm crashed down against your ass in a strike of pointed warning, the initial clap of contact thankfully drowned out by incessant seagulls that swarmed a nearby tent where french fries had been spilled by a toddler. For a moment, you focused on how her skin was warm beneath your body, your mind already melting away into peaceful contentment now that you had her arms around your waist, but you were brought back to the chaos of the beach when her lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, her breath heavy and warm as it swirled around your skin. “You throw a fit and we go home. Is that how you want today to go, little one?”

You whined, shaking your head while a tear-filled expression came over your once radiant features. You absolutely did not want to go home, you were having so much fun pretending to be both a fishie and a mermaid, you’d begged Natasha all summer to take you down to the beach for a full day of activities and fun, but she’d denied your request every time because of the unrelenting crowd of rude tourists that gathered in Westview like clockwork each year. You didn’t want to lose all of this prematurely, so you mumbled a meek apology and hid your face within Wanda’s neck, on the verge of tears that she’d admittedly seen coming.

Her hand rubbed your back soothingly, a weighted presence that brought a comforting peace over you easily, and comfortably you turned your head to look at the villages of sandcastles you’d built at the start of your adventure. Your fingers, ever unable to remain still, wandered over to the ones that were closest around you in disheveled clumps of beige, gravity having pulled them down over the hours that you’d spent in the water. Natasha’s castles still looked the best beside yours and Wandas, irritatingly so, and without restraint you smashed your palm down against her tallest one, careful not to damage the seashells that had she’d so carefully pressed into the dry sand around it, but effectively bringing a calamitous end to her quaint kingdom. Wanda’s disapproval was not so quietly delivered upon you, and disapprovingly she gripped your chin between slender digits, her glare unwavering and able to easily undo you. A strained whimper fell off of your tongue, the sound soft and meek, reflective of your sensitive headspace that despite its newfound edge of brattiness, both she and Natasha adored.

“What is with the attitude?” Her voice is thin, edged with guarded dominance that has you whimpering and searching aimlessly for protection from Natasha, but the Russian at your side is in no mood to help you out, equally as curious as Wanda, and she merely narrows her gaze in pointed waiting as she nods just slightly back at her wife. You let out a soft grunt, teary eyes blinking up at your girlfriend as you attempt to press your face into her neck in embarrassed shame, but her fingers keep you still, only loosening when she feels your muscles go rigid with emotions you have no way to verbalize so far into a state of submissive bliss. “I thought you were going to be a good girl for Mommy.” She coos tenderly, shifting her approach as she watches you try to formulate a coherent answer to her previous question, effectively rousing yourself from that delicious state of bliss she’d worked tirelessly to bring forth.

“Be a good girl for Mommy.” You mumbled, a soft pout pulling your lips downward as you stared deep into the kaleidoscope of greens that made up her dazzling emerald eyes. There was no easy color for her eyes to claim, but the glimmering appeal of a deep emerald hue was the most accurate, and a ring that typically adorned her slender fingers beside her engagement ring was a sparkling ring with a pristinely cut emerald that you had gotten her for her birthday. “Ring gone.” Your pout deepened when your realized that the chill of metal that typically came with her hands on your face was missing, and the gleam of sunlight catching jewels was absent as well.

Wanda smiled softly, peppering your face in kisses that distracted you from your lapse in sadness. “Mommy left them at home so they’d be safe. Just like we left your ring at home, remember, sweetheart?” She laughed softly, brushing the pads of her thumbs against your sun kissed cheeks, softly tsking when she noticed just how pink you’d become since venturing down to the water. “I think somebody needs more sunscreen.”

“No!” You whined sharply in adamant protest, wriggling away from her chest in a futile attempt to avoid the reapplication of her coconut scented sunscreen all together, but again she held you tightly to her chest, and again she tutted in disapproval.

“Behave.” She warned lowly, accent seeping into the single uttered word. You whined, kicking your feet petulantly against the granules of sand that had been tickling your skin since she’d initially pulled you down onto her. “Malyshka, Mommy has to put sunscreen on you. She doesn’t want her little duckling to burn.” The added emphasis of her finger gently pressing against the tip of your nose did little to convince you, but the smallest part of your brain that still had the ability to think rationally warned you that there was no use in putting up a fight.

“Daddy do.” You negotiated, knowing that at the very least, Natasha wouldn’t take the time to tease your already sensitive body like Wanda would, and did. She’d had you a blubbering mess of desperation before you left the house, her fingers having slipped beneath the fabric of your bathing suit on more than one occasion in a manner that was painfully suggestive.

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly, shrugging you off of her body and toward Natasha who was trying her best to muffle her amused laughter as she watched you with fondness etched into her soft mesmerizing eyes. If Wanda’s eyes were impossible to name, hers were forbidden. There was no color in the world that would ever even come close to the colors that swirled within her eyes each day, constantly changing as landscapes and outfits did. The sun had dried you almost entirely since you’d abandoned the high tides of the midday Atlantic, but still a towel was run over your limbs and exposed belly before Natasha smeared the dreaded white lotion across her palms, warming it up before she even tried to touch your skin, having learned from Wanda’s mistake that morning. You wriggled impatiently, huffed and whined throughout the entire process, but you let her do it, so neither she nor Wanda reprimanded your attitude.

“Now was that really so bad, utenok?” Natasha laughed teasingly, kissing the tip of your sunkissed nose affectionately before she turned toward the beach bag laid upright on the sand a few inches back from the towels, shaded by the umbrella that was practically useless as none of you had spent even a minute beneath its provided shade.

“Don’t like.” You grumbled, sinking into Wanda’s lap when the Sokovian finally sat upright on her own towel, abandoning her plans of sunbathing, instead, patting her thighs in a wholesome invitation to cuddle properly.

“I know you don’t like it, you make that very clear.” She mused softly against your hairline, tangling her fingers into the straps of your bathing suit, taking a peak at the tanlines that had darkened considerably since you’d first stepped foot outside. “What do you say we go play in the water some more while Daddy gets you an ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” You perked up, eyes shining brightly beneath the sun at the mention of your favorite summer treat. You’d made it your mission to try every ice cream parlor in Westview, and being a beach town with an ample amount of tourism during the warmer months of the year, there were plenty to go through. You’d nearly completed the list, all that remained was the small shop toward the front of the beach, where the line was almost always wrapped around the building.

“Yes, baby, ice cream. I told you we’d get a treat, didn’t I?” Wanda laughs at your excitement, eyes sparkling with elation as she reveled in the simple moments that were coming to a rushed end. In only a couple of weeks you’d be back at school, no longer living on campus but still away from home for hours upon hours in the already limited day, and to fill that time alone both she and Natasha would dive back into work. They’d delegated the minor tasks to trusted employees to spend the utmost amount of time with you as possible while they could, and as nice as it had been to take a much needed break and focus on their personal lives, they were itching to get back into the office, handling everything by themselves like they’d been doing for years since starting their own company. “What kind do you want?”

“Strawberry! With peanut butter sauce and hot fudge!” The grin that split your lips was wide and so addictive, Wanda couldn’t help but allow her eyes to dance between your eyes alight with soft affection and your smile twinged with golden joy. You were the epitome of ethereal, lounging against her chest in a bathing suit that left little to the imagination, but still you looked so wholesome with your ass out for the residents of Westview to see, granules of sand clinging to your spankable cheeks.

“Oh yes, how silly of me. I should’ve known.” She teases, because truthfully, she should’ve. You ordered the same thing all summer, and when Natasha suggested you try something else, knowing a handful of spots in Westview had signature flavors that tourists traveled just to get, you’d pouted and outright refused saying that was just as bad as you going around kissing other women. Wanda had spanked you for that, assuring that you remembered your place and that nobody could ever please you like she and Natahsa could. Still, you didn’t get a different flavor. “My little strawberry monster!” Wanda attacked your neck with kisses, her laughter mixing with yours as Natasha stood behind you both, phone out, capturing the sight of the both of you so entangled with love.

“One strawberry ice cream for the little one, and what will you be having, Wands?” Natasha’s eyes glimmered beneath the sun, her red locks practically ablaze beneath the harsh kiss of daylight. She looked like something straight out of a portrait, but you doubted any artist could replicate her beauty by any standards.

“A bomb pop.” Was Wanda’s answer, and without any further questions, Natasha began the long walk up the beach, growing smaller and smaller as she left you behind. You waved at her retreating frame, hopeful that she’d sense your affection and turn to wave back, but it never came, and tearfully you turned your gaze to Wanda, eyes wide and glimmering with feelings that were all the more powerful in your blissful state of submission. She kissed your pout away affectionately, tapping your thighs thoughtfully. “What do you say you show Mommy what you were doing in the water, huh? Should we go down and explore while we wait for Daddy?”

“Want Daddy to come back.” You pouted, the sudden reminder of Natasha’s absence falling heavily on your sensitive heart. Wanda smiled sympathetically, caressing your cheeks with delicate affection.

“Daddy will be back soon, my little love. Come on, up you get.” Wanda gently eased you off of her lap, taking your hand in hers the second her feet were planted on the hot sand. She grimaced slightly, unprepared for the coarse granules to be so warm beneath the soles of her feet, but she didn’t let it deter her. Instead, it only hastened her speed, and you giggled as she pulled you along the beach, weaving in and out of families and couples that lingered on the shorelines.

You must’ve been down in the water for nearly an hour and a half, splashing at Wanda and diving into her chest whenever a wave rolled through and rocked you into her, the sun truly beginning to fall beneath the tide now and turn the sky a breathtaking sight of divine orange and sweet pink around you. Your hair was a tousled mess on top of your head, held out of your face by a hair tie that was surely knotted in place by now. The Sokovian would have to meticulously untangle it before you fell into bed, but that was always something she adored doing, and you enjoyed it just as much. You whined when her playful ministrations came to an abrupt end, her fingers no longer digging into your ribs as she tickled you in the waist deep water that splashed and lapped at your upper torso. Her eyes had been searching the shorelines for any sign of Natasha since you’d ventured into the abyss of salt water, but now they narrowed in on one thing, something that you hadn’t noticed just yet.

When you did notice, Wanda’s soft fingers tilting your head in the direction of the beige and blue umbrella, you booked it to shore without so much as a glance back at her. Natasha had seen your attack coming from a mile away, and had somehow been prepared for it when your body crashed into hers, your lips, soft from the granules of sand that you had face planted into a couple of times, peppering kisses on any inch of exposed skin that you could reach. She laughed, pulling you away only to connect your lips in a soft embrace. When Wanda caught up to you, you’d piled in on the towels, eating ice cream as you watched the sun fall further and further beneath the blanket of endless murky blue water. The shorelines of Jersey weren’t marvelously blue like the coast of Florida or the Maldives, but they were perfect for the simple moments you yearned to share with both Wanda and Natasha.

When ice creams were finished, yours the last to be scraped clean of soft pink goodness, Wanad had forced you still as she wiped off your face and hands, softly reprimanding you as you whined and tried to wiggle away. How you’d gotten ice cream on both your cheeks and your nose, she wasn’t entirely sure because she had watched you use a spoon the entire time, but still your face was sticky and she doted on you lovingly all while Natasha began to pack away all of your belongings.

You’d walked to the beach, pulling along a little cart that held the umbrella and the beach bag and cooler, and that morning it hadn’t seemed like a far stretch, but as darkness covered Westview entirely and the long day of playing and vulnerability caught up with you, it felt endless. When you finally passed Agatha’s house, your feet dragging against the sidewalk as you held onto Naasha’s hand firmly (well more like she held onto you because you had a tendency to wander off anytime something caught your attention), your were absolutely certain that it had probably been at least twenty years, although Wanda would say it had only been twenty minutes and that was only because you kept stopping to whine and complain about being sleepy before Natasha started dragging you along again.

When you slipped inside of the house, the airconditioning sent a shiver down your side, and instinctively you stepped closer to Natasha, seeking out the warmth of her sun kissed body. Natasha hums, smiling softly down at you, taking in the sight of your pink cheeks and tired smiles. Wanda had pulled the cart into the garage to be dealt with tomorrow, and when she returned, she merely grabbed both yours and Natasha’s hands and guided you upstairs, where pajamas were picked out, and towels for the shower were grabbed. The water was warm as it cascaded down your body, and Wanda’s fingers were soft as she rubbed soap against your skin and scrubbed sand from your hair. Natasha stayed clinging to you whenever Wanda wasn’t working on getting you clean, only fully separating when she wanted to be the one to rub strawberry scented body wash across her wifes body. It was a soft encounter, one full of delicate praise and affection, and slowly they were easing you deeper down, farther than they’d done that morning before you set off for the shore.

Miraculously, the pajamas you’d picked for bed were a matching set, and one of your very own. The button up top was a soft blue color, printed with dusty white clouds and the smallest yellow duckling embroidered on the bottom left side. Natasha had done that for you one night, wanting to practice her skills, and while it was rather wonky and a little unproportional, you loved rubbing your fingers over the stitches as you fell asleep. She and Wanda had on the same style set, although Wanda’s were black and Natasha’s were a deep olive green. They matched in their own ways, and you couldn’t help but feel like they were so indicative of your differing personalities.

Wanda had you sit at the vanity so she could brush out your hair and get it braided for you, all while Natasha rambled on the other side of the room, telling you and Wanda about the woman that had stood in front of her at the ice cream parlor and had decided to sample every single flavor, only to not get anything and walk out with a fuss. Wanda laughed, but you were too sleepy to really pay attention, your head falling backwards until it landed against her sternum delicately, your eyes closed and your breathing light as she secured the last braid together.

“Come on, sweetheart. Lets get you all comfy in bed.” She cooed softly, not giving you a second to protest before she was guiding you to the bed that Natasha was already laying in. You crawled into the middle, your head falling onto the Russian’s chest with practiced ease before your hand reached out to hold onto Wanda’s. “Get comfy, baby. Mommy’s right here.”

“Mommy.” You mumbled, eyes barely open, head resting heavily on Natasha’s chest as you listened to the rhythmic beating of her heart.

“Shh, sleep baby. Mommy will be here tomorrow.” Wanda gently laid her other hand on your belly, her thumb slipping between the buttons that fastened your top, rubbing soft circles on your skin. It was only a handful of minutes before you were asleep, soft sighs slipping off of your lips as you snuggled closer to her warmth.

“Such a Mommy’s girl.” Natasha laughed softly, brushing her thumb against your cheek before Wanda swatted her hand away, not wanting her soft affection to wake you up already.

“You should’ve seen the near meltdown she had when you left for ice cream. I’d say you have yourself a little Daddy’s girl too. She just likes to push my buttons more than yours.” Wanda snorted softly, twisting onto her side, slowly pulling her hand off of your belly to instead intertwine her fingers with Natasha’s.

“Oh don’t I know it. I can’t say I blame her either.” Natasha’s smirk was taunting, and Wanda rolled her eyes fondly.

“Watch yourself, detka. There are plenty of other rooms in this house where I can remind you of who’s in charge. Or, maybe I should just take you here and make you be quiet. After all, I would hate to leave you unsatisfied if your desperate moans were to wake her up.” Wanda warned whimsically, and Natasha’s cheeks, already pink from the sun, grew crimson, her sudden silence a telling feature of her submission. “That’s what I thought.” Wanda tutted, getting her own body comfortable on the large bed you shared.

“I love you.” Natasha whispered into the silence, her thumb rubbing patterns on Wanda’s cold hand.

“I love you.” Wanda whispered back before she turned her attention to you, peacefully sleeping, unaware of the banter that happened over your head. “I love you, moya utenok.”

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targaryenluvs · 9 months

Note

Hey can i request a Luke Castellan x girlfriend reader that is the daughter of Hypnos so is obviously she is always sleeping or fall asleep in random places and everyone loved her despite that fact about her and the fact that they rarely saw her because she either sleeping or falling asleep.

sleeping beauty,, luke castellan

contains — fluff, attentive luke, kisses, short blurb

it’s not as if you meant to fall asleep so often, you obviously couldn’t help yourself. at first you’d worried of how people would react, what if they laughed? what if they endangered you when you did fall under? but soon enough your sweet self was seen as refreshing and welcomed. if a camper hadn’t already known about your parentage and condition then they’d soon realise.

one of your boyfriend luke’s favourite moments, were when a new camper would see you fall asleep for the first time. the amount of concern and anxiety riddled over the poor kids face as the poked at you. only a few times had you truly scared someone.

you’d been by the campfire with everyone else, sitting right by luke as you enjoyed your night. you hadn’t slept in like usual, for some reason. but you’d figured it would be better to indulge and savour your time awake, a whole day without nodding off!

“i’m proud of you for it.” luke whispered into your ear, simultaneously twirling both of your marshmallows over the fire. you smiled up at him, kissing his temple, “thank you! i have no clue why, but i’m not complaining.” luke smiled, “i like you when you’re awake and asleep. you always look so peaceful, like sleeping beauty.”

you audibly gasped at the comparison, “that’s so sweet! thank you! hey, how do you know sleeping beauty?” of course you’d gotten compliments before but luke’s seemed to take the breath out of your lungs, he always had the nicest things to say. “just because i’ve been here for a while, doesn’t mean i’m uncultured.” luke shrugged, looking back to the fire. he looked amazing, a warm glow about him from the fire, his eyebrows were knitted together in focus. non-burnt marshmallows were at the top priority as of now. and words weren’t exactly coming easily to you right now, so you opted for the best way to a man’s heart, his stomach of course. “i think i’m going to get more chocolates, specially for you, since i’m so amazing.”

you dusted yourself off, but not before being pulled back down by luke and his lips meeting yours. you smiled into the kiss, you could taste the precious chocolate. “you taste as good as you look.” luke placed his hand over his chest, “my girlfriends a cannibal, who knew?”

you’d waved to him as you ran into his cabin, your bag neatly placed on his bed. your feet were aching so you figured sitting and sorting through it would be better. but as you laid down on the bed, you were overwhelmed with lethargy. mixed in with the familiar scent of your own boyfriend, his bed seemed to be calling your name.

just a second, just a minute.

luke’s hand trailed over your nose, as if committing your face to memory, it tickled. “lu?” you squinted at the sunlight, even with the warmth, you felt as if something was missing. “sleep well beauty?” for a second you thought he was teasing you, but as he turned back to you with your morning juice and breakfast, you couldn’t help but smile.

how on earth did you get so lucky?

#luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson imagine #percy jackon and the olympians

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mad-raptorzzz · 7 months

Text

[ID: Two Wings of Fire dragons, Peril the SkyWing and Turtle the SeaWing. They are both sitting together on a blue background. Peril is bright orange with a yellow belly and softly glows yellow. She is looking over her shoulder to look quizzically at Turtle who is sitting to her right holding a marshmallow roasting stick near her back with a look of concentration on his face. His tongue is sticking out as he says 'Ok, this time it will work for sure!' On the ground below his feet are several burnt marshmallows smoking. Turtle is short, seaweed green with yellow accents, and plump. He wears a gold armband with sky fire on his right shoulder and a blue jade turtle earring on his left ear. /End]

Guess who finished a test and then finished this? Yep this guy did. A bit later than I wanted. But my favorite friendship is Turtle and Peril. Tall, awkward, lanky, terrifying trans lady befriends small, chubby, anxious, fish-smelling wizard child to go on a quest. I just love their interactions. And the fact that Turtle canonically has scales that are strong as diamonds/indestructible, that means they can give each other hugs. They definitely stay friends after the ends of the books. Maybe Turtle even helps her write scrolls about firescales so other firescale dragons have stories and experiences to draw from (Ruby totally makes it illegal to murder children based on a disability/gene mutation so there are going to be more mini Peril's running around and they deserve to have stories they can relate to).

I am trying to push my shapes a bit more. So lanky Peril and chubby Turtle. He's nice and round and she's a bit more pointy. I also switched up my Peril design a bit. Turtle is the same because I low key really like my design for him. But I saw a really cool theory about how Turtle should be Anemone's colors because he's the animus. So I might have to do a drawing of that. And maybe Anemone was 'standard' colors until she was cursed by Turtle. And then the magic starts forcibly changing her colors and pushing the other colors out.

#wings of fire #seawing wof #skywing wof #turtle wof #peril wof #firescales #but for real I love them both so much #It's no coincidence that two of my favorite characters are also my favorite friendship

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lovebugism · 10 months

Note

"s'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt" "you jsut can't cook" + eddie munson for blurbcember ❄️

ty for requesting! :D — you freeze your ass off to spend some time alone with eddie; he learns you love him more than s'mores (established relationships, fluff, 1.6k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Eddie sit stranded in Steve’s backyard, the only ones brave enough to weather the late-night cold.

The bursting bonfire died down to a couple of sparkling orange embers, and the party followed accordingly. While your friends sought shelter in the warm living room, unfreezing their fingers around cups of hot cocoa, you and Eddie remained outside in the navy blue winter — too stubborn to tread behind them.

“But wait— we haven’t made s’mores yet!” you’d whined. The shivering bodies of your friends rushed by you and into the heated house, anyway. Eddie was the only one to stay with you after the fact. ‘Cause his girl was gonna get her s’mores even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He makes the first one perfectly. Mostly because that one was for you.

You sit patiently in the slanted wooden chair, knees up to your chest, drowning in the thick leather jacket Eddie gave you for warmth. It smells just like him — like pine and childhood. It keeps you as warm as the smoky marshmallow on your tongue.

The melted sugar gets caught in your teeth, along with the chewed-up graham cracker and gooey milk chocolate. You smile with it all anyway when Eddie’s second batch doesn’t turn out nearly as good as his first.

“Eds, that’s burnt!” you laugh with your mouth still full as he smacks a blackened marshmallow between two square cookies.

In several layers of dark flannel, the boy shrugs lazily. He plops onto the adirondack beside yours and shoots you a lopsided smile, tinted pink and softly chapped. His skin, made more pale by the dark and wintery night, rivals that of the shining full moon. It makes his flushed cheeks that much more rosy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about— s’mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.”

He takes a too big bite to make a point. You grimace at the crunch of the over-cooked confection, then smile when the melted sugar sticks to Eddie’s chin. “No, you just can’t cook,” you retort with a lovesick grin.

“But I’m right!” he insists, black crumbs sticking to the corners of his mouth.

He’s too hardheaded, and you’re too in love with him to argue about it any further. You just smile and shake your head, so full of adoration you’re sparkling with it. “You’re so cute,” you murmur, features warm and visibly fond.

He grins wide, never minding the food caught in his teeth. “I know.”

“Should we make everyone else one?” you wonder, nose scrunched as you spare a look over your shoulder.

Through the sliding glass door, you can see into the golden-lit living room. Everyone’s lazing under blankets, crammed onto couches or lounging on the floor. You can’t tell if they’re sleeping or not. You feel the need to take care of them anyway.

Eddie scoffs with his mouth still full. “Hell no! Those cowards chickened out on us,” he answers bitterly, then in a deeper and posher accent, continues. “Only the bravest of warriors can be rewarded with such fine delicacies.”

“Getting hypothermia makes us ‘the bravest of warriors’?”

“You’re the one who wanted to stay out here!”

“I did,” you argue with a laugh. “But not for the stupid s’mores.”

He gets cartoonishly confused. His bushy brows furrow and his winter-kissed features swirl together. If you weren’t weathering the winter for his obviously unmatched cheffing skills, then what exactly were you out here for?

“Then… for what?” he wonders slowly and with his dark eyes squinted.

You roll your eyes at your oblivious boy. A smile hints at the corners of your mouth. “Eddie…” you murmur, hoping your sudden sheepishness might give him some sort of hint. Telling him, ‘I’m out here in the freezing cold because being next to you makes me feel warm’ is far too sweet and not at all on brand for either of you.

“What?” he says with a faint laugh, still visibly clueless.

“I stayed out here because of you, you idiot,” you confess, giggling softly when it makes his doe eyes get all squishy around the edges.

“Oh,” he hums, then grins all wide and giddy. “Sweet.”

It’s too easy to forget how much you like him sometimes. Mostly because he doesn’t feel very deserving of you at all. He just takes all the sweet moments alone with you that he can get, then tries not to explode every time you remind him that you love him back.

“I am starting to get cold, though,” you murmur, jaw tense to keep your teeth from chattering.

A crisp breeze rolls by and shoves its teeth into every inch of exposed skin it can bite. Your cheeks and lips have long gone numb with it. You can only wrap Eddie’s jacket around you so much before it stops helping.

“Well, I know something that’ll warm us up…” the boy beside you croons with an audible smirk.

Your face scrunches at the implication. “Eddie…” you grouse.

“Get your head out of the gutter— I’m talking about booze.”

You squint at him. He reaches between his many layers and pulls out something from the inner pocket. It glimmers beneath the moonlight for a moment until you realize what it is — a glass, small and polygonal, half-filled with amber liquid.

“I picked the lock to Steve’s dad’s liquor cabinet,” he confesses, twinkling with boyish excitement. “This looked the fanciest, so…”

At a loss for words, you shake your head. “You’re insane,” you tell him, even though your smile says that you’re in love with him and all his crazy.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure that out,” he quips and unscrews the glass cap. He sniffs the liquid inside, then takes a sip without fear. He winces at the taste.

“Is it good?” you ask, hiding your laugh behind your palm.

“It’s great—” His answer comes wedged between coughs.

When he passes the small glass off to you, you take your own baby sip of the alcohol, with much more hesitation than the boy beside you. The bitter taste coats your tongue and stings going down. The burn makes you cough. Your chest blooms with warmth.

Eddie’s brows raise expectantly. His lip quirks at the edges. “Good?”

“It tastes like rubbing alcohol,” you grimace and hand the thing back to him.

“That’s how you know it’s good!” he insists. He takes another sip and doesn’t flinch this time around. “Like— this is the shit rich people spend hundreds of dollars on just to pretend it tastes good.”

“Being rich must suck,” you observe with your face screwed up.

“Oh, totally,” the boy scoffs. He goes to take a swig, then sends you a worried glance with the glass up to his lips. “Are you warm yet, at least?”

“Not really… My throat just kinda burns.”

“C’mere. Before you end up like that psycho from The Shining.”

Eddie slouches softly in his seat and holds his arms out beside him. The invitation is a hard one to turn down. Hair wild, cheeks rosy, and dressed all snug — he looks so visibly warm. You want to curl into his chest like a cat and stay there forever.

“You want me to sit in your lap?” you wonder with your brows pinched.

He nods.

“Eddie. I’ll crush you.”

His features swirl with hurt. “I’m offended that you’re doubting my strength right now, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“Get over here before I cause a scene.”

There’s not much of a scene to cause. Both of you know this. You rise on rigid, frozen limbs anyway and walk the short distance to him.

His palms are oddly warm as they curl around your hips. You sit hesitantly on his lap at first, as tense as a rock, until he pulls you down completely. His arms settle around your waist like they were always meant to be there, hands fitting with you like a puzzle piece. It doesn’t take long for you to melt against him.

Eddie grins at the comforting weight of you. “See? This isn’t so bad, right?”

You try to bite back the beam tugging at your lips. This kind of love makes you feel like a teenager again — heart singing like it’s never been stung before.

“I mean, yeah, but Steve and Robin are watching us through the blinds,” you tell him as a laugh sputters from your lips.

You can tell they’re trying to be discreet, but their eyes showing through the slats — at two varying heights — are a dead giveaway. It took the two of them ages to get you and Eddie together, so you’re not entirely surprised by their snooping. They’re nothing if not your biggest cheerleaders. Even if it does make them a couple of creeps sometimes.

Eddie doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder at them. He just tilts his chin up at you and smiles with all his teeth. “Wanna give ‘em a show?”

You smile. Then press your tingling lips to the cold skin of his rosy cheek.

You know that isn’t exactly what he was asking for, so his plea for another doesn’t surprise you.

“One more?” he wonders quietly, chocolate eyes glimmering with boyish hope.

Happily, you lean in for another peck to his cheek. He turns his head at the very last second and smacks a proper kiss to your mouth.

You pull back, face agape with shock, like he’s never kissed you before. “Eddie!” you gasp.

His doe eyes sparkle with feigned innocence. “What?”

“You’re incorrigible,” you insist and settle further into him.

His contented sigh brushes your temple when you rest your head against him. His ringed fingers give your sides a squeeze. “That’s a real big word, sweetheart. Means you like me, right?”

You let yourself smile wide. He can’t see how lovesick you are from this angle, or else he’d know that you do a whole lot more than just like him. “Yeah, Eds. That’s exactly what it means.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: blurbcember

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astroboots · 11 months

Note

period sex with soft marc☹️☹️🥺🥺 him being so sweet n praising you😭😭😭😭 hed take such good care of you<3 i need him

Take Care of Me

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Content: explicit as fuck. Period sex, Marc's competence in overdrive.

Word count: 3k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Painful is an understatement.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human biology this is how you might describe it:

Imagine a battalion of tiny sumo wrestlers duking it out inside your uterus.

Imagine a never-ending game of tag between a horde of stomp-happy elephants using your stomach as the running ground.

Imagine the two allegories combined, but multiple it with three, and imagine having it every month from the time you're a young adolescent until (if you're lucky and god is merciful) it will end when you're in your fifties.

As you lie in your bed, curled up with a hot water bottle tucked to your lower belly, and whine into your pillow, you are convinced that this is some kind of divine punishment. You must have been bathing in virgin's blood to retain youth in a past life. Because you don't know what else you could've done to deserve this. And if you weren't, then if there is a god in heaven, they had better beg for your forgiveness when you get there.

"Want me to make you a cuppa love?"

You drag your face from where it's buried in the pillow to peek up at Steven's worried face.

Big brown eyes gaze down at you with so much concern, he must think you are on your death bed. He's been taking care of you all day. Pampering, coddling, and fussing over you.

He's been refilling your tea before you have time to even empty the cup. Reheating the hot water bottle every twenty minutes before it even has a chance to drop in temperature.

It's incredibly sweet. But you're so tea-ed out at the moment, you think 90% of your body composition is tea at this point.

"'m good."

He frowns, biting down on his lip, and you can sense his worry from bed. "If you don't want tea maybe some hot chocolate? I can even toast some marshmallows on top and I have a packet of biscuits."

You consider his generous proposal for a second or two.

In all honesty, you feel too sick even for chocolate, but you have a feeling that turning down chocolate will truly make Steven think you're dying and try to call the ambulance. So instead you answer, "that sounds lovely Steven."

His whole face brightens up, and he leaps to his feet and darts towards the kitchen.

You close your eyes to the raucous sound of pots and pans being pulled out. In the background, the sound of something crashing clanks out from the direction of the kitchen. It's followed by Steven's familiar comforting voice cursing "bugger" and "oh no," but you're too tired to check for yourself what's going on, as you drift off to sleep.

In your dream, you're wrapped in a comforting warmth. There's a gentle pressure on your stomach and limbs that takes all the pain away. Strong and tender, all at once, you want to linger in this sensation forever.

It's not forever, of course. But your nap lasts long enough that you get a bit of respite from the pain. When you wake again, it's to the distinct smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.

Strong hands traverse over your hips and stomach, kneading at your sore and aching muscles with a perfect pressure that feels like heaven.

He's sitting at the foot of your bed, with a posture so upright, it's almost militant. The man doesn't need to open his mouth with his Chicagoan accent for you to know it's Marc who's sitting next to you right now.

"Where's Steven?" you ask.

"Put him on a time out. Nearly burnt down the place, trying to torch some marshmallows."

You smile at the image Marc is painting for you. That explains the burnt smell.

"How are you feeling," Marc asks. His hand roams from your stomach to the plane of your thighs. It has everything tingle pleasantly inside of you.

"Better," you tell him. "It feels really good when you do that."

His hand stills for a second, eyes drifting to his own hands. "Want me to keep going?"

You barely have to nod before he starts up again. Large hands covering the insides of your thighs as he presses down with just the right amount of strength.

The sensation spikes across your nerves and rides up your spine until the tense knot in your stomach that has been terrorizing you all day unfurls.

You gasp at the sensation, back arching into his touch for more. "There, there, don't stop."

It's maddening how good it feels. Marc knows your body like a map of a continent that he's explored every corner of. His hand drifts ever so slightly, fine-tuning his touch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It's the relief you've been begging for all day. Each press of his hand erasing the blunt ache that's been digging into your flesh since you woke up this morning.

That large hand of his, smooths over your bare stomach. The sweet warmth of it soothing any leftover pain that is still there until he cups over the soft fabric of your underwear and replaces it with an altogether different ache that has you squirming and squeezing your legs together.

His hand stills. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" you shout, louder than you intended or expected.

You clutch at his wrists to keep them on you. You're pretty sure that if Marc stopped touching you, you'd combust and die from frustration on the spot. Pretty sure that whatever the equivalent of blue balls is for ovaries is about to descend upon you.

"No, I just..." you flounder for a minute, not entirely sure what to say. Face warm as you say try to find the words. You don't know why the thought is so mortifying to you.

"I'm on my period." You manage to mutter out.

Marc cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He looks genuinely puzzled at what you've just told him. "I know...so?"

"It'll make a mess," you tell him, and you don't know how he's so casual about this. God knows your neat-freak of a boyfriend hates a mess. "I don't want to ick you out".

Ick him out? Why do you sound like a kid on the playground talking about cooties?

There's no worry in Marc's eyes as he observes you. None of the big round doe-like eyes of Steven. His eyes are narrowed, honed in on your face.

"Fuck the mess," he says.

There's a simmering heat in his voice as he says it that makes everything between your legs slick and achy as he leans even closer to you. "I want to make you feel better. You okay with that?"

You nod and the tip of his fingers skirts the edge of your panties before slipping inside. Despite your earlier embarrassment at the idea, your breath stutters with anticipation.

You're so fucking wet. Slick and hot, as his thumb presses down and has sharp electricity crackle down your spine. You find yourself spreading your legs wider for him, and Marc is more than happy to take it as an invitation.

Two fingers slide inside you, filling you perfectly, until you realize you feel a slickness trickle down the heel of Marc's hand.

"Fuck, Marc-- wait, it's--" you squeak in alarm as you feel it drip between your legs. "It's gonna get on the bed."

He doesn't stop, fingers continuing its languid pace on your clit, as he keeps stroking it to the pace of his liking. His mouth is on your neck, hot and humid as he murmurs into your skin.

"You really think a little blood is gonna keep me out of that pretty little pussy? Open up for me baby, let me take care of you."

And god...

You do. Of course you do, you'd do anything Marc asks and wants from you when he speaks to you in that tone and register. Your legs spread even further, tilting into his doting touch as he slides his fingers deeper.

Heat simmer all along the length of your spine, brandishing it with pleasure that has you struggling for breath.

His other hand comes to cup your face, while his fingers are still busy circling and gently strumming at your clit. He makes it seem so effortless as he does it.

There's no hesitation in his movements, two fingers bracketing your clit and he gently slides and teases you there that has that all familiar warmth already furling in your lower abdomen. Insistent and never rushed, you feel his fingers everywhere, until he brushes over something devastatingly good that has your vision go white for a brief moment.

"That's it baby, you're alright. So good for me, you don't have to think about anything else. All I need is for you to feel good. Come on my hand," his voice rasps in your ear.

Smooth and calming. Loving and commanding.

You don't stand a chance.

It's all it takes.

You drown in it, your climax claiming your limbs as the sensation streaks down your legs and wraps around your bones. You shake and jolt in his arms but he holds you there to him, not letting you pull away as you squirm away from the overstimulation and makes you ride the high against the palm of his reassuring hand.

He comforts you through it. All gentle caresses and soothing hushes as he presses his soft lips on your forehead.

"That's my good fucking girl."

Through the haze of your bliss, you reach for him. One finger hooking onto his belt to drag him closer.

You're too out of it to fully register what you're doing or properly express what you want. All you know is you want more of him. More of Marc. More of his sturdy firm weight on you. The warmth of his skin pressed against you. Of him, inside you.

"Want my cock baby?"

You nod, and much like before, Marc immediately complies.

He always does. Never does deny you of anything.

One hand comes to the front of his jeans, and you don't have to wait long for him as he pulls himself free of his jeans. Cock hard, and jutting up proudly that has you salivating at the sight of it.

Gripping his cock in one hand, Marc kneels over you, notching the fat tip against your entrance. The moment you feel him, you forget about any shred of hesitation you had just moments earlier about making a mess.

Because right now you don't care if you ruin Steven's sheets and leave a crime scene behind you. Every single thought in your mind has been replaced by the overarching need to have this man inside you.

He leans over, arms bracketing you in as he presses into you, stretching you, inch by perfect, beautiful, fucking, inch that has you seeing stars even in the daylight.

You feel him everywhere, every slow thrust and cant of his hips pressed so deeply into you, you're not sure you can breathe. You cling to every inch of him, legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go but not sure you can take more of him either.

Full, you feel so fucking full.

"Too much?" Marc asks, eyes examining you, making sure you're alright.

You don't know how to answer him. It is a lot. So much, with all of him, every perfect inch of him filling you to capacity. It's too much and yet you want all of it and more. Want more and want him to never stop. So you tell him exactly that.

"No. Don't stop, don't stop," you beg. "Keep fucking me, please."

One big, warm hand settles low on your stomach, before it wanders, brushing teasingly through your folds and oh-so-gently over and around your clit until you think you might scream.

You bite down on your lip, worried that if you actually do scream, he'll stop out of worry. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to calm yourself but it only makes it all the more intense.

Behind closed eyes, the pleasure surges through your chest, and you can feel every careful and calculated movement that Marc makes as he slowly drags his cock out of you, until only the fat head rests inside you. Then he pushes back inside again, just as slow and it has tears stinging your eyes.

Slow and thorough. Deep and controlled. He's murmuring in your ear the whole time, his voice low and rough.

"Relax for me baby," he tells you, "I'm gonna take care of you like I always do. Fill your pretty pussy with my cock until you feel all better, okay?"

Better doesn't begin to describe it. You feel good. Feel so good you're overripe with pleasure that seems to be bursting along the seam of your skin.

The hand on your stomach, presses and holds you in place as you start to squirm against him to goad his fingers to where you need them.

But even when he complies, giving you what you like he always does, zeroing in on your clit, his caresses stay light and gentle. His thumb barely brushes over you, as he keeps the pace agonizingly slow and soft that have you shivering and shaking in his arms.

The taunting pleasure builds ever so slowly in your core. The light and teasing touches too much and not enough all at once, and your oversensitive, overwrought cunt clenches and flex endlessly, squeezing down around the thickness Marc’s cock.

You can feel his body jerk over yours each time, and you revel in the soft grunts and gasps you’re driving from him, because surely, surely now he’ll let go and fuck you fast and hard until you're crying.

But he still doesn’t. Doesn't lose control. Just presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring over and over again. "It’s okay, I got you, Going to make you feel so good".

He says it like a promise. As if he isn't already doing exactly that. He's making you feel so fucking good. So good that you can hardly stand it. So good that you're writhing in his arms, clutching and clawing at his arm and hand and wrist, not sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer. But it doesn't matter, he might as well be a stone statue for all the hope you have of moving him anywhere he doesn't want to you be yet.

You can feel the all too familiar tension in his body. Those strong thick thighs as hard as iron between yours. You swear you can feel the furious pounding of his heart where you're pressed back against his chest. Or maybe that's your own pulse pounding loud and frantic in your ears, but it doesn't matter, because you know he's close too.

"Fuck you feel so good," he murmurs into your skin and if you didn't know better you'd think he sounded shaky.

The pleasure builds, streaking up your torso in little lightning bolt pulses that tighten your nipples to achingly hard little points and steal the breath from your lungs.

The heat of Marc's body against you is unbearable, his hot breath and lips sliding over your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw, and all the while, his fingers, those clever, competent fingers keep up their slow, ruinous circling, driving you higher inch by devastating inch.

You can't breathe anymore, can't see, can't think to the point you're pretty sure you can't feel your feet. Do you even have feet anymore? The only thing that's grounding you is the security of Marc's arms wrapped around you, the quiet cadence of his voice, whispering low and soft and still oh so sweet in your ear.

It's too much. Everything in you winding higher and tighter, filling you so full of pleasure that you swear you'll burst, but somehow still you don't. Can't. You need–

You clutch at Marc, gasp out a garbled sound that might be his name. You want to tell him that you can't stand it, that you need more, need all of him, everything that he has to give, but you've lost the ability to speak.

Instead, your body tells him for you, your cunt squeezing down around him, and refusing to let go. All of you drawn tight, tighter, tightest.

There's a breathless, "Oh. Baby. Fuck." in your ear, and Marc's hips jerk against you. Just once, the tiniest upward hitch. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

The unbearable, blissful tension holding your body hostage shatters, and wave after wave of unparalleled rapture roll though you, sharp and sweet and endless. The breath you didn't think you had left leaves you in a loud keening cry, that's echoed by a low, pained groan, and you can feel Marc's cock swell and pulse as he spills inside you, unable to resist the calling of your body's climax.

You ride out your orgasms together, your hips grinding needily into his, his fingers gripped harshly into your flesh, until the seemingly endless pleasure finally releases you both from its grip and you collapse back against Marc's solid bulk.

The arms around you relax, his clean hand smoothing over your belly and thighs. His voice hoarse and low, but still so, so syrupy sweet and gentle as he reassures you that you're okay, that he's got you, that he'll always be there when you need him.

You're boneless against him. Arms lying limply by your side on the damp mattress. Every bit of tension wrung out of you, like an old flannel that been wetted and twisted dry one too may times; worn out, but warm and cozy and relaxed.

"Feeling any better?" Marc asks eventually, arms tightening ever-so-subtly around you.

You don't have it in you to answer him with words, but you manage a small, contented giggle, snuggling back further into his embrace and tilting your head back to nuzzle his jaw.

That seems to be enough for him. He cranes his neck to press a soft kiss to your lips, then settles back, and the two of you stay there, cuddled together, warm and content and sated.

Content... just so fucking content, except...

Content is an understatement to what you're feeling wrapped in Marc's arms like this.

If you had to describe what this moment felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human emotions this is how you might describe it:

Imagine snow falling outside and you are wrapped up safely in a heavy blanket around your tired limbs.

Imagine the smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee brewing (just the way you like it) in the morning after a hangover.

Imagine all of that combined and it still wouldn't even begin to do it any justice.

A/N: Thank you nonny for this ask, literally when you sent it I was having the period from actual hell and was in tears and wailing and crying in bed. This was a really nice escape to write this oneshot with TWP.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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Mad Spring - sour gummies, you feral little goblin. Tangfastics. Airheads. Sour Patch Kids. Like High Summer, you choose fruit-flavored gummy sweets, but you pick ones coated in Pain Sugar. It isn’t enough to just get sugar: you’re chasing a different Sensory Experience (TM) than the rest. And that’s great.

Warm Spring - white chocolate, ruby chocolate, pastel mint drops, cotton candy, bubblegum. Marshmallows. Sweet, creamy, usually pastel. You have no particular objection to floral tastes like lavender and rose. You may be able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

Midsummer - tropical fruits: chewy and slightly creamy in pastel colors. Starburst/Opal Fruit, Creamsicles/Solero. Maoam strips. Cream sodas. Skittles, despite being jewel-toned, are in this season. Coconut and pineapple flavors go here. Also the home of chalky-type sweets like Love Hearts/candy hearts, smarties (usa) and You may be also able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

High Summer - Gummy bears and chewy, jellyish, jammy, gummy, springy in bright jewel tones. Gummy worms and jelly snakes, jelly babies, jelly beans, Haribo. Clearer and gummier than Midsummer.

Autumn Night - darker and more complex sweetness, often including an element of burning or alcohol, or another challenge. Cherry cordials, marzipan, champagne truffles. Also home of burnt-sugar tastes: maple candy, bonfire toffee, candy corn. Also home of matcha; red liquorice; red bean paste. When people bring you sweets from other countries, they’ll choose unusual local delicacies. You almost certainly were fascinated as a kid by lollipops at the science museum sold with real bugs in them.

Autumn Salt - peanut butter and peanut brittle, salted caramel, toffee, butterscotch. Toffee popcorn, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, Snickers, Daim. If nobody has any nuts, you’ll choose chocolate with nuts, crisp or crunch over other things. Sweet just isn’t enough.

Winter Spice - herbal, spicy and medicinal sweets, usually hard old-fashioned sweets. Red-hots, burning cinnamon, chilli - eucalyptus, root beer, menthol; sarsaparilla. Hard candy, generally: old fashioned ‘boiled sweets,’ things that look gorgeous in glass jars. Parma violets. Fisherman’s Friends. You’re the only person who would eat a gingerbread house after decorating it. You’re also possibly a ghost, or used to be a Mad Spring. It’s also about the SENSATION.

Midwinter - dark black Licorice. Salty? Sweet? saltlakrids? Allsorts? Australian? You might like other things too, but when your loved ones are in another country, they go to the licorice aisle and get you the weirdest local variant they can find.

Long Winter - true chocolate, basic chocolate stuff: M&Ms. Dairy Milk. Hershey’s Kiss. But also home of fudgy tastes and sugar-on-sugar in a long slow sauce. Marshmallow, Handmade fudge, Phish Food ice cream.

Cool Winter - naturally, the homebase of minty tastes. peppermint wheels, York’s Peppermint Patties, After Eights. Also orange - chocolate orange - and, oddly, pixie sticks/sherbet and other sweet things that involve eating simple flavored sugar.

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marlsswrites · 3 months

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Summer camp AU, part 5!!

July 5th <3

Burnt - @jegulus-microfic - words: 910

First part Previous part

The chatter surrounded him, the sound of the fire roaring in his ear and the crunch of footsteps under his feet.

“Hi Reggie.” James sighed out. “Why are you scowling?” He asked as he sunk onto the log next to him.

The kids were roasting marshmallows while huddled around a fire, small giggles erupted and squeals heard when someone would set theirs on fire.

“Don’t call me that.” Regulus fixed his face out of a scowl and into a small smile, shrugging. “And I’m not scowling.” He snapped as he brushed a stray black curl away from his face.

James pointed at his smile. “You never smile either, keep it like that now.”

“Shut up.” Regulus spoke, attempting to hide his smile but feeling his lips quirk up even more as he looked away to keep an eye out on the teens.

“You like it.” Currently, Regulus was still aiming to took away from James, but he could practically hear the grin in his joyful voice.

And with that, the brunette boy left. Leaving Regulus to watch as James hopped over to the group of teenagers, chatting animatedly with them and grabbing a marshmallow to roast.

Regulus kept his eyes trained on James, watching as he stuck is tongue out in concentration and shoved the marshmallow into the fire, his hands getting far too close to the burning fire for Regulus’ liking.

He has nice hands… he can’t burn them.

Regulus sighed to himself and dropped his head to his knees, black curls falling everywhere.

About ten minutes later, Regulus saw James set another marshmallow on fire. The white sticky flesh flashing into a ball of sharp orange flames. The brunette yelped and blew repeatedly on the marshmallow untill it went out.

Holding in his laugh, Regulus let a small smile hide in the corner of his mouth as he watched the other boy roast another, holding the burnt and black one to his side.

After a moment, James came running towards Regulus with a smile on his face, offering him a wooden stick with a perfectly roasted marshmallow on the end of it.

“Careful, it’s hot.” The older warned as he shoved his own burnt one into his mouth, why didn’t he just keep the nice one?

“Is that even nice?” Regulus chuckled as he ate his own.

James gave a sheepish smile, taking a minute before swallowing it and coughing. “No, not at all.” He laughed and took a swig of his water, the liquid dripping down his chin and onto his slightly exposed collarbone as he gave a sigh of relief.

Regulus was staring, he was definitely staring. That was confirmed when the brunette spoke something in audible and gave him a strange look before speaking up again.

“Reggie?” He asked.

“Sorry, what?”

“Wow you didn’t even correct the nickname.” James laughed. “I’m getting somewhere.”

In reality, Regulus didn’t even hear the boy speak that name.

“Don’t call me Reggie.”

“There he is.” He said with another sip of water, Regulus knowing better and looking away towards the fire.

After a moment in silence, the brunette spoke up again. “Are you okay?” His lips tipped into a frown. “You seem… distracted.”

“Of course I’m fine.” Regulus hissed. “Fuck off.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Sorry.” James looked away as he spoke, his voice cracking at the end and a hurt expression weaving its way into his still frowning face.

A twang of guilt built up inside Regulus, he sucked in his breath and bit his bottom lip while his gaze flicked towards James, who was sat silent and gazing forward at the smiling teens.

His mind was foggy, his gaze hazy and his hands clawing anxiously at the hem of his sleeve. With a cough, he got up to go and talk to the kids. He normally didn’t do that, anything was less awkward than whatever was happening between him and James.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he walked away and out of earshot, groaning to himself.

Regulus walked back through the entrance of their cabin and away from the starry sky that he was just gazing at.

He stepped through the door to see James Potter at on his front on his bed, his laptop out and playing a movie that Regulus could recognise all too well.

“Call me by your name?” Regulus asked as he kicked his shoes off, sitting down on his bed and crossing his legs.

“James?” The brunette asked with a cheeky smirk.

“I swear I’ll walk straight back out that door.” The younger gave a threatening look and a finger point towards James.

Raising his hands in surrender, that smile that Regulus liked so much took over his face. “Okay, okay. Yes it is.” He nodded and showed Regulus the screen. “I saw the book on your nightstand, the movie’s really good.”

“I just finished reading the book, I’ve watched the movie tons though.” Regulus spoke thoughtfully.

James hummed, a caring smile covering his lips. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah I-“ Regulus stuttered. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay now that you’re alright.” James nodded. “You needed some quiet time, I get it.”

Smiling ever so slightly, Regulus collapsed onto his bed. James tilted the laptop towards him with a questioning look, he nodded and quickly shuffled over to sit on the other boys bed.

God, this man is doing things to Regulus that he does not like. Oh but he really does.

Next part

#marauders #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #jegulus fic #rosekiller #jegulus microfic #pandalily #regulus x james #starchaser #sunseeker #cmbyn references because that is my absolute life #writers on tumblr

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salty-autistic-writer · 2 months

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Snippet: Buck saves a cat. She doesn't want to let go.

Buck has always loved animals. He smiles at dogs when he meets them on the street. He also pets them whenever he gets the chance to. Buck thinks that coming home to a dog with a wagging tail would be pretty amazing. But he also wouldn’t mind a cat or a bird or any kind of pet, really.

A lot of his childhood friends had pets. His parents never got any. Too much work, too much trouble, too expensive.

Now, as a firefighter, Buck is never sure if he should get a pet, since neither he nor Tommy are home a lot. But he does think it might be nice to have a pet in the future. Someday.

Buck didn’t know that “someday” would come so soon when there’s a fire at a farm and he fishes a screaming kitten out of an already smoking heap of hay.

Thick smoke is still rising up from the charred remains of the barn. Fortunately, neither humans nor animals were harmed. Quick thinking and acting saved a lot of lives today.

Buck looks at the saved kitten, making sure she’s alright. Underneath a thin layer of soot, her fur is white. She looks like a little fuzzy marshmallow.

And … she just won’t let go. Her little claws are digging into the thick fabric of his turnouts and she keeps rubbing her face there, making little pitiful noises. Buck looks down at her, amused. She’s so cute. But he clearly has to hand her over to someone. He already asked around, trying to find an owner. But no one wants to claim the white ball of fur.

“Cats just live here,” one of the farmers tells Buck, shrugging. “They sleep in the barns and hunt the mice. Sometimes they multiply and sometimes a few of them are driven over by a car. Nature balances itself, you know?” “Sure,” Buck mutters, glancing at the kitten which looks up at him with wide-open blue eyes. He swallows and chuckles nervously. “Uh. Marshmallow. You really have to let go now, ok? Maybe your mother is somewhere around, huh?”

The kitten just rubs her head against his chest again, purring.

“Looks like this cat is going home with you,” Chimney says with a grin.

Buck perks up, eyes widening. “What? Uh. No. I can’t, I …”

“Cats choose their family,” Hen chimes in, smiling. “Seems like this one made her choice.”

“I …,” Buck turns to Bobby, begging him with his eyes to save him. But Bobby just laughs and says, “Congratulations, Buck. You’re a father.”

Buck sighs. When he looks down into those eyes again, he realizes he’s ready to admit defeat. For now. “Come on, Marshmallow. We’re going home.”

When Tommy comes home, Buck is sitting on the couch and Marshmallow is lounging on one of his knees like a little white Queen. He washed the soot off, brushed her fur and gave her some water as well as cheese. He really has to buy some proper cat food.

Tommy stops and stares at the picture in front of him, clearly astonished. Buck smiles weakly. He gestures at Marshmallow, who looks at Tommy attentively and with her ears pointed towards him, but remains sitting on Buck’s knee confidently, licking one of her paws, probably chasing after the taste of cheese. “Yeah. So … this happened.”

Tommy blinks. “Ev. Why is there a tiny white cat sitting on your leg?”

Buck clears his throat, stroking down the arch of Marshmallow's back. “That’s Marshmallow. We got called to a farm fire and I saved her. She apparently decided I’m her new father now.”

“Marshmallow. You called a cat Marshmallow?!” Tommy asks, raising his brows. Buck shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else. She’s small, white and looked a bit burnt before I washed her. But … We can still re-name her right?”

“You want to keep her,” Tommy says. It’s not a question.

Buck swallows. He looks at Marshmallow and can feel the love for her blooming in his chest. “Yeah. What do you think?”

Tommy tilts his head and approaches the couch. “I’m more of a dog person. But cats are fine, I guess. Hey there,” he smiles at Marshmallow and carefully reaches out to pet her. Marshmallow ducks and makes a hissy noise, her claws piercing Buck’s jeans and stinging like little pinpricks.

Tommy frowns, pulling his hand back. “I don’t think she likes me,” he says and sounds disappointed.

“Give her a few hours,” Buck says, amused. “She just got here. I'm sure she's going to get used to you soon enough."

Turns out Marshmallow doesn’t want to leave Buck’s side at all. She follows him everywhere on her small paws, her tail raised and butt wiggling while she hurries to keep up with his steps.

When he goes to the bathroom and closes the door, Marshmallow sits outside, meowing in a demanding way and scratching at the door.

When he goes to bed, Marshmallow sits on the floor and meows until he picks her up and she can snuggle up against him, purring. A small, soft, warm ball of fur.

“I’m starting to feel jealous,” Tommy says, kissing Buck’s neck from behind and glancing at the cat.

Whenever he tries to touch Marshmallow, she ducks and looks at him skeptically. At least she doesn’t hiss anymore. Still, Tommy sulks over the fact that Marshmallow is so focused on Buck and Buck tries to convince him it’s just a matter of time.

Then, two days after Buck became a cat Dad, he comes home after going to the grocery store for some cat food as well as proper bowls for Marshmallow. He opens the door and is greeted by silence. When he walks into the living room, he stops and has to keep himself from laughing.

Tommy is taking a nap on the couch. And curled up on his evenly rising and falling chest, is little Marshmallow, also fast asleep.

Buck takes a picture with his phone and leaves the room on tiptoes, with a smile on his face.

They’re both cat Dads now.

#bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy fanfic #evan 'buck' buckley #tommy kinard

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