Marshall is a huge dick who probably hasn’t ever gotten laid. For some reason, you want this pathetic man.
Marshall Ward is so fucking weird.
The first time you ever interacted with him (if you could even call it an ‘interaction’) was watching him argue with a bunch of dumbass high schoolers.
Sat on his doorstep with a bowl of cereal in hand and a lit cigarette resting next to him, you watched a trio of teens happily heckle him as they practically skipped past his house on the way to their school.
“Hey, you’re not going to find a girlfriend at the bottom of that bowl, Marshall!”
“He’s nothing but a cuck, anyway!”
“Bitchless!”
High schoolers are particularly mouthy these days.
You watch him swing his spoon around wildly as he retorted, “I’ve gotten more than you virgins could ever dream of! Have fun getting killed by global warming before you ever know the touch of a woman besides your mom, who I also FUCKED, by the way!”
“Go fuck yourself!” The kids shout, flipping the man off as they turn the corner.
He sticks up his middle finger in response, spoon clutched in his palm, scowling before he catches sight of you across the street, your neighbour’s dog sniffing the ground, your grip on his leash slack from the scene you just witnessed.
He stares at you for a moment before realizing he’s been inadvertently flipping you off. He opens his hand into an awkward wave, spoon cluttering to the ground.
“Hey—oh fuck,” He bends down to retrieve his spoon, but only ends up dropping his bowl in the rush.
You shoot him one more judgmental glance before leading Stewart the Black Labrador back home.
It becomes a part of your routine, after that.
Every other day you would take Stewart on a walk, stop to watch Marshall get bullied by some kids, and then indulge his attempts at conversation.
(“Yeah, no, I’m like the cool older brother to them, we’re just joking——I didn’t actually fuck any of their moms, haha…”)
Soon, jilted conversations across the street turned into movie discussions at his doorstep (after the high schoolers were long gone, you didn’t want to become a target.), where you learned his eyes were a bright, almost electric blue. They were…nice.
He was definitely an asshole, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He always had something to say, someone to disparage or scoff at (usually high schoolers), was unusually invested in the new hero Radiant Black, but despite all that, he was considerate. With how he always put out his cigarette when you approached even when it looked freshly lit and the way he listened intently to your words when you decided to deem him with anything more than a dry stare.
(“All people do is talk shit without knowing the details, I——Radiant Black shouldn’t have to deal with their crap. Honestly, fuck everyone else and their moms…too far?”)
Eventually, conversations outside his door transferred to ones into his house when you realized he had a very adorable dog by the name of Orson, with charming, floppy ears and an appreciation for cuddles.
Yes, Orson is the reason you warmed up to Marshall.
(“I see how it is, you’re just using me to get to Orson! Well, Stewart and I don’t need you, anyway! Wait, come back—“)
Okay, so maybe you’ve become a bit fond of him and his stupid looking face. But that’s solely because of Orson. Definitely not because you caught a slip of his defined stomach when he was stretching.
So, when you find yourself next to him on his couch, watching some 80’s movie, as Orson naps by your feet, you make a decision.
“So, do you usually just pass out on your couch, or do you actually have a bed?” You speak up, turning your head to look at him, his face only illuminated by the TV.
“Uh, random, but yeah,” He responds, attention shifting to you as he raises an eyebrow, “Why?”
You rise from the worn couch, “Show me.”
“You’re so weird,” he says, but he acquiesces, leading you to his room.
A twin sized mattress rests next to the wall (no bed frame?), clothes and comics scattered across the floor. It was cluttered but not necessarily a pigsty, as from just a sniff you could pick up a whiff of laundry detergent and shampoo. Luckily, he mostly smoked outside.
He almost looks sheepish as he observes your reaction, “Trying to figure out if there’s anything valuable for when you decide to ransack the place?”
“No, nothing like that,” you respond before turning to face him, “You like me, right?”
He seems to blank out for a moment, “What?”
“You’re into me,” you nod, “And, I’m into you.”
“Huh?”
“Are you going to stand there slack jawed or are you going to do anything about having a girl that likes you right in your bedroom?” You ask.
He seems to snap back to reality, letting out a near hysterical laugh, “You confess like you’re talking about the weather, and what? No, actually, why am I even supposed to do with that!? This is a lot all at once! Are you expecting me to ravage you or something—“
“Yes.”
“I was joking? No, I was definitely joking—“
You tilt your head, “You don’t want to?”
“Well, I didn’t say that…”
You grip the hem of your hoodie before shrugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. He stares at your chest, still covered by your bra. You’re tempted to ask if this is his first pair.
“Is this your first pair?” You ask, gesturing to your breasts.
“No! I was just wondering if girls just——don’t wear shirts under their hoodies?”
“Shut up,” you order before stepping out of your pants.
“Shutting up…” He replies, fingers twitching at his side watching you intently as you slowly approach full nudity.
“Okay, you can talk,” you toss your bra next to his comics, an arm covering your chest as you move to his bed, propping yourself against the wall, seated on the mattress he called a bed. “Take off your clothes already, weirdo.”
Within an instant, his shirt and pants lay discarded on the floor and he joins you on the bed, crowding against you, a hand resting on the mattress near your hips, while the other places itself where your neck and shoulder meet as his mouth presses against yours, lips slightly chapped but incessant, as he hungrily devours you. A far cry from his earlier hesitancy.
You taste the smoke on him as he groans into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips before you open for him, letting him suck and lick, swallowing your noise of surprise when a hand starts groping your chest, thumb rolling over your nipple.
He parts from you, letting you catch your breath before he dives down to envelop a breast into his mouth, teeth nipping as you jolt while he pinches you with the other.
“Ah, Marshall—!” You try to chide him, but you’re cut off when he does it again, “Ugh, seriously, you’re going to make them sore!”
You feel his laughter against your skin before he pulls away, meeting your gaze with a grin, “Really?”
“Yes, you—ow! Seriously, Marshall!” He pinches your nipples with another laugh, is this actually his first pair of tits? He’s acting like they’re a new toy to fiddle with. He continues to squeeze and flex his hands as you wiggle your hips impatiently, the heat in your stomach growing at his impromptu massage.
“Okay, okay, sorry!” He grins, hands trailing down your stomach to your thighs, fingers rubbing comforting circles, appreciating the softness.
You huff, hand reaching back to position the pillow against the mattress, nudging him to shuffle back with your foot as you lay down, shifting before looking up at him expectantly.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he smiles, keeping your thighs bent and apart, fingers brushing over your underwear, before his palm rubs against your clit, making you gasp. If you were more clearheaded, you’d have expressed surprise at him finding it so quickly.
“You know, you were complaining earlier, but you’re pretty wet now,” he comments smugly, watching you squirm at the continuous pressure against your sex, “Maybe if I…”
“Nnn-no,” you moan, back arching when he snakes a hand to pinch your hardened bud again. You’re going to kill him.
“Okay, last time, I swear,” he promises, now focused on helping your discard your last piece of clothing, pausing as the two of you silently stare at the clear liquid stringing from the fabric to your mound, “…you really don’t like it when I play with your tits?”
You glare at him and he pulls off your underwear, staring at them mournfully for a moment before tossing them on the floor with the rest of your clothes.
His finger runs up and down your slit, before pushing against your hole, sliding into you, and a second finger enters, as he begins a rotation of scissoring and thrusting as he stretches you out. Your stomach flexes, squirming when he speeds up.
“Keep still, you’ll be the one crying if I don’t prepare you enough,” he scolds you lightly, more focused than you’ve ever seen him.
“Confident?” You say, breathing hitching as you clench around his fingers. “Doubt you’re that big…”
He stops, face unreadable before he pulls away, and you glance at his prominent bulge. Okay, he’s not small.
He shoves his boxers off, and, okay, definitely not small.
He plants his hands on either side of you, settling in between your legs as he leans down to your face, kissing you again, as your hands move to trail up and down his back. You’ve never heard him talking about working out despite his built frame.
He pulls away, member rubbing against your hole, “You still want to do this?”
You dig your nails into his flesh, “Obviously.”
And without any more fanfare, he pushes into you, slowly feeding you each inch, as you shakily exhale, trying to swallow your noises and failing when your mouth drops opens and you swear you can feel him in your gut.
He starts to move, thrusts slow and long, gradually increasing his pace, as your chest starts to heave, your breath coming out in short pants and moans. You shut your eyes as you writhe under him when he moves to grip your hip with one hand as the other grinds against your clit, causing you to let out a choked whimper.
“You look innocent but you’re as desperate as me, aren’t you?” He speaks up, pace increasing enough to rock your body back and forth with each thrust. “You’ve wanted this as l-long as me, bet you touched yourself too…couldn’t get yourself to cum though based off how swollen your clit was from a little groping, heh. You needed me to help you cum, right? You particularly threw yourself at me—”
“Dick,” you choke out.
“Didn’t deny it…you acted all high and mighty earlier, but now you can barely string a sentence together—“
“Shut up,” you scrunch up your eyebrows, as you clenched around him, his pace faltering as he shuddered, wisps of hair sticking to his forehead.
“D-don’t do that….”
You do it again.
He pinches your nipple.
“Ah, f-fuck you—“
“Already doing that,” he grunts, finger still moving against you, his other hand leaving your breast to lock fingers with your hand, which was lying limply next to you, “You’re close, so just let go and—“
“Marshall—“
“Come on, there you go—“ he coaxes you, enraptured by the increasingly fucked out expression on your face.
With an embarrassingly loud moan, you orgasm as he fucks you through it, before he finishes, shooting his load into you with a low moan and shudder.
You both pant, eyes locked as he pulls out, cum oozing out of you onto his sheets, before his head falls to slump between your breasts.
You stare at the ceiling as he nuzzles against your moist skin.
“We didn’t use a condom.”
“Oh, fuck—“
(Shoving your head and arms into a borrowed graphic shirt, you flinch when the coarse fabric rubs against your nipples. You whip around to glare at Marshall, “I told you that you were going to make them sore!”
“Just go shirtless, and boom, problem solved,” he replies, pulling up his boxers.
“Kill yourself.”
“Love you too, babe.”
“We’re seriously doing things out of order, aren’t we…”)
I already know no one is going to read this and the small number of radiant black fans on this site are going to block me, but IDCCC! I’m the first one to make radiant black x reader content!! ME! (Why do I do this to myself…)
Reader and Marshall about each other: they’re so weird, thank god I’m normal…
We will post Peter Parker smut, we will post Wally West smut, we will post Nathan Burnett fluff after it's all been simmering in the drafts for a solid week and it's gonna be great.
