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skeltnwrites · 2 months ago

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Break the Bed In— ⋆₊˚⌂

The first morning in your new home is slow and soft, spent tangled up in bed with Steve.

mdni 18+ fem/afab reader, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), switch!steve/reader, the fluffiest sweetest smut you'll ever read | 4k

a/n: this is dedicated to all my single ladies. happy valentine’s day you freaks! coincidentally i also moved houses yesterday so this feels extra fitting

── .✦

You wake well-rested; like every inch of you was unraveled and woven back together while you dreamt. Your wrist hangs off the side of the mattress, fingernails brushing the carpet. Your bed frame is a heap of wooden slats across the room, as is most of the furniture currently in your house.

Steve’s arm is warm under your neck, his breath a steady string behind you. You flip over, your ear landing in the crease of his elbow.

He’s softer in sleep. Cheek squished to his shoulder, lips pressed to a pout. He’s boyish in a lot of ways still, but growing less so the longer you know him. He’s got stubble and sun spots and smile lines. And you love each of those things, swearing he’s getting more and more handsome with them every day. Blame it on the lingering moving high but today the feeling triples.

There’s a unique kind of joy in buying your first home together. It’s perpetual surprise, popping up in the most mundane of moments. It’s picking taupe over eggshell for the living room and it’s paying extra for matching key designs and it’s waking up beside your favorite person on a mattress on the floor.

You stamp your lips into his skin in good morning, and again because it’s a satisfying warmth on your mouth. He smells sweet, like your new body wash since he couldn’t find his last night. You decide you like the scent on his skin better than yours.

The quiet is strange but the farthest thing from unwelcome. No neighbors or roommates or parents to wake to. Just the soft hush of rain against the roof and the swish of your ankles underneath the blankets.

Your fingers chase the hair from Steve’s eye socket, your thumb perching behind his ear. His pupils shift under his eyelids and he sighs the softest little sound you’ve ever heard.

It’s cruel to wake him, certainly. He did most of the heavy lifting yesterday and was up organizing later than you were. But you’re feeling especially selfish this morning, tickling him awake with a swarm of several more arm kisses.

There are worse things to wake up to, you reason with yourself as Steve hums, his fingers curling against the sheet. He’s quiet for a long beat and you decide maybe it's better to let him rest.

But his lips part and he rasps out, “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” you parrot. Your grin is immediate, spanning ear to ear with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

He smushes your face to his bare collar, the heel of his free hand climbing up his cheek.

You turn to watch his eyes unstick themselves of sleep and continue to wonder how you got so lucky. You press another kiss to his chin. Another to the coarse thatch of hair on his chest. Another to his shoulder. You just can’t help yourself today.

“It’s so quiet,” he murmurs, hand crawling under your shirt in a long splay up your spine.

You beam, weaving a leg under his heavy one. “I know.”

“We have a house.”

“I know.” You sound as excited as you can be without yelling.

He hums, the corners of his smile creeping wider, a hand steady on your back.

Your finger twists a curl at his nape idly. “What’re you thinking?”

Steve’s gaze flickers from the ceiling to you, eyes like old pennies under the clouds coloring your room a gloomy shade of gray. “Nothin’,” he whispers, lips skimming the corner crease of your eye. “Just happy.”

You hum, one part agreement, two parts delight. “Can we get a dog now?”

He huffs out a chuckle, vibrating the place where your chests kiss. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask.”

“‘Cause you always say no.”

“‘Cause it didn’t make sense before.”

“So, we can?”

He has a hard time pretending to hate the look you show him. Your jutted lip and raised brows show no mercy. He wants to say yes, of course he does, but he’s not as impulsive as he used to be. He’s a homeowner. His responsibilities extend beyond just himself now.

“Can we unpack the house first? Then we’ll talk about it.”

You flick his collarbone. “Excuses. Excuses.”

If there’s a fond way to roll your eyes at someone, he’s figured out how to do it. Steve knows you’re all drama. And he knows you’re over the moon with or without the promise of a dog.

You bend out of his embrace and regret sitting the second you’re up. Your back aches twice its weight, muscles sore with yesterday's labor.

But Steve relishes his view. You're in nothing but underwear and one of his shirts, the dip of your lower back exposed where the hem has scrunched up. He might buy you new pajamas if he thought you’d actually wear them or if he didn’t adore just how lovely his clothes look on you.

And he doesn’t give you a chance to ask, his fingers automatically massaging a path up your aching shoulder. You squirm but you love it. You kiss his hand in thank you and carry it around your waist to play with.

“Don’t get up,” he says. Pleads, practically.

You face him. “But we have sooo much to unpack.”

“It can wait,” he argues. He steals your entwined hands for a persuasive set of kisses. One to each knuckle and then a flurry up your arm. And his hands are an equally convincing force, coercing you right back onto his chest.

You’re putty, melting into his hot hands like candle wax. You throw a leg over his waist and settle down in a more comfortable straddle. The possibility of you falling back asleep jumps an alarming percentage.

You bolster your chin on his sternum and meet his eyes. “But I really want that dog.”

“More than me?”

You hum debatably into his puckered lips.

He smiles hard and forgets about kissing you, pinching your side until you yelp. Your giggles spill through twin smiles, overlapping each other in layers. “Might have to put the house back on the market if you keep being so mean to me," he says.

“I’ll be nicer if we go look at the shelter today.”

“Mm. Not letting this go are we?”

You shake your head.

He pecks the corner of your mouth. “We’ll go–”

You see the shift in his expression before he even says anything. Your eyebrows jump in excitement.

“If,” he tacks on quickly, “we finish downstairs today. Hmm?”

“Mhmm. Easy.”

“Easy,” he repeats. But not one lick of him believes you. It wasn’t easy carrying so many of your boxes yesterday and it certainly wasn’t easy getting you to pack everything up in the first place.

But ultimately he’s amused. And he thinks you’re especially pretty when you’re confident. So Steve kisses you like he has something to prove.

He gropes the swell of your ass mid-kiss and while it’s not unusual for him to do so playfully, you can’t perceive it in any way innocent when you’re pressed up against his morning wood.

“Steve,” you scold lightly.

He hums against your mouth, a faux sound of innocence. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You break apart with a wet smack. “Gotta unpack.”

“Have all day,” he says, words all smushed together so he can sew his lips right back to yours.

“Mm-mmm.” You turn your cheek, but the hands on your waist don’t let you go far. “‘S, like, ten-thirty already.”

He works a slow line past your jaw, spending extra time on the sensitive skin around your throat. Devious.

“Steve.”

“Hmm?”

You push off his chest until you're sitting upright on his thighs.

His heart tick tick ticks under the flat of your palm. His pupils are wide, mouth kiss-bruised a bright shade of red. He’s so, so dreamy, all flushed and starry-eyed like this. He’s got you wrapped around his finger just as much as you’ve strung him with yours.

You sigh. “Why do I let you win?”

He smirks that stupid victorious smirk you love so much. “‘Cause you love me.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Me?” he laughs.

“Mhmm. And a hypocrite.”

The hand clasping your hip pressures you back down, the other cradling one side of your jaw. “A hypocrite?” he whispers.

“Mhmm.”

He fills the tiny space between you, half-lidded and heavy-handed in a fervent kiss. He’s not rough but he is eager. Open-mouthed and persistent like he’s trying to weld his face to yours.

You meet him with the same intensity. It’s instinctual. The push-pull of your bodies, like you’re more one entity than two. You’ve been dating Steve long enough to know what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’ve made out more times than you can count. And he’s a simple man. You’ve got him hard, properly hard, in a matter of minutes.

His bottom lip is pinned between your teeth, your chests rising and falling in sync. You grind back on his crotch and his breath hitches.

“Ahh,” he pants. “Can I…”

You don’t know what he’s trying to ask but you nod anyway. It’s not hard to piece together, though; not when he’s fisting the fabric of your shirt like it’s causing him physical pain to see you wear it.

You help him hitch it up your back and down your arms to be tossed out of the way. Steve quickly stops you from lying back down. His large palms spread wide against your tummy, thumbs kneading either side of your belly button. He roves up your ribs attentively, studying how your skin pulls and dips beneath his fingers.

You swear you feel him down to the divots in his fingerprints, the slow speed of his hands tantalizing.

His thumbs pause at your breastbone, sweeping up and around your nipples as if he’s never played with them before. They perk up easily, to Steve's obvious enjoyment.

He’s told you a thousand times how pretty you are, naked and not. And he doesn’t have to say it now for you to know he’s thinking it.

He stares at your chest, your tummy, the soft stretch of your thighs, each like they’ve been carved from marble, destined to end up behind a glass at some museum he’s never been to.

You get shy eventually, needling past his hold to hide in the slope of his neck. Your mouth peppers lazy kisses where it can reach. Soft ones, not nearly as greedy as before. You work your way up, suckling long enough to leave a couple of red rings in your wake.

Steve's hips shift under yours as you arrive back at his mouth. He’s getting antsy, the finger fidgeting with the hem of your panties no longer satisfied. So maybe you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when he holds your hips down and bucks up into your clothed cunt.

Your jaw slackens, a broken moan dampened against his mouth.

“Can be loud ‘s you want now,” he assures. His hands roam, around your ass and back up your sides. Soothing, but so feather-light you shudder.

“Still have neighbors.”

He hums in half agreement. Yes, you have neighbors, but their bedroom wall isn’t attached to yours. He imagines you’d have to scream bloody murder for the neighbors to hear you here.

You slink back up to sit and Steve’s fingers fall to your hips. Your pelvis rolls into his. Again when he shudders.

“Shit,” he sighs.

“Feel good?”

His eyes disappear behind his lashes, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Mhmm.”

You continue to work him through his briefs, a slow back and forth forming a hot puddle between your own legs. With one hand propped against his sternum, you force your eyes over to the stacks upon stacks of moving boxes in the room.

“Condoms… condoms.”

Steve almost misses your mumbling– and to his credit, you’re talking more to yourself than him– but he blinks out of his daze and sighs vaguely at the nearest box. “Fuck. Bathroom, maybe.”

Not ideal.

“Think I have one in my purse,” you remember, swaying heavily to the side to scan the floor beside the mattress.

Steve’s hands fly to your waist to balance you as he huffs. “You mean your bottomless pit?”

“Don’t shame me. It comes in handy.” The bottomless pit in question is spotted, half buried under yesterday’s clothes across the room. “One sec’.”

Steve grumbles as you climb off of him. But his heart turns in his chest as you saunter off. His love for you is always there. It’s the shape of you as you crouch, how you tip your purse upside down and fan the contents out across the floor with a hum.

“Aha.” You pop up, waving a glossy, square packet as you skip your way back. “My trusty bottomless pit saves the day.”

You clamber back on top of him clumsily, planting yourself in his lap like he’s no more fragile than the kitchen barstool.

Steve groans under his breath. You’ve got him really wound up and his patience is thinning.

Your hips roll into his again, the curve of his cock a strong silhouette through two sticky layers of fabric. You scoot back on his thighs and palm him with modest pressure.

“Babe,” he shudders, thumbs pawing the sides of your underwear again. “Please.”

“So impatient,” you tease.

You watch him intently. How his nostrils flare the second you break the seal between his hot skin and the band of his underwear. How his eyebrows crinkle together as you push the cotton down his thighs.

His cock bobs free before you take it gently by the base. Steve’s not just a pretty face, and he’s not cocky for no reason. He’s well-endowed, a dusty shade of pink blended tan into the dark curls at his hilt.

“Fuck, baby.”

He shifts his gaze past you because he’s certain if you make eye contact with him this’ll be the shortest sex of his life. And even the half-blurry blob of you in his peripherals is still too fucking enticing. He forces his eyes up at the popcorn ceiling and traces the shapes in his mind.

You spread the pearl of precum down a vein on the side of his cock, using the slip to tug him a handful of times. The slick dissolves, and your hand catches twice before you’re getting ready to spit in it.

But Steve whines, “Need to feel you.”

Your hand stops but the pad of your pinky trails a sneaky line from tip to base. “My hands not enough for you, Stevie?”

“Not gonna– mm– last.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

You mean it rhetorically but he quickly shakes his head no. You forget how much you enjoy being in charge until you have Steve squirming under you.

You stabilize yourself on his chest, hiking one leg up at a time until you’re underwear have been flung to the floor. The slick between your folds is more palpable as you sit back on his thighs, hot skin to hot skin.

His eyelids flutter closed as you roll the condom on. He’s flushed up to his ears, breath nimble off his open mouth.

“Ready?”

He nods like you’ve asked something outrageously silly.

You guide the head of his cock up to your folds, sinking down in one tedious stride. It’s a good kind of ache, scratching the deepest part of your tummy.

His hips jerk involuntarily as you release your full weight onto them, his nails leaving crescents on your skin. “‘M not gonna last,” he warns again.

“I’ll go slow.”

It’s not much consolation. No matter what you do to him, he’s not gonna last. You’re too damn irresistible for your own good.

You rock your hips forward and back in a continuous cycle. The pace is indulgent, just slow enough to make things last. Your eyes unfocus, your head tipping back. Every drag squeezes the coil in your stomach tighter.

Steve’s eyes flick to yours, his voice wavering as he mumbles, “Tease me too much.”

“I do?”

“Mhmm.”

You smile softly at him and his eyes jump away. He’s drawing loopy patterns into the meat of your thigh to distract himself. And it doesn’t help when you cover his hand and sweep your thumb across every digit. He’s so focused on not blowing his load that he can’t even speak.

You pause your rhythm and hum to yourself before continuing. “Know what I just realized.”

“Hmm?”

“Forgot the shower curtain.”

Steve exhales hard, words sticking to his teeth.“We’ll get a new one.”

“I really liked that one.”

He can’t think straight long enough to tell if you’re purposely trying to distract him or not and he doesn’t care all that much either way. He just needs you to be the same level of fucked that he is.

His hand trembles over to your pubic bone, thumb snaking right up to your clit.

You nod as he presses. Right there.

He rubs slow circles, a spark of pleasure each time he closes a loop.

“Fuck,” you drawl simultaneously.

You laugh, blissfully unaware as your muscles clamp around his cock.

But Steve’s fingers pause on your clit, his other hand tense at your hip. “Don’t,” he shudders out.

You close your mouth, a soft little apology grin that sends Steve’s stomach flipping. He’s so fucking in love it’s not even funny.

“Sit on my face.”

You hum, so high on cloud nine you’re sure you’ve misheard him.

“Let me taste you.”

Your breath stutters. He’s serious.

“Come here,” he’s pushing you up and off him before you have much of a chance to process it. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your cheeks burn a hot shade of embarrassment, your tongue suddenly too heavy in your mouth. You wriggle up his body, guided by the relentless hands on the backs of your thighs. Steve’s eaten you out, but not like this.

“Steve,” you manage.

“What?” He knows you better than he’s known anyone in his life. He feels your shaking and he hears the rampant doubts coursing your mind. “I want to,” he promises, pressing a long, love-packed kiss to the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

You’re unconvinced. You’re certain you’ll break his face the second you sit down. You’ll be so mortified you’ll have to break up with him if he doesn’t first. You’ll have to sell the house before you’ve even unpacked–

“Please?”

He’s not trying to be pushy or even funny as he bats his eyes. He just so genuinely craves to see you unravel in the same way you’ve spun him around. And yeah, he has a sweet set of brown eyes. Sue him. He loves you too much to look at you with any less adoration.

You nod emphatically.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been this nervous about sex with Steve, but you’ve learned just about everything there is to know about him since. You trust him in every capacity, especially in bed.

He nips his way up your thigh, pulling you lower and lower until his breath is hot on your cunt. Steve licks a wide stripe up to your clit, sucking before swirling his tongue around the sensitive hood. And then his mouth starts lapping you like you’re his last meal.

Your fist jerks, fingers knotted through the hair on his scalp, and he moans. You don’t hear it over the wet smacking as much as you feel it, the vibrations sending pleasure through you like a pulse.

His tongue drives you to a mess. He’d push you completely over the edge if you didn’t stop him.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, pushing up onto your knees. “We’re even.”

He smirks and strokes down the backs of your calves. “Are we competing?”

“You seem to think so.”

He shimmies to a sit with an arm around your waist and bestows you with a fleeting kiss, lips washed with the taste of your juices. “Lay down.”

How the fuck could you say no to such a pretty face?

You scooch down, face up on the sheets. Steve parts you by the ankles and crawls up your body, planting kisses like seeds. His teeth graze the inside of your wrist before he stretches it up and flat against the mattress above your head.

Your fingers thread through his, his other hand steadying his cock at your entrance. He swipes the head up and down your wet folds before sliding in with a groan. There’s less resistance this time, a fluid in and out to his hips.

His thrusts are languid. He indulges more closely in the taste of your mouth and the balmy feel of your waist.

The winding in your tummy resumes, your fingers naturally finding your clit while Steve rocks into you. A heavier thrust and your lips detach, Steve’s rehoming to the skin beneath your jaw. He picks up his pace, puffing and panting into your neck in short bursts.

Your legs wrap around his, the heel of your foot digging into his lower back. “Mm– Steve.”

“Yeah?” he huffs.

“Mhmm.”

If the sounds you’re making are anything to go by, Steve thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. And you know he’s just as close to cumming. You know his little sounds and twisty little expressions like the back of your hand. How his stomach tenses and his breath catches.

You burn the entirety of this to your brain, rubbing yourself faster, more in time with his movements.

“‘M close,” he says, desperate and hopeful that you are too.

You nod, focused on the high climbing higher each second.

His hips stutter when you clench around him. The coil releases and you come undone simultaneously.

“Fuck, ah– fuck,” he whines, sharp but breathy in your ear.

Your fingers slow and his thrusts wane and the pleasure softens. Steve wobbles down onto you as gently as he can, taking your interlaced hand between your bodies. Your hearts kiss with each rise and fall of your chests. Steve mouths over the most accessible bit of skin under your ear, thumb sweeping the gentlest curves around your face.

You exhale into his crown, raking a hand through the dark mop of curls damp at his nape. Your other eases down his back, savoring the contraction of his muscles as he breathes. You travel down the curve of his ass and give him a firm squeeze. “How’s your ass? Still sore?”

He huffs at you, nose crushed to your neck. “I fall down one flight of stairs and I never hear the end of it.”

“I told you to be careful.”

“I was being– whatever.” His thumb continues to caress your jaw, his lips idle on your neck.

This is Steve’s favorite part of sex. To hold and to be held, easing off a high that’s miles better than a good smoke. There’s nothing greater.

“Should I check for bruises?”

“If you kiss ‘em better.”

Your chest aches with the sweet swell of laughter. Steve’s your person. You realize it time and time again.

He peels himself off like you're double-sided tape. His hair’s still crazy despite your finger-combing and his eyes are just as heavy as they were when he woke up. He slides out of you with a hiss, sitting back to knot the condom and toss it toward a pile of bubble wrap.

He looks back at you fondly. “Shower?”

You shake your head. “Just lay with me.”

“Downstairs isn’t gonna unpack itself, you know.”

“Shut up.” You palm his chest until he lays and you throw an arm across his middle. “This was your evil plan all along.”

He chuckles, taking your hand to massage between both of his. “I’m just the worst aren’t I?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #skeltnwrites

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sunarryn · 22 days ago

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DP X Marvel #17

One week. One fucking week. That’s how long it took before the universe’s reality collapsed in on itself like a toddler knocking over a block tower made of cosmic rules, and Danny Fenton—sorry, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, Keeper of Balance, Ghost King of All Dimensions, Supreme Bureaucratic Overlord of Death and Souls, or whatever other bullshit title Clockwork slapped on him—was done. He was so done. With everything. With life. With afterlife. With bureaucracy. With math. Goddamn, he hated math.

He phased through the ceiling of what was left of the Avengers compound without so much as a knock because, frankly, he didn’t care anymore. People were dead. Everyone was dead. Half a fucking universe. And universes are fucking infinite. Literally. He’d been counting. Or trying to. But the math broke somewhere around “nine trillion decillion” and his brain short-circuited.

Inside, the Avengers were scattered around like bad leftovers. Steve was slouched in a chair like someone told him America lost the war. Thor was cradling a bottle like it was the last warmth in the world. Natasha looked like she hadn’t blinked in hours. Banner was trying to fix a coffee machine that had already given up on life. Tony—oh, Tony—Tony looked like he’d been held together with duct tape and sarcasm, and not the good kind.

“Yo,” Danny said, arms folded, crown floating behind him, cape swishing dramatically like it had beef with gravity. “Which one of you assholes thought wiping out half an entire goddamn universe was a great idea?”

They blinked. Steve slowly got to his feet. “Uh… who—?”

“No. Shut up. Don’t talk. I’m not in the mood. I haven’t slept in a week. Time doesn’t even exist in the Infinite Realms, and I somehow managed to be late to ten meetings that haven’t happened yet. Do you know what kind of eldritch administrative nightmare I’m dealing with? Do you?”

Tony blinked. “Not really, no.”

Danny whipped around to face him, pointing a glowing finger. “I don’t care, Stark. I don’t care that your kid sidekick is dead. I don’t care that half your team is sad. I don’t care that your billionaire ass is depressed and growing a sad beard like you’re auditioning for ‘Survivor: Superhero Edition’. I have literal oceans of paperwork made out of the screams of the damned piling up in my inbox because some purple California Raisin thought committing universal homicide was a vibe.”

“Hold on,” Natasha said, standing now, brows furrowed. “Who even are you?”

“I’m the janitor,” Danny deadpanned. “Of death. And you—you are all on my shit list.”

Steve opened his mouth.

“NO. I said no talking. Do you know how many souls half a universe is? Do you? BECAUSE I DON’T. THAT NUMBER DOESN’T EXIST. That’s not even math anymore, that’s heresy. There are species no one even knows about! I had to learn seven extinct galactic dialects in five minutes just to sign their death certificates!”

“Wait—wait,” Bruce said, cautiously stepping in like someone trying to defuse a bomb made of feelings. “You’re… the King of the Afterlife?”

“Infinite Realms,” Danny corrected. “Afterlife implies one dimension. I’ve got infinite. One of them is just an endless IKEA. You think you’re in hell? Try getting lost in that one for eternity.”

Tony blinked. “That explains the floating crown.”

“Oh, you noticed?” Danny snapped, sarcasm thick. “Yeah, the crown’s real subtle. You know what else I’m wearing? These.”

He held up his fingers. On them gleamed the actual Infinity Stones. Not the ones Thanos used. No, these were the OG versions—before the universe dumbed them down for mortal brains.

“I’m wearing multiversal cosmic artifacts as fucking accessories, Stark. I clapped death back into submission on my way here. I threatened Time itself with a lawsuit. I am so tired.”

Everyone was staring now. Thor slowly lowered his bottle.

“I have one question,” Thor said, eyes narrowing. “Can you bring them back?”

Danny didn’t respond immediately. He paced, muttering under his breath about soul processing queues and spectral overflow reports and ghost union strikes.

Then he turned, threw up his hands, and shouted, “Fine! Fine! But only because if I see one more Ectoplasmic Reconciliation Form I’m going to scream my own name and rip reality in half!”

Tony raised a cautious hand. “Just to clarify… you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Danny glared at him. “I am doing this because your collective idiocy has backed up the Infinite Realms so badly, I have ancient god-beasts getting angry Yelp reviews for not guiding souls fast enough.”

Bruce choked. “You get… Yelp reviews?”

“Do not ask. Do not google ‘Spiritual Bureaucracy Yelp.’ You’re not ready. It’s worse than you can even imagine.”

He clapped his hands. The power reverberated like a sonic boom made of lightning and bass drops. Light cracked through the floor, time folded, and space rewrote itself. In an instant, everything was back. People. Planets. Souls. Loved ones. Unsnapped. Safely. No one reappeared in traffic or mid-air. They were all fine.

Everyone stared.

Tony gasped. “…Peter?”

Somewhere in the compound, Peter Parker screamed, “MR. STARK I THINK I DIED?!”

Danny muttered, “Yeah, well, get in line, kid.”

Tony looked like he might cry. Steve looked like he might cry. Even Thor blinked back tears.

Danny didn’t give them a second to bask.

“Listen to me and listen hard, because I am only going to say this once. The next time you idiots let some glorified space grape get his hands on cosmic power and kill half the universe, I’m not bringing anyone back.”

Natasha stepped forward. “Wait—what—?”

“I said,” Danny growled, eyes glowing green and crown sparking violently, “the next time this happens, I am going to let the universe rot. I don’t care if it’s your kid, or your moms, or your emotional support dog. You will live with it. You will suffer. Because I’m not spending another week cleaning up your mess like the goddamn galactic janitor!”

Tony muttered, “Kinda thought you said you were the janitor.”

“I will kick your kneecaps off.”

Tony shut up.

Danny took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going home. Do not call me again unless the universe is actually ending. And even then, it better be certified by at least three gods and signed in triplicate.”

He started floating upward, preparing to phase out, when Steve blurted, “Wait, thank you. Really.”

Danny paused mid-air, sighed, and turned around. “You’re welcome. I guess. But seriously. If another genocidal space maniac so much as coughs on the timeline, I’m filing a restraining order on this entire dimension. Bye.”

And with that, he vanished in a swirl of ectoplasmic smoke, leaving the Avengers staring at each other in the awkward silence that followed a divine ass-whooping.

Thor finally muttered, “I liked him.”

Tony sat down, blinked a few times, then said, “He just wore the Infinity Stones as rings. Like mood jewelry.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “He’s not paid enough.”

“Was he even paid at all?” Steve asked.

And somewhere in the realms between life and death, Danny Phantom screamed into his pillow made of souls: “I AM NOT GETTING PAID FOR THIS BULLSHIT!!!”

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x marvel #danny phantom fanfiction #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fandom #crossover #danny phantom fandom #mcu fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic #infinite realms #ghost king danny #ghost king phantom #infinity stones #the infinity saga

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