#MCU fic

[thinkinonsense]

Sweet Temptations.

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: fingering, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, inexperienced reader, darkish!logan

a/n: hi! sorry i've been gone so long! i have plenty of stuff in the works but for now here's this. i'm working on making a mini-series of dark!logan x inexperienced!reader so i hope everyone enjoys! <3

to think, logan almost went out to the bar tonight. almost left to find a one night stand or come home and fuck his hand. tonight could've had so many different outcomes but luckily, he ended up with the best one.

there's a light knock on his bedroom door. he knew it had to have been you since everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away for the night. logan obviously wasn't interested in going and you were busy working on an experiment in the laboratory.

in all reality, logan just wanted an excuse to stay here alone with you overnight. ever since he joined the x-men and met you down in the lab in that cute white coat and pretty smile, he's had a crush on you.

"hi, logan." you smile softly when he opens his door.

"hey, dollface. you need something?" he asks, leaning against his door frame and eyeing that short little nightgown of yours.

"can we talk?"

"sure."

the two of you walk into logan's room and sit on the end of his bed. you sit up on your knees, facing him. he can tell that something is on your mind but you're unsure on if you should confide in him or not.

"is everything alright?" he asks, growing concerned.

you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

"whatcha wanna talk about then, sweets?"

logan's large hand rubs your knee softly, almost coaxing the words out of you.

"would you do me a big favor?" you ask, avoiding his hazel gaze.

"of course."

there's slight hesitation. you were afraid of logan's reaction to your request. after a deep breath, you remind yourself that it's just logan. the same logan who trains with you every morning, the same logan who plays with your hair when he's board, the same logan who praises you for all your hard work in the laboratory. there was nothing to be afraid of.

"c-can you take my virginity?"

the question almost killed logan. he though he had died and gone to heaven. you finally look at him with a twinkle in your eyes and he feels the need to adjust the tent growing in his pants.

"where'd this idea come from, sweetheart?"

"well, i was seeing a guy a while ago who acted really weird when i told him i was still a virgin then when i told storm and jean, they told me that if i'm ready to do it, than it should be with someone i trust." you explain so innocently to him. "i just figured since you've always been so gentle with me and i trust you so, i was kinda hoping you wouldn't mind."

never in his wildest dreams could logan have imagined this happening. you sitting pretty on his bed, practically begging him to take your virginity. god, logan couldn't even remember the last time he was with a virgin. must've been decades ago.

"that's real sweet, dollface. 'f course i'll do it." he says, watching your smile grow with excitement. "first i need to know what you've already done."

"i've kissed while sitting in someone's lap, given a hickey twice... maybe three times? some nights i'll rub myself against one of my pillows."

even though he knew the answer, he had to ask,"ever fingered yourself?"

"no." you shake your head, almost making logan moan at just the thought of being the first person to do that to you.

"want to try it?"

"s-sure but i thought we were gonna–"

"we will." logan assures. "need to get you loosened up first if you want me to fit inside of you."

a small gasp exists your lips, making him chuckle. logan leans, testing the waters to see how you kiss. he's a bit shocked by how you pull him closer to deepen it. you moan into his mouth while your hands roam his hair. he sits you in his lap and lets you grind yourself on top of him, showing him what you know.

"let's see if you're nice and wet for me." logan hums, lifting up your nightgown and feeling the wet spot over your underwear. "very good, dollface."

without thinking, you let out a tiny moan next to his ear because of his praise. he can't help but pull your head from its hiding spot in his neck to look at you.

"you like when i tell you how good you're being for me?" he ask, watching your face contort as your hips keep moving. one of his hands rests on your waist, stopping you from moving. "c'mon, you can tell me."

"mhm..." you nod. "love when you praise me."

suddenly, your back is pressed flat against his sheets as he kisses all down your body. leaving little marks here and there until he reaches the waist band of your pretty pink underwear.

"did you wear these just for me, princess?" he asks, placing a kiss right over the cotton covering your button.

"y-you said i looked p-pretty in pink."

as the words stumble out of your mouth, logan feels a warmth spread across his heart. a couple months ago, you were wearing a new pink dress and as logan passed you by, he mentioned how pretty you looked in the color. it meant a lot to you.

"you still do." he says. "can i take these off of you, baby?"

you nod, lifting your hips a little to help him. logan tosses the pink cotton somewhere behind him. lifting up the nightgown to your tummy, eyes glued to the spot in between your legs.

"didn't think you could get any prettier." logan mumbles to himself.

his intense gaze made you feel a bit vulnerable, trying to close your legs but his large hands stop you.

"don't hide from me, princess." he says, capturing your attention. " 'm gonna make you feel good."

logan carefully drags his thumb through your slit, collecting the arousal and circling it around your button. the feather like touch sends your head back and whimpers to fall from your lips. gently, logan pushes his middle finger past your velvet walls, groaning once you clench around him.

"atta girl, princess." he smirks watching you swallow up his finger. "takin' it so good."

logan watches in awe as your head fall back and the arch in your back. slowly he inches his face closer and licks a thick stripe up your fold before sucking softly on your button. you feel logan muffle 'fuck' against you, only resulting in more arousal to spill out of you.

"o-oh, logan." you moan, hips chasing his tongue feverishly.

since this was your first time, logan went easy on you, not making you work for your orgasm. he feels your cunt clench down on his one finger as it hits deep inside of you until you are seeing stars. with logan's other free hand, he paws at your tit and rolls it in his palm.

"need m-more!" you whimper with glossy eyes and lips. "p-please, lo."

in an attempt to give you what you want, logan struggles to hit another finger inside of you. he wasn't sure what he did to deserve this type of heaven but god, was he thankful for it.

"i can't, sweetheart." he groans, kissing your hip bone as he speeds up the finger inside of you. "you're too tight for two of my fingers. there's no way i'll be able to fit inside of you tonight."

before you could whine in protest, this indescribable wave of euphoria washes over you. smooth silky legs wrap tightly around logan's head. thighs covers his ears, blocking out the sweet sounds you were making. logan goes back to sloppily making out with your cunt until you weakly pull him off and drag him up to your lips, tasting your own release on his tongue.

"thanks, lo." you smile in a daze at him.

"anytime." he says. "i think you'll need another lesson soon though if you want to take all of me. do you want that, princess?"

he could feel your heart rate increase eagerly. you blush intensely and avoid his gaze as you nod.

"alright." he chuckles darkly. "but first, you gotta show me how you get off on your pillow."

[darealsaltysam]

hey tumblr. you should read my xmen fic. the second chapter just came out. this image tells you all you need to know about the plot. thanks <3

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 5

SUMMARY: Bucky struggles with the fear of hurting the reader due to his traumatic past, hesitating to take their growing relationship to the next level. Despite his hesitations, the reader fully trusts him, encouraging him to embrace their connection and take their relationship further. One evening, in a moment of vulnerability and passion, Bucky finally allows himself to cross the line he's been so afraid of, realizing he's more in control than he thought.

PROMPT: "Touch me like you mean it."

KINK: Choking

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

The evening was quiet, the low hum of the city outside filling the room as you sat straddling Bucky’s lap. His arms were wrapped loosely around your waist, and for a moment, you were content just to be close to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It had been months since you’d started dating, and while things were progressing, there was still an invisible line between you–a line he seemed too afraid to cross.

You knew why. He had explained it before, the hesitance in his eyes when you brought up moving your relationship to a more physical level. Bucky’s past haunted him, and even though you reassured him time and again that you trusted him, the fear of hurting you—of losing control—kept him at a distance. 

But tonight, something felt different. The air between you was heavier, charged with something more than the comfortable silence you’d grown used to.

You leaned forward, brushing your lips softly against his, testing the waters. Bucky’s hand moved up to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. 

It was slow at first, careful. But then you felt the shift, the way his grip tightened just slightly, the way his lips moved more hungrily against yours. Your heart raced, a mixture of anticipation and desire flooding your senses.

His left arm rested against your hip, the coolness of the vibranium contrasting with the warmth of his other hand, which slid gently down your side to rest on your thigh. His touch was feather-light, tentative as if he was still holding back.

"Bucky," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely a whisper. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest as you searched his face for any sign of doubt. "You don’t have to be so careful with me. I trust you."

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, his jaw clenching slightly as he struggled with his fears. 

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice low, almost pained. "You don’t understand what I’m capable of. What I’ve done."

"I do understand," you replied softly, cupping his face in your hands. "I know you. I trust you. You won’t hurt me."

For a moment, he was silent, his blue eyes searching yours as if looking for the reassurance he needed. 

Then, something shifted. His expression softened, and he exhaled slowly, nodding almost imperceptibly. He reached for you again, this time with a little more confidence, his hand slipping under your shirt as his lips found yours once more.

The kiss grew more intense, his touch more certain. His fingers brushed over your skin, sending shivers down your spine, and you responded by pressing yourself closer to him, urging him on. 

“Touch me,” you whispered, your breath catching as you kissed him again, your lips barely leaving his as you spoke. “Touch me like you mean it.”

Something in him snapped at your words. His grip tightened around your waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, rising to his feet as he carried you toward the bed. 

The world around you blurred as he moved, your hands clinging to his shoulders as he lowered you gently onto the mattress. His body hovered over yours for a moment, his gaze dark and intense as he watched you.

"Buck," you breathed, reaching up to pull him down to you. “Touch me.”

His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing every curve as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arched beneath him, your body reacting instinctively to his touch, craving more. Every kiss, every caress sent a surge of heat through you, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you closer, and you gasped as his lips traveled lower, trailing kisses down your collarbone. 

"Is this okay?" he asked between kisses, his voice low and rough, but there was a tenderness in his tone, a quiet need for reassurance.

"It’s more than okay," you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair as you pulled him back up for another kiss.

As Bucky hovered over you, his lips lingering against yours, you could feel a shift in his energy. The hesitation that had once held him back was melting away, replaced by a quiet confidence that sent a thrill through you. 

His hands, which had been tentative just a few minutes before, now moved with purpose as they slid beneath the fabric of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine.

You let out a soft gasp as his lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, pressing firm, heated kisses to the sensitive skin just below your jawline. You could feel his breath against your collarbone again as his hand continued to roam, slowly pushing your shirt up. 

There was a pause, and Bucky pulled back just slightly, his eyes locking with yours as if silently asking for permission. “C-can I-”

Without hesitation, you nodded, your heart racing as you whispered, "Take me. I want to be yours in every way."

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one smooth motion, he gently pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side before his hands returned to your body, exploring every inch with a newfound confidence. His vibranium arm, which he was usually so careful with around you, now moved with the same intensity as his flesh hand, gripping your waist as his lips followed the path of his fingers, trailing hot kisses down your chest.

Your breath hitched as his mouth found the edge of your bra, and you arched your back slightly, your body responding to every touch, every kiss. He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. 

Slowly, almost teasingly, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra, his hands steady as he pulled the fabric away, exposing more of you to him.

Bucky let out a low groan as his gaze roamed over your body, his fingers tracing along your skin before he leaned down, his mouth replacing his hands as he kissed and caressed you, his lips igniting a fire deep within you. You could feel his confidence growing with each passing second; his touches were no longer careful but full of the passion you had been craving for so long.

Your hands found their way to his chest, tugging at the fabric of his shirt as you whispered breathlessly, "Take this off."

He didn’t hesitate. With a quick motion, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the defined lines of his muscles. You couldn’t help but run your hands over his skin, marveling at the strength beneath your fingertips as he leaned back down, his lips finding yours in a heated, breathless kiss.

You could feel the tension building between you, the heat rising as his hands gripped your hips, tugging at the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes, silently asking if you were ready to take things further. You nodded eagerly, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Slowly, he peeled your pants away, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body as he removed the last barrier between you. You could feel his breath against your skin as he took in the sight of you, his hands sliding along your thighs, up to your waist, before pulling you closer to him.

Your body pressed against his as you kissed him again, more desperately this time, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. You had waited so long for this—for him—and now that the moment had finally arrived, it felt even more intense than you had imagined.

Bucky's hands moved over your body, his touch no longer tentative but filled with passion and need. As his lips left a trail of heated kisses down your neck, you could feel the tension between you both rising, the room charged with the electricity of the moment.

Your breath quickened as his hand rested on your hip, his grip firm but controlled. There was a hunger in the way he touched you, but you could still sense the care behind every movement. You wanted more—needed more—and you trusted him completely.

You reached up, gently guiding his hand away from your hip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you moved it toward your throat. 

Bucky froze for a moment, his breath catching as his hand hovered just over your skin. His eyes met yours, wide with a mixture of surprise and hesitation. He knew immediately what you were asking for.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through his gaze. "Are you sure?" His voice was low, rough with desire but tinged with the same worry that always lingered when things between you started to go deeper.

You nodded slowly, your eyes never leaving his. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "I want this."

Bucky hesitated, his fingers hovering near your throat, his mind racing. You could feel the tension in his body, the internal battle he fought whenever he got too close to losing control. He was terrified of hurting you, of crossing a line he couldn’t come back from. But you knew better—you knew he had more control than he gave himself credit for.

His hand shook slightly as he brought it closer to your throat, his fingers warm against your heated skin. You gave him a reassuring nod, gently squeezing his wrist to let him know it was okay. His grip tightened, but only slightly, still tentative as if testing himself, testing his ability to stay in control.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his words tugging at your heart.

You smiled softly, your voice steady as you reassured him. "I will."

With that, he pressed his palm against your throat, the pressure light but enough to send a surge of excitement through your body. His thumb brushed along your jawline as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. The combination of his strong hand on your throat and his mouth on yours was intoxicating, and you moaned softly into the kiss, encouraging him further.

Slowly, his confidence began to grow. His grip tightened just a little more, his touch still careful but now more deliberate, as if he was finally starting to trust himself with you. The hesitation that had once held him back began to fade, and you could feel the shift in him as he leaned into the moment, fully embracing the desire that had been building between you.

You arched beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his other hand roamed your body, his lips trailing down your neck to your chest. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a deeper intensity now as if he was finally allowing himself to let go of the fear and truly give in to the moment.

Your breath hitched as he continued, his hand still at your throat, applying just enough pressure to heighten the sensations coursing through your body. You felt completely safe in his hands, trusting him with everything as you gave yourself over to him fully.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours once more, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. But all he saw was the trust and desire reflected back at him. That was all he needed.

With renewed confidence, Bucky’s lips found yours again, his hand releasing your throat as he moved lower, his touch growing bolder with every passing second. His hands explored your body, no longer hesitant, and you could feel the shift as he finally allowed himself to take what he had been holding back for so long.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as the last of his hesitation melted away, and for the first time, you felt him fully give in to his desires. 

His lips never left yours as he shifted, positioning himself over you, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

He paused again, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing grew heavy. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough and low, filled with both desire and concern.

You cupped his face in your hands, looking into his eyes as you whispered, "I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything."

With that, Bucky kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands gripping your hips as he finally let himself take what he had been holding back for so long.

[the-lying-heavens]

"I Read About You in History Books"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Part Two here [Outside of History Books]

Masterlist

Summary: You've always been fascinated by history, especially by the untold stories of people forgotten in the shadow of legends. Bucky Barnes is one of those people.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Fluff with a dash of angst, not proofread

Word Count: 1.6k words

You knew The Winter Soldier. Who didn't? Everyone knew the tales of the most feared assassin in the world. How he appears and disappears like a ghost. How he struck his victims with deadly accuracy and no one could catch him. The man behind the mask intrigued you more, though. It was almost laughable, but to you, The Winter Soldier was older news than James 'Bucky' Barnes.

Meeting Steve Rogers was incredible. It took every professional bone in your body not to jump up and down in excitement. I mean it was the Captain America. How were you not meant to be excited?

You didn't expect to become his friend, to watch his back and have him watch yours. You had been in so many fights besides him and, of course, asked him every question you could think of about his life, the war and especially Bucky Barnes.

Why do you want to know so much about him? He had asked once.

Only the Gods knew the answer.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky Barnes, more than what was in the history books. There was never much about him in anything, always being overshadowed by Steve or the other Howling Commandos. You'd read every account, watched every documentary, pieced together the fragments of his life as if they were a puzzle begging to be solved.

You never expected to meet him. Never expected him to be more than a name in a book or a picture in a documentary. You thought that meeting Steve was miracle enough.

You were quite wrong.

~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

Bucky frowns. "In a stairwell?"

"Well, I usually come here to get some quiet, so yeah, in a stairwell."

Bucky's posture is stiff as he leans back against the cold concrete wall, his arms crossed over his chest. You stand a few steps below him, one hand resting on the metal railing, your head tilted to the side as you study him.

“Quiet, huh?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, still hesitant to engage.

“Yep,” you reply, popping the 'p' with a small grin. “It's one of the few places in this whole compound where no one’s either training, running missions, or asking me a million questions.”

He’s guarded, that much is clear, but there’s something else too. Something underneath the surface, a complexity you’ve always suspected is buried deep within James Buchanan Barnes. You aren’t just interested in The Winter Soldier. You want to know the man beneath that, the person history has barely bothered to document.

“So, what brings you up here?” you ask casually if your presence is the most natural thing in the world.

Bucky glances away for a moment, his jaw clenching. His eyes are distant, but not in the way that screams of danger. More like he’s... lost. "Just needed some space," he finally says.

"I understand that." You slide down onto one of the steps, resting your arms on your knees, looking up at him. "It gets overwhelming, doesn’t it? Always being around people, no room to just... think."

Bucky nods in agreement, his eyes flickering to you.

You decide to take a chance. "I swear this isn’t some weird interrogation or anything, but... I've read about you, in History books. Well, about the Howling Commandos. About you and Steve during the war."

His expression tightens, the walls going higher up than before. "You don't know me—"

"I know," you say quickly, cutting him off. "I know that what’s in those books isn’t the whole story. That’s why I want to know more."

"More?" His gaze sharpens, almost suspicious. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don’t know. Maybe because history’s never the full picture. It’s just pieces, bits of what people decide to write down. I’ve always thought there had to be more to you than just 'Steve’s best friend' or 'The Winter Soldier.' And..." you press your lips together, hesitating, but continue, “...I guess I just want to know who you really are.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, the tension between you thickening with each passing second. His blue eyes are scrutinizing you, searching for something—maybe sincerity, maybe an ulterior motive. You aren’t sure.

"You think you can figure me out?" he finally says, his tone biting, though not as cold as before.

You shake your head. "No... But I think you deserve to be known. Not just as a name in a book or a legend in a file. As, well, you."

His brow furrows, and for the first time since the conversation started, he looks truly unsettled. "What if I don't even know who that is anymore?"

The pain in his voice catches you off guard. For a moment, the Winter Soldier—the assassin, the ghost—seems to fall away, leaving only a man haunted by the weight of his past. And it breaks your heart a little.

"Then maybe I can help you figure it out," you say softly.

Bucky exhales, a sound heavy with the burden of decades he hasn’t asked to carry. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any promises, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he slowly lowers himself to sit a few steps above you, the silence between you shifting into something more comfortable.

"Can I be completely honest?" you ask.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I don't come here for quiet. I lock myself in my room for that. I totally stalked you in here."

Bucky scoffs. "You're probably the nicest stalker I've encountered."

You look up at him, grinning. "Thank you!"

He raises an eyebrow at you but you swear you see a small smile grace his lips.

Maybe this is the beginning of something. Maybe not. Either way, you aren’t about to let him disappear like a ghost again.

Not if you have anything to say about it.

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[happy74827]

Let Me In

[Steve Rogers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Steve is persistent in a lot of things. But when he catches fear in your eyes, he wants nothing more than to help you heal.

WC: 2230

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Implications of SA}

The “who did this to you” trope has my whole heart.

『••✎••』

Seeing the pain in Steve’s eyes was more than enough to make your own heartache. The confusion on his face turned into a deep-set frown as his hands hovered over your body, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that if he touched you, the rest of you would crumble to the ground.

The silence between you was deafening, yet Steve said nothing. He just stared at you. You felt his gaze move from the top of your head and down the length of your body. His jaw clenched tightly when your expression faltered, and you tried your hardest not to show the pain you were feeling.

He wasn’t even reaching toward you in the first place; he was reaching for the water that was sitting by his punching bag, but the damage was done the second his hand came into your view.

Out of all the things that could’ve happened, flinching from Steve… of all people was the worst thing possible. The look of hurt on his face was enough to make your own heart drop to your stomach.

You knew he would never hurt you; he would never cause you pain. It was Steve, for goodness sake; he was a big teddy bear who wouldn't cause harm unless absolutely necessary. He had the biggest heart you'd ever seen. And yet, here you were, cowering away from him.

When his hand came into your peripheral, you jumped back, almost tripping over yourself as you stared up at him. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

It was so loud. So, so loud.

Steve, ever the hero, immediately pulled back. The water was forgotten and all of his focus was on you now. He even tried to reach out to you again, but seeing the flinch on your face was enough to stop him in his tracks.

He didn’t know what to do.

Steve was the guy who knew exactly what to do in every situation. He was Captain America.

Captain America.

But seeing you cower away from him made him feel helpless.

His hands were still hovering, his brow was still furrowed, and his lips were set in a firm line. He wanted to touch you, to hold you, but he was so scared that you would push him away and run.

It broke his heart.

The last time he saw you, you were happy and laughing and smiling. But now, it was like someone had taken all the happiness from your face. The smile was gone. Your laughter was gone. The light was gone. And Steve hated it.

He hated it with every fiber of his being.

He was the first to speak. A small whisper. A whisper that would've been missed if you weren't hanging onto every single one of his movements.

"What happened?"

He took a small step forward and watched as you tensed up, your fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. You swallowed thickly and shook your head.

He deserved the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

You didn’t want to tell him. Not after you had flinched away from him.

"I’m fine, Steve."

He gave a low hum and looked you over, trying to gauge the situation and find the best way to approach this. He needed to get you talking, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice.

"You don't look fine."

The way his voice came out, it was like a breath. His words were soft and comforting. His eyes never once left yours, not even to see where he was stepping.

You wanted to scoff. You wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine and that he had nothing to worry about. You wanted to lie and say that the flinch was an accident, a momentary lapse in judgment.

You wanted to lie.

But you couldn't. Not to Steve.

Never to Steve.

"Who did this to you?"

It was the way he said it. The tone he used. It wasn't accusatory; it wasn't harsh. It was gentle. It was caring. It was full of concern. Full of love.

But the question brought you up short.

You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel his gaze burning through you, his worry evident. You could feel him staring right into your soul.

You knew he didn't mean to ask it, but the question slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could pull it back.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at the floor, not being able to bring yourself to meet his eye. You could see his boots; you could see his toes.

But not his face. You didn’t want to see his face. You couldn’t handle the concern.

You could hear him shuffling closer, his hand reaching out slowly and hesitantly. When his finger brushed against your arm, you jerked back, but he didn't let you get too far.

His grip was gentle. So gentle, but it was enough to hold you. Just enough.

It was just your name, just a whisper, but the way he said it made you weak. The way he breathed it out had your knees shaking. You could feel the tears burning the back of your throat; you could feel them gathering in your eyes. They were going to spill over soon, and Steve was the only one who was going to be there to see it. No one else.

"Tell me"

There was a moment where you wanted to fight it. To shove him off and run to your room. To lock yourself away and never come out. But when his thumb rubbed over your cheek, it was the moment that you broke.

Tears spilled over. They flowed freely down your cheeks, dripping from your chin.

Your breath came in harsh pants.

Steve's hands moved to your shoulders. He held you firmly yet gently. His thumbs rub slow circles on the top of your arms.

“Damn it.” You breathed out. “Damn it! Of all the people I slip in front of, why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been Tony? Or Nat? Or Sam? Or hell, even Bruce? It had to be you, didn't it, Rogers? It had to be the guy I was trying to avoid. The one person I didn't want to know.”

Your rant was cut off when you felt Steve's fingers under your chin. He tipped your head back and forced you to look at him. He looked down at you with those soft blue eyes, the ones you had been trying to avoid since the start.

They were the only thing that could ever get through to you. They were the only thing that could make your walls come down.

His hand was gentle. It was like he was trying to hold a piece of glass. If he pressed too hard, you would break. And god, did you want to break. You wanted to feel the release, the freedom.

You wanted to feel something, anything other than this pain.

"I'm sorry." You breathed out. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't apologize," He murmured. "Just talk to me."

"Steve-"

"Please." The word was a broken plea. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You bit your bottom lip and looked down at the ground, unable to hold his gaze.

"Please." He repeated. "Let me help."

"It's not that easy." You whispered. You couldn't believe that you were even considering telling him.

"Yes, it is. I'm right here."

You were going to regret this. You didn't want to, but you were going to.

"I can't." You shook your head, a sob rising in your chest. "I can't, Steve. Please don't make me."

“Then tell me how I can help you."

You didn’t know how to respond. How could you possibly tell him how to help?

"I- I don't know."

He sighed and stepped back. For a second, you thought he was going to leave, that he was done with you, but with the way his gaze never left yours, you knew that wasn’t the case.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, tugging you behind him.

You let him. You were too tired to fight back.

Too tired.

Too weak.

He led you out of the gym and through the tower, his pace never once slowing. Not until the both of you were in front of your bedroom door. Then he released his hold on you and stood back, looking at you. His jaw was still clenched, and his hands were balled into fists. You didn't know if it was because of the fact that someone had hurt you or the fact that you were hiding the truth from him.

"Let me in." He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If not today, then some other time. Let me in."

"Why?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Because I care."

"Why?" You repeated, your eyes narrowing. "Why do you care so much?"

"I know what it’s like," He murmured. "To feel the need to hide from the world. To feel the need to bottle everything up inside. You don’t need to do this alone. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, you can talk to me. Let me in. Tell me the truth."

You shook your head and turned, reaching for the handle, but Steve was faster. His hand shot out and curled around your wrist. He kept you in place.

"Please." He murmured.

The desperation was evident in his voice. The sincerity was, too.

“You want the name that much?” You questioned, keeping your gaze trained on the door.

It was better than facing him.

It was better than seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

It was better than seeing the pity.

It was easier to hide the emotions behind the door, not having to see his reaction.

"I want you to be honest with me. I want you to talk to me. If you’re comfortable giving me the name, then that's your choice. It's always your choice. I won't force you to do anything, but I want to help."

"It's a little late for that," You scoffed, yanking your hand out of his grasp.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the door. You could feel his warmth against your back.

"I didn't know." He murmured, his hand reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of your neck. "Had I known, I would've put a stop to it."

"There's nothing you could've done."

"I could've killed him." He murmured. "That's what I could've done.”

“You don’t kill people, Rogers. It’s not who you are. You know that.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that I would stop at nothing to keep you safe. Whoever this is, they aren’t going to lay another hand on you. I promise. They aren’t going to hurt you again, not if I can help it. You have my word."

You could feel the tears pricking the back of your eyes. God, did he have to say such sweet things?

You weren’t sure if it was because he was being a good friend or because he wanted something more, but whatever it was, it had you melting.

"I didn't mean to push you away." You whispered, resting your forehead against the cool metal of the door.

"I know."

"It was instinct. I couldn't-"

"I know."

"How do I fix this?"

"You don't. It takes time. Healing isn't an instant process. It took me a long time to get back to normal… somewhat normal.”

“But—” You began, but the look on Steve's face told you that arguing wasn't going to do you any good.

So you stopped.

"It takes time." He repeated. "But I'm not going anywhere. You can take all the time in the world, and I'll be here waiting. Whenever you're ready."

"I want it to go away."

"I know. Believe me, I know." He murmured.

You felt him shift behind you. His hand pressed flat against your back and rubbed slow circles, the heat seeping through the thin material of your shirt.

You had never felt so safe, not even when you were a child.

Steve's presence alone was enough to calm the anxiety running rampant through your body. You weren't sure what had caused this particular attack, but now that Steve was here, you were hoping it would pass soon.

"What do you need?" He asked softly, his hand running up and down the length of your back.

"You." You croaked out, the words almost getting lost in the fabric of his shirt.

"You have me."

"Promise?"

"Promise," He replied without missing a beat.

You took a deep breath and leaned further into his touch.

"It'll go away soon," He assured. "We can sit down and talk about it when you're ready."

"What if I never want to talk about it?"

"Then we won't. You set the pace, okay? Just… please, don't shut anyone out. Don't shut me out. We— I care about you."

You nodded your head, unable to form the words you wanted to say.

The feeling was mutual. You cared about him too. And maybe, just maybe, you would be willing to open up about this. Maybe even share the name.

Steve does throw a good punch, after all.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium. 

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

[wayneskluv]

it’s possible she wants you back ¡! ❞ | n. romanoff

summary: your super cool assassin gf broke up with you but she wants you back sooo win win ig | pt 2 with fluff/smut?

word count: 711

pairing: natasha romanoff x gn!reader

warning: mentions of alc/nat being drunk, use of petnames “love” & “baby”

authors note: i would let her do anything to me but i'd also give her a hug and tell her everything's gonna be okay & the use of y/n, i had to for it to make sense, please forgive me 🙏

NATASHA thought breaking up with you would be for your own good, she didn’t deserve you. She was always late for date night due to her duties as an avenger, she had consistent nightmares that kept you awake and she was jealous of anyone who, well, looked at you—she couldn’t really blame them though.

“Baby..” Her whines echoed from behind your front door, from where a slightly intoxicated drunk as fuck Natasha was located. She was too drunk to be able to knock on the door, but you knew she was there, you knew her voice.

You take a deep breath, before you place a trembling hand on your door handle and gently pushing down as if it would break if you looked at it. "Jesus, Nat." A small sigh escapes you as you register her pathetic state, your hand instinctively reaching out to prop her upright. You haven't seen her this drunk in years, and she, most certainly, was not a lightweight.

"C'mon." You gently guide her into your living room, being as delicate as humanly possible. You sit her down on your couch, though as soon as you let go, she sprawls out lazily. "Gotta sit up, Nat. Don't wanna be sick.” You sound like a disappointed parent berating your child, because as much as you were mad at your ex, you loved her with your entire heart, and you still cared about her immensely.

You begin to rise to your feet, to go grab her a glass of water, before a pitiful hand drapes across your arm. "Please, Don't hiccup leave me." If it was anyone else, you'd have pushed them off immediately but you couldn't ignore her pleading eyes. "Yeah, 's okay. I'll stay. 'm not going anywhere."

As you speaks, the thick stench of liquor floods your senses and you feel ever-so-slightly ill. "Nat, love, what happened?" The breakup was fresh, the pet-name was a slip of the tongue, but you couldn't go back now—it’s not like she'd remember in the morning.

"Miss you. So, so, so much." The words roll off her tongue in a drunken slur, and you wouldn't have heard them if you weren't paying careful attention to her. You felt sorry for her, in all honesty-sure, she'd broken up with you without telling you why, and sure, she'd been acting distant, but she seemed genuinely upset.

"You still haven't told me why you broke up with me." You let out a dry chuckle, your shoulders untensing subtly as you notice her slowly regain colour to her face. “Okay, I'll tell you, but you can't tell y/n." The drunken hush she tries to add to her elevated tone is adorable and you have to stifle a grin as you nod, mock seriously. "| promise."

Once she gets your confirmation, she pauses for a few seconds as her head throbs harder, but then it slows and her eyes meet yours. "I was worried I wasn't good enough." Oh. That's not what you were expecting. You were expecting her to say it was something you did, like put an empty peanut butter jar back in the cupboard or anything, really, she has a bit of a temper.

"Really? So it's nothing I did?" Your voice goes up three octaves as you glance down at her, nervously biting down on your bottom lip. "What? 'Course not." It's clear the alcohol is taking a toll on her, and she looks as if she's going to vomit all over you.

You let out a slightly overdramatic sigh, “You take the bed, l'll the couch.” Your arm loops down around her waist, carefully pulling her up off the couch—if you weren't holding her so tightly, she'd had fallen head first into the ground.

The sound of hiccups echo your apartment as you both walk into your bedroom, something she was rather familiar with. You took no caution in letting her drop onto your bed, though you made sure she was in a proper sleeping position to avoid choking on her own vomit.

She falls asleep almost immediately and it's the first time since you've broken up you've seen her look so peaceful. You stand in the door for a few more moments before reluctantly dragging yourself toward the couch.

[levans44]

what’s it gonna take to break your heart?

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary:

He vows to keep his distance, tells himself it's wrong—you're too new, too young, too good—and he's your commanding officer.

But whichever way he bends the truth, he just can't seem to keep you away.

warnings: angst, slow build, inside the tortured mind™ of steven grant rogers, mention of age difference, light mention of blood/injury

word count: 1k

a/n: thought i'd write something from steve's pov, for a change. pt. 1 of my mini series: what's it gonna take? title by FINNEAS

One of these days, you’re gonna be what does him in.

You’re a wildfire, a blaze barely contained. Too young, too bright, too intense for someone like him. Next to you, he's just a smoldering ember, tempered by decades of ash.

Fresh-faced, barely in your mid-20s, yet hand-selected by Fury from the newest round of Avengers recruits. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the group to catch onto your talent and grit—they start calling you their wildcard, the Ace.

Still, there’s no denying your age. Leagues younger than everyone else, with a certain vibrance in your eyes that sets you apart. 

Too young to devote the rest of your life to this kind of work.

And far too young for him to be feeling the way he does about you.

So he does everything he can to keep you at arm’s length, swallowing down every sidelong glance, every quick-witted comment and smile that eats away at his resolve.

But then you actualize the worst of his fears during a routine operation, throwing yourself head-first into a burning building, just moments away from collapsing.  

You, with a life teeming with potential, nearly taken in a heartbeat.

And Steve snaps. 

The Quinjet is barely off the ground when he strides through the haze of desert debris, making a beeline for you. Doesn’t spare you a second to catch your breath, dragging you by the arm to the rear of the cargo deck, raised eyebrows from the rest of the crew be damned.

By the time he releases his ironclad grip, cornering you against a stack of weapon crates, he’s scanned you for injuries at least three times over.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, chest heaving like he’s the one who’s just sprinted across a collapsing rooftop and leapt onto an airborne vehicle.

“What do you mean?” 

You cock your head earnestly, arms crossed as you stare up at him.

And he swears, he could end it all right then and there. 

Face covered in soot, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—and you have the audacity to smile. The sharp corners of your lips pierce into smooth, rounded cheeks, still flushed red with exertion. As stunning as the day he first saw you, even with all the grime, sweat, and blood staining your skin.

Steve’s jaw clenches, concealing the tightness in his stomach with a gruff sigh. 

“You know exactly what. I ordered you not to engage.”

Not a flicker of hesitation when you fire back: 

“She had kids. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Directives and protocols gone by the wayside, earpiece tossed behind your shoulder as you head straight for a family trapped on the top floor—his orders to wait for the Quinjet buried in the dust. 

And he shouldn’t have expected anything less. 

He breathes through his nostrils, eyes fluttering shut, but all he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears.

But you did have a choice, he wants to argue. You don’t have to bear it all on your own. 

Why must you always be the one to rush to the frontlines?

But the words that come out are cold and detached, bypassing the part of his brain that wants to reach out and gently wipe the soot off your cheek: 

“That’s not the point. If the building had collapsed, you would have only added to the casualty count.”

“Maybe. But the Quinjet wasn’t gonna get there in time. I had to take the risk.”

A quiet sigh, gloved fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Agent, we don’t gamble with lives like that.”

Your sharp laugh cuts through the air, piercing his ears. Too sharp against the soft outline of your jaw, the smooth contours of your neck. You shoot him a look, the clarity in your irises reflecting his hypocrisy. 

“Funny coming from you, isn’t it Cap?”

There it was, that derision in your tone, a sneer on your pretty lips as you spit out his title like a a dirty word.

And damn him for wanting to taste it off your tongue, hear you gasp it into his neck as he presses you against the cold, steel-plated wall behind you. 

Leather gloves creak under his grip as he balls his fists, eyes darting to the wound on your upper arm when he can't formulate a quick enough response. A large glass shrapnel from the window you’d crashed through—a steady trail of dark crimson trickling down your forearm all the way to your dirt-laden fingertips, where it hits the floor in slow drips. 

“Just… go get that patched up.” 

Lips curling over bright teeth, you salute him with your injured arm without so much as blinking, a line of blood running back down your wrist. 

“Yessir.”

For the entire 7-hour ride from Lagos to base camp, he stays glued to a seat in the back of the Quinjet, head bowed over a tablet as he busies himself with sorting through gathered intel.  Desperately ignores your animated banter with Natasha and Sam from the other side of the cabin, where you drown out the steady drone of the engine with your bright laughter. 

When a sudden shriek sounds from your direction, he spares a quick glance, finding you with your arms over your head, laughing and swatting the air as Redwing circles teasingly above you. Nearly snaps his tablet in half the moment you suddenly bend over, the stretch of your tactical suit clinging to your hips as you reach for the drone control panel on Sam’s wrist.

As soon as the wheels screech down on the tarmac, Steve gets to unloading the jet, hauling crate after crate of equipment just to avoid meeting your gaze. 

Hours later, when the paperwork’s taken care of and everyone’s retreated to their quarters, he drags himself to the training room on base.

Throws his fists against a punching bag, each strike a desperate attempt to sweat out the impure thoughts. Praying he can free himself of the images in his head—images of you—he doesn’t let up until the first rays of sunlight hit the gym. The skin over his knuckles start to split after a while, but he doesn’t bother wrapping them. They’ll heal soon enough.  

And when neither the 4-hour gym session nor the scalding hot shower afterward washes you away from his thoughts, burning brightly as ever in the back of his mind, he sinks into bed, fuming. 

You’re too new, too young.

It’s a breach of protocol, he’s technically your commanding officer. 

You don't think of him in that way. 

Yet, whichever way he bends it, there’s no escaping the truth. 

It’s a sharp, exquisite kind of ache, one that wraps around his chest, tightening with every breath, until it’s the only thing he can feel.

And damn it, it’s a torture sweeter than anything he's ever known.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Best Friends & Baking (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: After watching a scary movie by yourself, you couldn't sleep.

Warnings; Fluff

WC: 450ish

A/N: i’d originally write & posted this to an older tumblr account i had back in 2017!!! I’m on the hunt for a lot of my older fics. So i’ve been tracking a lot of them down. 

Read on Ao3!

-

You knew you shouldn’t have watched that damned movie by yourself. Not while it was raining outside. Not while you were cuddled up by yourself on the couch in the common room of the tower all alone.

Every creak and squeak of the floor or windows made you jump in terror. You had to hold your hand over your mouth several times to keep from screaming and waking up the whole tower.

You looked at the time from your cell phone, groaning as it was nearing one in the morning. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, not while your heart was thudding so hard in your chest from adrenaline and fear.

You clambered away from the couch and placed your hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn before you made your way into the kitchen. You’d always enjoyed baking cookies and cakes when you couldn’t sleep; the scents of the pastries baking always soothed your fears way.

You played music from your phone, being weary not to play the music too loud. You’d been mixing batter for a chocolate chip cake and hadn’t noticed Bucky slipping into the room and leaning against the refrigerator until you had turned around from the sink and nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Bucky,” you breathed. “It’s only you.”

He smirked. “What are you doing up so late? Why are you making enough pastries for a small doughnut shop? You didn’t volunteer the team for another bake-off again, did you?”

You chuckled softly and smacked him gently with the spatula in your hand. “No, Bucky, I didn’t.”

“Then why are you making all this food?” He asked as he reached for a cookie with sugar powder on top.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, placing the spatula between your lips. “I was watching scary movies again.”

He sighed and gave you an affectionate look. “Didn’t I tell you not to do that without me?”

“Yes,” you pouted, knowing he would give in and kiss your forehead, making you smile and feel giddy.

Just as you predicted, he put the cookie down and stretched his hand out to you, pulling you into his embrace and kissing your temple. “And to think I was coming out here to get a glass of water?” He chuckled.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” you mumbled into his grey tee shirt.

“What do you say I help you finish baking all these goodies, and you come share my bed tonight?” He offered.

You nodded, appreciating the offer, happy to spend time with your best friend.

[spidey-webz]

Sleeping with Bucky — headcanons

A/N: this is really just fluffy bucky barnes brain rot because I felt like it!

Warnings: fluff, mentions of ptsd/insomnia

Masterlist | Askbox

Bucky really struggles with insomnia for years

It’s hard for him to sleep in an ordinary bed but he gets used to it when he starts to stay in yours

And he loves to cuddle until he gets tired

Especially when you comb your fingers through his hair or hold him close

He’s very much the big spoon most of the time but whenever he’s struggling, he loves to be held instead

His insomnia gets better with time, but the nightmares stay

You love to give him reassuring kisses whenever he wakes up covered in sweat and tears

Both of you have started developing a routine for nightmares

You will get both of you a warm cup of tea and then talk about it (if he wants to) or just spend time in silence together

Soft kisses are exchanged to comfort him!

Bucky loves to fall asleep while holding you in his arms or being held by you

It makes him feel a lot safer

You sometimes intertwine your fingers before you fall asleep and hold each other close

He adores to watch you sleep whenever it’s taking him a little longer

Bucky usually moves around a lot in his sleep but he’s always careful not to wake you

(But if he does, he apologises very quickly)

Sometimes you two listen to podcasts together before you fall asleep – especially when Bucky is having a hard time

It calms him down a lot and he loves to try different ones every now and then

He loves to wait for you to wake up just so he can give you a kiss first thing in the morning

“Good morning, doll.”

Bucky always has dishevelled hair when he wakes up but it’s incredibly adorable

And he has pillow lines on his face

You’ve probably got a ton of pictures in your phone of a sleeping Bucky

Or when he just woke up

Bucky is grateful for your patience whenever you sleep next to each other and he has a rough night

He’s definitely decorated to saying he loves you every night before he goes to bed

[deathbyathousandspiders]

peter and reader at avengers tower and they’re both avengers but they’re “best friends” cuddled up on the couch asleep and none of the avengers let them forget it for weeks

i gotchu ;) also thank you for the request !! i really appreciate it! <3

!!! read part two | part three | part four | part five here !!!

✨masterlist✨.

1.4k.

Being an Avenger definitely came with plenty of risks, seeing as you put your life on the line every day in attempt to save the world. Along with the risks, there were several upsides that outweighed your anxieties about the superhero lifestyle.

Every few months, the team was required to spend a week at the compound for training; it was something fairly stupid, but staying in the mansion for a week wasn’t something you’d complain about. Especially when the team made the most of it.

You enjoyed getting up at dawn to run with Steve, and cooking dinners with Wanda. One thing always stood out to be something you looked forward to most: movie night. You came up with the system so that everyone had a chance to pick a movie, and this week, it was Steve’s turn to pick. Unfortunately, he chose “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”

The entire team corralled on the couch, sharing four or five bowls of popcorn and chips, and watching the movie on the giant flat–screen in the meeting room. You were sandwiched between Steve and Peter, attentive to the screen in fear that Steve would be offended if you weren’t. It made you crack a small grin to overhear Sam trying to commentate on the movie, and Bucky immediately tell him to shut the hell up.

You don’t recall at what point of the movie you fell asleep, or how the blanket got draped over you, but it didn’t catch your attention quite like the silent snorer you were cuddled next to. The sound was oddly soothing, and the arm snaked around your torso warmed you more than the blanket did. You would’ve tried to drift back off to sleep in the midst of comfort, if not for the snickers heard beyond your closed eye–lids.

“They look so cozy.” Bucky’s voice was hushed, speaking just above a whisper. The dark of your closed eyes lit up for a second by what you recognized as a shuttered flash photo.

Shit.

“I’m going to make that my lock–screen.” Sam added, trying not to sound as amused as he felt.

There was a quiet pause. “Isn’t that a little weird?” Bucky’s whispered question carried itself above the scattered footsteps of their departure.

When their ascending paces creaked the carpeted floors further out, your eyes lifted, turning your head up to look up at your designated pillow. Upon shifting your sleeping position, you watched Peter adjust mid–slumber, unconsciously catering to your new position.

A smile touched your lips at how peaceful he looked beside you — mouth parted slightly, eyes gently shut, curls falling in front of his face. When you moved to sit up a little, his armed grip around your waist grew tighter, and his sleep stirred at the idea of your absence. You decided against leaving, or moving, and rested your head in the nook of his shoulder. Sleep welcomed you back into slumber quicker than Sam changed his wallpaper.

When you woke in the morning, you thought almost nothing of falling asleep next to Peter. The only thing left to remind you was the lingering aroma of Peter’s cologne, and the ghost of his arm leaving your waistline colder than the rest of your body.

You didn’t pay much mind to it, nor how frequently your train of thought seemed to derail back to Peter somehow; how snug his hold was, the way your head fit with his shoulder like a missing puzzle piece. It felt like a slow–burning ache, the way you missed him. But he was merely your best friend, and the rest of the team seemed to agree with that.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Sam chimed, watching you waltz into the kitchen. He leaned the small of his back against the marble countertop beside the espresso machine, waiting for the pull of his latte shots.

Your hair was still damp from your shower, and your hoodie husked over your body to protect from the looming winter chill. You arched a brow lightly at how amused he seemed to be, slowly recalling his whispered conversation with Bucky from the night prior. You decided to be coy with him. “I think you’ve got your Disney movies mixed up.” You started, pressing on your tiptoes to reach a bowl from the shelf. “We watched Snow White last night, Sam.”

He hummed, sounding skeptical. “Well, everybody but you and your little cuddle–bug boyfriend.” Sam tried to keep himself from laughing. He started to steam the milk he’d set aside to froth to cut you off from giving a witty remark.

Boyfriend. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend, and he probably wouldn’t ever be your boyfriend. Admitting that to yourself sent a sharp jab at your heartstrings, but the pain was quick. Quick like the blush that fanned your face before you dismissed it. Quick like the pour of cereal into your bowl like the thought didn’t flash through your mind.

The steam wand simmered down, and you made it a point to let out a scoff that he could hear. “He’s not my boyfriend–”

You turned. Like an idiot, you turned, bumping bodies with someone and nearly spilled your entire bowl of cereal across the tiled floors of the kitchen. Wide eyed, you looked up, meeting the familiar stare of your best friend. His arms hovered inches from yours, but the electricity flowing between you felt like that length was much shorter. The scent of his cologne filled the room so quick, you nearly forgot how to breathe.

Peter tried to laugh off how tense the room felt, feeling safe enough to once he knew you were okay. “Who’s not your boyfriend?” He asked, the chuckle weaving through his words, sending a pink glisten to your cheeks.

You could feel the smile Sam pressed to the lip of his mug, slurping his latte as he eyed the two of you. “I’ll give you guys the room.” With that, he left, still leaving the kitchen with just as thick of tension. It felt like he left a gigantic elephant in the room, one that had never existed to them until Sam pointed it out. He pointed it out all because you passed out on Peter’s shoulder.

Shaky fingers set the bowl of cookie crisps on the kitchen island before you walked to the fridge for some milk. Your eyes stayed glued to your task, almost like you were trying to avoid eye contact with Peter for some weird reason. How odd.

“Boyfriend?” You pressed air through your closed lips, blowing a dismissive rasberry. “I didn’t say boyfriend, I said Boygenius–” It was a solid cover up, for sure; you thought, pouring milk over your cereal. “They’re performing this weekend with Clairo–”

Peter pressed his palm into the kitchen island, leaning against the structure right beside you. The body heat from him radiated into yours from your close proximity, reeling you in with how intoxicating his presence was. “Y/N, are you hiding something from me?” He faked an offended expression, mouth agape from his act of shock.

That’s when your eyes met. And you swore that the connection of your vision sent him every thought that ran through your head. Every feeling that coursed through your veins telepathically traveled through his too. It was a second, just one second, where you felt like he shared the same conflicting feelings you did. Perhaps he felt the same attraction towards you that you felt for him.

It didn’t help that he stared down at you with such earnesty and attentive nature. His eyes glossed over every inch of your face, studying your expression like he’d find the answer to his question there. You knew the exact moment that he found it, too.

Shit.

You picked up your bowl of cereal, stiffening your posture as you took careful steps backwards. “Nope! Nothing. I’m not hiding anything!” You sounded as suspicious as ever, so your escape route needed to be hasty. You opened and closed the fridge with just enough time to throw the milk in before rushing off to your bedroom.

This wasn’t the first time you’d gotten these intrusive–romantic thoughts about Peter Parker, or when you’d gotten these frantic–giddy jitters around him, either. Typically, you just let them die out over a day or two and then you could find your little pocket of comfort and normalcy again.

But the second you entered your room, you saw the framed photo of what you assumed was the photo Sam took of you and Peter passed out on the couch. The second you saw it, you knew this wouldn’t die out as quickly as you’d hoped. You couldn’t lie, though…It was a pretty cute photo. Although, you didn’t have too much time to dwell on the captured moment. The neon–pink sticky note on the top right corner caught your attention.

‘I better get invited to the wedding, —Sam.’

Shit.

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

PAIRING: loki laufeyson x f!asgardian!reader

TAGS: bestfriend!loki, idiots in love, loki using magic, canon divergent, fluff, some cursing

A/N: oh man i wrote this sooooo long ago too. it's an old one that i deleted bc i was revamping my acc but i went back to reread it and realized i just had to bring it back! happy reading <3

WORD COUNT: ~1.3k

masterlist || request box <3

"Loki?"

He hummed in response. "If you could go anywhere in the Nine Realms," you started, "where would you go and who would you take with you?"

After a long day, the two of you had settled in the grass behind the palace, taking the time to relax, enjoy each other's company, and stare up into the sky. He turned to face you with a small grin already painted across his face. "What are you smiling about?"

"You already know my answer. Well, half of it anyway."

"Oh come on, don't be like that! Just tell me."

He took a second to think about it. Another grin grew on his face. He leaned in as if he was going to whisper it to you and said, "Why don't I just show you?"

With that, he shot up and put out his hand. As soon as you took it, he pulled you close to him. "The Bifrost is quite far for a walk, why don't I just..."

As he spoke, suddenly the two of you already seemed to have made it to the entrance of the Bifrost. "There."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to you doing that."

As time had passed over the years, Loki had become better at controlling the magic that Frigga had shared with him. One of the things he learned was how to conjure fireworks which he always used to make your day. Teleportation was his latest feat and he took advantage of it. When you both entered, you were greeted by the gatekeeper, Heimdall. "Your royal highness. My liege."

"Let me guess, you saw us coming?"

He hummed in response. "What can I do for the two of you today?"

Loki turned to you and gave you a quick smile before he approached the gatekeeper, whispering something into his ear. Heimdall quickly nodded and inserted Hofund to open the Bifrost. As you moved towards the entrance of the portal, Loki turned to you, grabbing your hand. "Hold onto me, love. I don't want you to fall out by accident now, do I?"

Before you knew it, the two of you were gliding up through the Bifrost, the colors glistening all around you. A look of astonishment growing on your face which made Loki's heart swell in his chest. Suddenly, you were on solid ground again, burn marks from the Bifrost scorched into the ground beneath you. "Loki," you started, taking in the new environment. "Where are we?"

"Midgard," he replied, a small smile on his face. You were speechless. You never imagined Midgard to be this… beautiful. When you learned about the Nine Realms, Midgard had been described as a place unappealing to visit and that the Midgardians were rude creatures that don't know how to do anything but create chaos. You always joked that it was the perfect place for Loki with him being the God of Mischief and all. But this? Wherever Loki had taken you seemed to be the complete opposite.

Unlike Asgard, the seemingly end of their world wasn't just space, it was water and in the distance was a beautiful skyline of orange and blue. As you took in the sight before you, Loki couldn't help but admire how amazed you looked. He had taken a trip here once before with his brother, Thor, so he was less taken aback but seeing the look on your face made this visit feel more meaningful—not that it wasn't already. Breaking the silence, Loki leaned in and whispered, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Loki, this is-"

As you turned to face him, he offered his hand, asking for you to take it once more. "Come on," he insisted, "There is so much more that I want you to see."

The second your hand met his he quickly turned around and set off in a sprint, dragging you right behind him. Over the sounds of the crashing waves, you yelled, "Loki! Where are you taking me now?"

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do but what does that have to-"

Before you could finish you found yourself in another environment once again. "Fuck, Loki!"

All he did was laugh back at your shock at the teleportation. He continued to run with your hands still interlocked but as you took in more of the sights of the new area you realized it resembled the area behind the palace just immensely larger. A field of grass with flowers everywhere, only a massive tree in sight. Both yours and Loki's hair flowing in the wind as you sprinted through the field.

Once you came to a stop, the both of you took a second to catch your breaths. Taking a seat next to the tree, you took a similar position like how you were laying back on the field in Asgard, Loki quickly following suit. Suddenly, he turned and took you into his arms and began to violently tickle you. "Loki, stop! No," you squealed.

Coming to a stop with the tickling, he continued to hold you in his arms. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Just for being my friend for so long and allowing me to bring you here. I thought you would have left me when you found out that I was, well, not Asgardian."

"Of course, Loki. You think I'd pass up the opportunity to be friends with a prince of Asgard?"

He sat up, jokingly displaying a shocked expression on his face. "Is that the only reason you're friends with me?"

You quipped, "Why else would I be?"

As he took his place back onto the ground next to you, you went on to say, "I'm glad we're friends too, Loki. I can't imagine being best friends with anyone else."

"Not even my brother?"

"Not even your brother," you ensured.

Staying in silence for a second, he quickly broke it and said, "I know we just got here but there is one more place that I want you to see."

Taking your hand once again, you expected him to teleport immediately but he quickly added, "Close your eyes."

"Hmm and why should I?"

"Just trust me."

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes and you felt the two of you teleport. Immediately new sounds and smells filled your senses. With your eyes still closed, he helped you up and guided you to his desired location. "Just a little bit further and... there. You can open your eyes now."

Once your eyes opened, you were met with buildings and lights underneath you. "Wh- Where are we?"

"This is something the Midgardians call the Eiffel Tower. It's this triangular shaped structure similar to the palace but much less attractive."

"Oh, please," you laughed as you lightly shoved his shoulder. You leaned over the railing, further taking in its beauty, Loki taking his place next to you.

"You asked if I could go anywhere where I'd go and with whom," he started without breaking his gaze downwards to the buildings. When you turned to look at him he continued, "I don't care where I end up as long as it’s with you."

"You sap!"

"Hey," he retorted. "I'm being serious."

"I know," you whispered, blush creeping into your cheeks at the sentiment.

You took a second to take in the sight before the two of you before Loki spoke again. "How about you?"

"Hm?"

"Where would you go and with whom?"

Meeting his gaze, you leaned in, closing the space between you. "Anywhere as long it's with you," a smile growing on your face as you basically repeated his answer back to him.

"Oh, who's the sap now!"

The two of you laughed it off and continued to look onto the city in front of you. "Hey, the sights here on Midgard are fascinating but just you wait until you taste their food."

Your eyebrows raised in intrigue. “Really?”

He nodded and offered his hand once more, already glowing in green with magic. "Can't we just walk down?" you whined.

A mischievous grin grew on the god's face. "Now where's the fun in that?"

[msmk11]

Are They Gone?

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

WC: 593

CW: none

Summary: You and Wanda, your longtime crush, are sent on a mission together.

Day 27 of mk’s mad dash

The mission, in theory, is simple. Get in, steal the data, get out. No one needs to get hurt. But for you, the mission is very very complicated. Why? Because you’re partnered with your crush of over a year- AKA the Scarlet Witch, AKA Wanda Maximoff. In group settings, you’re fine around Wanda. But as soon as you’re left alone, you forget to act like a regular, normal human being. You think Steve’s done this as payback for eating his last cookie the other day.

Natasha says you should be thrilled to have some quality one-on-one time with your crush. She seems to forget you’re not a natural flirt like her.

The first of half the mission goes well, though you suppose it’d be hard for it to go wrong- traveling on a private jet doesn’t typically have many difficulties. And the ones you did face- being in close proximity to Wanda- were handled with the disguise of sleep.

When you land, you and Wanda instantly set off to the office you’re supposed to infiltrate, both dressed in janitor’s clothing. The brunette’s magic gets you in the back door without detection easily enough, and the map you previously memorized plays out in your head as you guide the two of you to the enemy’s data storage units.

It seems that things are going perfectly, and so in your gut you know that something must go wrong. Something always goes wrong.

You’re right, but not in the way you think.

As you and Wanda round the corner on the sixteenth floor, the distinct voice of the enemy organization’s leader echoes through the tiled hall. You both know you’ll be recognized immediately, and panic settles into your chest. It’s quickly replaced with confusion, however, when Wanda grabs you by the wrist and yanks you into a cramped, dark place.

The janitor’s closet.

“Pretty good hiding spot,” the witch mumbles softly.

She’s so close to you that you can feel her breath fan across your face, and you shiver.

“I suppose we fit right in with the mop,” you agree.

A chuckle escapes Wanda’s lips and you can easily imagine the sparkle you’re sure is twinkling in her eye.

Just the thought of her pretty smile makes you nervous, and you instinctively step back. This, it seems, is a poor choice, given the close quarters you’re in. You stumble right into a shelf, and with enough force that a few cleaning supplies come tumbling towards the ground.

Yet again, the brunette in front of you saves your ass, her red magic suspending the fallen objects in place and one of her hands wrapping around your waist to steady you.

Though you’re always mesmerized by Wanda’s magic, as she puts the supplies back, all you can focus on is her burning touch.

“Gotta be careful, sweetheart,” she chastises gently, “could get caught, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Your heart stills in your chest. It almost seems like she cares for you.

You clear your throat awkwardly and shake away the silly notion, “are they gone?”

You expect Wanda’s eyes to glow red while she surveys the hall with her mind, but nothing happens. Instead, she squeezes your waist more tightly and murmurs, “I don’t care about them right now. Only care about you.”

The brunette leans closer to you and you inhale sharply.

“Can’t give up the moment to have a pretty girl in my arms.”

As usual, Wanda leaves you totally speechless. But hey, it’s not like you could argue with that.

[waywardblazer]

Winter Cottagecore

Bucky Barnes x Reader

warning(s) — fluffy, comfort, momentary angst and implied smut at the end

word count — 2.0k

summary/prompt — (cottage!au) in the wake of the coldest month of the season, hidden in a small cottage in the woods, who better to brave the storm with than the Winter Soldier.

a/n — we’re back in business babyyyy!! any of those moments got u kicking and squealing?? idk how rusty i am but here we go—with the thunderbolts trailer released my bucky obsession resurfaced. i'm scared to see what they did to our precious boy so fellow buck wild fans come and get your soft Bucky content to heal your broken hearts before the mcu breaks them even more than it already has :’(

(divider credits to @whimsicalrogers)

Rain belted against the window as snowflakes drifted down, coating the ground and the tops of the trees in a sea of white. A heavy mist filled the air shielding the night sky above and creating an eerily beautiful scene. The melodically haunting howl of the wind echoed as it slipped through the crack under the wooden door.

You stood staring out beyond the glass at the wild weather. The soft crackling of the flames from the open fireplace was almost as calming as the warmth that radiated throughout the room. You pulled your thick cotton shawl further over your shoulders, breathing in the scent of fire, wood and the remaining berry tea you’d made for yourself earlier.

“There’s my sweet love.” A low and soft voice murmured into your ear as you felt hands slowly snake around your waist.

“Bucky.” You whispered, leaning into his embrace and closing your eyes as he rested his head upon your shoulder.

Both of you stood in content silence for a short time.

“How are we feeling tonight sweetheart?” He asked like the gentleman he was, nustling into your neck lovingly.

You giggled softly at the sensation, your eyes still resting on the outside world in front of you despite your attention being drawn to the super soldier behind you.

“I’m alright.” You replied quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, aware that you’d see it through the reflection of the window. “Just alright? Well, that’s not good enough, we can’t have that now can we.”

It was a rhetorical response as Bucky lifted his head off your shoulder. He then skilfully and gently spun you around so you were facing him, being careful not to hurt you with his metal arm as he did. All the while not breaking his hold.

“I can help, if you’ll let me.”

He stared down at you with his soft but utterly mesmerizing steel blue eyes that in all your years of knowing him never ceased to steal your breath away. You were completely entranced by his gaze. All thoughts that had previously occupied your mind were now a distant memory.

Life tended to move fast, so much so that neither of you had ever had a chance to just stop and enjoy it. Since Bucky was no longer at war and had regained control over his life you had decided to take him on a little winter getaway. Just the two of you, in hopes that it would help ease his ever racing mind and soothe some of his pain. Even though you had checked the weather before coming, it had only spoken of the cold so nothing had prepared either of you for the brutal storm that had blown in unannounced. You were lucky to have remembered to have stocked up on food and warm clothes.

The wind kicked up again and a draught slipped in through the crack under the door breaking your concentration on the soldier and causing you to recoil slightly with a shiver.

A frown passed over Bucky’s face and he stepped away from you, taking your hand while his vibranium one gently pressed against your back as he guided you over to the soft velvet couch that sat in front of the fireplace.

“Wait here.” He uttered as he sat you down before leaving your side and disappearing upstairs.

You pulled your legs up close towards your chest, snuggling down into the corner of the couch. Your fingertips traced meaningless shapes into the velvet.

Just as quickly as he’d left, he returned holding a large blanket and an old draft stopper which he placed by the door, pushing it with his foot to ensure it was secure. He then wandered back over to you and wrapped the blanket around you, stroking your hair before placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

“Thank you dear Bambi.” You mumbled, watching as he dropped his gaze to the floor, a soft smile appearing on his face. The out of pocket nicknames you seemed to come up with for him always made him chuckle.

It warmed your heart to witness that smile knowing too well how rare it was with all that he seemed to carry on his shoulders which often left him with a heavy weighted stare that scared and intimidated anyone who didn’t know him.

You tapped the empty spot next to you, “stay with me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course darling, I’m not going anywhere.” He muttered gently, flopping down beside you with a relieved sigh.

You manoeuvred your body so you could curl up against him. He rested his arm over you and at the same time his vibranium arm dangled over the armrest.

A few moments later, without any warning the wind made the door of the cottage bang aggressively against its hinges causing Bucky to startle, panic rising inside of him as his head snapped up in the direction of the sound. You happened to have your hand resting against his chest so you felt his heart rate spike.

You sat up a little, “hey, it’s alright Buck.” You reassured him.

He returned his gaze back to you, noticing the look of concern in your eyes. He was hit with a pang of guilt. “Scuze,” (sorry) he whispered, switching almost instinctively to Romanian.

“No no, don’t apologise my love. After everything you’ve been through you’re allowed to be scared.” You raised your hand to gently caress his cheek with your fingers. Feeling him lean into your touch you smiled. “You’re safe, you don’t need to be a soldier right now. It’s just us. You can just be Bucky.”

He slid his arms back around you once again, pulling you close to him. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it steadied with every breath.

You could have stayed like that for hours and really there was nothing stopping you.

The combination of the wind outside and the rain falling against the roof sounded almost like a song. The fire crackled and illuminated the room in a soft orange glow. It was actually the sound of the kettle whistling that pulled your attention away. You looked up at Bucky knowingly and without a word you sat yourself up to allow him to stand.

“Would you like some more tea, pebble?” He asked, looking over at you.

“Yes please.” You replied with a gentle nod.

Bucky disappeared into the kitchen. Only to return a few minutes later with two cups of tea. He carefully gave the one in his metal hand to you, holding it so you could grab the handle.

“It’s hot sweetheart, please be careful.” He cautioned.

You nodded and smiled gratefully at his concern. There was literal steam rising from the surface of the liquid and so you placed the mug down on the table to let it cool for a bit. You leant back into the couch, tugging the blanket around yourself as it had slipped down when you had moved.

You rotated your head to stare out the window from where you were sitting, a gentle sigh leaving you. In all honesty, this hadn’t been exactly what you’d had in mind when you had suggested spending some time away. You’d been hoping for some down time, sure, but also the thought of a peaceful walk through the wintery woods had been your driving reason for coming—besides Bucky of course—you had always been one to enjoy being out in nature rather than being confined indoors. So this really was no picnic for you.

Bucky must have noticed your slight shift in mood because he uttered, “you know. There might be a storm right now but think of the pretty angels and snowmen we can make once it’s over.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes glistening with excitement upon hearing his words.

“I’m sure we can spare a carrot or two for a nose.” He continued with a soft grin. “And we’ll find some sticks to make arms.”

“And pebbles for eyes!” You added with a light giggle.

Bucky laughed softly before taking another sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving you as he did. There was just something about you that left him all giddy like a love struck puppy.

You leant forward, picking up your cup of tea off the table. You brought it up to your lips and took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was sweet like berries with a hint of honey and mint just the way you liked it. You gulped down more with a satisfied sound, feeling the tea warm your insides.

You stole a glance over at Bucky seeing that he’d put his mug down and was still staring at you. All of a sudden you felt hyper aware. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You whined defensively, clutching your mug close to you.

“No reason, you’re just really cute.” His eyes were beaming as brightly as his smile.

You looked away quickly before returning your gaze back up at him again. You felt a faint heat rising on the tips of your ears and across the back of your neck as you softly bit down on your lip. You had choked on any remark that you had wanted to make. It wasn’t often that you got flustered but when you did it was always because of Bucky.

Taking one more sip of your tea, you put the mug back down.

A rumble of thunder echoed off in the distance signaling an incoming storm. You had barely noticed how the sounds of the current storm had calmed down over the past twenty minutes.

“I’m not cute.” You mumbled insistently, shooting Bucky a soft disapproving glare but dropped it shortly after, finding yourself unable to hold his dazzling blue gaze.

The sunshine smile on his face morphed into what you could only interpret to be a flirtatious grin as he placed a hand under your chin gently forcing you to look up at him causing your stomach to flip as your heart skipped a beat.

With a slight growl he muttered, “you are.”

You melted right there and then.

He left no time for you to argue because he pulled you into a kiss. The hand that had previously rested on your chin, now slinked down to your hip. He paused for a moment as if silently asking if you were okay, but when you gave him no objections he used his vibranium arm to support himself as he guided you to lie down. He climbed on top of you, causing you to giggle adorably as his eyes remained locked on yours.

“How are you feeling now, sweetheart?” He recalled his question from earlier.

This time you held his gaze unwaveringly, the light heat had spread to your cheeks.

“Better, t-thanks to you.” You stammered.

It continued to confuzzle him as much as it did you to think about how he’d become so lucky to have you in his life. He could never seem to understand, no matter how hard he tried.

“Я тебя люблю, Y/N.” He murmured.

Of all the people in this universe and you chose him.

A thunder rumble louder than before echoed across the sky causing the room to vibrate as the rain began to fall again just as fast as you had for the soldier above you.

“I love you too Bucky.”

He smiled warmly at your words, using his right hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and out of your face. “Y/N?”

He looked away from you for only a moment as if reconsidering.

“Yes?” You prompted him, furrowing your brows softly in curiosity.

When he looked back, you searched his eyes, trying to get a sense of his thoughts which you were usually good at doing but there was something behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. Even when he spoke his next words, all you could feel was the weight of importance.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

He knew you would never understand the true meaning behind what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. He meant every word now, just as he had the first time he’d said it to the best friend he’d loved all those decades ago.

You stared at him for a minute, taking in his words before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him into another kiss.

“As am I. It’s just us, til the end of the line.”

© 2024 | waywardblazer

𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 !! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[diealittlesometime]

On the Bed

pairing ☆wanda x reader

chapter summary ☆ might need more lessons in the future.

word count ☆ 780

Navigation | N.R Masterlist | W.M Masterlist

"Do I look like I’m messing around?" Wanda's voice was low and sultry, each word dripping with authority and promise. She took another step closer, closing the distance between you, her gaze never wavering. "Do I look like I won’t punish you?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you struggled to find your voice. "No, Wanda," you managed to whisper, your pulse quickening under her scrutiny.

Her smile widened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Good," she purred, reaching out to trail a finger down the center of your chest. Her touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a shiver of anticipation through your entire body. "Because you’ve been very naughty, and it’s time you learned your lesson."

Before you could respond, Wanda’s fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, pulling it roughly open, buttons scattering across the floor. Her hands were on your bare chest, her nails grazing your skin as she pushed you back until you felt the cool wood of the wall against your back.

"Stay still," she commanded, her voice brooking no argument. You obeyed, your breath coming in shallow pants as she pressed her body against yours, her warmth seeping into your skin.

Wanda's lips found yours in a bruising kiss, her teeth nipping at your lower lip as she asserted her dominance. Her hands roamed over your chest, nails scraping lightly, leaving a trail of tingling pleasure in their wake. She broke the kiss, her mouth hovering just inches from yours as she whispered, "Do you like that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your hands itching to touch her, to feel more of her, but you held back, knowing she wanted you to wait.

Wanda's eyes sparkled with satisfaction at your compliance. "Good," she repeated, her hands moving lower, deftly undoing the button of your jeans and sliding them down your legs. You stepped out of them, feeling the cool air against your exposed skin.

She stepped back, her eyes raking over your body with a possessive hunger that made your blood boil. "On the bed," she ordered, her voice firm. You moved to the bed, climbing onto it and lying down as she watched, her expression one of predatory delight.

Wanda joined you, crawling onto the bed with a feline grace. She straddled your hips, her hands pressing against your chest as she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear. "I’m going to make you beg," she whispered, her voice a promise and a threat all at once.

Her hands moved to your wrists, pinning them above your head as she ground her hips against your growing erection. The friction was exquisite, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but she kept the pace slow, teasing, driving you to the brink without allowing you release.

"Please," you groaned, your hips bucking up against her in a futile attempt to gain more friction.

Wanda's laughter was a soft, seductive sound. "Not yet," she murmured, her tongue flicking out to trace the shell of your ear. "I want to hear you beg properly."

She continued her slow, torturous movements, her hips rocking against yours with an agonizing rhythm. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the need for release, but she held you on the edge, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Please, Wanda," you finally begged, your voice cracking with desperation. "I need you. Please."

Her smile was triumphant as she released your wrists, her hands moving to guide you inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, her tight heat enveloping you completely as she began to move, her pace quickening with each thrust.

"That’s it," she moaned, her nails digging into your shoulders as she rode you with a fierce intensity. "Let go for me."

The pressure built to a crescendo, your body responding to her command as you surrendered to the pleasure. With a final, shuddering cry, you came, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Wanda followed you over the edge, her own climax a symphony of gasps and moans that echoed in your ears. She collapsed against you, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

You lay together, tangled in the sheets, your breaths slowly evening out. Wanda's fingers traced lazy patterns on your chest as she looked up at you, a satisfied smile on her lips.

"Have you learned your lesson?" she asked, her voice teasing.

You chuckled, pulling her close. "Yes, Wanda," you replied, kissing her forehead. "I think I might need more lessons in the future."

Her laughter was the sweetest sound as she snuggled against you, both of you drifting off to sleep in the warmth of each other’s embrace.