#MCU fan fiction

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

'It's Not the Years, Honey - It's the Mileage'

a Whumped Doctor Strange one-shot

Inspired by a couple of pre Multiverse of Madness articles comparing Stephen Strange to Indiana Jones😉😁

genre: whump, hurt/comfort, light humor

rating: general audience

characters: Stephen Strange, Tess O'Neill (Healer of Kamar-Taj, OFC); established relationship; Cloak of Levitation

word count: 1.9k

It was supposed to have been date night, but Stephen was overdue. Three hours overdue. Again. Tess had taken these things in stride, right from the start. After all, you can’t be lucky enough to be the significant other of the Sorcerer Supreme without being incredibly patient, understanding, and flexible. Besides which, he was always so adorable when he finally found his way home, sincere in his apologies, and more often than not, presenting her with a fresh bouquet, which he managed to conjure even before he uttered a single word. Tonight’s transgression was bound to be a two dozen roses mea culpa--and she just knew he’d make them her favorite: pale pink American Beauties.

Not that he ever needed to. His company was dear enough recompense for any time he kept her waiting. Except for the worrying, of course, but Tess had quickly adjusted to that, and so far she hadn’t made any complaint, no matter how late her Stephen managed to show up. She’d rather spend their precious time on more pleasant pursuits--and on showing him however she could, how happy he made her simply by being...him. 

And so, Tess had adjusted down their plans. First, from dinner out and a movie, to take-out and the latest blu-ray release. And then from that, to something she could whip up, quick and easy, in the Sanctum’s smaller kitchen. Stephen was bound to be hungry when he arrived, and she had a hearty pot of stew simmering on the stove and a batch of honey cornbread ready to pop into the oven while he cleaned up. 

Tess had just given the stew another stir, when she felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to find Cloak looking battle singed and...well...harried. How this being without a face could express such a wide range of emotions was a continual wonder to her--but right now her immediate reaction was to ask if Stephen was alright. 

Cloak’s collar shook a clear ‘no’, and then it tugged at her arm, to get her moving. She turned off the stove and moved the stewpot to another burner, and followed Cloak down the grand staircase. And there sat Stephen on the third step, head bowed and shoulders hunched, his bloodstained tunic rent in several places. Tess’s heart leapt to her throat, though she tried to remain calm, realizing that he needed her as a Healer tonight, far more than as the woman who loved him. 

She dropped to one knee in front of him, noting that the shelf of his jaw bore a dark bruise, and that he had a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, a black eye and a split lip. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching her sure hands towards him, studying his wounds with practiced eyes, evaluating which she should address first. Thankfully, the blood on his clothing was dried, so that Tess concluded he wasn’t actively bleeding. “What happened,” she asked quietly, concerned to see him breathe shallowly, as breathing any deeper appeared to make him wince. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as she placed both of her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, searching for any internal damage. 

“Ow...ow...ow...owwwwwwww,” he grumbled, “Is this really necessary?” 

Cloak was flitting back and forth, giving the closest approximation of pacing as possible. “It certainly is, as well you know...Doctor.” To that he only grunted, then followed with a heavy groan when she palpated his lower ribs and abdomen. “Stephen,” she informed him patiently, “You’ve got at least three cracked ribs...” 

“I know,” he replied curtly, “Don’t you think I know that?”

Tess tried to placate him. “Of course you do--but there’s no need to be pissy about it. It’ll just take a simple healing spell to start them knitting properly together.” 

“I...know,” he repeated through gritted teeth, attempting to stand. Cloak had to swoop in to keep him from landing hard on his bottom. 

Tess rose and wiped her hands on her denim capris. “Cloak, can you get him up to the infirmary, so I can take care of him properly?” 

Cloak nodded, but Stephen had other ideas. “No infirmary--just get me to my room...” 

Honestly, doctors really do make the worst patients, she thought, although she held her tongue, telling Stephen instead, “Nope. It’s the infirmary for you.” He huffed, but didn’t speak up. “And that’s Healer’s orders, Stephen. I outrank you in this, at least for the moment...” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively. He handed her his sling ring, “We can portal there--it’ll be quicker and a less bumpy trip than relying on...” He wagged his head in Cloak’s direction. 

Tess had to suppress a chuckle, as Cloak’s reaction to that perceived insult was to turn its back to Stephen. “Alright,” she sighed, slipping his ring on and bringing the golden circle to life. She returned to his side and offered him a hand to help him stand up. “Just lean on me, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.” 

She could feel his aversion to appearing so needy, even as he braced himself with an arm across her shoulders, but knew well that it wasn’t on her account. Stephen generally disliked showing weakness to anyone, although as their relationship had blossomed, his trust in her had been enough for him to reveal much of what he hid from the world behind sarcasm and bravado. Tess had always taken such precious trust as both a privilege and an honor. Stiff lipped against his pain and leaning on her heavily, they hobbled through the portal and Tess led him to sit on the nearest bed. 

The infirmary was empty but for them, and she took a moment to close the portal, and then rushed to gather her supplies. Disinfectant and a basin of warm water, along with a washcloth and the softest, fluffiest towel she could conjure, for after she got him cleaned up. And bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. Tess returned to Stephen’s side to find him struggling to remove his tunic. She set down her things, telling him, “Here...let me...” 

“I’ve...got...this.” he grunted, though it was clearly hurting him to raise his arms above his head. 

“No. No you don’t,” she corrected him gently, “Please--just let me do my job, Stephen.” 

“Alright...alright...” He did his best to relax as she worked the garment over his head and off. Tess gasped at the network of contusions across his shoulders and upper chest. “Dammit, Tess...that hurts!” 

“I know, darling. I know.” To her relief, most of his bruises appeared superficial. “Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, okay.” Stephen nooded, and closed his eyes as she washed the cut on his nose, and several shallow scratches on his cheeks and chin, finally seeing to the split on his lower lip. 

Next, she addressed the wounds on his back, circling behind him and perching on the edge of the bed. She was relieved again to find that they were rather shallow as well, and made quick work of cleansing them. Tess chose that moment to speak to him as his woman, rather than as a Healer. “You know--you’re extremely fit for a man your age, darling. But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more careful out there.”

“It’s not the years, honey...” he snorted, “...it’s the mileage...” Stephen had stiffened despite her gentle approach, but when she applied the disinfectant, he hissed out a string of very un-Stephen-like curses. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she muttered, her patience beginning to strain.

“I’m not,” he responded petulantly. 

Coulda fooled me, she thought, but bit back that retort. A few minutes more and she had his wounds properly bandaged. Tess set aside the basin and the towel, telling him, “Now let’s see about those ribs. Do you think you can lay back? It’ll be easier that way.” 

“Of course I can,” he barked, “I’m not an invalid, you know.” 

No, you’re just the crankiest Master of the Mystic Arts that I've ever encountered. Bravest and most selfless too, so I suppose I can forgive your churlishness.

He winced when she placed her hands on his shoulders, helping to ease him onto his back. Closing her eyes again, she skimmed her hands above the skin covering his damaged ribs, whispering the charm needed to bolster his body’s natural healing ability. Satisfied that she had succeeded once she could feel the spell take root, Tess pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. Stephen’s were closed, and his face had gone slack with a look of relief. Good enough, she concluded, hoping he would sleep a long while to aid in healing. 

Still, she thought she could do a little something to speed the reduction in the nastiest of his contusions--and it would be best to try while he was asleep. She reached tentative fingers to Stephen’s right shoulder. His eyes flew open with a start, “Owwwwww...that’s still tender, you know!” 

“I’m just trying to help...” 

“Well...I don’t need a nurse anymore,” he groused, “I just want to sleep.” 

“If you let me see to these now, you’ll feel much better in the morning...” Tess trailed her fingertips along his jaw, channeling her own energy into relieving his pain. “Any better?”

"A little,” he pouted, “But it hurts...almost everywhere...”

There seemed to be no pleasing him this way--but still, it was her nature to try. Exasperated, she blurted out, “Well, dammit, Stephen--where doesn’t it hurt?” 

Looking defiant, he showed her his elbow, “Here.” Tess laid the softest kiss she could upon it. 

“And...and here,” he added, pointing to his forehead, his whole demeanor softening in response to her tenderness. Cautiously, Tess leaned in and planted a loving kiss there. Momentum had turned in her favor. 

Stephen pointed to his un-blackened eye, “Um...here?”

Tess smiled softly, watching his eyes flutter shut, and then brushed her lips as lightly as she could upon his eyelid. There was a moment as her face hovered over his, and the look when he opened his eyes made her heart start to melt--for within their mercurial depths, she saw both gratitude and an apology for his childish behavior. Stephen tapped his lips and murmured, “Here.” 

She wondered if he felt her indulgent smile as their lips finally met, but before too long their kiss had gone from chaste to something deeper and more enduring, as he relaxed completely under her loving ministration. When she finally pulled away, Tess found that her kiss had worked a magic of its own, and her beloved Stephen was out like a light. 

Tess arose and draped the sheet across him lightly, then levitated the next bed over and landed it flush against his. Her hunch was that he’d sleep through the night, but she wanted to be close by if he should need her. 

Come morning, she awoke to find him gone--can’t keep a good Sorcerer down for long, she mused--but in his place, he’d left three dozen pale pink American Beauties, and a small piece of handwritten parchment. It was brief but to the point:  

Thank you, honey. For everything. Love - your Stephen xx

tagging: @hithertoundreamtof23 @stewardofningishzida @ironstrange1991 @mousedetective @aphroditesdilemma @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @battledress @aelaer @mckiwi @couldntbedamned

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

It’s the one bed trope but instead of waking up in a sexual position, waking up with a leg in the back and an arm on their face 😂

[elvenfforestydd]

FIC REQUEST

Hi friends -- Help a Phd Student out. I'm looking for two things:

MCU headcannons that are really popular originated in Fan Fiction. Bonus points if they are about Steve or Tony. Like tropes you see all the time, but aren't part of canon. I.E. Ceiling Vent Clint Barton.

MCU Hurt Comfort tropes that are very common and popular. Bonus points if about Steve or Tony.

Share if you could. I'm writing a dissertation about this stuff and need some examples.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

What a pleasure to go back and read this again! @darsynia is a talented storyteller, creating compelling plots with smart, snappy dialog and wry humor, capturing the truth of canon characters with ease--all while fashioning original characters that one can't help but like within only a few paragraphs.

I heartily recommend this piece to anyone who loves MCU Doctor Strange. Please do yourself the huge favor of reading this piece...and once done, surely you'll want to read more of her works!

Day Eight (part I)

(MCU; Stephen Strange/OC, 'mistrust' to lovers)

Summary: Amista Cairn is a pragmatic, hard worker whose job in emergency management has maybe dragged her a little too far from appreciating the fanciful things in life. Thanks to a well-earned promotion, she has enough time on her hands to walk the city during lunch, and that's how she runs into (literally) a tall, handsome man wearing a cape. Despite herself, she's intrigued.

Length: 3,111

Main Masterlist | Animate Objects | Next Chapter

This is a gift for @sobeautifullyobsessed, I hope you like it! This part will be I think two chapters, but I feel like it may take a few oneshots to do the whole arc, WHOOPS. I love it so far, though.

Day Eight, Part I

As one of the hundreds of workers who had moved to New York following the alien attack on the city, Amy Cairn had seen more than one absurd thing during those six months of clean-up. Enormous alien carapaces with oddly-glowing, indestructible armor plating? Sure. Literal Star-Wars-style pods that arced through the air until their connection to the mothership was severed? Okay. By the time the team she’d been hired to do logistics for brought those things in, they were in a more mundane setting, but she’d watched the videos, seen the pictures. Disaster relief was a niche business, and hurricane aftermaths had a similar amount of building destruction and body recovery hazards, but this? This was way beyond that. Enough for her to switch professions. The nightmares were hard enough, she didn’t need to see crazy things in her day-to-day.

Amy still loved her job at the Shore Up nonprofit three years later; she’d been able to parlay her hurricane/emergency management skills to help them after Hurricane Sandy. While the company’s original mission was to support hurricane victims with equity to move out of high-risk areas, they’d expanded their reach in NYC to offer donation support after the storm hit in 2012. After seeing how much good it did, she and the others who had helped launch the donation centers had agreed to stay on and help the general population of the city. 

Her promotion to a supervisory position in the central office of Shore Up had been a surprise, but a welcome one. It meant she had more time for lunch-- which brought Amy full circle back to her ‘weird sights’ musings. She’d spent the past week settling in at the home office, which meant a week of getting to enjoy her now hour-long, non-working lunch.

It had also been a week of genuinely strange stuff going on on the streets of New York City. It was still technically spring, but she wouldn’t have known it had she gone by the skimpy outfits worn by attendees at the convention across from the café she’d gone to on her first day at Main. As well-constructed as some of the costumes were, the people wearing them were often chatty, so Amy had chosen to walk in a different direction on day two.

Days two and three were… cute, but also distracting. Her chosen coffee shop seemed to welcome a whole class of eleven preschoolers every day at lunch. The kids were polite and lined up as they were told, but they were loud. One of them was dressed like Elmo both days. On day four, Amy brought her lunch and just took a walk with her sandwich. Costumes were cute… in moderation.

She felt guilty for being a secret spoilsport, but lunch was her brain break, and spending time and energy being distracted was not something she’d planned for.

As it turned out, she enjoyed the freedom of walking during her lunch hour. Bleecker Street had been promising the past Friday (aka. Day Five), so Amy headed that way again. There was rain on the forecast for late afternoon, but she’d foregone her raincoat for the walk, which had felt risky when she left, but the clouds had mostly cleared up. Besides, her waterproof black knee-high boots would protect her. She felt cute in them, too, which was a plus, especially since rain clouds featured prominently in the weather app for the next few days.

Amy was finishing up her sandwich when the same man she’d seen the previous Friday hurried past her. She knew it was him because he was wearing the same voluminous red cape as before. It wasn’t unusual to see oddly-dressed people in the city; there were movies being filmed, conventions being hosted, and sometimes people just felt like it, but a rich red cape? That was memorable.

She was closer to him than she’d been before, and Amy noted that the rest of his clothing was as unique and unusual as the crimson cape. As his hands swung along with his long strides, she saw that he had fabric strips swathed around his forearms. The man looked right and left before starting across at the crosswalk signal, and she admired his goatee and strong profile. A little thrill went through her as she wondered if perhaps he was an actor she was unfamiliar with. He was certainly handsome enough to be.

She hurried to catch the light, having held back so Mr. Possible Actor didn’t catch onto her stares. Amy swore under her breath when she saw the pedestrian count-down at such a low number, and sure enough, once halfway across she heard an angry horn. Certain she’d waited too long, she sped up with her head down so she wouldn’t trip, only to run headlong into something soft that stopped her short. Seconds later, her hair was blown into her face as a box truck sailed through the intersection, inches away.

“Are you all right? Miss?”

Amy swept her hair out of the way and saw that Handsome Cape-man was frowning down at her. He had to have been the one that stopped her from stepping out in front of the truck, but one look at him told her that ‘soft’ wasn’t the right descriptor at all. For all that he was dressed in a costume (which was incredibly high quality, to the point where she was grateful he hadn’t been struck just for the loss of craftsmanship), he looked fit and serious and half-deadly, like he’d walked right out of a fantasy novel.

“We need to get out of the street,” he said impatiently. Behind her, Amy felt a nudge, but before she could turn around to see what the source was, her rescuer slung an arm around her waist, and stalked them across the rest of the street.

There wasn’t another word for it.

When they reached the other side, he pulled free and then held both hands a few inches on either side of her upper arms, like he was afraid she would topple over. She was more bemused than frightened, but the two sentiments fought for her attention just enough to keep her mute.

“Are you dazed?”

Amy looked up at him. The noon light seemed to highlight the crystal blue of his eyes, and the effect of his good looks, unusual outfit, and actual life-rescuing left her desperately searching for something to say. The longer it took, the more embarrassed and defensive she got.

“You’re dazed,” he declared, sighing as he dropped his arms.

“You’re wearing a cape and you saved me from certain death! I just need a minute,” Amy managed. Outrage had jumpstarted her back into coherence. “I’m telling you right now, mister: if this is a set up for some kind of hidden camera show, I will punch you in your pretty face.”

He raised a single eyebrow, and Amy retroactively heard what she’d just said.

“The point stands,” she said, lifting her chin.

“It doesn’t stand in the ‘proof you’re not dazed’ column,” he said drily. “Tip your head up?”

Amy almost stepped back from him in surprise, but remembered at the last minute that she was standing right on the curb. “Why? You have some snake oil to sell me?” she challenged, as off-balance as she’d ever felt around another person.

Her rescuer scoffed. “Despite any conclusions you want to draw about my attire, you ought to know that phrase is a distortion of the truth unless you’re the kind of person who thinks all snakes are exactly the same. Now, if you don’t mind?” He stepped beside her and leaned over to look clinically into her eyes, moving his hand to block the sun for a few seconds, and nodding in satisfaction. “Instinctual fear response has now faded. You should be fine now.”

“I--” she started, but he’d started to turn away in the direction they were already walking. “Thank you?”

Caped ‘Charming’ made a lurching sort of turn that was seemingly led by his cape, and inclined his head, frowning, before he spun back around.

A quick glance at her watch had Amy rushing (carefully) back to work, with no time to process any of what had happened.

That night she googled two things.

There were no film crews scheduled anywhere near Bleecker Street.

Her second search showed that the origin of the term ‘snake oil’ was indeed distorted. For centuries, substances loosely described as ‘snake oils’ had been used successfully for many ailments, but that was thanks to the specific biology of the Chinese water snake. Subsequent charlatans had boiled any old snake and sold elixirs big on promises and short on results, fueling the phrase. Amy didn’t know why her use of it had bothered the man so much. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would have smiled at her if she’d said something different. 

If she was honest with herself, she wanted a do-over. She’d met someone handsome and enigmatic, and the best she could do was force him to save her from certain vehicular death? Amy wanted a second chance just for the principle of the thing. 

Out of necessity, she put it out of her mind and got to work calling donors, well into the night.

At lunch on Day Seven, Amy had every intention of walking in a completely different direction from Bleecker Street. It was too far away, she had already established that distractions were bad during lunch, and she’d called the man who’d arguably saved her life pretty. She had no business going over there.

She had been very clear with herself.

What wasn’t perfectly clear was her sense of direction. Either that or her subconscious was being sneaky, because at forty minutes since she left the office, Amy turned the corner on Sullivan next to a truly fine building to find herself on Bleecker again. Just then, a bald man wearing a long purple tunic jogged down the front stairs of the building and walked off in the opposite direction. He wasn’t wearing a cape, but the folds and gathers of his tunic and trousers were definitely not typical Greenwich Village wear.

Amy hadn’t expected the outfits to be a thing. Now she was invested. The problem was, she was twenty minutes from work, with twenty minutes left of her break.

“Day Eight, you’re on deck,” she said to herself as she turned around. Distractions aside, every (interesting) human was curious, weren’t they? This was about eliminating a mystery so she could focus on her work duties. It wasn’t about the way she couldn’t stop thinking about the caped man’s gorgeous eyes, the intensity of his gaze, or her need to know what he looked like smiling.

Not at all.

Day Eight threatened rain, but Amy was undaunted. She had her raincoat, her (far too expensive, except for every time she looked in the mirror and loved how they looked) sexy high boots, and today she was even wearing a knee-length skirt with hundreds of gathers. Confidence walked with her today, she decided-- but just in case, she brought along a $5 flimsy collapsible umbrella. 

The drizzle was just enough to make her scarf her sandwich to avoid wet bread syndrome, but it also sped her steps enough that Amy got to the stately building on Bleecker faster than she’d anticipated. 

Amy Cairn was not the ‘loiter around buildings’ type, but she’d seen others do it in the past, and the rain was picking up. Surely she could rest awhile near the building, tip her head up to the rain, and wait for her mysterious caped crossing guard to reappear. She’d just gathered up enough courage to spin her skirt out into the rain to see the patterns the drops would make on the fabric when the door opened and her knight in red brocade walked out to glare down at her.

“What is it that you want?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. He was wearing an over-large pendant that hung from his neck like a centerpiece, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was holding his hands like he’d have to grab for a weapon at any moment. The jittery way they shook made her wonder if he was part of a high-end drug den with bizarrely inventive organizers.

“I can’t stand here for a minute and enjoy the weather?” Just then, the rain intensified, thudding down on her upturned face with distinct disapproval. “You don’t want to get your fancy outfit all wet, do you?” Just talking was getting rain in her mouth, and yet there he stood, handsomely disapproving-- and, was the rain even soaking into his clothes? There weren’t any darker wet spots appearing on him anywhere.

“No.”

Something about him made her equally determined to make him smile and make him frown. He had a very expressive face, and he was wasting it.

“Sorry, which question of mine was that in answer to?” she asked, insolently cocking her head as she spoke. The effect was slightly marred by the way a wet piece of hair glopped over onto her cheek.

“Both. Neither. What--” As though answering him, the rain doubled again.

Amy fumbled into her small bag for her pathetic umbrella. It was probably her last chance of making her medieval adonis smile at her. She caught him altering his stance to a casual lean in the doorway as he watched her fight with the glue-like velcro and finally hit the button to deploy.

The umbrella lunged forward, finally unleashed. The metal and cloth contraption proved too strong for its flimsy plastic housing, which snapped.

Worse, Tall, Caped, and Handsome’s expression changed not a whit.

“Go on, gloat,” she muttered.

“I’d argue I don’t have time for this, but with Wong visiting for a few days, I suppose I do,” he said, perhaps to himself, adding in a louder voice, “You may come inside, but only until this passes.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to--”

“Perform your pretense at protest indoors, you’re wet enough already!” he groused, stepping further into the downpour to gesture at the door.

Befuddled, Amy did as she was told and walked up the stairs and into a dim, intimidating entryway. The door thundered closed behind her. Already a patter-pat of droplets flowed off of her raincoat and ruined umbrella, so she did the best thing she could think of, and set the latter in the metal framework umbrella stand nearby. It already had an archaic-looking black parasol in it, and Amy watched in dismay as the mess of plastic, metal, and soaked fabric slid wetly along its side.

“Here.” A black towel thrust into her line of sight. When she saw the hand clutching it, she initially thought he was sporting some kind of savage henna art. Amy reached out instinctively, only realizing as he abruptly dropped the towel that what she was seeing were scars, instead.

“Why am I not surprised it's black?” she blurted. The movement of her head caused a stream of rainwater to course down from her hair. "Shit, sorry," she said. The floor immediately around her was scattered with variously sized puddles.

“I don’t have time for this.” He was standing behind her, and Amy only caught a glimpse of the flash of light that traveled over and surrounded her from her toes on up in golden light. A second later, she was entirely dry. “Tell me what you’re doing hanging around the sanctum.”

“Hold on,” Amy said, patting at her hair, her chest, and her legs. Confused, she raised one tentative hand back up to her hair, in a physical sort of double take. It felt soft, and when she ran her fingers through it, she recognized the wavy bounciness she’d sported before showering in the hard New York water for three years running. “How in the--”

“Oh, spare me. This is getting tiresome,” the man said. He circled around to stand directly in front of her, his cape furled dramatically around him. “You tell whoever keeps hiring lost-looking spies to come down and face me themselves! Just because they picked someone young and attractive this time doesn’t mean I’m any more inclined to tell you anything!”

In the moody lighting he was even more handsome than before, if slightly menacing. Amy’s throat closed up at the idea that someone who could somehow dry her off with sleight of hand or stolen Chitauri magic would think she was in any way a threat. She was going to need to deflect, to give up on her quest for his smiles and get out of there.

A crazy thought came to her, and Amy decided it just might work.

“Well!” she said, channeling her inner offended store patron. “I did not come here to be complimented by the likes of you!” She reached into the umbrella stand and grabbed a twisted, wet handle, pressed it to her chest, and started for the door.

When she got there, the doorknob was completely missing.

“That was masterful, I must say,” her Caped Captor said in a silky voice. “Bring it back, please.”

“Bring what back?” she asked, wheeling around and gasping. The deeply confusing man she’d allowed to persuade her into his bizarre parlor full of tricks was now floating only a few feet away from her.

“The Babylonian relic you just tried to steal.”

Now Amy was well and truly freaked out. “I refuse to sign an NDA,” she said, closing her eyes tight. “Let me out and I won’t tell anyone you’re trying to frighten ordinary citizens for whatever viral campaign this is!”

“Well, you’re dedicated to the lie, at least,” the man said. His voice was closer now, and she opened her eyes to be ready for his next illusion. “Hand it over.”

His cloak seemed to be reaching for her. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, so in desperation, she thrust out her hand, the one that was holding her broken, soggy umbrella. In front of her eyes, the flimsy thing seemed to change, turning black instead of the navy blue which almost matched her caped captor’s clothing.

“How are you doing this?” she whispered.

His voice was equally quiet. “I’m not.”

She shook her head, genuinely frightened, and opened her hand to drop the umbrella. As it fell, the dark wood handle that she’d been clutching elongated and curved in just the right way to land on her wrist, instead of dropping to the floor.

Amy looked at the magician whose lair she’d been lured into, and said, “I’d like to faint dead away, please.”

Next chapter, Stephen is charmed and suspicious, as the ancient umbrella relic he's been wrestling with for weeks decides to imprint on Amy.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Wrapped Around Your Finger

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, arm wrestling

Summary: Tony instigates an arm wrestling contest with Bucky, and no one can beat him until you step up to the plate. The thing is, he’s a superhuman and you’re just a regular person. Something isn’t adding up here.

Squares Filled: thor (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Tony never fails to throw a legendary party. You’ve never been invited to one until you were drafted into the team. You’re not a superhuman, you don’t have powers, and you can easily be killed in a fight. However, you do have amazing hacking skills that have been useful for the team over the past year. You can remotely get into any account, jump over any firewall, and hack into any system with your equipment from your office.

You don’t even have to leave the compound to help.

To be surrounded by such powerful people is a bit overwhelming, but you try not to show how much it’s affecting you. Alcohol always calms you down so you immediately head to the bar. Sam laughs from the right of you, and you see he’s talking to Steve and Bucky over by the pool table. Ah, Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The hottest man at the party. The hottest man in any room. To look more casual, Bucky sports a backward hat and a thin t-shirt that accentuates his muscles. No one here is scared of him so he’s not shy about hiding his metal arm.

You often fantasize about what his arm could really do to someone like you.

“You should go over and talk to him.” You jump at Natasha’s voice, and you look to see her and Wanda standing next to you. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not staring at him.”

“We never said you were,” Wanda smirks.

“You definitely were, though.”

“Oh, yeah, totally.”

“Okay, stop. I’m not crushing on Bucky.”

“It’s okay if you are. He’s hot.”

“Why don’t you talk to him if you think he’s so hot?” you grumble.

“Not my type,” Nat answers. “I’m already a deadly assassin. I don’t need another one in my life.”

“Why don’t I go over to him and tell him how much you love him?” Wanda suggests with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, Maximoff.”

Both women laugh, and Natasha slaps a hand on your shoulder.

“Lighten up. Have another drink.” Natasha orders you another drink and you take it gratefully. “Seriously, though, you should go for it. You clearly don’t see the looks he gives you when you’re not paying attention. He’s whipped for you. You could ask him for anything and he’d give it to you.”

“I’m nothing compared to him. He’s a super soldier. I’m just a weak human. He’s not into me.”

Nat and Wanda look at each other, and both of them shrug. “You’ll get there eventually.”

With alcohol in your system, you’re more social with everyone but Bucky. You’d have to get seriously fucked up to talk to Bucky. He makes you so nervous and you don’t want to do anything to embarrass yourself.

By the time ten rolls around, most of the people have left the party so only the Avengers are left. This group is more chilled than the previous one because no one is trying to impress someone. Only the elite have been invited to the party, and they were starstruck in the eyes of the Avengers. Everyone here knows what everyone can do so it’s more laid back and chill.

“Be honest with me,” Tony says to Bucky. “How much can you bench with that thing?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky chuckles. “I never tested it.”

“I bet I could take you.”

“Excuse me?”

“In an arm wrestling contest. Get your mind out of the gutter. I don’t run that way.”

Tony is drunk otherwise he wouldn’t be saying this, but Bucky finds amusement in it. Tony is persistent which is how you got here. Everyone wants a piece of Bucky’s metal arm to see if they can beat him. Knowing he can’t do it by himself, Tony grabs one of his Iron Man suit arms to give him that extra boost.

Tony fails, and Bucky doesn’t even look like he broke out in a sweat.

Rhodey tries and fails. Natasha and Clint know better than to take on a vibranium arm without powers. Bruce is scared he’ll turn into the Hulk if he strains himself too much. Wanda doesn’t compete because she’ll probably win with her magic, and she’s curious as to how this is going to end. Steve steps up to the plate and grabs Bucky’s metal hand confidently. The only person who thinks he might actually have a shot. Both men start the match, and Steve looks like he is going to win when Bucky gets a second wind and slams Steve’s hand on the desk.

The only person who can beat Bucky without any issue is Thor, but he’s on Asgard right now so he’s out of the running.

“Who’s next?” Bucky asks confidently.

“You’re so sure he’s whipped for me?” you whisper to Nat and Wanda. “There’s a way to tell if he is or not.”

“How?”

“He’ll let me win.” You step up to the table and take off your jacket. “I can do it.”

“You’re not doing it, Doll,” Bucky chuckles. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“What, are you chicken?” You look at everyone. “Hear that everyone? Bucky’s scared to go up against a girl.”

“Fine.” You turn to Bucky. “It’s your health. I won’t be the one who will end up with a broken arm.”

Bucky changes hands and grabs your hand with his flesh one.

“Why not your other hand?”

“I’m not using my metal arm on someone who doesn’t have any powers. It won’t be a fair fight.”

He has a point. You position yourself and look at Steve who taps the desk. You and Bucky immediately start to wrestle, and you’re using every bit of strength you have. Bucky has to admit, you’re strong for a woman of your stature but it’s not enough to beat him. However, the look of concentration and determination you have is too cute to diminish.

He pulls his strength back and lets you slam his hand to the desk.

You jump back and cheer for your victory, and he can’t help but smile. Everyone knows he let you win but you don’t care. You’re the only one who has been able to beat him whether or not it was a pity win. You join Nat and Wanda’s side with a huge smile on your face, and Steve and Sam approach Bucky with knowing looks on theirs.

“You let her win,” Steve says.

“You’re whipped, man,” Sam laughs.

“Yeah, I did, but look how happy she is.”

“You know he let you win, right?” Natasha whispers to you.

“Yeah, but that proves one thing. I have that man wrapped around my finger. He’s into me,” you beam.

“Finally, you see it,” Wanda laughs.

You look back at Bucky to see him already looking at you, and you smile right back.

x

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[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings

Author's Note: Let me start this by saying I mean absolutely zero disrespect to Hugh's ex wife with this story. I'm just coming up with ideas for chapters and trying to be creative, so please do not hate me for the story. I got this inspiration from a song I'd been listening to, so once again, no disrespect meant for his previous marriage or his ex-wife. This story is pure fiction and just meant to satisfy your need for Hugh Jackman fluff. 

Hugh and I have been friends for many years, despite our age gap of 20+ years. He was married to Debbora Furness and had been for the past 27 years. Our friendship was a platonic one, but we'd always had this strange chemistry. Hugh has been extremely loyal to Deb over the course of their marriage, despite his flirtatious nature. I'd love to tell you that I didn't have a thing for him, but I'd be lying to you. With that being said, I respect his marriage and I know my boundaries, which I'd never cross. 

I was sitting in my hotel room in California, it was coming up on 7pm, the sun starting to slowly sink down producing a beautiful cotton candy sky that could be seen from my suite's balcony that overlooked the city. I was getting ready for a date with a musician, who shall remain unnamed. I heard my phone ring from across the room, walking over and picking it up, expecting it to be my date, I noticed it was Hugh. 

"Hey Hugh, I can't-" I began but was immediately cut off by him sounding frantic, "I really need you right now." He said with a shaky, almost hoarse voice. 

My voice grew concerned, "Is everything okay?"

"Just send me your room number and the name of the hotel. We'll talk there." He said quickly before hanging up. 

What in the actual hell is going on? Did someone die? Is it cancer? I mean what is going on? A thousand thoughts raced through my mind as I quickly typed out my suite number and hotel into a text and sent it to him. Within minutes I heard a knock on my suite door. I ran up, opening the door to see a disheveled looking Hugh Jackman looking frantic. I quickly pulled him inside my room and he pulled me into a hug. I stood before him frozen in place, slowly wrapping my arms around him. 

"What's going on? Are you okay? Are Oscar and Ava okay? Is Deb-" I began to hit him with rapid fire questions trying to understand what's causing this kind of emotion from the man I'd known to always be so happy, go lucky. He cut me off, "She's gone. Deb's gone." He said, his voice trembling. 

I gasped in shock as my eyes widened, "What? What happened?" I asked, rubbing his back, leading him to the tan leather love seat that sat in the living room area of the suite. I'd never seen him this emotional outside of his acting. 

As we sat on the sofa, he continued holding me as if I were his security blanket. I repeated, "What happened?" causing him to look up at me with broken eyes. 

He covered his face, "She told me she wanted a divorce. She's moving her stuff out of the house and wants to be gone before I get back." I bit my bottom lip in disbelief, "Did she say why?" I asked trying to process what I was being told. 

He took a shaky breath before looking at me, "She says we've fallen out of love and are two different people now that 27 years have gone by. She says we want two entirely different things out of life." 

I shrugged, placing my hand on his knee. "Is she wrong?" I asked softly, looking at him, continuing to tremble with each word he spoke. 

He sighed, running his hand through his messy hair, "She's not wrong." 

I blinked, looking at him, taken back by his response, "What do you mean she's not wrong? What did you do?" 

He took a deep breath and began looking down, refusing to look me in the eyes and began shaking his head. I grabbed his hand, caressing it softly, "What happened, babe? You know I won't judge you. You know after years of confiding in me that you can tell me anything." 

He nodded, wiping a tear from his eyes, still shaking his head as if he were trying to process his own thoughts. He was being extremely cautious with his words. The sound of my phone ringing caused me to almost jump out of my skin. It had to be the guy I was supposed to be meeting tonight. I quickly grabbed my phone, silencing the call and put my attention back on the man that was sitting in front of me. 

He finally looked up at me, "Being married for as long as we were is hard work after awhile, especially when your world stops due to a pandemic and you're forced to actually face the problems in your marriage instead of being away for weeks or months at a time and being able to avoid them." I nodded, allowing him to continue, watching nervously grit his teeth, "I fucked up. I let my emotions get the best of me and instead of envisioning her, I began envisioning someone else. I knew it was wrong, so I stopped and began focusing all of my attention on Deb." 

I looked at him, "Okay, well I mean...That happens. You didn't physically do anything, did you?" I asked, furrowing my brows. 

He shook his head, "No, I didn't. But she knew something was up with me. And now, I can't keep running from it. Deb is a great person, she truly is. But this other person, it's like whenever I'm with them, life suddenly just...makes sense again." He said lowly while staring off into space as if actually saying the words caused him too much pain to admit. 

My phone began ringing again, I quickly grabbed it and answered, "Hey, look I'm sorry. I just had an emergency come up and I'm not going to be able to make it. I hope you understand." I said quickly, Hugh gave me a questioning look, and I knew he was curious as to who I was speaking to or who I had plans with. 

My date was disappointed to say the least, but he understood, so I took that as a chance to end the call. Hugh looked at me, "I shouldn't be here bothering you with this. Go on with your plans."  He sniffled, wiping his face with his head and standing up. 

I grabbed his hand, rolling my eyes, pulling him back down on the sofa, "No, it's okay. So things make more sense when you're with this person?" I asked, he looked at me nodding, but not speaking. "Does she feel the same way?" I asked. 

He shrugged, refusing to keep eye contact with me again, "I don't know if she does or doesn't. But I've been in a marriage that's lacked intimacy and has been more of a friendship arrangement for the past two years. This was not something I planned. I would never cheat on Deb, I just couldn't handle the charade anymore and I'm guessing she felt the same way."  

I wasn't exactly sure what to say anymore as I gazed at him allowing him to continue venting, "I just know that whenever I'm with this person, we can be in a room full of people and it's like they're not there. She makes me feel things that I haven't felt in the longest fucking time." 

I threw my hands up, "Go tell her then. If that's how you feel for this person, go talk to her. Hugh, you are an amazing man. What happened is unfortunate but people grow apart sometimes and there's nothing that can be done about it. You need to go tell this person how you feel." I said softly, giving him a small smile. "So who is it anyways? Is it the girl you're on broad way with? The one the rumor was about? Wasn't her name Sarah or something?" 

"Are you referring to Sutton?" He asked, looking at his hands. 

I nodded, "Yeah, that's her name. Sutton. Is it her?" 

He sat silent for a good two minutes, staring at his hands. There had been articles going around for months about him and his Music Man co-star, Sutton Foster having an affair. I honestly wouldn't be surprised at this point. I knew the effect the pandemic had on his marriage. He tells me literally everything and I've always been there as an ear or eyes for his texts regarding the issues he and Deb dealt with. 

After two minutes of complete silence, he spoke, looking at me, "I have something to tell you." 

I looked up at him with soft eyes, his hazel ones piercing through my soul, "It's Sutton, isn't it?" I asked knowingly. 

He slowly shook his head, "It's not Sutton and no, I didn't have an affair with Sutton." He simply said. 

I chuckled, "Okay, so who is it? It's not Zendaya, is it?" I asked, cringing at the thought of he and Zendaya together. Nothing against Zen, we're friends. But she also knows about the crush I have on my dear friend. 

He looked at cringing himself, "What? No. She's like a daughter to me." He said with a chuckle, "It's you." He said lowly. 

I took a deep breath, "It's me?" 

He looked down at the floor again, "Yeah." He was being short, as if he himself were in disbelief.

I furrowed my brows, "Why?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief of what I was hearing.  

His voice began trembling again as he reached for my hand, interlocking it with his own, "Do you remember when my father died?" He asked, I nodded, "I rang you, and you jumped on a plane to come see me. You spent days going over my lines for The Son with me. That was when I realized it. I rang Deb first. All she could say was that she was sorry. But you, you booked a flight and flew across the world for me. I was in hysterics and you comforted me each time." I took another breath, remembering what had taken place when Hugh's dad passed away on Australia's Father's Day in 2021. 

"I swear to you, I tried. When I got back home, I tried to make those thoughts go away. That's why I distanced myself from you that following year. No matter what I did, no matter what she did, all I could see was you." He spoke honestly, tilting his head slightly, a hitch in his breathing as he continued to look at me, begging me to say anything. 

"I fell in love with you, but I didn't want you to know. I didn't want Deb to know. I didn't want anyone to know, so I tried my fucking bloody damnest to push it out of my head and it only made it more apparent. And I don't know if you feel the same w-" I couldn't take hearing him speak anymore, overwhelmed with emotion, I tightened the grip he had on my hand with my own and sent my lips crashing against his stopping him in his tracks. 

He brought his other hand up, grabbing my chin softly as his brain registered what was happening and began slowly moving his lips against mine. Pulling away, but pressing my forehead against his, as we both kept our eyes shut, I spoke, "I love you." barely above a whisper. I slowly opened my eyes to see his eyes staring into my own, our foreheads still pressed together, "But I didn't want this to happen like this."

I sighed, pulling away, "I don't want to be the reason your marriage ends. I'm not a home wrecker. I've loved you for years, why do you think I flew across the country when your father died and you called me hysterical? But I respect you, I respect Deb and I respect your marriage."

He looked at me, "My marriage ended two years ago. You're not a homewrecker and you did not cause this. Deb and I knew this was coming since the shut down over COVID. We didn't want to divorce for the sake of our children. We've just both gotten to the point where we want different things out of life and have decided for the sake of our happiness to end things. I'm heartbroken because I genuinely do love her as a person, and I did not want things to go the way they have.  But her and I have to find our own happiness and we've realized it wasn't with each other anymore." 

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, "It's you. For the last two years, it's been you and you didn't even know it. You did nothing wrong, love."

I sat in silence. I'd worked so hard over the years to keep my feelings to myself and to never cross a boundary. But whenever he called me in tears over his father, I couldn't help myself but to want to be there for support. He needed it and was falling apart at the seams. I don't know why Deb didn't rush to his side. I don't know why all she could say was "Sorry, I'll see you when you get back to New York.". 

His eyes began pleading with me, as he slid off the sofa and onto the floor on his knees in front of me, still holding my hand, now grabbing my other one, "Please say something. Please." 

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, exhaling the deep breath I had been holding, "Just hold me..." was all I could manage to say. 

He nodded, quickly sliding back to his position on the sofa, pulling my body into his chest, "Yeah?...I can do that." The feeling of his arms tightening around me as I sank my head into his chest. 

Where do we go from here?

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[spidey-webz]

the sweetest sin – bucky barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky goes undercover at a charity event to get closer to you. You’re his mission. But that dress you’re wearing is a little too tempting…

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, r deals with weapons, r and bucky have a shared history, mentions of bucky’s trauma, r wears a dress, r is also shorter than bucky, somewhat public sex (in a restroom, door closed), slight dom bucky, they’re both really horny, very little plot, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, mirror sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, use of petnames (doll, darling), fingering with the metal hand, hair pulling

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This idea came to me after seeing the Thunderbolts trailer and I really hope you'll like this one!!

Masterlist

The ballroom was filled with chatter and music. Multiple waiters were balancing champagne glasses on their trays, walking from group to group and handing them out with a smile. There were men discussing business deals, old friends exchanging memories and some women holding onto their husbands’ arms as they laughed. 

None of them paid any particular mind to the man in the corner of the room. 

Bucky Barnes was leaning against a stone pillar, his eyes roaming through the room as he attempted to find you in the crowd somewhere. He had declined every glass of champagne, so he could stay alert if you passed by him. 

He had not seen you in a while. To be honest, he had never kept up with your life. His own had been quite the mess after the Blip, but seeing your name in the mission file served as enough of a reminder of what you two had shared. Bucky had been a man without a path ahead of him, only fleeing from everyone that might recognise him, and there you had been – in Romania. You had only spent a few weekends together, but he had enjoyed them all the same. For that short while, he had felt like a normal man. 

When had things gone wrong in your life? Or had you always been involved with this kind of trade? 

The files on you did not mention any criminal activity when he had first met you in 2016. Had it been the Blip that forced you to join illegal weapon trading? Had it been something else in your life?

Bucky could never say he knew you. There had been many secrets between the two of you, starting with his very own identity. You had made him feel safe and yet he hadn’t been able to share his name with you, too afraid that it might slip you at the market or at the gas station. 

Back then, he barely even knew himself. His memories had been a disorganised mess, a whirl of moments and feelings he could not exactly put together. Even being with you, feeling your warm body around him and having your lips wander like feathers over his skin – it had felt almost foreign to his troubled mind. 

Those memories were cherished by him and once he had settled back into a somewhat normal life, Bucky had found himself reminiscing about them on lonely nights. 

Now he was after you. 

There were so many women with the same hair colour as you, but he felt certain that he would still recognise you between all of them. Sam did not know why he had been so determined on receiving this mission, but he would explain it to him in due time. Bucky had promised to reduce the number of secrets he had, but he had never felt comfortable sharing you with anyone. Until now, he had kept you hidden away in a part of his heart that only he could access – in the middle of the night, in quiet moments, in the comfortable space of his bed. 

A flash of white passed by him. Another man might have missed it, but he had been trained to notice any movement in the corner of his eye for years. He turned his head to the side, trying to find the same white dress in the crowd again and there you were. 

Your dress was low-cut, no sleeves and a slit on the side for your thigh and knee to peak through with every step. He flexed his jaw, taking a deep breath as he watched you talk with a man he did not recognise. A glass of champagne rested easily in your hand, your eyes fixed on the person in front of you. He was not blessed with enough enhanced hearing to make out any part of the conversation, yet he found himself entranced with the movements of your lips. 

Bucky had feared that this might happen. He had not seen you in so long and there were so many questions floating around in his head, so many unspoken things on his tongue. But you were his mission all the same and he had hoped to make this entire ordeal a little bit easier on you if it was him that came looking for you. 

The dress you were wearing almost demanded all of his attention. His cheeks started to feel warm once he allowed the memories to flood in. He had you spread out on your bed, his tongue expertly moving between your folds, strong arms holding you in place just for him. You had squeezed his cock so beautiful during every night you two shared and this dress, the flashes of your skin, all of it reminded him of those moments. 

In an attempt to gather himself, he pulled on the ends of his jacket, straightening it in the process.  

People always moved out of his way. Even with his metal hand covered up, they often didn’t want to cross him. It was a strange sensation, no doubt. Bucky would not call himself particularly frightening. 

He did not mean to interrupt your conversation, but he did linger a little closer to you than before. If he caught you alone for a moment, he could speak to you. 

You had seen him when you had turned around to place down your glass of champagne. Bucky Barnes had been a momentary part of your life in Romania, but he had lingered in the back of your mind for years. You had changed and so had the world around you. It didn’t change the way his touch had seemed to stay with you. In lonely moments, it had become a source of comfort, a source of wonder. Of course, you had eventually realised who he was. It had been all over the news. 

The Winter Soldier. 

How could you not know him after every newspaper in town had his face plastered on their front page? And yet he had been a stranger to you until the last second. 

Whatever choices he had made, they had led him here and they had led him to follow you. If you could trust any of the newspaper articles you had read about him recently, he was now one of the good guys and that meant he was out to get you. 

Not that you had committed a horrible crime, but you had given other people the supplies to commit theirs. Enough of an offence to have the former Winter Soldier on your tail. 

You knew he would not interrupt your conversation. He was waiting for the right moment to speak to you and that moment would have to be one between just you and him. You decided to give him the chance to since his eyes seemed to burn holes into your back. With an apologetic smile, you excused yourself to the toilet. 

Moving through the couples standing in your way, you briefly glanced back over your shoulder. He was following you, a stern expression on his face. You had only smile him a few times and those never seemed to reach his eyes in the slightest. There had been a deep sadness about the man you had met in Romania and you wondered if it was still there. 

You closed the door to the restroom behind you, but it opened again just a moment later. 

There was a tzzzz sound and you knew Bucky had used some sort of device to lock the door behind himself. After engaging in weapon trade for a few years, you had become familiar with different methods to remain undisturbed for important conversations. As you stood in front of the mirror, you did not look at him at first. 

His presence alone sent a shiver down your spine. 

Had he thought of you these past years? Had he remembered you in a positive way? 

Bucky had stayed with you even days after his departure from Romania. The memory of his touch had been with you during a shower, during the boring commute to your job and most importantly, during nights facing the moon in an attempt to feel the same way you did for those short weekends. 

His eyes continued to linger on you. He was almost frozen in place even though you did not even give him a glance again. Bucky wanted to tilt your head to the side, run his lips over the familiar skin of your neck and make you shiver in his arms as he had done before. You were right there, a temptation he should avoid. 

He was on a mission. He was not here to reconcile with an old acquaintance and he was definitely not here to indulge any of his own desires. No matter how tight his throat started to feel and how his body seemed to protest his every thought. After all, Bucky had felt alive with you. After so many years of living on auto-pilot, those nights with you had brought him back to this world a little. 

Bucky flexed his left hand. How was he supposed to initiate this conversation? 

I am here to arrest you. I need to know more about the people you’re supplying to…

Why are you wearing this dress? I can’t stop looking at you. 

Neither of these options would work. 

His steps echoed through the empty bathroom once he approached. His reflection appeared in the mirror, close to yours and you searched for his gaze until your eyes met. Maybe you had just imagined it, but Bucky’s expression seemed to soften for just a moment. 

His posture gave him away though. He was tense, metal hand curled into a fist by his side. A smirk appeared on your own lips. His eyes drifted down your neck, to your collarbones and eventually to your cleavage. Of course, he was looking at you. The dress was a nice one, showing just enough to tempt any man. 

Bucky had never been able to forget any detail about you. Having you right in front of him brought all the desire he previously felt right back. 

“It’s good to see you, Bucky.” 

He had never heard you say his name before. Back then, it had always been a different one, but it now sent a shiver down his spine. 

“It’s good to see you too.” 

You were not oblivious to the looks he was giving you. It seemed like your body was tempting him just as it had done years ago. Would it get you out of this situation? 

His suit looked good on him too. You had never seen him in formal clothing before, but it brought out the best in him. His eyes were still the same piercing blue as you remembered. Even though your weekends together had not been of the strictly romantic kind, you had spend hours upon hours gazing into his eyes and trying to make sense of the man in front of you. 

Bucky had always remained a mystery to you until your ways had eventually parted. 

“Have all these years taken your ability to talk to me?” You asked with a wicked smile, turning around to him fully as you leaned against the sink behind you. You could watch his gaze briefly turn towards your exposed knee, then flicker back to your face. 

“Not at all. I am here to talk to you about your job.” So you had been right. Bucky was here to talk to you about your trade, but if you were quite honest, you were not in the mood to talk about it at all. 

“Do we really have to talk about that? You haven’t seen me in years.” You stepped closer to him, taking a moment to appreciate the beard on his face and the curve of his lips. He looked healthier than the last time you saw him – stronger, even. Would his lips still feel good on yours? Would his hands know exactly where to touch you? 

Could he make you come undone like he had done so many times before? 

“No, we do not.” His voice had grown rougher, his gaze darkened just a little. 

Bucky could smell your perfume. It seemed to envelop him entirely, dulling all his thoughts until there was only you. 

You and your pretty dress. You and your tempting lips and a body he wanted to lose himself in. 

His mission was on the line. Could he allow himself to fail it? Return home with empty hands? Just because his hands wanted to be all over you. Bucky wanted to run his fingers over your exposed knee, let his hand wander up and up until he’d reach the wet folds between your legs. Would you still taste the very same there? 

“I did not expect to meet you again like-”

Bucky’s finger found your lips and stopped your words altogether. You blinked up at him, once, twice, through long lashes and he knew he was a doomed man this evening. 

“Quiet,” he whispered. While his right index finger rested on your lips, his left hand slid up your arm. The metal was cool against your skin, a familiar sensation you had dreamed about many times in the past years. 

“Just be quiet.” He leaned down to your ear, his lips grazing your skin ever so slightly. “You look lovely in this dress.” A soft kiss planted at the spot between your ear and your jaw. Enough to send a shiver down your spine. You pulled your arm away to grab his hand, planting it on your waist instead. 

Bucky took his finger away from your lips and looked at you, desire burning in his eyes. His pants were getting tighter the more he thought about your naked body and the promise of maybe exploring it once more. Even if this would be a short-lived moment, he wanted to cherish it. When would he ever get the chance to touch you again? 

You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to give your body to him, even if it was just for one evening. 

Pulling him just a little closer, you pressed your lips against his. Bucky’s hands firmly grabbed your waist, pressing you up against him. You could feel his arousal hard against your leg and it brought a smirk to your lips. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. 

It was easy for him to lift you up onto the sink and part your thighs enough to stand between them. Bucky’s hands roamed your body, starting at your hips and running his big hands up your back. Your own began to wander to his shirt, opening it button for button, just to see his trained chest peak through. 

His tongue parted your lips, the kiss growing more hungry by the second. He felt like a man starved and you were the only one able to quench his thirst. 

“Need to fuck you in this dress.” His words were a low mumble against your lips, but still enough to make your panties almost feel soaked. Your pussy clenched around nothing, another sign that you needed him just as much. 

“Please do,” you whispered, already feeling out of breath when you briefly parted from each other. Bucky’s hands moved underneath your dress, squeezing the bare skin of your thighs, hands inching further to the inside. 

He wanted to savour this moment. Once you two left the restroom again, life would continue. For now, it could stay exactly like this. 

“Lift your hips for me, doll.” 

There it was. Doll. A familiar endearment from his lips and you were quite happy to oblige. Pushing yourself off the counter for a moment, Bucky hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs. He pushed them into the back pockets of his pants, before kneeling down on the ground in front in you. 

His lips were laced with a wicked smirk after he wet his lips with his tongue. “Spread your legs for me.” 

Once your thighs had parted for him, you leaned back against the mirror behind you, the cool glass against the back of your head. Bucky’s warm breath on your most sensitive spot caused goosebumps to spread over your entire body. 

“Already so wet for me. Did you lure me here on purpose?” Even though you couldn’t see his smile, you could hear it in his voice. 

Whatever words you wanted to reply got stuck in your throat once Bucky’s lips wrapped around your clit. He sucked on it softly, his metal hand travelling closer to where you needed him the most. As his middle finger slid between your wet folds, you pushed your hips against his hand, eager for more. 

“Oh shit,” you cursed under your breath. The cold sensation of his metal digit inside you left you gasping with every new curl of his finger. Bucky continued to alternate between sucking on your sensitive nub and flicking his tongue against it. 

He knew how to work your body and he wanted to see you explode in front of him. Your taste on his tongue was enough to keep him satisfied for days. Once he added another finger, filling your pussy so tightly, you pressed your left hand down on your mouth to prevent your moans to slip past your lips. 

Your right hand found its way into Bucky’s hair, pressing him just a little closer to your middle. The tension in your abdomen became more and more, your walls quivering around his fingers. With every stroke of his fingers inside you, with every expertly placed flick of his tongue, he brought you closer to a climax and he could tell. 

Bucky felt your walls clench around his hand, your thighs shaking around his head. A deep groan escaped him. It was enough to sent vibrations through your core, your squeal only being muted by your own hand around your mouth. 

“Come for me, darling.” You wanted to obey his wishes and with one more roll of your hips and a flick of Bucky’s tongue against your clit, your orgasm rolled over you. Your hand pulled harder on his hair as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. Bucky loved the feeling of your thighs closing around his head, almost threatening to smother him in-between. 

When he stood back up once your climax had worn off, he licked over his lips slowly. You barely had time to catch your breath when he pulled you right back into his arms, erection pressing against your thigh as you could taste yourself on his tongue. Bucky’s kiss was eager and hungry, his metal hand sneaking up the back of your neck. 

“Can you taste yourself on my tongue?” His words were a mumble against your mouth, almost being drowned out by another kiss. Bucky’s eyes were wide with lust, his hand manoeuvring your neck to the side, so he could run his tongue up your neck. Another moan slipped past your lips, your body eagerly pressing into his. You wanted to savour each of his touches and stop time. 

You nodded in reply, feeling the rough brush of his beard against your jawline. It was enough to make you shiver, enough to want even more of him. 

“Talk to me,” he urged you, his mouth right next to your ear. 

“Yes, I can.”

Your voice was trembling, your hands fumbling to get a hold of his cheeks. When you cupped his cheeks, you turned his face towards you. Bucky’s cheeks had turned a soft red colour and his hips were slightly rolling against your leg. He needed the relief as much as you had. 

“I need you.” 

Bucky didn’t need to hear more than that. You helped him open his pants and slide them down, his boxers soon following. In an attempt to relieve some of the need between your legs, you squeezed them together, but Bucky quickly pulled them apart once more. 

“Need to be inside you,” he mumbled against your neck. Your hands moved to his back, legs wrapping around his hips and Bucky grabbed the underside of your thighs to position you properly. His tip brushed past your folds, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Bucky had always filled you out so nicely and you couldn’t wait to feel it again. 

When he pushed inside, you leaned your head back against the mirror behind you. Bucky let out a soft groan, closing his eyes to savour the feeling. Your walls were still so very tight around him, fitting perfectly around his cock. His first thrust was slow, but it filled you out all the same. 

Your fingers attempted to get a hold of his shirt as he leaned down and softly sucked on the soft skin at your throat. “Fuck,” you groaned, pushing your hips up to feel him even deeper. Every thrust sent another wave of pleasure through you, your body rocking in sync with his even when his thrusts grew more rapid. 

Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin around your hips, holding you in place as started to chase his own high. The knot in your abdomen got tighter and tighter. 

He groaned into your shoulder, face pressed against your skin, his hot breath leaving goosebumps spread over your entire body. “Shit,” you cursed again, feeling yourself getting so close to that sweet high – once again. 

Before you could reach your sweet relief, Bucky pulled out again, leaving your cunt empty and leaking. A puzzled expression appeared in your face, but you soon knew what his plan was. In one swift movement, Bucky had you off the counter and turned around, seeing your own flushed face in the mirror. 

Bucky entered you once more, this time with one hard thrust. It was already enough to send you over the edge, but his thrusts kept going. Your pussy was spasming around him, legs trembling as your orgasm just kept going. Bucky’s metal hand pressed down on your mouth to silence your moans as he kept the ruthless pace up, hitting your sensitive spot over and over again. 

The pleasure was too much, your thighs trying to squeeze together and your hands holding tightly onto the counter. His grunts of pleasure filled your ear and his eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Once your gazes met, his teeth scraped against your earlobe, his thrusts growing almost erratic. Bucky was so close too, so close to spending himself inside you. 

“Going to fill you up, doll,” he groaned and as you pushed your hips back again, walls squeezing his cock so deliciously, it finally tipped him over the edge. His low moan sounded in your ear and his face was distorted with lust. The sight alone gave you one final push to reach your next high, one hand desperately holding onto Bucky’s strong forearm. 

He held you in place as ropes of cum painted your insides white, his cock still pulsing inside you. Bucky wanted to hold you like this forever, as close as humanly possible, and never let go again. 

Soft kisses were planted on your shoulder, his beard scraping along your soft skin, leaving a slight redness behind. His lips wandered over to your pulse point, making you whimper as you pressed yourself back into his chest. 

��I’ve missed you.”

His words were unexpected, but you cherished them all the same. You had missed him too – more than you often liked to admit. 

“I missed you too.” 

There were still so many things to discuss between you, but Bucky was pretty sure that those could wait for another moment longer. That dress had already distracted him more than enough, but he wished to remember every little detail of you wearing it. That would take time. 

It definitely looked like time had stopped for the both of you, even if it was just for tonight. 

[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

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Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

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[buckys-wintersoldier]

Dinner, Flirt and Jealousy | Bucky Barnes

Pairing -> Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary -> Steve likes to flirt with you, but you always feel Bucky looking at you when his best friend is near you. When he has the change during a dinner to have you for himself, he confesses his feelings and makes you his.

Warnings -> (E) Minors DNI, 18+, smut, noncon/dubcon (just to be safe), kinda public sex, breeding kink, unprotected p in v, oral (male!receiving), kinda praises, bit of possessive!Bucky

Wordcount -> 2.1k

Request -> Heyy!! Can you make a story about where the Avengers are on dinner in a very fancy restaurant. Everyone is talking and Steve flirts/ says something that makes her blush and Bucky gets jealous. 1) Trope, 1) version of Bucky and 13) Kink

A/N -> Hey, thank you so much for the request. I hope you like what I made out of it. My requests are open, feel free to send an ask, I also take requests for the Bucky Barnes Smut Menu.

Prompt -> Sweet & Spicy Bingo: Winter Edition | I1 | Family Dinner | @sweetspicybingo | Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition | I5 | Clumsy Flirting | @fandom-free-bingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Smut Menu | Sweet & Spicy Bingo | Fandom-Free Bingo | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

The Avengers and you are in a restaurant; you’re sitting next to Steve, who looks really interested in you. You two are best friends, but something changed in the way he is looking at you. Sometimes it feels like he wants more than just to be your best friend.

His hand lays next to yours, and he moves it inch by inch closer until his fingers touch yours. Steve leans closer and blows against your sensitive skin under your ear. You shiver slightly, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

“You look adorable; I think you would also look beautiful when you carry my babies inside of you,” he tells you, kissing your cheek softly.

“Steve,” you chuckle and punch his arm softly.

He shrugs with his flirty smile on his lips and turns back to the conversation of the other Avengers. No matter how often you say no to his flirts, he always tries it again and makes you blush or laugh whenever he can.

When you turn around, you see two steel-blue eyes staring at you. The owner of them is sitting on the opposite side of the table. His jaw is clenching, and his hands on the table are formed into fists.

You roll your eyes at him, annoyed. You hate him so much. Whenever someone is flirting with you, Bucky is there, and something about him gives them a reason to run away. You don’t know why he doesn’t want someone to flirt with you, and whenever you ask, he just looks at you and turns around.

“Stevie?” you ask, and your best friend turns around with a big smile forming on his lips.

“What’s up?”

“I really want a kiss. Do you want to kiss me?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, showing Steve that Bucky is doing the staring thing again.

The two of you already talked about it, and Steve offered you some options so Bucky would maybe stop staring at you. Maybe when he thinks you're dating Steve.

Your best friend chuckles and leans closer. His lips almost brush yours, and you hear the low growl from Bucky. You capture Steve’s cheeks and pull him closer; his lips meet yours, and he kisses you passionately.

The other Avengers ignore the two of you; they are just talking about some things you don’t really know because you don’t listen to them.

Steve pulls away from you, his cheeks slightly red. You feel Bucky still staring at you; he would probably like to jump over the table and push Steve away, but it’s his best friend.

You turn your head and see the brown-haired man’s hand clenching around his class. You wonder when it will break in his tight grip.

“I need to pee,” you whisper into Steve’s ear, and he nods.

You stand up and walk through the floor, which leads to the toilets. When you reach the floor, you hear a glass breaking, knowing that Bucky's tight grip broke the glass, and he is probably wet from the water now.

Before you think more about it, you make your way through the toilets. Maybe you should have known that he needed to dry himself. So you walk into the small room.

When you’re almost finished, you hear the door open again, probably another woman who needs to use the restroom. You walk out of it, making your way to the sinks. When you wash your hands and look into the mirror, suddenly Bucky stands behind you.

He is so close that you feel his firm chest pressing against your back. You feel the bulge in his pants, and your eyes widen slowly when you understand his behavior. You don’t dare turn around; you just look at him through the mirror when his hands find their way to your waist. Does he like you and doesn’t want someone else to be as close to you as he wants to be?

“I will stuff you with my cock and pump you full with my babies,” he says quietly, leaning closer to your ear. “You’re mine, and you will carry my babies. You will look so adorable when you have our babies in your stomach, doll,” Bucky groans.

“James, let go of me,” you say, trying to push him away.

“Oh fuck, say that again. It sounds so good when you say my name,” he mumbles.

You roll your eyes, annoyed, and turn around. His face suddenly appears just inches away from yours when he smiles at you. His blue eyes are so dark with lust, almost black.

“I’m fucking-“ you get interrupted by Bucky, who moves his hips against yours, grinding his covered member against you.

“Yeah, you’re fucking me? I don’t mind. Would you prefer another position or want me to slam my thick cock immediately into your tight hole?” Bucky asks with a smirk, and you swallow.

His hand slides along your sides and comes to a halt when he is just a few inches away from your pussy. He looks deep into your eyes, his expression serious, and his tongue slides over his lips. Suddenly Bucky lifts his hand and holds them up, walking a step backwards and giving you some more space.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You thought he would fuck you right there and then, but he just walked backwards and said sorry? You feel your arousal dripping out of you and sobbing your panties. His words and his action turned you on, but you won’t tell him. Not after treating you the way he always did.

“I didn’t want to force you. It’s just-“ Bucky runs his fingers through his curly, brown hair. “The way he looks at you, the way he makes you laugh, and the way he touches you. The things he said, I hate it. I hate you because you make me go crazy because I love you,” he adds, staring down at the floor.

“Who is the guy you’re talking about? And you do what?” You ask, confused, unsure if you heard him right.

“Steve, he- Doll, I love you; don’t you understand? I want you to be mine,” he confesses. “I can smell you.”

Your eyes widen when he says that. The words slip over his lips, and he smirks softly when he looks up at you. Bucky lets his hands fall down and waits for you to say something, scream at him, or punch him in the face. He thought about a lot of things you could do after he told you about his feelings, but he didn't think about the way you would respond yet.

“Then do it,” you say, walking closer to him. “Bend me over that sink and make me yours; breed me, James,” you whisper into his ear, and he groans when you emphasize his name.

“This is such a fancy restaurant, and you want to do such filthy things?” Bucky asks, and you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“If you don’t fuck me yet, I will ask Steve later,” you say with a smile, and you press your lips on his for a short but meaningful kiss.

You let go of Bucky and want to make your way to the door. His eyes are on you when you wiggle your ass softly and almost reach the door to go back to the others.

Before you can open the door, you feel his tight grip around your waist, pulling you against him and towards the sink. His bulge is pressing against your ass, and your hands grip the sink in front of you. You knew he would do that, but you didn’t know he would push his soft side completely away.

“I’m gonna fuck you. Fill you with my cock and then with my seeds, making sure you will carry our babies,” he groans, opening his belt.

You try to look around, but before you can, he pushes his upper body against yours and presses you down. Bucky pushes his pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free. The tip is already leaking with pre-cum.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to push your panties to the side, and he groans when he feels your wet entrance. He gives himself a few strokes before he lines himself up and pushes the head of his dick inside of you.

“You’re so tight, doll,” he mumbles, and he lets his head fall down onto your shoulder. “Making me cum almost immediately.”

You smile softly, but he doesn’t give you much time to smile about his words when he pushes himself inside of you with one movement. You moan and throw your head back. Bucky's fingers dig into the soft skin of your waist when he starts to move inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans and kisses your neck, biting into the sensitive skin. “Almost want to cum already,” he mumbles.

Bucky thrusts in a steady but harsh rhythm into your tight cunt. Your walls are squeezing him, making him groan against your neck.

His hand finds its way to your front, the cold metal touching your hot skin. Bucky's finger rubs over your clit in small circles while he fucks you from behind.

“Bucky- so close,” you whimper, and you try to ground yourself with your hands at the sink.

His harsh movements and your growing orgasm make your knees weak and shake slightly. The brown-haired man chuckles and kisses your neck up to your ear.

“You’re mine, aren’t you? And you will carry our kids and only ours; tell me you will." he breathes against your ear, and you moan in response.

“I am. And only our kids. Please, can I cum?” you ask, moaning and getting a nod from him.

“Cum for me, doll, and I will paint your walls with my seed. I will breed you,” he groans.

His grip of his hand around your waist tightens, and the metal fingers put more pressure between your legs. You throw your head back and against Bucky's shoulder. Your walls are clenching around his cock, and he hits your sweet spot with every movement inside of you.

He thrusts deep into you; you cum all over his dick, squeezing him inside of you. Bucky groans and cums inside of you, painting your walls with his seeds. He fucks the two of you through your orgasm while he trails kisses along your neck.

“You did so well for me, doll. Squeezed me cock so well, and now you’re filled with my cum,” Bucky mumbles and pulls himself slowly out of you, then he takes a step back and breathes heavily.

His cum is dripping out of your cunt and along your thighs. Bucky looks at the wide seeds before he looks up and smirks at you. His hand finds its way into your neck, and he turns you around and pushes you down on your knees.

“It doesn’t clean itself, doll,” he says, holding his dick with his other hand in front of your face.

He slaps the tip against your lips, making you open his mouth for him. Bucky pushes his dick into your mouth. Your tongue circles around his tip before you clean his cock with your tongue. You look at him, his eyes focused on you, and the groans that are leaving his lips let your cunt drip in anticipation again.

“I will fuck you all night when we’re back home,” he tells you and pulls you up before he crashes his lips on yours and kisses you passionately. “I love you, doll. And I don’t want someone else fucking or looking at you the way I do,” he tells you. You smirk before you pull him in for another kiss.

“But I want you on top of me next time because I love you too, and I want to look into your eyes while you fuck me.”

Bucky nods at your smile and helps you bring your clothes into their right place again. Then the two of you walk back to the others, holding each other's hand.

They all look at the two of you, smirking. Everyone of them knows why you did it in the bathroom, but they also know about the feelings no one of you wanted to admit before.

“Finally, pal. I really thought I needed to fuck her that you tell her about your feelings,” Steve says with a laugh.

Bucky stares at him. Jaw clenching about his words, he immediately wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer. Bucky kisses your cheek, and you smile about it.

Taglist: @nicoline1998enilocin | @mrsbuckybarnes1917 | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @rogersbarber | @kandis-mom | @km-ffluv | @bucky-barnes-lover | @felicitylemon | @identity2212 | @cjand10 | @harleycao | @lunaalovesyouu | @casa-boiardi | @futurequeen2018-blog

[ynscrazylife]

You know what I really miss? Avengers x teen!reader headcanons, there use to be so much avengers content and practically dominated tumblr🥲

It would totally make my WEEK if you would make some classic mcu avengers(before infinity war) x teen!reader x Peter Parker(romantic) headcanons just about reader having powers and what it’s like living with the avengers 💕

-possible your new 👾anon?

let’s do this 💪 and YES you’ll be my first emoji anon!! @ anyone else, feel free to claim ur emoji!!

avengers x teen!reader headcanons

The Avengers are definitely reluctant to add another teenager to the team. Having Peter is great but has been a big adjustment, as they had to train him and protect him, less they face the wrath of Aunt May.

However, you were a compelling case, with your extensive abilities. You didn’t have many other options as to where to go and you hit it off with Peter right off the bat, working very well together as a pair. So, they took you in.

Tony worked with you on designs for your suit, Natasha and Steve trained you in combat (which meant you were going on morning runs with Steve and Sam. How fun . . . Though Sam could be convinced to give you piggy back rides, and you became Clint’s personal arrow-picker-upper. If you had powers, Wanda would definitely help you manage them.

Peter was naturally in tune to science, which meant you hung around the lab with him and Bruce a lot. It became a nice time to get your homework done, as Bruce would definitely help you with that. Sometimes you acted as Bruce’s and Peter’s assistant with their experiments.

Bruce was also a very good listener and your go-to person to vent to about your life’s problems (when Peter wasn’t around).

One of the conditions to be on the team was that you didn’t lapse in schoolwork, so they were very on top of that and your grades. Tony even offered to go to parent-teacher meetings. Any one of them were ready to go to your teachers or principal if anything happened.

Natasha would routinely check in with you to make sure that you weren’t being bullied.

Pepper also became a motherly figure, as she cared very much about you and Peter. She’d offer you a Stark Industries internship.

Movie nights were chaotic, but absolutely the best. It was hard for anyone to agree, so the team had a system where they’d rotate who got to pick the meeting. Sam and Peter were also not allowed to make popcorn after many unfortunate incidents. Most of the time you fell asleep late into the night and one of the Avengers carried you to bed (they’d never admit this, but that also became an argument).

It was during a movie night when Peter realized he liked you romantically. You fell asleep during a movie, your head on his shoulder. Peter swore he never experienced something so precious before. He was adamant to keep your peace, glaring at anyone who dared to talk.

The team found your growing romance to be adorable and often teased the two of you about it. The only people who didn’t tease you were Bruce, Pepper, and Thor (because he didn’t really understand how to effectively tease).

If Flash messed with you, Peter was always on top of it. He’d always protect you.

Steve was also always making sure that you knew right from wrong. He’d give long speeches about how it wasn’t right to smoke, drink, do drugs, etc.

Then Thor gave you Asgardian alcohol once, not realizing how bad that was considering you’re both human and underage. That was a mess. Peter having to hold your hair back when you vomited and multiple Avengers escorting you to bed. Thor got an earful about it.

Clint was one of the ones who better understood you, seeing as he had experience with his own kids. He was always good at mediating and defusing the tension.

Laura also adored you, you were her favorite babysitter for the kids. Whenever they went on date night, they’d drop the kids off at the tower, and you would watch them (Peter would help when he wasn’t on patrol).

Patrolling with Peter was also very fun. More often than not he’d convince you to take a break, then swing you up on top of a roof to watch over the city and the sky.

On multiple occasions, KAREN would rat the two of you out to Tony, but he was never mad. He just wanted to know all about the “date”.

Prom was also very fun. Honestly, the whole team would want to come pick out outfits with you and Peter. They took many, many pictures on the night of. Peter also teared up when he saw you. He thought you were stunning.

Of course, you guys had a curfew, but it was alright. You and Peter had a fantastic night. All he wanted to do was dance and hold you.

You had Happy wrapped around your finger. You could really convince him to drive you anywhere you wanted to go.

You also managed to get an internship at the Sanctum Santorum, learning more about magic under Doctor Strange and Wong’s guidance. The Avengers weren’t particularly thrilled, as they were worried about you being hurt, but understood your want to explore.

You really wanted to see all the areas of being a hero. Clint taught you archery and Natasha taught you how to be a spy. You’d listen to Natasha and Clint’s spy stories for hours. Peter would have to pry you away.

Peter always insisted on having date nights and would go all out, making every date special. He’d do anything to make you happy.

And so would all the Avengers. They loved seeing you smile, it brightened up their whole world and made the team stronger.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

Part One

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: approximately 3.1k

moodboard by the very generous @strangelock221b 💙🩵💜

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen..." she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

He felt more than heard her sigh, understanding that she would not be deterred--while well aware that as ever, whatever form her persuasion would take would be gentle. Patient. Quiet. Stephen couldn't help but love that about her.

"Alright," she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow."

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That's my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter. Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet lovely truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too terribly."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once she came back, my mother never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of family near."

Stephen's first thought was of his mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

[to be continued🎄]

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist

tagging: @strangelock221b @mousedetective @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @ben-locked @hithertoundreamtof23 @aeterna-auroral-avenger @lorelei-lee @stewardofningishzida @thelostsmiles @mrs-cookie @paperclippedmime @groovyqueer

[iheartsebstan]

So I fell down this rabbit hole on @/animarvelita on TikTok with all these AI images of Bucky!! Now I want to go back an reread all my fav fan fiction with these images in mind 😍

@jtargaryen18 ♥️

[holdmytesseract]

hi friend! 👋

I have a cute and fluffy request for the Baby Fever AU! 💕Narfi's first steps, Loki and Ella are out on a daddy-daughter date (you can choose where they're going) while Narfi and reader are at home together.

While reader has her attention on other tasks, little Narfi takes his first steps towards reader. When Loki and Ella returns home, reader surprises them with Narfi walking towards them 🥹💚

Growing Up

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x Y/N feat. Narfi & Ella

Summary: Narfi takes his first steps, causing you and Loki to realise that he's not so tiny anymore...

Warnings: fluff, fluff and even more fluff!

Word Count: 1,7k

a/n: I know it took me quite some time, friend, and I'm truly sorry for it. 🥺 Also, I really hope that you like it and that I did your request justice. Thank you again for the amazing moodboards you made for me, @chennqingg ! 💖

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Today felt like a pretty normal Thursday to you. Getting up at seven in the morning, making sure Ella got ready for school, while Loki prepared breakfast - bless him - and of course actually dropping your daughter off at school. Since you had 'Ella duty' this week, your husband tended to little Narfi and got the very young man dressed, fed and ready for the day. Sometimes, it was pretty chaotic and quite hectic. Especially on the days you were working as well - not full-time, though. You were still in maternity leave, but Nick allowed you to work two or even three days a week, if you needed a change of scenery or just a break. Just like today. Sure, Loki had to return to being an Avenger as well, but you always made it work. Besides, the others were happy to jump in as a babysitter as well.

After dropping Ella off at school, you drove straight to the SHIELD headquarters for work, leaving Narfi with Loki, who'd leave your son with auntie Nat for the rest of the morning, because Steve hated it, when Loki missed out the important briefings which concerned his 'development' as a resident of planet earth. Or in other words: Making sure he still behaved, didn't relapse and was a 'hero' and not a threat to humanity. In your eyes, it was ridiculous that he still had to 'prove himself' after all those years... After getting married and starting a family... After everything he had done for the Avengers, America and the whole world. But well... Who were you to speak up and change things? It was how it was.

Seven hours of going through reports and sorting files, you clocked out of work. Yes, it wasn't much you were doing, but it was something. Better than just staying at home. You loved being a mom, but sometimes you needed to see something different - and you were more than happy to rejoin your friends in hopefully near future and slip back inside your Avenger combat suit.

Instead of driving to school to pick up Ella, you drove back home. Loki had already done that; taking his princess out for a daddy-daughter date to the indoor swimming pool.

Arrived at the Avengers compound, you didn't even bother to drop your stuff first; instead heading immediately for Natasha's. Your motherly instincts were literally screaming at you by now to go see your baby son. So, you did.

Your best friend opened the door to her apartment for you with a huge smile and little Narfi on her arms; dressed in his white sweatpants and matching jumper. He looked like a baby smurf - which was probably one of the cutest things you had ever seen and would get certainly never tired of seeing again. "Mama!" Narfi squeaked happily from behind his pacifier as soon as his beautiful ruby eyes registered you; impatiently squirming in his auntie's arms. "Hiii, baby boy!" You smiled brightly and immediately took him into your arms. His adorable giggle urged to your ears; causing you to smooch his little cheek with kisses, and once you had thoroughly greeted your son, you turned your attention to the Black Widow leaning now against the door frame still with that smile on her lips.

"Hey, Nat." You shuffled closer to hug her, what the Russian beauty instantly reciprocated. "Hey, babes." "Thank you for looking after this little guy here," you said; pulling back from the hug and gently bouncing Narfi on your arm. Natasha shook her head. "No need to thank me. I love playing the cool auntie part." "I'll keep that in mind," you winked, causing your fellow Avenger to giggle.

"Alright. We'll be going then. Gotta do some chores... See you around, Nat." "Sure thing, babes."

You looked down at Narfi, who had snuggled against you; head buried in your neck. "Say bye bye to auntie Nat, Narfi." "Bye bye," babbled the little boy in a sweet, quiet voice; clearly on the verge of dozing off. Natasha smiled and waved at Narfi, "Bye bye, маленький смурф." who instantly lifted a small hand to wave back. Smiling and bidding your goodbye to the Black Widow as well, you pressed a kiss against your son's forehead and ran a hand through his black locks.

Back in the apartment, you put the toddler down for a nap on his beloved floor cushion - which he mostly preferred for a nap, instead of his bed. Now that your son was sleeping peacefully across the living room, you had the time to do some chores. On today's programme: folding laundry. So, you spread out on the sofa, switched on the TV - but kept the volume down, of course, and got to work.

From your position, you had the perfect view on Narfi as well; having an eye on him from time time. Unfortunately, that didn't always keep him from escaping your watchful gaze. Just like Ella, was he his father's child... Sneaky and definitely a tiny mischief maker. Not quite as much as his big sister, but nevertheless...

You could swear that you only didn't look at him for five minutes - and suddenly was the floor pillow empty.

Shit.

"Narfi?" You called through the living room; letting your eyes wander and already moved to stand up. He wasn't in this room anymore. You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. "Little rascal..." You mumbled under your breath and crossed the living room; aiming for the hallway.

The good thing was, that Narfi couldn't get far; not having learned how to walk just yet. The emphasis was on the word 'yet'.

You rounded the corner into the hallway, "Narfi?" and found your son standing - hands free - beside the clothes basket, which he had clearly used to pull himself on his feet. At the sound of his mama's voice, the toddler turned his head - which caused him to immediately lose balance and land on his small bum.

Your eyes widened. Was he about to take his first steps and you 'interrupted' him? "Baby, were you about to take your first step?" Narfi was already pulling himself up again; using the clothes basket as a help like before. A sweet huff left his small lips once he made it on his small feet; causing you to stifle a giggle.

"Try again, baby smurf, come on." Narfi turned on slightly wobbly legs towards you; hand gripping the basket for dear life. "Mama!" You smiled and walked quite a few steps closer, before you squatted down and opened your arms. "Yes, c'mere! Come to mama!" You tried to encourage Narfi; a bright smile on your lips.

The smile got even wider, when your son suddenly let go of his support - and took a very wobbly, unsteady step towards you. With you mouth agape, you giggled. "Yes! You did it, baby! C'mon! One more?" Your happiness infected Narfi and he smiled a bright, toothy smile. Giggling, he made another two fast and wobbly steps, before he lost his balance and more or less stumbled into your arms. You reached out and caught him, before he could hit the floor; sweeping him up in a hug.

"Yay!" You cheered and peppered his cerulean, chubby cheeks with kisses. "Mama is sooo proud of you, Narfi." The little boy just cooed and gurgled happily.

An idea crossed your mind.

"Let's surprise daddy and your big sister when they come home, huh? They'll be so happy to see you walk." Your toddler's eyes widened at your suggestion. "Supise dada lala?" Narfi couldn't say Ella yet, so he settled on 'Lala' - it was the cutest thing ever. You giggled; nodding. "Yes, baby smurf. Come on."

The laundry was long forgotten; deciding to play with Narfi instead and helping him practising to walk.

After a very successful daddy-daughter date at the indoor swimming pool, Loki and Ella returned back home in the evening to the Avengers compound. The little girl's hand was neatly tucked into her father's bigger one as they exited the elevator. Ella was definitely tired and worn out - just like it should be after such a day. That was most probably the reason why Loki was carrying not just his duffle bag in his free hand, but also Ella's pink Disney princesses rucksack on his back.

Together, they stepped down the hallway and into your family's apartment. "Darling?" Loki called out; taking off his shoes and helping his tired daughter to get out of her jacket. "Mommy? We're back!"

The pair heard a small voice along some shuffling, before you rounded the corner into the entrance area with Narfi walking in front of you; yet gripping tightly onto your pointer fingers. "Hey, you two," you greeted them happily. "The baby smurf and I have to show you something." Proudly, you let go of your son's small hands - and let him walk a few small, still wobbly step. Before he could topple over, you grabbed him quickly around his middle; holding him steady.

Both, Loki's and Ella's jaws were on the floor; not having anticipated this. Sure, Narfi had tried to walk now for days - probably weeks, but it looked like he needed some more time to learn... Apparently not.

"He is walking now!" A not-so tired anymore Ella squeaked and crawled forwards and clumsily, but lovingly hugged her little brother - who didn't quite understand why everyone was making such a big fuss. He just squeaked along happily.

Loki met your gaze; his beautiful blues shining with a few tears. "Darling, he... Our son is walking..." He whispered; visibly touched, but you heard him anyways. Ella was already helping Narfi back on his little feet; his hands in hers tightly as she helped him walk down the hallway. It gave you the opportunity to step over to your husband. With a smile, you slung your arms around his middle; invading his space. "I know, babe, I know." Loki laughed softly and tried to blink back the tears as he wrapped you up in a hug; strong arms keeping you locked against his tall, defined body.

"We have to watch out now, babe. Soon, he'll start to run," you stated with a giggle, causing Loki to shake his head. "By the Norns, please not. He's already growing up too fast..." You sighed; knew exactly how he felt - and he was right. You rested your head against his chest, giving your husband the opportunity to press a kiss on top of your head. "Mhm... Growing up too fast, just like Ella." You felt the god's chest vibrate with a hum. "Just like Ella..."

маленький смурф - little smurf

Baby Fever Crew: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @multifandom-worlds @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @cakesandtom (Continuing in the comments)

[whumpandthings]

Poolverine hurt/comfort prompt

Writers I need you xoxo

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Red

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: sexual assault (not quite rape), angst, feeling uncomfortable by a man touching you, minor fluff at the end

Summary: A mission calls for you to find your inner vixen to get information from a man who is known to be a womanizer. Things don’t go according to plan, so Sam has to step up and take matters into his own hands. When Bucky hears about it, he turns to you knowing you need comfort in the safest way possible.

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x

The short black dress stares back at you in your closet with a knowing look. You don’t want to wear this. you don’t want to go on this mission. You’d rather spend the night cuddled up next to your boyfriend and watch movies. Instead, you’re going on a mission to essentially be a vixen, not in the literal sense where you have sex with someone but in the sense where you have to seduce the target to get what you want.

It's not ideal but this is the job.

The man in question is a womanizer and is high in the weapons world. He’s one of the most well-known weapons dealers across the country. He mostly deals out of his club but whenever authorities raid his club, they can’t find anything to nail him with. That’s when they called your team to do what they clearly can’t.

You yank the dress off the hanger and quickly put it on. You haven’t worn this since before you started going out with Bucky. You can remember wearing this to the club with your friends.  The material is a bit tighter than you remember but it’ll help you get what you want. You shift your boobs to make them pop more without having them completely spill out the top. You walk to your vanity and sift through your makeup.

Someone knocks on your door before walking in. You smile when you see it’s your boyfriend.

“Hey, baby.” He has a frown etched onto his face, deeper than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this plan.” You’re the only one who can get close to Mezzi. Anyone else would just tip him off. “Not that I don’t want you flirting with another man, but Mezzi is bad news. He treats women like shit. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You set down your makeup brush and walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands automatically settle on your waist.

“I’m a professional, baby, and a really skilled spy. I’ve gotten bigger, more tougher men to talk for less. I’ve done this before. Plus, Sam and John will be there if anything goes wrong.”

The mention of the blonde man makes his frown deeper.

“I don’t like that John is going.”

“You don’t like anything he does.”

“There’s something dirty about him. He’s not a good man.”

You pull Bucky down toward you and kiss him, keeping the kiss short and sweet.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. It’s just another mission.”

Bucky slides one of his hands into your hair and kisses you for longer this time.

“Okay, I trust you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Good,” you grin and peck his lips once more.

You finish getting ready and leave with Sam and John to the car. Bucky leads his own team of soldiers who will wait outside until the cue is given. He would have gone in with you but Mezzi knows Bucky’s face. He would have ruined the entire mission before it could begin.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” you say. “I’ll go in first and distract him while you two go to the bar and pretend to be just like any other customer. Once I’m close, I’ll casually ask how my friend heard about his weapons and would like to buy some. Hopefully, he’ll be drunk enough to say where he keeps them which we would call in Bucky’s team.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam shrugs.

“We need a safe word,” you say.

“Why?” John asks.

“Because I’m a woman going in to seduce a womanizer who looks like he doesn’t like the word no. So, I need a safe word or I’m not going in.”

“Seems fair,” Sam says.

“Fine, what is it?”

“Red. I’ll work it into the conversation but if you hear me say that, move in immediately.”

John doesn’t say anything but nods in agreement. When you get to the club, you go in first. The place is already crowded with a bunch of people but you push past them all to get to the far end of the club. There is a section separated by curtains and guards which can only mean it’s the VIP section. Through the large slit in the curtains, you see Mezzi sitting back with both arms on the back of the couch.

Bingo.

You walk closer to the VIP section and start to move your body to the music. Sam and John walk in and head to the bar like they’re supposed to while keeping a close eye on you. You look up and meet Mezzi’s eyes through the slit and smirk at him. You’ve got his attention. You run your hands down your body and move sensually to the music. He leans forward and licks his bottom lip, already entranced by you.

He calls for one of his guards and whispers something to him while maintaining eye contact with you. The guard leaves and heads over to you, and you pull your eyes from Mezzi to look at the guard.

“Boss wants to see you.”

“Lead the way,” you grin.

He allows you to pass into the VIP section, and Mezzi leans back with a lazy smirk on his face.

“Up close, you’re even more beautiful,” he grins. “Drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He gets up and walks over to the mini bar to make your drink. You watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t put anything in your drink, and you relax when he doesn’t. This place is so secluded from the rest of the club due to the curtains so anything can happen in here and no one would know about it. Luckily, you have Sam and John in your ear so you’ll be able to call for them if things get out of hand.

“Thank you,” you smile and accept the drink. He takes a seat next to you, a little bit closer than your liking. It’s okay. Pretend he’s Bucky. “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome before.”

“Oh, baby, there is no one else like me. You’ve come to the right section. I can blow your mind without even touching you.”

“Oh, really? Lucky me,” you giggle.

Mezzi reaches out and runs his hands over your exposed thighs, and you picture Bucky’s hands touching you. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to do this for a mission, but it is the first time since you’ve been with Bucky. You respect him too much to do things like this, but there was no other way to get close to Mezzi.

“God, you’re so sexy. Best looking girl here.”

“You’re just saying that.”

His hands briefly slide up your dress before he moves it back down. “No, I’m not. When I see something I like, I make sure she knows about it.”

“Here’s to new opportunities,” you grin and hold your drink out to him. He raises his own drink and clinks it with yours, but he only takes a sip. He’s careful not to intake too much alcohol, especially when he’s involved in so much illegal shit. “I was hoping to talk to you tonight.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“I have this friend who was asking about you.”

“What friend?”

“Oh, just a friend.” You reach over and dance your fingers across his chest, slightly sliding them through the buttons of his shirt. “He says you have a certain shipment he’d like to buy from you. He wouldn’t tell me more. He says you’d know what I was talking about.”

Mezzi’s attitude switches but it’s very subtle. You can see it in his eyes. He does not like that question. He slides his hand up your body and rests his palm over the hollowness of your throat. Not hurting you but letting you know he can hurt you if you piss him off.

“Well, you tell your friend if he wants something I have, then he should be the one asking for it, not sending his whore after me.”

“Now, that’s not very nice.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, baby, it was a compliment.”

He pulls you in closer so that you’re practically in his lap, and you suddenly grow uncomfortable. He has one thing on his mind and it’s not talking.

“Out of curiosity, what’s the shipment?” you ask, trying to get his mind somewhere else.

“Enough talking. You clearly came here for one thing and one thing only. I deliver on all of my promises, and I promise to make your time here worthwhile.”

He slides his hand up your dress and rests it very close to the one place you only ever want one man to go: Bucky. He leans in and presses kisses to your neck so lightly, and that’s when you panic. No mission is worth feeling like this. You don’t want to be here anymore.

“Red,” you blurt out.

“What?” he asks and pulls away.

“I like your red shirt. It’s very silky.”

“It looks better on the ground.”

Sam’s earpiece has been bothering him since he got here, so he’s trying to fix it. He should have gotten a new one when he had the chance since it’s not the first time this has acted up. John’s earpiece, however, works just fine. He hears your cry for help yet he does… nothing. He looks toward the VIP section and sips his drink casually.

“My favorite color is red,” you say with slight panic.

John can’t give away their position because Mezzi hasn’t given the location of his weapons yet. If they raid now, they might not have anything. Sam tweaks a few parts before putting it back in his ear. He smiles when it works but it’s lost when he hears your panicked voice.

“Has she been saying this? Why are you just sitting there?” Sam asks.

He gets up to rescue you but John grabs his arm.

“He hasn’t told her where the shipment is.”

“I don’t fucking care. Get your hand off me.”

Sam yanks his arm away and leaves to come to your rescue. John, on the other hand, finishes his drink leisurely.

Mezzi has you pinned to the couch with your dress bunched up at your hips. The only thing separating him from rape is a flimsy piece of cotton. You wish Bucky was here.

“Please stop,” you say, close to tears. “Red!”

He is about to silence you with a hand to your throat when he freezes. Sam places a gun to the back of his head.

“Let go of her.” Mezzi does and you scramble as far as you can get from him. You shake slightly and pull your dress down as much as it can go. “If you don’t want to get your head blown off, I’d suggest you tell us where your shipment is right now.”

“You’re bluffing,” he chuckles.

Sam moves the gun away from his head and aims it at his leg. He shoots once, and Mezzi jerks back in pain. The gun has a silencer on it so no one can hear how much Mezzi is in pain. The music drowns out his shouts of pain, and Sam moves the gun back to his head.

“Am I bluffing now?”

“In the basement, man. In the tunnels.”

“Come in, Buck. You’re up. It’s in the tunnels below,” Sam says into the earpiece.

“Copy that.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks you while keeping the gun on Mezzi.

“I think so,” you whisper.

“Go. We’ve got it handled from here.”

You don’t think twice about leaving. All you want is to go home, shower, and cry.

“Shame,” Mezzi groans in pain. “She looks like her pussy would be tight.”

Sam rears his fist back and punches Mezzi hard in the jaw. So hard that Mezzi passes out right there and then. Bucky and his men found the shipment and were able to arrest Mezzi and his men on the spot. With that much evidence, no judge would ever think about letting them go. The adrenaline has worn off and the shakes have replaced it. You were almost raped. You were sexually assaulted. You might be a trained spy but that all went out the window the second Mezzi forced you on your back.

The second Bucky heard about what happened, pissed doesn’t even cover what he’s feeling. Sam had to tell Bucky what John did because it was wrong of him to hear your safe word and do nothing about it. Bucky storms into home base and makes a beeline for John. He grabs his collar and yanks him violently toward him.

“You heard her safe word and did nothing about it?”

“I knew she had it handled! He didn’t tell her where the shipment was.”

“I oughta kill you,” Bucky growls. He grabs John’s throat with his metal hand and squeezes. “She’s my girlfriend, you bastard.”

John is no match for Bucky so he doesn’t even try to fight back. Bucky is about to do more damage when Sam walks into the room.

“She’s asking for you, Buck.”

Bucky lets John go, and the latter coughs violently. “Get him the hell out. He better be gone when I get back.” He leaves the room and walks into your bedroom. The shower is going in your bathroom, and he looks inside to see you sitting on the shower floor with your knees to your chest. “Y/N?” You don’t reply. He knows how scared you must be. “He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.”

Again, you don’t respond to him. He steps inside the running shower and turns off the water, not caring if he has water on his clothes. He wraps you in your fluffy towel and scoops you into his arms. He brings you to the bed and sits you down before going into your closet. He grabs one of his big hoodies and dresses you in it.

The second he has you in his arms, you bury your head in his chest and cry.

“Shh, I’m right here. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I was so scared,” you whimper. “I thought… I just wanted you.”

“I’m here now. I won’t let him touch you again. You’re safe now.”

Bucky smooths down your hair and allows you to cry as much as you need to. He won’t tell you what John did because that would only make you feel worse.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere. You can rest knowing you’re protected. You’re safe now.”

“I love you,” you say and snuggle closer to him.

“I love you. Get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.”

That’s all the comfort you need. He makes you feel safe, and that’s all you can ever ask for.

x

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