#and the way maximoff was ON CAMPUS but was like mom is it okay if i just hang out somewhere else instead….thanks…..

[titsthedamnseason]

i feel like we don’t talk enough about how lily was asked to give the commencement speech at HARVARD and also why the hell did only one member of the core six go and why was that person ryke. this feels so out of character for every single one of them i’m pretty sure that’s an important enough event to make time in your schedule for

[togrowoldinv]

‘Talk’

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

You’re sleeping with your best friend’s mom who has been keeping quite the secret from you

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (W receiving), fingering (R receiving), Wanda being a little mean

Note: Milf!Wanda is back! Y’all can read this as a sequel to Best Friend’s Mom or as a stand alone. I hope you enjoy it!

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Ever since that first night with Wanda, you haven’t stopped thinking about her. You’ve been meeting up with her at least once a week to ‘talk.’

That’s what you’ve been calling it over text so it doesn’t look suspicious to anyone who might see it. Your best friend is still clueless to you sleeping with her mom.

You’d be lying if you said you felt bad about sneaking around. If anything, it makes you feel good. And the feeling sets Wanda’s skin on fire. You can tell by the way she devours you every single time.

Wanda asked you to meet yo with her tonight to talk, so when you got out of class you got changed and left campus. Your roommate, and best friend, watched you leave with a shake of her head. She thinks you’re just hooking up with some random girl.

When you arrive at Wanda’s house, she opens the door with a grin.

“Hey sweetheart,” Wanda says. “Come on in.” You walk inside and she keeps her distance from you. You realize that her other kids are still in the house. “The boys are just heading out with their uncle.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll just- um-”

“You can go wait in my room, baby,” Wanda says.

You nod and walk to her bedroom. Closing the door behind you, you sit on the bed. You hear Wanda outside the door talking to her brother and kids.

Something tells you to get undressed and wait under the covers for her. You get feelings like this a lot around Wanda. You just randomly feel the urge to do things.

You think maybe it’s intuition.

Wanda eventually comes to her bedroom. She waltzes over to the bed, smiling at you being under the blankets.

“Hi there,” Wanda says. She climbs onto the bed and straddles your body over the sheets. “How’s my babygirl doing?”

“A little stressed about finals, but I’m okay,” you tell her.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine, malyshka,” Wanda replies.

She brushes her hands over your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss. The covers over your chest begin to fall down as Wanda deepens the kiss.

“Look at you, sweetheart. You’re so ready for me already,” Wanda says.

“Mhm,” you hum as you kiss her again.

She pulls the covers away from your upper body to reveal your bare chest. Wanda doesn’t even question it.

“So beautiful,” she says.

Wanda grips your breasts and kisses down your neck. You practically shiver in her arms at the feeling of the her hands on you.

You reach for her shirt and lift the soft material over her head. Wanda’s lacy bra makes your heart skip.

“Do you want to suck on Mommy?” Wanda asks you. Her voice is raspy and thick with lust.

“Please,” you answer.

Wanda undoes her bra as you lean down to suck on her nipples. You lick at the mound and look up at Wanda through your eyelashes.

“Yes baby,” Wanda moans out. “Just like that.”

You switch breasts and Wanda holds the back of your head to keep you from moving again. Her other hand drifts down your body. It lands between your legs. Wanda is pleased to feel your bare pussy against her hand.

“Such a good girl. So fucking wet for mommy,” Wanda says.

“All for you,” you mumble against her chest. You know she wants to hear it.

She grabs your hair and pulls you away from her chest into a searing kiss. Her finger plunges into your pussy at the same time. Wanda bites your lip to distract you from the feeling.

“Fuck,” you say against her lips.

“Language,” Wanda scolds you. “Ride my fingers, baby.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Wanda moves her fingers in and out of you as you move your hips. She keeps eye contact with you as she quickly moves you closer to your high.

“Are you going to come for me?” Wanda asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Try again,” Wanda says, slowing her pace down to a painfully slow crawl. She grips your face with her lanky hand. “Or I won’t let you come.”

“Please, mommy,” you say. “I want to come for you.”

“Hm, I don’t know baby.”

“Please? I’ll do anything,” you say.

“Oh?”

You nod. Too focused on your pleasure to respond with words. She’s picked up her pace again.

“I know exactly what you can do for me,” Wanda says. “Come for me first, sweet girl.”

You let yourself go and come hard against Wanda’s fingers.

“There you go,” Wanda says. “Good job, honey.”

Wanda kisses you until you can’t breathe. You go back for more anyways, but Wanda pushes you back down onto the bed. She takes her pants off and shifts to place her wet pussy over your face. Not a bad view from here at all.

“I want to ride your face,” Wanda says. “And you will not stop until I’ve came. Okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, but then add, “Ride my face, mommy.”

Wanda grins and begins to move her hips against your lips. Her thighs on each side of your side are silky and soft. Your hands grip at her ass as she grinds.

“That’s it, honey. Show me how much you love tasting me,” Wanda says.

You hum against her as you continue to eat her out. Her wetness is all over your mouth. Wanda holds onto the headboard and picks up her pace. You can hardly breathe but you don’t mind. Not with such an alluring woman in your face.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Wanda says without warning.

The grunts and groans she lets out are music to your ears. She’s so perfect.

Wanda comes down from her high and shifts off your face. She lays down next to you, turning to kiss your cheek before she grabs your hand at her side.

“You’re amazing,” Wanda says dreamily. “I really enjoy our talks.”

“Me too,” you say, still breathless from eating her out.

“Y/n,” Wanda begins.

“Hm?”

“Nevermind,” she says.

“What is it, Ms. Maximoff?” You ask her.

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart. Let’s just go to sleep.”

You snuggle into her chest and close your eyes.

She wants to tell you the truth about her secret powers, but she reads your mind and sees how sleepy you are.

Wanda realizes she left the door cracked and she can’t sleep with it open. She uses her red tendrils to shut the door, thinking it would be harmless but the door makes a loud noise when it shuts.

“What was that?” You ask with a start.

“Oh, just the door,” Wanda says. “Must’ve been a draft or something.”

You narrow your eyes at her obvious lie. You don’t know what proof you have but you can sense that the door shutting was something more.

For now, you brush it off. But something tells you Wanda has many secrets. All will reveal itself in due time.

[hiatuswhore]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡꜱ — ᴍᴊ

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

A/N: This has been sitting in my Google docs for like two years now and has been rewritten way too many times. I really enjoyed this though! Feedback please.

SUMMARY: Copy cat killer or return to reign hell. Anywhere at anytime. They’re there and daring you to turn the corner.

previous — masterlist — next

Breaking News. Copycat or Return?

Kate Bishop . 21. Missing.

Every news outlet and social media platform rave in hysterics as nostalgia enamors me. The six-year reunion comes in three days and I watch the world sensationalize my trauma. Old news videos and photos plaster the cover of platforms that I am comfortable with and my parents call to make sure I am okay. I am fine, or at least that is what I tell them. My mother tells me it is okay if I wish to come home and hide away from the world. My father fails to lighten the dower energy of the facetime call, before hanging up he asks if all my windows are locked and to double-check my pepper spray. Everything is still functional and all windows remain locked. Right before I hang up my mother asks one last time, “Are you sure you do not want to come home. Just until this everything calms down?”

“It would be an hour commute to work mom and I would still have to pay my rent. It’s okay. Michelle and I will be just fine,” I say nothing as my mother refers to her as my friend. After dating for six years and our recent engagement, the conversation of my bisexuality still lingers in the air like a weird boundary none of us will cross. The early morning fog of the Pocono Mountains provides little visibility. It is even worse at night, especially in the rain.

In Dellington, the fog was at its worst in January of 2010. The temperature was well below freezing and the campus was all doom and gloom. Snow had fallen a few days prior leaving the ground covered in ice and slush as the days passed. That night Lamda was throwing, I never cared for fraternities. Why bother with the cesspool of infections and assault allegations.

As they say, the night was a movie. Peter Parker managed to hook up with both Liz Allan and Betty Grant, on the same night but not at the same time. He was stumbling through campus walking from Betty’s apartment when he took a dive to the ground. Initially, he thought his legs simply turned to jelly, and the tequila flowing through his body now aimed to take him out. The cold wet ground made him chuckle as he rolled onto his back. When he opened his eyes the world was crimson red and he clamped his eyes shut at the stinging sensation. Only a few feet away, Wanda Maximoff laid tucked beneath the bush next to the central fountain on campus. The bloodstain that smeared the sidewalk showed clear proof of dragging. Peter screamed in the dead of night, many of our peers could recall hearing him scream for help. His eyes stayed not on the many stab wounds but on the blood staining her cheeks. Someone drew a smile on her face with her own blood.

Classes were canceled the next day. A vague crime alert had been released a few hours after Peter’s discovery but when we woke the next morning a second detailed email hit all of our phones. The entire campus was buzzing about the situation, the central fountain was blocked off with police tape. We all received strict instructions not to bother the area. Even the proposal of a vigil in the surrounding area was prohibited.

The posts across social media were the most sordid part of it all. Yes, we all knew Wanda but not for all the kind words that many felt the need to share. She was an art major and on the cheer team. It was rare she was seen without one of her teammates or one of the rugby boys. Her friend group of so-called best friends all hated each other. It was no secret that Liz Allan and football star Vision would constantly cheat on each other. The secret was they would sleep with each other's friends. Wanda and Liz were attached at the hip.

Though the police tried to be discreet, it came as no shock when both Liz Allan and Vision were picked up. I had been walking across campus cursing myself for not wearing a heavier jacket when I was stopped. The officers were asking for everyone's student IDs and where they were headed.

“Accounting lecture,” I say, trying my best not to watch as Liz Allan is escorted by us toward a squad car. The following questions are so obvious and I wonder if cops have to train on subtly.

“Do you carry a knife?” I counter the question with another question, should I? The miniature interrogation made me late for class. After class, I spent the following four hours in the library before grabbing lunch and heading back to my room. I was thirty minutes into my nap when Michelle rushed into the room.

“It was Liz Allan! They let Vision go he had an alibi but they’re keeping Liz in custody,” Michelle said, holding up her phone I squint trying to clearly see the video of Vision being escorted out. When I say nothing Michelle rolls her eyes before disappearing out of the room and into the hall to share the news. I only turned beneath my comforter and went back to bed.

The next day articles flooded the campus that regarded the murder. Liz Allen’s high school prom photo was the cover of most articles others used her cheering photo. In both pictures, she looked put together and she smiled largely. I found it hard to believe Liz could have done any of it. She made no confession but the story was strong. Cheer captain Natasha Romanoff confirmed that Liz had recently learned of Wanda’s tryst with Vision. The last couple of cheer practices had been tense and a passionate fight broke out between the two at Lambda that night. Though she had slept with Peter that night the pair had parted ways from his room long before Wanda was attacked.

That night I had a late class. We shared a moment of silence for Wanda and her family. That family only included her twin brother who asked for everyone to be respectful of his time of mourning. As I walked back to my room from class the fog was thick and I found myself looking over my shoulder. I only did one or twice as a piercing migraine took the forefront of my attention. The few people I passed murmured lowly amongst themselves.

It was foolish. I did not believe Liz to be the killer and yet I still walked through campus with ease. In the fog, I feared no approaching shadows or worried about the sound of footsteps hitting the cement. I wish I had been wrong.

“Liz didn’t do it. Someone was killed last night,” Michelle said, the next morning as I brushed my hair. I frowned as I unlocked my phone to find another crime alert. This time the email included several safety tips in regard to moving around campus at night.

“What happened?” I asked. I remember the frantic look in Michelle’s eyes, almost as if she was going to be sick.

“I had my eight am class and the cops are all over campus. Make sure you have your ID they getting on people about it like crazy and searching like crazy,” She said, pulling the school windbreaker over my head I frown.

“What are they searching for?” I asked but she only sent me the link to the local news article released thirty minutes prior. The cops were on the search for Carol Danver’s head. She was on the girls' rugby team, they had won their state tournament a month or two prior. My attempts to branch out and meet new people freshman year brought me an unpleasant interaction with her. Carol had a way of making things sound nice even though she was being plain rude. She told me I would never be good enough for the Rugby team, she did not use those exact words but I cannot describe her wording--she was just that good. And now she was dead.

No arrest followed this murder like Wanda’s. My peers and I were all amongst each other sharing watchful eyes. In the crowd we all knew someone dark festered, pretending to be like the rest of us. Michelle and I decided for my late-night classes we would walk together. The two of us found ourselves in close proximity for most of the week, many students left campus completely. My parents had wanted me to come home as well. I should have listened but in actuality, I was intrigued by it all.

Campus Killer. Not very original but that is what we were calling them. Everyone had an unspoken agreement that the killer was a man. Like a ghost, we were certain this man knew how to move around campus. Snow was coming. The campus had sent several emails talking about the poor weather to come. They advised us to not leave our dormitories after dark and if we do to be accompanied, especially female students. Michelle returned to our room with a rolled blunt, I did not question how she got it but only if I could join her. That night we smoked out the window and I listened to her ramble aimlessly. She fell asleep long before I did, so I stared out the window and watched as the snow fell to the ground. No fog to aid our campus killer but now a small blizzard to blind us from what they do in the dark.

That night Liz Allan had packed her car to leave. She did gather all her things but she never made it off-campus. The killer left her propped up again her car, in her lap sat Carol Danvers head. Fresh blood drew a smile on both their lips. It was game to the killer. Killing Liz Allan was their way of telling us they could get us anywhere, anytime. It did not matter how many eyes were on us.

President Hawkinson moved spring break up early in a rushed hurry to clear the campus of all students. I offered rides to people who lived near my parents, I ended up driving three girls from my dorm hall home. I was almost home when I realized I had forgotten my wallet, it was still light out so I turned back. When I reached campus it was dark and the emptiness made it eerier. I wish I could tell you more past walking through campus toward my dorm.

The next day I was in the hospital with bandages wrapped around my head and stomach. My parents were at my bedside and detectives had many questions, none of them I could answer. When my parents gave me my phone my socials were buzzing with notifications.

(Y/n) (L/n), 21. Survivor.

My high school graduation photo was the cover of many of the articles discussing me. I returned to campus against my parents' wishes two weeks after classes had begun again. Michelle was at my side for every second of it, she helped me through the stares and loud whispers. Before we knew it, it was April. The fog and snow were gone and with it the campus killer. I grew the courage to kiss Michelle at graduation and we settled on an apartment off-campus in town.

The Campus Killer became a distant memory, until today of course.

Michelle says nothing about it as the news channel talks about the attack on me being the campus killer's final act. I only watch as she twiddles her engagement ring on her finger, we spent the morning arguing about last night. When I woke up she greeted me without hello’s but where were you last night. I cannot answer the question. Glancing out the window I stare down at my ugly car and a migraine plagues me.

I remember driving home from work, the rain was heavy. The fog worried me but I made it home, I remember getting out of my car and—the trunk. I—yeah I walked around it toward the front door and came home, right?

Michelle storming from the table pulls me from my thoughts. I quietly follow her down the hall and I can hear sniffling. She calls her Mom and I listen as she cries about her fear of me sneaking around with someone else at night.

I cannot explain the ache of how tightly my chest constricts. The sob that leave her sends a shiver down my spine. My fiancée worries I was with someone else last night, quite frankly I fear I was too.

[queenofspades20]

Scream - 2

Here is chapter 2 of Avengers AU of Scream for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho spooky challenge. Planning on breaking up the rest of the story into 2 chapters.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Weathers; Avengers x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: suspense, inappropriate jokes, mentions of gore 

Natasha was sitting at her desk in her room, working on an essay for her English Literature class the next day. She was putting the finishing touches, when she heard a rustling from the tree outside her window. Natasha made her way over to the window and was looking out.

“Boo!” Clint, Natasha’s boyfriend, popped up.

Natasha jumped back and let out a small scream. “Jesus, Clint. What the hell?” She smacked his arm as he climbed through the window.

A knock sounded from her bedroom door. “Natasha? Is everything ok? I heard a scream”

Natasha raced to the door before her dad, Phil, could come in. She opened the door a little to put her face in the doorway. “Yeah. Sorry. I have Deep Blue Sea on and I’m at the part where the shark jumps out and eats Samuel L. Jackson. Gets me every time.”

Phil just laughed. “The actor that looks like the dean of your college?”

“Yeah. Not that we can ever say that to Fury. I don’t think he’s a fan of getting compared like that.”

“Fair enough. Well, I also wanted to say bye before tomorrow. My flight is pretty early. Don’t forget I’ll be staying at…”

“The Hilton by the airport. I got it, Dad.”

“There’s money for food by the phone downstairs.”

“Are you going to visit that violinist while you’re there?” Natasha asked her father. He had met the woman on a business trip last month. Natasha knew that before her mother died, her parents were going through a rough patch, so Natasha wanted to see her dad happy again.

Phil blushed.  “Maybe. She and I have just been chatting. I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere.”

“That’s fine, Dad. It doesn’t have to. I’m just happy to see you put yourself out there. I guess I’ll say goodnight and have a safe flight.” Natasha moved out of her room to hug Phil. He hugged her back.

“I’ll see you on Monday. Night, Nat.”

Natasha moved back into her room and closed the door. A stuffed bear popped up from the other side of the bed. “That was close,” Clint said in a silly voice.

“What are you doing here, Clint?”

Clint got up and sat on the edge of the bed. He chuckled. “I was watching Exorcist and it made me think of you, so I decided to come over.”

“A horror movie made you think of me?” Natasha crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“When we started out, we were rated R on our way to NC-17. But these days, we seem to have a PG rating.”

Natasha thought for a moment. “With what happened to my mom last year, I’m sorry I haven’t been up for more.”

Clint started shaking his head while Natasha was talking. “I know you’ve been dealing with that. I’m not bringing it up to pressure you into anything. I just, I kind of miss where we used to be.”

Natasha sighed. “I miss where we used to be too. I just need time.”

“I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Now, you need to get out of here in case my dad hears you. I don’t need him kicking your butt.”

Clint climbed out of the window but leaned his face in. He puckered his lips. Natasha smiled and rolled her eyes. She moved close to him and they shared a soft kiss.

“Hey, Clint. Would you settle for a PG-13 relationship?”

“What’s a PG…” Clint started. Natasha lifted up her sleep shirt to flash him. Clint stared at her for a moment. Natasha lowered her shirt and laughed. “You’re dangerous, Nat.”

“Love you,” Natasha responded.

“I love you, too.”

After Clint left, Natasha finished her essay, shut off her laptop, and went to bed.

When Natasha approached the campus the next morning, there were dozens of police cars with their lights flashing all over the parking lot. There were reporters everywhere. “The brutal murder of Sharon Carter and Steve Rogers…” “The worst crime since the murder of Maria Coulson almost one year ago…” Natasha could hear random sentences from the reporters.

Wanda Maximoff ran up to Natasha. “Hey, did you see the post on Shieldbook last night?”

Natasha looked her best friend. “No. I had the essay for Lit to finish and just went to bed. I didn’t look at any social media last night.”

“Sharon Carter and Steve Rogers were murdered last night. Sharon’s body was hanging from a tree. The killer took a picture and posted it to Shieldbook.”

Natasha ran her hand along her face. “Oh my God. Sharon sits next to me in Lit.”

“Well, not any more. Anyways, not only was the picture posted on Shieldbook, her aunt Peggy is the one that found the bodies.”

“That poor woman.”

The girls made their way towards the front entrance to the school.

“Natasha! Natasha!” yelled a voice from about 20 feet away. Y/F/N Weathers ran up towards Natasha.

“Oh no.” Natasha hated the reporter. Y/F/N Weathers covered her mother’s murder a year ago. Weathers argued that the person charged, Bruce Banner, was innocent. She tried to argue that Natasha was a liar and was crazy. Natasha was certain that the person she saw leaving that night was Bruce. She was even able to identify the jacket, which had her mother’s blood all over it.

“Natasha, what are your thoughts on the murders that happened last night?” Y/N asked, hold a microphone towards Natasha.

“No comment.”

“Do you think they’re related to your mother’s murder?”

It took everything Natasha had in her to not punch Y/N. Wanda jumped in, “What the hell is your problem, bitch?”

Natasha grabbed her friend’s arm and led her away. “Not the time, Wan. She’s not worth it.”

“She deserve a major punch for the shit she’s put you through. You saw Bruce Banner leaving that night. And she keeps trying to drag you through the mud.”

“I know! I know! I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it. I just don’t want more attention on me than what’s going to already be on me. Let’s just get to class.”

The girls made their way to their class. Natasha couldn’t stop staring at the seat next to her that was usually filled with Sharon. They weren’t the closest of friends, but they would often pass notes in class. As Natasha was lost in thought, an officer came into the room and passed a note to the professor.

“Natasha?” Natasha looked up at her professor. “It would appear it’s your turn.”

Natasha grabbed her bag and walked to the dean’s office.

“Who’s next?” Dean Fury asked.

“Um, Natasha Romanoff,” Deputy James Barnes said, looking at the list.

“Isn’t she the daughter of…” one of the deputies started to ask, when Natasha walked in.

“Have a seat, Ms. Romanoff-Coulson,” Dean Fury said, gesturing to the seat.

“Thanks. Hi Bucky.”

“Hi Nat. It’s Deputy Barnes today though.”

Natasha looked down at her hands. “Sorry.”

Dean Fury decided to take the lead on the questioning. “So Ms. Romanoff-Coulson, how well did you know Sharon or Steve?”

Natasha thought about it for a moment. “Sharon and I had a few classes together. I knew Steve through a few other classes. We didn’t really hang out outside of school; we just ran in different circles and were involved in different activities, so we just weren’t close.”

Bucky jotted down her answer. “Natasha, were you aware of anyone have a problem with either of them?”

“No. They were two of the nicest people. I can’t figure out why anyone would go after them.”

“Okay. Thanks. That’s all the questions I have for you,” Bucky said as he checked off something on his paper.

Natasha left the office. By that time, classes were over for the morning. She went to the courtyard by the student union, where Wanda, Clint, Wanda’s boyfriend, Thor, and Thor’s brother, Loki, were all sitting. They were discussing the murders and everything else that was going on.

“I wonder who did it,” Wanda said as she took a bite of her sandwich. “I saw that picture on Shieldbook. She was gutted. I can’t imagine how wrecked seeing that made her aunt.”

Loki leaned over Thor’s shoulder, “didn’t she turn you down for a date, Thor?”

Wanda looked at her boyfriend. “You told me you turned her down for me.”

Thor looked at his brother and then turned back to Wanda. “He’s lying, love. You know how he likes to stir up trouble.”

“How could anyone do that?” Natasha wondered aloud. Clint put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“I heard they found her liver in the mailbox.” Loki said with a sneer.

“Just liver alone,” Thor said with a laugh. “Get it? LIVER alone?”

Natasha jumped to her feet and stormed off. Clint looked at the brothers. “Nice going guys.”

Loki looked at him with faux innocence. “What?”

Later that afternoon, Natasha was home and clearing up before Wanda got there. She held her phone between her shoulder and ear. “You sure you don’t mind staying over?”

“Of course not,” Wanda said. “It’ll be a fun sleepover weekend. I’m going to stop by the liquor store for provisions. Anything specific you want?”

“Nah. I’m good with anything. Just try to get here before dark. These murders have everyone spooked.”

After they hung up, Natasha decided to take a short nap in her room before Wanda got there. About two hours later, she awoke with a start. She looked at her phone and saw how much time had passed. She sent a text to Wanda to see where she was. As she was walking towards downstairs, her phone went off.

Natasha answered without looking at the screen. “Wanda, when are you going to get here?”

“Hello, Natasha,” a voice said. Natasha was unable to tell if it was male or female.

“I’m sorry. I’m waiting on a friend. Who is this?”

“You tell me.”

“Well I have no idea.”

“Scary night, isn’t it? With the murders and all, it’s like something out of a scary movie, huh?”

“Loki, you’re giving yourself away. Are you calling from work? Wanda is on her way to pick some stuff up.”

“Do you like scary movies, Natasha?”

“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Loki. It’s sexy.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Oh come on, you know I don’t watch that shit.”

“What’s the matter? Too scary for you?” The voice had a playful tone to it.

“No. It’s just, what’s the point? The killer is stalking some big-breasted girl who can’t act, chasing her up the stairs when she should be running out the front door. It’s insulting.”

“Are you. . . alone in the house?”

“Loki, that’s so unoriginal. I’m so disappointed in you.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I’m not Loki.”

Natasha started to look around. “So, who are you?”

“The question isn’t ‘who am I’ but rather ‘where am I’?”

“So, where are you?”

“Your front porch.”

Natasha felt her heart drop. She walked to the door. “My porch huh? Well, I call your bluff.” Natasha opened the door and walked out onto the porch. She looked around but didn’t see anyone. “So, where are you?”

“Right here.”

Natasha still couldn’t see anyone. After looking for a few moments, she held the phone back up to her ear. “Can you see me right now?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh really? So, what am I doing right now?” Natasha stuck her finger up her nose and started to turn around. “What am I doing? Hello?” she yelled into the phone.

There was no answer from the mysterious caller.

“That’s what I thought. Tell Wanda to hurry up. Okay? Bye now.”

As Natasha went to hang up, the voice called out, “if you hang up on me, you’ll die just like your mother! Do you want to die, Natasha? Your mother sure didn’t,” the voice taunted.

“Fuck you, you asshole.” Natasha ran back into the house and locked the door, including sliding the chain into place. As she backed away from the door, the hall closet flew open and a figure dressed in a black cloak with a white face jumped out, a knife in its raised hand. The figure slammed her body against the door. As Natasha fell to the ground, she swept the attacker’s feet out from under them and they fell to the ground. She kicked them in the face and got up.

Natasha tried to open the door, but in her haste, she forgot to undo the chain. She yanked the door open but was stopped short by the chain. The attacker got up and lunged at her again. Natasha barely managed to get away and she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. The attacker was close behind her. She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door closed. She locked the door and then opened her closet door, so that if her door opened, it would block the other door from opening all the way. As she backed away, the attacker threw their body against the door. The lock gave way but the other door prevented her door from opening all the way. The attacker pushed their arm through the small opening, waving the knife around.

Natasha was glad that her dad insisted on keeping a landline for the house and she picked up the receiver to call 911. As the call was going through, the attacker disappeared from the door. All of a sudden, BAM. Clint jumped at the open window and started to climb in. Natasha ran to her boyfriend and helped him get through the window. “Oh thank God.”

“Nat, what’s going on? The door was locked and I heard screaming.”

“There’s a killer in the house. He’s in the house.”

“He’s gone, Nat. It’s okay,” Clint soothed.

As Natasha hugged Clint, a thud resounded through the room. Natasha looked down to see a cellphone on the floor. Natasha backed away from Clint.

“Nat, what’s wrong?”

Natasha opened her doors and ran down the staircase, Clint running behind her. “Nat, wait!”

Natasha opened the door and came face with the mask of her attacker. She let out a scream.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 3)

pairings: eventual!bucky barnes x reader; crushing!reader x steve rogers; crushing!bucky barnes x natasha romanoff; others

characters: reader, bucky barnes, clint barton, natasha romanoff, pietro maximoff

word count: 3k+

warnings: maybe a little angst?, a little bit of anxious/nervous reader, some cussing

a/n: welcome to the third chapter of this slow burn story, lol.

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Sometimes you wonder why you are the way that you are. Your mom, Pietro, and Natasha are constantly reminding you that nothing is wrong with you, but after what happened last night, you’re utterly and completely convinced they’re wrong. You’re not confident like Natasha, you’re not outgoing like Pietro, and you’re not witty like your parents. You’re a mess.

If someone were to ask you what word in the dictionary you would use to describe yourself as, you wouldn’t have to look that far to find: awkward—

awk·ward /ˈôkwərd/

adjective

embarrassing or inconvenient; caused by lack of social grace: an awkward moment.  

Synonyms: unpleasant, trying, difficult; uncomfortable, ticklish, touchy.

Thanks for the lovely definition and synonyms google. Really appreciate it.

—An embarrassing, awkward dumb mess. Apparently.

If you had their social skills, you probably wouldn’t be avoiding Bucky and Steve like you are now. Maybe you wouldn’t have blurted out what you did. And maybe you would still have a tutor for Pym’s stupID CLASS YOU’RE BOUND TO FAIL!

You hurry your steps as frustration bubbles inside of you. There’s only one place on this whole forsaken campus that’ll make you feel better—the museum.

It looms over a courtyard where the art students like to chill and hang out during the spring and summer, sometimes during fall too. Not many other students venture out here, preferring to stay in their own quadrant within campus, but sometimes you’d spot a wild major visiting the museum for whatever reason.

Today, you hope no one decides to visit the museum. You prefer it when it’s quiet.

You enter the building and with every exhale, the frustration leaves your being.

“Hey, Clint,” you greet the security guard who is about your age, maybe a little older.

His brown, almost blondish hair is gelled back and he has his usual dopey grin, that you’ve come to realize, is reserved for you and a hand few coworkers he likes. “Hey, thought you weren’t due for another few days.”

“Just having one of those days”

His face softens in understanding and he nods. “Say no more. I’ll make sure to keep the others quiet.”

You beam appreciatively, even though he doesn’t have to do that, you know he will for you. “Thanks, Clint.”

You walk deeper into the museum, taking in the different art all by students of the university—graduates and current. You take a left turn at the next hall and find yourself in the best room in all of the museum. The lights are dim here compared to the other rooms. Soft, calming music plays through the speakers and on the stark white wall, a projection of pictures of people all over New York plays. You sit at the lone bench in the room, taking in the picture of an elderly couple sharing a bench, huddled and smiling radiantly at one another.

The door to the room opens, but you hardly pay it any mind. It’s most likely Clint doing his rounds.

The picture changes to a man sitting outside of a cafe, a wooden cane at his side, a book in his hands, and a large golden retriever at his feet. They both look content and serene, nothing like the quick paced city you’ve come to know and love.

The bench creaks and you keep your eyes forward, hoping that whoever entered wouldn’t interrupt your watching or make noise, thankfully, they don’t.

Not until the next slide anyway--two men are in a hospital room, one sickly with a bald head and thin frame and the other bulky with a bald head and an overgrown beard. Their hands are intertwined and they’re leaning towards each other, eyes closed and calm in what you could only assume is a stressful situation.

“Love,” he says, his voice sending your heart in a panic and head snapping in his direction. Seriously? How did he find you here of all places?!

You stare at Bucky wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to book it out of there, but that’d be more embarrassing than last night and it’d alert Clint, who would blow things out of proportion.

He turns away from the projection to look at you, stormy eyes meeting yours with a slight raise of an eyebrow. He tilts his head towards the wall, eyes never leaving yours. “Love. That’s what this exhibit is about, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” you manage to ask, ignoring his question.

“I like to come here when I have time. What are you doing here?”

“Same,” you say dumbly, quickly looking away from him, trying to focus on the pictures playing in front of you, but they’re no longer registering in your mind, no matter how many times your eyes sweep across the makeshift screen.

“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you usually here at this time?”

Why is he still talking to you? Is he trying to lull you into a false sense of security and then ask you about Steve? Fuck. Is it too late to bolt now? “Yeah.”

“I usually come later in the day.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls between the two of you, the music suddenly seeming louder than before even though it’s a calming instrumental.

You run a nail up and down your arm, not harshly, but firm enough for it to leave white trails.

He clears his throat. “So, Steve, huh?”

You jump to your feet, your nail digging into your skin with a harsh sting and bench screeching under the strain of his weight and your sudden movement.

Blue eyes widen, and he quickly gets to his feet. “Hey—“

“Can you—let’s not—please.” Your voice is desperate and small, embarrassment licking at your skin and leaving heat in its wake.

He raises his hands in front of him to pacify you. “I’m not judging.”

You sigh, tenderly running your finger over the crescent shaped marks you’ve left on your skin. “He’s your best-friend, and I told you of all people.” Even if it was to make things “even”, it doesn’t stop it from making it embarrassing.

“And Natasha is your best-friend, and I told you while I was shit-faced.” Yeah, a fact he didn’t remember until you told him. “Look, I’m not—I’m not mad.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you murmur.

“Okay, I was. I was mad.” You knew it. “Not at you,” he speaks quickly, trying to appease you, “but at myself for being that careless. What if she had been around when I told you? What if it hadn’t been you, but her I told?”

“Would that be so bad?”

He chuckles, it’s empty and a little distracted. “You know Natasha.”

You do. “She’d turn you down cold.” She’s the type to go after what she wants, afterall.

He drops himself back onto the bench. “Exactly.” He looks pathetic, reminiscent of tragic, drunk Bucky—distant gaze, pouty lips. You feel for him, just as you did when he confessed.

You rub your arm, eyes drifting away from him. “If it makes you feel any better, there have only ever been two people she’s liked in that way. Crushes are pretty rare for her.” Oh. Shit. That did not sound comforting at all! You clench your eyes tightly and groan. Why do you always put your foot in your mouth?!

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You almost prefer Bucky’s talking over the music playing in the room.

The bench squeaks, a scoff following right after it. “Has anyone ever told you you’re shit when it comes to comforting someone?”

Keeping your eyes closed, you turn in place. “I’m so, so sorry, I—I didn’t mean—“

A firm grip on your shoulder quiets you and forces you to open your eyes. “Hey, relax, I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it,” he murmurs, soft and relaxing. “I was joking.”

“No, you weren't. I know I’m not the best when it comes to comforting people, especially people I don’t know or I’m not close to.”

He grips your other shoulder, shaking you gently. “You’re fine, I promise. I really did think it was funny.”

You stare at him, but he only smiles—his eyes crinkling at the edge. “Okay.” Maybe Bucky isn’t so bad?

He pats your shoulder and sits back down on the bench, eyeing you. Taking the hint, you sit down next to him a little cautiously. You both sit in relative silence, watching the pictures for a few ticks before the bench screeches once more.

He twists in his seat and says, “If—what if we help each other?”

You narrow your eyes as your eyebrows furrow. “With what?”

“You help me with Natasha and I’ll help you with Steve.”

“What makes you think I need—“ A lone brow shoots up and you immediately stop talking. “Okay, yeah, yeah, I do need help.”

“You do, just a little,” he says pinching his index finger and thumb together. You want to protest, but you swallow it down when he starts speaking again, grin on his face. “Getting Steve to like you isn’t hard, you’re already friends and that’s a step in the right direction. Natasha on the other hand…”

You nod as he trails off, finishing off his though for him. “Doesn’t really matter whether you’re friends or not, she has to want you.” Is this really such a good idea though? Getting Natasha to like Bucky is going to be hard and difficult, and there’s a chance he’ll have to change who he is in the process, too. Is getting her to like him really worth losing himself?

He sighs, gaining your attention. “Look, I know it won’t be easy. If you’re still unsure, then why don’t we add tutoring to the mix? I’ll help you with Chem and Steve, and you only have to help me with Natasha.”

You bite your lip, rubbing your arm. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

You’re still not sure if this is such a good idea, but he’s willing to continue tutoring you and help you with Steve. Natasha’s old ‘be yourself’ advice from high school hasn’t been helping so far, and probably won’t ever help you, so really, his offer is a true blessing. Yet, you still can’t shake the minuscule of worry even when you say, “Okay. It’s a deal.”

He grins, bright and wide—genuine and nothing like his usual half-assed-not really-smiling smile, that it takes you completely off guard. You don’t even notice the hand he’s offering you until he’s shaking it in your face. He offers you his hand once more and you take it, the two of you sealing the deal with a simple shake.

Natasha is up and ready by the time you wake up. She’s chopping strawberries to add into the morning oatmeal. It takes you a minute, but you notice she’s not wearing her usual work out clothes, but a black, long sleeved leotard with pink leggings underneath and a white, sheer wrap skirt. That’s a look you haven’t seen in a while.

You hop onto the barstool at the breakfast bar. “You’re taking a ballet class?”

“Nope,” she says, placing a bowl of oatmeal with chopped apples and strawberries in front of you. You thank her, taking the spoon she offers you. “Remember Mrs Hudson?”

Vaguely. An older woman comes to mind, strict, but most of her dance teachers were strict and old. Mixing the fruit into the oatmeal, you nod. “Not really. Old ballet teacher?”

She waves her hands. “It’s fine, doesn’t matter, but yes, old ballet teacher. Anyway, she knows some of the teachers at a youth center nearby and she got in contact with me the other day to ask me if I wanted to cover for an instructor on maternity leave,” she says as you eat.

“That’s great!”

Grabbing her own bowl, she adds strawberries, apples, and a shake of cinnamon powder. “Right? A little extra money for groceries doesn’t hurt either.”

“Does this mean you’re quitting your morning yoga?”

“Nah, the gym offers morning classes on Sunday, too. Was able to squeeze into that class. You should come with me! We haven’t gone to a class together since freshman year.”

You make face, the thought of waking up early on a Sunday sounding completely abhorrent. “Yeah, no. Hard pass. Besides, we got kicked out because we couldn’t stop giggling during downward dog, remember?”

Natasha pauses, thinking about it before her lips spread into a smile. “Oh, yeah. Good times.”

You snort. “For us maybe. The others wouldn’t stop glaring at us.”

She chuckles and the two of you continue eating in relative peace. Mid spoonful, Natasha breaks the silence. “By the way, I saw Bucky yesterday.”

Without lifting your head, you look at Natasha, forcing yourself to relax and continue eating. “Oh. Did you?”

She rubs a permanent spot on the counter with her index finger, her sly smirk in place and looking dangerous as ever. “Yeah, and he told me you gave him his number.”

You did, right after leaving the museum together. “And?”

“I thought you two weren’t friends and you were uncomfortable around him?”

“We’re not and I still am,” you say firmly, trying to keep your voice leveled, but it still comes out as a squeak. You’re not entirely lying to her, so why are you nervous? “I just can’t afford to fail this class. My scholarship is riding on this.”

She eyes you, leaning back, not entirely believing you—she knows you better than anyone, afterall.

The front door is thrown open, interrupting Natasha from commenting, and you thank your lucky stars. You know the conversation is bound to come up again, but at least you’ll have enough time to come up with a strong excuse and argument to get her off your back.

“Thank fuck, you’re awake,” Pietro says, stuffing the key you two gave him in case of emergencies, but is never used for emergencies, into his pockets.

“We really should take the key back,” Natasha says with mild amusement, lifting her bowl and spoon up to eat as she moves away from the counter. “You know there are apps that can drive you places, right? You don’t need to run a marathon to get here.”

Turning on the bar stool, you take in his disheveled appearance—silver hair in disarray, jacket turned inside out, and mismatched shoes—left yellow sketchers and right black and white adidas—it’s a miracle he even got his pants on correctly. Last time he looked like that, he ran to your apartment in briefs, tattered shirt, and ugly barf green crocs. “Did you and Crystal get into an aegument again?” you question, raising a brow in his direction.

“Not yet. But I think we will soon,” he says, dropping his ass onto your sofa.

“Why, what did you do this time?”

“This time? I’ve never done anything before!” You both give him a look and he rolls his eyes. “I forgot to tell Crystal Wanda was coming back.”

You swallow a spoonful of the semi sweet oatmeal before asking, “Your twin? She’s visiting?”

You don’t know much about Wanda and have never met her, you’ve only seen pictures that Pietro has shown you of her, and anecdotes about when they were children.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair continuously. “No. She’s moving back.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” He makes a face at Natasha’s exclamation. “It’s not great?” She asks slowly, trying to make sense of Pietro restlessness.

“It is—it is great! But… Wanda was meant to move in with me, and Crystal—“

Natasha snorts. “Why did she move in again? I don’t remember you asking her.”

He grips his head. “I don’t know! She just did!”

“Why don’t you tell her to move out, then?” she asks. “Her family’s rich. I’m sure they can give her place to stay. You already promised your sister you were going to live with her.”

“I can’t kick her out, man, she’s my girlfriend.” And Wanda is his flesh and blood.

Your eyes squint and your lips purse, no ounce of sympathy in your bones for you dumb friend. Why is it that Pietro always gets into really stupid situations? “Right… What are you going to do about Wanda, then?”

“Well,” he begins while smiling sheepishly, “that’s where I was hoping you guys could help.”

You glance at Natasha with wide eyes and she meets your gaze with hard eyes. “With?”

“Can she stay with you guys until she finds her own place?”

“No,” she immediately shuts him down. “Absolutely not.”

He stands, pressing his palms together. “Please?”

“Pietro, we don’t have space for a third person.”

He points at the couch and says, “She can crash on the couch!”

Natasha sighs heavily. “Pietro—“

“Come on, please!” He begs. “Wanda is great and sweet! Totally quiet, you probably won’t even notice her at all.”

“But we will. She’ll be in our space.”

“She can pay rent! She won’t stay for free, promise!” Well, it’s not like you and Natasha pay rent either. This apartment is thankfully being paid for by her dad, leaving the two of you to focus on your grades and use the money given to you for school supplies and groceries.

“Nat,” you start, slowly giving in to Pietro’s pleading.

She says your name slowly, a hint of warning in her voice.

You smile sheepishly and she glares at you. “It won’t be for long—“

Pietro nods. “It won’t.”

“And if we do this for Pietro, he’ll owe us both. Big time.”

“Yeah—wait.”

She stares at you, pinning you to your seat for a long time before finally relaxing and letting out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” Pietro fist pumps and you smile wider, but he stops pumping his fists and your smile drops when she points at him, eyes narrowed. “But only for a while. And she doesn’t have to pay rent, but helping with the groceries would be great. And you owe us—not a small favor, but skinny-dipping-in-freezing-water-to-get-my-phone-after-I-dropped-it-big, you hear me?”

It’s a little disturbing how specific she’s being, but Pietro doesn’t seem to mind. “Deal!” He rushes towards you and kisses your cheek, and does the same with Natasha, who fights him off, but he still keeps a firm hold on her. “Whatever you want! Fuck, thank you, guys, you saved my skin!”

“Don’t make us regret it, Maximoff.”

next

ending note: was excited to introduce clint even though it was a brief appearance, and wanted to add Wanda into this chapter instead of the next, just because I thought it’d fit better! hope you guys like it! and I know it’s a slow burn, but trust me, it has to be. Lemme know what your guys think c: