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callachloe · 2 days ago

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I want to be his good girl too 😩

What about Logan watching reader get themselves off on Logan's pillow? Like he could be holding a glass of whiskey, telling her to keep going when she complains it's too much?

-pillow talk.

cw: pillow riding, f masturbation, dom!logan but also sweet!logan

a/n: adding this as a bonus to sweet temptations :)

all day you've been so needy. craving logan's touch after long hours working in the lab, but tonight he's out on a mission with storm and scott. unsure on when he will be back, you go to his room to wait.

logan's sheets smell like he's never left. the perfect mix of cigar smoke and whiskey could make you arch your back. despite your original intentions of reading in his bed until he return, it didn't take you too long to strip yourself of your clothes and straddle one of his pillows in between your thighs.

meanwhile, downstairs logan pours himself a glass of whiskey to celebrate a successful mission. he checks the common room to see if you were in there but hank mentioned how you'd gone to back upstairs for the evening.

as he walked down the hallway, he could already smell you. logan carefully opens the door to see your naked back facing him as you rock your hips against his pillow. watching the scene in front of him play out makes him harder by the second.

you whimper, spreading your slick back and forth until the seam of the pillow, coating it in your arousal. too fucked out by your own rhythm to notice logan's presence in the room, not that he minded. he knew if you saw him watching you, you would shy away in embarrassment.

this way he can pay attention to every little thing that makes you tick. eyes screwed shut, lips parted, and eyebrows scrunched with pleasure. he'd never seen someone look so angelic.

"ah-fuck!" you moan as logan's big rough palm smacks your ass sharply. you turn back to look at him and feel yourself clench around nothing at the sight.

logan stands tall behind you, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and your ass cheek in the other, rubbing the tender skin. a lit cigar dangles from his kissable lips deliciously.

"look 'atcha doll..." he teases. "putting on a little show for me, huh?"

you stare up at logan like a puppy watching their owner dangle a treat in front of them.

"p-please, lo..." you whine, eyes watering with tears. "make the ache go away."

logan feels torn. on one hand he loves being the one to make you unravel but on the other hand, he wants to see how you managed to get yourself off before coming to him for help.

instead of answering, logan leaves you exactly where you are and sits down on the chair in the corner of his room.

"i'll help ya'... once i finish my drink." logan says.

you let out a soft groan, tilting your head back a little. as much as you want to beg him, the need to be his behaved good girl was stronger.

"l-logan..." your quiet whimper pulls him from his trance. "want you c-closer, please."

he gives in, bringing the chair to the edge of the bed and nursing his drink. you catch him off guard again when you reach for his hand on the mattress, squeezing hard as you chase after your orgasm. the small gesture almost makes him forget how filthy this scene looks.

"atta girl." he praises, letting you grip his hand as hard as you can while his other hand gropes your breast. "cum for me, sweetheart. i know you can do it."

logan's words were enough to tip you over the edge. broken moans spill out like a prayer. red puffy, tear stained cheeks. he tries his best to sooth them over with his thumb pad as you come down from your high.

"good job, baby." he smiles as you collapse forward on top of him.

you hum, snuggling up to him now. more relaxed than before.

"want ya' reward now?"

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avengerscompound · 1 day ago

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Clint Barton & Bruce Banner What If... Happy Hogan Saved Christmas?

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aquaticmercy · 1 day ago

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December Posting Schedule

Hi everyone! I’m quite busy with work, but I have so many completed first drafts that I can still regularly post! Most are for Bucky, but I have Natasha and Agatha scheduled, too.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of these stories!

Every Sunday : A chapter of Dark Necessities (Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader) — You drink Bucky’s blood out of necessity and accidentally form a bond that has the ability to unlock an ancient ritual magic. This will have at least 9 Chapters. The next part uploaded will be a backstory on how you and Bucky met, to give some context.

December 10 : The Art of Thieving (Bucky Barnes x art thief! Reader) — Bucky starts investigating a series of art thefts… and starts helping the thief.

December 13 : Back on Track (Bucky Barnes x F1 driver! Reader) — After a brutal crash during a race, Bucky won’t leave your bedside. Based on this request.

December 17 : Winter of 1894 (Agatha Harkness x witch! Reader) — Agatha always makes sure you fall asleep safe and warm in her arms, even as the coldest winter in generations raged on outside. (Victorian period piece). Based on this request.

December 20 : Depths (Bucky Barnes x Reader) — Bucky is an open book and you don’t trust anyone enough to reveal your past. Based on this request.

December 24 : Snow (Bucky Barnes x reader) — You love the snow. Bucky can’t stand it, but he can’t bring himself to tell you, either. This will be my entry for @buck-star's Winter Event!

December 27 : Muse (Natasha Romanoff x artist! Reader) — You are an artist, and your greatest muse is an assassin. Based on this request.

December 30 : In Her Corner (40s boxer! Bucky Barnes x boxer! Reader) — Bucky had already found the love of his life in the 1940s— a boxer, just like him. But as a woman in a male-dominated sport, your success looks different from his. In the present day, Sam offered to help Bucky track down your family, never imagining you might still be alive… and trapped. (this might turn into a three to five part series updated weekly!!)

—

*all my stories are written with fem!reader in mind.

*I might post drabbles in between :)

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a-spes · 1 day ago

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This Dream Is Not Feeling Sweet. A part of the "Devious Lies" series — Alternative Ending. (2,315 words).

| SUMMARY — Alternative ending in which Reader died, because the og ending was apparently not sad enough for some you lmao.

" And your story may have ended in a messy way, with blood, and tears, and words that will never be spoken, but the woman realized that she wouldn't have it any other way, cherishing every moment you had shared together. "

| TAGS & WARNINGS — Natasha Romanoff x Reader. Death (R), heavy angst with no comfort (and I think that's all?)

| SERIES MASTERLIST & MAIN MASTERLIST.

It was not raining, and yet the woman could feel droplets trickling down her skin. Unstoppable ones, that always came back, even after she had wiped them for what may be the tenth time.

But Natasha is firm, and she says she does not crying, refusing the comfort that some of her mates were trying to provide.

She doesn't need it.

Or, more exactly, she knew they couldn't give her the comfort she was craving, their gentleness being nothing more than a painful reminder of the things she had lost.

Their soft words could never be as significant as yours, and their embrace as reassuring.

She doesn't need it, she repeats, over, and over again, in her head but it is not enough to make the words more true.

Long ago, she was taught that pain only makes her stronger, and yet she has never felt so in pain, and so weak, at the same time.

Get up, a voice was whispering in the back of her mind, but her body felt so heavy than even breathing became an impossible task.

These words, along side with the belief that emotions, and love, were weaknesses, were engraved in her being. It is an indelible mark she had never really rid herself of, a ghost from her past that sometimes still haunted the woman.

Ever since she was a kid, the redhead had danced with Death. She taunted It, played its sick games, but she never folded, and never a tear rolled down her cheek, never a cry shook her body.

Even when she became one of her henchwoman, taking more lives than she could ever count, painting her ledger with so much scarlet that she might never be able to get rid of it. Even when she had lost some of the people she considered as her friends.

Her visage has always been marked by indifference, Death never being as painful as it was right now.

Today, as she was standing in front of your grave, she could felt every barrier she had ever built shattering, to weak to prevent the tears from flowing.

She had tried to stop them, the woman bitting her trembling lips until she draws blood, but no amount of pretending could ever be enough to stop the feelings that were hitting her. These were comparable to an unstoppable, and huge, wave that was about to take everything away in its path.

But things were different this time.

You taught her that love may be a weakness, but that it could also be the greatest thing. One that makes it worth living. You taught her how to be vulnerable, even thought she was frightened by the idea of trusting someone.

Because you are the one who taught her that some risks were worth being taken.

And your story may have ended in a messy way, with blood, and tears, and words that will never be spoken, but the woman realized that she wouldn't have it any other way, cherishing every moment you had shared together.

Two years went by since you left, and yet it is as if you were never really gone as the woman was constantly thinking about you — How could she not? You were in every night she has spent starring at the ceiling, in every corner of the compound, her memories of you being permanent reminder of the things she has lost.

Or, more exactly, of the things she has ruined because she was too scared to admit the truth.

The woman had looked at those pictures so many times that they were engraved in her mind, hauting her when she closed her eyes. She held into these as the reminder of the things you have done, as the evidence that she was right for the way she treated you.

Yet, deep down, she knew.

The women has always knew that something wasn't right with those, that it doesn't sound like something you would ever do — But don't we say that we never really know the people we are living with?

She had been so angry when she learned about what happened that it clouded her jugdment, and when the hatred of the first days eventually washed out, it was only to be replaced by somethong more vicious — Denial.

The thought that you were better without her, that she would've ended up hurting you anyway, eventually crept inside her. But the woman knows now that it was only an excuse, and a pitful one, to not admit her mistakes, to not face her fears. It is an old habit of hers that she went back to at the first difficulties — Running away.

She was scared, and as lost as when you met for the first time, and thought that, if she left first, if it was her decision, then maybe the situation would hurt less.

A false impression of doing the right thing, encouraged by the others, led her to think that everything was right.

Yet, she knew it wasn't true.

All these nights, when she had to listen to them sharing their hatred about you as if this mistake was the only think you have ever done in your life, and all these days, when she had to walk on the streets, reading the articles that were spreading lies about the person you were, as if this one mistake could erase the hero you once were, she knew that things weren't right.

Yet, her lips remained shut, and as time went by, it only became harder to speak out, the silence being oddly comfortable despite the price it came with. She should have spoken up, and at least try to defend you, but the woman never found the courage to do so.

Despite the soft promises, she had let you down, and that more times than she is willing to admit.

The woman had loose herself in her flaws, acting selfishly, and this is a crime she would never forgive herself for comitting. Especially because she had no explanation for her attitude, or at least none that would be more than an excuse for her cowardice.

She choose to act as if you have never existed, because she thought that it would make things easier, because that is what she does when her life becomes complicated — She runs away, and bury her emotions deep in her heart with the hope they won't resurface.

But if she thought that it would be easier to turn her back on you completely, the woman eventually realized that she was wrong, and that hiding didn't make any of it more bearable. The regrets she had buried deep inside of her, the ones she had hidden under a thick layer of anger and hatred, eventually resurfaced to hit her twice as hard as before once she realized that she was not hating you as much as she thought she was.

The truth is that her whole soul was longing for your presence, and she was angry at herself for that. The woman would have gave up everything she has only to see your smile one more time, to regain the comfort of your embrace.

But the realization came too late.

Two years went by since you left. Two years during which she preferred the comfort of ignorance instead of taking the decision to pursue you, ruining her own oppurtunity for a second chance.

Natasha could never forget the moment you left, and for ever this time — How could she, when felt you slipping through her arms, and your body becoming limp in her grasp. When she saw your eyes closing, only to never open again. When she noticed the way your lips stopped trembling, and your chest stopped rising.

She heard it, your last shaky breath before a heavy silence settled in, but she still refused to admit you were gone.

The woman had screamed, this day. She had begged deities that she doesn't even believe in, and pray anyone that could hear her pleas to give you back. But despite her cries, your body remained cold against her chest, and no amount of tears will ever be enough to bring back someone from the deads.

Death can't be changed, it is for ever.

Yet, some days, it was like you were never gone. From your favorite dish in the fridge to your favorite movie on television, everything was then a painful reminder of your absence. She could see your smile in the sun's rays, and hear your soft voice in the night, and as every corner of the city was associated with a memory of you, it was impossible for the woman to escape your ghost.

You were everywhere, hauting her life every minute, and especially her thoughts. She had replayed the events thousands of time in her mind, imagining all the things she could have done for your story to end diffirently. She had thought about all the things she should have said but kept for herself, all the times she wasn't brave enough to do the right thing.

You wouldn't be dead if she had listened to you, that day.

You wouldn't be dead if she didn't decide to be selfish, and to choose to save herself over yours.

She vowed to protect you, swore to always be by your side, promised under the stars that she would never stop loving you, but she eventually broke every of her words.

She should have been here, by your side, and not only in your last moment, but also the years that came before. She thought the situation was unfair to her, being deceived by the woman she loved, but she was so far from the truth. But, when the reality of the events has eventually been revealed, it was already too late.

A part of her died that day

A part of her that she will never be able to get back, the best of her, the hero she used to be — If she couldn't save you, what was the point? Why continuing when she couldn't save the only live that really mattered?

Slowly, the woman pulled away from the team. At first, she requested only a break of a few weeks, and it was granted to her without a question. Everyone knew she was affected by the events, but none of them could have guessed that it would led her to never come back — How could she?

She wasn't feeling like a hero anymore.

The desire to do good had been drowned out by anger and hatred, and if she was blaming herself, she was also blaming every of her coworkers. She was angry at Fury who kept sending you on dangerous missions despite your state, at Clint who convinced her to rest, and at the rest team who lost the only track they had of you.

The woman was sure that if you didn't go on that mission, if she had been with them, or if they hadn't fail to find you a few hours earlier, then you would still be here. Maybe not by her side, but at least alive.

Your funerals were held in secrecy. You didn't have much family anyway, and so only the team has been here. Not a word was exchanged during the ceremony, and no one dared to give speech.

What could they have said, anyway?

She could've explained what a beautiful soul you were, how she had loved you, and how the world should be grateful for your services, but it felt wrong, especially after all the things she had done.

It is when you were still alive that you needed to be loved.

And now that you were gone it was too late to repare the damages that she had caused to your heart, and reputation.

Despite her attempts to make the truth known, the world wasn't willing to listen, and the hatred that raised after the original events couldn't be undone, and even thought you died as a hero, no one is ever going to treat you as one.

The beast is dead, along with some other harmul words has been written on your tomb. When the rumors about your death eventually spread, some found your grave, but their intentions were everything but pure. The sight of your beautiful grave being damaged made the woman angry, because she couldn't stand the way they kept disrupting your slumber, as if you hadn't suffered enough in the last years of your life.

The world should have remained thankful for the things you've done for them, instead of hating you at the first occasion. If she had her reasons for the way she acted, they didn't.

She came regurarly, almost every day, to clean your tombstone, making sure that the flowers never wither. They are probably going to be stolen soon, by someone that thinks they deserve them more than you do, but it is not enough to convince her to stop.

Under her breath, the woman is whispering sweet words that she can only hope you will here from where you are. It is all the words that she couldn't bring herself to tell you when she should have, when it wasn't already too late. It is all the excuses and regrets she had never been courageous enough to share, and all the "I love you" that were stuck in her mind.

It is all the things that she couldn't gather the courage to say, at least not before you were already gone, unable to hear them. If words could heal hearts, they couldn't reverse death, and it is a lesson the woman learned too late.

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