#marvel drabble request

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi @amethystarachnid I just read that new drabble with tony and it's so cute and funny. I want to request for a lovely drabble w y/n & tony y/n pampering him and babying him and lots of kisses and tony loving it but acting all tough and sassy in front of other Avengers and y/n teasing him about it. It'd be so cute 🤭

I read that you're busy so write only if you can. Thank you buddy ‭❤

PAMPERING TONY STARK - A Drabble

I love pampering people and just taking care of them so this is heaven for me...and that's because this is so long lol.

The first time you do it, Tony freezes like a deer in headlights. You just cup his face in your hands, plant a long, obnoxiously loud smooch on his forehead, and go, “Who’s my handsome genius billionaire?”

“Uh. Me?” He blinks, genuinely unsure if this is a trick.

“Yes, you.” You pepper more kisses on his cheeks, his nose, and right at the corner of his lips. He’s absolutely malfunctioning. You can practically hear the Windows error sound in his brain.

“Okay, okay, slow down—what’s this for?” he asks, voice dropping into that flustered I’m totally fine, don’t make a big deal out of it tone.

You just grin. “Because I love you, duh.” And then you smoosh his cheeks together and make him do a ridiculous little fish face before landing another loud kiss on his lips.

Tony Stark—Mr. Cool, Confident, Cocky—actually sputters.

“This is—this is excessive. I have a reputation,” he protests weakly, but his hands are already resting on your waist, and he’s definitely leaning in just a little.

You ignore him and keep at it. “Awww, is my genius getting all shy? Can’t handle a little love?” Another kiss. Another. Another.

“I can handle it,” he grumbles, though his ears are turning pink. You kiss them too, just to prove a point.

At first, he pretends to put up a fight every time you do this—like when you ambush him while he’s working, or when you trap him on the couch, straddling his lap just to smother him with affection.

“Sweetheart, I have a very delicate and important project—”

Kiss.

“You can’t just—”

Kiss. Kiss.

“I am a grown man—”

KISS.

Eventually, he just gives up. Fully accepts his fate. Melts into every touch, every kiss, every obnoxious display of affection.

And now, if a day goes by without you showering him with attention, he gets huffy.

“Excuse me, but I believe you forgot to shower me in love and affection today. Am I not your favorite billionaire anymore?”

If you try to hold back for even a second, he literally pouts. “Wow. So this is how I get treated after all we’ve been through.”

But the moment you pull him in and absolutely smother him in kisses again, his entire face lights up, and he grumbles, “Yeah, okay. Maybe this is kinda nice.”

In private? Tony is an absolute menace for your affection. If you so much as sit down next to him, he’s already pulling you into his lap like, “I’m just making sure you don’t get away before I get my daily dose, obviously.”

But the moment the Avengers are around? Oh, suddenly, he’s Mr. Too Cool for This Soft Stuff™.

The first time Steve walks in on you kissing Tony’s face like he’s a tiny, spoiled prince, Tony immediately sits up and clears his throat. “Ahem. Yeah, uh, work stuff, Cap. Very official.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Work stuff?”

“Yes, very advanced research in…uh, emotional stability enhancement. Clearly.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve tries not to laugh.

You just smirk and lean in again, pressing a big mwah to Tony’s cheek. “Awww, am I distracting the big strong genius?”

Tony makes a deeply unconvincing groan, but the moment Steve leaves, he instantly turns and demands another one. “Okay, now that we’re alone—continue. Extensively.”

Natasha catches him once too. You’re literally trapping Tony in a hug, your fingers threading through his hair, kissing the top of his head. He’s definitely leaning into it, looking half-asleep and utterly content—until Natasha coughs.

“Wow,” she deadpans. “You gonna survive, Stark?”

Tony, without missing a beat, immediately sits up. “Listen, I have no choice in this. I’m just an innocent bystander in this overly affectionate attack.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease, crossing your arms. “Because someone literally climbed into my lap last night just to demand forehead kisses.”

“Lies and slander.”

“Tony, you literally pouted at me when I stopped.”

“Okay, first of all, I was testing the effects of withdrawal. For science.”

Natasha just smirks and walks away, while Tony groans and mutters, “Ugh, this is your fault.”

But despite all his protests in front of the team, everyone knows the truth.

Clint casually walks in one day, sees you sitting on the couch while Tony full-on buries his face in your neck, and just sips his coffee. “So, uh…you still claiming you hate affection?”

Tony doesn’t even lift his head. “Shut up, Legolas.”

And when you call him out for being a big softie, he just rolls his eyes. “Pfft. Soft? No, no, sweetheart, you’re the one addicted to this. I’m just doing my duty as a supportive boyfriend.”

“Oh really?” You grin and pull away slightly. “So if I stop giving you kisses, you’ll be fine?”

Tony freezes.

You smirk, moving just an inch further away.

“…Okay, now, let’s not be rash,” he says quickly, wrapping his arms back around you. “Let’s be reasonable adults about this.”

“You need my kisses,” you tease.

“I don’t need them, I just—” He sighs dramatically. “—fine, maybe I need them. A little.”

You boop his nose. “Good boy.”

“Okay, that’s too far—”

But you cut him off with another kiss, and suddenly, all of Tony’s sass mysteriously disappears.

hope you liked it <3

[spaceycat]

Hiii nursing student here, what are your thots on Steve Rogers helping his partner with studying for anatomy? 🫢

I feel like there is a lot of praise there and clothes shed after a few questions answered right. 😮‍💨

AHAJSRGEJFKENUTNK4VYH we're just gonna do a basic list cuz ive got work to do but this is to good to pass up rn.

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: freak by doja cat (4:44)

✰ I fully believe studies a form of anatomy or underwent anatomy training (is that a thing) for the military and when he starts dating you and you tell him you're a nurse its like a switch is turned on in his brain and he's like "hey i know that!"

✰ he's helping you with some questions about anatomy late at night, sitting beside you at your desk and shit.

✰ he keeps correcting you like he dickhead he is but we all love it

✰ when you write an answer that's like perfect, "there you go, baby.." and you CANNOT help the blush that creeps up your face

✰ cringy ass lines about how he can teach you about anatomy further that works somehow (this man hasn't fucked since 1940)

✰ he places a hand to your hip, pulling you closer - his thumb tracing across your hipbone "what'd you wanna learn about exactly?"

✰ clothes are SHEDDDDD, he lays you down on the bed but is a cocky bitch so he passes you the question sheet to you and you're just confused as fuck

✰ "think of it as a lecture, a demonstration if you will." "fuck you." "later, if you answer the questions, sweetheart."

✰ He places a kiss to your lips, "Labium Superius Oris and Labium Inferius Oris." The words just come through one ear and out the next, "What?--" "Your lips, sweetheart. Listen up or I'll stop." (yeah i studied biology guys so cool)

✰ He'd place a kiss to your neck, muttering whatever the fuck the word was - you didn't really care.

✰ He continued to kiss down your body, stating things that you lazily wrote on your paper - thighs moving together to quench the heat between your thighs.

 ✰ That's when his cold hands pried your thighs apart, "Answer a question--" "Steve.." "Answer a question." He said sternly, your eyes trailed back to the paper.

✰ That's when you felt his fingers drag down your slick folds, a moan being pulled from your throat as you looked at him. "Eyes on your paper."

✰ You looked back to the paper much to your dismay, you did it because you knew that he would stop if you did otherwise.

✰ When he's fingering you, this man is completely focused on finding your g-spot and being a prick about it, acting like you arent coming undone because of him

✰ Your paper completely discarded as he went down on you, muttering some more scientific words and you simply placed a hand into his hair - guiding his face further into your pussy and that shut him up.

✰ All you could think of now was his hands spreading your thighs further open, his small groans and whines, his hair all messed up from your hands and enjoying the entire fucking thing.

✰ Later he said "One more question." "What?--" "I'm kidding, rest up my love."

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ 

THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST I LOVED ITTT!! also just letting you all know that i'll be mainly MIA for the next 2-3 days cuz shit needs to be done lol, i'll see you all soon - stay safe <3

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

Unpleasant Anniversaries

Daredevil Masterlist || Based on this request!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Every year, it was the worst week of your life. A week absolutely brimming with unpleasant anniversaries. But when you sleep through your alarm for work, you don’t expect a certain Matt Murdock to come knocking at your door. Or that you’d confess the feelings you have for him.

Author’s Note: I can’t believe I reference a game of truth or dare so often in this fic just to not be able to come up with what the dare would be. Smh. Sorry guys. You can use your imagination I guess. 😂 Thank you SO MUCH for the request anon!! I hope it’s everything you were hoping it would be and that it’s not too cliche… (And that it’s not too long, because this baby really got away on me. 😬) This is actually my first time writing (or at least posting) for the DD fandom, so please let me know if I’m OOC!

Warnings: Angst (but with a happy ending), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, References to Parental Death, Cussing, References to Alcohol and Hangovers, no use of y/n (I’m getting pretty good at back flipping and somersaulting around it, but I still apologize if it comes off clunky), Fluff at the end (because what’s the point of hurt/comfort if we don’t have some cute, fluffy comfort??), Love Confessions. I’m posting this without editing, and yes, that is a warning. (I am SO going to regret this decision later, but I am way too tired to edit).

Word Count: 2.3k

———————————————————————————

This cannot be happening. I cannot be falling in love with Matt Murdock.

It was stupid, really. The stupidest thing that had caused you to realise it.

Freaking Foggy.

Granted, you couldn’t entirely blame him. You were far too old to succumb to peer pressure anyway. Far too old to be playing Truth or Dare with a six-pack of beer and the exhaustion of an emotional week under your belt.

A week absolutely brimming with unpleasant anniversaries.

The anniversary of your mother’s death, the anniversary of your long-term boyfriend breaking up with you for your best friend, your birthday. Bing, bang, boom…back-to-back.

Every year, it was the worst week of your life, and you just wanted something fun and lighthearted and silly enough to make you forget about the ache wrenching your heart in two.

Stupid. Stupid anniversaries and stupid emotions and stupid, stupid, STUPID, idiotic game.

It was juvenile, and you cursed yourself for going along with the idea. Because now, you had another item to add to the list.

And the week wasn’t even over yet.

A steady thumping at your door matched the rhythm pounding in your head, your name spoken through the thin wood.

Peeking through cracked eyelids revealed afternoon sunlight streaming into your apartment, the alarm clock beside your bed happily displaying 12:05pm.

Shit!

You bolted upright in bed, groaning as your head throbbed in protest. Another series of knocks rapped against your door, followed by your name again. Double shit!

Matt.

Stumbling out of bed, you grit your teeth against the headache and tripped your way to the door, fumbling with the lock and cursing your hangover. The drinking hadn’t stopped once you got home, and you were really starting to regret that decision.

The lock clicked, and before Matt even had a chance to step into the apartment, apologies were spewing from your lips.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Matt. It won’t happen again. I must’ve slept through the alarm or forgot to set it or something, but it won’t happen again, I promise. I—”

The words were spilling out of you like a river, and even you were struggling to make sense of them. Embarrassingly, tears pricked the backs of your eyes, something that only deepened the ache pounding through your skull.

“Hey.” Matt dropped his cane in the entryway, door closing behind him and strong, steady hands placed groundingly on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Foggy, Karen, and I were just worried when you didn’t show up to work. We thought somebody better come check on you.”

That was…really sweet.

And the floodgates opened.

Gut-wrenching sobs tore through your body, every ounce of hurt and despair and loneliness bottled up for the last several years breaking through your carefully-constructed walls and flowing like a wellspring onto the hardwood floor.

For a second, Matt froze, stunned, and you wanted to kick yourself. This was not what Matt had signed up for by volunteering to come check on you. If anything, he was probably wishing right now that Karen or Foggy or literally anyone else had offered to go instead.

“I’m–I’m sorry.” You tried to apologize for crying, for not showing up to work, for being a crazy, messed-up disaster that Matt certainly shouldn’t have to deal with.

His arms wrapped around you, warm and comforting, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself melting into the touch, clinging to the front of his dress shirt and probably ruining it with your tears.

“I’m–I’m sorry, Matt. I–”

“Shhh.” He interrupted you with a hum, gently resting his chin on top of your head, strong arms locked securely around you.

Still, you felt the need to explain.

“It’s–it’s just a really rough week for me, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I always end up fine. I just–”

He shushed you again quietly, warm hands running soothing strokes up and down your back. The tears began to slow, and you hiccuped before attempting to take a long, controlled breath.

“That’s it. That’s good. Just breathe.”

His hands didn’t stop moving, and you closed your eyes, savouring the touch for however long it would last. Burying yourself in the comfort of it.

Maybe you could make a piece of this moment last forever.

When a deep, shuddery sigh expelled itself from your lungs, Matt stepped back, head tilting as his hands rested back on your shoulders, seeming to be listening for something. What, you didn’t know. Concern marred a crease on his forehead though, and another wave of guilt roiled in your stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was small and weak, pathetic. “Matt, I’m so–”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” His tone was firm, brooking no argument. His hand started stroking up and down your arm. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I was late for work.” The words fell to the floor with your gaze.

“We got by for the morning.”

You squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the ache behind your eyes barely manageable. “I made you guys worry.”

His tone remained smooth, calm. “That’s okay. You’re okay, and that’s all that matters.”

“And…” You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, worrying your lip between your teeth. “I got tears on your shirt.”

A wry smile tilted his lips, and you could just picture the amusement dancing behind those red glasses. “I’ll live, and it’ll wash.”

“I just…” You sighed, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes, trying to uproot the headache that seemed to be drilling a hole through your skull. “I just wish this week was over.”

The tips of his fingers danced over your arm, and his voice became low, tender. “Why?”

Tears sprang to your eyes again, but you forced them back, swallowing down the lump attempting to rise in your throat.

Could you tell him? Could you really, truly trust him with this information? Would it make him look at you differently? Would it make him see you as broken?

“It just…” You paused, hesitating. “It’s just got some bad memories attached to it, is all.” Then, before you could stop yourself. “Did you know my mom died six years ago yesterday?”

Matt frowned, lips twitching like he wanted to speak.

But you kept going.

“Heart attack. The doctors never saw it coming. I was in my first year of university…” You swallowed, bitter memories you regularly kept locked away rising to the surface. “I was on the plane when she passed—didn’t even know until my dad met me at the airport.”

Your name drifted from his lips, hushed and sad. It should make you stop—it should make you shove the feelings back into a box, lock them up tight, and forget about them forever. Instead…

“Two years later, this great guy came into my life. Smart, funny…” Almost as handsome as you. You pushed the thought aside and continued. “We were talking about marriage. Family, kids. We would buy a house on the coast, right next to his parents. We were going to be so happy…”

The memory played out before your eyes. Big house, a dog, 2.5 children—you’d even talked colour schemes, baby names. Had tentatively set a date for just after graduation.

“Until the doctors thought they found something on one of my routine screenings. Suddenly, ‘in sickness and in health’ became a little too close to home. He was sleeping with my best friend before I even had a chance to tell him it was a false alarm.”

By the hard set of his jaw, Matt was less than pleased to hear about your piece-of-shit ex, lips pressed firmly together like he might be trying to keep himself from having a word with him this very moment.

A near-hysterical laugh floated up from your chest, heart ripping apart inside you.

“It was really a stupidly shitty thing to do on someone’s birthday, but hey, live and learn I guess. Just gives me one less reason to celebrate. It hasn’t been the same since my mom passed anyway…”

His head tilted sharply. “Your birthday is this week?”

A small, pathetic nod tipped your chin. “Today, actually.”

Matt’s jaw worked, expression so pained you thought for a second he might be more hurt by the knowledge than you were.

“And then, of course, I’m stupid enough to play Truth or Dare, get so outrageously drunk that I sleep through my alarm, and if I worked for anyone other than you, I would’ve been fired on the spot, so…” The headache was splitting your brain in two. You needed an aspirin. “Icing on the cake.”

Walking into the kitchen to dig through your cupboards for the pill bottle and a glass of water, you genuinely hoped Matt would leave it as is. It was stupid—nothing but a hard week and an off day and two minutes of word vomiting. Or maybe closer to ten. Either way, you just wanted to keep your head low and forget about this little outburst until the end of the week, when you could cry properly.

Of course, you should’ve known better than to think Matt would leave it alone.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, following you into the kitchen, “you would not have been fired from any other job. You’ve been nothing but punctual every other day of the year—one bad day doesn’t scrap a perfectly good record. And second–” he interrupted your protest with a furrowed brow and his hand raised in the ‘stop’ position. “You were not that drunk when you left the office yesterday. What happened?”

You winced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, and you delayed by popping the aspirin in your mouth with a swig of water. When you were finished, Matt was still waiting.

“Nothing.”

He scoffed, and you tried not to let it hurt. “Nothing?”

“That’s what I said, Matt.” Whoa, you did not mean for your tone to be so sharp, but there was no stopping it now. “Maybe I had a few more when I got home. Maybe I had a whole case. Maybe—” your voice cracked, and tears pricked your eyes again. “Maybe I just didn’t want to think about my dead mother or my cheating ex or the fact that when I took that fucking dare yesterday, I didn’t realise I had feelings for you until it was too late. And I—” Tears flooded the dam, dripping down your cheeks, your words breaking on a sob. “I can’t have feelings for you, because all they ever do is get me hurt…and I can’t handle any more hurt, Matt. I can’t! I can’t–-”

For the second time that day, you dissolved into sobs, the sheer force of pain clefting you in two like a tidal wave.

Through a haze of tears, you watched Matt hesitate, hand flexing, before stepping forward and slowly wrapping his arms around you, keeping you together when you were sure you would fall apart.

The reality of what you’d just confessed washed over you, embarrassment now mixing with the sadness to create a whirl of agonising pain.

You wanted to choke on the feelings.

“I’m–I’m sorry, Matt.” Your words were so garbled, you have no idea how he understood them.

But he did.

“What did I say earlier?” he soothed, warm hand stroking up and down your back again. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

God, you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that you hadn’t just ruined your career confessing feelings for your boss. Wanted to believe that he wouldn’t just slowly disappear from your life, like a ship in the night, fading out of friendship, out of reach of a lighthouse.

Your body bucked and hiccuped, lungs struggling for air through the emotion filling your chest. His arms tightened around you.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Shhhh.” His lips graced your hairline—a soft kiss, tender—before he again rested his chin on top of your head. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

You shook your head, the salt-stained fabric of his shirt swishing against your ear. “No. Matt, I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I ruined everything!”

Grasping fistfuls of his shirt in shaky hands, you felt his jaw shift atop your head.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “I—God, I…I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You sniffed, wiping the tear stains off your cheeks with his shirt. “Told me what?”

He paused, chest expanding with a breath, like he was preparing himself for something.

“That I…I have feelings for you too.”

“Don’t patronize me, Murdock,” you snipped, attempting to push out of his arms, because that’s just what you didn’t need, someone to make fun of the emotions that you already knew were stupid.

He held you fast.

“I’m not. I promise you I’m not.” The conviction in his voice was almost enough to convince you of the truth on its own. And if it wasn’t, his heart racing against your fingertips, chaotic and wild, certainly was. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, sweetheart. I–I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

He smiled sheepishly, and the world moved in slow motion.

“You…love me?” A whisper is too loud to describe the question you breathed, but Matt chuckled, the tips of his ears flushed a dusty shade of pink.

“Yeah.” His head tilted, slight crease between his brows, carefully regarding your reaction.

“Matt Murdock…” you breathed, wiping the final few tears off your cheeks and looking up into his red glasses. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

He frowned. “Then we really need to fix that.”

You laughed, a real, genuine laugh, probably the first one this entire week, and melted back into his arms.

[buckysslut]

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 / 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 !

(if a title is written but not linked to anything it means coming soon!)

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 , 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐫𝐚𝐰

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨

𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 / 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐲

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲

𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 , [pt. 2]

𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐦𝐨𝐛!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 [pt. 2]

𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 , [pt. 2]

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬 [pt. 2] [pt. 3] [pt. 4] [pt. 5] [pt. 6]

𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

𝐠𝐲𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐨!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 & 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 [pt. 2]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐰/ 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝-𝐨𝐮𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧

𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦

𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

𝐦𝐨𝐛!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲

𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞

[readerstories]

what about nr 3 on the list with deadpool & wolverine? with who is up to u

Okay so this got away from me a bit lol, but anywho, here's some Poolverine x gn! reader :D Drabble requests with the latest reblogged prompt list open until the end of the weekend!

Prompt: 3) “How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?”

Warnings/tags: established relationship, pre-relationship, polyamory

Wordount: 815

Logan is still not quite used to being around a lot of people without it being a bad thing, but Wade's friends (and by now, his) filling the apartment are kinda nice. He most likely will get overstimulated at some point, but for now he's relaxing on the couch, beer in one hand, the other arm thrown over the back.

“How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?” Is the first thing Wade asks when he flings himself down onto the couch next to Logan, and bullies his way into his side. Logan grunts, arm moving from the back of the couch to curl over Wade's shoulders.

"Not that I don't think you are enough, but I think it would be really hot to have some more filling in this sandwich! Or for me to be the filling between two hot bods! Or you between one hot bod and one half-rotten bod." Logan growls at the insult Wade hurls at himself, but that's something to take up and argue about later, not right in the middle of all their friends. Which by the way, Logan is happy none of them have enhanced hearing (that he knows of), because of course Wade had chosen a chaotic moment to bring this new topic up.

"Who?" He's not unfamiliar with polygamy at all, it can be a lot of fun, but he's picky (he can allow himself to be that now, in this universe).

"I'm not going to point, so look over towards the snack table, but try to be subtle even if that isn't your strong suit, my little brute." Logan looks around the room, pretending he's just letting his eyes wander, before they settle at the two people standing and chatting over there.

"Dopinder?" Wade groans, hitting his head against Logan's shoulder.

"Yes, Dopinder, straight as an arrow Dopinder, who is disgustingly in love with a woman. No! The actual cutie chatting to him, you fool!" He figured Wade meant you, but fucking with Wade is fun, even in small ways. He lets his eyes wander all over you. You are indeed cute, but also hot. The clothes you are wearing look comfy, but also good, like you put effort in even if you were only seeing friends that no doubt have seen you in worse.

You catch him staring, his gaze almost like a physical weight. You give him a little smile and wave before turning back to Dopinder. You shake your head with a smile at something he says, Logan wonders what about.

"I can hear your gears turning in that not so little head of yours." Logan turns to Wade, who's watching him with big and eager eyes. It would be a lie to say he hadn't looked before. He had looked since he first saw you at the first party Wade did after Logan moved in.

Well, it wasn't the first time he had seen you, but he was a little preoccupied to notice how good you looked when you were crammed into the polaroid that Wade had waved like a shield in the Honda.

He had never planned at doing more than looking, happy with having just Wade, but since the man is offering…..

"Yeah." Wade grins at him, leaning forward to plant a wet, but quick kiss on his mouth.

"Fucking knew it. Their charm is irresistible." Wade glances over to you, clearly checking you out while Logan checks him out, squeezing his shoulders.

"How are we doing this?" Logan asks, drawing Wade’s attention back to him.

"Well, I think you should get up and get over there, work your irresistible charm. Conveniently, you need a new drink." Logan looks at his still half full beer, but before he can say anything, Wade snatches his drink and downs it in one go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and it's through sheer will that Logan's thoughts and blood doesn't go straight south.

"Now up and at 'em' tough stuff." Wade pats his cheek, Logan snaps after his fingers, but gets up. "And be a dear and grab me some snacks. Some actual ones, not just the one we are trying to get into the pants off.” Logan rolls his eyes, starting to walk over to the snack table where Dopinder is showing you something on his phone now. Your mouth is full of food, so you cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes connecting with Logan's over the edge of your hand.

Logan hopes this goes well, he's rusty flirting with anyone else but Wade (he doesn't think the threat of stabbing you would go over well). But he doesn't worry too much as you keep looking at him as he approaches, and then draw him into the conversation as he nears.

[plussizefantasia]

CozyTober Day 7: Fresh Baked Goods

Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

wc: 0.9k

warnings: anxiety induced baking

an: this was one of my favorites and now I have a few more ideas of what I should bake this month hehe. Reblog if you enjoyed, I'll see you tomorrow for Day 8!

Since you were old enough to use the stove unsupervised baking has been your main way to get rid of stress. The way that it captured all your focus and kept your hands busy made it the prime choice for distraction in moments of chaos. 

When finals week would roll around you would be drowning in all sorts of breads, cookies, muffins, and pastries. You had resorted to donating them to a local soup kitchen whenever you could, or forcing them off on your friends, teachers whoever would take them really.

The habit had not broken in adulthood, though you were now more mindful about other ways to cope, when the stress got to be a little too much you resorted to finding a new recipe and firing up the oven. 

And your husband going on two week-long missions where he wasn’t allowed to contact you was a great example of the stress becoming too much. Currently, the little kitchen in the townhome the two of you had bought together last year was absolutely covered in all kinds of goodies. You had some pumpkin rolls, several batches of apple cinnamon muffins, caramel apple cookies, apple turnovers, and some pumpkin and chocolate chip loaf. 

You were rolling out the four sheets of pie dough you had prepared for the various flavors of filling that are currently cooling in your fridge. Suffice to say that you had overdone it but you really had nothing else to do. 

You had finished all the cleaning there was to do the first week he had been gone, and you didn’t want to mindlessly watch the shows on your list because you promised Bucky you wouldn’t watch them without him. You had gone through your entire closet and pulled out things you could donate, you had asked for more tasks from work and then promptly finished all of those too. 

You had nothing to distract yourself, so you resorted to baking. You knew the treats would get eaten, either by your husband’s team or the people at your own work if they were left in the breakroom. But you’re not really sure how much longer this can go on before it’s considered an actual problem.

Luckily and unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have anything to be worried about in a few hours, because your husband would walk through your front door. 

Bucky hated blackout missions, not only did he think the whole concept was paranoid and that was a lot coming from him, but he had people to miss now. He had ties to the real world, ones he didn’t feel entirely comfortable abandoning for two weeks even if you’d talked about it before he left.

He worked hard to get the job done as soon as possible and told Ross to shove it when the general had asked him to stick around for one more day so he could complete the mission debrief. That was Sam’s job anyway, the type of bureaucratic responsibility that came along with the stars and stripes plastered across his chest. 

So he shed himself off his mission gear, changed into his civvies, and hopped on his motorcycle. He didn't wait a second before revving it up and coming home to you. 

He did not expect however to open the door and be assaulted with the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. He sighed and shook his head with a smile, mentally preparing himself for the sight of his kitchen being turned into a bakery.

You didn’t hear the door open, too busy humming along to the Fred Astaire record spinning on the table in the corner. You didn’t notice Bucky slipping off his boots or hanging up his jacket. You didn’t hear the padding of his feet as he made his way to the kitchen and you didn’t notice when he propped himself up against the door frame and took in the sight of your baking breakdown.

You did however hear his slightly teasing lilt of “Honey, I’m home.” 

You spin to face the voice and let out an undignified squeal. You spin around looking for a place where you can set the hot pan in your hand and give up, practically throwing it back into the oven before taking a running start and launching yourself at him

His deep chuckle blesses your ears and you dig your nose into his chest taking a big breath of something that can only be described as Bucky. 

“You’re home!” yelled muffled by his chest.

He ran a hand down the back of your head over his hand, “You baked.”

You pull back and look sheepishly at him, hoping that the kisses you scatter across his face will distract him from the abundance of carbs behind you.

It doesn’t work. The two of you eat muffins for breakfast every day for the next two weeks, Bucky takes some of the treats to the base with him and says the trainees are grateful but that the sugar makes them annoying. You bring some of what’s left to your own work and are met with a bunch of thank you e-mails and even a thank you coffee from the nice older woman who sits three desks away from you. The rest you bring to the children’s hospital the next time the two of you visit, sweets are always a hit there.

Bucky does ban you from the kitchen for three weeks after though, afraid you’ll get the urge again and he’ll have to add a few more hours of gym time to his routine to burn off all the carbs he’s been eating.

[cozywolvie]

hii, i was wondering if u could do a fic of logan nd wade with a sunshine reader ^_^ like an overly happy and energetic person ig. IF THAT MAKES SENSE LOL. i don’t see too many fanfics with sunshine readers… or at least when i look. not sure if u have gotten many requests yet but hopefully this isn’t a bother to u!! u can add smut or smth if u want. u seem super cool and hopefully u have a fun time writing this if u do :3 have a great day or night!!

a/n: yayy! my first request! thank you sm for requesting and you are not a bother at all. I really hope this is somewhat of what you wanted. this is straight fluff and cuteness, so I hope you enjoy!

-

You have always been a morning person. You loved watching the sky turn different shades of yellow and orange as the sun rose, and you loved having a cup of coffee while watching it. However, your boyfriends couldn’t disagree more with you.

Here you are, laid out on the back porch, wearing one of Logan’s plaid flannels, baking in the rising sunlight as it goes over the horizon. A warm cup of coffee is settled in between your fingers, and you grip it tightly, loving the warmth it gave you on this crisp morning.

While you laid out here, Wade and Logan lay inside sound asleep in your shared king size bed. They always love to tease you about your chirpiness and happiness, especially in the morning. They couldn’t get around the fact that they both were somehow able to fall in love with a person so opposite of them, especially Logan.

It was around 10 am when you started to hear the two men stir. You were in the kitchen, humming, flipping pancakes on the stove. Logan emerged first from the bedroom, wearing a pair of sweats that hung low on his waist, a flannel hung along his shoulders, underneath was bare, and you tired not to gawk at his figure. He smirks when you see’s you. “Smells good.” He compliments, walking around to your side and placing a long kiss on your temple. You smile, practically leaning into his tender embrace.

“Good morning” You beam back at him. You loved mornings like this, calm, peaceful, anything to get away from the stress of Wade and Logan's crime fighting careers. You offer him coffee, which he leaves black, and sits down at the kitchen table. You continue to hum in content, even dancing to nothing in the kitchen, enjoying the sizzling of the pancake batter on the stove. There was just pure joy and happiness radiating off of you. Logan smiles at the sight.

“Good morning bubbles!” The sound of your other boyfriend radiates the room. Logan groans in discomfort at the loud sound, plugging his ears closed. You giggle at Wade’s nickname. Awhile ago when you three had gotten together, Wade had referred to the three of you were like the powerpuff girls. You, bubbles, because you were always bubbly. Buttercup, Logan, which is pretty self explanatory. And Wade, Blossom, because he claims that he was the captain of your little team.

“Good morning Wade.” You give him peck on the lips, and hand him his coffee, with a shit ton of creamer and four sugars, he loves things sweet. He takes a sip and nods approvingly. “Ah, sweet! Just like my girl.” He gives your behind a cheeky slap and you giggle, swatting him away playfully.

You all sit at the table, munching down on pancakes. Wade drowns his in syrup and Logan cringes at the sight. “You’re gonna get diabetes if you keep doing that.” Logan scowls.

“I already got cancer, I’ll take my chances.” Wade says back, shoving pancakes in his mouth. You grin, rolling your eyes at the pair. Logan eyes your cup of coffee. “Which number cup is that?” He teases.

“My forth.” You grin, taking a sip. Logan chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, “No wonder you’re always so energetic.”

"Nah, it's just the way our girl is." Wade says, sending a wink your way. You grin and try to hide your blush. "I have no reason to be anything else. I've got a good life, a roof over my head, and two incredibly amazing sexy men who are in love with me." You giggle with a wink, watching as both the men smile, making your heart warm.

"About that, thank you." Logan states. You crinkle your brows in confusion, not knowing what he is thanking you for. He see's your confusion, stumbling over his words, becoming flustered. "Well, uh, ya'know-"

"What peanut is trying to say is, that we are grateful for you. You're the light in our lives that we both needed." Wade states, grabbing your hand from across the table. You can't even contain the blush on your cheeks now. If anything, you should be thanking them.

"I'm the grateful one." You say. The boys smile, showering you in love and kisses. The rest of the day is spent with the three of you relaxing in your free time, cuddled up by the two men you love most, all three of your laughters echoing around the small cozy apartment.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Can I request Carol Danvers x Reader. While the whole team is on a mission, Reader finds themselves in trouble. Carol swoops in a saves them. The team starts to harass R, which makes R have feelings of doubt toward their abilities and also not good enough for Carol. Angst and then you can end it however you see it. Thank you! If you don’t like this request, please feel free to ignore.

My Voice of Reason

Warnings: Bullying of R by the team that's about it

Word count: 660

A/N: thank you for this request! I had a fun time with it~

“Y/N! Come in! What's your status?” Cap shouted over the comms. Your head was reeling after being knocked back about 50ft. You had no voice left, you had been shouting, using your voice manipulation to subdue the enemies. 

You had run out of throat spray to ease the pain and talking was something you couldn't even fathom. 

“Anyone got eyes on Y/N?” Natasha called through the comms.

“I'll find her.” You heard Carol call through, and before you knew it, she was standing above you. “You good, Echo?” The nickname that stuck with you for being able to mimic any sound. You were able to nod, point at your throat, and sign ‘no’. “Can you get up? Can you walk?” As Carol asked, another handful of Hydra goons came round, and without a second thought, Carol picked you up before unleashing an attack, knocking them out. “Let's get back to the QuinJet.” You nodded, gripping onto her, burying your face against her to hide the blush covering your cheeks. 

The ride home had been full of whispers as if you couldn't hear them talking down. It was your voice that wasn't working, not your ears.

You felt Carol's strong hand on your shoulder. Looking over, she gave a soft smile. “Almost home. We'll have to debrief, but you should grab some medicine first.” You gave a soft smile back and nodded. 

“Y/N do you have anything to say?” Tony remarked, all eyes on you.

“Ran out of meds. Couldn't talk.” Your voice still hoarse.

“I am so sick of that excuse! You need to train more often and stay off missions. You're grounded.” Cap called across the table. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. You couldn't look at any of them. 

“I'm sorry…” you spoke softly. Letting the ‘adults’ talk even though you were 21 you were still the youngest besides Peter, but Tony kept him mostly off field.

A few hours later you'd been released from the debriefing, heading straight to your room. “FRIDAY. Soundproof.”

“Sound proofing complete ms. Y/L/N.” As soon as it was soundproof, you let out a banshee scream in frustration. You yelled until your voice was just about gone again, “Fuck them. I try so hard…Tony has a stupid suit, Cap is a super soldier, Thor is a literal God!” You yelled. “It's not fair…its…” you started crying which turned into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Echo? Are you in there?” You heard Carol knocked at your door. As you tried to gather yourself together real quick and told FRIDAY to stop the soundproofing. 

“Y-yeah…here…” you called out, spraying your throat.

“Can I come in?” Carol asked, making you hesitate for a moment before opening it and pulling her inside. “Hey, you okay?” Carol cupped your cheeks, you tried looking away, anywhere, but at her. She was always so kind and caring towards you. “Look at me Y/N.” It caught you off guard, she never used your name ever since she learned your nickname so of course you looked at her. “Don't listen to those idiots. You're amazing and you're an amazing super hero. They have fancy gadgets and enhancements. You don't have those things. Sure your voice is a power and makes you an enhanced individual, but your power hurts you too. It isn't endless your body has limits and they need to understand that.” 

You felt your body shake at her words, trying to hold back your tears, but they end up falling as you're pulled against her. “Shhhh I'm always on your side.” Carol pulled your face up gently before pulling you into a soft kiss making your heart soar as you kissed her back pushing up on your toes and wrapping your arms around her shoulders. 

Through all of it, Carol was here with you, and so long as you had her by your side, anything the other members said didn't matter.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Kilgrave x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | none.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: 19. Resting their hand on the other's thigh, slowly stroking it. 

𝐈𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

You had spent years chasing a ghost.

Kilgrave. The man who could make anyone do whatever he wanted with just a word. A man so dangerous, so untouchable, that even the most powerful people in New York whispered his name with fear.

But you weren’t a superhero. You weren’t some vigilante with a mission. You were just a journalist, someone who dug through the filth of the city, exposing the truth no matter how ugly it was. And Kilgrave? He was the ugliest truth of them all.

For years, you followed the trail of destruction he left behind. Victims with blank stares, bodies that dropped like puppets whose strings had been cut. People who would have died for him—some who did—without ever understanding why. You swore you’d find him. You swore you’d get the real story.

You never expected to survive it.

When you finally tracked him down, you were sure you were about to die.

He had looked at you, his sharp eyes locking onto yours, and spoke a single word:

“Stop.”

But you didn’t.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, breath caught in your throat, but your body remained your own. You took another step forward, watching confusion flicker across his face.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, brows drawing together.

It didn’t work.

His power, the thing that made him a monster, the thing that made him Kilgrave—it had no effect on you.

That moment changed everything.

He should have killed you. You had exposed yourself, made it clear that you were a threat to him in a way no one else ever had been. Instead, he became obsessed.

And you? You saw something in him that no one else did.

Kilgrave was a man who had never been told no. Never had to struggle, never had to live with the weight of his own actions. He had never been human.

So you made him one.

Little by little, you chipped away at him. You refused to be afraid, refused to let him intimidate you. You told him exactly what he was—a selfish, entitled, dangerous prick. And yet, you didn’t run.

Somewhere along the way, he changed.

No more orders. No more dead bodies. He started trying—for you.

And now, months later, in the dim glow of a quiet hotel room, you could feel how much he had changed.

Kilgrave sat beside you on the bed, his expression softer than you ever thought possible. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers idly stroking the denim of your jeans. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a game. It was just touch.

Slow. Deliberate.

His fingertips traced barely-there circles, the friction sending tiny sparks along your skin even through the thick fabric. It was an unspoken test, a quiet push to see if you’d pull away, if you’d shatter the fragile balance between you. But you didn’t.

You wouldn’t.

The warmth of his palm sank into your flesh, his thumb brushing lightly, back and forth, just above your knee. Not moving too fast. Not demanding. Just lingering, just exploring.

He exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the thick silence, his voice dropping to something low and rough.

"You have no idea how many people I've made crawl on their knees for me," he murmured, his fingers slipping just a little higher, slow and teasing. "One word, and they would do anything. Anything."

The weight of his hand grew heavier, his grip tightening—not enough to restrain, but enough to claim.

His palm pressed, heat radiating, fingertips pressing just enough to make you feel it. The slow drag of his touch sent something dangerous curling deep in your stomach, a tension coiling low.

“But you?” He huffed out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. His fingers flexed again, massaging slow circles into your thigh, teasing pressure just on the inside, inching closer but never quite crossing the line.

"You look me in the eyes and tell me to fuck off. And I—" He squeezed lightly, the tiniest show of restraint. His hand wanted to move higher. You could feel it. "I fucking love it."

A sharp breath left you, not quite a gasp, but enough that you saw the way his lips twitched, the satisfaction that flickered in his eyes. He knew what he was doing. He could feel the heat of your skin through your jeans, could feel the way your muscles tensed under his touch.

You smirked, shifting just slightly beneath his hand, as if to test him, to see if he would follow. And he did. His fingers trailed up another inch, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

"Poor Kilgrave," you murmured, voice smooth but breathier than before. "Used to getting his way, and now you have to earn things like a normal person."

His jaw clenched, but the amusement didn’t leave his face. If anything, it sharpened, darkened.

"You say that like I don’t enjoy the challenge," he muttered. His hand shifted, fingertips skimming the inner seam of your jeans, moving closer—so close. His palm squeezed, rough but slow, kneading just enough to make you shift, to make your body react before your mind could stop it.

His voice dipped lower, a quiet confession laced with something hotter, something dangerous.

"You make me want to be better," he admitted. His thumb brushed the crease of your thigh, so close to where you wantedhim, but stopping just shy. A tease. A promise. "But you also make me want to ruin you in ways that have nothing to do with power."

Your breath hitched. His touch burned, the slow, agonizing drag of it leaving heat in its wake.

“And I,” you murmured, reaching up, threading your fingers into his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a deep, wrecked sound that sent shivers down your spine—"love watching you try."

Kilgrave exhaled sharply, his hand tightening on your thigh, his other coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing against your lower lip. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, the tension between you stretched so tight it felt like it might snap.

"You," he whispered, tilting your chin up, mouth just barely brushing yours, "are the only thing I've ever truly wanted."

His fingers flexed again, stroking slow, steady, deliberate.

Not commanding. Not forcing.

Just wanting.

And fuck, did you want him back.

The heat of his palm was unbearable now, the teasing, the slow, deliberate climb of his hand toward the spot he wanted most. Your breath was coming too fast, the air between you growing thick with something dangerous.

Another inch.

His fingertips skimmed just beyond where they had been, his thumb grazing over the seam of your jeans in a way that made you twitch. You could feel how much he wanted it. How much he wanted you.

Another inch.

You let it build. Let him think he was going to get what he wanted. Let him hope.

And then—

You reached down, catching his wrist in a firm grip, and slowly dragged his hand back down to rest where it started.

Back to your knee.

Away from where he wanted to be.

Kilgrave froze, eyes snapping up to yours, shock flashing across his face for the briefest second before something darker took its place. He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening, body coiled with the kind of frustration that made your skin prickle.

You smirked, keeping your hand on his, grounding him there.

"You wanted me to say no, right?" you whispered, your lips barely inches from his.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His grip on your knee was tight, the restraint in his whole body near unbearable.

“…Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, his forehead dropping against yours as he let out a low, frustrated chuckle. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

You smiled.

"Good," you murmured, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of his lips—just enough to let him feel it, but not enough to give him what he really wanted.

"Now earn it."

Kilgrave groaned, tipping his head back, hands flexing against your knee like he was physically restraining himself from pinning you to the bed and taking what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

But he wasn’t going to take.

He was going to earn.

And you?

You were going to make him work for it.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

[violetmuses]

Requested! 💌

@amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Original Ask 📨

====

2024

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Wade Wilson offers his known smile every day.

“Good morning. How are you feeling? I know the shower’s been wonky.” You quickly frowned because maintenance didn't help often around here.

“Could be worse.” Wade shrugged, heading toward the kitchen as usual.

“What's this?” You found a sticky note on the fridge before sitting down at this table.

“Oh, nothing. Just some motivation.” Wade starts eating as you read the quick message:

KEEP GOING. 😃

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” You welcomed his gesture, but rushed out for work, almost late.

“See you later!” Wade bid farewell just as the front door closed.

His heart can't stop racing over your presence.

_____

Ordering takeout as you returned from work, movie night began and ended, yet an awkward moment pulled when credits rolled.

“Oh, sorry!” You almost fell asleep on Wade's shoulder at this point.

Right as you sit up, his pimples and scarring blemishes stand in full view.

“I…I really like you, Sunshine…” His sweet voice trembled with nerves.

“Me too.” You smiled, leaning inward to kiss him for the very first time.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Beneath the constellations

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Scared of needles!Reader

Summary: You are a needle-phobic but somehow agree to get a small, meaningful friendship tattoo with your best friends Darcy and Jane.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Needle phobia; mild panic; anxiety; physical discomfort; descriptions of a tattoo needle; nervous rambling; comfort

Author’s Note: This again is a request from one of my sweetest mutuals! I adore you, my dear and I hope you like what I did with your interesting and so creative idea ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Your knee is bouncing. Your heart is racing. The design is folded up in your hands - a little tattoo that is so simple, tiny, meaningful - but your palms are sweaty and you can’t stop assaulting the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

The walls of the tattoo parlor are soft with shadows. Dark navy paint. There is low music humming along but it’s not soothing anything inside you. Sterilization hangs in the air and there’s also ink and something smoky - cedarwood or sage. It stays at the back of your throat like a ghost you swallowed by accident.

The waiting room is actually pretty aesthetically pleasant but you feel like choking on your own spit.

The cold vinyl bench beneath you vibrates with your leg rapidly moving up and down and up and down.

“I can’t do this,” you mutter lowly. “Oh my god. I’m gonna pass out.”

Darcy, sitting on your left, gives you a smile that doesn’t ease you at all. “You’re not getting open-heart surgery, babe. You’ve got to chill your beans.”

Jane, sitting on your right, grabs your leg to still its movement. She probably got annoyed at being shaken with the whole bench. “It’s so small, I’m sure you will barely feel it,” she tries to reassure you.

Darcy nudges you. “And it will stay on your body forever.”

“This is not helping at all, Darc,” you half whine, half grumble. “Can’t we just make this temporary, or something? Like, I don’t know, draw it on with a sharpie?”

“Hell nah,” Darcy complains. “This is for life,” she goes on, pointing wildly at all of you three. “We are going to seal the deal. Make it forever, officially.”

You want to laugh. Or scream. Or run. Or disappear.

A part of you thought this would be fine. That you could sit here like a normal adult with a normal nervous system and be needled with grace and honor. That the tattoo you promised you’d get with your best friends - the tiny one, the subtle one, the one you talked about under a summer sky, lying on your backs in a parking lot eating cold fries - would somehow feel like a small ceremony. Like something important.

Instead, your palms are damp and your stomach is a washing machine of dread and iced coffee. It turns round and round and round in circles, making you instinctively look for a nearby trash bin.

The door creaks open.

And then he walks in.

Bucky Barnes, according to the framed certifications on the wall. Also according to Darcy, who not-so-subtly whispered oh my god he’s hot when you walked in earlier and now leans in to your ear, to whisper “oh my god, he’s even hotter in person.”

He’s broad-shouldered and tall. Black tee, black jeans. Arms inked to the wrists in clean, complex lines. Geometric patterns like armor. You spot a white wolf curled around a blooming branch. A forget-me-not. The tattoo work is detailed. Almost luminous. An artwork of constellations on his skin, coiling like a secret he’s allowing the world to glimpse.

He looks at you.

You stop breathing.

“You ready?” he asks, voice a low rasp.

You make a sound that might be English. Might be a prayer. Might be a dying animal.

He blinks, then smiles. Just a little tug at the corner of his lip.

“Maybe one of you should go first,” you say to your friends quietly, voice barely hanging on.

“It’s not the gallows, babe,” Darcy muses, nudging you again.

“I know, but I-”

Jane cuts you a dry look, interrupting. “You made us matching Google Calenders for this.”

“I was drunk on sentiment and pinterest,” you argue but it’s useless.

“No stalling. You can’t back out now.“

“I’m not backing out,” you grumble. “I’m delegating the trauma.”

But they’re not moving. Not budging.

You indignantly get up. Slowly. Darcy leans over and smiles sharply, mischievously. “Hey, just ask if you can hold his hand during the act.”

You choke. On air. On dignity. On the sudden imagine of his fingers wrapped around yours. And you’re up, throwing her a last glare that lacks all the heat.

You turn to Bucky and he is full-on smirking now. Though his voice is not mocking.

“We can take our time,” he says gently, and gestures toward the door that will, as you can imagine, lead you to the torture chamber. Yes, that’s dramatic. Yes, you don’t care. Yes, you are spiraling.

After sending your friends a panicked look and them not that supportively giving you thumbs up in return while grinning brightly, you follow him as if you’re approaching your own funeral.

You walk like you’re made of wires and wet paper. Trailing behind him into the back room, your chest beating out the morse code for panic.

The chair is deceptively comfortable. Everything is clean and neat and doesn’t smell scary but your heart is beating so loud, you think it’s bruising your ribs.

He sits down on a stool, brings it closer to you with one hand, and adjusts his gloves. He moves slowly, most definitely for your sake.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not,” he says, soft and even. “You’d be surprised how many people get nervous.”

You inhale. Exhale. Fail.

“I’m Bucky,” he says easily, glancing at you with eyes the color of melted steel and winter storms. You give him your name and he smiles. “What are we doing today?”

You fumble with the paper in your hands, clumsy movements lifting it to show him.

It’s stupid, honestly. Three tiny constellations in a delicate arc. Only a little bigger than a thumbnail. Barely enough to be called a tattoo.

He leans closer to look. His knee brushes yours and you hold your breath.

“I know it’s small. It’s dumb. I mean, not dumb, like-”

Bucky waits.

Silent. Patient. The corner of his mouth tilts up.

“It’s three constellations.” The words tumble out of you, messy and fast. As if trying to explain your favorite dream to a stranger who wasn’t there. “Mine, Jane’s, and Darcy’s. We got stranded once during a road trip, out in the middle of nowhere, and the car battery died. So we laid on the hood, freezing our asses off, and waited for a tow truck under this crazy clear sky. Jane started pointing out stars and we found our constellations. And we just talked. About everything. So we-”

You stop.

Because you’re talking too much. Because your face is hot. Because he’s watching you as if he’s listening.

And Bucky only smiles. Just this small, warm curve of his mouth that feels like praise.

You blink too hard. Look down at your hands.

“It’s silly.” You just can’t help explaining yourself. “I know it’s barely anything. And it’s not even a real design, really. I’m not even supposed to be here, I mean-”

You stop again. Press your lips together.

He’s still looking at you. Calm. Not judging. Not laughing.

“You were saying?” he asks, voice quiet.

You breathe in a shaky breath.

“I’m scared of needles,” you admit embarrassed. “Like. Deeply, irrationally scared. I had to get a flu shot once and almost took out the poor nurse with my bag.”

Bucky huffs out a short and amused laugh, but his eyes are genuine and sympathetic. He nods like that’s the most normal thing anyone’s ever said.

“It’s not dumb, sweetheart. Nor is it silly.” You’d be on the floor if you were standing up. “I like it,” he says earnestly. “Three stars. Three best friends. Kind of poetic.”

“Yeah, it’s-” you stammer. “It means a lot to us.”

“That’s nice to hear.” His eyes rake over you so intensely, so sincere. “Some of the best tattoos I've done were barely the size of a freckle.”

You don’t know if he’s saying this to make you feel better, but either way, you are not sure it helps.

You feel like your skin is trying to slip off your body.

He opens the packaging with quiet and sure movements that still seem to be a little slower than he would probably be normally.

“I tattoo six-foot-tall dudes who pass out cold,” he starts soothingly. “You’re sittin’ here, scared, and still doing it. That’s brave.” He says it so simply.

You stare at him. Try to believe it.

“May I?” he asks, looking up at you, and gesturing toward your arm.

You nod. Too fast.

He reaches out carefully like you’re glass and holy.

His fingers are warm. Gentle. He adjusts your wrist, turning it slightly toward the light. It feels like gravity has shifted. Like the earth tipped a little, just to watch this happen.

His thumb brushes against the inside of your forearm, where your pulse is having a complete existential crisis. His touch might be absentminded but it sparks something that goes way too deep. A tremor. A stormcloud. A sigh under your skin.

“Right here okay?” he asks, voice low.

You swallow. “Yeah. That’s good. That’s perfect.”

The needle glints in the light like a tiny sword ready to tear apart your skin.

“You sure?”

“No,” you say honestly, voice a little unstable. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He chuckles under his breath and his smile changes, gets softer, younger.

You let out a breath. Try to remember the sky that night, the way the stars felt close enough to kiss. But there’s something else you’d rather kiss right no-

“I’ll go slow. And I’ll be gentle. Promise,” he says, almost under his breath. “Just breathe.”

You nod. Let him see the fear. Let him see you choose it away.

He turns on the machine. Your hand is shaking. The buzz rings in your ears.

He touches your arm again. Carefully. Steadying you. Taking in an exaggerated breath for you to follow.

“Tell me if you need a break,” he states softly, but there is something else in his tone. “Or, you know. If you want to hold my hand.”

You freeze. Not sure if you heard that right. Your brain is a flock of birds flapping around your skull.

“I- What?”

He smiles. Not teasing. Not smug. It’s soft. It’s kind.

“Some people do better with a distraction,” he says like it’s no big deal. So casual, but his undertone makes you promise yourself to punch Darcy Lewis later on.

You stare at him for a second too long, not sure if he is even serious. You feel like you’ve been thrown into a different body. One that’s nervous and melting and acutely aware of every square inch of air between you.

His palm lays open as an invitation. Looking so soft and callous at the same time.

“Can you even do this with one hand?” you ask cautiously.

He smirks. “You bet I can, darling.”

After a patient moment, you reach out, fingers finding his, and he shifts just enough to meet you halfway. His grip is loose and open, letting you decide how much to hold on.

And you do. Not tight. But not soft either.

It’s safe.

He starts.

The needle meets your skin sharp and sudden, but it doesn’t feel unbearable. You’re too focused on the fact that you’re literally holding hands with the hottest guy you’ve seen in a long while. Maybe ever. His thumb has started tracing circles on the back of yours.

You’re not sure how much time passes. Minutes stretch and snap and vanish but then it’s over.

The buzz stops. The silence blooms around you.

You blink down at your wrist, skin warm and reddened and wrapped in something tiny and starborn. Three constellations, nestled close.

He wipes it gently, thumb brushing away excess ink with a kind of care that makes you want to cry.

“It’s beautiful,” he says. Quiet. Like it’s just for you.

You don’t even realize he’s still holding your hand until he gives it a squeeze and pulls away to grab a mirror.

You almost say wait.

He places the mirror in your hand.

Your breath is lost somewhere deep when you look down at your inked skin. It’s so small. So perfect. Exactly what you hoped for, only softer now. As if it’s always been there. Meant to stay forever.

You glance up at him.

His eyes are warm. Curious. “Took it like a champ,” he says.

You shrug, a little shyly. “I didn’t faint. So that’s a win.”

He lets out a low chuckle. The sound does things to you.

“I’ve seen people pass out from paper cuts. You’re fine,” he assures.

You don’t know what to do with that or the heat pooling at your neck, so you look down again. Tracing the constellations with your eyes like you’re learning to read a new kind of language.

“Thank you,” you offer, and it’s not just for the ink. It’s for the kindness. The patience. The hand-holding. The compassion. “I love it.”

“No need to thank me, darling.”

He takes a few more moments studying you before peeling off his gloves and standing up.

You stand too. Your legs wobble a little, traitorous and unsure, and his hand hovers near your back.

You don’t say anything.

But you feel it.

All of it.

The warmth.

The hush.

The stars, still burning softly beneath your skin.

[amethystarachnid]

hiii could i please request some tony stark x reader headcannons or a drabble where reader is sick? i’ve had a really bad flu and could kinda use the pick me up 🤭

TONY STARK WHEN Y/N IS SICK - a Drabble

we all know this man is protective asf so, here's how he would act if you are sick:

The moment you sneeze once, Tony immediately pulls out a high-tech scanner and starts running a full-body diagnostic.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., is this the plague? Tell me it’s not the plague.”

He wears a fake doctor’s coat for the aesthetic. Possibly a stethoscope. Might even introduce himself as "Dr. Stark, Medicine Man Extraordinaire."

That being said, the man has zero actual medical knowledge. You catch him secretly Googling “how much vitamin C is too much” and “can you overdose on cough drops?”

He absolutely builds some ridiculous machine to monitor your temperature, even though a thermometer works just fine.

“Behold! The Stark Industries Flu Tracker™️!” It’s just an AI that yells at you to drink water every ten minutes.

Will not admit that he sat up all night watching you breathe just to be sure you were okay.

He burritos you in blankets so aggressively that you can barely move. If you protest, he just pats your head and says, “Shhh, this is for your own good.”

Acts like he hates being used as a pillow but absolutely thrives on it. “Fine, you can lay on me. But just so we’re clear, I expect a full recovery within 24 hours. My shoulder is not standard-issue medical equipment.”

He will hold you as long as you want, running his fingers through your hair and murmuring dumb things like, “You know, I should charge for this level of premium boyfriend care.”

If you fall asleep on him, he definitely stays still, even if his arm falls asleep, because he is soft for you and he knows it.

Randomly boops your nose but then makes a grossed-out face when you sneeze right after. “Okay, ew. That one’s on me.”

If you try to tell him to keep his distance so he doesn’t get sick, he scoffs. “Pfft. Please. I’ve survived explosions, space, and Steve Rogers’ moral lectures. A cold isn’t taking me out.”

…Cut to two days later, and he’s laying dramatically across your lap, whining about how you cursed him.

“I had a good run. Tell the world my story.”

The moment you start feeling better, he throws an unnecessarily fancy “Congratulations, You Survived” party.

Balloons. Confetti. A cake that says WELCOME BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING.

“Now that you’re back to full power, let’s never do that again, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

thank god Tony chose to be a superhero and not a nurse/doctor I dont think he could handle it, also, hope you get well soon!! <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mind Games - Sickick

There's another side that you don't know, you don't know I can't wait to get you all alone, all alone Once I'm in there ain't no letting go, letting go Watch me turn your mind into my home

Ooo, Ooo, Ooo (Mind mind games until you lose control) Ooo, Ooo, Ooo

Now that I'm in there's no letting go And your emptiness begins

+ Peter Parker

Waiting On You

Warnings: virginity, gaslighting, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Peter Parker

Summary: You and Peter have your first fight.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

“Hm,” Peter lets out the nearly inaudible sigh as he takes his coat from the rack.

“What wrong?” You wonder as you step into your shoes.

“Nothing,” he mutters and slips his arms up his sleeves, rolling his shoulders as the leather settles across his shoulders.

“Oh,” you pull on your own coat and scoop up your purse. The buzz of the party continues behind you, the last of the stragglers. “Okay.”

He says nothing else and you follow him into the brisk evening. He stalks down the steps, his footfalls heavy enough to signal his chagrin. The cause you can’t guess at. The night was fun! All you friends got to meet him and he was charming as ever. So you just can’t think of why his mood’s shifted so suddenly.

“Wait up,” you scurry up behind him and try to grab his hand. He marches onward, fishing out his keys and hitting the button so his car chirps and the locks clack loudly, “Peter, I don’t… did I do something?”

“No,” he opens the car door, “just get in. I’m tired.”

You clamp your lips shut and skirt around the front of the car. The engine rolls over and frightens you before you can get to the passenger side. You let yourself in and lower yourself softly into the seat. Before you can buckle your belt however, the car is moving.

“I’m pretty tired too–”

“You really don’t know?” He hisses.

You wince. He is mad. You’ve never heard him like this.

“No, I… did I miss something?”

“Ha,” he scoffs dryly, “don’t play stupid.”

“I…”

“Your pal, Mason, he’s not a big fan of mine.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice–”

“I mean, I can guess why.”

“What? Peter, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pout at me like,” he snarls as his grips tightens on the steering wheel, the leather squeaking, “like you weren't flirting all night. Shameless.”

“What? I wasn’t flirting. He’s my friend, I was being nice–”

“Oh, is that how you behave around your friends? You wear short skirts and wiggle your ass around like a slut?”

“Peter!” You exclaim, “I– don’t say that.”

“What am I supposed to think? I thought… I thought you were a nice girl. I really did. And I really like you.”

“I like you too, Peter, but… Mason is only my friend. Promise. B-but you can’t call me that.”

“I’m just telling you how I feel. You humiliate me. Flaunting all that I’ve waited for around some other guy.’t just brush over my feelings.” He shakes his head and hits the brakes a bit too late, screeching to a stop at the light. He pushes back his wavy brown locks and lets out an exaggerated breath, “You’ve been playing with me. You tell me to wait and I wait. Three months. Three months I wait and then you F”

“No,” you babble, “Peter–”

“I– don’t you see how you're messing with me? You’re fucking with my head,” he throws his hands against the wheel, “you tell me to wait, that you’re not ready, to take it slow. But you're touching him, you’re dancing up on him…”

“We were having fun–”

“Are you really a virgin or is that just an excuse?”

“Excuse? For what?”

“So you can use me,” he wipes his eye and sniffs, shaking his head. “It worked. I’m a total cuck. For you, because I thought you liked me.” He inhales and lets it out with a shudder. He grips the wheel again and slowly leans on the gas, “I’ll take you home, I guess.”

You sit in silence. Stewing. Your mind replays every minute of the party. You hadn’t seen Mason in so long you couldn’t help but give him a hug. You chatted, laughed, maybe you had a little fun when the Spice Girls came on, but you didn’t think it was like that. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really, Peter, I like you a lot. And I’m sorry it came off like that.”

“That’s not a real apology,” he snivels. “It’s not how it came off, it’s your behaviour.”

You stare at him. His face is hidden in shadow. You look at your lap and twiddle your fingers. Your stomach flips. You know what he meant when he said he’d take you home. You go home and it’s over. You’re not ready for that. He’s the first guy you really think you could… be with.

“I don’t want to go home, Peter,” you utter.

He hums dully.

“I don’t feel like making out,” he growls.

“I know,” you feel fluttery. You’re ready, aren’t you? It’s been three months. And you have to show him you’re serious. About him, only him.

“You know what?” He taps the brakes and his head tilts as he peeks in the mirror.

“I know… I want to do more than make out tonight, Peter,” you reach to touch his hand, “honest. Let me show you that you’re the only one I want. Please.”

He’s quiet. You hold your breath, waiting. It’s too late. You’ve blown it. He doesn’t want you.

“Alright,” he says at last and turns his hand over to squeeze yours. 

He drives on, the air thick with anticipation, his grip firm with intention. You squirm as the fluttering grows more intense the further you get. You think of changing your mind but it’s too late now. Not if you want to keep him.

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Runnin' home to you

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: After months of trying, it's time to tell your wife that you're pregnant

Disclaimer: English is not my first language! Also, this was requested by one of you guys. Thanks for the request!

MASTERLIST

“Do you think this will work out?” You asked after taking a step back to appreciate the hard work you put into making the small gift box look nice. You had spent way more time than you would ever admit making sure things were organized inside and then spent even more time trying to make the bow look nice outside, but it was done now.

“There's really not a huge secret behind it,” your friend replied with a hint of humor, which prevented you from getting mad at the teasing. Instead, you looked at Scarlett with your bottom lip between your teeth, clearly not appeased by her words. “It's a box. All she has to do is open it.”

Now you rolled your eyes and shoved her playfully. “You know what I mean.”

The Hollywood actress laughed and pulled you in for a side hug while also pushing the box away from you before you could restart the entire thing again. “Relax. Everything will play out perfectly.”

Scarlett sounded confident enough, which helped to calm you down as well. You couldn’t keep fussing over the gift or you would never keep up with your plan at all. “Thank you for helping me out,” you said after hugging her back.

“Not my first rodeo, honey,” she reminded you kindly and then smiled when she remembered her two kids waiting for her at home. Now seeing you were less nervous, Scarlett walked around the table where you had dragged her to help you out with your surprise so you would be facing each other. “Do you know when her plane will land?”

She was talking about your wife, of course, and you didn’t need her to specify it. You had, after all, begged for her help while screaming on the phone that Elizabeth would be back from her trip later that day and you didn’t have time to get anything ready. Scarlett had promptly calmed you down and helped you decide to keep things simple, reassuring you it would all work out perfectly in the end and that Elizabeth would love the surprise.

The surprise being the pregnancy test hidden inside the box now.

You and Elizabeth have been trying to have a baby for a little over six months now. After being married for three years and together for eight in total, you felt like it was the right time to extend your family. Since Elizabeth still had projects coming up, you both decided you would be the one getting pregnant. Elizabeth also never actually wanted to get pregnant, while part of you had always dreamed about that moment, so it wasn’t a hard choice.

Elizabeth had only left your side in the last six months when she absolutely had no other option. She only traveled when she couldn’t avoid it, she always tried to give her interviews from home, and she even begged Marvel to allow her to shoot from another location so she wouldn’t have to be all the way across the ocean from you. That’s why she made sure she was there with you every step of the way. Elizabeth held your hand when you needed to take the medication, she was there to take care of you during the mood swings, she spoiled you by cooking anything you wanted to eat, and, overall, she went above and beyond to make sure you were happy and safe.

When the time came for your IVF, Elizabeth was there to assure you everything would be fine regardless of the result. She held you and surprised you with some flowers, then she helped you lie down in bed to rest and made sure you wouldn’t have to take care of anything else for the next few days. This little trip of hers had put a damper on her plans to not leave your side until you both got the results of the exam you would do two weeks after the procedure. It was a last-minute thing, something she couldn’t say ‘no’ to even if she tried, and it pained her to leave you, that’s why you assured her it would be okay if she left for a couple of days. Elizabeth was worried that she would be back on the same day you were supposed to make the blood exam at the lab, but you reassured her by saying the result wouldn’t be back until the next day, when she would surely be home already.

A little lie, you would have to admit, but you wanted to surprise your wife with the news.

Of course, it could be a negative and you would go through the sadness of seeing this result alone, but something inside you told you it wouldn’t be a negative. You just knew you were pregnant. You didn’t know if it had been the small changes in your body in the last few days, but you weren’t even surprised when you opened the result and saw you were right. You were pregnant.

Not surprised, but certainly happy beyond words. You couldn’t describe the feeling that washed over your body after realizing there was a small human inside you, a human that was yours and Elizabeth’s baby, someone you would love and care for since the day you died. It was unbelievable, but so extraordinary.

You ended up calling Scarlett just right after that because she was one of the few people who knew you two were trying to have kids. She had become a good friend of Elizabeth through the years and, after you got less starstruck, yours as well. You also thought she was the best choice to help you out because she had been pregnant before and would know the sudden urge you had to surprise Elizabeth about it.

Or surprise her as much as you could since it obviously had been a planned pregnancy. Perks of being gay and all.

Remembering Scarlett had asked you a question, you glanced at your phone to see what time it was. “It already did. She texted me to let me know she was on her way.”

“Well, that’s my cue to go then,” the other woman declared before she started to pick up her stuff. “Call me if you need anything else.”

You smiled widely when you pulled her for another hug, feeling even more grateful than before for her help. “Will do. Thank you, Scarlett.”

“Don't mention it.”

Scarlett left while yelling for you to tell her everything later on and you were still in the living room making sure there was nothing out of place when you heard the keys on the door. You just knew Elizabeth was back and your heart started beating faster immediately.

“Honey, I'm home!” Elizabeth yelled playfully while she entered and you couldn’t help but chuckle at her little habit of saying those words every time.

You wasted no time to rush to her and pull her in for a hug, not even carrying when her bags fell to the floor so she could wrap her arms around you as well. “Oh, I missed you so much,” you mumbled against her neck.

“I've been gone for a week, my love,” she replied lightly, although she was holding you as tightly as she could.

“A week too long,” you commented and pulled away with a soft smile as you held her face between your hands. “How was your flight?”

“The usual.” Elizabeth shrugged and then she leaned over to kiss you. She pulled away too quickly, though, to whisper lovingly: “I also missed you, very much.”

You couldn’t have it. You pressed a hand on her neck and locked your lips again, this time in a more passionate kiss that made your legs wobble a little. “Hm,” you moaned when you parted, licking your lips and letting your eyes remain closed for a few more seconds, “you better.”

Elizabeth chuckled and kissed your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

You knew what she was asking about so you decided to take a step back to show her the small band-aid the nurse had put in your arm earlier that day. You were a bit afraid of needles, but you handled it just fine. “I'm good. Really good,” you added happily. “Just have a band-aid for the dramatic effect,” you admitted with a wink.

“And I’m the actress one.” She rolled her eyes but not before kissing you again.

“Go take your shower, babe,” you prompted with a gentle slap on her bum. “I will put your dirty clothes in the washing machine.”

“I can do that later and you can join me in the shower,” Elizabeth suggested though.

And even if you knew she was only doing that because she didn’t want you to make any physical effort, the idea was too tempting to let it slide. “Hm, I like the way you think,” you whispered with a smile before following her upstairs.

You took a not so quick shower together and, after that, Elizabeth said she would cook you guys dinner. You tagged along, of course, because that was one of your favorite activities - to watch Elizabeth cooking and to help her with the small tasks.

“Can you hand me the pepper, my love?” She asked and you quickly grabbed the grinder to hand it to her. “Thank you.”

You watched as her arms moved while she ground the pepper directly on top of the pan, which also made you notice the amount of food she was cooking. Elizabeth loved to cook no matter the occasion, but she wasn’t free of the stress-cooking every once in a while. Every now and then you would end up with enough pies to feed a small army, or enough soup to feed all of your friends and family. Thankfully, things hadn’t got so out of hand that night, but you knew you would have leftovers for at least three days now.

“Are you anxious?” You decided to ask once she put the grinder away.

“A lot,” Elizabeth admitted quickly with a low chuckle. “You?” She looked over her shoulder at you, so you simply nodded, which made her nod as well before returning her attention to the pan. “Can't believe we need to wait an entire day.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying too much and decided to change the focus of the conversation before you ruined the surprise. “Have you decided if we're going to tell our families right away or wait for a while?”

“I think we should wait until we make sure everything is fine,” she replied calmly. “Realistic though… I'm too anxious to hold it back for too long.”

You both laughed since you knew it was true. Both of you were too anxious to keep it inside for too long. Besides, it would do no harm to tell your family about it. “That's fair,” you agreed.

“We're still keeping it away from the media, right?”

That one was easier to agree with. “For as long as you want.”

“Can it be forever?” Elizabeth made a face because you knew it was impossible for it to happen.

You were sure you could dodge the bullets while you were pregnant - you could refrain from leaving the house for a while - but there was no chance you could keep the media from seeing your kid once you start taking them outside. That was the bad part about her profession, but something you had learned to live with.

Trying not to let the good mood vanish, your answer was filled with humor. “Yes, of course. We're going to raise them in a bubble, so it's fine.”

Elizabeth laughed again. “We should move to Switzerland,” she suggested suddenly, but you merely rolled your eyes. That was a conversation you had before and you knew it wasn’t something she was going to drop the subject so soon. “What? They can't show people under sixteen in the media.”

“It would be hard to keep your garden in the cold weather,” you reminded her quickly.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Oh, well, small sacrifices.”

You scoffed and walked past her to get to the fridge, pausing briefly to poke her ribs. She yelped and moved away, but not without throwing you a smile afterward. You also smiled before looking inside the fridge. “Do you want to drink some wine?”

“No, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” You poked your head from behind the door and looked at her. “You're not going to be allowed to drink after we see the result. If I can't drink for a year, neither can you,” you warned her, pointing a finger at Elizabeth to add more effect to your words.

“I'm sure.” She nodded.

Even so, you leaned down to grab the bottle to show it to her. “It's a good wine.”

“I will give it to someone else if it's positive,” she shrugged one more time and moved to add something else to the pan. Once again, you had to hold yourself not to say the result too early.

“Okay. I’m going to drink some water, do you want some?”

“Do we have sparkling water?” Elizabeth wondered.

“Sure do.”

A few minutes later, you and Elizabeth were sitting at the small dining table across from each other, eating her delicious food and drinking your water.

“This tastes delicious,” you complimented her with a moan after putting the food inside your mouth.

Elizabeth giggled. “I don't know if I should be offended that you still find it surprising even after all this time.”

“I'm not surprised,’ you argued. “I'm enamored. My mom always said I should marry someone that could either cook or change the tires. You were the one that didn’t make a good choice.”

“I don't know,” she replied as one of her hands found yours on top of the table. “I think I made the best choice.” And, just like that, it was like your heart had grown twice its size inside your chest. However, just a second later, Elizabeth added in a teasing manner: “Besides, we have insurance.”

You laughed happily and you finished eating while making small talk. Once you were both done, you realized it was time to bring out the surprise and give her the good news. You told her you would get dessert and to wait there, and then you disappeared into the kitchen to grab what you needed. You had to take a small break to let a few tears drop and to dry them after that, but you managed to get the small box and the cake Scarlett had bought on her way to your house.

You returned to the table with both of them in hand, but you put them on top of it in a way that would hide the smaller box behind the other. After you did that, you stood beside her while bitting your bottom lip and trying to keep your tears inside one more time, which of course tipped her that something was off.

“What is it?” She sounded confused but also worried, a second away from getting up and wrapping her arms around you, so you quickly waved a hand and pointed at the cake.

“Just open it.”

Even more confused than before, it took Elizabeth a few seconds to do that, although she kept an eye on you to make sure everything was okay. She slowly opened the box and her frown deepened as the cake was being revealed. It was her favorite cake and right there, written on the frosting, were the words “Coming up late summer 2024”.

“What?” She mumbled to herself, but you didn’t give her enough time to ask you.

You quickly reached over the box to grab the gift and gave it to her. At that point, there was no hope for you to keep yourself from crying, so you just accepted your fate as tears streamed down your face. You sniffed and let out a nervous chuckle before pointing at the bow, quietly asking Elizabeth to get going with it.

Surprisingly, she did open it fast, almost as if she was starting to understand what was going on. Inside the small box was the printed result of the exam you did earlier that day, along with a pacifier and a red baby bodysuit with the Scarlet Witch’s symbol on it - something you had bought the same week you and Elizabeth decided to have a baby. It took her very long seconds to react. You just kept watching her, the way she seemed frozen while staring at the things inside the box, but, eventually, she moved a shaking hand to pick up the piece of paper.

Elizabeth read it - and you were sure she did it twice - and then her fingers brushed against the little clothing and the pacifier. When she finally turned to look at you, her green eyes were shining with tears and you could see a million emotions flashing through them at the same time.

“Really?” Her voice was just above a whisper and even the small word cracked when the feelings got the best of her, but you didn’t mind.

“Really,” you whispered back.

A second later, you were engulfed in Elizabeth’s arms while you both cried like small kids, too happy and positively overwhelmed to say anything for a while. Elizabeth held you like you were the most important person in the world - or as if there was no world at all, like you were all that existed. After a while, her legs seemed to give out and she kneeled in front of you, already grabbing your waist to keep you close.

“I promise you, I will always be here for the both of you,” she whispered against your belly. “I promise you this. I’m always going to be here. I’m always going to do my best to see you healthy, safe and loved. You will always come first, you both will. I promise.”

You couldn’t help but cry even harder after hearing her words. You ran your hand through her hair in an attempt to let her know how much you appreciated it, but it wasn’t enough and you soon found yourself kneeling in front of her too. You held her face and pulled her in for a kiss that tried to convey everything you both were feeling at that moment.

You never loved Elizabeth more than you did in that moment - you would think the same thing the first time you sees her holding your daughter in her arms, but that wouldn’t happen many months later.

[buckysslut]

18+ BLOG!! | MDNI | i dont bite i promise :)

✪ 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

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𝐭𝐰𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 [𝟐]

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (send me an ask if you’d like to be added!)

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𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 / 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 !! 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤! :)

𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 :)

𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨

𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝟗/𝟒/𝟐𝟓

𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 🕸️ , 🐺