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#age of ultron
stay-month · 2 hours
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beyond-design-win · 20 hours
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aleksmaximoff · 2 years
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" Mother
Father
Heimdall
Loki?
Tony
Natasha"
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fandomnerd9602 · 1 month
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During Age of Ultron, Y/N sees Wanda…
Y/N: hello gorgeous
Natasha stops them…
Natasha: she was our enemy three days ago
Y/N: cmon sis, past is the past
Y/N walks up to Wanda…
Y/N: hey
Wanda: (purrs) hey yourself
Natasha: oh brother
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sersi · 3 months
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Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) What If...? 2.05: What If... Captain Carter Fought the Hydra Stomper? (2023)
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chrishemsworth · 1 year
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CHRIS EVANS THE AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON (2015) BEHIND THE SCENES
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dailymarvelstudios · 6 months
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Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015), dir. Joss Whedon
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oh-my-damn · 1 year
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Ethereal
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A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about living next to puppy Steve and not knowing he's cap. So here's a mini-series!
Series Masterlist
Part 2
Pairing: TWS!Steve Rogers x Neighbor!Reader
Summary: When you move into your new apartment the last thing you'd expected was the greek god living next door to you.
Warnings: Steve is a literal golden retriever, riding on a motorcycle, mutual pining (a lot), reader doesn't know Steve is Cap, alcohol consumption, being awkward, first date vibes, Steve is a cutie.
Word Count: 5300
The beautiful divider is by @firefly-graphics
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When you found a cheap apartment in an old but well-kept building in Brooklyn Heights, you were relieved.
You'd been searching for a new place to live for a while, after you found out the building you'd been living in was going co-op.
You had no means to pay for that old apartment, and even if you did, you wouldn't have wanted to. It was run down, new problems seemingly appearing every day, and there was no way you would have tied yourself to that place for good.
So when you found your new apartment you were excited; the building was old, but clearly well taken care of, and it was in a safe neighborhood. You lived in Williamsburg before, so you had no problem with staying in Brooklyn. In fact, you preferred it.
It took you about an hour to get to university, but you didn't mind the travel time. You would always spend that time studying, catching up on whatever you were missing, or getting ahead of next weeks readings.
You'd also always loved riding on the train; it could be hot, and cramped, and uncomfortable, but it also provided you with a sort of peace. You enjoyed people watching, or gazing out the window with your headphones on. Riding on the train provided a forced tranquility, because you knew, no matter what, you had to spend an hour or so on there. And so it forced you to disconnect with the outside world and in turn, connect with yourself. Even if it was just for a little while.
The day you moved into your new apartment you remember a feeling of curiosity. You remember lugging your boxes up to the top floor and down the hall, unlocking your front door as your gaze moved to the door further down the hall.
Your neighbor lived at the end of the hallway, while you lived to the right. You didn't know anything about who occupied the space; the only thing you knew was that someone lived there, by the doormat placed on the floor.
The apartment didn't have a specific name attached to its mailbox, only initials, and that was both intriguing and unsettling.
S. G. R.
You've met many people in your life who value their privacy, but not even providing a name on their own mailbox seemed excessive to you. Your first thought was how much of a hassle it must be to have packages delivered - you know for a fact that your online shopping habit would severely suffer if your name wasn't properly visible on your mailbox.
You moved in with no issues, other than a bit of sweat and a few groans of exhaustion.
Within a month, you'd gotten used to living there; it was almost like you'd lived there your entire life. You'd always leave early in the morning to get to class, and you'd often arrive home after dinner time, choosing to stay on campus to study, or go out with your friends.
All in all, it was a normal apartment, and it allowed you to live a completely ordinary life.
Until that fateful day back in March.
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You arrive home earlier than usual. The entire day has been a disaster; first you missed your train, resulting in you being late for class, and then you spilled your coffee down the front of your shirt as you were walking across campus. When class was over, you'd talked yourself into staying and catch up on your reading, only to realize you'd forgotten the book for the course you needed to catch up on.
With a heavy sigh, and even heavier footsteps, you trudge up the stairs to your apartment. You're cursing yourself for forgetting your book, because you know that once you're inside, your urges will get the best of you, and you'll probably end up watching TV instead of catching up on your studies.
You release another heavy sigh when you reach your floor, turning the corner in the direction of your front door. Your eyes are locked on your feet as they carry you along, your bones tired and exhausted from this utter disappointment of a day.
But then your ears perk up when you hear the familiar sound of a key sliding into a lock.
Your eyes flit up to look ahead of you, breath almost hitching when they land on a tall blonde man, his broad back hunched over slightly as he unlocks his door.
Your feet still, making you stop just a few steps from your front door. The change in movement makes the stranger ahead of you glance over his shoulder, his brows furrowing for a moment before he turns around to face you.
"Hi," he says, grazing you with a dazzling smile, "You must be my new neighbor."
His voice is deep yet gentle, matching the hypnotizing features on his face. A strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, matched with a pair of bright blue eyes and pink, plump lips.
He's fucking ethereal.
You can practically feel your heart hammering against your ribcage as you take in his full form, eyes gazing over his 6'2 frame. Broad shoulders to match his back, curving into a narrow waist, and legs that go on for days. His short, blonde hair is a little mussed up, his eyebrows raised in a question.
He's wearing a navy blue jacket, which matches his jeans, and a white t-shirt underneath. Entirely ordinary yet painfully breathtaking.
You're not sure you've ever seen a specimen quite like him.
When he tilts his head ever so slightly, you snap out of the daze he brought you in.
"Yeah, uh, hi. I guess I am. I just moved in."
You gesture towards your front door, and the stranger nods in acknowledgement.
"I heard some ruckus," he chuckles, bright white teeth practically blinding you, "I'm sorry I didn't come around to introduce myself earlier, I've been a little preoccupied with work."
You wave a dismissive hand as you smile, "Oh, no worries. I know how it is. But I'm glad we finally met, I was starting to wonder who lived next door."
"Yeah?" He asks with a grin, "Why?"
"Because I've never seen anyone," you chuckle, "I was starting to suspect it was an investment property or something. Figured no one lived there."
The stranger laughs, the sound a bubbling melodic tune that makes your heart beat excitedly. It's a beautiful, genuine sound, that makes you feel special in a way you can't quite explain.
"Oh, I live here, don't you worry," he replies, his smile turning softer, "I've been away for a little while, but I'm back now. I did hear you move in, though, but I had to leave for work early the next day, so I didn't have time to come by and welcome you to the building."
You nod, "Okay, I see. What do you do for work?"
His brows furrow momentarily before he shrugs, "You know, I work jobs here and there. I travel a lot, though."
"You're an easy neighbor to have, then," you joke, tilting your head, "I guess I won't have to worry about you making a noise complaint."
He laughs again, the sound is practically addicting to your ears, "No, you won't have to worry about that, I promise. I usually keep to myself."
You nod and hum, holding eye contact for a moment longer before your eyes dart to your front door, "Good to know.. Well, it was really nice to meet you, uhh..?"
He smiles, hesitating for a moment before he says, "Steve. Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you too."
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Two days later, you're out for drinks with your friends, excitedly telling them about the greek god living next door to you.
"I swear to god, he's fucking ethereal. Like, insane. I can't even explain it."
You take another large sip of your drink as your friends giggle.
"You have to show me a picture!" Janine says excitedly, eyes wide as she looks at you, "Come on, show us his social media!"
"That's the thing!" You exclaim, placing your drink perhaps a bit too harshly back on the table, "I tried to look him up but I couldn't find any social media accounts for him. It was so frustrating because apparently he shares a name with one of those Avenger guys, so it was practically impossible."
You take another eager sip as your friend, Melanie, narrows her eyes at you, "What do you mean he shares a name with one of the Avengers? Who?"
You wave your hand dismissively, "I don't fucking know those guys, you know that, but when I googled his name all of these articles for those guys showed up so I couldn't find anything on him. I didn't feel like sifting through all of that."
Your friends share a knowing look before Melanie leans closer to you on the table, "What did you say his name was?"
"Steve," you chirp, sipping your drink through the straw happily, "Steve Rogers."
Your friends share another look, although this one seems more shocked than before, making you look between the two of them.
"What?" You ask, watching their expressions, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing!" Janine immediately interjects, glancing quickly at Melanie before she looks back at you, "It's nothing. But that sucks, you gotta take a sneaky picture next time you're able to."
You snort, "Okay, I'll try, but I haven't seen him since we met the other day. He gets really busy with work, apparently."
"I'm sure he does..." Melanie replies, taking another sip of her drink.
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After one too many cocktails, you called an uber to get back home. You're trying to stay focused as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, swaying ever so slightly with every step.
"Almost there," you mumble as you reach the final step, "God I'm tired.."
You round the corner and head towards your door, pulling your keys out of your bag.
Right as you find the right one, and struggle to slide it into the lock, your neighbors' door opens.
"Hey," a deep voice says, making you glance in its direction, "You okay?"
Your eyes find a pair of beautiful cerulean ones, your cheeks growing warm at his presence.
"Yeah," you drunkenly giggle, moving your attention back to your key as you try to slide it into the lock, "I'm fine, just need to figure out how to unlock the door.."
You hear a quiet chuckle and then approaching footsteps before Steve is standing right beside you, a large hand reaching out to cover your own.
"Here, let me help you."
He easily unlocks your door, handing the keys back to you with a smile.
"Thank you," you hiccup, smiling goofily up at him, "You didn't have to, I could have figured it out myself.. Eventually.."
"Yeah," he chuckles, smiling down at you, "But then you'd probably have spent half your night out here."
You giggle again, shaking your head, "Noooo, I would have figured it out."
"Mhmm," Steve hums, placing a strong hand on the small of your back when you stumble where you stand, "Sure. You need help getting inside?"
"No no," you immediately respond, frowning up at him seriously, "I'm a big girl, I can handle myself."
"Okay, big girl," Steve chuckles as you step over the threshold, "Just make sure to drink some water, okay? And maybe some painkillers, too."
"Will do," you grin, gripping the door handle to keep you steady, "Thank you, Steve."
"Anytime."
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3 days later you're walking home from school when you notice a motorcycle parked in front of your building. You look it over for a minute, impressed by how well kept it is despite it being an older model. You don't know a lot about motorcycles, but you know enough to realize it's a Harley-Davidson and that the design is a classic.
Your dad taught you what little knowledge you possess on motorcycles since he owned a Harley himself back when you were a kid.
You hesitantly let your fingers graze over the cushioned leather seat, the material soft against your fingertips.
"This is nice," you mumble to yourself absentmindedly, brows furrowing momentarily. It's clean, practically shiny, which makes you wonder where it's usually parked. Whoever owns it must have a covered parking space for it.
Just as your fingers lift from the leather cushion, the building door opens. Your eyes flit up to the figure walking down the steps to your building, heading in your direction, and you feel a flurry of butterflies when you recognize the man approaching you.
He's wearing a brown leather jacket this time, with a grey t-shirt underneath, a pair of blue jeans to finish off the look.
You can practically see the outline of his undoubtedly defined abs through the tight t-shirt and the thought alone makes your cheeks heat up.
"Hi Steve," you say with a smile as he walks in your direction.
His face splits into a wide smile, shoving his hands into his pockets once he descends the steps and walks over to where you're standing by the bike, "Hey neighbor. Nice to see you again. How's your head?"
Haven't had any complaints so far...
You chuckle, resisting the urge to make the dirty joke that popped into your mind, a small shake of your head as you speak, "That was 3 days ago. Hangover is long gone. But thank you for helping me inside, that was nice of you."
"Of course," he beams, a bashful shrug of his shoulders, "It was nothing. What else are neighbors for, right?"
"Right," you nod, smiling shyly when your eyes flit down to the motorcycle in an effort to hide your flushing cheeks.
"You like it?" Steve asks when he notices your gaze trailing over the bike, "Just pulled it out of storage today. Figured it was time to take it for a ride, now that the weather is getting warmer."
Your eyes dart up to meet his, brows raised in surprise, "This is yours?"
"Yeah," Steve replies, patting the leather seat as if it was a horse, "I used to have a different one but I like this newer model, too. Drives like a dream."
"Of course it does," you snort, fingers lightly touching the sleek silver on the side, "It's a Soft Slim, they're spectacular. Harley does good work in general, but they certainly stepped their game up with this model."
Steve quirks a brow at you, his eyes slowly moving over your face as you continue looking at his bike, "You know motorcycles?"
You shrug, "A little bit. My dad is a Harley-Davidson enthusiast, so I know some. Not a lot, though. But I know this model. She's a beaut."
"Yeah, she is," Steve chuckles, his head tilting slightly as he looks at you, "I was just about to go for a ride. Care to join me?"
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The brisk spring air breezing through your hair send shivers down your spine as you race down the almost deserted highway. Steve takes an exit, heading towards New Jersey, and you cling to him as your arms are wrapped around his waist.
He's in complete control of the bike in a way that seems almost effortless; it moves with him in every turn, and even at high speeds, you sense no hesitation in him.
It almost feels like flying.
Your arms tighten their hold a little more when the cold air nips at the bare skin on your neck, instinctively burrowing your face into his back.
He tilts his head slightly, and lifts his shoulder, seemingly inviting you to tuck your face into the crook of his neck.
You only hesitate for a moment before you bury your face in his neck, pressing your chest to his back, his warm skin heating you up almost instantly. He tilts his head more to give you proper space, leaning his back into your chest.
Your arms tighten in response, a small smile grazing your lips as you breathe in deeply. His clean and fresh scent envelopes you, making the shivers running down your back happen for a very different reason than before.
Your thighs tighten where they are on the outer side of his, holding onto him more firmly, and by all accounts, it appears he's enjoying it.
He speeds up experimentally, making you let out a small squeak before you hold onto him even tighter, and you swear you hear the melodic sound of his laugh before it's swallowed up by the wind.
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Eventually Steve brings you back home, the city of Brooklyn enveloped in darkness, the lampposts on the side of the road the only thing lighting your way.
He drives into a spot in front of the building and you reluctantly unwrap your arms from his waist, sliding off the bike.
He parks the bike and gets off, standing in front of you with a soft smile on his lips. His cheeks are the faintest shade of pink, probably from the cold, and his hair is mussed up in a cute way that makes you yearn to run your fingers through it.
You smile up at him, another small shiver running down your spine, and Steve immediately notices. He shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders, "I'm sorry, I should have figured you'd get cold. I hope it wasn't too bad?"
He has no idea you've been shivering this entire time, or that your shivers are triggered by something other than the cold.
"It's okay," you respond with a warm smile, "I wasn't cold while you were driving, you're surprisingly hot."
Steve's lips lift into a goofy grin, making you immediately backtrack, "Oh my god, uh, I mean warm. You're surprisingly warm."
"I got it, don't worry," he chuckles, placing a protective hand on the small of your back before he starts guiding you in the direction of your building, "Let me walk you up."
You chuckle, walking beside him up the steps, "I don't think it counts as walking me up when you're going the same direction yourself."
He snorts and shakes his head, "Probably not. But I would have done it if I didn't live here, too."
"Such a gentleman," you muse, your fingers gripping the hem of his jacket. It smells like him, that clean, fresh scent, and you'd want to drown in that smell if you could.
"I try," he jokes, grinning at you quickly.
You reach your apartment door, and once you're standing in front of it, you slide his jacket off your shoulders, "Thank you for lending this to me. That was nice."
"Even if it was short lived," Steve responds as he takes his jacket from you, "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you before we left on the drive."
"Steve, don't worry about it," you reply earnestly, "I promise, I wasn't cold. Not until I had to unwrap myself from you, at least."
Steve's eyes lock on yours, a tension filling the small space between the two of you as you look up at him. His smile is soft, gentle, a quiet hum leaving his lips as he nods.
"I'm sorry you had to do that, then."
"It's alright," you grin teasingly, "Maybe I'll get to do it again some time."
"I would love that," Steve immediately responds, a wide smile breaking out on his lips, "For there to be a next time, I mean. Doesn't have to be a drive, either."
"No?" You tease, your head tilting as your eyes stay locked on his, "What did you have in mind?"
"A cup of coffee?" He asks, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit hallway.
"I like coffee," you smile, nodding, "I'd love to."
"It's a date," he firmly replies, his fingers fiddling with the keys in his hand, "Maybe in the next few days?"
"Sure!" You beam up at him, immediately reaching into your bag, "Let me give you my number, that might make it easier to plan."
"Oh, uh, yeah, okay," Steve responds, hands clasping over his pockets almost as if he's unsure where his phone is.
When he brings out a flip phone, you snort. "That's your phone?"
Steve's cheeks tinge pink, this time certainly not from the cold, a small nod of his head, "Yeah, I uh.. I'm not really good with technology. Needed something easy."
You chuckle, "Okay, fair enough."
You take his phone, putting your number in and sending yourself a text. "There. Now we have each others numbers. Just text me when you have time to grab that cup of coffee."
"Will do," Steve responds, lingering for a moment as he stands in front of you.
When he suddenly leans down and places a quick kiss on your cheek, your breath hitches, and you fight the urge to pull him closer.
"I had a great time," he says as he takes a few steps backwards, in the direction of his apartment, "Have a good night."
"Goodnight, Steve."
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A few days pass without you running into Steve in the hallway again. It's also been very quiet, you haven't heard a peep from your neighbor, which is surprising because the walls aren't that thick. You can always hear your downstairs neighbor, especially if they're listening to music or have people over, so you're surprised you never hear anything from Steve.
No movement, no accidental run ins, no noises. Nothing. Only silence.
It makes you wonder if he's even home.
A week after your bike ride, you finally hear from him.
You're sitting on your couch, watching one of your favorite shows on TV while binging a tub of ice cream. It's Saturday night, and you weren't in the mood to go out even though your friends tried to convince you. It'd been a long week at university and the only thing you were in the mood for this weekend was to stay at home in your sweats and watch silly sitcoms to get your mind to relax.
You phone chimes just after 8pm, alerting you to a text message.
You pick up your phone while licking your spoonful of ice cream clean, your eyes flicking from the TV to your phone screen. Your brows raise in surprise when you see who it's from, a snort leaving your lips.
Steve Rogers: How's your Saturday night?
You: Oh hello there, stranger. I was starting to think perhaps you'd moved
Steve Rogers: I'm sorry, I had a work emergency I had to take care of. I've been gone for the past few days, just got back. How has your week been?
Your brows furrow at his response. What does this guy do for work?
The last time you asked, his response was pretty vague, but he obviously does something that's important enough for him to leave without notice. Often.
You: It's been alright, nothing exciting to report. Mainly just studying and classes. How's yours been?
Steve Rogers: A little rough. Had to deal with a tough project at work, but it's over now, luckily. At home licking my wounds now
You: Wounds? Literal or metaphorical?
Steve Rogers: Little of both
You blink in surprise, putting down your ice cream to be able to text quicker.
You: What? Are you hurt?
Steve Rogers: I'll be okay, I'm just tired. I'm sorry I didn't follow up on our coffee date, though. I hope you didn't lose faith in me
You: Was just about to, but then you texted, so I'll give you another chance
Steve Rogers: Yeah? When do you have time?
Steve Rogers: Are you busy right now?
Your brows raise in surprise at the double text as well as the question.
You: It's a little late for coffee, don't you think?
Steve Rogers: How about tea, then?
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You manage to tidy yourself up a little bit, tossing on a tank-top instead of the oversized shirt you were wearing when there's a knock on your door.
You're still in your sweats from earlier, but you don't really mind that; he messaged you with very short notice, so he couldn't exactly be expecting you to look all dressed up.
You unlock your door before opening it, grinning up at Steve when he comes into view, "Hey there."
"Hi," Steve smiles, his hands shoved into his pockets, "Nice to see you again."
You let your eyes trail over his form; he's in a white t-shirt, one that's tight and allows you to see the firm outline of his torso (you suspect tight t-shirts are his signature, by now), and you apparently guessed right on keeping your sweats on, because he's in a pair of his own. A grey pair, to be exact.
Your eyes move up to take in the features of his face, lingering on his beautiful, baby blue eyes and pink plump lips. But then your brows instantly furrow when you notice the small mark on his cheekbone.
"Oh," you breathe out, instinctively stepping closer, and before you can even stop yourself, you reach up, letting your fingers gently touch the skin right below the mark, "Are you okay?"
You can tell Steve tenses at your touch, making you immediately remove your hand before you step back again, mumbling, "Uh, sorry, I shouldn't-"
"No, it's alright," Steve interrupts, putting up a hand to stop you, "Don't worry, I was just caught off guard. It hurts a little, but it'll go away soon. Promise."
"Okay," you reply with a small nod, smiling softly as your eyes meet his. Then you step aside, gesturing to your apartment, "Well, come on in."
Steve smiles as he walks inside, continuing further as you close the door behind him. He wanders into the open kitchen, eyes moving over the space and to the living room area.
"This is nice," he hums, placing his hands in his pockets, "I like what you did with the place."
You chuckle, "Thanks. I only buy the finest Ikea furniture."
Steve lets out a melodic laugh, following your movement when you walk into the kitchen. You reach up to pull open the cupboard as you ask, "So, what kind of tea do you like?"
You don't hear a response immediately, but you almost jump in surprise when you suddenly hear his voice from right behind you, "What kinds do you have?"
You glance over your shoulder, eyes locking with the blonde man towering over you. You smirk, "Well, you tell me. Seems like you can see better than I can."
Steve snorts, stepping closer before his attention is pulled to the inside of the cupboard. He reaches up, his chest brushing against your back when he grabs for a packet and places it on the counter in front of you, "I like this one."
You release a quiet, unsteady breath when you feel the warmth of him pressing against your back, your fingers reaching for the packet of tea.
"Black tea," you hum, picking two tea bags out of the box, "Good choice."
You slide a little to the side, reaching for two mugs in a different cupboard, still nervously aware of his close presence.
"I'm glad you think so," Steve hums, following your movement. He stands behind you again, taking the mugs for you when you stand up on your tip toes to reach them, "Did you know that was the kind of tea the British soldiers drank during World War II?"
Your brows raise in surprise, looking up at him over your shoulder, "No, I didn't. That's pretty cool."
Steve grins, nodding as he places the two mugs on the counter, "Yeah, uh, actually the British government bought out practically all the tea in Europe in order to be able to give them to the soldiers on the frontlines."
"Wow," you respond, your brows furrowing, "That's actually crazy. How could they even do that?"
You walk over to the kettle, filling it with water so you can boil it, while Steve moves to lean on your kitchen counter. He shrugs, "Guess they just decided it was worth it, to keep morale up."
"Hm," you hum, turning on the kettle before you turn to him, "That was really nice of them. I didn't think the government cared much about their soldiers, to be honest. All you ever hear about are the glory while they're away, and then those horror stories when they come back and have PTSD."
Steve's face falls a little, his hands going back into his pockets as he nods slowly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Perhaps the British government cared more about their soldiers then they do here.."
"Yeah," you mumble, your fingers reaching for the packet to fiddle with it, "My brother was actually in the army.."
"He was?" Steve asks curiously, "For how long?"
"A long time," you sigh, "Too long. He wasn't the same when he came back home.."
"That happens," Steve replies quietly, "A lot, unfortunately."
You glance over at him, watching how his eyes are trained on the floor. You tilt your head, asking hesitantly, "Is that something you know a lot about? The army?"
"Kinda," he shrugs, offering you a small smile when he looks back up at you, "I was also in the army. I still kind of am, I guess.." He cringes a little, making you turn to directly face him.
You take a small step closer, slowly lifting your hand until your fingers are almost brushing his cheek as you hold eye contact, "Is that how you got this?"
Steve's lips part in a nervous breath when you lean closer, his hands bracing the edge of the counter as he leans on it. His baby blues hold yours, dipping his head ever so slightly until your fingertips trail over his skin.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"But you're not shipped out?" You inquire, your fingers trailing down his cheek to his jaw, "You live here, and you don't go away for months at a time."
"I'm a.. different kind of soldier," he whispers, his face slowly leaning closer to yours, "But I used to be in the army."
"So, you got promoted?" You tease, your voice low. Your fingers trail down his jaw, to the column of his neck, Steve's breath hitching when the delicate touch tickles his skin.
"You could say that," he smiles softly, his eyes burning into yours intensely as he continues slowly leaning closer, "The job isn't very different, though. But I get to go home more often."
You hum, nodding slowly as your fingers curl around his neck hesitantly. You break eye contact for a moment, eyes dropping to his lips, your stomach doing a flip when his tongue darts out to lick them.
Your eyes raise up to meet his again, the hand curled around the back of his neck slowly pulling him closer until you can feel your breaths mixing.
You look up at him with wide eyes, your nerves on edge, and it's almost like your mind goes blank when he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"
You nod immediately, there's no way in hell you'd ever say no.
Steve's eyes drop to your lips, inching himself closer until they softly brush over yours, and then you let out a content sigh when he presses them firmly against your own. You pull him closer by the hand curled around his neck, one large hand landing on your waist to pull you into his chest.
Your other hand slides up his chest to his shoulder, gripping it as your lips glide over his in perfect synchronization.
You lose yourself in the softness of his lips, your unsteady breaths mixing, and you're only faintly aware when you hear the water boiling in the background.
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wandanet · 10 months
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ELIZABETH OLSEN as WANDA MAXIMOFF AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON (2015)  
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acciopietro · 1 year
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Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?
combining with request #2: Hey 🧍🏻‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)
a week’s isolation - p.m.
pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader
summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.
word count: 3,878
tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!
a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)
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“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.
Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.
A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!
“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”
“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”
“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”
Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.
“Y/N? You have a question?”
“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”
“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”
“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”
“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”
A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.
“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”
Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.
“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”
All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.
“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”
“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”
“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.
“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”
“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”
“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.
“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.
“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”
“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”
“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”
“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”
You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”
Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”
---
THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.
“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”
“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.
“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”
“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”
Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.
“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”
“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”
“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”
Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you. 
“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”
Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.
And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you. 
One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused. 
Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.
By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.
The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”
“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”
“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”
“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”
“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.
You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed. 
Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.
“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”
You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”
You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.
You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything. 
“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”
“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”
“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”
“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”
“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”
“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”
Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.
“How so?” Pietro asked.
“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”
It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.
“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.
“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”
“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”
He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.
“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.
“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”
You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”
Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”
You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”
“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips. 
“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”
“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”
“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.
“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.
“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”
You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.
“Yes.”
You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.
He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.
“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically. 
“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.
Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.
Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.
“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit. 
“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.
“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.
“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”
“Just do what?”
You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.
“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”
“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.
“Well, I don’t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"
And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.
“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.
Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.
Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”
“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”
Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.
When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.
“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.
“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”
“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.
“Thanks.”
“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”
“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”
--
translation:
“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning
“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.
“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love
taglist:
@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777
a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry. 
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marvellegends · 1 year
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steve really said:  👀
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marvelgifs · 1 year
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Chris Hemsworth as THOR ODINSON AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON (2015)
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billykcplan · 2 years
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WANDA MAXIMOFF  |  CLAPBACK QUEEN™
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worldfullofash · 7 months
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Pietro Maximoff headcanons
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Bleached his hair so he could dye it. But he liked the bleached look more and decided to keep it.
Thinks it's fair to race with someone when he clearly has an advantage because of his powers
ABSOLUTELY LOVES sports. Especially basketball. None of the Avengers wants to play with him because he uses his speed to win. And afterwards he will call it a ‘fair game’
He believes in opposites attract
If you’re close, he sometimes wakes you up at 1am to steal all the snacks from the kitchen together
It annoys the heck out of Steve
That’s why he keeps doing it :,)
His accent gets thicker when he’s tired or angry
As someone with and accent when speaking English; i love that his accent gets appreciated
He’s very open minded
Spends a lot of money on shoes. He is picky about what shoes he buys
Pietro is very vain. This guy has MANY hairproducts.
Takes hygiene very seriously
Loves to listen to records and has a record player in his room.
He secretly loves the old songs Steve listens to
Pietro is definitely a dog person
Peter and him pull pranks on the Avengers all. The. Damn. Time.
His humor>> (Vision always takes his sarcasm seriously)
Pietro can easily comfort someone/cheer someone up. He knows how to read body language and takes the time to make his loved ones feel better
He feels very protective of Wanda (as he should). For a long time they only had each other. Despite now also having the Avengers, Pietro will always take care of his sister
Once when they were 8 years old a kid pushed Wanda off a swing. Pietro saw red and punched the kid in the face
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This^^^
But he and Wanda can also argue over nothing (as siblings do obv)
I do think he was a bit shy/closed-off as a kid. After what Hydra/Strucker did to him, he became more bold and cocky
Pietro is a mama’s boy
When he was little, he used to hold his mother's hand while walking
He wants others to think he doesn't care about anything, but he overthinks quite often
Flirty but respectful
Teases everyone. Literally everyone. He doesn’t always do it to be flirty. He loves all the different reactions he gets. The reactions say a lot about a person
He craves validation from his loved ones
Missions are always fun and successful with him
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fandomnerd9602 · 2 months
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Wanda approaches Y/N…
Wanda: you’re a robot created by Stark?
Y/N: yes.
Wanda: you single?
Pietro: sestra?!
Wanda: sorry! Y/N is just so attractive!
Y/N: if I could blush I would. Will you be the center of my world?
Wanda blushes…
Pietro: I can’t even.
Pietro runs out…
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sersi · 1 year
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Scarlett Johansson as Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) dir. Joss Whedon
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