#avengers x you
THIS MAN REALLY SAID “YOU GUYS WANT MAGIC? I’LL GIVE YOU MAGIC” AND I LOVE HIM FOR IT
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Seeing Loki die once again thinking its final this time
Seeing that this mf survived once again
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Walking on Dangerous Territory
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader
Summary: John Walker never knows how to keep his mouth shut, especially when it comes to you and Bucky’s had enough of it.
Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, cursing
A/N: Hey everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve written a fic about Bucky (that isn’t a request), so that’s where this came from. Wanted to show one of my favorite men some love. I hope you all enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated :)
Walking along the dirt road, you’re situated in between Bucky and Sam.
Sam continues to stare at you and Bucky, his eyes burning holes through the side of your faces. Frustrated, you abruptly stop walking and place your hands on your hips. “Is there something wrong, Sam?”
Sam chuckles. The man really has the nerve to laugh in your face as you’re seconds from destroying everything around you.
“Is something funny?” Your voice is low, anger evident in your tone. Bucky reaches forward to grip your arm, holding you back from doing something you’d regret.
Sam continues to laugh. “I just can’t believe two super soldiers got their ass kicked by a little girl.”
Ripping your arm out of Bucky’s hold, you stomp forward. “Okay, first of all-”
Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against the front of his body. “What Y/N is trying to say is we were up against five other super soldiers, one of those being that little girl. So yeah, we got our asses kicked. We were outnumbered.”
“And,” you speak up. “From what I recall, you also experienced a beating, so I don’t know why you’re calling us out.”
Sam walks forward and pats his hand onto your shoulder. “Just picking on you, Y/N. You know I love seeing that temper of yours coming out.”
Pushing his hand away, you storm off, out of Bucky’s hold. “I hate you!”
“No, you don’t! You love me!” Sam yells.
Continuing to walk ahead, you flip him off. Sam and Bucky laugh behind you, the sound of Bucky’s voice calming you down. You may have some unresolved feelings for him, as in you love him, but would never dare to speak on it. Sam knows and even though you’ve never explicitly said anything to him, he can see right through you. Thankfully, he’s kept your feelings a secret and you’re more than grateful for that.
The sound of an engine makes you turn around. A jeep comes to a stop in front of you, with Walker and Lemar sitting in the bed.
Sighing, you ignore them and continue walking. The last thing you need is to be surrounded by those two. You might end up punching Walker right in his face.
“Where you going, Y/N?” Walker calls out, his smug voice pissing you off even more.
“Far away from you!” You yell back, desperate to get out of this situation.
He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but when he does, you scoff. “You don’t want a ride back, beautiful? It beats walking!”
Whipping around, you’re about to answer, but Bucky beats you to it. “I’d back off if I were you, Walker.”
Bucky’s tone takes you by surprise... and causes goosebumps to erupt over your skin. Why is he being so protective? Whatever the reason, it’s enough to capture your mind with some unnecessary thoughts.
“Just get in!” Lemar yells, wanting to defuse the tension before it gets out of hand.
Looking at Sam and Bucky, you sigh when Sam shrugs his shoulders, gesturing for the three of you to hop on.
Bucky gets in before you, extending his hand for you to grab as you jump up. You didn’t need the help, but you appreciate the thought.
When you sit down, you’re snuggled tightly in between Sam and Bucky, the bench being too short to comfortably accommodate the three of you.
Walker grins at you and it makes you want to punch his face even more. “So, Y/N, it seemed like you needed a little help back there.”
Bucky growls next to you. “Y/N can handle themselves. They don’t need help, especially not from you.”
“And, why’s that?” Walker presses. “They have their big guard dog to look after them?”
Bucky jumps forward and you immediately stand up, pushing on his chest to hold him back. “It’s okay,” you whisper as you look into his eyes. “He’s just a dick. Don’t let him get to you.”
Bucky lets out a deep breath before slowly sitting back down. You sigh out in relief, not really wanting to deal with another brawl on a moving car.
But, Walker just doesn’t seem to know when to stop. “I’m just saying that if you do need a partner, I’m always here. In more ways than one.”
Bucky bucks up again and you hold him down with a hand on his arm.
“Don’t you have a wife?” Sam asks, his voice accusatory. “I wonder how she’d feel to know you’re constantly hitting on Y/N.”
Walker looks away, his face red with embarrassment.
Bucky takes this moment to speak up. “The next time you so much as look at Y/N the wrong way, I won’t hold back.”
“Ah,” Walker responds. “So, you are the guard dog.”
In two seconds, Bucky is on him, punching him square in the face. It happens so fast, you don’t have the time to grab him beforehand.
“Bucky!” You yell, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him backwards.
Walker spits to the side before wiping the blood that’s spewing from his nose. His eyes narrow at Bucky, shooting imaginary daggers at him. “This isn’t over.”
As the Jeep comes to a stop, Bucky jumps out before turning around to help you down. “Looking forward to the next meeting, John!”
Sam snickers at his response before jumping out himself. “Thanks for the ride! You should get some tissues for that nose!”
Stepping back into your safehouse, you place your stuff down before looking at Bucky. “Look, I know Walker’s a jerk, alright? But, we can’t just go around punching everyone who says something we don’t like!”
Bucky chuckles, his laugh dark. “Something we don’t like? The man is harassing you and I’m not going to just sit around and let him do it!”
Sam looks between the two of you, shock written all over his face at the sudden outburst. “I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Good!” Bucky yells over to him.
“See you in the morning!” You yell at the same time.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, slowly nodding his head and quickly leaving the room.
Once he’s gone, you and Bucky compete in a staring contest, serious expressions plastered on your faces.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Wanna explain what’s wrong?”
Bucky mimics you. “I already did.”
You scoff. “Okay, and I get that, but you’ve never actually punched him before! You usually just say some harsh words back and then move on!”
“Yeah, well he deserved it and I don’t regret doing it, if that’s what you want me to say.”
Sighing, you decide to just agree with him. This conversation was going nowhere and fast. “Thank you for standing up for me. Next time though, could you hold back on the punches?”
Bucky laughs again, the sound sending chills down your spine. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“O-kay. And, here we are. Back at square one.”
“What do you want me to say to you, Y/N? That I’m sorry for doing it? Because I’m not. I’m not going to just sit there and let some asshole say shit like that to you!”
“You know I can handle myself!” You’re starting to get pissed. You know he means well, but you can fight your own battles.
“I know you can, but I’m sick of fucking Walker and his numerous crude attempts to get in your pants!”
You walk away, heading into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. All of this yelling is making your head hurt.
Bucky follows you, close at your heels. “I don’t even understand why you’re so mad. It’s like you don’t want me to stand up for you!”
“It’s not that! I just don’t want you punching people for no reason!”
“I had every damn reason to punch him! How many times do I have to explain it?!”
“Okay, Buck. Okay.” You walk past him, heading towards your room. “I’m going to bed.”
Bucky grabs your arm before you can walk any further. “Hey… I’m sorry, doll. I don’t want to fight with you.”
Turning around, you stare into his warm, blue eyes. He looks tired, strained from the beating all of you took today.
“It’s okay. I know you mean well and I appreciate it. I really do… I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He moves closer, trapping you against the nearest wall. “Don’t worry about me, doll. I’d do anything for you. You’re my main concern.”
“Not Sam?” You joke.
He chuckles and this time, it’s sincere. “No, not Sam. I mean, I care about him, but it’s not like with you.”
“And, what makes me so different?”
Leaning forward, his arms rest against the wall, his face mere inches from yours. “You’re the one that’s captured my heart. Not him.”
“Is Mr. Barnes implying that he has feelings for me?” You smile shyly, a contradiction to your confident words.
“You’re damn right I do, doll.” He’s staring directly at your lips, not even bothering to be discreet. “Tell me you feel the same way, so I can kiss you already.”
His eyes drill into yours and you bite your lip in response, your body heating up with desire. “Always have,” you whisper.
His lips are on yours then, devouring you whole. You moan into the kiss and he takes that opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth.
As he bites down on your lower lip, your arms slide around his neck, pulling him even closer. It’s addicting and you never want to-
A slow clap sounds next to you and the two of you jump apart. When you turn, you see Sam standing there, a huge grin on his face. “My, my, my. I thought the day would never come. Tinman and Y/N. What a sight!”
Bucky groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Seriously? Can you get out of here please?”
Sam laughs as he turns to head back into his room. “Make sure to send me an invitation for the wedding!”
You look down at the ground and laugh, shaking your head.
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
Looking back up at Bucky, you nod your head. “Yeah… Yeah, he is.”
Bucky puts out his hand, gesturing for you to take it and you do, letting him lead you to his bedroom. “So, when should it be?”
“When should what be?”
Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. “Our wedding.”
You playfully slap your hand against his arm. “I can’t with you. Let’s just get to bed.”
“Oh, I plan on taking you to bed, all right.”
As soon as he says that, he’s picking you up, carrying you bridal style in his arms. You let out a shriek as he starts to run, entering his room and plopping you onto his bed.
He gets on top of you, pining your arms above your head. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us, doll.”
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hi lovely! your writing is amazing. too good!!! thank you for sharing it. i was wondering if you could do a bucky fic where he starts getting more comfortable doing pda with his girl in front of the team, and they notice how soft and sappy he is now he’s dating her, and inevitably (but lovingly) tease him for it. only do this if it inspires u though! hope you’re staying safe and healthy x
These Hands Are Meant to Hold
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs & Comments are much welcomed ♥
Note: I was super inspired to be fluffy as fuck. This is just a wholesome drabble. Thank you so much for sending this in, lovely! Making a comeback and so, a temporary taglist is open for the next 5 fics. Comment to be added to a bucky, steve, or both taglist!
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Also unbeta'd.
Otherwise known as Public Displays of Affection (1): Acts of intimacy in front of others.
What is considered to be acceptable varies from culture to culture.
Your friends seem to like engaging in such activities, often cuddling or quick kisses.
But Bucky is not an openly affectionate person.
In public, even handholding for no reason doesn't ever occur. In private, he's overly gentle, like he's afraid he might accidentally break you.
Although it's been a couple of months since you've been dating, you can say nothing physically has quite changed between the two of you.
But...those things don't bother you.
Because in private, Bucky can't keep his hands off you. At first, he was cautious, making sure to only touch you with his regular arm. He tried to say that he liked touching you with his regular arm because he could feel you on the pads of his finger.
You didn't care much for that, though. You always made sure to give his metal arm equal amounts of attention. Just as Bucky liked stroking your arms, playing with strands of your hair, and kissing your neck—you'd be holding his regular hand while your other hand trails up his metal one.
Telling him you liked it when his metal arm held you at night because it kept you cool helped.
Bucky just thinks you're so...strange but so lovely. How could you look at him with such adoration in your eyes? He hopes you can see the same look in his eyes when he stares at you.
It was slow at first, but Bucky's whole body is starting to itch for the need to touch you in any kind of way in public too. It started one day when he watched Steve so openly hug you and pinched your cheeks, and you swatting his hands away with a frown before grinning.
And Bucky realized that he was jealous. Not of the prospect or suspicion of Steve—no, Bucky knows the two of you would never do that to him. But he was jealous of Steve in the way the other man could so easily be affectionate with you.
Bucky spent the rest of his day wondering why he was so...afraid of touching you in public. After that, it started small. Just the caress upon your hand with his picky, metal one or not. You had brushed it off as the two of you standing too close.
Then, it was interlacing his pinky with yours, hiding it behind his back as he sandwiched himself against you. You looked at him curiously, a light blush on your cheeks, but you smiled, and Bucky felt like he was doing something amazing—something right for once.
There had always been a certain kind of distance in public, but it seemed Bucky was intent on closing it.
"Hi, doll," Bucky greets you with a chaste kiss to your cheek.
"Hi," you replied shyly with a bright smile.
"Alright, get a room you two!" Clint jokingly moans while rolling his eyes.
Natasha gasps scandalously while she was holding Nathaniel. Steve lifted his hand to cover Nathaniel's eyes.
"Bucky!" Steve mock scolds. "So inappropriate, think of the children!"
Bucky rolls his eyes while he slings his arm around you, pulling you close to slot his lips against yours in rebellion.
"Oh, god, he's out of control," Natasha smirks. "Steve, do something!"
"Sweetheart, think about your propriety!" Steve looks at you, and you burst out laughing.
Bucky throws a crumpled piece of paper at Steve. "Stop calling my girlfriend sweetheart," he drawls.
Steve sighs. "You've turned into a possessive sap. Long gone are the days of Mr. Heartbreaker and now you're doll dizzy."
Bucky tuts while he waggles his fingers. "Incorrect. I am doll dizzy about one girl."
Your face is set aflame as you listened to Bucky speak about you. Ignoring the teasing, you rest your head against Bucky's shoulder, warming because he holds you a little tighter.
When the day is over, and you lie next to Bucky, his metal arm over you, keeping you cool, you turn to face him. He's still awake, sleepily, but awake.
"Hi," he husks.
"Hi," you smile.
"What's on your mind, doll?" Bucky's eyes are closed, but his metal arm is stroking light lines on your bare back, drifting to your spine.
You shiver as you shift closer to him.
"Just thinking how...different you are," you tell him.
Bucky's eyes flutter open as he zeroes in on you. "Different?" He asks.
Your hand moves across the small distance between you two as it lands on his neck. You can feel his pulse in his neck, and you like how steady it is. For all Bucky's insecurities and sadness, his pulse is always steady.
"Well," you start to say, throat raspy as you're suddenly overcome with how in love you are with Bucky. "Just—I never thought you'd be the type of person to do PDA. Not that I mind either way," you say quickly. "I never want to make you uncomfortable."
Bucky just smiles as he rests his hand on the small of your back and pulls you closer to him—until he can feel your body line up perfectly against his. He begins to entangle your legs together with his, and there's no escape for you.
You bite your tongue because Bucky smiling. Him grinning so genuinely makes your heart thud painfully in your chest. He deserves so much more of those smiles.
"I admit it wasn't something I was...comfortable with at first," Bucky concedes while you look up at him. "I just...this arm," Bucky emphasizes by moving his metal hand against your back. "It's just a visual reminder of what I'd done—what I'd become. I'm not a regular soldier from the 40s anymore where my only concerns were my job and making sure Steve didn't get into any scraps he couldn't handle."
You listen quietly because Bucky seems to be just talking, not really looking for you to reassure him that you love him and his metal arm doesn't define him.
"And in public, it feels like everyone is watching me. Tony is still glaring at me, glaring at my arm and I don't blame him. Steve sometimes stares because he feels guilty, and Natasha pointedly looks at my face—which is nice of her," Bucky licked his lips. His eyes were open, staring pointedly over your head as he held you. Then, he looked down, eyes half-lidden as he gazed at you.
"So, I...felt bad if I touched you in public, where everyone could see. It was like a giant neon board would appear that said, 'Look! The Winter Soldier is touching and kissing someone! Will he crush her?'" Bucky grimaced, and you frowned, moving your fingers to touch the corner of his lips. Bucky smiles as he moves his head to kiss your fingers.
"Bucky..." you say softly, tightening your legs around his.
Bucky just kisses your forehead to soothe you before he continued on.
"But then I just kept seeing everyone with you. Everyone is so open with you. I'm pretty sure many people actually think Natasha is your lesbian lover," Bucky's smile causes you to laugh. "I mean I wanted to touch you, be near you in any way always, but then after, I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted to be the one who holds your hand, touches you, and kisses your cheek in public. If only I wasn't so hesitant. I know it probably took a long time to get where we are, but I love you for being so patient."
You wonder if it's possible to burst from happiness. You wonder how it's possible for the colony of butterflies to have lived in your stomach this long.
Bucky lifts his metal hand, opening and closing it, almost marvelling at how he can look at it so easily now.
You grab his hand, feeling the cool metal against your fingertips.
"These hands are meant to hold, Bucky," you smile as you lace your fingers together.
Bucky quirks his brow with a smirk before he rolls over you, nose to nose.
"Incorrect," he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue just barely grazing your lips. "These hands are meant to hold you."
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ok that finale was a mess but can we talk about how for the first time in a long time loki opened up, showed his emotions and concerns, expressed his feelings for someone he cared about just to be used and betrayed?
because that shit hurt.
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Tease. An absolute tease 😏
This gave me a thot. Its all NSFW. 18+ only
He watches you sink to your knees, placing your hands behind your back, chest arched up just the way he taught you.
"Get it nice and wet first darlin'," he smirks, tilting your chin up with his knuckles. "And this time, I wanna see you take all of my cock down your pretty little throat."
And when you do, when you finally manage to get every thick inch inside your mouth, he smiles down at you. "That's my good girl."
You look debauched, tears streaming down your face, your lips stretched around him, smearing lipstick across his shaft.
You're struggling to breathe through your nose when he places his large hand around your throat. "Fuck, I can feel me right there."
And he squeezes, groaning vulgarly over your muffled grunts and wet gagging. He pulls out slowly, his warm, heavy shaft pushing your tongue down, you raspily gasp, greedily sucking in air. Oh, that's the only break you're getting Darlin.
He slams back into your throat and squeezes again, applying more and more pressure as he fucks your mouth. You grab his thick hair covered thighs, more tears falling as he pounds harder and faster. "Told ya you could take it"
He's ruthless, deliberately making you drool and gag around his cock, his hand flexing around your throat until you're lightheaded and dizzy. "Just a little more, darlin'," he moans, his hips snapping into you. "I'm going to stretch all your tight little holes, keep you stuffed and leaking until you can't take anymore. You want that don't you? Wanna spend all day feeling me drip out of your pussy, huh?"
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The Right Partner
Summary: You and Bucky have always possessed a complicated history, and even more strained relationship with one another. Begrudgingly, you're sent out on a mission with Barnes where you two are posing as a newly wed couple. In an effort to investigate the consistent disappearance of young women in a certain neighborhood, you find yourselves forced to confront a whirlwind of emotions.
Pairing: enemies to lovers bucky barnes x avenger!reader (fake married trope)
Warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, a lot of angst, arguing, and fluff
Word Count: 10.4K
Italicization implies a flashback.
Pretending was easy. It came to you two flawlessly, without hesitation or second thought. The key to perfection resided in the small details. A hand placed there, a gentle smile exchanged here. Bucky and you were lovers, absolutely enamored whenever the other was around. When you held hands, the lines in your palms perfectly melted in his. Your steps kept in time with one another, the beat of his heart synching to the rhythm of your breathing. You worked like a lock and key, one useless without the other. Everything was pure flawlessness.
Except none of it was real.
You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Despite the endless amounts of warmth your humble home provided, the rooms always felt so frigid, lonesome. You both had resided under the same roof for nine weeks, and no progress in your actual relationship had been made. Pretending? That was easy. But something real? That was hard. Sentences naturally broke themselves off during conversation attempts. Eye contact was never truly sustained for a meaningful period. But this was not love, this was your mission.
In an unassuming suburban area, dozens of women had disappeared over the decades. Concerning, but not your usual assignment. This was not the guns blazing, stealth mode missions you had come to understand. They each in their own right were unique, but at the end of the day, they followed the same formula; find, interrogate, fight, and finish the case. The only reason Bucky and you were sent down to Huntington Fields was because Tony had suspected the involvement of “witchery” as he called it.
Since childhood you had trained to become a full fledged witch. As your body grew up and out, your powers grew with you. The modest nature of Huntington Field may not have been your normal territory, but magic was your arena. You assured the team that you were able to complete the mission yourself, that you didn’t need a partner, but Nat insisted.
“You’re gifted, Y/N, but you’re still new,” Nat explained.
“Why not just send Wanda out instead? She’s way better than me. I can do something else,” you tried to reason. Any way out of this was a good way out.
“This is your first long term mission. You have a chance to go investigate something you already know, it’ll be good for you.” As she explained, she could see your face twist into an expression of frustration. Everyone knew you could do it alone, they just were worried about your tendency to jump into danger.
Nat sighed, looking out the window as she spoke. “It’s Bucky isn’t it?”
Your body stiffened, but you remained silent. She already knew the answer.
So, alas, there you were, occupying a quaint house that resided on Oak Avenue, bearing the cold of New England. Everyday you two would walk out of your house, hand in hand and mingle with the neighbors. Due to your piano skills you posed as a private music teacher and Bucky played the role of a computer programmer, “working” from home most days.
Tonight, Bernadette was over your house, spreading neighborhood gossip. She was a chatty old lady, with paper thin skin and transparent white hair, but she was sweet for the most part. Talking to her truly offered nothing valuable to your intel, but the company was nice. Within these walls, no conversation flowed between you and the soldier. It was for the better, you rationalized, it kept everyone more focused on the task at hand.
“Oh, dear, look at the time, I should get going,” Bernadette fretted as she abruptly placed her teacup down. She quickly gathered her purse from the counter and thanked you kindly for the warm welcome you had provided her.
“Anytime, Bernie. You are always welcome at the Barnes home.” You gave her a warm smile in return, while emptying a few cookies into a container for her to take her. Barnes. You could feel your stomach lurch at the thought of marrying Bucky. Forever condemned to a fate of sharing the same space with him.
As if on cue, Bucky walked in and placed a loving hand on the small of your back. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, after casually giving you a peck on the lips. He was not too keen on your neighborly visits and opted to stay away from people when possible. Even on an undercover mission where talking was your job, he’d find a way to avoid people. Typical.
Bernadette let out a small sigh. “Oh, I remember when I was your age. I had just gotten married to Clint. Twenty years have passed and I still think about him everyday.” A glossy look coated her eyes as she reminisced. “Enjoy this time, these are the memories you hold on to.” She politely excused herself and took her box of leftover cookies, exiting the house to make her short walk to her own home, five doors down.
Bucky’s hand slowly slipped from your back and an immediate three feet was placed between the two of you. You took a seat at the kitchen counter, frustrated. Weeks in this personal hell and you didn’t seem one step closer to finding out what was going on. It felt like the universe was testing you. How much longer could you labor through living with Bucky?
“Don’t do that again,” you mumbled, pulling out your computer to reread articles about past disappearances. Since the 40s, they had occurred every 10 years and the next attack would be just a mere week from now. Time was running out to save the next victim who would fall to the hands of whatever you were searching for.
“What?” Bucky asked in an uninterested tone. He took a seat across from you at the counter, pulling up his computer to do the same.
“Don’t kiss me,” you snapped, not lifting your eyes from the screen.
“We’re married.” Bucky took off his gloves and held up his hand to reveal a wedding band. Luckily for Bucky, the cold weather permitted him to offer bad circulation as an excuse for always wearing gloves. It made hiding his metal arm much easier. Even so, he wore the wedding band. It’s the small details that are the most convincing he rationalized.
You huffed and glared up at Bucky who returned your stare with a blank facial expression. “Yeah, well tone it down. We don’t have to play it up every time Bernadette comes around, she’s more than convinced.”
“If our cover’s blown, the past two months would have been for nothing,” he answered sharply, straightening his posture. You weren’t sure if he felt the need to expand himself to make you feel smaller, but you weren’t backing down. Weeks of insincere kissings on top of disingenuous words were getting to you. The first time you had seen the Winter Soldier, you promised you’d kill him if given the chance. Now here you were, playing house. It made you feel like a fraud, a phony, and a liar above all else.
“We’ve gotten nowhere, James, the past two months have already been for nothing. The only thing I’ve gotten out of this is a headache,” you retorted, closing your computer to move to the bedroom.
Bucky had decided he wasn’t backing down either that night. “Like you’re so easy to work with. I’ve tried time and time again, but you won’t even meet me halfway.” He approached you, frustrated footsteps pounding the ground. You two stood face to face now, one pair of eyes barreling down into the other in a fit of anger.
“I don’t have time for this tonight,” you spoke through gritted teeth. This was the longest conversation you two had had in weeks. Before this mission, you had just simply avoided him. If Bucky was in the kitchen, you’d find your way to the opposite end of the Compound. At first he didn’t seem to pick up on your need for distance, but once he did, he never seemed to be where you needed to go. It worked for you two. But being forced together like this made an ugly hatred swell within the pit of your stomach. Life had been so much simpler when you could avoid his daunting blue-eyed stare.
Before Bucky could respond a ringing came from his back pocket. Huffing under his breath, he answered. His feet carried him into the living room, where he slept at night. The first night you arrived, he immediately setup on the couch. You didn’t care where he rested as long as it wasn’t near you.
As you walked to your bedroom, your hand gently rubbed the area Bucky’s fingers had previously occupied. Whether intentional or not, he had touched the same spot of the scar he gave you. Didn’t matter what name he went by or how much time passed, he’d always be the Winter Soldier in your eyes. You tried forgiveness, really, but fuck it was hard. You couldn’t ignore the fact that he almost killed you once before. What’s stopping him from doing it again? The mark had begun to fade as time passed, but the memories never left.
You’d be fine, then all at once it would hit, stealing your air and shattering your mood. One moment you would be enjoying your day, then the next you could feel the Winter Soldier’s hand around your throat. The ghost of his metal hand digging into your side was all too real. The whisper of a dagger lodging into your back still lingered. Even in your dreams he would appear, a silent and unforgiving figure. He had occupied the most sacred corners of your mind. He invaded your space.
A knock on your bedroom door jolted you from your trance. You cocked your head in the direction of the noise and held your hands up in a fighting position. You relaxed when you saw it was just Bucky, sheepishly peeking his head into your room.
“Sam thinks he found a lead into this guy three houses down. His name is Terrence Catracio, we should go check him out tomorrow.”
“Okay,” you replied, sitting down on your bed.
A moment of uncomfortable silence passed. “Do you want some water?” His feet made a noise as he awkwardly shifted on them.
“Goodnight,” you replied, laying down and turning away from him. In all honesty you were parched, but you didn’t want his help. Because if you took his help, then you would feel like you owed him something back. That was a vicious cycle you knew would be tough to break. You didn’t want the feeling of payback looming over you.
Bucky sighed and wished you a gentle goodnight before returning to his place on the couch. Time and time again he had tried to extend an olive branch to you. He’d make your bed in the morning as you ate breakfast, he washed the dishes even when you told him you would, he made sure to take cold showers so you could use the hot water. None of it worked though, all vain attempts to gain your trust. You never explicitly told him why you didn’t like him, but you didn’t need to.
He remembered it all too.
Your eyes peeled open as you felt a sunbeam warming your face. You shifted groggily in your bed before finally propping yourself up onto your elbows. 10:34 A.M. Fuck. You had slept in longer than you intended to. Sleepily, you discarded your pajamas to the foot of your bed and slipped into some clothes for the day. The aroma of coffee danced its way into the bedroom, filling your nose with the comforting smell of hazelnut.
You made your way to the kitchen as you checked your phone for updates Sam had sent about Terrence. While skimming the briefing, you sipped at the cup of coffee Bucky had provided for you on the counter. The first few times he prepared it for you, you decided the best decision would be to pour it down the drain and make your own. Without fail, though, he would always make you another cup the next morning.
“You don’t have to waste it, you know. I’m not going to drink it,” you told him. There was no malice or even sharpness to your tone. Your intention wasn’t to stir trouble, you just took no interest in his small gestures.
Bucky came out from the bathroom, his newly cut hair still dripping from the shower he had just taken. “Don’t you drink coffee every morning?” When you two were at the Compound, he had noted your consistent caffeine consumption. Didn’t matter if there was a mission or not, you’d make yourself a cup every morning.
“Yes,” you replied flatly, leaving the steaming liquid on the table. You didn’t like him, but you didn’t have the heart to dump it out in front of him. That felt a little excessive.
You two had shared the house for a week at that point, this being your first and only conversation for a while. Still, he still never failed to make you a cup every morning. He didn’t even drink coffee, it was much too bitter for his liking. Bucky took it upon himself to wake up earlier than you to make sure you had some. It was a second thought to his daily flow at first, but it slowly grew to become part of his routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, make coffee, investigate for the day, come home, sleep, repeat.
After the third week of coffee wasted, you caved in and drank it. In all honesty, it wasn’t how you took yours. Too sweet for your liking, but the gesture in itself was thoughtful. Plus, it gave you a few more minutes to sleep.
It had gone lukewarm by the time you were drinking it. Bucky usually woke up around 8:30 A.M. to start snooping around the town on his own time. Eh, coffee’s coffee. You gulped down the cup within ten minutes while plotting out your next step. Tossing your finished drink in the sink, you put on one of Bucky’s coats before slipping out the door. You had your own, but you liked the way his leather jackets seemed to mold to your back. It fits my character, that’s all. He didn’t seem to mind, so this became a consistent habit.
The gentle snow descending from the sky was a stark contrast to the harsh winds that blew. It pushed back your eyelashes and whipped your hair about as you trekked over to Terrence’s house. The town was beautiful, but the snowy weather was unbearable at times.
It was unusual for you to go out on your own, but Bucky hadn’t told you when he was coming back and the mission was on crunch time. There was less than a week now to find why these girls were disappearing. You concluded it was best to weasel your way into Terrence’s house.
Gingerly, your chilled hands knocked at Terrence’s door. No reply. Another knock. No reply. Your eyes skimmed for a doorbell of some sort, only to find the button broken. Shocker. Even the outside of the house looked run down. The windows sagged in their frames, the unkept lawn cried out for attention, and the chipping paint on the house made it appear to be shedding. You knocked harder the third time, wanting to be able to leave as soon as possible. Maybe I should have brought Bucky. As you turned to leave, a squeak sounded from behind. A pair of shaken eyes looked through.
“What?” a gruff voice asked.
“You must be Terrence?” you beamed, plastering a synthetic grin to your face.
“Who’s asking?” He was still looking at you through a small crack in the door. His tired eyes scanned your body up and down as he awaited your response.
“I’m Mrs. Barnes, my husband and I moved down here a few weeks ago. I just realized we’ve never properly met.” You went to stick out your hand for a handshake. Mid reach it came to a stand still, as the door still remained as a barrier between you two.
With a hmph he opened the door all the way and met your hand. His grasp was too firm for comfort. He shook for a prolonged amount of time, tongue licking his chapped lips as he continued. The sight was enough to make you internally squirm. His pupils stung holes into your flesh, his gaze looking down upon you like you were a piece of meat. His hungry stare remained at your chest area as you continued to speak.
“We have to have dinner sometime,” you encouraged, fluttering your lashes. It felt gross to play into his perverse game, but you needed answers and you needed them fast. Your hand brushed over his arm as you spoke. “Maybe we can have dinner sometimes. . . with my husband of course.”
He answered with a lopsided smile, his bony frame attempting to slyly lean against the door frame. “Pretty lady, I’d love to, but I can’t cook for shit.”
“Oh, that’s alright. How about I do the cooking and me and the old man will come over here? I’ve been told I make a pretty killer cream pie.” You winked at him, giggling lightly. You felt yourself gag in your mouth. It had only taken minutes of knowing this man to pick up that he was an absolute sleeze bag.
It was settled, then. Bucky and you would go have dinner over at Terrence’s house and hopefully uncover some useful information. You gave a friendly wave goodbye to him as you made the short walk back to your house. Next time I go undercover, I’m going to the Bahamas. The cold continued to nip at your face as you pushed forward. Upon entering the house you saw Bucky sitting on the living room couch. His head whipped to face yours and a wave of relief washed over his face.
“Where have you been,” he asked, walking up to you. He searched your face, looking for any scratches or bruises.
Admittedly, you were taken back by this sudden sense of panic. As he awaited his answer, he caught a view of your hands, still shivering from the cold. Without hesitation he took off his gloves and slipped them onto your hands.
“Hey, I’m fine. Is everything alright?” You had grown used to Bucky being warm towards you despite your cold demeanor towards him, but this was, well, a bit much.
“I called and you weren’t answering.” His eyes finally met yours. If he was trying to disguise the fact that he was worried, he wasn’t very good at it. “I thought something had happened.”
“I was at Terrence’s. You weren’t home, so I went there myself. I didn’t think it was that important to mention. We have a dinner date with him, maybe we can find-”
“Please don’t do that again.” Despite his best efforts, his voice came out pleading. His eyebrows were upturned; he resembled a begging child with his wide eyes. What the hell was happening? “Just leave a note next time. Please.”
You paused, still bewildered at the scene unfolding before you. Disliking him was so easy when he didn’t talk, when he avoided you. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but you would have been content to never get to know Barnes. Right here though, his worried expression peering down on your face, it triggered something. The walls you had built up around yourself were beginning to crack, he had finally begun to snake his way in. No. You weren’t going to forget everything that had happened just because he spared you a pair of puppy dog eyes.
“Okay,” you answered in an even tone. Slowly, your fingers began to remove the gloves he had just delicately placed onto your hands. He saw this from his peripheral and moved his hands to meet yours, enclosing his large fingers tenderly around yours.
“Your hands are freezing, Y/N. Keep them on for now.” His hands entangled with yours caused your heart to pick up. You held each other's gaze for a moment longer, neither of you wanting to break away from whatever you were sharing. The past temporarily ceased from your minds. Everything that had happened until that moment, the fighting, the cold shoulders, the resentment, all drifted away. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Maybe a minute went by, maybe an hour did. There was enough time for you to see his expression soften and he lightly squeezed your hand.
Suddenly, you were jolted back into reality, back to what was actually happening. Your hand quickly moved back towards your body and you averted your stare from his eyes. This was a level of intimacy you had not expected to endure with Bucky. Awkwardly clearing your throat you mumbled a small thank you and shut yourself inside your room. This mission was going to be a lot more trying than you thought.
Your body shot up out of your bed, a nervous sweat beading on your forehead. Breathing in deeply, your eyes frantically skirted around the room, for something, for someone. You didn’t have nightmares often, but when they arrived they were unrelenting. Instinctually, you reached for the scar in your back. A sigh of relief escaped your lungs when you realized there was no blood. Of course there wasn’t, it was just a dream after all. He can’t hurt me anymore. Things are different now. I’m different now.
This wasn’t like your normal nightmares though, no, it was much worse. The Winter Soldier still seeped his way in as always, but there was something more sinister there. Something more magical. You were by no means a psychic, but you had a knack for predicting major disasters. Unfortunately, you were never able to exactly pinpoint when and what they would be.
Try as you might, there was no shaking this premonition off. You found yourself tiptoeing to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Your throat was dry and maybe a refreshment would stop your head from spinning. Despite your best efforts to keep the noise to a low, the floors creaked beneath you and the cabinets seemed to open with a louder squeak than usual. You heard a shift from nearby.
“Can’t sleep?” a tired voice spoke. Bucky leaned against the doorframe as he took your image in. You appeared slightly disturbed, leaning on the counter, slowly sipping at your glass.
“I had a dream,” you replied, eyes fixated upon your water, “I was in pain. A lot. I felt some sort of magic, though. This must mean we’re getting close.”
Bucky hesitated in his movements. He knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see right now. He wanted, no, needed to help though. Calmly, he walked over to you and placed a tender hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” His voice barely carried above a whisper. He didn’t want to frighten you anymore.
You could feel his stare upon your face. You sharpened your focus harder on the counter. Damn, he made it difficult to not like him. “You don’t have to save face, no one is here,” you whispered back. He couldn’t be sincere, because if he was that meant you were wrong about Bucky Barnes. Maybe in another lifetime, you two would have been friends, perhaps even more. Not this one though, no. What happened was out of his control, but it still ached. The moment had etched itself into your very core. The damage had been done and you weren’t sure if you could ever look past it. It was better, it was safer to keep your distance than get hurt again.
“I know we don’t get along all the time-”
“No shit, Sherlock.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your quippy response. A small smile found its way to your face for just a mere second. It was long enough for Bucky to know you were making progress.
“I still worry about you.”
You swallowed, not sure how to react. A gentle grin appeared on your face, but no words left your mouth. This mission was already so hard, why did emotions need to complicate everything so much more? Bucky accepted your silence as an answer. You weren’t ready to let him in. He was just happy to see you smiling, genuinely, because of him.
“You should go to bed,” he said, turning to the kitchen clock.
“I’m not tired.” Bucky was correct, but sleep seemed impossible at that moment. You were still shocked, still scared.
Standing straight, he offered his palm face up to you. Finally, you turned to look at him. His face wore a very tired look, his eyelids actively fighting slumber. Cautiously, you accepted the invitation, placing your hand within his, as he led you to the living room. He gestured for you to take a seat. This is a trick.
“We could watch TV,” he said, sensing your hesitancy, “I can sit on the floor if you prefer.”
“It’s okay. . . we can share,” you replied, positioning yourself at the opposite end of the couch. He was slowly beginning to grow on you. Your best efforts to push James Barnes out of your life were pointless. You hated him for it. You loved him for it. It was a lot to take in. Taking the hint, he sat at the other end, a whole cushion between you two as you watched TV before inevitably drifting off into a peaceful sleep.
It had been an absolutely pointless night. While you had entertained Terrence, Bucky went to snoop around his house multiple times. Nothing. A whole night wasted on a wild goose chase. The weight of the mission was seriously starting to get to both of you now. It was time to make an exit and start from scratch yet again.
“Can I use your restroom?” Bucky directed towards Terrence who sat across from you two.
“Down the hall to the left,” he replied, taking a sip of his fourth beer that night. You knew Bucky was going to take one final look before you called it quits. Part of you admired his persistence, but both of you knew there was nothing there.
You continued to bite into your rice as you felt a pair of wandering eyes scan your body. Terrence hadn’t been bold enough to pull something while Bucky was around, but the moment he left, he was ready to pounce.
“So, darling,” he purred, hand rubbing your knee from under the table. It took a moment to register what was happening. Laughing nervously, you pulled your exposed leg away from him. I picked the wrong day to wear a dress. Any other time, you would have made that bastard sorry for even looking at you. For the sake of not compromising the mission, you tried your best to remain poised, politely declining his advances throughout the night.
“Oh, Terrence, I don’t think now is-”
“C’mon, scared your little husband is going to find out? He don’t have to know baby-”
“Is everything alright in here?” Bucky boomed as he reentered the room. His face was stoic, but you could see the fire in his eyes. He was pissed. He took his seat next to you. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze from under the table he asked, “Ready to go, honey?”
“We haven’t even had dessert yet. Stay a while longer,” Terrence protested.
“I think we’re done here,” Bucky spat, getting up. He kept a firm grasp on your hand as you two walked out of the door. Even after leaving the sightline of Terrence, he continued to keep his fingers intertwined with yours until you entered your home.
“Bucky, what the hell? We weren’t done looking around,” you panicked. You hated Terrence’s house, but you were more than willing to endure it for the mission. If one uncomfortable dinner meant dozens of lives saved, it would be more than worth it. Maybe by some miracle you could find something useful.
“We were done,” he replied. You could see the smoke coming out of his ears. Honestly, you were shocked he hadn’t ripped off the man’s head on the spot. “He’s a dick, but not our guy. There was no longer a need for you to be there.”
“I can hold my own, Bucky,” you reassured, slightly perturbed.
“But you don’t have to.” His frustration leaked into his tone.
“I’m not a child, I can handle the heat.”
“I know you can, but- fuck. Why are you so okay with being in danger? It’s okay to know when you’ve had enough,” he argued back.
You began to slip off his coat and place it back on the hanger angrily. “I won’t apologize for being good at my job.”
“Why can’t you just be more selfish sometimes?” he bursted out. He was tired. He was tired of how you always put yourself in harm's way. He was tired of how your bravery cost you so much. He was tired of seeing you get hurt. It ate him up inside how willingly you would sacrifice yourself for a cause at any expense.
“Why does it matter so much to you? If you knew so much about me, you’d trust me,” you snapped, stepping closer to him. Your faces were now inches apart. You could see the defeat slowly enter his eyes. This wasn’t an argument he was going to win. She cares too much.
“Okay,” he breathed, anger dissipating from his expression, “okay.”
“I trust you. I’m sorry.”
Deja vu. You had been here before, mere centimeters away from his frosted blue stare. You could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He could see the shift in your posture as you grew more relaxed. The last time you were this close, he had lodged a knife into your back. Just days ago, you would’ve ran from this moment. Your eyes would have found something else to focus on. An excuse, any really, would have popped into your head for you to escape. Not this time. No more running. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. Everything would be okay in time.
Two more days until another girl would go missing. There was nothing to follow. As the clock slowly ate away at the time, your feeling of dread grew. It was only a matter of when. It had been decided, Bucky and you would go on a night protol in hopes of catching the perpetrator in the act. Not the ideal route, but it was the only option left. Neither of you spoke about the failure you felt. The disappointment weighed down on your shoulders heavily.
To pass the time, you began to quietly play the piano in the living room. You hadn’t actually gotten to practice it much since moving in. With Bucky occupying the same room as it, you simply had avoided playing until now. He was taking a shower and therefore wouldn’t be bothered by your enjoyment for the moment.
Your fingertips ran up and down the instrument, feeling the way each key seemed to hum back through your hands as you played. In spite of yourself, you let out a small laugh. How normal this scene looked. A wife, casually playing as she awaits her husband, taking a shower after a long day of work. The white picket fence was never something you dreamed of, but it did cross your mind sometimes. You occasionally pondered how different life would have been if you gave up magic when you were young and went to pursue a normal life. It was much too late for dreaming. This was your life now. Mission after mission, fight after fight, never a dull moment in sight. For better or worse, this is where you were. You played on as you thought, eyes blurring as you contemplated further.
“You play, but do you dance?” A voice teased from behind. How strange it was. Here you were, actually talking. Bucky almost didn’t say anything, hoping your concentration wouldn’t be interrupted by his intrusion. He couldn’t help himself. You seemed to be making progress in your relationship, but he still felt nervous. What if after this mission, everything returned to normal? What if he never got to speak to you? What if he never made you smile again? He was going to enjoy your limited time left.
You grinned lightly as you continued. “I prefer to watch the dancing. You?” He took a seat next to you on the piano bench. He concentrated on how your hands freely danced across the black and white keys. He noted how you decided to keep your ring on tonight. Usually, you’d take it off in your spare time.
“No. I haven’t danced in a long time.” Not since the 40s, he thought to himself. The urge had never crossed his mind, there were too many other things to worry about.
“I’m more of a people watcher. Maybe I’ll find someone who’ll people-watch with me.”
Bucky never noticed the curvature of your lips before. They complimented the rest of your features nicely. He admired the position of your nose and the angle of your eyebrows. It was all just so wonderful. Anyone who knew you could see you were pretty, but in the dimly lit living room as you played, he could see you were beautiful.
“Or maybe you’ll find someone to dance with,” he offered, continuing to revere in your glow.
You let out a small chuckle. “Doubt it. I’m not the romance type. People are too dishonest nowadays.”
“You’re jaded,” he joked. For someone who would sacrifice herself for the world, you sure seemed to think lowly of it.
“I could say the same about you,” you retorted playfully to the soldier.
You carried on, allowing yourself to slip into the music. Bucky’s presence acted as an odd comfort. It was as if the music had created a shield around you two where nothing mattered. There was no more mission, just two individuals enjoying the silent company of the other. At some points he would hum along if he knew the words, other times he sat just happy to have the privilege of your companionship.
“You still haven’t said why.” Now his hands were upon the instrument. He claimed he remembered a few songs from his childhood and attempted to play them out. The notes were too spaced apart and his fingers appeared to have the desire to hit the piano rather than play it. Nonetheless, it was wonderful. A smile broke upon his lips as he kept on messing up the chords and you would hopelessly try to aid in his struggle.
“Why what?” you giggled, trying to place his fingers on the right keys still.
“Why you don’t dance.” His voice softened as he turned his focus away from the piano to you.
“Always the wrong song, never the right partner, I guess,” you responded coolly. You had had relationships in the past, but they were temporary, just blips in your day to day. All wonderful people in their own right, but never the person for you. You were tired of searching in an endless sea of fish and resigned yourself to solitude. It wasn’t for everyone, but you found solace in it.
“You’ll find them one day.” Bucky’s fingers had now lifted themselves off the piano. “I know it.” He gave you a sincere smile before getting up from the bench to go to his bed (or couch rather.) Heat tinged your cheeks at his sweet remark. Damn you, Barnes. Stop being nice. Quietly, you continued to play as Bucky fell asleep peacefully for the night.
The day of reckoning. The air around you felt thick. Deep within your stomach, you just knew something was off. Bucky insisted that you stayed inside for the day until you two would sneak about the neighborhood later that night.
“Why? I can help.”
“They’re targeting young women, Y/N. I can’t let you get hurt on my watch.”
“I can handle myself,” you gently reassured him as you sipped at the coffee he prepared.
“I know you can. Just until I get back from a possible lead, please stay.” As the day approached, Bucky grew more and more fretful. He’d never let you see, of course, as you would probably lecture him on how you didn’t need a babysitter. He knew you were strong, probably even more so than him, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to make sure you were safe. For the past three days, he had stayed up a few hours later at night, fearing some creature would steal you away in the dark. When walking around the town with you, he was always more cautious of the men who let their eyes linger on you for too long. No one was going to lay a finger on his partner.
You conceded. You knew he would be back within the hour. As of recent, you had begun to note his inability to leave you alone for too long. You caught glances of his knotted eyebrows and concerned looks. It would be a lie to say you didn’t like the doting you received as of recent. “I won’t snoop around. Promise.”
Bucky let out a sigh of relief. As he put on his coat to leave, he assured you that he didn’t mind skipping this lead. It’s probably a dead end anyways. Whatever you’re more okay with. We’ll catch them tonight either way. Are you sure? I don’t mind. You basically had to force him out the doorway before he finally left.
You looked around at the now empty house around you. Over the past few nights, you’d both slowly began to pack your things away. The bare essentials of what was required to live were still left, nonetheless, the house felt hollow. You walked over to the living room, sitting on the couch. Over the weeks, it had slowly melded to the shape of Bucky.
It’s over, isn’t it?
An unfamiliar sensation crept its way into your veins. Melancholy. After weeks of dreading your stay, the familiar sound of Bucky’s steps had grown on you. His presence was now a part of your daily life. Your eyes made their way to a small framed photo on the coffee table. It was a picture of you on Bucky on your “wedding day.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. No one even notices that stuff,” you argued with Tony. It was his idea for Barnes and you to have a wedding photoshoot. “Aren’t the rings enough?”
“Y/N, how many married couples don’t own a photo of their special day?” He tiredly placed his head into his hands. You had been going back and forth with him for the past two hours about this. His forehead progressively creased more and more with exasperation.
Finally swallowing your pride, you grumbled, “Fine, but I’m not kissing him.”
As if on cue, Tony popped out of his chair and excitedly rubbed his hands together. “Great, your dress is in the next room.”
“What?” Before your thoughts could puzzle what was happening, you found yourself slipped into a flowing white gown. There was no denying, the dress was absolutely stunning. Tony did a wonderful job picking it out. Still, it felt all off. It was a cage, trapping you underneath your own sense of dread. You wanted to rip it apart, burn it to pieces. Walking to meet Bucky in the backyard of the Compound felt like a funeral procession. An inescapable feeling of panic rang in your chest cavity.
Bucky wore a simple, flattering suit. His gaze attempted to meet yours, but you were unable to look him in the eyes. This was all becoming too real.
“Christ, kid, you’re not dying, you’re getting married. Smile.” Tony teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Breathe in. Breathe out. You looked to face the soldier, blue eyes gleaming under the sunlight. You mustered the brightest smile you could, slowly moving closer to him. Nervously, he wrapped his arms around your torso and smiled back. Snap. The photo was taken and you immediately began to discard the veil. You almost quit right on the spot, gave up then and there. But this was bigger than you. People’s lives depended on you. This would be your burden to bear.
Bucky found you in the hall, where you frantically removed your heels. Even a fifteen minute photo shoot was overwhelming for the both of you.
“We don’t have to do anything.”
You responded with a huff as you continued to fight your way out of your wedding garments.
“In public, we can hold hands, kiss, and do the marriage thing. When we’re alone though, you aren’t obligated to any of that. I’m taking the couch. You won’t even know I’m there.” He felt his heart splintering as he continued. He craved your validation, but he understood your disgust.
He didn’t like himself either.
You now grasped the photo in your hand, tracing your thumb in small circles around it’s golden frame. It was a convincing shot. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say you appeared in love. Bucky looked at you like you had personally hung the stars, moon, and sun alike in the sky. A rush of emotion came spilling up. Sure, it was all pretend, but you were going to miss this. You were going to miss Bucky making your coffee in the morning. You were going to miss the steady grip of his hands. You missed it already. Your heart ached at the thought that this was it. Tears threatened to pool at your eyes, but you quickly shook the feeling away. None of this was real. It wasn’t worth crying over a misguided fantasy.
For a while you laid on the couch, aligning your body to the impression Bucky’s form had left. It smelled like him too, pine and coffee and patience. You pressed the photo to your chest, allowing yourself to live in this beautiful invention for just a while longer. How lovely it was to exist in this illusion of normalcy.
A knocking came from your door, jostling you up. Sadly, you set the frame down on the couch cushion and went to answer the door.
“Hi, Bernie,” you greeted kindly to your neighbor. You were going to miss her once you left Huntington. She had always been so warm to you.
“Hello, dear. I hate to bother you, but it appears some shelves fell over in the basement. My old bones can’t move them myself, I was wondering could you help?” Her aged frame stood shivering in the wind. As you put on one of Bucky’s coats, you remembered his earlier request that you leave a note. Dashing to the kitchen, you grabbed a piece of paper and pen and quickly scribbled ‘Be back soon, helping Bernie for a sec.’
You tailed behind Bernadette as she led you into her basement. You had never been inside her house before. It was decorated top to bottom with those eerie baby angel sculptures and a surprising amount of taxidermy. To each their own, I guess. A pair of creaky stairs later, you entered the damp, dark basement to see nothing but a concrete floor. Empty.
“Hey Bernie, I don’t-” Suddenly, a violent shock of pain shot through your body, stopping your sentence short. Your feet were lifted off the ground as you attempted to fight against whatever the hell was going on.
Bernadette let out an amused laugh as she circled you. Her papery skin took a new, glowing form. Her white, thinning hair turned itself into a gorgeous chestnut brown. She was no longer the meekly old lady you had grown to know, but rather a stunning middle aged woman.
“For someone with your skill, I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner,” her eyes squinted as she examined your useless struggle against her magic. She was entertained by your battle against her power. It fed her ego to see how helpless you looked.
“How?” you gasped out, a burning sensation now rising in your lungs. They felt like they were filling up with fire, polluting the rest of your body with an ugly ash. She was powerful and above all else she was merciless. Her hand movements were fluid, her incantations so precise. She was dangerous.
“The moment I met you, I sensed something different. So young for such a strong witch. I was impressed. If you and your husband hadn’t come to ruin my plans, maybe I could’ve taught you a thing or two,” she droned on, continuing to circle you like a shark sniffing blood. “I’ve been able to restore my youth for damn near a century with no issue. So what if one girl goes missing every couple of years?”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there, done that, didn’t agree with me too tough.” If not for your compromised state, you could’ve hit yourself for being so ignorant. How was the pattern not clear before? They always had to be young. She couldn’t feed off of an older life source. Your heart broke for the dozens of girls who suffered at the hand of this monster. They had valuable time stolen from them because of one selfish woman with power.
“I prefer this form,” she explained, gesturing to her physique, “don’t get me wrong, but the old lady facade really makes people let their guard down. A false sense of security, if you will.”
“Bucky is going to find me,” you hissed, thrashing against her hold. Damn, she’s good.
“Aww, young love,” she sarcastically smiled while tilting her head. “Naive, but so pure. Brings me back.”
Mustering all your strength, you temporarily broke from her spell, abruptly landing to the ground. Immediately you began hurling energy her way, knocking her off her feet onto the hard concrete beneath you. You hovered over her, veins ready to pop from your neck, prepared to issue a fatal strike. Kill or be killed. Before your fist was able to make contact with her supple skin, her fingers skimmed your temples, casting an orange glow around your head. The room went dark as you crashed on top of her with a thud.
Bucky returned home within the hour, just as he promised. Another dead end. He felt guilty for allowing you to stay home alone for so long. She can handle herself. He gnawed at his lip anxiously as he pulled into the driveway. He leapt out the car and quickly entered your home. His eyes were met with an empty living room. No one. He peered to see if you were asleep in the bedroom. No one. He saw the bathroom door askew, unoccupied. No one.
“Y/N?” he called out, panic seeping its way into his chest. Lastly, he checked the kitchen and was only greeted by a sloppily scribbled note. Be back soon, helping Bernie for a sec. A sigh of relief parted from his lips. He didn’t want to seem overbearing, but he rationalized it was the right move to join you. He just needed to see that you were okay, that’s all. He headed out the door with a nervous swiftness.
He arrived at Bernie’s door. None of the lights were on inside it appeared. That’s odd. He gave a knock. Silence. He repeated himself, adding more impatience to the second knock. Silence.
“Bernie? Y/N? You guys there?” Silence. He wasn’t knocking a third time. Reeling back, he forced his way through the old wooden door, crashing forcefully into it. The house was empty. Damnit, doll. Something was wrong. He searched around the house, checking rooms, breaking many angel figures in the process, losing his mind in a labyrinth of shattered glass and taxidermy animals in an attempt to locate you.
A deep groan sounded from the distance. Bucky felt a cold chill run through his spine as hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He had heard that noise before. It was the same one he heard in his endless nightmares. It was the reason he willingly kept his distance from the new recruit. It was why he longed to carve his brain out of his own skull some nights. It was unmistakably yours.
He listened to the direction it came from, leading him to a pantry-like door. Without hesitation, he bursted through it, chips of wood flying about in his path. Hearing you in pain awoke something primal within him; the only mission that mattered now was to find you. He bolted down the steps to be met with the image of you, pathetically curled on the ground as a woman held her hands to your head. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he knew it needed to stop. With his full force, he barreled into the mysterious woman, landing on top of her as his fingers met her face.
You gasped awake, the darkness which stunned your sight being cast away. You heard the ungodly sound of flesh making contact with flesh. Weakly turning your head, you saw Bucky punching the crap out of a younger Bernie. Before he could make a third swing, her eyes glowed a firey color as he was lifted off her and thrown against a brick wall. A grunt forced its way out of his mouth.
Bernadette tsked as she stood back up, wiping the fresh blood that leaked from her nose. She looked down at the red liquid that now stained her hands and back to Bucky. “You’re quite the fighter.” She sounded impressed with the gull it took to come full charge at her.
“Bucky?” you managed, looking over to him. He struggled to go over to you, as Bernie’s magic held him against the brick wall. Your body didn’t possess the strength to get up and fight. You felt it dying all around you. Whatever Bernie had done to those other girls, she was doing to you before Bucky interrupted. He gave you a pained expression as he repeatedly whispered sorry. Tears were coming to his eyes, but he forced them back. He didn’t want the last memory you had of him to be so bleak. So you restrained himself, whispering sorry, fuck I’m so sorry, sorry.
Death. The thought had never crossed your mind before. A natural consequence of life you hadn’t expected to meet with so soon. You saw Bernie stand up to approach you, finish the job. Out of all the ways to go as an Avenger, this was probably the most peaceful. You felt nothing as she worked. There was just a blackness that engulfed your body. Not the worst way to die.
“Wait,” Bucky shouted desperately, trying to work against Bernie’s spell, “Wait! Take me instead.”
She paused her work, looking him up and down. “No offense, but you’re not my usual target. You’re not as young as you seem. I can tell you’re not from this time, loverboy.”
“I know that. You don’t want her, though.” His voice faltered as he said the word ‘her’. Glancing over to your shivering body he continued. “I have super soldier serum pumping through my veins. I’m sure that’s much more valuable to you.”
Bernadette paused, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. “Hmm. You make a good point.” Since the moment she met Bucky, she could tell something different about him. She felt it every time he got close to her, it radiating off his body. He seemed to possess no magic within him, so this would explain how he was able to live for so long.
“Bucky, no,” you called out in pain. He couldn’t die because of you. Not after everything you had been through together. It felt cruel, so sickly twisted of fate to do this. The moment you had learned to trust the most caring soul in the world, he was going to be ripped from you. With every last bit of will power you had, you tried to do something.
“It’s okay, doll. I’m okay. We’re going to be okay. I promise,” he reassured as Bernadette approached him.
“Too bad she can’t live, she knows too much. Thanks for the lovely display of passion, though.” His heart fell through the floor. He shattered into a million pieces, strewn upon the floor by two simple sentences, speechless. “I have a better idea for you lovebirds.” With a wicked flick of her hand, she casted another spell over you.
Your body had strength back within it. Vigor re-entered your veins as you rose to your feet. You weren’t quite sure where you were, you just knew you were frightened. Unexplained aches peppered your body as you looked around. The snow pounded down into the ground all around you. Then there he was. Your breath hitched as he moved closer, hands out in an offensive stance. You said you’d kill him the next time you met. You intended on keeping your word.
Your hands flew out in anger, casting golden bursts of energy his way. He didn’t waver. Your hits weren’t slowing him down one bit. He moved at you more swiftly. Never again. You reeled your hands back and sent out a large wave his way.
Bucky hit the floor with a thump as he approached you. “Y/N, it’s me,” he tried to ration. There was a film over your eyes. They looked foggy, like an unclean fish bowl. He got back on his feet and tried to approach you more slowly. “C’mon, whatever is happening, I know you’re stronger than.”
The Winter Soldier refused to stop. You decided on a more forceful tactic, lurching forward and connecting your hand with his stubbled face. A shock of gold rippled over his face. No reaction, just the dead stare of a killer.
Bucky let out a deep scream of agony. It felt like half his face was melting off, searing his skin. You were now on top of him, facial features growing more and more feral. It wouldn’t have been difficult to knock you off. You were throwing passionate, but imprecise hits. Like an animal dying, you didn’t seem sure what to do, you were just gifted with the knowledge that you had to do it to survive. “I’m not going to hit you,” he managed to speak between punches. His face's sharp features were now coated in a thick layer of fresh blood. Streaks smeared across his face as you repeatedly threw down your fists upon him.
The soldier wasn’t letting in. He laid there, motionless, staring back at you, taunting you. No matter what you did, how hard you hit, he was unbreakable. You screamed out in anger as your stamina slowed. The exhaustion was quickly catching up, but you couldn’t quit now. Then he spoke your name. After minutes of silence he spoke your name in his gravelly voice. He never spoke before. Yet, somehow the sound seemed familiar.
You had your firsts stalled mid punch. Your breath was ragged as you hovered over him, straddling him so he couldn’t get away. Bucky saw the milkiness slowly fade from your eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered sweetly, “No one is ever going to hurt you again.” His face was soar as he spoke, bottom lip busted from the countless blows you provided. It didn’t matter how long it took, he wasn’t going to lay a finger on you. Never again.
He had spoken. The ruthless murder had spoken to you. You looked down at him in shock, unsure of what was happening. No one is ever going to hurt you again. The words reverbed through your mind. Though you stood still, he made no advances to attack you. He just layed, staring back at you, searching for something. The face grew more familiar. You had seen those eyes before, but not like this. A flash of his lips smiling. The feel of his hand lovingly cupping around yours. The warmth his body provided next to yours on the piano bench. The coffee, the arguing, the forgiveness. Floodgates broke and it all came back. The snow dissipated, you could now see you were still in a basement. There was no more Winter Soldier; there hadn’t been in a long time.
“Bucky?” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. You knew what you had to do. You had to act hastily, Bernie hadn’t realized you had broken from your trance yet. With every last fiber of your strength you let out one last spell. It filled the entire damp basement with a glowing golden light, entrapping Bernie’s body with a bright shine.
The air from Bernadette’s lung was drawn out ferociously. You had used the last bit of power you had in you to literally take her breath away. It was awful and if you could have ended it another way, you would have. Your body didn’t have the strength though. A simple spell, yet quite useful in dire situations. You collapsed onto Bucky. There was nothing left inside of you. He cradled you against his chest as he watched the scene unfold.
Bernadette reached for her throat, face turning red as she lost air rapidly. Her body buckled as she fell onto her knees and finally her side. She attempted to speak, to get a final word in, but she was unable to manage. Now, she lay there, just feet in front of you, still. With no living magic to mask her age, her body rapidly shifted into her older version and slowly into dust. Bucky held your face closer to his chest as this all occurred, hoping to shield you from the grim sight.
She was gone. Your mission was complete.
You forced your eyelids open, looking up at a very bloodied Bucky. Your hand felt its way to one of his and gave it a weak squeeze. How ironic. You almost died because of him once, and there you were tucked in his arms, about to die again because you tried to save him. He could feel your heartbeat as he pulled you in closer.
“Hey, you have to stay with me. Okay? It’s going to be alright,” he murmured softly into your hair, one arm around you, one hand firmly grasping onto yours. You didn’t deserve to go like this. You couldn’t go like this.
“Bucky,” you tried to say, but a cough quickly interjected.
“Shhhh, shhh. Don’t push yourself. Someone’s on their way right now.” The damage done would require more than your average doctor. You both knew by the time useful help arrived, it might be too late.
“You owe me a dance.”
“Once we get you all fixed up, doll. First thing.”
“Promise me, Bucky.”
“What song were you thinking of?”
“With the right partner, they’ll all be perfect.” Bucky held you tighter, scared you’d slowly start slipping through his fingers if he let go. He hoped the room was dim enough to hide the hot, salty tears streaking down his face. This is no way to go. His thumb slowly rubbed against your hand as he gently rocked back and forth.
Bucky’s super soldier serum offered a lot of advantages. Fast physical healing, super strength, everything it took to be the ideal human. His body was atune, too aware of everything happening around him, though. That was the only drawback. He had grown used to overhearing private conversations. He was accustomed to smelling burnt food from two floors away. He learned to ignore these things.
But this time, he wanted to feel it all
He had never held a person near enough to feel their heart.
He had to strain his body to sense it.
But it was there and it was beautiful.
It was the sound of hands intertwined, the smell of home, the touch of a piano playing, the sight of feeling worthy, the taste of love.
The feeling was heaven.
Poet’s envied what he could sense, musicians could only dream of the profoundness the feeling offered, this was the playwright’s perfect romance. All from one simple sound.
“You still with me?”
The incredible thing about humanity is its ability to fade. Whether from sight or from memory, life can be seen as a large cycle of disappearing. Feelings also possess this wondrous gift of fading away. Within that, though, there lies forgiveness. Anger had dwindled from your soul. Your eyes no longer averted his. When your arms beckoned for him, he always came.
The recovery was a long process. Wanda had to help fix you from within. She was a gifted witch, but not a miracle worker. Patiently, for weeks, she worked to piece back together the torn pieces of your mind and body. Bucky was inseparable from you the whole time. Though unconscious for the first two weeks, he still remained by your side. He read books he thought you’d enjoy, played music he knew you’d appreciate.
It’s not like a normal coma, Bucky. She can’t hear you.
That’s okay. She will when she wants to. She can handle this.
Now there you were, pressed to Bucky’s chest. His arms wrapped gingerly around your still recuperating body as you two swayed in sync. Once you were able to walk, you insisted he kept his promise to dance with you. He didn’t hesitate to accept. Whatever he could do to see you smile again was worth it to him. Your feet stumbled over him on occasion, but he didn’t mind. You and Bucky. Bucky and you. He felt like he was dancing on sunshine as he took in every piece of your being.
“I don’t think I’m doing this right,” you laughed lightly, bumping into his foot once more.
“You’re perfect. Always.” He moved back a little so he could admire your tender stare as he spoke. “Hey, you ever find that dance partner you were talking about?”
“Yeah,” you sighed happily, “I think I finally found the right partner.”
A/N: Holy fuck this took so long to make. I hope you all enjoyed! All likes, reblogs, comments, and constructive criticisms are deeply appreciated. I’m super proud as this is the first long piece I’ve written and I’ve revised it like 100 times. Requests are open as well :) DM if you want to be added to the taglist or just want a friend. <3
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Loki: Do you have any crush Y/N?
Y/N: *blushing* Well there's this handsome sorcerer…
Y/N: Particularly clever
Loki: The angry doctor?
Y/N: Very talented for lying
Y/N: With murder charges against him
Y/N: Talks like he's from another age
Loki: Captain almighty?
Y/N: From space…
Loki: My brother???
Y/N: Seriously! Loki! Are you kidding me?
Loki: nick fury?????
Y/N: *annoyedly* Oh you dumb bitch…yeah its fury…
Loki: Bu-but I thought you like me….
Y/N: I’M GONNA KILL YOU LOKI…
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so… that sure was something hm
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Relentless Relief (NSFW)
“Did the scream make you feel better?”
Warnings: smut, mentions of mental health issues
Additional NSFW warnings: sub-space, overstimulation, forced orgasms, mentions of spanking
You might have pushed it a little too far this time. Loki was angry. Actually… he was furious—and it was your fault. He had warned you. Loki had warned you not to put yourself down, not to talk about yourself in a frenzy full of self-hatred and pessimism and yet, you had stood before the full-body mirror in your room today, cursing at yourself. It was one of those days. Your PMS was kicking in, sending a whirlwind of emotions through your body and the fatigue that came with it made you both depressed and angry for not being productive enough.
When you had vented to the God of Mischief about how disappointed you had been in yourself as of late, what you had expected was for him to bend you over his knee and spank you until your face was wet with tears and your pussy was wet with your arousal.
Loki had figured out all too soon that you were rather… kinky and willing to experiment. Playful threats of him spanking you for teasing, testing or provoking him quickly turned into very real sessions in which he gave the title “God of Mischief” a whole new meaning.
But this time… this time Loki had had a more… creative punishment in store for you.
Breathing heavily, you thrashed on the mattress, the sheets soaked with your sweat and your juices. Your cunt was throbbing and you had lost count over the number of orgasms the God of Mischief had already elicited from you.
Your body was begging to be filled, for him to sink his rock-hard member into your warmth and fuck you hard with all the mischievous energy he possessed—but despite his own very prominent erection, Loki held back. This wasn’t about him—he enjoyed it way more to make it about you.
It wouldn’t be the first time he made you grasp the true meaning of multiple orgasms. Today, however, was different. You were naked, tied to the bed by your wrists and ankles with green silk ropes he had conjured up from thin air, immobilising you to the point all you could do was raise your hips and toss and turn all the while he worked your clit with both his magic and his skilled fingers, playing your most private parts like an instrument. Loki was relentless, the persistent buzzing on your sensitive bundle of nerves never ebbing away even once he had thrown you into what you believed must have been one of the strongest orgasms you had ever had. He kept going. He kept going until you tripped into climax another time and then another time and another time, without ever giving your body a break from the consistent pleasure filling each and every cell in your body.
It was too much, the blissful sensations turning into sweet pain, the overstimulation taking all control from you, your limbs shaking uncontrollably and your head turning from left to right and right to left, your breathing irregular and almost concerningly fast.
“L-Loki… p-please… no more… no more, please…” Your desperate pleas were swallowed by your own body when you tensed up again, yet another painful orgasm forced from you. Your clit felt numb and at the very same time, you were more alive than you had ever been before.
But once the waves of pleasure had subsided, Loki moved his fingers ever so slightly, his magic working the tortured nub even harder. You were lost. Lost in his punishment, lost in his attention for you and lost in how much he, a god, desired you. How much fun he had playing with you, even once the pleasure turned into sexual torture you had never known you wanted, no, needed to experience.
“I swear to God, when I get out of these ropes…” You trailed off.
“Then what? You dare threaten your king?” You swallowed, walls clenching upon his dominant voice.
Your mind was blank. A snow-white canvas for Loki to paint and it was then you realised that this very creative punishment of his had long turned into something far more significant. Tears were rolling down your cheeks, your lower lip trembling. Too much…
You thrashed around once more, begging him to stop and when he only responded with his fingers fondling your clit to lure another orgasm out of you, intensifying the overstimulation even further, you screamed. Loudly. Like a banshee ready to break free from the depths of darkness, all of your sorrows, pain and worries leaving your body like toxic fog being sucked right out of you.
The smirk growing on Loki’s lips was almost gentle and yet, you did not miss the downright mocking sparkle in his blue eyes. His dark eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “Did the scream make you feel better?”
Panting, you glared at him, bathing in the relief for a moment. “Yeah… yeah, it did actually.” You responded weakly, making him chuckle. You could only imagine what that looked like, for your eyes fell shut, your mind too overwhelmed with the emotions swirling through your body like a tornado.
“A-are you… g-going to… s-stop n-now?” You whispered, lost in sub-space which he did not fail to notice.
Loki’s smirk turned into a mischievous grin. “Oh no, little mortal. You can take a few more…”
A moan escaped your lips, mixing with another scream but this time, the God of Mischief sank two of his long digits into your slick warmth—a promise that they would soon be replaced with something much longer and thicker.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, come leave a heart! ♥
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summary: _____ is the newest – and youngest – addition to the Avengers team. Rich, important parents, incredibly smart. Trained in gymnastics, martial arts, acrobatics and more. Got a face that she knows will get her anything she wants; the long lashes, the doe eyes and lips that she just has to pout to get her way.
She’s a brat – and everyone knows that Steve thinks so because he’s constantly reprimanding her as if she’s the toddler she throws tantrums like.
pairing: steve rogers x reader
genre: fluff, kinda gets steamy but not nsfw
word count: 5.4k
warnings: AGE GAP, reader is 19 – don’t like don’t read my dudes, too many italics and unplanned writing
note: um?? don’t ask me where this came from bc truth be told i opened my bin one day and it was just sitting there :/ ALSO i just realised i didnt have submissions and asks open omfg dumb bitch material much
next part: and again
“Yeah,” the voice on the couch across from him says. He sees a perfectly manicured foot peek out from the bottom of the pile of fuzzy blankets, sees the glinting of a glittery phone case at the other end. “2,900 dollars.”
His jaw ticks.
_____ is the newest – and youngest – addition to the Avengers team. Rich, important parents, incredibly smart. Trained in gymnastics, martial arts, acrobatics and more. Got a face that she knows will get her anything she wants; the long lashes, the doe eyes and lips that she just has to pout to get her way.
She’s a brat – and everyone knows that Steve thinks so because he’s constantly reprimanding her as if she’s the toddler she throws tantrums like.
You’re stretched out over one couch in the common area while Bucky, Sam and Steve squash together on another. Your phone is pressed to your ear, those acrylic nails that are far too long to be practical twirling a lock of hair between your fingers.
“I dunno,” you continue, and you stretch so far that the blankets peel off your abdomen and your shirt rides up just the tiniest bit.
Steve’s jaw ticks again. Harder. He tries to focus on whatever movie Sam’s popped in – something from the 90s with much too much blood to be realistic, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless.
“It’s for a mission or somethin’,” you mutter, rolling onto your stomach then. “It’s Zuhair Murad, I think–”
“_____,” Steve says sharply. “Discussing confidential material with unqualified personnel and over an unsecured phone is a bad decision. Even for you.”
Your eyebrows knit together – and then, dragging annoyed eyes away from the centurion, you exhale through your nose and rolls your eyes so vigorously he fears that you will actually hurt yourself.
“Right,” you mutter, and he wouldn’t have heard if not for the serum flowing through his veins, “Because the entire mission will flop if I tell my friend what my dress looks like.”
You roll over on your side and go on to talking about something else. Sam elbows his ribs and shakes his head in that way that means let it go, man, and Bucky simply huffs a laugh and shakes his head.
Steve clenches his jaw and focuses back on the movie.
The mission you were so stupidly babbling about is one of those hidden-in-plain-sight types. The team will attend the opening night of a new exhibition in the Louvre – the type of opening night that calls for a $2,900 dress, apparently.
While examining the exhibition, they’d also be able to gather intelligence on an upcoming arms trade happening just somewhere west of Paris on the coast. It was your classic run-of-the-mill aristocrat with too much money and too many fingers in too many pies. Steve didn’t think it’d be particularly trying–
A giggle sounds in his comms, and his hand tightens around his crystalline glass of champagne.
Steve didn’t think it’d be particularly trying, and then you waltzed down onto the quinjet in this gauzy, embroidered dress that shone in shades of gold and peachy pink. ($2,900 well-spent, perhaps, but he won’t admit that.)
“What are you doing, _____?” he mutters through grit teeth, nodding diplomatically and smiling at passing patrons of the museum. The anger in his voice doesn’t go unheard. “The target is Marchand, not–” He makes a vague noise of irritated displeasure– “Whoever that is.”
You don’t pause in your flirtatious French – he didn’t even know you could speak French, though he knows enough from his WW2 days to know that you’re laying the charm on heavy, and the golden-haired, blue eyed boy who looks like a younger version of himself is eating it up. Of course he would; a beautiful, interesting girl waltzes up to him, he’s not gonna turn up his nose.
Steve inhales deeply, spotting Natasha across the room. At least she’s doing her job, he thinks, and turns his head to comb through the crowd with his eyes again. He’d have to have a talk with you afterwards – goofing off on a mission isn’t the standard that needed to be upheld for an Avenger.
Marchand is a short, tubby man with greasy brown hair and blue eyes. He smiles sleazily at the women present, lingers too long on their chests, shakes hands with the men and carries the same glass of champagne but acts slightly tipsy so as to not arouse suspicion. Steve has his eyes on him – as does Natasha, Sam, Bucky, Tony, Bruce, literally everyone except you, who is now, by the sound of it, talking about the boy’s vacation home in Rouen.
“He’s making a break for the bathroom,” Bucky murmurs. “No doubt he’ll use the employee stairs to get to the upper levels.”
“Someone’s tailing him,” Natasha notes. She looks over to Steve across the room and nods towards the slim, model-like woman that follows after him. “Possible buyer?”
“Maybe,” Steve says. “I’ll follow behind.”
He downs the rest of his champagne that really wasn’t doing anything for him in the first place and does up the button of his suit jacket. The route Marchand takes is crowded and loud with chatter, but it was also the most secure when you took into consideration the amount of alcohol people were drinking. Nobody would take notice of or remember Marchand coming through, and Steve is once again struck with just how smart this weedy little man is.
The main exhibition breaks off into multiple darkened hallways, and Steve sees Marchand slip into the nearest one. The mysterious woman follows, and Steve is just about to do the same when he catches sight of you again, just a few metres in front of him.
“Come with me outside?” Pierre is saying – or, at least, he thinks he’s saying. “We can have fun, beautiful.”
Steve won’t tell anyone in that moment what went through his head – the sickly anger the welled up in his chest or the slimy feeling of jealousy that followed when he saw how you hung onto the boy’s arm. It was wrong to feel the way he did in those few seconds, and so he pushed it down and told himself that what he was about to do was for the sake of the mission – the only thing that seemed appropriate in that moment–
“Steve!” You exclaim angrily as he grabs your arm and yanks you off of Pierre. You’re given no warning before he takes off walking, face set hard and stoic. Pierre watches in confusion as you disappear in the crowd. “What – are – you – doing?”
He doesn’t let go of you until he’s pulled you up the employee stairs and ascended to the next floor, into another dark hallway covered in No Entry signs and warnings. You stumble as he releases your arm, though he only continues to walk in the direction Marchand headed, that same inexplainable fury clawing at his throat.
“Think you could do your job now?” He asks gruffly. The heavy oak doors Marchand had snuck into lay just ahead. He has no doubt that they’re soundproof, but he makes an effort to keep his voice level all the same.
“Our job is to keep tabs on Marchand,” he snaps, suddenly turning on his heel. You come to a screeching halt, chest heaving with annoyance and irritation and anger very visibly painted on your face and Steve knows he’s brought it upon himself but his own anger swells in response anyway. “And while you were cozying up to Frenchie he slipped away with a potential buyer–”
“She’s not a potential buyer,” you interrupt, puffing your chest out and folding your arms and God, had you always been standing this close? He can see that you’re challenging his leadership, see that you’re challenging his authority. It’s all in the clenching of your jaw and the way your left eyebrow raises, the way you raise your chin up towards him despite the fact that you barely reach over his shoulders.
“Yeah? Then what is she?” He can hear Tony scoffing in his ear, Bucky telling him to let it go, pal, Natasha sighing. Sam groans and says this isn’t the time, asshole, but Steve simply reaches a hand up and turns off his comms. In the back of his head there’s a voice screaming at him – what are you doing? This is a mission, Steve, don’t jeopardise the fucking mission but he’s too far gone–
You grit your teeth and follow his lead, switching off the tiny comm hidden behind a pair of Cartier earrings, more out of sheer pettiness than anything else. “She’s a prostitute, Captain Idiot.”
“A prostitute?” He echoes, unimpressed.
“A prostitute.” You step closer, jabbing one glittery acrylic nail against his chest. “You may be a 100 year old supersoldier but you didn’t grow up around this shit–”
He bristles at your crude language, nostrils flaring, but you don’t seem to notice or care–
“I guess you didn’t notice the message on the bottom of her shoes,” you continue, visibly seething as you begin to work yourself up, “Or the price list written on her napkin–!”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t pose a threat–!”
You surge forward, nose just inches from his–
“You go in there, Captain,” you say lowly, “and I can promise you the only thing you’ll find is her on her knees with her lips wrapped around his– agh!”
Faster than you can process, you’ve been hastily pinned against the wall, the Captain’s forearm against your neck and his other arm pressing your abdomen to his. His breathing is heavy and you realise with a start that you’ve never seen him look so… so… animalistic. Jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed, yes, but the look in his eye actually has the tiniest bit of fear striking your chest.
“Watch your mouth,” he grunts, chest heaving.
Through your uncertainty, you manage to raise a brow and smirk – and maybe your eyes drift down to his lips for a millisecond or two…
In the moments after you spoke you have never been quite so aware of your inability to gauge situations appropriately or shut up – because Steve, for a moment, looks like he would rather kill you than deal with you, and you can’t help but smile because you know you get on his nerves and you like getting on his nerves–
He surges forward, and you brace yourself for a round of shouts or even a hit against the wall next to your face–
And then he’s – well, he’s kissing you. Steve Rogers, Captain America, centurion and supersoldier, America’s Golden Man and Moral Icon is kissing you like his life depends on it – his forearm foregoing its place against your throat so he can grasp your jaw between strong fingers. It occurs to you that he is – well, as shameful as it is to take note of – a really good kisser. The kind you only think exist in movies and erotica; but no, here he is, and you can feel his chest heaving as his tongue drifts over your lips and into your mouth. He’s so large and imposing, towering over you, and you’ve never felt quite so… small, and in the best way.
He stops, then. Breathes hot and heavy against you, eyebrows still furrowed and jaw still clenched but something more within those stupid sapphire eyes. Vulnerability? Fear?
You realise that he’s giving you a chance to back away. To push him off.
You also realise that you don’t care, and pull him back towards you. His enthusiasm resumes tenfold.
Hesitantly, your hand snakes up to rest on his broad shoulder, and you won’t admit it but when Steve’s arm scoops under your butt and hikes you up to rest against him you actually whimper into his mouth, tightening your hold around his shoulders and crossing your ankles behind him – and when he breaks away to kiss your cheeks and your nose you can’t help but seize the moment and knot your fingers in his perfect blond hair (hair that on many occasions you’d wanted to muss up and dishevel). You grow impatient quickly, though, and pull him back towards your lips.
It seems like hours pass before there’s a disturbance a few meters to your right, and you break away just in time to spot Marchand stumbling out of the closed off exhibit, obviously disheveled, and the woman behind him sporting a classic case of smeared red lipstick. They jump as they spot you and Steve in such a compromising position – legs around his waist and lipgloss smeared to your nose, probably. Steve’s hand tightens at your hip and you jump into action, unravelling yourself from around him and giggling in what you hoped would be perceived as drunken stupor.
“Sorry, good sir,” you say, grinning bashfully and applying the French accent thickly. “We did not know there was anyone around–!”
“It’s quite alright,” Marchand says, coughing, and he hurries passed with a nod in Steve’s direction. His mysterious red-lipped mistress follows, albeit much more confidently. You watch them disappear around the corner, and suddenly the air feels a lot heavier. A lot darker. You’re suddenly struck with the realisation that you – and Steve – you… you…
“Mission’s over,” Steve says gruffly from behind you. And then he storms passed you, and as he leaves you in that beautifully desolate hallway all he can think about is how you look like you’ve been made to stand among art.
The ride on the quinjet is painfully slow. Steve hunkers onto the ship and practically locks himself in the flight deck with Tony – who must blame Steve’s generally displeased aura on his little spat with you because when the quinjet lands he claps his shoulder and says, “Hey, pal, give her a break, okay?”
Steve grunts a vague agreement and is the first to the showers, hoping that a shower of either boiling hot or freezing cold water will distract him from his intrusive thoughts.
Because all he can think about is how your perfume smelled and how your dress looked hiked up around his waist – how you tugged on his hair and how your lips tasted like butterscotch, and the way the embroidery sparkled against your skin and God, when you whimpered into his mouth–
He’s a hypocrite. Simply put, right? He’s a hypocrite. He boasts 100 years of service to his country, service to his morals and ideals and everything else that came with being Captain America. He’s the epitome of good-doing and justice, and yet here he stands, lusting and pining over a fucking 19 year old like the creeps he locks up for a living.
Steve releases a shaky breath and runs a hand over his wet face. He is well and truly fucked.
“Well,” Tony says, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table, “We didn’t exactly get… anything.”
The team gather in meeting room 3 an hour and a half after they land. Most have showered and eaten something, all except for Tony who’s still in his slacks and button up and looks like the last time he ate was the waffles Scott made two days ago.
“The woman we thought to be a potential buyer turned out to be a prostitute by the name of Chloé Lambert,” Tony continued, pulling up a picture of the woman who had followed Manchard. “Thanks to _____ we were able to avoid any unnecessary complications, though the mission was most certainly a bust.”
“Not quite,” you spoke up. Steve’s eyes immediately fell to the table, his fists clenching in an unwilling response.
Tony gestures to the computer behind him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Uh, be my guest, kid.”
You stand – and no, Steve doesn’t take notice of your velvet lounge set or your cute fuzzy Pusheen socks or – fuck–
You take Tony’s place as he sits among the rest of the team, and after typing for a few seconds you pull up a picture of… the boy you had been talking to?
“This,” you say, standing aside, “Is Pierre Manchard. Manchard’s son, obviously. Before the mission I did some of my own research and found that he was on the guest list. Decided to seek him out at the opening and see if I could do some snooping.”
Something slimy and dark and all-consuming like crude oil spill slips over his shoulders and down his chest. The way he had acted was juvenile and – and stupid. He had let his emotions compromise a mission in a way that it never had before, and for a reason that was completely unsolicited.
“I buttered him up a bit–”
Steve inhales sharply at the memory–
“Yeah,” Sam says, leaning back in his chair, “We heard.”
“Ha ha,” you say, glaring back at him. “Well, turns out he has a vacation house in Rouen, and then he started blabbing about how his dad has business in the docks. And, well, turns out there’s a undocumented slot in the docks’ timetable a few weeks from now–”
“How do you know that?” Scott asks, looking around the table. “How does she know that?”
“I have my ways,” you say shortly. “Anyway, I don’t know how accurate this may be, but it’s a place to start.”
Tony whistles lowly in his throat. “Damn, okay. Good work, kid.”
“So you decided to go off on your own without informing the team?” Steve asks, tapping the table rhythmically in an effort to stem off the inexplicable fury welling up inside him, burning from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. “What if he knew what you were doing, huh?”
“Steve, c’mon–” Bucky starts.
“No,” Steve starts, leaning forward. “First and foremost, we’re a team. Every choice we make has to be unanimous. There’s no place here for running off and doing your own thing–!”
The look in your eyes can only be described as venomous.
“Oh, because you know so much about that,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes and leaning forward so that you’re eye level with him across the table. (Steve ignores the leap in his chest when you do.) “Hey, weren’t you, like, a war criminal two years ago–?”
“Stop!” Natasha asserts. “Jesus Christ. Steve, you’re acting like a fucking child. _____… you’re almost a fucking child, but if you want a place on this team you’ll at least have to tell us about your plans next time.”
“…Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, shooting daggers at him. You fold your arms, looking like you could say something else – something much more hurtful, more acidic, more incriminating – but you settle for huffing once more and turning on your heel, cursing underneath your breath as the automated doors open and close behind you.
“Hey, c’mon,” Tony calls. “Kid, come back.”
But you’re gone, and Steve can only ignore the disgruntled look Sam shoots him and the way Bucky shakes his head in favour of continuing on with the mission report. He’d beat himself up later for it. He had already been planning to, anyway.
“Right, that’s it.”
It is a month after what Steve has started to refer to as The Incident, and Bucky storms into the gym like a man on a mission. There’s a terrifying sort of determination alight in his eyes, and Steve would be glad to see it if he wasn’t on the receiving end. Bucky grabs the punching bag Steve had been using with his metal arm, face clear of strain even as Steve takes one last punch at it.
“What?” Steve says shortly, avoiding his eyes and fiddling with the bandages around his bloody knuckles as if he didn’t know what his 100-year best friend was talking about – and he did, oh, he did.
Steve Rogers had been brooding around the compound for 31 days straight, and nobody knew why except maybe the bratty 19 year old who was the source of his problems. Said problems were (admittedly) mostly his fault, and were no closer to being solved because he’d been avoiding _____ during the entire month.
The truth is that Steve is well aware of how wrong it was for him to feel the way he did – how wrong it was to imagine you cuddled up beside him or giggling against his skin or playing with his hair the way you had when you were pinned up against the wall in the Louvre–
He takes to spending as much time in the gym as possible. Running, boxing, lifting, stretching, sparring. Scott had joked that Steve would be able to power the entire Compound with the amount of time he spent on a treadmill, but the super-soldier would rather run until his legs gave out instead of possibly making his relationship with you even worse – and he knows your schedule well enough to know that you don’t make it to the gym until 3 or 4PM, so Steve went early in the morning or late at night.
It is 11PM now. Bucky looks – is – pissed off. Steve guesses it’s not from the fact that he’s used most of the punching bags up over the course of four weeks and three days and more because of his generally negative disposition that’s been unwillingly flipping the team on its axis.
“Get over here,” Bucky asserts, arms folded and back pin straight. The hard look in his eyes has Steve restraining his questions, begrudgingly stepping away from the punching bag and picking up his discarded roll of bandages as he went to stand before him.
“What?” Steve asks, eyes on his bandaged knuckles, spotted with ruby and vermillion. “’m busy.”
“Yeah,” Bucky scoffs, ripping the roll of bandages from his hands. “I’m sure you are. Look at me, punk–”
“Whaddya want, Buck?” Steve snaps, and he doesn’t mean to but as soon as he rolls his shoulders back and tilts his jaw up he knows he’s revealed how irritated he really is. Bucky is painfully aware of Steve’s tells, which is quite literally the worst when Steve is trying to tell himself that he isn’t pissed off to hell and back.
“I want you to stop moping around like a hormonal teenager–”
Steve bristles at his wording–
“–and tell me what’s wrong! It’s not good for the team and it’s not good for you.”
Steve’s fists clench. The sting of broken skin doesn’t faze him much – amidst broken ribs and shattered bones and 5-inch knife wounds he welcomes something as small as it. Rather, it grounds him; gives him something to focus on as he turns on his heel, unable to face his friend of 100 years. Unable to see the disappointment, the disgust, that would surely cloud his face.
“I made a mistake, Buck,” Steve says quietly, jaw clenching.
Bucky stays silent as Steve rifles needlessly through his gym bag, before collapsing on the bench next to it with a deep exhale. He presses his hands to his face, wiping his hands over his skin and up into his straw-coloured locks.
“Made a mistake,” he repeats.
“This got somethin’ to do with the kid?” Bucky asks cautiously. Steve stiffens – he’s on the right track, then. “I… know you haven’t been talking since Paris. She’s not angry at you for shouting at her, pal – I actually think she might be upset–”
“I kissed her, Bucky.”
Bucky’s words die in his throat, fizzing out like some firecracker that was lit with the promise of comfort and awe and instead only served to worsen spirits. Steve clenches his jaw, wound tight and stiff, tension bubbling and growing beneath his skin.
“Did she – did you–?”
“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” Steve says, appalled at what he was insinuating. “I didn’t – I mean, I–”
“So you did force yourself on her–?”
“No!” Steve reiterates. “I – we were goin’ after Marchand and she started pissing me off – got real mouthy and disrespectful – and I got angry and then she was pinned up against the wall… and then she was looking at my lips and–”
“For God’s sake, Stevie–”
“I gave her a chance to leave,” Steve says, once again tugging at his own hair in exasperation. “Gave her a chance to stop. She pulled me back to her.”
“And then what?” Bucky snorts, folding his arms. “You lock yourself in the flight deck during the flight home and then give her shit for doin’ her job?”
Bucky sighs in the way that he’s sighed since they were kids – the way he sighed when Steve did something particularly idiotic – like taking on guys 3 times his size, or faking his enlistment forms for the 4th time.
“… I got jealous, Buck.”
“… I know, pal.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
Bucky steps forward, grabs his shoulders like he uses to do when Steve was below 6 feet.
“You gonna take care of her?” He asks. “For real, I mean?”
“Don’t wanna do anything else,” Steve replies. “She deserves it.”
“Go get your girl, then, doofus.”
Steve’s only been in your room once before, and it had been to scold you.
(He’s never been quite so aware of how unsavoury your relationship was.)
He remembers the colour scheme – pink and gold, suitably princessy for someone as princessy as you are. There was a glitter lamp and a bookshelf with rows and rows of books upon it; a series of photos of the team pinned to the wall. He never saw pictures of your parents or close friends, bar that one friend of yours that you were always chattering away over the phone to. It was curious, but he never pressed.
He stands outside your door, more nervous than he had been when he was being strapped into the machine that made him a supersoldier, more nervous than he had been when the Chitauri were flooding through a portal above New York. Your name is on the door in cheap pink rhinestones, and the hallway is silent. It’s like something out of his nightmares (because yes, he does dream about you, and no, he won’t divulge anymore on the matter.).
He clears his throat, knocks once, twice, three times.
There’s a shuffling inside, and then– “Come in!”
He steels his nerves and pushes the door open, eyes flickering back and forth until they find you. Your back is to the door, and there’s a movie playing on the TV in front of you. You don’t even move as he closes the door behind him and continues into the apartment-sized bedroom, seemingly focused on the movie you were watching (Mean Girls, he remembers, because Sam, Natasha, Tony and Scott all know the script off by heart) – that’s not what makes Steve stop, though – it’s the tiny, tiny, barely noticeable sniffle that follows. His heart sinks.
And just like that, you whip around. He can tell you’re taken aback, even with all the training you’ve had to school your features. You put on that unimpressed face that you make when someone annoys you but he can tell it has no substance – because God, your eyes are bloodshot, lashes wet and clinging together. You’ve been crying, that much is obvious – if not from your appearance, then from your voice, still thick with tears. You stand instinctively from your bed as he nears, folding your arms.
“Steve,” you say. “Come to lecture me again–?”
“–because I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a lot of people to piss off and this could really cause a rift in my time management–”
“_____,” he says firmly.
“What?” You snap, chest heaving, and he realises with a start that it’s because your eyes have gotten watery again and you’re trying your hardest to control it. “What do you want, Steve?”
He looks down momentarily. “I want to… fix whatever this is between us.”
“‘Fix this’,” you scoff. “Of course, ever the do-gooder.”
“This isn’t the time for sass, _____. Look, I messed up. I want to make things right–”
“Oh, did you?” You snap. “You wanna know what’s really messed up, Steve? I’ve had this stupid, juvenile fear since I was a kid, right? And I’m not gonna get too into it because Tony’s already on my ass about seeing a therapist but let me set the scene for you:
“I came here from a family where my parents used to cane me for forgetting French grammar, or starve me for missing my target during archery. This stupid team is my new family whether I want them to be or not – and I… I act the way I do because I want them to think that I’m strong. That way they’ll want me on the team. And I get that I’m annoying, really, I do, you don’t need to tell me because I’m all too aware. But for some reason they haven’t thrown me out yet, so I guess that counts for something, huh?”
You laugh but there’s no humour in it.
"And then I saw you. God, you’ve hated my guts since I started and I played right into it. Don’t know why, honestly, because you treat me like a toddler with attitude issues and I hate being patronised but there’s something that... God, I don’t know. Maybe I’m a masochist, because I started to like you. A schoolgirl crush, I guess... But when you kissed me I thought I was finally getting somewhere. And then you stormed off and acted like I was the Antichrist because I tried to make you proud during a stupid fucking mission, so I guess that’s my karma.”
There are tears running down your face, but you don’t notice. There are tears running down his face, too. He notices them. He doesn’t wipe them away.
“_____,” he whispers. “_____–”
“–and then after a month,” you say, laughing humorlessly, “You knock on my door and say you want to fix things. And by fix I suppose you mean act like they never happened, right? Not like you’ve just laid bare my fear of abandonment or anything--”
Your words get lost in the rising sobs that had crawled up your throat, making your bottom lip tremble and your fingernails dig crescents into your palms – and he swears to every god (Asgardian or otherwise) that his heart sinks to his stomach.
Steve had come for here one reason – to sort things out. To do it calmly and professionally. Whether it would lead to a mutual agreement to never talk about it again or the exact opposite he didn’t know, but he had been planning to keep his distance, at least until it was solved. In hindsight, he should’ve known that his resolve would crumble from simply being in your presence.
“Oh, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Fuck, c'mere, sweetheart. ’m sorry.’ m sorry.”
The fight is gone from you. You take four steps forward and then you’re in his arms, and it’s as if the stress just rolls off of both of your shoulders. You fit against him like a jigsaw piece, perfectly molded to his torso, and he can’t help but notice that the comforting trek of his hand over your back feels like muscle memory.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “So sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know what to do.”
Your arms tighten around his chest in response. He can hear your shaky breathing and the wet sniffle of your nose each time you inhale. He pets your hair and presses his lips to your forehead, hoping that this is enough, that he’s enough. Because he wants to be enough for you, and if standing in the middle of the room for 20 minutes with your arms around his abdomen and your head against his heart is the way to be that, then he’ll gladly do it.
And he does. When those 20 minutes have passed and your tears have almost completely dried, you lift your head from his chest and stare up at him.
“Steve,” you say wetly, “Please, I… I won’t be able to handle it if you’re just gonna cut me out again–”
“Never,” he says, heart plummeting, “Never again, you hear? I just – I didn’t know how to deal with this. With us. Didn’t want to… force you into anything.”
“Force me?” You echo, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Steve Rogers, if I wanted you to get off of me that night, there were more than 30 ways I could’ve done it.”
“I know, but…”
“And I’m not a child, you know. Most children don’t know five languages and 17 ways to kill a man with a dessert spoon.”
“I know that, sweetheart,” he says, and he cups your face and gives you that stupid, dopey smile that – unbeknownst to him – had your heart doing flips for the passed year. “I just wanna be careful with you.”
And you smile back at him, all flushed and cute and full of life, cheeks still shiny and wet. You point at your TV. “Watch Mean Girls with me?”
(Steve has watched this movie so many times that he almost completely knows every single word, so he spends more time marveling over the fact that you’re laying on his chest, letting him play with your hair, letting him press kisses to your forehead and cheeks and lips.)
((…It’s been 70 years since Steve has felt like this. Let him be sappy.))
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Wearing Your Clothes: Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: Spiderman is caught off guard when he sees Y/N wearing Peter’s clothes... (Reader doesn’t know Peter is Spiderman).
Word Count: 2.8k
Tags/Warnings: slow burn
You gasped and looked over to see Spiderman at your window.
"Creep, much?" You laughed unlatching the window and pushing it open, breathing in the cool night air, "And you know, if you wanted to see me, I have a perfectly functioning front door that you could've used..."
"Front doors are boring," he shooed.
"Front doors aren't three stories high and accessed by a fire escape. If anything besides that is considered boring then I don't know how I could possibly be any more interesting."
"Aw, come on. You're way more interesting."
You smiled, pressing on, "So, what do you want, Spiderspawn?"
"'Spiderspawn?' Damn, what have I done this time?"
"Nothing, I just don't know what else to call you," you replied, sitting on the edge of your window, "You still refuse to tell me your name.”
“Well, calling me Spiderman would work just fine...”
“I feel like ‘Spiderman’ is only used for all those damsels in distress as they swoon into your arms after you’ve saved them,” you put the back of your hand against your forehead and leaned sideways dramatically.
He snorted, “Not a single girl has ever done that.”
“Good, and I won’t be the first,” you chuckled.
He laughed along with you for a moment before his eyes caught a glimpse of your t-shirt.
You frowned, following his line of vision and looking down. You stretched out the fabric so you could see the ‘Han Shot First’ lettering better.
“Oh, yeah,” you looked back up at him “you a Star Wars fan I’m guessing?” You asked him, curiously.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he said, a little distantly. You weren’t sure why he had the weird tone, but you ignored it. He got like that sometimes. There were always times when Spiderman would get quiet or reserved and you had no clue as to what was going on in his head. But you’d gotten used to it by now.
“Well, honestly, I don’t even fully know what this shirt means,” you laughed, “It’s actually not mine.”
“Really?” He asked, though the response was a little hollow.
“Yeah, it belongs to my...” crush “friend. He left it at my house last week.”
“So... you just... wear all your friends shirts normally??”
“Not really, no... his shirts are just... super comfortable, I guess.”
Spiderman cocked his head in confusion. Yeah, you’d have to agree that wasn’t your best lie. But you also knew if you came right out and told him you had a crush on someone, Spiderman would tease you til the end of the century.
You sighed, “I don’t know, I just find them comforting,” you smiled to yourself, “I like falling asleep to the smell of his cologne. It’s just... nice.”
Spiderman didn’t really say anything in response- which was surprising, you’d assumed he would immediately jump down your throat with the “ooooooh does Y/N have a crush?!?” and the “what’s his name? tellmetellmetellme” like most of your other friends would’ve.
“Huh,” he said instead, “That’s... cool.”
You arched an eyebrow, “You don’t think it’s weird?”
“Nope, nope, not at all, whatsoever,” he replied quickly, “I think that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do and that you should definitely continue doing it,” he assured you.
You furrowed your brow, unsure of why he was being so odd today, “Well... alright then. Thanks for the... approval?” You chuckled.
He gave a forced chuckle in response.
“Alright, well, I do have homework, so I can’t stay out all night with you,” you sighed, climbing back into your room, “I’ll catch you later, though?”
“Definitely,” he smiled.
You smiled back, giving him a small wave as he climbed toward the edge, shot a web, and jumped away into the night.
Oh!" You exclaimed, stopping Peter before he walked out the door. You grabbed the Star Wars shirt that was sitting on top of your dresser, "I just remembered! You forgot this here a couple weeks ago."
Peter gave it a bizarre smile before looking back up at you, "Thanks! I totally forgot about it..."
"Yeah, no problem! I was just doing laundry the other day and caught that in the mix. Figured you might want it back." More like I’d worn it to bed every night until it had completely lost the smell... "It's clean from being in my laundry, but be warned, it probably smells like me now so you might want to wash it again." Again, you had washed it, but considering the amount of times you’d worn it and how it’s been staying in your room for a couple weeks, it very much smells like your perfume now.
"Thanks so much," he grinned anyway.
"Yeah, no problem. See you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow," he smiled back, in that weird way he'd been smiling recently. Like he knew something you didn't.
You closed the door, thinking.
Maybe he was going to surprise you with some gift. Yeah, that must be it. Your birthday was in the next month.
Ooh, him and Ned were probably coming up with a really great present...
You smiled, before sighing and heading back to your room.
You cleaned up a few of the snack wrappers the two of you had left during your studying, before your eye caught a blue sweater.
"You're kidding," You said to yourself, your mouth twisting upward into a massive grin.
You knelt down next to the sweater and held it up in front of you.
Yup. Peter's signature blue sweater.
You bit your lip to hold back your excitement as you slipped your own sweatshirt off and slid on his.
You nuzzled your nose deep into the fabric and smelled. God. How the hell did Peter smell so GOOD?
You turned to the mirror on your wall to get a look. You smiled at how big the sweater was on you.
You ran a hand through your hair moving your head around to look at different angles.
If you may say so yourself, you looked adorable.
If only Peter and you were dating, and you could steal his clothes all the time.
You spun around and beamed as you saw Spiderman waiting outside your window.
“Perfect timing,” you told him, unlatching and opening the window.
“Timing is my specialty.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Though, posing in a mirror might be yours,” he replied, grinning.
Your cheeks burned, “You saw that?”
He chuckled, “Don’t be embarrassed, it was... cute.”
“Thanks,” you laughed.
“Is the sweater new or something?”
“Um... you could say that...”
“It’s from that guy again, isn’t it?”
“Oh, shut up,” you knocked his shoulder playfully, attempting to hide your embarrassment.
Police sirens interrupted you from your conversation and you both turned to see them rushing down the street in the distance.
“And that’s my cue,” he frowned.
“I’ll see ya later, Spidey.”
“Later,” he smiled back.
You gave him a small wave before he jumped out of sight.
“Hey,” Liz greeted, stepping through your doorstep and closing the door behind her, “You ready to go to the game or-” she paused as she caught a look at you, “Oh my god, Y/N, you’re wearing another one of Peter’s shirts again, aren’t you?”
“He leant it to me this time!” You argued, “I had been talking at lunch about how I didn’t own any Mets shirt, and he said he had a few so he gave me one of his jerseys for tonight! Come on, you can’t expect me not to wear any gear to the game! What else am I supposed to do?”
“Gee, maybe tell Peter that you’re head over heels for him so he can lend you his clothes every day and you can be a couple?”
“Ugh, don’t even, Liz. He doesn’t think of me that way.”
“Oh come on, Y/N-”
“No, don’t ‘come on’ me! You, Michelle, and I all lend each other clothes all the time, so you can’t act like this means anything. He’s just helping out a friend, nothing else,” you said, sternly, “Now let’s go, because I promised we’d meet Ned and Peter outside and they’ve already been waiting for like ten minutes.”
Liz sighed but followed you out of your house nonetheless and down the stairs to the street.
“It fits!” Peter beamed at your jersey as you stepped out the door.
You laughed, “Yup, perfectly.”
“Maybe I should give you my clothes more often,” he joked.
You forced a laugh slightly, because you knew he wasn’t being serious despite how much you wanted him to be.
“Or you could just lend me your hat,” You teased instead, slipping the cap off of his head and right onto your own. You smiled up at him from under the bill before skipping away down the street so he couldn’t take it back from you.
(Not that he would’ve wanted to.)
“Does any of your closet belong to you anymore?” Spiderman laughed at you as you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest which displayed a sweatshirt with the Death Star from Star Wars. A sweatshirt that you most certainly didn’t own.
“Oh, shut up.”
“But, really, how can someone’s clothes be so comfortable that they’re all you will only wear?”
You furrowed your brow, “Do you seriously still think that’s why I wear his clothes?”
Spiderman frowned, not sure where this was headed.
“Spidey, I just said that so you’d get off my case. I don’t actually wear them because he uses better detergent or something...”
“Then, why do you wear them?”
You looked at him for a moment. Was it seriously not blaringly obvious?!
“Cuz I like him.”
He furrowed his brow, “Well, you like Liz, and Michelle, and me, but you don’t-”
“No, no, dude,” you laughed, putting a hand on his arm to stop him, “I like him.”
Spiderman didn’t respond for a moment. And then for two moments. Then three.
“What?” he asked suddenly.
“Was that not clear?” You chuckled, “All the rest of my friends can spot my crush from miles away, I’m surprised it took so long for you to catch onto it.”
“That’s, well, that’s-” Spiderman shook his head, attempting to figure out what to say, “That’s great, Y/N. That’s really great. Um, will you excuse me, though? I just remembered I had a thing that I was supposed to be at right now. Uh, I’ll talk to you later though? Yeah?”
“Great, bye!” He zipped off your fire escape and into the night.
You frowned. What the hell??
Why did he always get so freaked out whenever you brought up a boy? He never freaked out when you talked about Liz or Michelle.
Oh shit what if he’s jealous of Peter?
You shooed that thought away. No way. There’s no way freaking Spiderman would just like a regular citizen like you. Nor was there any way Peter Parker would like someone like you either. You were just imagining things.
You nuzzled deeper into Peter’s sweatshirt and climbed back into your room, deciding to just forget about the superhero’s odd actions.
“Oh, wait, Peter,” you called after the boy as he began walking back down the sidewalk to his own apartment. You unzipped the hoodie he had lent you when it started to rain ten minutes ago. “You forgot your hoodie!” you told him, tugging it off of you.
But he only smiled and shrugged at you, “Eh, why don’t you just keep it for the night? It’s all wet anyway, you can put it in the laundry and give it back to me Monday at school.”
You smiled to yourself, “Oh, alright. Sounds like a plan.”
He gave you one more smile before turning around and continuing back home through the rain.
You grinned once he was out of sight and almost bounded up to your bedroom with happiness.
The hoodie had lost some of his scent in the rain, but the smell of rain now reminded you of how you two had run around and played in the rain on your walk home- and that was even better.
You closed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, sliding your hands into your pockets with content.
Your bliss was short lived however, as it was replaced with curiosity when your right hand touched something in the pocket.
You slipped it out, and saw a small yellow paper folded up.
Ah, it was probably one of Peter’s Post-It’s from English class, you thought to yourself as you opened it, that boy needs to learn how to use a trash-
You froze as you looked at the message. You blinked. You shook your head. You flipped it to the backside. No way. This couldn’t be real.
Y/N, will you go out with me?
W h a t. You turned back to the door. Had he seriously...
You looked back down at the message. This couldn’t be happening. Since when did Peter even like you back?!?! Let alone be ready to ask you out!!
You put your hand on the doorknob to go flag Peter down and ask him to explain, but a knocking at your window stopped you.
You bit your lip, not wanting to let Peter go but not wanting to just ignore Spiderman.
You flipped around ready to explain the situation to Spiderman, but instead found Peter, smiling meekly as he gave you a little wave from the fire escape.
It took everything in you not to completely run to the window.
You quickly latched it open and climbed through, “Did you mean it?” You held up the Post-It.
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“Well, I wasn’t really expecting a surprise like this,” you laughed slightly.
“But was it a good surprise?” He asked hesitantly.
You smiled, and put your hand on his cheek, leaning it, “I don’t know yet. You tell me.”
You waited one more moment before leaning forward and closing the distance.
His arms slipped around your waist and pulled you closer against him, and you had to resist making a noise at how wonderful it felt to be this close to him.
Having his clothes was one thing, but having him truly there himself was infinitesimally better.
“Spiderspawn!” You practically screeched as you launched your window open, “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in forever! So much has happened! Look,” you motioned down to the blue sweater and the fluffy socks you’d borrowed from Peter, “I’m wearing his clothes and this time it’s with his knowledge!” You laughed.
“Y/N, I have something to tell you...”
You blinked, all your excitement washing away. Panic rose in your stomach. What if he was about to tell you he liked you? What if your jealousy suspicions had been right? Oh, god, you were finally in a happy relationship with your dream crush and now you might have to turn down your other dream crush? Why was everything always so complicated!
“Sure, go for it,” you said anyway.
“Here, come on out,” he motioned.
You sighed and made your way through the window frame, then sat down next to him, kicking your legs off the edge of the fire escape through the railing.
“There’s something I’ve been hiding from you. I don’t know how to tell it to you, but you need to know.”
"Y/N, I think that-”
“Ihaveaboyfriend!” you blurted, suddenly, unable to wait anymore. You cringed at your lack of subtlety. But you didn’t think you’d be able to listen to him confess any feelings without it becoming a giant mess.
Yet instead of being upset, he laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, and your eyes widened as he reached up and tugged at his mask, “Because it’s me.”
Your jaw dropped as he removed off the top of his suit to reveal all-too-familiar swooping dark hair and dimples.
“Hey, babe,” he gave a weak, unsure smile, awaiting your response.
“Oh my god, Peter!” You suffocated him with a hug, “Are you kidding?! How is that possible! How are you-” you froze and tore away from him with a gasp, “You little shit, you’ve been playing me this whole time! You knew I was wearing your clothes!”
“Guilty?” He smiled smally.
You punched him playfully in the shoulder, “Are you kidding! That’s so- Wait a second, were you purposefully forgetting your clothes at my house this whole time?”
He chuckled, “Well, not the first time. But from then on... perhaps...” He laughed again at your shock, “I’m sorry, you just looked really freaking cute wearing my clothes! Is that so wrong of me to want to see a pretty girl trying on my clothes in her mirror for fun?”
You groaned with embarrassment, “Oh, shit, I forgot you saw that, too.”
“Mhmm,” he grinned smugly, “Best moment ever.”
“I hate you so much.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right, I don’t.”
He smirked at you, “If it makes you feel any better, after you would give me the clothes back, I kept them under my pillow because they smelled like you.”
“Really?” You asked, touched.
“Mhmm,” he smiled lazily.
You giggled, “God, we both really were head over heels, huh?”
“Who said anything about ‘were’?” He replied.
You looked over at him with pure happiness, and closed your eyes as he leaned in and gave you a dizzying kiss- simply one of many to come.
A/N: Eeeeee thanks for reading! Please PLEASE like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed! <3 <3 <3
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Reblog if you love Chris Evans
How could you not
Love this man?
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When you read too much smut
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In Which She’s Jealous Of Herself
Summary: You have been crushing on Bucky Barnes for a while now. And after overhearing something, you conclude that you aren’t the right person for the Winter Soldier. Little did you know how wrong you were.
Warnings: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Fluff.
Note: Please enjoy this! It’s an order. Also, I know I’m still a fetus at writing but thank you so much for the support for the last one.
You didn’t know how it started.
You thought maybe it was the way his eyes blended so perfectly against the sun, shining as if it were the perfect cerulean glass. Or the way his lips tipped into a smirk whenever he laughed. But it was also the way you saw past the distant exterior that he put up everyday. Perhaps, it was the way your skin tingled at his touch.
Either way, it was clear that you liked James Buchanan Barnes.
During the day, when you weren’t out busy getting shot out, you found yourself constantly looking at Bucky, falling in love with every detail of his face. His laugh, his voice. Just him in general.
“I don’t like Bucky,” You told Wanda and Natasha as the three of you decided that it was a perfect day to have a girls’ day. Somehow, the topics of you conversation landed on your crush on Bucky. This time, they didn’t believe your attempts on denying it.
“Oh, please,” Wanda scoffed. “I see you drooling when you stare at him from across the room.”
“I do not drool over him!” You shot back, heat creeping up your cheeks. Embarrassment settled at the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bare to look at the girls so you cast your eyes to the floor.
“Yes, you do, sweetheart.” Natasha pointed out. “If you weren’t so adorable, I’d say that it was disgusting.”
“Oh!” Wanda jumped up immediately, startling you for a bit. “You have to ask him out, Y/N. He totally likes you.”
A soft sigh emanated from your lips. “How I wish.”
Natasha paused in the midst of painting her fingernails, she looked straight into your eyes. “Who are you and what have you done to my precious Y/N?”
“What?” You felt the crease in your eyebrows furrowing. The nervousness grew in your stomach feverishly.
“The Y/N I know would never put herself down like that.” Wanda piped in with a toothy smile. “Because the Y/N I know, is absolutely badass.”
“Not to mention incredibly beautiful, smart, and strong.” Nat said, warming your heart to no extent.
“How would you even know he likes me?” You said, lowering your voice just in case the teasing began.
A scoff came from Wanda, “Are we going to ignore the fact that I’m a mind reader?”
A little flutter went to your heart. She did have a point. But you refused to let go of the doubt circling your mind. After a few seconds you exhaled a breath, “Alright. I’ll ask him.”
Claps and hollers echoed from the room. Eventually, you had to throw a pillow at them to shut their mouths. You couldn’t risk anyone hearing you.
“That’s my girl.” Natasha sent you a smile before returning to her nail polish. “Now go get your man.”
“Because I really don’t want to live for the rest of my life listening to you mope about how you didn’t ask him out.” Wanda said with a giggled.
Before you could say something else. Something had pushed you out of the door. A red mist surrounded you before slowly disappearing.
You stared at the empty hallway, desperately trying to calm your erratic nerves. Your heart was beating heavily as if it would burst out of your chest any moment now.
The thought of staying put in front of your bedroom door did seem quite alright. You knew that the rejection would bring a lot of pain. It was ironic how an Avenger who could withstand hours of torture was afraid of heartbreak.
You accepted long ago that you’d rather let Bucky play with your heart and love him from afar than him breaking your heart and be despised by him.
You took a step towards Bucky’s room, which coincidentally was three minutes away from yours. Within the first few steps, confidence was your friend. And with a chin held high, you kept telling yourself, I can do this.
Eventually, you stopped in your path. You spun around and headed back to your room. Nope, I can’t do this.
It was humiliating, the way you cowered. Glimpses of Natasha and Wanda giving you looks of disapproval sent you back on your way to Bucky’s room. Damn your pride and stubbornness.
For a while, you knew that you looked like a madwoman. You spent minutes going back and forth from the hallway.
“How hard can asking someone out be.” The mantra kept replaying in your own head. Unfortunately, it didn’t bring you as much comfort as you thought it would.
So you spent there, back against the wall in a sitting position. Wallowing in your self pity and questioning your existence. You spent a few moments like that. Suddenly, you stood up and felt ready as ever.
You took big albeit hesitant steps. Slowly but surely, you reached the door to Bucky’s room. Muffled voices came from his room. You were about to open the door when you heard something that shattered your heart to pieces.
“Of course I know she likes me, Steve.”
It was Bucky.
Your heart raced harder and faster. And as you laid your ear close to the door, you thought of the anyone who could have possibly told Bucky about your crush on him. It could have been either Natasha or Wanda since they were really the only ones that knew. But you trusted them.
“You don’t think I see how she looks at me everyday? It’s weird.”
Your breathing became shallow and ragged. And as your confidence broke, so did your heart. You didn’t mean to make it so obvious.
“Besides, I like someone else.”
By now, your sight became blurry with your unshed tears. You wanted to turn back and just go away, but you couldn’t. A dark side of you begged to stay, knowing how much you deserved it. But it hurt too damn much.
“I’ll tell her tomorrow. Maybe that’ll get her off my back.”
You didn’t stick around to hear anymore of it. Bucky began to drone about how the girl he loved, how magical her eyes were, how entrancing her smile was, and about how strong she was a woman. A part of you wished that were you, but in the real world, hearts break because of wishes and expectations.
Running into your room with tears in your eyes was a complete shock for Nat and Wanda. You didn’t stop for anything as you dived in headfirst into your pillow. The frustration and humiliation poured into your sobs.
“Oh, darling, what happened?” Natasha ran up to you first, you felt her arm massaging your back in comfort.
“I told you he didn’t like me!” You cried out.
After that, you felt the last piece of your heart break.
• • •
The next day you were extra careful to avoid Bucky at all costs. Although you spent the night preparing your poker face when he told you about his hatred for you, it was nice to delay the rejection. As the day ended, you realized it was an easy feat.
Disappearing from Bucky’s life became like clockwork. As the days progressed, you found yourself healing a bit, too. You intentionally woke up late so you didn’t have to face him during breakfast. Wanda helped you clear the training rooms before you started the day. Even Nat distracted Steve whenever he tried to talk to you.
There were times you thought about caving in and swallowing your pride. It didn’t matter if Bucky was going to stomp on your heart, you just wanted to see him again. Then you remembered how he spoke with such hostility the other day, you didn’t want to seem clingy or desperate.
It was a Monday, you just came from picking up the groceries since everyone else was lazy. As you entered the compound, you noticed that the place wasn’t filled with the Maximoff twins’ bickering, Sam’s video games, Peter’s random yelling, and Thor demands of a puppy. It was silent for once.
It was scary, if you were to be honest.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” You called out in the kitchen, setting the bags of food onto the counter. Once more, the room was ghostly quiet. “I’m gonna make dinner, if anyone cares!”
“I care, Doll.”
Everywhere you went, it was empty and peacefully quiet. So it was a complete surprise when you heard someone’s voice behind you. Safe to say, you shrieked like a banshee in shock.
You spun around to see Bucky standing there behind you with the smile you knew and love. This time your heart spiked, and you knew it wasn’t from surprise. It took you a few moments to register that this was the Bucky that you managed to ignore for days.
You turned your back to him immediately. Your hands hovered everywhere to find a frying pan as your mind was sent into a frenzy.
“Doll, why are you ignoring me?” Bucky moved closer to you now, his breath fanning across your ear as he settled his hands across your waist. It took everything in your power to not shudder from the extreme contact.
“What? Me? Ignore you? Never.” Awkward laughs spluttered from you. Quite hesitantly, you maneuvered your way out of his grasp and faced him. You weren’t sure if you were trying to escape him or find an excuse to look at his eyes again.
One look at those magnificent blue eyes and you were putty once more. You reminded yourself about why he was here therefore you needed to get out before your heart broke all over again.
“Yes, you are ignoring me. Every time I see you, you just go down the opposite way. You even get Wanda, Nat, Pietro, and Bruce to distract Steve and I. Then when I look back, you’re gone. Don’t you know how much that breaks my heart, Doll?”
You tried to not focus on the fact that he was much closer than before. You couldn’t bare to look at him so you diverted your eyes to anywhere but him. You scoffed mentally, it was ironic how he’d talk about his heart being broken when he came here to break yours.
“Bucky,” You moved away, settling for the spot across the room. Whispering softly, “I have to make dinner. You should go.”
Bucky was quicker. Before you could move any farther, he had you trapped, enclosed with his arms on both sides of your head, with your back against the wall. He leaned closer to your face, his sweet lemony scent overwhelming your senses. “What if I don’t want to, Y/N?”
“Then your girlfriend might be angry at me.” For a split second, there was regret coursing through you but then you realized that it was better if this ended now. You tried to shove him away but he wouldn’t budge, your hands ended laying flat on his chest.
“The only girl I want is right here.”
You’d be lying if you said that didn’t turn your heart into a beating mess and your mind into a whirlwind of thoughts. “Bucky, don’t toy with me. I heard you talking about me with Steve a few days ago.”
“Oh, yeah? What did I say?” Bucky actually had the freaking nerve to smile at you.
You took a deep breath before answering him. It was now or never. “You told Steve that you knew I liked you and that you noticed how I stare at you.”
There was a beat of silence. Bucky spent his time just staring blankly at your eyes before smiling wider than before. “Oh, you mean Jenny.”
And there it was. You were envious of the way that woman brought happiness to Bucky, but you knew better than to be special. “I’d like to keep my dignity so if you could excuse me. I need to make dinner now.”
Finally, you got yourself out of Bucky’s hold. Before you could move any further, you felt pressure in your wrist.
Bucky pulled you back to his chest, his arms wrapping around you. On instinct, you tightened your arms around him, basking in the warmth he gave you.
“Bucky, let me go.” You said softly, holding on to the last of your pride. Since he was a tall giant, your face was pressed up against his chest.
“I said no.”
“But Jenny—” You were interrupted by Bucky lifting your chin up with his hand.
“Jenny is the florist of that store I’ve been buying flowers from to give to you when I had the guts to ask you out. I didn’t like the way she kept looking at me and kept asking for my number. Do you wanna know why?” Bucky’s lips moved so sensually that you almost didn’t hear what he said and instead focus on the movements.
You kept your gaze locked on him as you shook your head, “No.”
“Because I’m in love with you, Y/N.”
You became drunk with overjoy and excitement that you couldn’t think of anything else to say, you just burrowed your head deeper into his neck as you grabbed him in a tight hug. “Oh.”
For a few moments, you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace. You bit your lips to suppress the smile that threatened to come out. A certain thought floated through your mind that brought a crease to your forehead. “Buck?”
“Why do I have a feeling that you’re the reason that no one’s here right now?” You asked, wondering why none of your friends weren’t anywhere to be found.
Bucky’s laughter vibrated against his chest, honestly bringing a shiver through your spine. “I got Tony to trap Bruce in the lab, Vision is distracting Wanda with videos of puppies, Peter has Pietro stuck in his web, and Steve tied Natasha with a rope.”
At this point, you didn’t care about the series of giggles that came from you. “Do you think you could let me go now? I’m really hungry and I need to make dinner now.”
“For you, Doll?” He began, looking down on you with the eyes of his that you came to know and love.
“I’d give you the world.”
(tag list: @not-jk-rowling)
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Innocent Until Proven Guilty
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Synopsis: when the Avengers notice signs of Peter having a girlfriend, they suspect he’s not as innocent as he seems
“Hey Pete the treat.” Tony greeted Peter as he passed him in the hallway. “Have you seen my screwdriver with the orange handle?”
“Oh, yeah.” Peter remembered. “I used it to fix my web shooters. It’s on my desk in my room.”
“Mind if I grab it?”
“Would you listen if I said no?” Peter asked, assuming he knew the answer?
“Nope.” Tony smiled at how well Peter knew him. “I’ll go get it.”
Tony waltzed into Peters room and went straight to his desk, rummaging through the papers and sketches he had strewn about.
“Now where are you hiding?” Tony drummed his fingers on his chin as he looked around Peters desk. He opened the top drawer and found nothing, so he opened the next drawer and began to rummage around. After moving a notebook to the side, Tony found an unopened box of condoms among Peters things.
“Hm.” Tony furrowed his eyebrows at the surprising find. “Well it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
He put it down and continued searching through the draw before the box caught his eye again.
“Value pack?” Tony read off the box. “Jesus.”
He shut the drawer and found the screwdriver in the next drawer, mindlessly tucking it into his pocket. As he left Peters room, the box stayed in his mind. He walked into the living room and found the rest of the Avengers chatting.
“What do you guys think about Peter?” Tony wondered as he toyed with the screwdriver.
“I don’t think about Peter.” Sam deadpanned.
“He seems lonely, no?” Tony shrugged. “He could use a companion of the female variety.”
“We should set him up.” Steve suggested. “He could use someone.”
“I don’t know.” Nat scrunched her nose. “He seems too young to be dating.”
“He’s in college now. It’s about time he gets a girlfriend.” Tony decided. “I had dozens by the time I was his age.”
“Are we even sure he likes girls?” Rhodey asked.
“He complimented my hair color once.” Nat shrugged.
“There we go.” Tony nodded, getting excited now.
“What are you guys talking about?” Bucky asked quietly as he entered the room.
“We want to set Peter up on a date.” Steve told him.
“Parker? I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend.” Bucky said, making everyone look at him.
“What?” Tony asked. “No way.”
“Yeah. My room is next to his.” He shrugged. “He’s on the phone all night almost every night.”
“What?” Nat laughed in surprise. “With who?”
“Someone named Y/n I’m pretty sure.” Bucky went on. “I hear her name a lot.”
“Y/n.” Tony rolled it around his mind. “Interesting. I have to know more.”
“I think if Peter wanted us to know more, he’d tell us.” Nat clicked her tongue.
“And I think I don’t care.” Tony retorted. “I’m gonna find out more.”
That night, Tony sat in the dark as he waited for Peter to come home. He heard the elevator coming up and shivered with excitement at the incoming confrontation.
“Hey, Parker.” Tony dramatically turned on the light once Peter walked in the room, making Peter jump.
“Hi Mr. Stark.” Peter stammered as he took off his coat.
“Are you just getting back?” Tony asked coyly.
“Yeah, I was out with my…friend.” Peter shifted his eyes at the mention of you.
“Oh really?” Tony feigned a gasp. “What’s his name?”
“Her name is Y/n.” Peter said casually. “I was with her.”
“So I see.” Tony nodded. “Is she from school?”
“Yeah. She’s in my organic chemistry class.”
“So one might say you two have…chemistry?” Tony shrugged as he walked closer to Peter.
“Anyone with our schedules would say that.” Peter laughed nervously.
“Whats she like?” Tony persisted. “Is she pretty?”
“She’s great.” Peter smiled. “She can talk circles around me about just about anything. I don’t even know why we’re in the same class. She’s so much smarter than everyone in the room, even the professor. She’s just...she’s great.”
“So I hear.” Tony smirked. Peter completely avoided the “pretty” question, and that told Tony everything he needed to know.
“Hear?” Peter asked curiously. “What did you hear?”
“Thin walls, buddy.” Tony knocked on the wall. “Bucky told us all about your late night phone calls with your lady friend.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Peters face heated up. “I’ll be quieter.”
“You don’t have to be quieter.” Tony told him. “Bucky doesn’t deserve a peaceful nights sleep.”
“Why do you say that?” Peter asked.
“Because he murdered my parents. Night!” Tony threw up a peace sign before leaving the room. Peters jaw dropped a little before shutting. He quickly pulled out his phone and clicked on your contact.
“I think Mr. Stark is onto us” He texted you.
“Good. He can pay for our wedding 👀” You wrote, making him smile. He put his phone away and went to bed himself.
A few weeks later, Tony needed the screwdriver again and had an idea of where he could find it.
“Hey Pete. Did you use the screwdriver again?” Tony asked when he found Peter in the hallway.
“Yeah. It should be in the same place.” Peter informed him.
“Thanks.” Tony nodded and went into Peters room. He went to the desk, expecting to find the screwdriver in the same drawer it was in last time. When he didn’t find it there, he opened the drawer above it. Right on top of a pile of notebooks was the box from last time.
“I shouldn’t.” Tony sighed and chewed his lip. “But I’m feeling snoopy.”
Tony picked up the box and to his surprise, it was significantly lighter. Tony opened it up and peered inside, only to see it was nearly empty.
“Who did this to you?” Tony gasped. “Who took your goodies?”
Elsewhere in the tower, Peter was heading back to his room when he crashed into Natasha.
“Oh, sorry.” Peter apologized as he caught her before he could knock her over.
“It’s fine.” Natasha assured him, sniffing the air a little. “Why do you smell so good?”
“Hygiene is very important to me.” Peter straightened his shoulders to solidify his lie.
“Yeah, but,” she sniffed him again, “you smell fruity.”
“I’m a fruity boy.” Peter stated, regretting it immediately.
“Oh.” Natasha backed away a little, giving him a strange look.
“Not that kind of fruity.” Peter stammered. “I have to go.”
Just as Peter scurried away, Sam walked into the hallway.
“Am I crazy or did Peter smell like perfume?” Natasha pointed behind him.
“I don’t care.” Sam mumbled as he walked by.
“Romanoff.” Tony rounded the corner after leaving Peters room. “I think the Manchurian Candidiate was right. I think Peter has a girlfriend.”
“I think so too.” Natasha nodded. “He smelled like perfume just now.”
As Tony and Natasha exchanged evidence, Sam passed by Peters room just as he was going inside.
“Hey Sam.” Peter greeted before he shut his door.
“Don’t talk to me, Parker.” Sam mumbled without looking up.
“Sorry.” Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes, making Sam briefly look up.
“What’s that?” Sam narrowed his eyes when he spotted something peeking out over Peters collar.
“Whats what?” Peter asked as he pulled away.
“On your neck.” Sam caught his collar and pulled it down. “Is that a hickey?”
“No.” Peter said quickly as he covered his neck with his hand. “I burnt my neck with my curling iron.”
“Oh, okay.” Sam was satisfied with the answer. “Wait, what?”
“Bye Sam!” Peter stammered as he quickly shut the door.
Tony’s plans to interrogate Peter about his love life the following day were halted when he found Peters room empty. A quick check in with Friday showed Peter leaving earlier that morning with a few presents in hand. Tony sighed and went on with day, anxiously waiting for Peter to come home to get more information.
“Another late night.” Tony announced his presence as he flicked on the light. It wasn’t until after midnight that Peter had come back, so Tony waited him out in the living room.
“Oh, hi Mr. Stark.” Peter waved awkwardly, not having expected anyone to be there.
“Were you with Y/n again?” Tony asked casually.
“Yeah.” Peter smiled shyly as he shed his jacket. “It’s her birthday so I spent the day with her.”
“How come I never see her here?” Tony proceeded with caution, not wanting to overstep.
“She lives kinda far.” Peter shrugged. “That’s why we talk on the phone so much. I don’t want her driving all the way out here and she doesn’t want me swinging at night.”
“She knows?” Tony raised an eyebrow, not realizing they were at that level yet.
“Yes. But I only told her because I trust her.” Peter quickly assured him. “She won’t tell anyone. She promised me.”
“Oh, I’m not mad.” Tony smirked. “Trust is good. Especially in relationships, so I hear.”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled at the thought of you. “It’s good. We’re really good.”
“Have you told her you loved her yet?” Tony jumped to the point, taking Peter by surprise. “Because that smile on your face says you do.”
“I have.” Peter admitted as his face flushed. “And she told me she loves me too.”
“Aw.” Tony couldn’t help but smile at his protégé being in love. He was so moved that he took out one of his business cards and scribbled something on the back of it.
“Here.” He handed it to Peter. “Don’t abuse it.”
“Whats this?” Peter curiously looked at the number Tony had written in the card.
“It’s the number for my personal driver. One of them.” He corrected himself. “I always forget who I employ so I have about 18. This one makes unforgettable coffee cake, though.”
“Thanks Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled in appreciation. “But why are you giving this to me?”
“So you and Y/n can see each other.” Tony said simply. “And so more people can experience this coffee cake.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate this.” Peter said softly, knowing Tony wasn’t much for displays of affection.
“Don’t mention it.” Tony brushed it off. “Really, don’t. I don’t have enough personal drivers for everyone. I mean, I probably do, but I’m not known to share.”
“I won’t tell.” Peter nodded. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”
Tony have Peter a fond smile before nodding as well.
“Mails here.” Tony announced the following morning as the team sat around the kitchen table.
“Thanks for bringing it in.” Steve reached for an envelope addressed to him. “Who delivered it today? Was it Michelle or Rodney?”
“Michelle.” Tony concurred.
“Oh, nice.” Steve smiled. “I like her. She’s always friendly to me.”
“Yeah. Nice girl. Nice name too.” Tony put the plan into action. “That was the name of the first girl I ever kissed.”
“I remember my first kiss.” Steve recalled. “It was at a school dance when I was in high school. I bought her a milkshake after and she never spoke to me again.”
“What about you, Peter?” Natasha asked causally. “Have you had your first kiss?”
“Um, yeah.” Peter chuckled like it was obvious.
“With who?” Steve asked curiously, and the rest of the team leaned in to hear the answer.
“Um, my girlfriend.” Peter flushed a deep red as he avoided eye contact with the group. Everyone collectively let out a gasp at the news, making Peter flush even deeper. He looked up to a table full of dropped jaws and wide eyes and felt his ears turn red.
“Isn’t it neat?” Tony tried to take the attention off Peter. “The innocence of young love.”
“Yeah. Innocence.” Sam narrowed his eyes at Peter as the hickey on his neck suddenly made sense.
“When can we meet her?” Nat asked, and everyone nodded softly. Peter looked around in surprise, not having expected everyone to care as much as they did.
“You want to meet her?” He asked with a small smile.
“Of course.” Tony shrugged. “You’re on our team and if she’s your girlfriend-“
“She’s on our team too.” Sam concluded with a gentle nod. Everyone nodded in agreement, making Peters heart swell in appreciation.
“She was gonna come over so I could swing her around the city.” Peter told them. “I could ask her to come up and say hello.”
“I think you should.” Natasha encouraged. Peters lips twitched into a smile as he pulled out his phone to tell you to come up. Within a few minutes, you were coming up the elevator and Peters heart was pounding in his chest. He met you at the elevator and escorted you to the rest of the Avengers, his hand holding yours.
“Hi.” You smiled shyly as you met the team. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m Y/n.”
“Nice to meet you too.” Steve said politely. “I’m-“
“Steve, right?” You smiled a little. “Um, Peter talks about you guys all the time. You’re also a little famous.” You chuckled, and everyone laughed as well, breaking the ice.
“Yeah, I guess we are.” Steve smiled back at you. “So you’re the girlfriend? I can’t say Peter has told us that much about you.”
Peter looked at you anxiously, hoping you wouldn’t take that the wrong way.
“It’s okay.” You laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “We agreed to keep it on the down low. Plus, I doubt there’s anything about me that could impress the Avengers.”
“That’s not true.” Peter cut in as he twirled your hair around his finger. “You’re very impressive.”
“Tell us more.” Nat smiled as she leaned on her hand. Everyone watched you and Peters display of affection with childlike wonder, a collective peace settling in the room as they watched the baby of the team experience happiness.
“Y/n volunteers as a candy striper at the children’s hospital a few blocks from here. When she’s not with me, she’s there.” Peter bragged about you. “And she’s a lifeguard in the summers, CPR certified, valedictorian of her class, organ donor-“
“These are not impressive things.” You laughed as you cut him off.
“Yes they are.” Peter insisted. “She can make the worlds best brownies, her ponytails are always perfect on the first try, she can parallel park, she-“
“She sounds amazing.” Tony cut him off as he smiled at you. “And we’re very happy to finally meet her.”
“I just can’t believe the guy who watches Dance Moms in the living room with no shame actually has a girlfriend.” Sam snorted. “And a normal one too.”
“Why is it so surprising?” You wondered as you leaned on Peter arm.
“Because he’s so innocent.” Sam shrugged. “I doubted he ever even held a girls hand.”
“Wait, you thought Peter was innocent?” You laughed abruptly. “He literally webbed me to the headboard last night and-“
“Ah ah ah.” Peter quickly cut you off. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“I think she should say them.” Bucky chuckled as he sipped his coffee.
“One time, he used his-“
“Well, Y/n and I really need to get going.” Peter cut you off and quickly ushered you to the door. “We won’t be out late.”
“It was nice meeting you all.” You called as Peter pulled you out the door.
“Nice meeting you too.” Tony yelled back. He and the team exchanged knowing looks, a collective happiness for Peter settling among them.
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—𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕
summary / excerpt: He himself was dressed in his battle armour, as Asgardian men wore on important occasions. Dark black and green leather, gold buckles and clasps, and atop his midnight locks, his infamous horned helmet. He looked dangerous, but not in the way most would think. While you were sure he could crush most under his fist easily, his power lay in something deeper – something within his eyes that glimmered in the candlelight, something that set itself alight with the mischievous curve of his lips.Loki Odinson, you came to the conclusion, was one of the strongest men in the room. And he was to be yours.
pairing: loki laufeyson x reader
genre: SMUT and fluff
word count: 8.1k
warnings: ummm arranged marriages, smut (oral + vaginal), TOO Mcfrickin long dudes
note: ???? This is so long but i also have it on AO3 should you wish to read it there m’lady *tips fedora* ALSO idk why tumblr doesn’t like making read mores work but i put one in there and idk if she’ll show up so i’m crossing mo mhéara
It is easy to tell where your land ends and the kingdom of Asgard begins.
There is not much to do while riding, and the hours pass slow and tiresome. Peering out of the small window of the carriage’s gilded walls is a luxury you can't afford to waste, especially when the familiar vermilion mountains and sandy plains of your kingdom are sure to be a rare sight for… For…
You had never given it much thought – how long you'd live there, that is to say. It sounded naive to say out loud; marriage is, after all, a lifelong commitment. This may be the last time to inhale and smell dust and sand and desert plants that bloom even in the deadly summer sun that hangs over your head, or to squint and see common children playing, skin dyed with red sand, or to so casually pass those desert-dwelling beasts – the ones you so desperately wanted to keep as a child, with fur such a rich orange-brown that it reminded you of the caramels you would sneak from the kitchens when you were younger.
Your lands are dry, barren, arid. Hardly fit for living – so the Asgardians would say. But you look upon the outskirts of your kingdom and see more life than you are guaranteed to see in Asgard.
Asgard. You know when you've reached Asgard. The beautiful ruby sand your kingdom is so renowned for gives way to luscious green grasses and tall, pale peaks that look as if they could be made from the winter sun itself. It is colder in these lands, but your handmaid has prepared accordingly – a thicker, silky shawl is placed atop your shoulders, covering the traditional thin jewel toned fabrics that clothed most of your body.
The grass turns to field and then to forest, where the trees stretch so high they appear as if they could touch the sky. There are not many people who live outside of the kingdom, you notice. These lands are alive only with the sounds of nature; a trickling stream, a cooing bird in a tree nearby. In fact, when your small party stops a moment to water the horses, you are greeted quite pleasantly by a emerald serpent that slithers from the trees and up your arm before disappearing once more. You take it as a good omen.
It is not until the rocky, uneven mountain path breaks away to form the King’s Road that the weight of what was to happen fully settled on your shoulders. Just the thought alone set weakness into your limbs and constricted your lungs – and as the first tall points of the Asgardian kingdom come into view, you are sure there is no possible way that your legs could still be working.
The King's Road is made of light coloured stone. The horses take to it rather smoothly, a stark difference from their trek in the mountains, and begin towards Asgard quickly because of it. You wring your hands together in your lap and inhale deeply, hoping that your handmaid can't hear the shakiness with which air enters your body. You have been as calm and collected as was possible up until this point. When the marriage was arranged, in fact, you made no arguments. It was not your place, and it would serve only to aggravate your father in the end.
As the carriage slips into the Asgardian streets, you find yourself dizzy. Extravagance is too dull a word to describe the buildings that loom above you, the glittering stone that has been cut into housing, the paths that almost glimmer gold, the sumptuous dresses that shine in the midday sun. Jewels decorate the necks of noble women as they pass, peering into the carriage curiously to catch a glimpse of you. You hear what they call you – the serpent's bride. You're not sure if it is meant to endear or alienate you.
Your handmaiden Ladva draws the curtains, and so you decide it is the latter.
The streets quieten as you near the palace, and this is when you truly think you're out of your depth. The Asgardians very obviously favor gold and precious stones and jewels; it is what the palace seems to be made of. Golden walls, engraved with intricate patterns. Marble floors swirling with grey and silver. The horses come to a stop, and you catch sight of a magnificently humongous statue of the Allfather himself, standing victorious and shrouded in gold. You smiled bitterly at that – your father once said that a man who needed to remind others of his greatness was never great in the first place.
There is no large welcoming party awaiting you as you step out of the carriage with the assistance of the your handmaid, only a band of ten or so guards, dressed in their proud Asgardian colours. You are reminded that despite the occasion that is to occur, it is hardly under happy circumstances. This is a marriage born of convenience and nothing more.
“Princess _____, it is an honour,” says one at the front of the party, bowing low. His comrades followed, and you nodded in return, eyes flickering this way and that. It was all so much to take in. “We've been ordered to escort you to your chambers.”
You're not sure what to say. All those etiquette lessons you'd attended from small, all those mannerisms meticulously studied, had vanished into thin air. Though, was there correct protocol for a lowly desert princess being married to the Allfather’s son? You would like to see it.
The only thing you could do was smile and bow your head. Your handmaiden was kind enough to take over. “Please, lead the way.”
The head guard takes to the front. You trail behind him, and your handmaiden follows. The other soldiers stay in formation behind you, carrying what little you have brought from your home.
The halls twist and turn not unlike the serpent which had slithered up your arm only hours earlier, white marble floors becoming hard grey rock as you continued passed the entrance hall and deeper into the palace walls. The palace is filled with maids and servants alike, bustling about with baskets and trays, eyes averted and head down as they pass you – though you can still see the curiosity that lingers in their eyes.
This place is… surprising. Chatter fills the rooms you pass by, maids appear from secret passages behind tapestries, ladies giggle together, dressed in expensive fabrics and necks sparkling in the low light. There is an distinguishable warmth that lingers in the air, but it does nothing to comfort you. It is too unfamiliar, too strange. Maybe in time you will grow to love it – though even that seems like wishful thinking.
You hold your head high as you pass by, though your stomach tightens uncomfortably. You think back to the tall ceilings and warm walls of the library back home, where you could spend hours and hours in your own company. You think of the sandy plains where you would ride your horse, your fine white stallion that you had been forced to leave behind. Maybe if you thought hard enough, you could smell the ageing pages of manuscripts, the warm sun beating down upon your skin…
“Here we are.” The guard stops and opens the door for you, and you are glad to say that you are taken aback by the sheer prettiness of your room. It has the same over the top appearance as the rest of the kingdom, spanning the size of almost two of your room back home. There are curtains and drapes, carved furniture the colour of alabaster, high ceilings and columns that rise from the ground and through the ceiling, wrapped in golden vines. Your things are placed near the entrance with the promise of having more maids sent up to help, but you hardly hear. You step onto the balcony, goosebumps rising from your skin in a completely unfamiliar and yet, welcome way.
This place is… beautiful. Connected by bridges, alive with greenery and people and creatures of all shapes and sizes. Even the sun seems to shine more softly, more gently, as if its purpose is to capture attention and radiate beauty rather than to keep you warm. This was to be your home. Forever, now.
“Your mother and father are to arrive tomorrow,” Ladva says quietly, stepping out to the balcony once your possessions have been put away. “I’ve been told that the ceremony is to take place tomorrow, too.”
You inhale deeply, dropping your face into your hands in an effort to soothe the sick feeling that crept from your stomach and into your limbs, up your throat until you felt as if you'd regurgitate what little you'd eaten all day.
“Worry not, aredevna,” she says, voice affectionate and hand on your shoulder even more so. She calls you little one even though there is but two years between you, and you had hated it when you were back home. Here, though, it consoles you. It reminds you of your people, your culture, satiating the sickliness for your home that has welled up inside you. “There are worse men to marry.”
“I know,” you breathe, lifting your head towards the sun. You think of your old friend Kavra, who was married off to a lord near the sea four times her age. When she visited she often wore bruises and a broken smile – but her marriage had secured trade for your kingdom. You think of your sister, Eldira, who left just after your ninth name day. She was 9 years older than you, barely a woman, and she bore her first child exactly 9 months after her wedding, giving the king of a far off land a suitable heir.
You shiver to think of what might happen to yourself – was the Allfather’s second son a brute, a woman-beater? Did he wish for a son or daughter soon? Would he hurt you if you failed to deliver? You had heard rumours of him of course, and they all ranged in nature; some spoke of him as a charming seducer, ploughing through masses of women as if they were nothing; others paint him in a lonelier, more somber light.
You hear the names they give him, too – serpent, trickster, lord of lies. When your armies had fought together, soldiers had shivered as they recounted tales of the green-eyed prince sweeping through enemies, horned helmet glinting in light even when night fell and pure wrath emanating from his person. You were to marry this man. You were to bear his children, wear his colours and insignia proudly.
Dinner is brought to your chambers when night falls. They have somehow managed to discover what your favourite foods are, but you don't have the stomach to eat much. You lay awake for a long time, willing the unease in your heart to settle. When you do dream, it is of a serpent with scales of moss and ivy that slinks around your neck and eases your worries away.
The next morning you are woken just after dawn. You start when you're greeted by an alien ceiling, furniture that is not your own; then, all at once, you realise your purpose here.
Ladva is bustling about, pulling open the heavy curtains that shield you from the outside. A tray of pastries and fruits and a pot of tea has been placed by your bedside, but the mere sight of food sends your stomach awry.
“Your dress has been delivered,” she chirps, picking up a folded pile of emerald fabric; expensive, by the looks of it. It shimmers and moves as if it was water, and you have no doubt that it would feel just as light between your fingers. “Traditional Asgardian garb – the prince's colours, too… Are you not eating?”
“I've not the stomach for it,” you mumble, sitting up.
“You'll have to force yourself, princess.” Ladva sighs, folding her arms. There is no doubt in your mind that you look positively pathetic; sitting swathed in an ocean of blankets and furs, your face forlorn and brow knitted. Hardly a princess. Hardly the princess of Loki Odinson. “The Asgardians take every excuse to feast. A large one will be held in your honour – it will be a long day, and a longer night.”
Your face sours. “Your words ring especially true, Ladva. Our marriage must be consummated.”
Her own face turns with pity, and she says no more; though she allows herself the smallest of smiles when you pick at the fresh fruits and drink half a cup of tea.
From there, the morning is a blur; a group of maids scurry in and hurry you into a grand bathing chamber, with baths of marble and bottles of indulgent oils and soaps lining the walls. They scrub you from head to toe, remove you of body hair, comb your unruly locks until they are detangled, and dot a cooling lavender oil in places where you suppose they think the prince will be near; the backs of your knees, behind your ears and on your wrists -- even on your lowermost lips, and your cheeks turn to fire at the thought.
Halfway through, you’re informed that your parents had arrived and were in the company of the Allfather and Allmother, and that you were to see them only once the ceremony was over. Your chest ached with longing to go find them, but you resigned yourself to sitting as still as you could manage, letting the maids braid your hair with strings of gold and emeralds, and apply kohl and rouge to your skin until you looked more confident than you felt.
At long last, when the sun was just beginning to descend from its place in the middle of the sky, your dress was pulled over your head. You were right; it was unbelievably light, as if your skin was being kissed by the wind itself. On your scrubbed skin it felt like heaven, and the thought of removing it later made you frown.
“Nervous?” Ladva asked quietly as she walked along the halls behind you. A large party of guards were escorting you to the ceremony hall, and the air was thick enough to suffocate. Silence had reigned for a long time until you took a shaky breath and her maternal instincts had kicked in.
“I've made peace with it, I think,” you said, voice equally as small. “Yesterday, I thought about Kavra and Eldira – of what they had to do for our kingdom… Now I know what I must do for my kingdom.”
The large, golden doors of the ceremony hall came into view, and the guards stopped momentarily.
Ladva squeezed your hand in hers for a moment. “You've grown so much, aredevna. I'm glad to be by your side.”
The doors were pushed open.
“And I, yours.”
People were packed into the ceremony hall for as far as the eye could see. Commoners stood near the entrance, and further up, the noble people sat. Murmurs filled the air as you came into sight, and your heart lurched.
A wide path had been made for you to walk upon, the same golden sheen as the rest of the hall, and it was this that you focused on as you took your first step.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You chanted to yourself, willing the nervous tremor in your legs to dissipate. As you neared the altar you raised your head to the side; your father and mother sat, pride in their shoulders and tears in your mother's eyes. On the other side, the Allmother and Allfather, and Loki’s beaming golden-haired brother, who winked as you passed. Finally, at last, you tilted your head forward and met the gaze of your promised.
The first thing you notice is the brilliant shade of ivy that stares back at you. Even as you take your place opposite him, facing the priest that would wed you, his eyes never faltered from your face.
His skin is as pale as the snow you've never seen in person but in illustrated books, smooth and upkept as was expected of the prince of Asgard. He was tall and slight, but the strength and magic that surely ran through his veins was enough to command respect. A gently sloping jaw and straight nose, thin lips that didn't betray any emotion without his permission.
He himself was dressed in his battle armour, as Asgardian men wore on important occasions. Dark black and green leather, gold buckles and clasps, and atop his midnight locks, his infamous horned helmet. He looked dangerous, but not in the way most would think. While you were sure he could crush most under his fist easily, his power lay in something deeper – something within his eyes that glimmered in the candlelight, something that set itself alight with the mischievous curve of his lips.
Loki Odinson, you came to the conclusion, was one of the strongest men in the room. And he was to be yours.
“– of the Southern Plains, do you accept Loki Odinson as your husband, for now and hereafter?”
You started, eyes flickering up to the priest. You hadn't been listening. Clearing your throat gently, you risked a glance at Loki Odinson. You weren't sure if the amusement hidden in his eyes was ever present or if you had caused it; nevertheless, you raised your chin high and met the priest's expectant eyes.
“And do you, Loki Odinson of Asgard, the Realm Eternal, accept _____ _____ as your wife, for now and hereafter?”
Gods have mercy, his voice was the product of legends. Smooth, deep, a hint of humour hidden within even despite the circumstances. You suppose when he first wakes it's a grumble, still dredged in the sands of sleep… You suppose when he is in the throes of passion, it lowers to a growl…
These were hardly appropriate thoughts for a man whose character you had not yet judged.
The sharp inhale of air through your nose when your skin touches is quiet enough to only be heard by your husband, and you are certain that the smirk that follows is not imagined. The priest has bound your left wrist and his right together with a silken red length of fabric – and together, you dip your hands in the wide stone basin before you. The red tie dissolves as if it is made from nothing but sugar, leaving just a mark on your skin as a reminder, and it is done.
The ceremony is finished.
Together, you turn to face the masses, and a volley of deafening cheers fills the air. You peer down at the crowds, taking note of the joy that illuminates their features, of the happiness that shines in your mother's eyes – and then, a strong, calloused hand takes yours, and tugs you just that bit closer.
“Smile, wife,” he says quietly, thumb rubbing over your skin in what you think is a comforting gesture. “This is a time to rejoice, is it not?”
“I… I suppose so.” You are ever so grateful that your voice does not shake. You lick your drying lips, and find that when you do smile, it's not so hard to upkeep. Maybe this is a time to rejoice.
You come to assume that Loki Odinson is softer than he would like others to believe. In the hour or so it took for you to exit the ceremony hall and enter the dining hall, he kept you under close watch – stopping others from accidentally bumping you, smoothing a hand over your waist when he sensed your discomfort getting the best of you. You were, to put it lightly, overwhelmed.
You were unsure of him. You liked being level-headed, liked being able to remove yourself from a situation so that you could look upon it with unbiased eyes. With Loki, you felt like it was impossible. You were feeling all these strange, new emotions at such a quick pace that you had no time to detach yourself. Did you like him? Were you suspicious of him? Unsure? Uncomfortable?
It was much easier when you compared him to the horrible men you had seen your friends and siblings married off to. It was much easier when you thought of the names the people called him, of the stories they told of him. Alas, Loki Odinson was evidently not the man from their stories, nor was he an old tyrant who found joy only in stealing a woman's dignity.
The dining hall has been filled to the brim with food and people alike. Roast boars and chickens and cows dot the tables, and piles of steamed and roasted vegetables follow. Golden brown bread and pastries are piled high, and tankards of ale and mead seem to never empty – Loki, you notice, nurses but one chalice of deep plum wine, and eats lightly.
The Allfather and Allmother sit at the nearest table with your own parents, conversing leisurely and eating what you're sure is a decadent fig pudding. You wouldn't know – you have done little but rub over the mark that remained on your wrist, take small sips of your own mead, and smile jovially when those sober enough to stand would approach and give their congratulations… and, of course, watch.
You watch your husband, judging his character from afar. He smiles and laughs and charms easily, what with his handsome face and intelligent demeanour. The people are uneasy around him, you discover, but mead and ale and wine has made their lips loose and hearts bigger – there has been at least 10 celebratory songs sung already, led by a large man with a ginger beard and a leg of chicken in each hand. Loki enjoys the attention, as much as he doesn't let it show.
When he is alone, and is unaware of your lingering eyes, he watches others too. Then, he deflates. Only slightly, with the practiced movements of someone who doesn't want to be caught. He becomes quieter, eyes glazing over in thought and yet, still so attentive. It should be no surprise that he catches you staring.
“Does the view please you, wife?” He says, voice low. His eyes remain on the throngs of people before him, and you see the glint of something hungry and wanting within his eyes. Whether at the prospect of leadership, or…
“S-sorry,” you say, lifting your chalice to your lips once more. You barely take a sip, but it gives your nervous hands something to do when he turns his eyes upon you. “My lord.”
He huffs a laugh. “Surely, we are past titles. You are my wife, and I your husband. I should think Loki would suffice.”
“Loki,” you correct yourself, testing the syllables on your tongue. They taste like full moons and the brilliant colours of the bifrost, and the deep burgundy that swam in his chalice.
“Tell me, wife,” he says. “Do you often stare at others?”
You almost lie. Two things stop you – the first, that the man in front of you was the god of lies. The second, that no sustainable marriage was built off lies, no matter how small. Instead you swallow your nerves, and nod.
“When there isn't much to do, yes.”
“And what do you gain from it?” He isn't malicious, purely curious. The ease with which the conversation is flowing makes your heart thud.
“I would think that you would know,” you quip before you can stop yourself. He raises a curious brow, and takes his chalice in his hand. “I was watching you. You do the same.”
“Of course, of course.” He sets his chalice down without drinking, angling his body towards you, and you're struck with the realisation that this is the first real conversation that you've had with your husband. “And what have you learned of me, wife?”
For a moment you simply let a wave of loud silence wash over you, filling the space with drunken shouts and music and cheering. You have the subconscious feeling that if you choose to continue with this conversation, it will lead to something more. It is up to you whether you continue it or not.
“...Well,” you begin uncertainly, “You… charm others easily. You know what to say and when to say it.”
“Hence my nickname, silvertongue. Go on.”
You're unsure if you're about to overstep some boundaries, but he's encouraging you. He will reap what he sows, if that is the case.
“This marriage…” His eyes narrow in interest, almost imperceptibly– “It doesn't bother you.”
“You are smart, Loki Odinson. You know what you must do for your kingdom–”
“I could say the same of you–”
“But more than that, you know that this is, above everything else, a stepping stone.” Your mouth keeps moving even though your brain begs it to shut itself, to never open again unless explicitly told to. “You crave power. What your father has, what your brother has. You want it.”
You have, in essence, just accused him of treason. He should be shouting, calling the guards, even a simple backhand would do. You have spoken out of line and insinuated something so improper that you wouldn't object to being punished – but Loki… If anything, your words make him burn brighter. There is a certain appetite for something more carnal in him, one that you are almost sure has been brought to life by you. Your heart thuds loudly against your ribs, and for all the right reasons.
Loki straightens up, and you realise that you had been mere inches away from each other. His eyes rake over your form with such distinguished thirst that you're rendered breathless, and he turns away to hold his chalice once more.
“My colours look good on you,” he says, and he doesn't speak once more for the rest of the feast.
The moon has been hanging above for hours by time you retire to Loki’s chambers.
You had been blinking owlishly at your tankard of mead when Loki’s excitable brother lumbered up and clapped you both on the shoulder, grinning widely. The scent of alcohol clung to him as it did on most.
“Brother,” Thor boomed. “I do think it's time you brought your wife to bed!”
Those close enough to hear and sober enough to react cheer, and you can almost hear the roll of Loki’s eyes in his voice. “I hardly think it's any of your business, brother.”
But he rises anyway, smiling a reluctant smile at the teasing that arises with him, and holds his hand out to you. Wordlessly you take it, and let him pull you gently up and through the drunken hoards until you're out and into the cool air in the hallways.
He waves off the security detail that jumps to follow, and they settle down easily. They must be tired, and you know that Loki can protect you both should any problems arise – and with that, he takes your arm and leads you through the twisting Asgardian hallways. The lit lanterns that line your path cast warm light and hard shadows onto his skin, and for what feels like the millionth time, you have to stop yourself from staring.
Maybe you should focus on more important things – like the fact that you are indeed on the way to Loki’s bedchambers, that you are to be taken like you have never been taken before. Apprehension makes your chest feel like it could cave in at any moment. Loki Odinson surely had experience; you had heard the rumours about him, and he wasn't expected to remain celibate like women were before marriage. He had no reason to.
You, on the other hand… The most you had done was kiss the stable boy when you were 11, and that mess of clashing teeth and smacking foreheads was not a good enough reference for whatever was to happen. Your stomach sunk like a stone.
“Are you coming in?”
You hadn't realised that the journey had ended. His room is alone at the end of a long, dark hall, with heavy mahogany doors and two golden door knobs carved into serpents. Both doors had been pushed open, and he stands between them, eyebrows raised and helmet held in one hand. Hair as black as coal hangs loosely, framing his face as if it were made only to do so.
“S-sorry,” you mumble, wringing your hands as you slide passed him.
His room is, as the rest of the palace is, enormous. The room you step into is made of the same dark stone as a majority of the palace is, with dark tapestries and furs lining the walls. Bookshelves fill the spaces in between, chock full with scrolls and tomes and magical knick-knacks that seemed to buzz with energy. In the centre of the room is a large table, similarly covered in miscellaneous items, and a few chairs surround it.
Off to one side, another large room sat. It was mostly bare, but broke away to form a balcony that overlooked most of the Asgardian kingdom in all its glory. A dark emerald chaise lounge and a few ottomans dot the room, and a pair of thin curtains blow gently in the wind.
On the right side, you can see his sleeping chambers through a thin crack in the door. From what you can see, it is equally as dark. You set your sights on the cluttered table, and begin to explore.
Scrolls filled with a pointy, looping scrawl lay on top of each other, diagrams haphazardly drawn on spare pieces of vellum… A heavy tome illustrated with swirls and chevrons lay open, showcasing the brutish, choppy looking language of the Asgardians. Unconsciously, your fingers brush over the letters.
“Do you speak it?” He is closer than you expected, and you thank the stars above that you don't start at his presence. You had almost forgotten he was here, but now that he's close enough to touch, close enough to smell the strange mix of spicy and sweet that clings to him, you wonder how he ever slipped your mind.
“No,” you murmur, apprehensive to shatter the ambience that had grown. “Only my native tongue… and the realm’s common speech, of course.”
He hums, the sound reverberating in his chest, and you fight to suppress the shiver that arises as a result. Breathe, you mutter to yourself. This overstimulation of senses will be your downfall.
He reaches a hand forward, fingers pressing against the page near yours. His chest can't be more than a centimetre away from your back, and you hope that he is not able to feel your thudding heart even through layers of skin and bone and flesh. His fingers trail softly over the weathered page, smoothing over inscriptions and pictures. Your mind wanders, thinking of how they might feel against your skin, brushing over your temples, skimming up your spine…
You must stop.
“And what are your thoughts of seiðr?” He murmurs lowly.
You inhale deeply, gulping. “There are many sorcerers in my kingdom. I have no fear of it, my lor– Loki.”
He huffs an amused laugh. “A first. Many an Asgardian has expressed their distaste for my… talents. They think it brings destruction, ruin. And it can, I assure you. But it can bring more…”
His hand lifts from the page, and your heart very nearly stops in your chest when it finds a place on your stomach.
His lips are at your ear, brushing teasingly along the sensitive skin in such a way that you don't fight the tremor that shakes your limbs from head to toe.
“I am willing to show you these ways, wife, if you'll allow me to.”
“I… I…” Your mouth is dry. You're conflicted between your head and heart – your heart tells you that you want to, that you would gladly give yourself to this charming, mischievous man. Your head reminds you that you barely know him, that you had been dreading this very moment for months. But your head also tells you that your marriage must be legalised, that sooner is better than later. “I have never had a man before, Loki.”
The hand on your stomach presses down gently, encouraging you to turn and face your husband. You keep your eyes cast downwards, unwilling to sneak a glance at those intensely calculating eyes.
“I know you haven't, little dove,” he murmurs, brushing the knuckle of a finger against your cheek. “I can be gentle with you.”
A moment of silence passes, before, hesitantly, you nod your head.
He doesn't start furiously like you had thought he would, like a starving, careless man – rather, like he promised, he begins slowly; one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping your cheek with a softness so unlike the brooding prince of Asgard.
First, his lips meet the column of your neck. You feel shocks prick at your skin where he touches you, but in the best way. He is experienced, that much is obvious; he licks, sucks, bites at your flesh in ways that are sure to earn a reaction, drawing unfamiliar sounds from your own lips that have him smiling against your skin.
Soon, he grows tired of your neck alone; your breath hitches, and in that moment he seizes your lips and closes the gap that had been between you. You vaguely register his hands lowering before your mind is captivated by the sensual movement of his lips against yours.
It seems he is everywhere; you feel him, taste him, smell him. You want to cover yourself with him, have him inside you, around you, above you; you crave him, and in such a desperate way that you almost scare yourself.
Loki’s tongue moves with the finesse of an experienced man, intertwining with your own and coercing you deeper and deeper into the black hole of desire that has bloomed from his hands. You hear yourself moan, and feel your cheeks heat at the alien sound. Never before have you felt inclined to do so.
“Delicious.” He pulls away from you momentarily and you find yourself chasing after him. “You're delightful, little dove.”
One kiss, two kisses, three kisses, four; he pecks your lips in quick succession before he draws back, gazing down at you with a dark, dark intensity. You wonder if this is the man soldiers meet on the field, all dark eyes and furrowed brow; but no, his touch is much too soft for the battlefield.
“I hardly think a table is suitable for your first time, little dove,” he says, and you're not sure where this nickname has come from but the acceleration of your heart and turn of your stomach must mean that you like it. “A bed is required for what I intend to do to you.”
Stars above, those words shouldn't make your breath hitch or the space between your thighs throb, but it does. Without question you follow him to his sleeping chambers, watching with nervous eyes as he sheds his outermost layers (a hard leather vest and a pair of gold arm cuffs).
His sleeping chambers are not unlike the rest of his room; dark, filled with books, but the centrepiece is a bed instead of a table. It is large, almost too large for even two people, and it's sheets are carefully made.
“Forgive the mess,” Loki says, glancing back at you as he throws down his emerald green tunic.
“All is forgiven,” you reply, a small, teasing smile making its way to your face. It's a wonder how relaxed you feel, but Loki has given you no reason to feel otherwise. Besides, he seems to enjoy your conversations together. “Though, the next maiden in here may not be as lenient.”
“Oh?” He raises his brows, and you notice the first few buttons on his shirt have been opened, revealing smooth, pale skin. You longed to run your hands over him. “There happens to be one particular maiden I hope to impress.”
“Really?” You echo. You like this game he plays. He doesn't seem so intimidating like this. “Tell me about her.”
“She's…” He tilts his head, faking thoughtfulness– “...quiet. Extraordinarily intelligent, from what I've gathered. Almost unbearably observant...”
He nears you once more, dipping his head to nose at the nape of your neck. “Breathtaking in green and gold – though I would guess she'd look best in nothing.”
You swallow your stuttering breaths and nibble at your lower lip. “W-well, there's no assurance in guessing. Surely you would have to see this maiden in no… no clothes for you to be sure.”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Maybe so.”
Sly hands tugged at the laces of your corset, skillfully pulling out the knot Ladva had tied that morning. From there, it loosened easily, and you barely had time to feel nervous before it collapsed, only held up by your quick hands.
Loki’s hands covered your own, and your eyes met his. You were sure the uncertainty and nervousness you felt showed clearly in your eyes, though there was no annoyance or irritation in your husband's. In fact, he quirked a small, almost affectionate, smile.
“I will take care of you, you know.”
“I–I know. I do, but…”
“Are you scared of me?” He asked. His voice remained light, his features too, but you saw a dimness in his eyes that hurt to notice. He trusted you, even a small bit. You wouldn't betray that trust – and so, you tell the truth.
“Yes,” you confess. He nodded slowly. “N–not for the reason you might think, Loki. I–You may desire another woman after me. More experienced. Able to fulfill your needs. I simply… don't want to be thrown away.”
His eyes harden and soften in the blink of an eye. “I am the god of lies, little dove. It is in my nature to lie, but believe me when I say that I couldn't have wished for a more perfect match.”
An uncharacteristic gentleness moves him to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ears.
“Your… capabilities mean nothing to me. I can teach you all that you wish to know – we can learn each other together.”
He holds your gaze.
You let your dress fall to the ground in a heap of green and gold. He takes a step back and stares, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching as he absorbs the image of you, from the swell of your breasts to the curve of your waist and the curls that sit between your thighs.
“You are sure you don't possess seiðr, little dove?” He breathes. “You look positively magical.”
You can't help the little laugh that rises in your chest at that. He holds out his hand to you, and with a surprising lack of hesitation you take it. He pulls you towards his bed and gestures for you to lay down.
“It's awfully unfair that I alone am in this state of undress,” you comment, laughing as he presses a kiss to your stomach.
“I must prepare you first, little dove, if you are to take me painlessly,” he says, settling down at the end of the bed.
Having him so near your pussy made your nervous, but there was no room to move further up. Before you can rethink your discomfort, anyways, he's winded his arms around your thighs and pulled them apart, revealing your womanhood in all of its glory.
You suppose the burning of your cheeks is due to this and not the growing warmth of his sleeping chambers. You peer up at the ceiling, unsure as to what you're supposed to do while he… marvels at your pussy.
You hear him inhale deeply, and then hum. The burning of your cheeks worsens, if possible – the thought of Loki smelling, seeing, touching your most private areas… A shiver sets your skin afire, and you hear Loki chuckle in response – and then, without warning, you feel warm air against you. Stars above…
“I can see you trembling, little dove,” Loki says, voice full of amusement. “I haven't even touched you yet. Would you like me to?”
He knows damn well you do.
“Y–yes,” you breathe. “Yes, yes, yes. Please.”
“Such manners,” you hear him mutter, and then his mouth is upon you, and your mind goes blank.
He must be putting his seiðr to work because there is no way that the pleasure he wrangles from your body is not the product of magic. He trails his tongue from the very bottom of your slit to the ball of nerves at the top, rolling his tongue against your clit and sucking when you got too used to the flow of pleasure. You're not sure of what noises are leaving you but you're certain that they successfully reflect the sensation broiling in your stomach–
“Ngh – n… L–Loki…” Your chest rises and falls quickly, barely pausing between breaths. There's an electricity building in your limbs, a sort of static energy that makes your toes twitch and your mouth gape. “I–I…”
He doesn't concede, only continuing in his unrelenting pace, flattening his tongue to cover the length of your pussy. The sound of smacking and slurping fills the air, and the shameless desire it sparks in you only fuels the growing pleasure in the pit of your stomach.
“Stars above,” you curse, feeling your whole body flush with warmth. “Loki, you – you bloody… bloody…”
Your husband laughs against you, and you whine. “Don't fight it, little dove. It's much more worth it to succumb.”
Another hum against you and a suckle of your clit between his lips and you're gone. Your nerves seem to vibrate all throughout your body, back arching and mouth opened in a silent whimper, pussy clenching uncontrollably. Vaguely you feel his hair between your fingers and his tongue riding you through your first real orgasm, but it's all lost to you.
It could be minutes or years before your eyes open and your brain refocuses. Your hands are knotted in Loki’s sooty black locks, but he doesn't seem to mind as he raises himself onto his elbows and hovers over your limp self. He presses a kiss to your shoulder on his journey to your face, and you don't miss the cocky smirk that pulls at his lips at the sight of your very obviously blissful expression.
“Did you enjoy that, little dove?” He asks, scraping his teeth over your ear.
“Very much so,” you say, grinning lazily.
“You'll be happy to hear that there's more to come, then,” he says. You watch with greedy eyes as he straightens up and begins to undo his breeches, aware of the weight of your gaze on him. He really is beautiful, you think. There is not a more suitable word to describe the smooth expanse of pale skin that's stretched over taut muscle and bone, the gentle yet harsh angles of his face, the strands of hair that fall perfectly. You feel a strange wave of possession, of jealousy, wash over you. He was yours. He was yours.
“Are you okay, little dove?” He smirks, setting his clothes off to the side, but you don't miss the tiny hint of concern that hides in his words. The thought makes you smile.
“Fine, my prince. Better than fine.”
“That's good to hear.” He's back on the bed now, and pulls you towards him by your waist until you have no choice but to let your legs take their place on either side of his waist. You feel something hard brush against your inner thigh, and your stomach lurches. Oh.
“Do you feel me, little dove?” He coos, voice low and drawling in your ear. You are suddenly reminded of the dark, brooding prince the people told rumours of. Of the confidence and mischief he commands, of the power that swims beneath his skin. “Do you feel your prince?”
Even breathing seems too loud. Here, caged between his strong arms and beneath his equally as strong body, you feel like you're the only two people in the world. (You would like that.)
He hums. “And what would you like your prince to do, little dove?”
“I…” You are reminded of your inexperience. You know the words, you know how they're meant to be said, and yet your tongue curls up and fumbles when you mean to speak instead. “I want… I want you. I–inside me.”
He tsks in disappointment, but shrugs after a moment's thought. “I must remember that this is your first time. I can get ahead of myself, see, when I am presented with a particular beauty. You've done well, little dove.”
He brushes his lips against yours gently, a mere taste, before he fully commits to a sloppy kiss that steals your breath and attention away – distracting enough for him to begin to press his cock into you, kissing away any whimpers that escape you.
“Just a little more, wife,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.
It burns, the stretch. You've haven't seen many a manhood but you can't imagine that all of them are as long or thick as Loki Odinson. You struggle to accommodate him, but with his lips kissing every inch of skin he can reach, it manages to pass by quickly. He's fully sheathed inside you, throbbing and warm, and that same warmth from before begins it's growth once more.
His hips begin to move, and by the stars above you've never felt something so intensely. He moves fluidly, as if he's made from water himself, his arms strong and sturdy beside you. You can't help but grasp his bicep as you begin to lose yourself, glad to have something to ground you while you ascend to Valhalla, it seems.
Your eyes flutter open and shut, and you happen to catch a glimpse of Loki’s face before they close again. How many times could you say he was beautiful before the words lost their meaning? A few million, you hoped, because he truly was. His hair clung to his forehead, his jaw set in concentration, grunts reverberating from the back of his throat. Loki Odinson, god of beauty, god of marble-carved muscles, god of… Of…
“Gods, Loki,” you pant, nails digging into his skin. “D–don't stop, please, please…”
“I don't plan to, wife,” he says, chuckling breathily. Your head falls against the sheets once more, and you wallow in the pleasure. There was no way in Hel that anything could feel better than this. Nothing, nothing, nothing – you would bet all that you had to your name.
Loki catches your eye once more, and you feel confusion push past arousal at the sudden mischievous narrowing of his eyes; and then, before you can blink, it seems, there are two.
This second Loki doesn't let you finish your sentence. He bows over your head to connect your lips, roughly biting and sucking until you can barely remember your own name, let alone the fact that there were two of him. His fingers pluck and roll your nipples between his fingers, coercing you towards that delicious ending that you craved.
“Go on, little dove,” Loki groans. “Cum for me, wife.”
Maybe it is Loki One or Loki Two that makes you cum. Maybe it is the sound of unrestrained pleasure in your Loki’s voice that sends you keening into the crook of his neck. Maybe it's the feeling of his hips bruising your own. Whatever the case, you're taken hold of by your orgasm once more, sensitivity rendering you speechless; every limb tremors and shakes with pleasure, and your vision goes a stark, shocking white – maybe you pull his hair, maybe you lock your legs behind his back and push him towards you as far as he possibly can – you don't quite remember.
What you do remember is that Loki gives a hefty grunt and collapses on his elbows, thrusting his hips into you even as he spills his seed into you. As his thrusts slow and his kisses grow more gentle, you find your eyes drifting shut, an unfamiliar warmth blooming in your chest when he murmurs sweet nothings into your skin.
“Sleep, wife,” you hear him say against your temple. “Sleep, and dream of me.”
That night, you dream of an emerald serpent that winds itself around you and rocks you to sleep. You feel at home.
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If RDJ stops posting things like this after infinity war imma fight someone because at this stage it’s giving me so much happiness that I always look at his posts when I’m sad
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Hair and Amen
Warnings: Flustered Steve, Suggestive Loki, fluff, implied smut
Pairing: Loki x reader
This is the first oneshot in my series based on posts by @only-kneel-before-loki Reminder I got permission to use her posts. Please get permission as well and don't take credit for it. And please don't copy my works.
Y/N and Loki had a funny relationship. They both harbored major crushes on each other. Yet they were both oblivious. So they resorted to subtle flirting. It was Loki who had started it. Trying out cheesy pickup lines. Oddly enough Y/N didn't mind it. It was the highlight of her day actually.
And so began the great Flirt Off. A little game they played to see who could get who to crack first. The rest of the Avengers would fake gag at the horribly cheesy pickup lines. They called it the sexual tension apocalypse
In the beginning it was just innocent cheesy one liners.
"Damn did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"
"I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together.."
"If I were a cat i’d spend all 9 lives with you."
"They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth. Well apparently, no one has ever been standing next to you."
But in recent weeks it had been getting a bit less innocent. Loki had started the more racy flirting.
Y/N was sitting on the couch when Loki plopped down beside her. He took a moment to look her up and down. Whether he was admiring the way her purple tank top and short shorts hugged her body or thinking of a pickup line, she wasn't sure.
"Damn are you my pinky toe? Because I wanna bang you on every surface in here."
Y/N raised an eyebrow as she looked at him. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Steve walk in the room.
"So is banging your pinky toe on things a hobby of yours?" She retorted.
He snorted and shook his head. "No not that I know of."
"Are you a trampoline because I want to bounce on you." She said licking her lips.
Loki laughed. "What has four legs and doesn’t have the most beautiful girl on it? My bed. Want to fix that?"
Y/N smirked. "Is there a cellphone in your back pocket? Cause that ass is calling me!"
Loki smirked back. "Baby I’m like a firefighter I find them hot and leave them wet."
Steve gasped and pulled Y/N off the couch away from Loki. "That is enough for today!"
The next day it got started at breakfast. Loki saw Y/N eating sausage and just couldn't help himself.
"You must be Medusa because you make me rock hard."
She smirked. "So what’s your name again? I just need to know what I’ll be screaming tonight."
Loki nodded in appreciation. "You work at a post office? Cause I saw you checking out my package."
Y/N giggled. "Is there a mirror in your pocket? Because I swear I can see myself in your pants."
Loki smirked as Steve walked in with Bucky. "Are you a tortilla? Because I want to flip you over and eat you out!"
Steve gasped and Bucky smirked.
Y/N hummed. "I am quitting smoking and need a new oral fixation to focus on. You will be able to help me out?"
Loki laughed. "You know what I like in a girl? My dick."
Steve blushed hard.
Y/N smirked. "I can make you melt in my mouth, or in my hands if you’d like."
Loki opened his mouth but Steve clamped a hand over it and pulled him out of the room.
Throughout the next week Steve refused to let the flirting continue.
Finally it was Friday and Loki got alone time with Y/N.
"Hey Y/N nice hair." He complimented.
She wasn't used to the flat out compliments so she blushed. "Oh um thank you."
Loki smirked wider. "I'll bet I would look nicer balled up in my fist when we-"
"WHEN WE HOLD YOUR HAIR BACK AND YOU KISS THE GROUND PRAISING THE LORD JESUS AMEN!" Steve yelled cutting him off. He had been walking past and heard Loki start again
Y/N laughed along with Loki before he snapped his fingers and they were in his room.
"I might not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you!"
Y/N giggled and connected their lips in a passionate kiss.
Tags: @katymacsupernatural @loki-the-fox @siriusmaraudeers @siren-songx @only-kneel-before-loki @marvel-fan-queen @toaster-strudel-witch @imagine-loki @iamthemaskhewears @dark-night-sky-99 @servamp-addict @emyhonny @welcome-to-fangirl-hell @buckybarneswintersoldier @talinalani
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Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Synopsis: Peter is the only one of the Avengers who doesn’t tease you for being a little slow
Now you weren’t exactly dumb.
You were just a little slow.
When you joined the Avengers last year, the team learned pretty quickly that your mind moved at a different pace than everyone else. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and it didn’t keep you from doing your job, it just meant you were the butt of most of the jokes. Every time one of your blunders happened, your intelligence would be mocked in some way. You knew it was all in good fun, but it hurt to it feelings every now and then. The only person who never poked fun at you was Peter. And for that reason, he was your favorite on the team.
“How are there 23 minutes left in this movie and I still don’t know any of the characters names?” Steve wondered as you all sat in the couch in Stark Towers, watching a movie on a particularly rainy afternoon.
“I think the main kids name is Phoenix. That’s all I got though.” Sam shook his head, just as confused as Steve.
“The dogs name is Benson.” Bucky mumbled quietly.
“Who names their kid Phoenix?” Peter wondered out loud as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth. The two of you were tucked into the corner of the couch, sharing a blanket and bowl of popcorn. You looked at him like he was crazy when you heard his question.
“Ummm, Joaquin Phoenix’s parents.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You turned your attention back to the movie as a silence settled in the room. You felt everyone’s eyes on you after a minute and looked around to see everyone staring at you with a dumbfounded expression.
“What?” You asked shyly, shrinking down a little in your seat in discomfort.
“That’s his last name.” Sam stated, chuckling a little under his breath. You realized your mistake and felt your face heat up.
“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice getting drowned out as the rest of the Avengers laughed at your expense.
“Did she really just say that?” Nat looked at the group with a playful smile. Everyone, excluding Peter, nodded as their laughter died down.
“Oh my God.” Steve chuckled. “That’s so stupid.”
There was that word again.
He didn’t mean it maliciously. Steve was the kinda of guy who ushered spiders into a magazine so he could let them outside. And yet, it still stung when he said that word.
You smiled sheepishly and tried to focus on the movie, snuggling closer to Peters side until it ended. You were fully aware that he was the only one who didn’t laugh, and you loved him that.
And maybe you loved him for a few other reasons too.
“Alright. Who has money for the subway?” Sam asked the group as he patted his empty pockets. You were on another late night trip to get cookies from a specific shop in Times Square, leaving without Tony’s knowledge. Everyones hands went to their pockets and collectively made a face.
“Not me.” Rhodey shrugged.
“I don’t have any.” Bruce added.
“I don’t even have pockets.” Nat realized.
“I have gum.” Peter proudly produced a silver wrapper from his pocket. “Oh wait, it’s just a wrapper.”
“You’re telling me we’re earth’s mightiest heroes and we’re broke?” Sam shook his head is disdain.
“I gave my last dollar to a guy in the subway for playing music.” Peter defended himself.
“What was he playing?” You asked him as you tiredly leaned against his arm.
“A mandolin.” Peter answered, making your face scrunch up.
“That’s a language.” You laughed at him slightly, feeling empowered by having the upper hand. Everyone looked at you and a few of them snorted.
“Mandarin is a language.” Bruce said gently, not wanting to embarrass you further. “Not mandolin.”
“What?” You blinked in confusion and looked to Peter for answers.
“A mandolin is an instrument, dummy.” Sam chortled. You smiled tightly as the group laughed at your mistake, looking down to hide your blush.
“Oh. Sorry. My bad.” You laughed shyly as you tucked your hair behind your ear and pretending to read a nearby sign.
“That’s okay.” Peter spoke up in your defense. “They sound really similar. Plus like, French, French Horn. Who knows what’s going on?”
“Yeah.” Bucky said softly. “Or like, bra’s aren’t pointy anymore.”
Bruce nodded like it made perfect sense and Sam just shook his head as he texted.
“What?” You whispered to Peter, not knowing what he meant.
“He’s from the 1920s. He’s still adjusting.” Peter whispered to you out of the corner of his mouth before looking at Bucky. “That’s the spirit. Kind of.”
“FRIDAY is sending a car.” Sam informed the group. “This is never happening again. The cookies aren’t that good.”
“They’re pretty good.” Rhodey shrugged, but wanting the late Nate tradition to end. Sam looked at him for a moment before breaking into a smile.
“Hell yeah they are. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”
Bruce found you in the lab the next day with a pin between your teeth and a pencil behind your ear. Papers with drawings of suits were scattered around the table as you measured a piece of black fabric.
“What are you doing?” Bruce wondered as he took a seat across from you. You glanced up at him before marking a dot on the fabric.
“Mr. Stark asked me to help him with the new suits. I’m trying to make a fabric template for Nat’s gloves.” You told him as you smoothed the fabric out.
“Is it hard?” He asked, watching you intently as you worked.
“Not really.” You shrugged and took a step back to examine your work. “Okay. How many holes do we need? 1,2,3,4,5.” You counted your fingers. “Okay. Five holes.”
You sat back down and put five dots where her fingers would be to mark where you had to cut. You heard a slight chuckle from Bruce and looked up at him curiously.
“Did you just count your fingers?” He asked slowly, wanting to make sure he saw what he thought he had. “To know how many fingers Nat has?”
Your face burned when you realized how dumb you looked, in front of a scientific genius no less.
“Oh, Uh, yeah.” You stammered, feeling very insecure with him watching you now. You moved slower than before and second guessed moves you’d already made a hundred times. Bruce sensed your discomfort and got out of his seat, tapping the table twice as he thought.
“Have you ever heard the expression “the lights are on but nobody’s home’?” He asked you and you were grateful he changed the subject.
“Yeah, I think I have.” You smiled, proud of yourself for knowing something.
“It reminds me of you.” Bruce said so politely that you didn’t realize it was an insult at first. He left the lab to find Tony, leaving you feeling embarrassed and a little hurt. Everyone knew Bruce could hurt you ten times worse with his words than the Hulk could with his fists, you’d just never been his target before. You slumped down in your seat and continued making the gloves, your mood significantly dampened from before he came in the room.
You walked into the kitchen the next morning, sleepily rubbing your eyes. You pressed a chaste kiss on Peters shoulder as you passed him, also more affectionate to your best friend when you were half asleep. You smiled at Rhodey, who was seated at the bar and skimming through a newspaper.
“Did you eat yet?” You asked him through a yawn as you got out yogurt and fruit for yourself.
“No. I needed my coffee first.” He smiled sleepily at you and held up his mug.
“Oh, you mean your sugar with a spoonful of coffee?” You teased him. “Yeah, it’s good you got that out of the way.”
“I prefer it this way. The sugar wakes me up.” Peter defended his drink as he took a sip.
“That’s what the caffeine is supposed to do, mi amor.” You laughed as you ruffled his bed head ridden hair. He was about to make a comeback when his stomach rumbles loudly.
“Someone’s hungry.” You remarked. “Do you want eggs?”
“No thanks.” Peter shook his head. “I can’t eat eggs alone.”
“Well I’m here. And Rhodey’s right there, so you’re not alone.” You told him. “And I can grab Steve and Bucky. They’re just in the other room.”
Rhodey looked up from his newspaper with raised eyebrows and looked at Peter. Peter set his mug down and made a face at Rhodey that told him not to say anything. You looked between the two of them in confusion as you wondered what was going on.
“I meant alone as in without toast, sweetness.” Peter said gently, not wanting you to feel dumb for misunderstanding. “But I am glad you’re here.”
“Oh.” You faked a smile and shrugged like it was no big deal. Peter had handled the situation with ease and you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you normally would. That is until…
“You know, Y/n, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” Rhodey nodded before going back to his newspaper. You froze with your spoonful of yogurt midway to your mouth and looked at him. He didn’t actually call you dumb, but it was implied. You looked at Peter to see if he was thinking the same thing, but his face had nothing but kindness on it.
“You are pretty.” He agreed with Rhodey. “But you’re a lot of other things too.”
You cracked a smile and rubbed his back for a moment in appreciation.
“Thanks Peter.” You said softly and went back to your breakfast. Not wanting to worry him, you ignored the way Rhodey’s comment made you feel and tried to push it from your mind. But no hard you tried to focus on other things, you had one thought prodding at the back of your head.
You were dumb.
A week went by without anyone poking fun at your intelligence. You had a sneaking suspicion Peter had something to do with the lack of comments, but you said nothing. It was nice to have a break from all the teasing and it made hanging out with the team more enjoyable. You all lingered around the kitchen one day, eating all different kinds of lunch when Tony came in the room.
“Eat up, funky bunch.” He clapped his hands. “We have a mission in Alaska to train for and I need all hands on deck. Cap, do you think you can teach Peter that spinny thingy you do?”
“I can try.” Steve looked at Peter and nodded.
“Great. I’m getting a manicure. I’ll be back around noon.” Tony informed you all.
“Wait, I thought you said all hands on deck.” You tilted your head at him.
“I did. Which I why I have to make sure my hands look the best.” Tony waved flirtatiously, wiggling his fingers around like a teenage girl. He smirked as his action was met with some eye rolls and a few chuckles before leaving the room.
“I can’t believe we’re going to Alaska.” Peter nudged you excitedly and you smiled with glee.
“Is Alaska the same as the North Pole? Or am I thinking of Antarctica?” Sam wondered out loud.
“No. The North Pole is all the way at the top. Alaska is below California. Like by Texas.” You said confidently, proud that you knew information that someone else didn’t. Your pride quickly dissipated when you saw the teams faces twist in amusement.
“Wait a minute.” Steve looked at you like you were joking. You shrugged, letting him know you weren’t. Sam burst out laughing and clapped his hands as the rest of the team began to laugh.
“Absolutely not.” Sam grinned as he wiped a tear from his eye.
“Yes it is.” You insisted. “Look at any US map. It’s on the bottom by Hawaii.”
You were getting angry now. You knew you were right this time and they were still teasing you.
“No.” Bucky shook his head is dismissal. “No.”
“Alaska is below California on every map I’ve ever seen. You’re telling me I’m wrong?” You our your hand on your hip and stared at them.
“100%. I am 100% telling you you’re wrong.” Sam said between his laughter. Peter came to your side and showed you a picture of a map on his phone.
“Alaska is US territory but it’s not connected to the rest of the states. They just put it below California on maps to show it’s a part of the US. Thats not actually where it’s located.” He said quietly. You looked at the map for a few seconds before you realized he was right. And if he was right…
You were wrong.
“Oh.” You smiled apologetically and averted your eyes. “Oops.”
You turned around and pretending to clean up the kitchen to hide your searing blush. Your fingers clenched around your sponge when you heard the teasing laughter from behind you.
“Sometimes I wonder how you made it out of high school.” Steve joked as he threw out the crusts of his sandwich. The comment stung you and you began to scrub the counter faster so you could leave the room sooner. Peter could see your shoulders tense and put a reassuring hand on your back. You gave him a tight lipped smiled before putting your dish in the sink.
“I’m still wondering how she made it out of first grade.” Nat teased you and she poked your side.
“I can’t believe she made it out of the womb in the first place with nobody telling her where to go.” Sam said, making everyone laugh loudly. You abruptly threw a dish in the sink, making everyone go silent. You tuned around slowly and faked a smile.
“Haha. Yeah.” You forced a laugh. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
You swiftly left the room before anyone could catch your tears. You felt stupid for even getting upset over it, but their words hurt. Feeling like you were always the dumbest person in the room was taking a toll on you, especially when you weren’t the only one who felt that way. Peter watched you leave with sympathetic eyes, feeling his own frustration bubble at the sound of the team laughing at you. He thought they had listened the first time he told them to stop making fun of you, but they clearly hadn’t. After seeing the pained look on your face, Peter made a decision.
It was never going to happen again.
“Ugh. I’m never gonna get this right.” Peter groaned as he messed up the move Steve was trying to teach him once again.
“You’re getting too much inside your head. Just let it happen naturally.” Steve instructed as he resumed his stance. Peter tried the move again, wiping out and landing on his side with a thud. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you spared with Nat.
“I can’t.” Peter got up and rubbed his arm. “I can’t do it.”
Steve nodded, like he was accepting Peters defeat. You stopped sparing and looked at Peter.
“Yes you can. Come on, Peter.” You encouraged him. “Everyone told Van Gogh that he couldn’t be an artist because he only had one ear but he did it anyway.”
The room feel silent, as it often did when you spoke, and everyone looked down.
“Oh dear Lord.” Rhodey sighed and hung his head and he snickered. You could see everyone else fighting back laughter or cracking a smile, yet saying nothing.
“What?” You crossed your arms in annoyance, looming to Peter for help.
“He chopped his ear off after becoming an artist.” Peter said kindly. “He wasn’t born without one.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but Tony beat you to it.
“Speaking of ears, do you think of you shone a light in one of Y/n’s ears, it would come out the other ear?” Tony quipped, making everyone laugh. The tips of your ears burned as that feeling of stupidity sunk in again. You undid the Velcro on your boxing gloves and pretended to wipe sweat from your face as you rushed to the bin where the gloves went. You kept your back to the group and pretending to be putting your gloves away when you were really concealing your pained expression.
“Yes.” Nat jeered. “Yes I do.”
Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you turned around, making every effort to keep your face neutral. Your face didn’t give away any signs of sadness, but your knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the bin gave your true feelings away. Peter noticed this and felt his jaw clench. If you weren’t gonna tell them to stop, he was.
“Leave her alone, guys.” He commanded the crowd before looking at you. “Thanks for the encouragement, Y/n. I’m gonna keep trying.”
“It’s fine.” You nodded curtly. “I’m gonna hit the showers. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
You walked out of the gym, pausing in place when you heard Sams voice.
“Hit the showers?” He laughed. “We just started.”
“Shhh. Don’t confuse the poor girl any further.” Bruce joked back. You looked back at the gym with your eyebrows knit together, taking a quiet step closer to hear what they were saying about you without you there.
“She’s probably like, ‘whats this magic closet that makes rain?’” Rhodey imitated your voice, making you sound as dense as possible.
“Knock it off guys. It’s not funny.” Peter snapped, but the teasing continued.
“Or like, ‘this shampoo says it adds volume, but I used it and I can’t hear any louder than before’.” Tony mocked you, skipping around a little like a child. Your face contorted in misery as they made fun of you. You knew who they really were, and they were good people. They didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, they were only joking around like they did with everyone. Steve was teased all the time for his old fashioned dialect and no one lets Tony live down the kimono incident. Still, all their insults and mockery cut you like a knife.
“Ahh, I love that girl.” Nat shook her head with a smile. “She’s so dumb.”
“She may be slow, but she’s entertaining as hell.” Sam nodded in agreement.
“I said knock it off.” Peter repeated, getting a reaction this time.
“Aw. Peters mad because we’re teasing his girlfriend.” Nat pouted and pinched Peters cheek. She quickly realized how wholesome she was being and punched Bucky in the face to maintain her lethal assassin persona.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter grumbled. Now that you were out of the room, he was the next target.
“He’s right. Hey, maybe that’s why you guys haven’t gotten together yet.” Rhodey shrugged. “She’s too stupid to realize you’re in love with her.”
That was all you had to hear. You ran towards your with tears running down your face. Thanks to Peters advanced heating, he heard every heavy footstep.
“Okay. Maybe she is a little slow.” Peter shook his head in disdain at the team. “But you guys are idiots.”
You were quiet the entire way to Alaska, keeping to yourself and silently looking out the window. Peter attempted to talk to you once or twice, but he could tell you wanted to be alone. The Avengers completed the mission within a few hours with minor damage to the area. Peter focused on his job but found himself looking for you every now and then, being as you usually stayed together during missions. He didn’t see you anywhere and assumed you were doing your own thing on the other side of the field. He heart rest assured when he saw you boarding the jet, still looking reserved and aloof from the rest of the team. You took a seat by the window and rested your chin on your hand, looking out at the bleak landscape in front of you as the jet took off. Peter didn’t engage in small talk with the rest of the team and wistfully stared at you instead, silently willing you to cheer up.
“I think that went pretty well.” Rhodey nodded and the team agreed. “But where were you the whole time, Y/n? Picking daisies?”
Peter held his breath as you slowly turned around. You gave Rhodey a frigid smile and shook your head.
“We came during a blizzard so I used my powers to create a heated force field around the area we were in to prevent frostbite and give you guys and easier time seeing in the snow. We were also at a higher altitude than any of us are used to so I kept the air pressure to sea level standard.” You said simply. “And I assumed there would be smoke from the battle so I rounded up the nearby animals and made a separate for field around them to protect their lungs.”
The room went silent, something you were used to at this point. But instead of everyone falling silent because they were laughing at you, they were impressed.
“Oh.” Rhodey blinked in surprise, not expecting the answer he was given.
“I also picked this flower.” You smiled proudly as you produced a Forget Me Not from your lap. Peter couldn’t keep the grin from breaking through on his face. You were the center of attention once again, but in a good way this time. Everyone was pleasantly surprised with what you had done and it showed.
“I didn’t think about the altitude.” Nat realized.
“I had no idea there was a blizzard.” Steve added, looking dumbfounded.
“Because I kept you from knowing.” You shrugged. “I wanted you guys to focus on the mission.”
“I mean, I knew. I just didn’t tell you guys because I was so distracted by my buffed and polished nails.” Tony twiddled his fingers again, showing off his freshly manicured nails. You all laughed, breaking the tension in the jet.
“Well look at that.” Sam looked impressed. “Y/n knew something we didn’t.”
It was almost a compliment, but it still made you feel insecure. You didn’t want it to be this mind boggling every time you did something useful.
“Thanks, Y/n. That was really smart.” Peter said softly as he patted your knee. You put your hand over his and squeezed it. It was the first time someone called your smart, and it made you feel good.
“It was really smart.” Sam said skeptically. He stared at you for a moment before poking your side.
“What are you doing?” You swatted his hand away.
“Just making sure you’re still in there.” He eyed you suspiciously. Peter could sense the attention was making you uncomfortable and changed the subject.
“Are we almost home?” He asked Tony before peering out the window. The flight was a little over 7 hours on a normal plane, but the Stark jet was much quicker. The flight would only take a few hours, but Peter was not known for being patient.
“Yes, Peter. We are almost back at the tower. You can get your diaper changed and your bottle as soon as we get back.” Tony sassed him, making him shrink in his seat. Your body language had completely changed and your were now sitting straight, facing the group. Peter was glad you were feeling better and didn’t even mind Tony’s comment.
“Guys, let’s be civil. We’re all tired. We all want to get home.” You said calmly. “Let’s just focus on how pretty the sky looks tonight. Isn’t is pretty, Peter?”
He gazed at your profile as you looked out the window at the stars, admiring how pretty you looked from the side.
“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” He conceded without ever taking his eyes off you. You shot him a smile before looking straight ahead at the dashboard.
“Wow, the moon is huge!” You pointed time a large yellow crescent that could be seen through the window.
“That’s literally the reflection of my banana on the windshield.” Tony deadpanned. He may have been right, but it still looked pretty.
“Should we make a wish?” You asked Peter, ignoring Tony’s comment.
“On the banana?” He asked.
“Yes.” You nodded. “On the banana.”
“Why?” Rhodey asked. “It’s not like people wish on the moon.”
“It feels like we should.” You said with confidence.
“Yep. She’s still in there.” Sam chuckled. And just like that, your confidence receded.
“I hate it here.” Bucky sighed heavily and tuned out of the conversation.
“It must be so peaceful being you, Y/n.” Tony remarked.
“Why do you say that?” You wondered.
“Because instead of thinking about your problems and mistrials, you simply don’t think at all.” Tony said suavely. In only a better for minutes, you’d gone from being the hero to the laughing stock of the group. The sly comments and taunting laughter made you feel like you should stop opening your mouth entirely. You faked a smile and turned back towards the window, tuning out the rest of the way home. Peter chewed his lip as he stared at you, feeling useless to helping you out. The team just wouldn’t let up, no matter how many times he told them to stop. Knowing you weren’t in the mood to talk, he scooted closer to you and put a comforting hand on your back. You smiled warmly at him and rested your head on his shoulder, listening to him point out the constellations the whole way home.
The next day, you and Peter were sitting in the balcony, working on some new gadgets for Mr. Stark when Peter made a startling discovery.
“Where’s my right web shooter?” Peter stood up in a panic when he realized it was missing. “I left it right here.”
“Maybe a bird carried it off.” You shrugged as you twisted a tiny screw into Peters left web shooter.
“I’m being serious, Y/n.” Peter stated. “Mr. Stark is going to kill me and turn me into a decorative rug if I lost it.”
“I’m being serious too. We live in New York and I see birds around here all the time.” You told him as you continued your work. “And you know the pigeons here are feral. A bird probably stole it to pay for his child support.”
Peter usually entertained your antics and joined in with his own batch of sarcasm, but he wasn’t in the mood. His web shooter was missing and their were actual stakes involved. Without his web shooter, he couldn’t be Spiderman. And without Spider-Man, he couldn’t be an Avenger.
“Can you be serious for once?“ Peter whined, picking up everything on the table to look under it.
“I’m just saying it’s possible, Peter. You never know.” You insisted as you put your screw driver down to help him look. You began looking in the flower pots on the windowsill that you and Peter had planted. Peter stopped his search for a moment, growing angry with you for wasting time. He didn’t know if you were joking around or genuine believed his web shooter was in the flower pots, but it made him frustrated nonetheless. A combination of his lack of sleep and stress over losing the webshooter manifested into a moment of unchecked rage.
“No, it’s not possible.” He snapped. “A bird didn’t steal my web shooter. God, do you have to be so stupid?”
The word hung in the air for a moment, settling in to the both of you. Peters eyes immediately softened, feeling instant regret for what he had said. You stopped trifling through the plants and slowly turned around.
“What?” You asked quietly. Peter tightened his lips into a line and tried to justify what he had said.
“I try to defend you but you make it so hard. Can you help me out a little here and not be so…” He trailed off when he realized he had only made it worse. Your face hardened and you looked disappointed in Peter, which killed him. He would have preferred anger or even sadness, but the disappointment killed him.
“So what?” You shrugged. “Finish your sentence Peter.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“No, really, go ahead.” You stated coldly. “You got this far. So what, Peter?”
He looked at you for a moment, getting that feeling of wishing you could turn back time just a few seconds to fix a mistake.
“So dumb all the time.” He finished his sentence with an unsteady voice. Your face scrunched up in a pained expression as you sucked in and let out a shaky breath.
“You were the only one who never called me that.” You whimpered before moving past him and going inside. Peter watched you through the open balcony doors as you disappeared into the hallway with a heavy heart. His mouth was open to apologize, but you were long gone. He’d seen you being ridiculed so many times already, and now he was the one doing it. All that talk about it never happening again, only for him to be the reason it happened. Peter couldn’t live with himself for another minute without you knowing how sorry he was. He took a step towards the doorway until he heard a pigeon land on the table. He watched it curiously for a moment as it pecked at the screwdriver you had been using before picking it up with its beak. It flew over to the edge and began to walk along the railing, still keeping the screwdriver in his mouth. Peter followed the pigeon, walking all the way down the balcony to find a large nest in the corner. He watched as it dropped the screwdriver into its nest, right next to his web shooter.
“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter.” Peter said in disbelief. Peter watched as baby pigeons poked out from inside the web shooter to greet the other pigeon.
“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter for his kids.” Peters eyes widened even more than they already were. Realized struck him and his shoulders slumped.
“She was right.” He mumbled, angry at himself more than ever. “I yelled at her and she was right.”
Peter wasted no time in rescuing his web shooter from the birds, offering them a nice biodegradable coffee cup in its place, and ran to the kitchen to make you a peace offering. He knocked softly on your door and didn’t wait for an answer before going in.
“I made you this cup of tea as an apology.” Peter stiffly held out a mug with an awkward smile on his face. You looked at Peter from your bed, eyes puffy like you had been crying. You stared at each other for a long time, you with a death glare and Peter with his awkward smile. Neither of you said a word as Peter continued to hold out the mug. After two full minute of silence, a bead of sweat ran down Peters face as he looked around nervously, never breaking his smile. You let out an angry sigh and decided to throw him a bone, crossing the room to accept his mug. You looked into the cup for a moment before looking back at Peter.
“This is empty.” You deadpanned.
“I don’t know how to make tea.” Peter whispered, never breaking eye contact.
“I’ve seen you make it.” You snapped.
“I forgot how to do it.” Peters eyes shifted nervously to the side.
“Bucky was in the kitchen, wasn’t he?”
“I know he hates me.” Peter talked over you as you groaned. “I know he does.”
“Just go away.” You tried to close the door but he kept it open.
“No.” Peter said firmly. “I came in here to apologize.”
“You see this?” You held up the mug for a Peter to see. “It’s my cup of care. And look at that” ,you dumped the cup over, “it’s empty.”
Peter stared at your demonstration with raised eyebrows, surprised that you were still able to be sarcastic when he hurt you. Peter took the mug from your hands and set it on the ground before slowly looking up at your face.
“You’re not stupid.” He said softly with all the sincerity his heart could give. You scoffed and folded your arms, looking to the side when you felt tears sting your eyes.
“Yes I am.” You said like you fully believed it, which was Peters worse fear. “Everyone says so. Even you.”
It hit Peter like a sheet of glass when you looked at him like that.
Like he was someone you didn’t want around.
“I didn’t mean to say that.” Peter apologized. “That is not how I feel. At all.”
“Don’t act like you’ve never thought about saying that before.” You laughed sadly. “Everyone on the team calls me dumb. It was only a matter of time before you did it too.”
“I didn’t mean it.” Peter repeated. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Bullshit.” You snapped. “You’re so full of bullshit.”
“I’m not full of bullshit.” He whined like a child and gave you puppy dog eyes. “I’m full of regret.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek as he gave you his best pout, willing you to forgive him. Finally, you caved and cracked a smile.
“I hate you.” You stamped your foot and hung your head, frustrated with yourself for not being able to stay mad at him. Peter opened his arms and you walked into them, arms still folded angrily. You bumped your forehead against his shoulder before moving to rest your chin on it as he wrapped his arms around you. Peter nestled against your hair and sighed, happy that you had forgiven him but still saddened that he had hurt you in the first place. He could see the pile of used tissues on your bed and it killed him to know he made you cry.
“I didn’t mean to call you that. I really didn’t.” He said softly. “I’m the one who’s been trying to stop people from saying that.”
“But they still do it.” You sniffled. “Everyday I get called dumb or stupid or scalene.”
“I think it’s obtuse, not scalene.” Peter reluctantly corrected you. You pulled away and little and let Peter wipe the tears from your face.
“Maybe they’re right.” You shrugged and looked Peter in the eyes. “Maybe I am dumb.”
Peter kept your face between his hands, staring at you for a moment before sighing.
“I once sneezed so many times in a row that I peed my pants.” Peter deadpanned. “I was 17.”
“What?” You chuckled as you wiped your nose.
“I saw Bucky try to take a piece of toast out of the toaster with his metal arm and electrocute himself.” He continued. “And I constantly see Tony bumping into glass doors.”
“I don’t understand.” You squinted your eyes, but sure what point he was trying to make.
“Steve still picks up the phone and asks for the operator. Nat leaves her curling iron plugged in all the time. I do not think Sam knows the address of where we live and I’m pretty sure Rhodey can’t do laundry. He gets all his stuff dry cleaned, even his socks.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” You asked.
“Because were all dumb.” Peter concluded. “We all do and say dumb things. You don’t know where Alaska is and no one in this tower can read analog clocks. If we’re all dumb, then maybe none of us are dumb. Or we all are. Who cares?” Peter shrugged, making you laugh. “And you were right. A bird did carry off my web shooter. So no, you’re no dumb. Or stupid. Or obtuse. You’re, uh, you- you…” Peter looked down at he fumbled over his words.
“I’m what?” You raised an eyebrow. You could finish his sentence last time, but this time you were lost.
“You’re…” Peter tampered off again, staring at your confused expression for a moment before pulling you into a kiss. Your hands clenched into a fist and slowly uncurled as you relaxed into the kiss. Peter pulled away too soon and let his eyes flutter open. They met yours and you shared a moment of hesitation, not knowing what happened rest next.
“I’m gonna be honest lovey, I didn’t really have an ending to that sentence.” Peter chris joes softly, his breath fanning your face. “That was mainly improv.”
“You’re pretty good at improv, Parker.” You cracked a smile and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I did a little bit of theater in high school.” He shrugged smugly, making you giggle.
“Mmm. I severely don’t want to hear about that.” You teased before kissing him again.
“Oh, I think you do.” Peter remarked. “Because I once went to the bathroom during intermission with my mic still on and the entire audience heard me peeing.”
“Oh my God.” You laughed. “You’re so stupid.”
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