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randomshyperson · 21 hours
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Five Times Carol Danvers Kisses You
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Summary: The five times Carol Danvers kisses you until you two finally get together. 
Warnings: Mentions but nothing explicit, a lot of fluff, mutual pining (and typical angst of trope), best friends to lovers, pre-canon-compliant (takes place before Carol is taken), kissing, happy(ish) ending. | Words: 4.836k
A/N-> As mentioned on this blog before, I absolutely love the dynamics of "Five Times Something" and after watching The Marvels I became obsessed with Carol Danvers, and here I am with something about my beloved blondie. It's short and sweet, and I didn't want to write anything too angsty but you can get hints of what's to come from the canon (Dr.Lawson being a Kree in disguise and what will happen to Carol). But the fic doesn't address this directly and ends up with a happy scene. Let's all live in denial.
General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad
-&-
One.
“This is not a place to raise a child” was the justification your father used when he left. Funny enough, he didn't take the child, you, away from all the high-tech military weapons that he described as inadequate for a child to grow up around. 
His lost, it what your mother said, an easy smile on her lips while she offered you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She still had some grease on her jacket and a lot of dust on her hair but she looked beautiful. That was just how things were for Wendy Lawson.
And because she was the best mom anyone could ask for, or at least that was what you would perceive it with your limited references of healthy families. She was the best because she would let you sit around while she worked for the Shield, casually teaching you advanced engineering like it was the same homework you had from secondary school.
That was the only life you knew: Afternoons of trying to stay out of the way of Shield Agents and their big weapons until you were old enough to have a gun yourself.
But before that time came, some of them worried you weren't having a decent childhood. Away from guns at least.
You don't know which of the Agents suggested to Doctor Lawson the kart track, but you wish you could thank them. Your mother, as the busy cientist she always has been, was not available to be around all of the evenings you wished to spend there but she trusted your independence to use the bus after school. Besides, you had the impression that there were always Shield Agents keeping an eye on you no matter where you went.
Só for three whole years, that old place was your favorite. You would run out from the classroom with the first ring of the bell to get to the kart track as fast as you could, and for all those three years, you were also the best runner there.
Of course, it cost you some bloody noose and bruised hands. Especially with sore losers little boys who were very unpleased to be second placed by some random girl. There were also the parents, who would whisper not very lowly on how absurd it was to let an unsupervised little girl in such a violent activity.
As luck would have it, someday you were no longer the only little girl around.
The Danvers were local, and you always thought there were only three of them. The grumpy father and the loud and popular sons. But one day, the one with the warmest smile, the youngest son brought someone with him.
His little sister's name was Carol. She had her blonde hair tied down and she looked ready to punch anyone who gave her a hard time. All the Danvers kind looked the same to be fair. Blonde, strong and angry.
Unlike her brother and their free pass to do as they please, Carol was constantly reprimanded by her father. Even there, in front of the whole crowd and runners, he would scream and pinch her ear, adding to the fury that shone behind Carol's little blue eyes.
The other children would whisper just like their parents but growing up with spies and secret agents gave you this second nature to sneak in and out of places without being noticed. You weren't supposed to hear some of the adults whispering how Mr.Danvers drank more than he should or how his older son was leaving next summer for the army with a purple eye he didn't get in the training. You weren't supposed to but you did.
So the next time Carol crashed a car with one of the other runners, you messed up your perfect record to help her.
Her dad screamed again, as usual. But he left, muttering she could find her way home since she was so clever and Carol had those thick tears in her eyes that made them bluer, so you were helping her before you could give a second thought to it.
She didn't mind that you took her hand and brought her to the administration lobby. She's more interested in knowing how the hell you knew how to get there in the first place.
When you told her you grew up with spies she laughed thinking you were joking. You decided to tell her more stories in the hope it would distract her from the pain of the cuts she got in her legs from the crash.
It worked.
Carol had colorful patches on both her knees when you two sneaked out of there to the bus stop. You could take her home if she wished because you knew a lot about public transport but Carol smiled and said she could do it alone; Her dad was often not around and with soldiers brothers, she knew a lot about doing things by herself.
Yet, she appreciates the gesture and the thought. Her bus should be here in 25 minutes so you sit next to her and let your healthy knee brush her bruised one.
“My name is Carol Danvers by the way.” 
You have to chuckle at her line.
“I know who you are, Danvers.” You retort with an easy smile. She looks up with curiosity. You chuckle again. “You know your name is on the scoreboard, right?”
She laughs, almost shyly. You don't know that yet but Carol is not the best at making friends. Especially girlfriends because apparently, every girl hated how not 60s girly behavior she acted on as much as any boy.
You didn't mind. If anything, it kinda made you like her more.
“You didn't have to do that back there you know?” She starts over, fingers tugging at the bandaid you put above her knee. “Lose the race to check on me.”
You shrug, eyes on the road. “No worries. There'll be other races. Besides, you're the only real competition I get there. If you're not participating, what's the fun in winning?”
Carol's cheeks grow a little hotter, but you're both too young to know it has nothing to do with the sun above your heads. You offer her a smile and she gets up to signal to the bus.
But before she leaves, she turns to you again.
It's quicker than her crash that morning, the thank you little peck on your right cheek but is as meaningful as losing a three-year Invictus status on a track race for someone.
Carol nearly flees the scene once she catches the first glimpse of surprise in your expression. You were caught off guard, that's all. But all you can do is laugh to yourself as you watch her run to her bus.
Tomorrow, when you are back here, you'll find Carol so you can share your lunch with her. Today, you would walk home with no clue why the spot she kissed was tingling.
-&-
Two.
Shield Academy is not the army. 
It is, as the name suggests, an academic program for the gifted-minded. It's a place where a child who grew up surrounded by the brightest minds on the planet can get it easily.
Well, of course, there's a lot of studying and tiring exams that you wouldn't describe as easy but when taking everything into consideration, the only place a brainy - or huge nerd as Carol would call it - could end up was there.
So while you had big dark blue sweaters with the Shield logo on them, Carol had worn out public school uniforms. 
But she was doing okay. In fact, if anyone asked you, even though you were the nerd one in that friendship, for you, Carol was quite brilliant. She had a quick mind and such a strong, well, everything. She was as clever as she was kind. She was passionate about anything she cared for and she was easily your favorite person.
The kart track gave space for the public library and the green plains behind Shield Academia as you two grew up. Carol would take her bike from across town and spend the whole day after school in those green yards with you. Often, she had a football with her while you had a book.
And while you tried to escape your Shield colleagues, Carol would find her spot at your side. She would watch those training agents and wish to be like them, while both of you knew she would follow her brothers to the military when the time came.
But for now, you're sixteen. And Carol has been your best friend for almost 6 years now. You're not sure if friends have anniversaries or if it's something reserved for dating, and since you're not gonna ask any of the agents around, especially not Doctor Lawson, you just assume is okay to get Carol a gift.
She had been wishing for a walkman for so long - she had three already, all broke down during some of her naughty antics, from jumping into the reservation without remembering to take them off her backpack to get into a fight with older kids who thrown her stuff just for the fun of it. So yes, she had those before and she loved music but somehow she always ended up breaking them so you thought maybe because you were the one gifting it, she would be more careful.
You were right of course, but that's hardly the point.
Carol started to act strange after the gift. Even days later, during movie night at her house, she got quiet, which is definitely not a Carol Danvers kind of attitude, so you started to wonder if the present was a good idea at all.
That of course, until Carol clarified the whole thing.
“I got you something too. For, hum, the anniversary thing.” 
You pinched her ribs, the nearly shy behavior was such an odd thing to testify that was actually terrifying you. Carol has been your best friend for way too long for that or anything to be awkward between you two.
But then again, adolescence makes everything weird.
You don't open the gift very graciously. Because you were in the middle of movie night, of course, hands full of popcorn butter and Carol was being weird and suspect that you just wanted to put an end to it.
You chuckle at her worn-out team jacket there.
“So your gift to me is your jacket?” You asked with a confused frown, watching your friend struggle with her words the next moments.
“No, I mean yes. But not, just that.” She starts and it's quite the scene. Carol Danvers not being able to talk when that's all she does. “It's my favorite jacket. I… really like it.”
“Do you want it back then?” You suggest with a confused laugh but Carol shakes her head immediately, her cheeks rosy.
“God, no, that’s not…” she takes a deep breath. “I like the jacket, a lot, but not as much as I like you. So I thought, maybe if I can give you something that I really like, it will mean…”
“Oh, I get it.” You say with a smile, holding the jacket against your chest as Carol switches the weight in her foot. “Thank you, blondie. But you don't have to give me your favorite stuff to show me you like me. You don't have to give me anything at all really. Perhaps, all you have to do is say it and I'll believe you.”
Carol nods, shallowing dryly, and without missing a beat, she repeats her words from before: “I really like you.” It's nearly a whisper, and the way she struggles to hold your gaze tells you everything you need to know.
You smile, aware of the warmth spreading in your cheeks and ears.
“I really like you too, Carol.” You tell her and with no hush, you put her jacket on. The blonde in front of you takes a shaky breath once the jacket is properly around your body. You're distracted with the new outfit to take notice of the new dark shine her eyes hold. “Gotta admit it, Danvers, I could totally worm the athletic style. I mean, I look super cool don't I?”
But your question goes unanswered. Carol moves forward, her hands grab the collar of the gifted jacket and just like the first time, she kisses you quicker than you can manage to process.
Her lips are dry against yours because she's nervous. Trembling and terrified. You pull away, and Carol has her eyes closed tightly, breathing unevenly.
You take a deep breath and lick your lips to moisten them a little and the second kiss is much better. 
There's this soft noise she makes when you move your mouth but the second you feel her tongue on your lower lip, there's noise around you two.
As if getting electrocuted, Carol jumps away just in time for her evidently drunk father to stumble inside the garage.
Carol is not eight anymore, but she's the only one left in that house. Her older brother taught her five different ways to break someone's noose, but Carol still shakes like the leaves if her father is around with his harsh words and angry looks.
This time, however, he takes a long glance at you both. The guilty looks, accelerated breathing, and he just laughs.
The only thing he says is a slur that makes Carol flinch. Then he turns his back and climbs the stairs to his bedroom, passing out in the hallway before he can make it through.
“Carol, I-” You try but she forces a smile and nods at the door.
“Please go.” She asks. “I have to take him to bed and you don't have to stay.”
“But-”
“Please.”
You leave. And Carol doesn't bring up that night for the next two years.
-&-
Three.
Graduation means Army. More specifically, the Air Force because of course Carol Danvers wants to fly away from everything and everyone.
“Not everyone.” She frowns when you tell her that. Then she smiles, legs brushing yours at the back of her truck. “I would love to have you up there with me.”
You chuckle, giving her shoulder a little bump with your own.
“Sorry Blondie, you know I hate planes.” You joke but the shine in her eyes is deeper now.
“What about spaceships?” She insists it.
You sigh into the night, pensive for a second.
“Well, Mom would probably love it if I ever suggest anything that involves flying.” You say, breaking into a chuckle as your hand moves to the leg you have bent in that position, which allows you to trace your fingers toward your ankle. “Of course, anything other than my secret little Pegasus.”
Carol gives a compliance smile at the mention of the secret tattoo you got on her seventeenth birthday but continues to watch you in silence.
The stars are shining bright above you two, and the parked truck gives as much privacy as one could get in that neighborhood. If you and Carol weren't girls, people would make conclusions.
Perhaps they’ll do it anyway.
“What would I even do up there, Danvers?” You ask her because Carol is so passionate about flying that you're starting to wonder if she is able to see a whole different world up there that you can't.
This time, her hand finds you before her lips. She brings her fingers to yours resting on the truck and locks them. She gets closer and closer and gives you all the time in the world to push her back.
But she's Carol, and she's beautiful and she's your best friend. Why wouldn't you want to kiss her?
There's tongue this time. Hesitant at first then curious, until finally hungry. Of course, Carol Danvers is a good kisser, this asshole.
You break apart, to complain with a husky tone that is unfair but Carol only chuckles before kissing you again. And again. Until somehow you end with your back against her truck, painting into her mouth.
And Carol is seventeen years old and she's a huge virgin like you who really wants this to change tonight. Not just that, of course, but she's still a teen and that's exactly what she chooses to say in order to make this less life-changing than it is.
Because sleeping together as a way of ending high school without the V Card has a completely different meaning than sleeping together because you really want to ruin a friendship.
You swallow at her suggestion, aware that the heat in your veins doesn't cover for the way your heart just broke inside your chest.
But you smile and tell Carol you love her, making sure it sounds platonic. Just to hurt her just as much.
It works, but she kisses you anyway.
-&-
Four.
Maria Rambeau is the most incredible person you have ever met. She's clever and fun and kindhearted. It's so easy to love her and it comes so naturally, that you can't really blame Carol.
You also have no right to be jealous, you tell yourself.
After all, Carol asked more than once for you to at least consider following her to the Air Force. You both had military families, so it made sense for her that you both ended up following the same path.
You were not entirely excluded from that, of course. But unlike Carol with her soldier training, you had medical classes. And while she and Maria learned to shoot people, you learned to heal them.
That of course until the third year, when Carol's training moved to space crafting and yours moved to biological charts. The Pegasus was not the only military project available for you, and being home was good but every time you caught a glimpse of the empty fields near the station, you remember afternoons with Carol and the lack of her ache a hell lot inside your chest.
But visiting her at the base and then at a local bar was a bittersweet occasion.
Because time went by and Carol made a new friend. A lovely and brilliant and apparently less confused woman new best friend. Maria who made her laugh and blush and was such a great company that you couldn't hate her no matter how much the jealousy burned inside your veins.
Somehow, no matter how many dove eyes Carol threw at Maria, she didn't catch them. Immune to her charm entirely. You kinda wished she would teach you that.
The last free week you had was spent visiting Carol and ending up in a bar. But Maria's night was continuing with a good-looking soldier somewheres else, so yours and Carol's would continue with cheap drinks.
It was probably common sense, not to mix alcohol with feelings but you and Carol clearly skipped that class.
You ended up pressed behind the bar's wall in a messy attempt of drunken make-out with your former best friend.
Carol tasted like beer and the army's year changed her. Even drunk, she knew her way around a woman's body now and you had to force your stupid brain to stop wondering about who she had been practicing with. Perhaps Maria was not immune to her charm as you thought she was.
Just as things were getting out of hand, that is, it was probably against some army rules to have sex behind one bar in the military area, Carol pulled away.
She looked so good like that, with messy hair and flushing cheeks, her lips swollen due to the whole thing.
But her eyes were so sad. And you couldn't push the alcohol and the lust away to have clear thoughts on that.
“We can't do this again.” She declares with a seriousness that makes you swallow hard. “I can't.”
She stumbles away and you nearly slip down the hall on your shaky legs. Carol is looking for her car keys but she will definitely fall asleep on the seat.
To be fair, you kinda wished that night would end in her car seat, just in very different scenarios.
“Why not, Danvers?” You manage to question once the anger pushes a little of the alcohol away. Carol sighs tiredly. “Why?” You almost scream and she stops in her tracks, turning to give you a hurt look.
“I can't do this again, okay?” She retorts and she's drunk but she's so hurt. You can see it in her eyes and it kills you to think it is something you have done it. “I don't have the strength in me to get over you again”.
Your world freezes for a whole second. Your mouth is bitter suddenly.
“O-over me?” You repeat her words, confusion mixing with the pain you feel growing in your chest. “When… When were you under me?”
The question is the best of what your drunk brain can come up with but it's enough for Carol to understand.
She lets out a sad chuckle. “C'mon, Lawson. How could you not know? Everyone did. Even my dad, especially my dad.” She corrects herself then, bitterly before taking a deep breath. “It's past. It doesn't matter anymore. We are no longer kids, messing around with things we don't understand. I know what am I. And I know we shouldn’t. I won't jeopardize our friendship again for someone I cannot have.”
There are tears in your eyes, and Carol has the fucking worst timing in the world because your brain simply can't catch up with the meaning of this conversation with all the booze in the way.
“Carol, what are you even saying?”
She just smiles, giving a nod to the bar.
“Let's get inside, I'll get you a cab back to your hotel.”
She doesn't let you question further and the next morning, when the hangover barely allows you to open your eyes, Carol says the worst thing you did last night was try dancing with a Statue.
-&-
Five.
Doctor Lawson has been acting strange lately. She says it's work stress when she returns your calls and ignores your advice about her retiring.
You use your mother's stress as an excuse to come home, and it seems ridiculous that you have to invent reasons to see Carol, but she gives you no choice. Things have been very strange between you in recent months.
The house is a mess, and it's the first time you've worried about the possibility of dementia.
Strange phrases, disconnected words. You think about calling the head of Shield when you put Dr. Lawson to bed after making her some hot tea, but you end up calling Carol.
Your former best friend brings her old truck into your garage.
"Hey, blondie." She hugs you first at the greeting, and you sigh with satisfaction at the contact. You almost forget the stress of the whole meeting with your mother. "It's good to see you."
"I missed you." Carol says with a smile, squeezing you tighter before letting go. "What happened? You sounded worried on the phone."
You sigh before telling her everything you saw, standing there leaning on Carol's truck in the dim light of the garage. It's her turn to sigh when you finish.
"Good thing I brought beer." She comments, getting a laugh out of you. 
You don't even notice the time passing that night, but it's like being back in senior year, sitting side by side in the back of Carol's truck, forgetting the world around you for a moment.
When the case of beers is about to run out, you've said almost everything you have to say. Carol thinks she needs to add something more.
"I know the circumstances aren't the best but... I can't say I'm sad." She begins, looking straight ahead, a half-full can of beer in her hands. "With the possibility of you coming to live here again, I mean. I've kind of hated Washington since you left. And Shield too, for taking you away."
You giggle shyly at this and don't know what to say to Carol, so you just decide to hug her. But you're a bit dizzy after the third beer and miscalculate your approach. You end up too close to her face and can see almost in slow motion how the blue darkens or how Carol chokes on her breath.
"I'm sorry, I-" you begin in a hoarse voice, but she doesn't let you finish. The beer can slips out of her hand as she uses both to pull your face towards her.
It's an intense, messy, and passionate kiss. Carol swallows all the sighs that escape your lips as she presses her mouth to yours. Her tongue doesn't ask for passage. You melt against her and try your best to match her energy, suddenly feeling very dizzy, unrelated to the beer.
Her hands move from your face to your neck and down to your waist. Carol mentions pulling you onto her lap, but the balcony lights flicker on and she grunts as she pulls away.
You're still blinking spellbound at the whole thing, trying to catch your breath as she stands up, adjusting her hair.
"Fuck, I shouldn't have done that." She mutters more to herself than to you, hoarse and upset. You swallow dry. "I'm so stupid."
"Carol."
"You're so fucking stupid, Carol Danvers, I swear to God." She ignores your call, continuing to curse quietly to herself. You frown, but end up looking at the porch; your mother has woken up and looks just as lost as before and you really need to check on her.
When you get out of the truck, you touch Carol on the shoulder, and she turns around almost in despair.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm leaving-"
"Carol, shut up." You cut her off and don't let her say another word.
She shuts up immediately. "I really have to get back inside, and make sure my mom doesn't turn on any water or store the cat in the fridge again." You chuckle apologetically, stroking her cheek. "But I need you to understand that this isn't a mistake, an accident or a thoughtless act after a few beers. At least it isn't and it never was for me. We need to start talking to each other."
Carol nods quickly, swallowing as she looks down at your swollen lips. "Yeah, talking is good."
You smile, and hear the sound of the cat in the house and think you'd better start running. "Later, okay?"
"Later."
But your mother doesn't have dementia. She's not even allowed in a regular hospital. Shield is strangely private about everything, but you're practically coerced into signing confidentiality papers about the current state of Dr. Lawson, who seems to miraculously improve after spending an hour in a room with other agents.
Carol is the only person you can talk to about things, and she has news of her own.
"Maria is pregnant." She tells you, with a twinkle in her eye, without waiting for you to finish absorbing the news. "And she wants me to be the godmother!"
You're happy for Maria, especially perhaps because she's seeing that handsome soldier and she and Carol have nothing going on. Also, you need to tell Carol that you can go back to Washinton now that your mother is better.
"Oh, I thought..." The blonde hesitates as she hears the news, trying not to look upset by forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I thought you'd decided to stay."
You're having breakfast in the living room of your house, Dr. Lawson is working upstairs. You swallow the bitter feeling of hurting Carol again.
"I would, for Mom. But why would I stay in Louisiana?" It's a rhetorical question because you both know very well what would make you stay. Carol laughs sadly, looking down. You get tired of pretending. " I would stay for you. I would stay for... us."
She looks at you in silence, a conflict of emotions on her face. "Don't be ridiculous, you can't just give up your career for a friendship-"
"Carol." You cut her off seriously, and she choked on her sentence, her eyes as tearful as yours. You give her a small smile, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "You know that's not what I'm saying."
She swallows dryly, and despite reaching out to take your hand, she insists; "I'm gonna need you to say it."
"God, you're such an asshole." You gasp with emotion, laughing as tears of happiness escape yours and her eyes. Carol also laughs but waits. "Okay, Danvers. You've got me. I'm completely, irrevocably in love with you. I have been for a long time, maybe since the first time I saw you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."
Carol almost knocks over the coffee table when she moves in to kiss you but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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spider-stark · 1 day
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INFINITELY YOU
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part one // back at the beginning
SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.
WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion
WORD COUNT - 5.4k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //
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The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  
It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  
“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  
God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.
Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  
Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  
With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  
She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  
And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  
“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  
You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  
But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  
You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  
Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  
“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  
He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 
Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  
“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  
“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  
But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  
You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  
You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  
And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 
She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  
“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  
It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  
They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  
And it still made you angry.  
“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  
“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  
He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  
She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  
Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  
“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  
Understand.  
If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  
Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  
You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  
At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  
“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  
“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  
Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  
You weren’t used to this.  
Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  
“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  
It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  
Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  
You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  
Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  
The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  
It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  
You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  
This was different, somehow.  
It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  
It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  
Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  
But Peter wasn’t like other people.  
Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  
His eyes couldn't lie, though.
Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  
They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  
“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  
Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  
His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  
“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  
You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  
You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  
Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  
It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  
It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  
“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  
Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  
You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  
“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  
You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  
Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  
Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  
But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  
“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  
You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  
He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  
“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  
“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  
Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  
“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  
You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  
“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  
A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  
He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  
His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  
You knew better than to think he meant it.  
But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  
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You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  
Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  
But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  
You were good at expressing anger, though.  
You were very good at expressing anger.  
After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  
And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  
By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  
But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  
There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  
Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  
The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  
Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  
It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  
“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  
The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  
Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  
Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  
“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  
You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  
“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  
You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  
Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  
“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  
His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  
His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  
You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  
The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  
Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  
And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  
“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  
Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  
Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  
And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  
“I will,” you promised.  
Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  
You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  
The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  
“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  
He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  
The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  
He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  
“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  
“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  
“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  
“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  
You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  
The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  
“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  
The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  
“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  
Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  
You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  
“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  
“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  
Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  
“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  
“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  
Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  
The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  
“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  
Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  
He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  
“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  
Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  
A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  
Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  
“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  
You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  
Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  
“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  
He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  
“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  
You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.
He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  
You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  
“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  
There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  
But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  
Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  
This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  
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a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.
if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!
part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st
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marvellous1917 · 9 months
Text
Icarus
(Part 1)
Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader
Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.
Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it
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A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?
————
“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.
“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.
“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.
“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.
“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”
“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.
“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.
“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”
“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.
The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.
He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.
“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.
He moved his left had to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.
The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.
“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.
“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.
“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?
“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.
“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.
“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.
“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.
“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.
“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.
“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”
“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth
“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.
“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.
“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”
“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.
“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”
“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.
“Could you give him some more time?”
He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.
“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.
“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.
“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”
“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.
The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.
“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?
“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.
“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.
“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.
“Can I see it?”
“…sure,” the word came out as a question.
He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.
“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.
Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.
“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.
“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.
“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design
He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.
“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.
“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.
“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.
“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.
“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.
He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.
“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.
“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.
The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.
“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.
“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.
“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.
“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.
“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”
“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.
“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”
“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.
“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.
“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”
“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.
Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.
“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.
Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”
“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.
“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.
He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”
“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted
“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.
This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.
“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.
It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”
As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.
James:
Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.
It makes me feel ancient.
I hate that.
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urdepressedslut · 9 months
Text
You’re Mine, Sunshine
♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader
♡ Summary: Bucky gets picked by a very rich and respected man to be his daughter’s personal bodyguard. The Father warns him that it won’t be an easy job, that she is a brat and difficult to deal with. But what happens when Bucky meets you and you’re the complete opposite?
♡ Warnings: mentions of amputation, light angst, hints to violence, mentions of death, bucky being a grumpy man
Part 2
Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!AU Bodyguard!AU
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“Mr. Barnes, your résumé so far is quite impressive.” Pierce acknowledged with a slow nod.
Bucky of course had a trained eye, but the glares that were not so subtly sent his way by the big boss— were intimidating. He wasn’t scared, no. He simply respected this man’s power. Bucky knew better than to get on the bad side of someone like Pierce.
“Says here you’re an amputee?” Pierce asked so bluntly, and he noticed Bucky’s eyes squint slightly. “Sorry, if I’m overstepping but nothing will be overlooked.”
“It’s not a problem, sir.” Bucky assured him. “Yes, I lost my left arm during a mission way back.”
Pierce furrowed his brows.
“Mission? I take it you used to be an agent of some sort.” He assumed.
Bucky nodded.
“Hm, very good. Continue.” He waved him on.
“I had some surgical procedures— and now I have a prosthetic.”
Bucky lifted his left arm, rolling his sleeve slightly up to expose the metal to the boss. Pierce hummed impressively, taking in the intricate designs on the metal.
“I can assure you that me having a prosthetic will not be an issue— my arm is made out of only the strongest metal. Bullet proof, in fact.” He added, hoping it would further impress the boss, proving just how perfect for the job he was.
It wasn’t his dream to be a bodyguard, actually it was quite a low in his career— if you asked him. He had fallen out of his previous steady job, due to some complications. He had the experience of being a bodyguard— just not for only one person. It would be a weird change for him, but he was willing to take on the challenge. Also, the pay was nice.
Pierce hummed again, the information that his prosthetic arm was bullet proof— only satisfying him more.
“Like I said, impressive Mr. Barnes. But this is an extremely important task. My only daughter, who must be protected at all costs.” Pierce trailed off, expression growing serious. “It’s been a hard adjustment since the passing of my wife, my daughter is all I have left.”
Bucky nodded in understanding, knowing what it was like to lose loved ones. In fact, that wound was still fresh on him.
“If I allow you to take on this role, you are to swear to yourself that you will do whatever it takes to keep her alive— no matter what.” Pierce spoke loudly, his voice orotund.
Bucky in the back of his mind thought about his choice of words. ‘If I allow you.’ Bucky respected this man, but he had to hold back the scoff that threatened to escape his lips at his statement.
“Do you think you’re ready for that?” Pierce challenged, and suddenly it wasn’t about his daughter at all. It was a man challenging another man, a task that he deemed impossible.
His metal hand behind his back whirred in annoyance. After all that fluffing his head up, complimenting his training. It was clear Pierce thought so little of him, and at that— it made Bucky wanna take the job even more. Just to prove him wrong.
“Yes sir.” Bucky promised, shaking Pierces hand in a firm— slightly aggressive shake.
Pierce smiled, dropping Bucky’s résumé on his desk. Getting himself comfortable, he sat on the edge of the front of the desk, crossing his arms.
“Now, let’s go through what is to be expected.” He started, Bucky nodded for him to continue. “You are to be with her at all times, except for when you sleep. You do sleep right?”
Bucky let the scoff escape this time, but it wasn’t as aggressive as he wanted it to be.
“I’ve got a metal arm, but I’m still human sir.”
Pierce chuckled to himself, and Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. This man thinks he’s so funny.
“Right. You must never let her leave your sight, if she wants to see her friends— you’ll be seeing them with her. Not that it’s going to be an issue, I don’t think she has many friends… or any.” The boss shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about his daughter.
Bucky nodded, taking everything in.
“You are going to be staying with her in the safe house… well— she thinks it’s just a house but the area is guarded with my men.” He shrugged again. “I’m a successful man and with that comes enemies, people who look for my weaknesses. You know that.”
Bucky gave a tight lipped smile, Pierce so far sounding like a father of the year.
“Now, about my daughter. Her name is (Y/n) (Y/L/n), and she is a handful.” Pierce stated frustratedly. “She’s rude, ungrateful, nasty— and just overall extremely difficult.”
Bucky furrowed his brows, rethinking his decision to be a bodyguard for this girl. Fucking lovely.
“You can now understand why I’m paying you the offered amount. It’s only fair to you, Mr. Barnes. Truthfully, I can’t deal with her anymore. I love her, and she’s my daughter but… It just doesn’t work out with me. I’m a busy man— I don’t have time for brats.” Pierce spat, straightening up and heading back around his desk.
Bucky had already been creating this mental image of you, so far you sounded like a witch. He was not at all ready to be dealing with you 24/7.
“Doesn’t sound like a problem boss, I’m happy to be protecting your daughter. Nobody will lay a hair on her head, I swear on my life.” Bucky promised again, bowing his head slightly.
“Oh I know. If anything happens to her and I find out you were slacking even by an inch… well you’re a smart man, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Pierce warned, and Bucky swallowed at the mere intimidation that laced his voice.
But he would not back down to this challenge, which is how he saw this— not a job.
“That will be all Mr. Barnes, (Y/n) is around here somewhere. Find her and take her home.” He told Bucky, putting on his glasses— focusing on his paperwork.
“Yes sir.”
Bucky nodded and turned to exit the room. He was so confused with the interaction. You’d think someone who hires a bodyguard for their daughter would know where their daughter is. The way he spoke about you was off putting. Bucky didn’t even know you, but it felt wrong to hear someone talk so little about you. What did he know anyway— apparently you were a monster.
He made his way through the building with a swift walk, needing to fulfill his duties and find you quickly. He was on the third floor, about to hit the button to the elevator when he saw a young lady. Despite him wanting to find you all on his own, he got her attention.
“Excuse me,” He waved to her with a fake smile, “Do you know where I can find (Y/n) (Y/L/n)?”
The lady smiled and took Bucky by surprise by laughing. His fake smile vanished immediately, his eyes squinting in a annoyed expression.
“That would be me!” You exclaimed with a warm smile.
Bucky’s eyes widened and he thought for a second he was being fucked with, but after you stayed smiling at him, being as patient as ever— he knew you weren’t joking.
“Uh right… Your dad is Pierce?” He asked hesitantly, keeping his guard up. Still thinking someone was messing with him— testing him.
You nodded slowly, giving him a curious expression. Your smile never wavering.
“Yes, and you are?” You asked so politely.
Bucky shouldn’t of been as shocked as he was but truthfully, he was expecting a demon spawn of a person. Red eyes, withered flowers left in your path, a literal storm cloud floating over you— but you looked so normal. So sweet and pretty. Your hair smelled so strongly of strawberry shampoo, he could catch the scent from his spot. Your voice was like honey, the sound soothing.
He was confused as to why your father thought so wrongly of you. He had too many questions.
He cleared his throat, straightening himself now that he believed you were who he was looking for.
“(Y/n), my name is Mr. Barnes— I’ve been hired as your personal bodyguard.” He informed you, watching the corners of your mouth falter slightly.
“Oh, did my Father hire you?” You asked politely.
“Yes ma’am.”
You nodded your head, attempting to keep a smile on your face. But you couldn’t help the distaste for being given a bodyguard. You knew it was only for the sole purpose, that your Father didn’t want to care for you anymore. He wanted nothing to do with you. That fact was enough to make your nose start to burn, but you held yourself together— not wanting to break down in front of this new guy.
Bucky watched you take in the information, the way you took a deep breath, almost controlling yourself before you spoke again.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Barnes. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.” You told him.
Bucky shook his head, an annoyed expression etching his face.
“Ma’am, I think we should keep things professional. I have been hired as your bodyguard. Let me do my job, and you can continue with your day as usual. You won’t even know I’m here half the time.” He explained rather harshly.
You seemed taken aback, his words hurting you more than they should’ve. You were lonely, and you thought you’d be able to get a friend out of this situation. Even if he was being hired to hang around you. Luck didn’t seem to be on your side as he told you off. The burning felt stronger in your nose, and you took another deep breath.
Bucky only felt bad for a second, but he was quickly snapping back to reality. It was his life on the line to protect you, and if Bucky was anything— it was that he was good at doing his job. This was business, not playtime.
“I’m here to take you home. Are you ready?” He asked you.
You relaxed your quick beating heart, not even having time to speak with your Father. Not that he’d want to anyway. So much had changed since your Mother passed, you had yet to heal those wounds.
You nodded with a weaker smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. If Bucky had noticed your sudden mood change, he didn’t mention it— instead guiding you outside.
He opened the door to the car that was waiting outside for you, climbing in himself after you were settled.
He started driving to your place, with the help of the car telling him directions.
Meanwhile you gazed out the window, watching the buildings pass by. You forced yourself to keep a small smile on your face, hoping you’d convince yourself that the gesture was genuine if you did it long enough.
Bucky glanced back at you through the rear view mirror from time to time, watching you look out the window. He was still trying to come to terms with how polite you were, how completely opposite you were to your Fathers description.
On one hand it was a relief that he didn’t have to deal with the devil. On the other hand… he was anxious to see where this job would lead him.
A/N: I don’t know what is wrong with me, but suddenly I had this urge to write a bodyguard!bucky fic. let’s be honest, we are all slut’s for bodyguard!bucky 😭 I’m also a whore for the trope grumpy x sunshine 🥰🥴 let me know what you think— this is all word vomit.
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spiderfunkz · 3 months
Text
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where the avengers team thought it was a good idea to spend the holidays in your cabin by the woods. where they know you and nat won't get along well, but hey, it's not an avengers holiday without a bit of drama.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where she secretly gets jealous when steve holds you by the waist to help you balance while you put the star on top of the tree. where she'll 'accidentally' spill hot chocolate on your shirt so you can borrow one of hers, because apparently 'hers fit you the best'.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where you find her up late at night drinking half of your bottle of wine. where she'll complain that she couldn't sleep because it was 'too cold'. where you'll eventually join her to the point you're both drunk and laughing, where you actually start to get along for once.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where all of that wine makes natasha drunkenly confess to you. and since you have been drinking the wine too you didn't process it correctly. but as everyone says, drunk words are just sober thoughts. thoughts that both you and nat have been hiding.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where nat wakes up in your bed with you sleeping beside her, her head dizzy from last nights wine. she must've complained too much about her room being too cold to the point you suggest sleeping in your bed together.
where you wake up with nat staring at you confused, rubbing her head. "what are you doing in my bed?" you groan, rubbing your eyes as you try to remember what led to this. "you snore loudly." she replies, causing you to roll your eyes. "get out of my bed. you have your own room here." you stare, natasha smirks teasingly before getting out of your bed.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where a small saying leads into a heated argument. too heated the point nat pins you near one of the door frames that leads to a hallway. where you'll send her a flirty remark before looking up to see she's under a mistletoe you strategically hung.
enemies to lovers with natasha . . . where she'll look up to see the mistletoe, one of her hands still pinning you against the door frame. "are you scared of a little fake plant?" you'll challenge her, "no." the tension between you and her growing. "well then do it." you smirk, "do what?" — "kiss me." and so she did, which left you speechless and blushing.
"do you want me to do that again? this mistletoe isn't going anywhere."
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requested by @patriphagy ! (my reqs for nat r open btw)
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peter and reader literally js making out and being adorable !
i kinda got carried away w this one so it’s a little bit ✨spicier✨ than intended-
!!! 18+ (MDI) !!!
content warnings — a really steamy make–out with Peter, sexual content, teasing.
✨masterlist✨.
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1.2k.
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The emptiness of Peter’s apartment carried his voice through the echoes, making the space feel that much bigger as you sunk into his couch. His Aunt May had gone out with some friends for the evening, making some suggesting jokes and comments that made you and Peter blush, even long after she’d left.
All the lights were off in the apartment, excluding the lamp behind Peter’s closed bedroom door, and the colorful glow of the television seated in front of you. You and your boyfriend were cuddled on his couch, entranced by George Lucas’s galactic storytelling. Your head had previously been resting on his shoulder, but due to Peter’s current geeky–tangent, you sat up to listen to him better.
“He used to make lightsaber sounds when they were practicing, and he’d have no idea.” Peter was quite expressive when he explained little Star–Wars facts to you. There was something about the way his eyes lit up, and he’d use his arms to guide the sentence.
You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding your amusement as best as possible whilst you listened. Your entire focus was set to him, but the passion he had for these movies never ceased to entertain you. The two of you had been dating for roughly five months, and from the little mental list you were creating of your favorite Peter things, these conversations were one of your top picks.
Peter’s eyes kept flickering back and forth from you to the movie screen, glowing happily as he went on with his vent about Revenge of the Sith, more importantly, Ewan McGregor. “He had been so used to making the effects when he was younger, that when they’d film their battle scenes, Ewan made the sound effects out of habit.”
As much as you had been paying attention to his words, your thread of thought was more occupied with the enthusiasm laced in his voice. The timid dimples that threatened to say hello in the midst of his smile, the ecstatic gesture of his hands, and the glistening tint of excitement that strung within your eye contact. You’d been so entranced by his little geek–out, you almost forgot to respond.
Your grin grew a little, despite every Star–Wars related response fleeting from your brain. You let the first thought you could muster slip through your lips. “You’re adorable.” You probably could’ve given a more thorough and engaged response, but seeing the red that flooded Peter’s expression made it all the more worth it.
Peter looked at you for a moment, completely flustered. He was off guard at the fact that ‘you’re adorable’ was your only response to his Star–Wars tangent. His lips parted a few times to speak, but his words failed every time. “Shut up..”
Carefully, you slid yourself closer to him beneath your shared throw blanket, looking up at him. Your head shook in response as you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “No.” You replied between kisses, placing a few more across his face. “I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are...” Sooner than later, your lips found their way to his, connecting in such a sickly sweet way.
The kiss you shared seemed to ease the nerves that accompanied the blush on his face. You could feel the warmth of his fingers trace your upper thighs, pulling one across his legs so you could straddle his lap. You loved the feeling of your lips piecing together; the upper, then the lower, and the way your bodies fit together just as perfectly. It was intoxicating.
“I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are..” Peter spoke, breathless between your kisses. His voice hummed lower than before, rasping in the back of his throat. Even though he’d just been particularly focused on the movie, his mind now went to other places. Just the thought of your intimacy, mixed with the way his hands kneaded the plush of your hips, sent a thrilling sensation straight down to your lower stomach.
Eyes shut, you were the one to first part from the kiss. “But we’re talking about you, Peter.” You lulled, feeling the way his lips chased after yours to stall your argument. You tucked your head away from his, your left thumb pressing itself on his lips as a barrier. You took the opportunity to cradle his face with your right hand in the process.
Your eyes slowly opened to meet Peter’s, fighting a smirk at how desperately he looked at you. You stared at him through your lashes, keeping your face irresistibly close to his. “I’m not going to kiss you until you take the compliment..” You teased, speaking barely above a whisper. You trusted him enough to remove your thumb, not even a little surprised by how eager he was to kiss you again.
It was easy to dodge him, and delectable to feel the light brushing of lips on yours; the urgency and impatience in his breath fanned against your parted lips, driving you just about as crazy as it drove him. The power you held was ravishing. Tension was quick to build between the two of you, binding both of you that much closer together. It took every bone in your body to fight the urge and cave to his need for you. His head craned in closer, doing everything he could to press his lonesome lips back to yours.
Peter tried to find a loophole. His hands grasping at your ass, his lips trailed and teased at your jawline when you’d dodge him. He found it infuriating, but also just as enjoyable. “Fine...” He huffed, smirking lightly. “Thank you.” Peter met your lips hungrily when you kissed him again, as though he’d been deprived of your embrace for years.
The kiss was much rougher than before, fueling the growing need for friction between your thighs. You rocked your hips against his, pressing the ache in your core to his growing erection. A heavy breath caught in your throat, lips parting further at the pressure. It was easy to let the world around you melt away, getting lost in Peter’s touch as his fingers tugged on your hair, and traveled under the thin fabric of your shirt.
Just like that, the jingle of May’s keys fumbling at the door tied you back to the crisp presence of reality. You flew off your boyfriend’s lap, seating yourself beside him like you had been moments prior. Swift movements brought a pillow to hide Peter’s arousal, and just like that, it looked like you two were merely watching a movie together. Well, minus the matching red hues on your cheeks.
May hummed a tune quietly to herself, mirroring the smile you sent her as she walked into the dark apartment. “The girls and I are heading to Jenny’s for the night, but I wanted to grab my Hennessy.” She chimed, strutting into the kitchen like she’d be out in a jiffy. Her attention got caught on the television for a moment, her smiling growing. “Oh! Pete, you found it!” May glanced at you, “Did he tell you that he spent all afternoon looking for his collectors DVD? He was really looking forward to showing it to you.”
You watched the way Peter’s head hit the back of the couch, pressing his palms into his face to try and mask his embarrassment. “May, stop!” He whined, sustaining out the words to emphasize just how flustered he got. His words were muffled through his hands, but you still couldn’t help but find it adorable. He was just too cute. You just had to let the giggles slip through your lips.
Yep, no doubt about it; Peter’s geeky Star–Wars obsession was definitely one of your favorite things about him. That, and your steamy make–out sessions.
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limarieb · 15 days
Text
i come around (when you least expect me)
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Pairing(s): emo!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader
Summary: After a one-night stand during a party, you find yourself in an odd gray area with your best friend's sister. It just so happens that your best friend's sister is also the person that has been making your life a living hell for the last few years... all without your best friend knowing.
Warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, mentions of drinking/parties, high school au, Wanda lowkey kinda mean but i SWEAR its lowkey, non-graphic scenes of kissing/making out (no smut... yet...?)
Word Count: 3.5k
Author's Note: sorry for my lack of posting, but i promised it would come soon(ish)! here's that 100 follower special i promised — oh, and thank youuuu all for the follows and support... i love you all <3 (title from 'heartbeat' by childish gambino) ... also, requests/asks are still open!
Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad
...
Pain. Throbbing, aching pain. The discomfort from your current hangover surrounded every inch of your mind, physically and metaphorically. Well, almost every inch... because memories from last night were finally reaching the surface now that you have awoken, conscious and, unfortunately, sober.
The sweet lips on yours.
The feeling of skin, hot and sweaty, against your own.
The perfect dichotomy of soft hands on your body as they gripped at your skin roughly, almost primal in nature.
And they all belonged to your best friend's twin sister.
You started to get ready for the day — whoever talked you into attending a party the day before the school year began should be arrested and fined for such a disservice.
Thankfully, you planned enough ahead to bring clothes to the twins' house for today. The outfit you had chosen was relatively casual: the worn-down, navy blue sweater that had been your father's during his college years and the comfiest pair of jeans you could find.
Venturing downstairs to the kitchen, you finally felt the extent of how poorly your stomach felt due to the heavy drinking from the previous night. You opted for something easy, pulling the first box of cereal that your fingertips touched out of the cabinet. You never liked cereal too much, but anything went during difficult times like these.
As you poured yourself a bowl of the bland cereal, footsteps sounded throughout the house. They were coming closer and closer to your location. You assumed it had been Pietro.
You were... close — it was her.
When you looked up from the bowl to see who the person was, you were displeased to find the girl standing there, simply observing you with a smirk on her face. It reminded you of the villainous expressions from the television: conniving and mischievous.
"Stop staring at me like that," you sneered, trying to keep your volume low enough that Pietro would not hear you but loud enough that she would sense the harsh seriousness of your tone.
Wanda maintained her gaze, simply tilting her head as if to challenge you, "Like what?"
"Like you know what I taste like."
The faux innocence in her expression slightly faltered. Her eyebrows rose, the shock from your words evident on her face. As Wanda opened her mouth to form another witty remark, the sound of a door opening made the two of you go effectively silent. Wanda looked toward the direction of the sound, awaiting his entrance in a way that demonstrated her indifference toward last night's events. You, on the other hand, completely averted your gaze from both of the twins due to the shame that coursed through your veins.
The rational part of your brain begged for you to tell Pietro about what happened last night; it would resolve the guilt that clawed at you with each passing minute, lifting the weight off of your shoulders entirely. Yet, each time that you began to plan the exact words of your apology, any ideas you had conjured seemed to fall short. It was not as if you could search the internet for a script concerning "how to tell your best friend that you mistakenly (but not so mistakenly that you stopped it) hooked up with his emo, bitchy twin sister at a party."
Your eyes swiftly returned to Wanda, watching her inch closer to where you stood by the counter. She reached her arm behind you, leaning in close enough that your breath mingled with hers. If asked, you would completely and utterly deny that part of your mind was anticipating the vibrant feeling of her lips on yours again; however, the fleeting glance at her lips revealed otherwise.
Wanda noticed. Of course, you would fall into her trap, and she noticed. She smirked in response to your reaction before leaning away and taking a few steps back. A banana was in the hand that had been behind you. Scoffing at yourself, you cannot believe that you let her tease you again.
"See you at school, Y/N," she declared with narrowed eyes, looking you up and down once more before waltzing out of the front door.
You took a deep breath, attempting to recuperate your mind for the day ahead of you. As soon as Wanda had left, Pietro walked into the kitchen, ignorant of what had just occurred.
Standing still as if in a daze, you could only sense Pietro race around the kitchen, grabbing various items he needed for the day ahead. After a few minutes, he slowed to a stop after closing the door to the fridge. He must have sensed your unusual stillness, then he asked, “You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You shakily nodded. “All good,” you forced yourself to stutter out. Not even you believed your words, but it seems as if Pietro was too busy in his own world to truly notice the lack of honesty in your reply. “I’m all good. Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”
The two of you scurried out the door in the hopes that you had not missed the bus. It was a bad habit that you both had been trying to break for years now but remained relatively unsuccessful.
As the two of you approached the classic, yellow school bus that sat on the corner of the street, Pietro raced ahead in order to save you the extra minute of running. He gracefully entered the bus, climbing its stairs with ease; meanwhile, you were audibly out of breath and tried to ignore the glances the bus driver gave to the two of you.
Pietro, like most mornings, found himself sitting with some of his friends from the cross country team, leaving you to fend for yourself. You quickly scanned the bus for an empty row so you could sit by yourself, but you quickly realized that was a luxury you could not afford after such a late arrival. While you could not find an empty row, you were about to find a single empty seat towards the back of the bus.
You shuffled your feet to the empty seat but stopped as soon as you noticed its other inhabitant: Wanda.
Bile suddenly formed in your throat at the thought of having to spend more time with her — more specifically, without her brother, your friend, and coincidentally the only person to keep her dangerous, spontaneous nature in check, present. You approached her, simply attempting to take the bus ride silently and one minute at a time. You swore to yourself internally that you would not respond to her, irrespective of whatever she may say or do.
The bus slowly pulled away from the stop and started its route toward the high school. For the first few minutes, everything seemed to be going unusually fine. Wanda sat silently beside you, wired earphones trailing from her phone to her ears. As her gaze remained fixed toward the window, you wonder if she had even noticed that a person had now occupied the seat next to her, let alone that person being you.
You naively took her initial lack of response as a victory. With a sigh of relief, you allowed your body to relax in the seat and closed your eyes for the remainder of the ride.
Then, you felt something.
The brush of something on your thigh.
You opened your eyes to scope the scene, making sure you had not imagined the sensation; however, it seemed to be just that: nothing. The only thing positioned in your lap was your backpack filled with your books for the upcoming year. You closed your eyes and began to drift away once again. Maybe you were going crazy, you pondered. (Maybe you could blame your irrational behavior last night on such insanity. Would the insanity defense work for things like that, too?)
Then, you felt it again.
Without much hesitation, your eyes shot open once more. Only this time, you were met with the sight of a hand, decorated with several rings and chipped, black nail polish, situated comfortably, almost possessively, on your upper thigh. You peered toward Wanda's face, which was still facing the opposite direction, attempting to gauge her reaction. Yet, you saw nothing; her expression was rather unchanged, leaving you more confused than anything.
Before you could think about what to do about the situation, the bus drove over a mountainous bump on the road. You internally cursed the local government officials for the obstacle, for whether it occur by accident or intention, Wanda's hand flew directly into the apex between your thighs. Eyes widened in shock, your lips drift open as you gasp from the sensation.
It finally gave you the courage, however, to shove her hand away, but not without seeing the signature smirk she acquired in the process. Anger began to boil inside you. You repeated to yourself that it was because the brunette's touches were unexpected — not that she had been victorious. In the end, you just silently thanked yourself that you had chosen jeans, or else that could have ended much differently knowing the Sokovian.
Days turned into weeks, each bringing the routine of snide comments and less-than-playful banter between you and Wanda. You still had not found a way to enlighten Pietro about your issues with his sister (both the endless torment and... that night), given that (1) she was his twin sister and (2) she always seemed to be around. The cynical part of your brain believed that her unusual proximity was purposeful — she probably just wanted to see the fallout.
While the two of you had not gone further than your typical banter again over the past few weeks, though, you still felt incredibly agitated. (You chalked it up to anger because it definitely could not be the possibility of pent-up sexual frustration between the two of you.)
However, one day differed from the rest.
You noticed early in the day that Wanda was being extraordinarily quiet. Part of you was thankful, praying that her silence would continue until the end of the school day.
It was a Thursday in late October. Like most days, you followed Pietro to his home after school, venting to him about how you were excited it was Friday tomorrow because you were simply over all of the midterms being assigned and just wanted time to relax.
(You continued to ignore the underlying guilt that sat in the pit of your stomach from remaining silent about everything that happened with his sister weeks before; you attempted to ignore it even more by rationalizing your silence, stating it was "only one time" and a "mistake that would never even happen again.")
As you entered the house, Pietro immediately drops his bag on the floor and runs up to his room. You rolled your eyes at this typical, teenage-boy messiness, and opted to place your bag on the hooks that Agatha designated for such items.
Feet padding across the wooden floors, you wandered into your happy place of the home: the kitchen. You opened the fridge, looking for a small snack that could satiate your hunger until dinner. Finding nothing of interest, you closed the door. Your body jumps, though, at the figure that had been hiding behind it: Wanda.
The patience you once had had officially worn invisibly thin.
“What the fuck, Wanda? What do you want from me?” you asked exasperatedly, the energy you once had for such shenanigans having become completely depleted after a difficult week of school. "Listen, I don't know what I ever did to you for you to treat me like this, but I'm over it."
“Are you…” She started but quickly cut herself off. Her head tilted, trying to figure out if you really did not know the answer. You noticed the way her mouth opened and shut out of pure bewilderment; while you normally would make a comment about it in an attempt to tease her in return, you figured now was not the time. When Wanda found no evidence of lies in your expression, she continued to speak, “You really don’t remember, do you?”
You threw your head back, a chuckle escaping from the back of your throat, primarily due to the exhaustion caused by this long-awaited conversation. “No, Wanda, I don’t remember! If I had, don’t you think I would have apologized by now! Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, I would have given you an “I’m sorry” so we could have avoided all of this? So that I would not have to deal with your bullshit for the past decade? So tell me, Wanda, what did I do to deserve this?”
“First day of school. Second grade. Recess," she spat out. Her words were so quiet but uttered with such venom.
Your brows furrowed in confusion at the seemingly random series of words, "What?"
She rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated with your lack of memories. While you could not remember what made her act this way, it had evidently stuck with her for years.
"It was my first day at this school," she began, her expression turning from red, hot anger into a stoic and collected nature. "Pietro and I had just moved to the States after losing our parents a few months before. Agatha was the only family member, albeit a distant family member, who was alive and willing to take us. So, we left everything behind and moved here."
You already knew the majority of this information, mostly after hearing it in brevity from Pietro. He had never truly talked about his time in Sokovia in depth, finding it distressing and uncomfortable to recall. You only discovered this one day when you both were 9, and you had followed him to his house after school for a play date. In a state of innocent curiosity, you asked him why he called (what you had assumed to be his mom) by her first name upon entering the house. He explained the basics, and that was the end of that. You understood and respected his quietness on the subject since then.
"Pietro has always been the better twin — better at school, better at sports, better at making friends. And, I'm just... me. So, he has always been better at the whole 'socializing' thing, even as an immigrant child with little knowledge of the States. Everybody seemed to like him, I guess. I, on the other hand, refused to talk... well, for the most part, at least. Anyway, on the first day of the second grade, my first day of school here, I was sitting on the edge of the concrete, picking at the grass."
She paused her speech, shifting her gaze to meet yours. "Then, this girl approached me. I thought, 'Wow, maybe I will have friends, maybe I will have friends and will finally be like Pietro.'” Wanda shook her head, shutting her eyes as if to remember each minute, each second, of that fateful day. Her accent was unconsciously growing thicker by the minute. “So, I greeted them, introduced myself like our mama had taught, and asked if they would like to play with me. You want to know what she did, Y/N?"
She opened her eyes, locking them with yours in a harsh stare. "'You talk funny,'" she hissed. "That's what the girl had said before running back to her group of friends. Truthfully, it's not even that deep of an insult, but it somehow spread like wildfire how the 'new girl' was abnormal, how she couldn’t even talk normally, how she was dirty with her dirty shoes and probably had fleas from her even dirtier home country, how no one could touch her or else they would be 'infected' by her."
“Why are you telling me this?” you stuttered out. “What does this have to do with you being a complete and utter bitch to me for the past ten years?”
Wanda huffed, “That girl was you, Y/N.”
Every breath you had suddenly left your chest. Your eyes widened, unsure of how to respond, “What?”
“You say I made your life a living hell? Bullshit. You ruined mine. You have everything I have ever wanted: friends, good grades… parents,” she said, her tone becoming soft with insecurity toward the end. “You even got my brother, my fucking twin brother! For fuck's sake! And yet, you still had to ruin my life."
"Wanda, I'm..." you began, but all of the words you have acquired in your seventeen years of life were failing you. "I'm sorry. I- I don't..."
This time, Wanda laughed, but it was not the depressed, low chuckle like before. No, this was something else entirely, a burst of maniacal laughter that indicated an unfound level of absurdity. Your eyebrows furrowed.
"'You don't' what, Y/N?" the brunette taunted.
You decided to be honest with her, "I don't know what to say."
"Of course not. 'Little Miss Perfect' never knows what to say when she finds out she's not so perfect after all."
Your sympathy gradually faded to the original anger you had been feeling. Your eyebrow involuntarily quirked, "Hold on, now... I never claimed to be 'perfect.'"
“Oh, please,” she replied, belittling your attempts to argue her predetermined notion of you. She began to mock you, “My name’s Y/N. I have the best grades in the entire school, all my friends love me, and, at night, my parents tuck me into bed and call me their little princess…”
Slowly but surely, your vision turned red. You stepped closer to Wanda, hoping the proximity would deter her from making additional snide comments about you.
“We all have our shit, Wanda,” you sneered. “You better quit now before I give you a reason to.”
She scoffed, “Oh, really? What are you gonna do? Tell mommy and daddy I…”
Her words were cut short by the placement of your lips on hers.
Truthfully, you were unsure of why you decided that this was the best course of action; perhaps your brain was simply shut off by the rage coursing through your body. Yet, that confusion did not stop you from continuing. In fact, it did not hinder either of you from continuing.
The kiss was forceful, containing all of the emotions you both have felt since that fateful night. Her mouth pushed and pulled roughly against yours; you returned the energy just as much. There were no thoughts, no rationality, behind both of your actions — only pure lust and passion.
Your hands started at her jaw but slowly drifted upwards toward the roots of her brown, messy hair, gripping and tugging at the strands. Parting from your lips for the first time in what must have been minutes, she released a moan from the sensation and continued to drift southwards toward your neck. As her teeth scraped at your pulse point, you were finally brought back to the reality of the situation.
You used the hands that were still threaded within her hair to pull her away from your neck; although, neither of you immediately stepped away from the other. You took the opportunity of your closeness to note how swollen her lips had become, how hot she looked under the dimness of the kitchen lighting.
"What are we doing?" you mumbled into the open air, not exactly expecting a response from the Sokovian in front of you.
She remained quiet, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. Her tongue darted out briefly, licking over her own lips in (what you assume to be, at least) preparation for more.
So, you seized the opportunity of her quietness to continue, "I'm not... I'm not perfect, okay? My parents... it's complicated. Sure, they're alive and whatnot, but... they don't care. Honestly, half of the shit I do — the grades, even — I do it so that they might finally pay attention. So, like I said, we all have our own shit to deal with."
Her lips parted, eyes stilled and staring into yours.
"And, l am sorry that that comment fucked you up as a kid. If I had known, even as a kid, I would've not said anything like that. I know I can't reverse time but..."
This time, her lips effectively ended your speech; however, the kiss was much softer than earlier, showcasing a newfound appreciation and, perhaps, feelings.
"I know," she acknowledged in a whisper after pulling away. "I'm... I'm sorry, too, by the way. I shouldn't have acted like that — it was cruel. We can talk more about it, about our... issues, later, but um- I just want to start over. Just us."
You nodded in affirmation, a blush flooding your cheeks.
"Just us."
The two of you sealed the agreement with a soft peck.
The sound of a glass shattering on the floor captured the attention of both of you, ending the kiss with the redirection of your heads in order to discover the culprit.
In the doorway of the kitchen, Pietro stood surrounded by broken glass splattered across on the wooden floor.
With widened eyes, you said the first and only thing that came to mind: "Oh, shi—"
End.
463 notes · View notes
ultralightpoe · 4 months
Text
Chaos - Bucky Barnes
Authors Note: terribly written but I'm clearing out my drafts
Warning: mentions of abuse
Word Count: 2340
Part One Here
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Enjoy!
“What the hell happened?” Cho snaps, moving to the gurney being pushed in and surveying the amount of blood that was spilling. “Back up! I need room, someone page Stark immediately!”
The lights of the tower flicker under the storm, and Steve watches as Cho’s team wheels the gurney away quickly, his hand shaking heavily. Panic claws at his throat as the scene from earlier unfolds in his mind once more, turning slowly to the redhead beside him. 
“Steve-” She starts before he shakes his head. 
“Nat, this is not a conversation you want to have with me right now.” He sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose before he realizes it’s coated in blood and pulls it back sharply. “I need to shower.”
He storms off, shoulders squared as he thinks about all the reports he is about to fill out. 
“We won’t have much time, in and out as fast as we can. Everyone has their tasks?” Steve asks, making sure everyone nods back to him before making eye contact with you. “Y/n, I know this will be your first mission-”
“We should go before the storm gets any worse.” You interrupt, fixing your headset and moving to the bay of the quinjet, grabbing your bag before being the first to leave the ship and rushing to leave them behind. 
“Slow down Y/n.” You hear Bucky warn in your earpiece, and normally you would turn around to wait for him. But he wasn’t your partner on the mission today, so you didn’t turn and kept the same pace. They could catch up if they wanted. 
Bucky stops in his tracks when he sees you march off, not bothering to turn to him, his heart thundering in his chest. Normally you would slow down for him, normally he would have your back during missions. 
It was a slow realization that you would be alone. 
“Maybe we should-” He starts, feeling like a fool as Sam turns to look. 
“We gotta go, come on man.” He mumbles, watching as Nat takes lead. 
It was going to be a simple mission, in and out, Bucky reminds himself. Taking a deep breath before following the rest. 
“We need a report,” Tony sighs, tracing through the footage of the mission, eyes widening at the fight. “I’ve never….”
“Tony, I’ve never seen it before. And it’s my fault.” Nat sighs, rubbing her hand across her face. “I got involved.”
“How?”
“I got in Bucky’s head a bit. I was just worried-”
“Worried about what?”  
“About Bucky and- I just remember coming out of the red room and being so attached to Clint. I had no family, no story, no morals. I was just pain. I was in pain myself and I inflicted pain onto others.”
“You went through something terrible-”
“THEY WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TERRIBLE! Bucky went through 70 years of it and the experiments they ran on Y/n….. I just wanted them to safe. I didn’t want them to get hurt.” She sighs, picking at her hair. “I love them both and I just wanted them to take a break. Maybe they would see how much they needed each other, and they would finally admit it to each other.”
“You should know by now that Barnes never thinks the way we do.”
“He thinks he is going to ruin everything he touches.”
“I know someone like that.” Clint interrupts from the door, giving Nat a small smirk. “Let’s just take a night to rest, Cho will update us if need be.”
It had turned into a mess too fast, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. The rain covered most of your vision as the walls of the compound seemed to be closing in quickly, the others screaming over the intercoms as they had been ambushed. 
You had been tasked to get the files from the lower levels of the compound, and you had planned to get it done quickly. You had not planned, however, to be locked in the basement as it began flooding. 
“GUYS!” You should, tears springing from your eyes as you cling to the door, the water reaching your ankles at the top of the stairs. 
“They blew up the dam-” Sams voice cuts through, half static half radio. “Steve, to your right-”
Gunshots could be heard in the background, Natasha cursing and you truly did not think they could hear you at all anymore. “Shit.” 
Instead of clinging to the door you turn to survey another way out of the room, eyes scanning over every inch of space to find your exit. The intercom in your hear rumbles with static before your name breaks through, Bucky’s voice sounding panicked. The next thing you know the intercoms have a sharp ringing through them that makes you gasp out and tear it from your ear quickly, dropping it in the water and diving in to find a way out. 
Bucky curses as he tears the intercom from his ear, dodging a bullet quickly and diving behind a wall as Nat stays covered by her own, making eye contact for a second as she tears her own comns out.
First the heavy explosion that shook them down, the dam breaking and water beginning to flood, Hydra soldiers attacking them and now their comns were down. Worst of all Bucky could not find you. 
Heart thundering through his ribs as he bites at his tongue to keep from grunting in pain when he realizes he had been shot, but right now that doesn't matter. He had to find you. 
“I have to find Y/n!” He shouts, watching Nat nod before he dashes to the exit that you were supposed to use. Just as he reaches the metal door something loosens in his chest, knowing you would were near and he could find you. He would never let you go he swore to god. 
He pulls the door, desperate to get to you, only to find it sealed shut. So his metal hand takes charge, bending into the metal as he grunts out, doing his best to get it off. A shout of pain fills the air as Sam comes into view, moving to help Bucky tear the door off. 
They make eye contact for a moment, the rain beating down on them before a blast of light blows them to the side, heat covering their bodies as they ram into the wall. 
Bucky’s head slams into brick, he hears Steve shout and Sam scream out in pain before it all goes blank. 
He would never see the chaos erupt. 
Steve is up the second the sun filters through the curtains, happy to finally get to leave his room and check on his friends' health. 
Nat is already waiting for him in the front hall of the med bay, a nervous look on her face as Steve walks past her to speak with Cho.”Any update?”
“He’s breathing.” She sighs. “And he was so lucky Y/n was there.”
You could hear the explosion from under the water, and in a panic you swam back up, only to find that the water had flooded to the roof and your face was pressed to the ceiling to catch your breath. 
Taking a moment to breathe as you hear Sam scream in pain, there was a pain in yoru chest that you couldn’t explain. It felt like a panic attack but worse, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t stop crying. 
“PLEASE!” You scream, hands pressing to the ceiling as the water gets worse. 
“Stop crying!” A voice breaks out, and you whip your head to find your old boss, the man that had thrown you into your first cell. The man that had ruined you. 
He was standing in the center of the room, and you had to blink for a moment to realize that there was no water, and you were completely dry.
“W-what?”
“Stand up!” You listen to him immediately, just as you used to, the tears still streaming down your face as you look around the room. It was different now, when you had come in it had looked like a simple office, now it was your cell. 
Or had it always been your cell?
Who was screaming?
“I SAID STAND UP!” Doctor Cornell shouts, stomping forward to drag you up himself, a slap tearing across your face as you cry out. 
“Where’s Bucky?” You gasp, the pain in your cheek fading away quickly. “I want to find Bucky.”
“You think he wants you?” Cornell laughs bitterly. “No one wants you, I’ve made you a fucking freak.”
“I want b-” Before you can finish your sentence you remember Bucky ignoring you, avoiding you….. And then you realize why. Cornell was right, he had made you a freak. You were a monster. 
A sob racks through your chest, and the painful feeling explodes. 
You try to scream out, only for your lungs to fill with water and more panic to take place. 
Steve could not believe his eyes, holding Sam's abdomen tightly in an attempt to stop the blood, watching as vines burst from the basement and travel across every surface faster then he ever thought possible. 
“Is that……” Steve starts, looking to where Nat was trying to get Bucky up.
“Y/n.”
Sam gasps out as the vines wrap around him, tightening around his wound and glowing a deep golden color as some of the blood stops, the vines traveling further and wrapping around the Hydra soldiers tightly to stop them all. 
Now that Sam's wound is being taken care of, Steve dashes to dive in the water, swimming down to try and find where you were. Only you were nowhere to be found, whatsoever. 
By the time he comes back up he is panting for air, watching as Bucky kneels by the water with blood leaking down his face and panicked eyes looking at his friend. “Where is she?”
“She’s not down there.” Steve gasps. 
“STEVE WHERE IS SHE?!” Bucky snaps, the water reaching his waist as Nat moves to snatch him back. 
“The vines are dying, Y/n can’t hold them off forever. We gotta go.” She rushes out, snatching the back of Buckys vest. 
“NOT WITHOUT Y/N-”
“Bucky. Y/n is holding them off but we have to get Sam out of here. Please.”
“Any word on Y/n?” Bruce asks, coming into the surveillance room where Clint is deep diving into the footage. 
“I can’t find her.” He admits, eyes never leaving the screen. “I would love some help.”
“You got it.”
“Lock the door before Barnes comes in and bothers me again.” He sighs, watching Bruce lock it. It was a joke, but he knew that Barnes was hurting. He could understand that. 
Bucky woke up in a startled panic, reaching to your side of the bed quickly, sitting up to find you when he doesn’t feel you. “Y/n?”
His voice is scratchy, a mix of all the screaming from yesterday, and he slowly realizes you aren’t there as the memories resurface.You weren’t here, you were gone. They weren’t able to find you yesterday. 
A knock sounds at the door and Bucky jumps up, excitement filling him as he rushes to answer, hoping to see your face on the other side of the door, only to find Steve on the other side. His heart plummets to his stomach as his friend looks at him softly. 
“You found your way to her apartments then?”
“I think I came here immediately yesterday.” He answers truthfully, letting Steve in before looking around the room, seeing all the dead plants. “How did her plants die in a day?”
“Buck…..” Steve starts, and Bucky tenses, fists clenched as he turns to his friend. “It’s been…. It’s been a week.”
“What?” Bucky laughs, flinching as Steve turns on the light. 
“It’s been a week. You came here the night we brought you back and you passed out, I think because of the head injury-”
“If it’s been a week then where is my doll?”
“We…. we can’t find her Buck.” Steve sighs, rubbing between his eyes. “I think it’s time you and I talked about some things-”
“Talk about things? I can’t talk I have to go find her Steve-” He moves to pass his friend but Steve shoots his hand out to catch him. 
“I think it’s time to admit you love her.”
Freak freak freak freak freak. 
Your mouth was dry and your feet hurt, this was the only thing you could comprehend. 
The lady in the market was staring at you wildly, looking terrified as she reached a hand towards you, concern flashing through her eyes. “Are you okay?” 
She had a heavy accent, one that reminded you of someone, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. What was it…..russian?
“Do you want me to call someone?” She asks, rubbing your shoulders. “What’s your name?”
“I…..I’m….” Who were you? You blinked slowly, trying to remember who you were. All you saw was a flash of someone with a metal arm before you were met with a bald man in a lab coat. “I… don’t…. Who am I?”
Bucky finds himself in the med bay the next morning after a long lecture from Steve, staring at Sam as his friend runs on the treadmill. 
“I… I am so confused. Steve said you were in critical condition?” 
“He was.” Cho answers in amazement, reading the stats that Sam is sending through the tech pad in her hands. “But he is completely healed.”
“How?”
“Y/n, there were traces of her vines left in the wound. It’s completely healed now.”
“Her…. she’s never done that before.” Bucky mumbles, a tight feeling in his chest. “What do you think it means?”
“I think we need to find Y/n, as fast as we can. That was way too much energy used.” Cho answers, a grim expression on her face.
Bucky could do that, he would tear apart the world to find you.
Tag List:::
@spookyparadisesheep @minaxcarter @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @whatishappeninghere81 @vicmc624 @unaxv @elite4cekalyma @scott-loki-barnes @luciaexcorvus @zephyrmonkey @littlewhiterose @classyunknownlover @cyberficlya @m00n5t0n3 @donttalktosposts @magnificentsvn @jenniferpendragon @dexter99
930 notes · View notes
romanoffsdarling · 5 months
Text
Later Never Comes
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Pairing: CEO!Silver-Fox!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your love for her knew no bounds, but there’s only so long you can hold on— only so many empty promises you can stand— before you finally have to let go. Before you finally realize that later may never become real.
Word Count: 4,779
Warnings: G!P Wanda, legal age gap, brief oral (R receiving), dirty (and slightly possessive) talk, mommy kink, slightly rough sex, neglect, and angst (with a bittersweet ending). 18+, Minors DNI.
Author’s Note: I know I promised a second part to Summertime Sadness and Time To Say (Goodbye), but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I hope you can forgive me!
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Great love always ends in tragedy.
That’s the saying, right? A stupid one if you had anything to say about it. What’s so great about love if it only ends in heartbreak? If you don’t end up with the person that makes your entire being thrum? If everything that had once been so colorful is suddenly black-and-white due to their absence?
Is the love great due to the story? To the emotions, the events, that occur throughout its long winded saga? Or is it great because it was doomed from the start? Because, even though it’d end one way, two people were still willing to fight the odds, to fight fate, even if they’d never end up winning.
You’re not sure, nor do you care, because there’s no way a love of that kind could be anything except terrible— except bone-chillingly agonizing in the way you’d have to figure out how to move on without it. Figure out how to be without the person that made everything make sense, that made you feel like the person you were always meant to be.
Even if it’s been years since you’ve seen her, years since you’ve felt her lips against yours, an elegantly lithe body pressed to your own, and the sweet scent of sandalwood and lavender mixed perfectly in your nose, you haven’t been able to figure that out. Haven’t been able to get her out of your system, no matter how much you may try.
How could you? When you’ve loved, and been loved by, Wanda Maximoff?
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[Past]
“I’m just saying she’s been interested to meet you since she saw our group picture from Fiji.” Your best friend, Agatha, relayed, jovially leading you towards the small, yet upscale, café that Wanda Maximoff— CEO of Scarlet Entertainment— agreed to meet you. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie. Especially one that came about due to my own propensity to lose bets with that witch.”
Your brow furrows. “I’m just not sure what exactly this meeting is supposed to be about. I just graduated college, I barely have any experience under my belt.”
“But you have me as a mentor,” she rebukes, a small smirk on her lips. “And that’s all that you need to get into Wanda’s head.”
“Ah, yes.” You roll your eyes, amusement welling within your chest. “How could I forget about your age-old rivalry?”
“Don’t phrase it like that. Makes me sound old.” Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours, eyes narrowed.
“And mentor doesn’t?”
“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. “That makes me sound wise.”
“And what does wisdom come from again?”
You’re just able to dodge the swat directed at your arm, a bright smile tugging your lips upward, as you finally enter the quaint café— the aromatic smell of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and something slightly citrusy, hits you all at once. A combination that shouldn’t have worked as well it did.
Once you placed your order— a simple coffee with your usual additions— you turned back to Agatha with an expectant expression. “Anything I should know about this meetings, Ags?”
She shakes her head, tendrils of brown hair escaping the haphazard bun she had thrown them in. “You’re here.” Agatha hands you the drink the barista had just put beside you, a wane smile on her lips. “That’s the important part to achieve for any date.”
Your steps stutter, nearly causing you to trip into a nearby table. “W-What?” Widened eyes meet Agatha’s unaffected one, a certain level of calmness that you found irritating. “What do you mean date? I thought this was a meeting?”
Agatha waves her hand. “Lunch meeting, lunch date. Means the same thing in the end.” She shoulders her purse, clearly not planning on staying any longer than she has to. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a catch. Maximoff would have to be a bigger idiot than I think she already is if she lets you go.”
Before you’re able to respond, Agatha places a chaste kiss to your cheek, offers one last cheeky wink, and saunters her way out of the café, leaving you completely alone. You’re honestly tempted to just abandon ship and get out of dodge— you weren’t good on dates, let alone blind dates. Something your best friend is well aware of, and would definitely be getting in an earful about this later.
However, before you’re able to make a concrete decision on your exit strategy, a husky voice speaks up from behind you.
“Are you Y/N?”
The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen stood in front of you when you turned around: long auburn hair, speckled with the beginning signs of gray, paired perfectly with the sharp emerald green of her gaze. An elegantly lithe body, encased in a form-fitting suit, tailored made to enhance every perfect curve, relaxed in a way that almost seemed arrogant— if it was for the confidence that exudes from her very being.
“Yes.” Your brain finally catches up with you, remembering the question she had asked. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A small smile catches full lips, a slender hand grasping your own in a firm shake. “Wanda Maximoff.” Green eyes trail down your body. “And, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”
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The months that followed the blind date went by in a blur. You could honestly say that you’ve never met anyone else like Wanda Maximoff— a woman that personified ice and fire. Watching her work— whether it be as you’re lounged on her large leather sectional, laptop balanced on her lap as slender fingers gently stroke your back, or she’s pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear; voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance, underlined by a calm collectiveness that never failed to make you swoon— was an art form in itself, but being able to see the woman that appeared at the end of the day?
Where an icy facade of professionalism melts into warm smile and gentle eyes. Sharp words being replaced by sweet nothings and gentle humming.
In Wanda’s arms you’ve found a place you never even knew you were missing— home. You had a couple relationships in the past, but none of them made you feel the way Wanda does; all paling in comparison to the beautiful Sokovian.
The one thing you hadn’t expected upon beginning to date the older woman was how insatiable she was— not that you were complaining— but Wanda needed to have you as often as she could. Taking you the bedroom of your apartment, the various rooms in her penthouse, in her office within Scarlet Entertainment, hell even in the back of a limo on the way to an event. Wanda needed to have you and you needed to have her right back.
Another little thing you’ve learned about her? Or, you should say, not so little? The Sokovian sported an extra appendage that had quickly become your new best friend— not that you were going to tell Agatha that— who seemed to want you as much as Wanda did.
Which is how you found yourself where you are now— on your back, thighs clamped around Wanda’s head, as she thoroughly ate you out on the couch of her office.
“Yes.” You arch sharply, a sob being torn from your throat as Wanda’s tongue plunges even deeper into you. Your girlfriend hums happily at the sound, the vibrations sending a shockwave across your clit, and another wave of wetness gushes out of you— something that Wanda is all too happy to lap up. She had told you on more than one occasion, after she spent hours upon hours between your thighs, that you beat out even the finest of wines to her. “Please. I need you.”
With clear reluctance to leave, Wanda pulls back and easily settles on top of you. Lips and chin shining lewdly in the dim lighting of her office, darkened emerald eyes sparkling even brighter.
“You taste great, detka.” She lowers her head, offering her tongue for you to suck on. Giving you a taste of yourself, mixed intoxicatingly with her own natural one. “Could spend hours eating up your perfect pussy, but that’s not what you want, huh?” She jerks her hips, rubbing her cock against your wetness. “You want mommy to be inside you, right? Want her to stretch you out and make you scream?” Another roll of her hips causes you to arch, a breathless gasp leaving you, but Wanda doesn’t relent. “Answer me, detka. Be my good girl and I’ll give you what you crave. What do you want mommy to do?”
“Fuck me.” The cry is practically wrenched from your chest, a deep felt plea for her to just plunge into you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that she hasn’t been able to accomplish that already. “I want you to slam your cock into my pussy and make me yours, mommy. I want your cock to make my pussy its own, to shape me in its image.”
A deep, almost rumbling, snarl erupts from Wanda in response, her hips snapping forward and you’re finally filled; stretched out so fucking perfectly, an obscene slurp echoed across the room the moment Wanda’s hips met your own. She hadn’t made you cum with her mouth, but you had been so close, she had given you a mini orgasm just by entering— a feat that brings a smug smile to Wanda’s lips.
“You feel that, detka.” She takes your hand and brings it down to the slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “That’s my cock ruining you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to fill you the way I do, make you scream yourself hoarse.” Wanda snaps her hips forward after a shallow pull-back, giving out a satisfied hum at the feeling of your slick walls pressed around her. “Your pussy belongs to me, your pleasure belongs to me, and you belong to me.”
Wanda lowers her head, lips pressed firmly to your own, giving you even more of a taste of yourself than before, as her tongue practically fucks your mouth while her cock fucks your pussy. When she detaches her lips from yours, only a thin trail of saliva is left, before she’s far enough away for it to snap.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh permeates the air, an occasional grunt or moan intercepting it, and you’d be concerned about the noise level if Wanda hadn’t sent Peter, her assistant, home early— having planned to have you like this from the very moment she had invited you over.
“Just like that, mommy. Keep fucking me like that,” you babble, drunk on pleasure as Wanda kept driving her hips forward, one slender finger roughly rubbing your clit in time with each thrust. It’s of no surprise that you find your release quickly after, gushing over Wanda’s cock.
The tight contractions around her cock— as your second orgasm was much more powerful than your first— causes Wanda to groan, hips stuttering in their brutal pace. It’s clear that she was close, sweat slicked brow, causing strands of silver hair to cling to fair skin, but she obviously wanted you to come one last time— to be tossed over the edge with her.
With a shake breath, Wanda roughly brings you to the brink of your third orgasm, not even giving you time to fully get through the second. “One more, detka. You’ve got one more in you for mommy.” She dips her head, lips tenderly brushing across your forehead. “And when you come around mommy’s cock, I’m gonna fill you up like the good girl you are. Would you like that?”
You nod, practically whining. “Yes. Please.”
The older woman snarls once more, clearly affected by the look on your face, and, before you’re even aware of it, you’re crashing over the edge again— a cry of Wanda’s name passing over your lips as you spasm around her. Barely being able to catch Wanda’s own groan in response: “Yes.”
Jets of her cum paint your inner walls white, warming you up. It’s a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to— or want to get used to, if you’re being honest.
Once she’s spent, Wanda gently lowers herself onto your still slightly spasming body, lips pressed softly against your cheek. “You did so good. So perfect for me. My beautiful girl.”
You happily nuzzle into Wanda’s neck, eyes drooping out of contented exhaustion. “I love you.”
You’re too out of it to feel Wanda stiffen in surprise, or to really understand what you had just whispered, but you are aware of Wanda’s arms tightening around you, her lips pressing more firmly against your skin, as she cuddles you closer to her.
And, as you begin to drift off completely, happy in Wanda’s arms, you faintly feel Wanda exhale across the shell of your ear, a shaky breath, uncharacteristic for the older woman, before her soft voice breaks through the silence: “I love you too. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”
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[A Few Months Later…]
“How many do you want?”
It’s asked softly, one of Wanda’s hand gently running up-and-down your back in a soothing motion. Her lips pressed against the crown of your head, your face nuzzled against the crook of her neck, a place you don’t feel like leaving anytime soon.
“How many what?” You snuggle closer, delighted in the way her arms tighten instinctively. “I want a lot of things, Wands.”
Wanda huffs out a light chuckle. “Children, Y/N. How many children do you want?”
You stiffen in surprise at the question— Wanda hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t plan on having kids. That she didn’t think she’d make a good mother due to her childhood and her busy lifestyle, but you also know that your girlfriend wouldn’t ask something unless she’s serious about the answer. Something you’ve figured out after all these months together. Regrettably, you pull your face away from the warm nest it had made so you’re able to look at her, and Wanda met your eyes calmly, sharp green softened in a way that’s only ever meant for you.
“What’s this about, Wanda?” You roll your lips, trying to process your next words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want kids?”
Emerald eyes flash warmly. “I didn’t want a lot of things, Y/N.” She easily tugs you back into her arms, lips pressed to your forehead. “But that was all before I met you.”
Touched by her words— and the clear sincerity within them— you decide to just bite the bullet, there wasn’t a point in delaying your answer. Especially if Wanda expected it.
“Two.” A gentle kiss is placed to her collarbone. “I want two boys. Twins.”
She breathes out another chuckle. “Twins, huh?” Maneuvering you both, you’re suddenly pressed against the mattress, Wanda hovering over you, smile still in place, with a familiar hardness nestled between your thighs. “That seems like something we’d have to get just right, correct?”
Even though it’s posed as question, you can tell that Wanda meant it rhetorically. That she already knew the answered you’d both settle on— an answer you always agreed upon.
Wiggling your hips, grinning mischievously at the sharp gasp that leaves Wanda’s lips at the added pressure, you throw your arms loosely around her neck.
“Yes.” You pull her closer, lips millimeters from her own. “I think it’s something we’re going to have practice quite a bit.”
Not needing any more prompting Wanda descends onto you with a ravenous hunger. One that you’re all too happy to match.
You can’t wait to experience your future if this is what’ll be waiting for you there.
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The phone is cold against your overheated flesh— a concoction of anger and disappointment courses through you like lava.
“Wanda—” You pinch the bridge of your nose to stem the tide of anger. “This is the eighth time this week alone. What the hell am I supposed to tell the caterers? Again.”
A soft sigh resounds through the speaker. “Just tell them that I won’t be able to make it, Y/N.” The response, in a clearly distracted tone, does little to ease your growing ire. “I know you’ll be able to handle it.”
“I don’t want to handle it, Wanda. This is our wedding, I’d like for you to also have a say in it.” From the time on the clock, you didn’t have much time left to leave the penthouse. Not if you wanted to get to the appointment on time. “I’ve been planning this entire thing by myself, I want your help. I want to hear your opinions. I want you.”
To care goes without words, but you’re certain it rings out just the same. You had been so happy when Wanda had suddenly proposed, seemingly out of the blue. Though wasn’t that the point? Taking you to a rooftop restaurant, which she had rented out, and offered you the rare chance of getting to taste her impeccable cooking; all dishes she had learned from her mother back in Sokovia. It had been a night you’d forever cherish, memories forever ingrained in your heart: the way the stars made the green in Wanda’s eyes sparkle more, the subtle wind allowing you to be surrounded by her comforting scent, the bright smile she had given you when she dropped down to one knee, and the happy laugh that had escaped her when you said yes. It had been a fairytale, everything you had ever wanted.
Until you realized your Disney fairytale was beginning to turn into Brothers Grimm.
“You have me, Y/N.” Wanda lets out another sigh. “Look, I can’t keep talking the investors for the meeting just arrived and I need to get prepared. I promise that I’ll go over everything you discuss later, okay? I love you.”
“Wanda—”
You’re only met with the sound of the dial tone, barely getting the chance to reply before being hung up on, and the familiar aching sense of silence that follows— a hollow sound that distantly reminded you of what your heart has become.
It hadn’t always been like this. The penthouse, upon your first visit, had been cold, lifeless in a way that seemed almost inhuman, but slowly it had livened up— been filled with a sense of warmth and peace. Of love. It had been a place you could go to when you just needed an escape from the rest of the world, when you needed to be surrounded by things that remind you of the woman you love.
Now it’s suffocating in a way that you never wished for it to be.
You’re aware that Wanda is a busy woman— had been aware of it before your first date occurred— but she had always at least tried to be there. Always left you feeling like you were at least on the list of things that mattered, you didn’t necessarily need to be at the direct top; not when she had so many things to content with already. But, you’ve felt like nothing more than an afterthought lately.
Gentle kisses in the morning turned to brief parting words as she made her way quickly out the door.
Soft smiles, and inside jokes, turned to barely there quirks of full lips, and stretched out silences.
The warmth of her hold, the safety you felt from her touch, turned to an icy chill as she left you to the cold air— you don’t even remember when the last time was that you had been together properly. Since you had woken up in her arms.
You didn’t need a lot, you didn’t need all of her time, but you wanted to feel like you still mattered— that everything you have isn’t just another thing Wanda had marked off on her checklist of things to do before she turns 55.
Checking the time, a small curse leaves your lips once you realize that you’re going to be late, and, with one final glance towards the empty penthouse, you make your way out the door— hoping that the growing chill you feel isn’t indicative of a love grown cold.
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Silence had become your greatest friend in the weeks that followed. The one thing that you’ve grown to count on as Wanda’s schedule only seemed to get busier and busier— hell, your relationship with her personal assistant had grown to the point that he’s been calling you by your first name now. Instead of the usually nervous ma’am or Ms. L/N.
Wedding appointments had come and gone, all of them spent alone, with Wanda barely perusing the choices that had been made before crashing out of sheer exhaustion. Conversation had grown stilted due to her own growing ire at you consistent worry— although she labeled it as nagging. That she’s been running her business for over thirty years, and she’s been doing fine.
Even now, on New Years Eve, as the clock moved ever closer to midnight, you were completely alone— expansive shadows, that seemed darker somehow, stretched out towards you like ghastly fingers, trying to tear whatever semblance of comfort you’ve found away. You’re not sure what you had been expecting, not even sure if you’d truly believed that Wanda would show herself, but you can’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped.
Hoped that today, of all days, would be different. That you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, within your own life, within your own home.
Fanciful musings and hopes of a lovestruck fool.
The small chirp of an incoming message pulls you from your reverie, a bright smile appearing instantly at the sight of who it’s from, before withering away once you read it: Sorry, I won’t be able to make it home tonight. Going to the Hamptons to meet some new business partners. I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I love you.
You don’t bother to send a message back— what could you possibly say? Yet another promise had been thrown to the wayside by the older woman. Even if it was just a cursory, and unspoken, one being as simple as not leaving your fiancé alone on New Years. Or waiting until the last minute to actually say anything about it.
A soft sigh escapes your lips, an acidic twang settling over your tongue, as bitterness seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning your heart and soul. You knew what you needed to do, have known since this had become your new normal, but hadn’t had the strength, or the courage, to make it a reality. Until now.
Until the heartbreak, the suffering, has become as close of a friend to you as the oppressive silence.
And, as the door to the penthouse gently closed behind you, never to be opened by your hand again, you feel a sense of bone-deep sorrow settle over you. For everything that could have been, for what you had hoped for, and all that you now had to live without. You could just step back inside, hide or destroy the letter, and Wanda would never know. She’d never find out how close you had been to giving up, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Could no longer gather up the power to keep fighting for something that’s been lost long ago— no matter how much your heart screams at it not being true.
Tears gather in your eyes as you take another step away from the door, away from the place you’ve lived in for the last two years, and your heart breaks with every step. But, it breaks even more at the knowledge that you were leaving your true home behind too— that doing this would destroy everything you have with Wanda, never to be salvaged. The penthouse may be expensive, and it may be beautiful, but it’d never be home to you like Wanda; it’d never offer you the same feeling of protection like her arms did.
You’ve been shut out of your home for months now, and being left out in the cold has finally frozen your heart enough for you to be able to do this. No matter how much more it was going to hurt once it thaws once more.
Shouldering your duffel bag, the only thing you’ve allowed yourself to bring, you step into the private elevator and press the button for the lobby. Hands tightening around the strap of the bag, trying to ignore the way your ring finger no longer felt the familiar press of metal against it as you do so.
It was time to look forward, to finally make your own laters, the things you had been pushing off, become an actuality.
Even if you wanted nothing more than to have never needed to say goodbye to Wanda Maximoff in the first place.
Losing the ring was one thing, but losing the love of your life?
It’s a wound you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to recover from.
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[Present]
“Mom?” The small voice catches your attention, your eyes focused back in to see bright eyes, twin grins being sported between the pair. “Can we still get hot chocolate?”
Billy and Tommy had come into your life when you needed them to most— a blessing that you’d definitely been searching for after everything imploded with Wanda. And, even if how they were conceived didn’t lend itself to a happy tale, you’d never change a thing. They were your twin miracles. Your beautiful baby boys— even if they were eight years old now.
“I thought you decided to get caramel popcorn instead?” You poke Billy’s side gently, delighted in the giggle the actions caused. “That’s what you both told me at the theater.”
Tommy’s eyes widened dramatically, in full puppy-dog mode. “But that was before you took us past our favorite store.” He points to the small café only a few feet away— one that you frequented with the twins when you could find the time. A place that you hadn’t even realized you’d be leading them towards. “Can we please get hot chocolate.”
The twins chime in unison: “Please.”
You chance a glance towards the café— deliberating your options— but you know that you’re going to cave. After all, the reason you had gone to the movies was to celebrate their stellar report cards. What harm could some extra hot chocolate do?
So, with a faux long-suffering sigh, you relent. “I suppose.”
“Yes!” Twin cheers are your immediate response, brightening the smile on your lips, and you soon find yourself in the quaint café— one that held so many memories for you. Phantoms of your past the whispered in your ear as you placed your order and directed your boys to their usual spot.
Only half-listening to their chatter about the movie you had just seen— some superhero film— you simply bask in the simplicity their joy brought you. Observing their small faces light up, little hands waving around as they discussed various points, and your heart swells with more love than you ever thought you could feel.
“—What did you think, mom?”
Billy’s sudden question tears you from your musings, his widened eyes, alight with excitement, giving you the impression that he really wanted to hear what you thought.
“About the movie?” They both nod. “I thought it was good, bug.”
Tommy pouts. “Yeah, but what did you like most about it? Did you have a favorite scene?”
“I—”
“Order for Y/N.”
Saved by the bell, you think. A wave of relief crashing over you. “You two stay put.” Standing, you ruffle their hair. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”
At the prospect of their hot chocolate they don’t seem to mind that you didn’t answer their question— though you’d certain Tommy would ask you again. Though you’d have more than enough time to google some things about the movie before then. Small miracles.
Stopping at the counter, you take the tray with the drinks with a smile and a nod in greeting to the server you’ve grown quite fond of.
“Y/N?”
Breath catching in your throat at the husky voice sounding out behind you, the cadence and tone so familiar that your heart still burns from it. Hesitating only slightly, you turn and meet the shimmering emerald eyes you haven’t seen in a little over eight years. Her face still as beautiful as you’d last seen it, if a bit older now.
“Wanda.”
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nev3rfound · 9 months
Text
out of sight : m.h
everyone at HQ is looking for you, and all signs lead to Miguel, yet for some reason, he won't explain where it is you're hiding. 913 words.
masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop
(requests are open, slowly working through them:))
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Keeping his gaze fixated on the monitors in front of him, Miguel sighs at the sound of the door opening and slamming shut.
"Hey bossman," Hobie yells, waving his arm in the air whilst Miguel's back remains turned. "charmin' as always, any way you seen Y/n about?" He continues despite the silence that ensues from the platform. "She said she'd be 'ere today, but not seen her."
"She's not here." Miguel simply answers, Lyla appears in front of him lowering her heart-shaped glasses, only to roll her eyes. Feeling Hobie's presence still lingering below, Miguel forces himself to look over his shoulder. "Something else you need?" He coldly questions, only to see Hobie shake his head and salute before exiting the room, the door slamming once more causing Miguel to shudder.
Lyla tuts to herself, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, words going to get around, Miguel." Lyla sings, glancing upward before returning to see Miguel's expression remaining stoic. "Hobie isn't going to be the only visitor you know."
"It's none of their business." Miguel states. "It's best they don't know."
Humming in response, Lyla's smile only grows at the hint of concern crossing Miguel's face. "Sure." She shrugs, disappearing from his view whilst he returns to work.
Oblivious to the goings on, Peter strolls into Miguel's office with Mayday in his arms who continues to babble in his embrace. "I know, but I'm sure the big guy knows, Mayday." Peter explains quietly, hoping to see you perched on the platform with Miguel. Yet, you're nowhere to be seen in the room.
"Looks like you've got another visitor." Lyla chimes in.
Miguel groans internally, turning around as the platform slower lowers to reveal the sight of Peter B Parker and Mayday, who is hanging upside down in Peter's arms.
"What do you want?" Miguel doesn't bother to disguise his annoyance, even as Mayday reaches out for him.
Pulling her back, Peter averts his focus from Miguel's scowl. "Oh you know, Mayday was hoping to see Y/n. Overdue a game of hide and seek." Peter chuckles, only to be met with silence in response. "You seen her around?"
"She's not here, Peter." Miguel states, walking back to his platform and returning his attention to work.
Not quite convinced, Peter lifts his head up past the platform, noticing a stream of light to the left of the platform. "Well, worth a try." He calls out, tuning his ears to try and hear something, anything. And then he hears it. "I'll see you around, Miguel!"
Walking out of the office, Peter smiles to himself, only to be interrupted by Hobie and Gwen. "Well, where is she?" Gwen asks with a huff.
Hobie shakes his head with a half smile. "He ain't sayin." Hobie remarks, throwing his arm over Gwen's shoulders. "Come on, Gwen, best we leave 'em to it, yeah."
Back inside Miguel's office, he remains in front of the screens of amber, watching the various worlds until he hears the sound of movement to his left.
Checking the surrounding areas of the room, and the cameras around HQ, Miguel steps away from the screens to the small door on his left. "Hola, mi amor." Miguel whispers, cracking the door ajar to reveal you curled up in a twin bed, an eye mask covering your eyes and mouth ajar, snoring lightly. "Y/n?" He gently rubs your exposed shin, only to be met with a kick and a groan of you waking up.
"Miggy?" You mumble, lifting the eyemask up only to squint immediately at the angelic glow forming around Miguel. "'M still dreaming, aren't I?" Yawning through your question, Miguel shuffles into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.
"How's your head?" Miguel keeps his voice low, helping you sit upright before passing you some more water.
Taking a long sip, you sigh as the glass leaves your lips. "Never had any complaints." You joke, resulting in Miguel rolling his eyes whilst you chuckle to yourself. "It's a bit better, think the worst of the migraine is over."
"Tu quieres quedar, la monada?" Quick to slump against Miguel's lap, you hum in response, muttering something under your breath. "Que?"
"Heard you talking to the others." The mumble is more coherent this time, and Miguel nods. "Thank you, I'll make it up to Mayday tomorrow."
"Only when you're ready." Miguel strokes your hair from your face, removing the face mask hanging from your forehead. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll check on you in a bit." He leans down, kissing your temple before helping you back to lying down.
As Miguel rises to leave, your hand shoots out to grab his. "Can you stay for a bit? Just 'til I nod off again?" Your pout was almost irresistible, something you knew and often used to get your way when it came to the big boss, much to his own dismay.
"I'll keep my eye out, boss." Lyla comments, appearing beside you, and smirking at you with a knowing nod.
"Fine." Miguel admits defeat, lifting his arms up for you to bury your face into his chest. "Ten minutes, Lyla, si?"
Checking her watch, Lyla nods before disappearing once more, and Miguel can't help but allow his eyes to close, just for a minute.
"Ugh, they're so cute." Lyla takes a photo, knowing somewhere in Miguel's heart, he'll love having this moment immortalized for all to see (well, maybe just you.)
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honestsycrets · 9 months
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Amor y Respeto I: Mi Alma || [Miguel O’Hara x Latina!Reader]
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Chapter II: Corazón
❛ pairing | Miguel O’Hara x FB!Reader, platonic Hobie x Reader
❛ type | oneshot
❛ summary | the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked. 
❛ tags | fuckbuddies, a very latinx piece, jealousy, jealous Miguel O’Hara, a sparse hobie appearance, spidey!reader, latina!reader, no translations of the spanish included, gif credit to the original owner, nsfw, female reader, some mention of blood and wounds, some creative liberties, slight spoilers.
❛ sy’s notes | not my usual fanfare and i’m a little rusty but miguel hit me straight in my heart. i consciously omitted spanish translations in this work. consistent pet names include mi alma (my soul) & muñeca (doll). this is not my usual fandom and i may have missed some fandom nuances, so i apologize in advance for creative liberties. lastly, emotions impact the reader’s healing capabilities, hope that's clear enough. thank you @lisinfleur​ and @ivarsrideordie​ for your help. i’ll be dropping an ivar fic soon, see you then!
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In your cultura, disrespect was unacceptable. 
You knew it. Your lover knew you knew it: but for you, there was something greater than respect. Amor. If he knew that you knew about her little escapade, oh, it would be unforgivable. It undercut the very foundation of what he did at HQ. But even between lovers, where the time you spent was fleeting and unstable, there were things you could not share. Besides... how would he know? 
The day had been long. Your body ached with the dizzying speed of patrols past the vine-covered high-rise apartments of your beautiful city. Your room was stuffy with the tropical air struggling against humidity. With dried blood on your skin, the perfect remedy was a shower. Its warmth soothed your aching muscles after a long day. You found your mind wandering to problems that didn’t immediately demand a solution. How you’d avoid cotton mouth the next time you saw him. Sooner than you thought.
The shower door whizzed aside, plumes of steam fading into the cool air. “Shit!” you shouted, reaching to cover your body. Miguel bent his head as he stepped into your cramped shower and cupped the frame. He shut the shower door. Did he already know? You nipped your lower lip raw and the taste of blood turned your tastebuds. Somehow, you knew that he hadn’t slipped off from HQ just to have you. Not tonight. He had that glazed-over look in his sharp eyes, considering you the same way he might consider anyone else. 
 “Miguel?” you fluttered your lashes at him which winked off plump droplets of water. “Mi alma, que paso?” 
“Did you know?” 
You reached out to turn the knob of the water off. It creaked to a stop. Despite tracing the droplets that coasted down your curves, he watched you with otherwise uninterested eyes. When you failed to respond, he stomped closer, kicking up the water that swirled under your bare feet.
“Did you know?” His fist pounded the side of the shower wall. Your heart leapt into your chest where it fluttered painfully, encased in your chest. Miguel bared his angular teeth at you. Teeth that usually marred your neck with possessive bites, loving kisses, and teasing scrapes. He never bared them at you like this. It was always a possibility, never the reality.
You met his eyes. The certainty you had moments earlier that oh, he wouldn’t find out, was gone. Of course, he found out. Your Miguel always found out. With that dead, blank expression, you knew the gravity of your situation. 
“Of course, I knew.” His chest swelled with forceful inhalation of air as you spoke. “But Gwen… I, they’re only kids. Kids who--” 
“Kids? They are not just kids. Coño, I’d expect this of them,” he prompted your name and took a step forward. You took one back. Then another, knocking your back into the shower walls. You were like a small bird in an even smaller cage. Nowhere to run and still, he wasn’t about to give you the luxury of personal space. You were pinned between his firm chest and the two stony walls against your back. His voice lowered dangerously low, barely a murmur against the shell of your ear. “But you? You know what’s at risk.” 
“They love--” 
“Y que?” he snapped your name out again. “Tell me, when those kids destroy thousands of lives, what does that change? Have you ever stopped to think of that? Of the lives this will ruin?” 
“I just... wanted them happy. If even for an instant.” You hung your head. He set his clawed hand to the side of your head, combing through the stringy strands of your hair down with a false care that you wanted to believe in. But it was entangled in the strings of his manipulation. “Of course, you have, muñequita.” 
“Then can’t they--” His hand balled up into a fist and careened with the wall behind you. Your head snapped away as his claws unfurled and released crumbling bits of the wall by your naked toes. You’d have to clean that up-- later. You took a deep breath and exhaled the frustration that packed away in your belly. “Sabes qué? I am sorry that love isn’t enough for you, I am sorry that I have never been enough for you.” 
“No. No puedo con esto,” he looked down at you. As he leaned in, his forearm above your head supported his body weight. “Muñeca, por favor. This isn’t about us.” 
“Why can’t it be?” 
“You can’t be serious.” 
“I just want to be with you, but you won’t let me in,” you reached out. The soft pads of your fingertips hovered by his sharp jawline eased past his ear and into his ruffled hair. For a second, brief as it were, his eyes softened. He leaned into the touch. You had your window. “Why won’t you let me in?”
Whether or not he was past the anger, the disrespect, his thick arms wound around the small of your waist. In some bid to bring you back to your senses-- to him, he set his forehead against your own, dwelling in the soft scent of your floral soap that filled his nose. You tilted your head, capturing his lips in a kiss. His body became as sturdy: unmoving and guarded. 
“I can’t give you what you need.” He reached back to remove your hands from his hair and with care settled them back on your moist chest. As he made his way out of your bathroom, his warning echoed through your mind. “Stay out of my way.”
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Miguel’s love was unstable. Affection, not love. If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that you always knew it was bound to fail. You were lucky for what time you had with him. It made subsequent missions all the harder, wrapped up in this innate desire to be loved by a man who allowed himself to be loved by none. Without his affection, HQ felt barren. Its many corridors held no life, no love, and no prospect of a better future. Yet, for Miguel, there you were. Your ballet flats tapped furiously alongside the ringing stomps of your partner’s steel-toed boots.
“Ay bendito, this isn’t healing,” you dabbed your fingers in the blood at your shoulder, storming past a sea of red and blue that parted for the pair of you. Your neck was oozing-- well, not oozing so much as soaking your outfit. The mission could have gone better. Sometimes your mind wandered at the worst of times. It didn’t matter, not now. It was done, he would be happy, and it would be enough for today. All that you did you did for him-- and he knew it.
“Your man won’t be happy about that,” Hobie cut through the crowd while walking backward. He made it look so easy. Conviction, you guessed, made life much easier. 
“No,” you took the end of your silky rebozo and held it to your shoulder. “He only cares about results. We have good results. What does he have to be angry about? He has everything he wants.” 
“Hm.” Hobie hummed, span around, and leaned over your shoulder. He was on your tail with his aggravatingly long legs no matter how quickly you walked.
“Hobie, por dios.” 
“He broke up with you, didn’e?” 
You didn’t have to answer him. You didn’t even need to talk to him. You could just keep walking and leave it to his imagination. Yet, your face faltered. The perceptive man he was, Hobie twisted in front of your path. He leaned his hips back and sank his face inches apart from yours. Hobie quirked a smile in his lazy eyes and an adorable lip pout. Your eye centered on his piercing to avert your focus from his words. 
“Yeah,” he answered his own question. “Bet he did.” 
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you swerved around him.
“Maybe.” Hobie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and sped after you. “But I’m with you.” 
“How sweet.” 
You knew your Miguel would be there: on that stupid platform, staring at multiple screens, at a lost life, departed from his reality in any other capacity but maintaining the happiness of others. Well, others that weren’t like you. You found him in that very same position when you pressed into his lab. 
“What is it now?” 
“We’ve taken care of it-- Hobie and I.”  
“Good,” came his dry response. “Is that all?”
“Not in the mood to talk to your girl, eh?” Hobie clicked, throwing his arm over your shoulder: not out of care, or friendship, but spite. No matter the institution, Hobie always seemed to harbor harsh feelings for those in charge. If it meant pissing him off a little, rattling up the flow of HQ, Hobie was always an eager volunteer. Hobie turned his lips to your ear and prompted your name, “C’mon, leave him. Let's go get a drinky drink.” 
You bit out a cry at the pressure on your neck, the damn thing wasn’t healing nearly as fast as it needed to be. You blamed the bundles of anxiety that rattled up emotions low in your belly. It was still open, soaking Hobie too. He didn’t mind a little blood on his shorn uniform. Good for the image, and all that.
“That hurt, Hobie!” 
Miguel threw a glance over his shoulder. Just a moment, but enough to spot something else that agitated him. Your normally white outfit, fluttery and light, splattered with the blood that painted your red rebozo a little redder. Or maybe it was Hobie’s lips on your ear, making remarks about beer-- or whiskey-- or-- Molotov--
“Get off,” Miguel pounced down from his kingly stoop and flicked Hobie’s wrist. He snaked his wrist away, shoving his palms back into his pants. You threw him a look knowing that it was not because Miguel told him to but because he felt like it. The devil’s advocate that he was. Miguel unraveled the rebozo from your neck. His hand grasped your chin and angled it one way, then the other, rumbling in clear agitation “You’re wounded.” 
“Déjame quieta. Don’t touch me.” 
“And you?” Miguel rocked back on his heels, setting his well-corded arms on his hips. Then, he angled his body toward Hobie. “Where were you?” 
Hobie lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He serious?” 
“I can handle myself.” 
“Can you? And you-- why are you still here?” Though Miguel asked the question, it was a statement. Hobie held his palms up, fluttering his fingers in mockery. You watched Miguel run his fingers down the bloody rebozo, counting its bloodied inches.  
“Vente conmigo.” He leaned into your ear. The trill of his voice danced down your spine, low and husky. Your mind wandered to the many nights he whispered just the same in your ear. You suppressed the shiver, your heartbeat trembling so violently you were sure you could hear its pathetic thumping, nearly a cry. It hadn’t been long but... you missed this.
“You told me to stay out of your way. I am staying out of your way. Give me--”
“I won’t ask again. Either you come or I’ll make you.” That was it then. A flash of disbelief snapped across your face. The gall of this man. Even though he told you to stay out of the way, he demanded that you leave the lab with him? You caught Hobie perking up to look your way with shiny curious eyes. He pointed to his chest and then yours, suggesting… something you’d ignore. Hobie slipped out a smug hum.
“I’ll catch up with you later, Hobie.”
There were no good alternatives. You knew he would make good on his threat. Not that you particularly would want to fight him anyway. Whether it was respect or obligation, you ran after your Miguel, who already walked away. You snatched the rebozo from his waiting hand, suspended in the air.
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Yes, your life was a delicate balance between love and respect. You weren’t sure which of those guided you back to Miguel’s dimly lit room. Only that as you sat on his bed, your once-was lover was behind you. His fingers worked swiftly on your neck, furiously tugging at your sore neck with what felt like a needle. No point complaining. It would eventually end. You could go find the boys. They could rail you about your dating choices as they always did. 
“Lyla will find you another backup partner,” he broke the silence. You rathered he didn’t operate in this limbo of false intimacy. Your lips parted into a sigh rife with agitation. The drawback of fucking your boss was this, you supposed. He controlled your life.
“No, she won’t. I like working with Hobie. I want him.” 
Miguel paused short of dipping the needle back into your skin. “What do you mean-- you want him?” 
“What does it sound like? I like working with Hobie. I trust Hobie. So I want Hobie by my side.” You slapped your lacey thighs and turned to gaze into those familiar eyes. “Así que, no, I do not need another backup. I don’t need you controlling every inch of my work life. I need you to hurry up.” 
“Muñeca. If you’re emotional, you’ll heal slower.” 
“Do not call me that,” you jumped from his lush bed. Your neck squealed for you to stop and let him fix what was clearly broken with the slack thread that connected your body to his. Oh, and what a metaphor it felt like. Your life was sewn together by a man who held all the strings in his hands. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. You made it clear how little you feel about me-- and my feelings.” 
He lifted his eyes to yours. A long, slow look. The sort of look that made you question it all. As if the things you said weren’t really from your lips, no matter how sure you were of them.  You broke the exchange first and grasped the long strand embedded deep in your neck. 
“Your feelings,” he held out his hand and tugged the line, “tend to get in the way of what needs to be done.” 
Startled, you looked down at his open palm. You slipped your smaller fingers into the middle of his palm and sat back on the bed. He slid behind you, pressing his core against your backside-- because that was completely necessary. With soft care, he shifted your hair over the opposing shoulder and continued his work. 
“Apart from that, you shouldn’t have gone on that mission. You were distracted. If you weren’t so emotional,” Miguel murmured. “We wouldn’t be here.”
If you weren’t emotional? You screwed your eyebrows together in a pathetic attempt to ignore what he just said. To ignore the way that he demeaned the fuel of your abilities, what guided you through this traumatic thing called life. Meanwhile, Miguel functioned on minimal emotion-- the suppression of what he’d lost by protecting what he was. 
“It’s your fault I was distracted in the first place.” 
“You should be able to control your own feelings.”
“Fine. Apúrate. I’ll get out of your way.” 
Miguel snapped the healing aid thread and ran his clawed fingertips across the long streaks on your neck and shoulder. It was mere moments that he lingered there circling your neck. As your breathing evened out, you felt your body pull together fibrous strands of tissue and heal. Yet, you couldn’t care. 
“Done.” Miguel refused to address your gaze but opted to draw your top back into place to over your breasts. You stood and secured the buttons of your halter top behind your neck. That was it. You’d return to your duties, healed half by your emotions and half by Miguel. You would need to learn to ignore the love you had for him. One day, all this would be well. Miguel rolled up the excess thread around his reel.
Fine. If he was going to ignore you--
“Do you think,” you paused long enough to debate your words. Enough for Miguel to glance up with his stoic red eyes and lift an eyebrow at you. It irritated you how unemotional and consistently unbothered he could be when you stood there just the opposite. Always desperate for a sign of his feelings. “Hobie wants to fuck?” 
There were some lines you should never cross. While you would never actually fuck your partner, the mere mention of the thought ever crossing your mind was one step too far. It was terribly disrespectful. Miguel’s reel plopped onto the floor and rolled short of your feet.
You slid your palms over your hips before hooking at the bend in your waist. His gaze focused on the glide of your hands trailing slowly down your sides. Sides that he often snatched in the dead of night after a warm shower. Or that he’d cling to during lovemaking. Your following words caused him to lurch off the bed. “Qué piensas? He might still be in HQ, no?” 
“What,” His hand fit along your neck like a tight collar. The next moment, pain radiated from your skull and blurred your vision. The pain licked flames of excitement to life in your belly. A gasp slipped from your lips. Instead of shock, your cry was tinged with delight. With his wild brown hair slumping forward over his scarlet eyes, he was more beautiful than ever. His claws squeezed your neck, jerking and slamming your head once more. His breath tickled your cheek. “What did you say?” 
Of course, he couldn’t help himself: the control freak. He was a genius. You knew he knew it was bait. He had to. But your looming threat was enough for him to take the risk. Your lips curled, laughing your words rather flippantly. “I said-- do you think Hobie wants to fuck?”
You eviscerated his already thin patience. The searing pain of his fangs piercing your battered neck seared all thoughts of Hobie from your mind. Your hands choked out a pitiful cry. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel-- calma.”
The familiar burn of his frantic biting, his violent ownership of your body, made your body slick. He lifted your hips onto his, legs dangling over his slim thighs. Crunched up against his massive body, you felt small but as if you were the focus of his world. Just how you loved to feel when you were encased in his arms.
“You think he could fuck you like I can?” His gravelly voice rumbled. His face pinched tight, daring your response. “That you can replace me— so easily?”
No, the answer was a resounding no. But he didn’t need to know that. If Miguel thought he could play games with you, you’d play games with him. The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of his rejection. It was only fair that Miguel felt the same.
Blood seeped down from your neck, a feeling you were accustomed to today. On the other hand, you weren’t accustomed to how he tore into your uniform as if it were as offensive as your harsh words. You calmly noted that you were glad to have multiple: a consequence of doing this work too long. 
That was it. You slid your hands up his forearms, around his firm biceps, to his broad shoulders. There you rested your arms, knocking your foreheads gently together. Past the rage, you recognized the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. The promise that you were lying. For security under another name. You refused to give it to him: he never gave it to you.
“He is Spiderman, isn’t he?” 
He shifted the pad of his finger between your lips. Your tongue slid over his thumb, crooked in your mouth to suppress any more words that he may regret hearing or that you may regret saying. 
“He may be,” Miguel rasped. His lips quirked into a wicked grin. With Miguel’s sudden sharpness, you weren’t expecting to see his smile. You welcomed it, a rare delight that you found yourself loathing the more he spoke. “But you’re mine.” 
His. The inklings of fear you previously spotted in the depth of Miguel’s eyes seemed to weaken, sliding his thumb from your lips, rolling past your nipple, and the muscles of your stomach. He slid past your vulva, trailing with expert care along your slit. It was barely a touch if even a graze. Words failed to form. They were a thick bolus in your throat, congealed and thick.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought so.” 
Your eyes trailed Miguel’s strong jawline and ambled up toward his lips. Your gaze lingered there as his fingers slipped between your lips, finding your cunt soft and wet. His eyes flickered toward your shy gaze and danced his lips against yours by virtue of his words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that interested in finding him.”
“How would you know?” you cried out when one of his clawed fingers dipped inside your body. Your hips jerked onto his hand to seek out more of him. Your traitorous, awful body. It wasn’t comfortable when he scratched you while stroking your velvety inner walls. But you always needed more of his touch.
“Oh,” Miguel hummed. He bent close-- your eyes now focused on his high cheekbones. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and know that he knew how weak you were for him. “I know. It’s the way you look at me.” 
“As if--” You dropped your eyes, reveling in the pressure of his prodding fingers, the delight in having him here, with you, once again. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate, as comforting as it did, but it did. His fingers withdrew, pleased with his work. “You know I can give you what you need.” 
“You said you couldn’t,” Miguel slipped his fingers into your mouth: sweet and sour with your own excitement and the scratches of blood. His hands worked at the waist as you secured yourself on the wall with your hands, knowing what was next-- and expecting it. 
“I lied.” he drawled out, a long hum. He spat on his hand and rubbed himself as you watched, anticipating the soft prod of his cock’s head at your entrance. It hadn’t been long. Yet, as he buried himself in the warmth of your body, you inhaled a wealth of air into your chest, exhaling it in soft shudders. Perhaps it was the fear of never having this again. 
His large hands shifted underneath your ass and pinned you square against the wall. His claws drew blood to the surface of superficial cuts. Your hands snapped to his shoulders and clung onto him for some security. You found no rest between the wall chafing your back and Miguel’s long, pointed strokes into your body. Your body burned with the pull of his dick dragging in and out of your cunt, fighting to keep him inside with every squeeze and pull. He wasn’t lying, you knew. But it didn’t matter. Not when you were his complete and utter focus. 
Miguel let a word of praise slip free as he ground into you. With a wall of muscle before you and the sturdy wall behind, breathing was slight and hard to come by. It had to be what he wanted-- to make you focus on him and him alone. It’s what you deserved after antagonizing the man. Your hands found his hair, knotting your fingers in it, and accepting the ferocity of his deep, then shallow strokes into your core. Your eyes flitted shut as he bottomed out, grinding his hips in tight circles. As you came, your body furiously clenched onto his cock, slowing his sweeping thrusts. 
You craved it: the moment of Miguel’s weakness. Your body urged out his orgasm with a noise tempered by pleasure and annoyance. Your cunt milking earned you a particularly firm slam of his hips. Miguel would drag you down to take it all. He spilled into you with a deliciously unique warmth, grinding his hips until spent. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck. In place of another hard bite, he gently kissed your collarbone and throat. After he finished, he settled you down onto the floor. But your legs were sloppy, weak shaky things. Miguel snatched your hand as you swayed to keep yourself upright. 
“I have to go,” you held his hand begrudgingly for support. Then bent down to pick up strips of your clothes. Yet another victim of your relationship with him. You would have to... mend this. Somehow. Probably not. “They’re expecting me--” 
“Muñeca,”
“Cálmate, Miguel. You know I’m not going to fuck him,” you swiped the coursing fluids down your thigh. You dragged your hand down Miguel’s firm chest and danced your finger up his chest to flip up his chin. He glanced down, puffing air from his nostrils in protest. His eyes rolled, oh so slightly. “He’s not my type. I like them big, mm?”
“You would if he was?” he bristled.
“I never said that.” You said. Despite this fact, certain needs needed to be met. Ones that if he didn’t fill, someone else would. You both knew this. Your work was long and stressful and done in the name of the man who was before you. If for nothing but that love, you knew you would keep going. You believed in Miguel: his choices and his heart. 
“You didn’t need to.” 
“Mi alma--” you stopped, waving your hand at his pet name. “All this is fleeting. I need someone that will meet my needs. To tell me they love me. Can you?” 
He pressed his lips together and stewed on your request. You knew without a question in your mind what that answer was. In the aftermath of sex with Miguel, he was closer to you than ever. And yet, it was impossible to convince him of an actual connection. For him, it was easier to leave you than love you. 
He didn’t need to say it.  
“I know you, Miguel. You didn’t lie. It was the truth,” you slipped your hand from his. Instead, you opted to set a fleeting kiss on the side of his lip. For better or worse, he didn’t reciprocate. Your steps carried you backward. Then, you afforded him a small deprecating smile. “Other than sex, you can’t give me what I need.”
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randomshyperson · 2 months
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Favorite Star - Elizabeth Olsen x Reader
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Summary: During halftime at the Golden Globes, two guests find an empty room. Or the one where Lizzie's dress is driving you crazy.
Warnings; (+18), semi-public smut, bottom!Lizzie, dirty talking, implied secret relationship, just sinful. | Words: 1.437k
A/N-> This is actually fluff because I'm a sweetheart and Lizzie's face after losing another award made me very upset. And as the saying goes, the devil works fast but fanfic writers work faster.
General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3
-&-
You've been teasing her.
All day, even before the awards began, you filled her cell phone with selfies and short videos of getting dressed in your attire - A dark green suit that hugged your body just right and was chosen to match her eyes, giving plenty of material for every rumor that has been circling about the two of you. Then on the red carpet, with intense stares and hidden smirks in her direction that your Agent probably wouldn't approve of. When you finally greeted her, you even dared to whisper how breathtaking she looked next to her ear and Lizzie should have won an acting award right there for covering the way her body shook at the compliment. 
The Golden Globes party was as full as usual, and it was blistering hot and tedious. She still had to deal with an annoying host, and when the break finally happened, Elizabeth wasn't the only one who breathed a sigh of relief that the performance had been interrupted.
She made her way through the crowd towards the toilets, offering polite smiles to any of the known guests she crossed glances with and somehow, perhaps because she caught your eye before standing up, Lizzie knew you were following her.
Her heart leaped in her chest when she felt her wrist being gently grabbed. She caught a glimpse of your dilated pupils before you took the lead, holding her hand and guiding her into the first empty room you could find.
You let go of her hand to wrap your arms around her waist, a gentle push to have her against the closed door. Lizzie was still blushing because she was sure Meryl Streep had seen the whole thing.
Your lips were on hers in the blink of an eye, and all she could do was sigh, her eyes closing on instinct. Fuck, she missed this. It seemed like forever since you last kissed, Lizzie was almost beginning to think she'd imagined it.
When you broke apart, you were a little breathless, your eyes shining in her direction filled her stomach with butterflies.
"Hello, gorgeous." You greeted her with a smile, your hands stroking her sides. "Lizzie, this dress is... fuck."
She blushed at your affected tone of voice, smiling shyly. Her hands went to the collar of your dress shirt, and she stared back at you with the same intensity.
"I'm glad you like it." She whispers even though the room is empty and the noise of the party outside is enough to drown out the sounds inside. "Do you know what the best part is? How easy it comes off..." She teases naughty an inch away from your lips, pleased with the shaky sigh that escapes you. Your hands tighten a little more firmly around her waist and Lizzie bites her lip before instinctively thrusting her hips towards you. The cue is answered immediately - You grab her dress to put up a little so your thigh can fit between her legs, giving her something to grind against. But instead of giving in completely, she’s all too aware of where she is and the short time you both have before the end of the break. So Lizzie fiddles with your tie. "We can't. Not here."
You pout, the hands on her hips giving a tentative pull, forcing her to grind down into your flexing thigh, and her determined gaze falters into an aroused expression, the blood flowing not only to her cheeks but down her body, at a speed that makes her gasp for air. The hot knot on her lower belly making her dizzier by the second.
"Why wait, when you want it so badly?" You challenge back as if you knew how about the ache between her legs. You lean in to attack her collarbone with kisses that turn her into a panting mess, struggling to keep her eyes open. You gently bite the most sensitive spot behind her ear that you have learned to memorize and Lizzie lets out a soft whimper, her hips thrusting forward on instinct.
But there's movement outside. Footsteps and a soft bell. Break time is about to be over. Lizzie grumbles, the firm hands on your shoulder pushing you gently.
"We have to go." She says, but you don't let go, you pull her face to yours and kiss her hard. Your tongue makes her knees go weak and the only support is your thigh between her legs. She whines again, wishing she wasn’t wearing a dress at all. "Baby, they'll notice-" She manages to pant between your firm kisses, but she's grinding against you with a little more frenzy in the next second. Your hands move under her dress and Lizzie lets her face fall into the space of your neck, unable to care about the lipstick staining the collar of your shirt.
She choked on a moan when suddenly, your fingers reached forward - you just pushed the fabric of her already ruined panties aside and sank them inside her without warning. The throaty moan that escapes her is muffled on your skin.
It's ridiculous how helpless she is; riding your fingers in chase of her climax in near despair. And you're not gentle either, your thrusts are deep and quick inside her because you can't afford to prolong this and the second warning bell will ring soon. The cameras will be turned on again, your chairs will be empty, and more gossip about a possible relationship between the Marvel stars will surface in the media.
But Lizzie is coming hard against your hand, so she can't care about any of that right now.
It's one of the quickest orgasms she's ever had in her life, but she doesn't have time to feel embarrassed about it. You remove your hand to suck your fingers clean as she tries to breathe normally again, her hands gripping your shoulders so she doesn't slip to the floor due to her shaky legs.
You turn your face to her next, kissing her intensely and Lizzie moans at the taste of herself on your tongue. You smile as you break away.
"I kinda wanna skip the party and take you home, Miss Olsen." You let her know sweetly, and Lizzie lets out a short, breathy chuckle. 
But the second bell rings, and the cameras have been turned on. She curses quietly, and you help her to stand up properly.
"Come on, let me help you with this." You ask, your hands pulling her face to lessen the mess that has become her lipstick as she tries to do the same with you. 
But she knows, she knows for sure that her worn-out dreamy expression, the mess in her hair, will give away what she’s been up to. And that not only the other guests, but the fans will know too.
She swallows dryly, tugging at your hand. "They'll know."
You hesitate before giving her a small smile. "Is that so bad, Lizzie?"
She takes a deep breath, her lips cracking into a small smile. "I just... hoped to share the news in a different way."
You absorb her words for a moment, trying to ignore the warm happiness blossoming in your chest. Lizzie wants to go public. You steal a glance at the door before looking back at her and sighing. "Okay, I have an idea."
The whole thing goes very quickly; you pull your cell phone out of your pocket and take a picture of your lipstick-stained shirt collar. She looks at you with a frown.
"What...?"
"Well, you're not on Instagram so this is as good as it gets." You explain, letting her see the photo and the small caption that simply read “a good-luck kiss from my favorite star”. Lizzie felt her face burn, and she giggled nervously. This would cause some commotion, she could already imagine Twitter going insane trying to guess who you were talking to. Knowing her fans, they probably already knew.
She stares at you to say; "Your agent is going to kill you. Not only that, they'll drown you with questions when we are out of here."
You chuckled, offering her a wink. "It was totally worth it."
She approaches again, stealing a short kiss before touching the door handle. "I'll fix my makeup, you go ahead."
You pout. "But my picture was so nice..."
Lizzie rolls her eyes with a laugh. "I never said you couldn't post it." She teases, and it's her turn to give you a wink before walking out the door.
This woman is still going to be the death of you. Honestly.
2K notes · View notes
goldcoastsunset · 10 months
Text
You Keep Me Hanging On
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PAIRING miguel o'hara/f!reader
SUMMARY yourself and miguel were the only survivors of the destruction of your world, but sometimes it felt like he had died a long time ago. confronting him about this doesn't really go as planned, but you're not complaining.
WARNINGS smut, unprotected sex, creampies, vaginal fingering, mentions of death, atsv spoilers (miguel's backstory)
REQUESTED yes/no
WORD COUNT 6.1k
NOTES i've seen this movie twice and i can't stop thinking about miguel. can't believe i've seen oscar in person, that's crazy
It often felt like you shouldn’t be here. That feeling was… rather accurate. You, by all means should not be living in Spider-Society. You weren’t a Spider-Person, you were just one of the villains of the week that Spider-Man 2099 had gotten into a few fights with. 
To be fair, you were powerful in your own right. You knew how to fight, if you didn’t, you would have repeatedly ended up fighting Miguel O’Hara, though you didn’t know his name at the time. You knew he was Spider-Man, you knew that he was kind of mean and that he repeatedly kicked your ass. You also knew that you found it kind of hot when he bared his claws at you, that you were clenching your thighs every time he insulted you. It was why you kept picking fights with him when you knew you were going to lose, because you weren’t trying to win. 
Sometimes it felt like he knew that you were only getting on his bad side because you liked being there, that you were only getting more elaborate in your crimes because you wanted to retain his attention. Though, you would never admit that you wanted his attention. He was your sworn enemy, and you mean sworn. You would look yourself in the eyes every morning and say, “I solemnly swear that Spider-Man is my mortal enemy” every morning if you had the energy to do something like that before you got some caffeine into your system. 
Maybe he could have turned you into the police, but he hadn’t seen your face to the best of your knowledge. You would always escape his grasp before the police could even find the two of you, so doing something like that was useless. Still, you figured that he would have set you up at some point. It made no sense why he didn’t want you to just be in prison, it would have made his life just a little bit easier. But he never had you locked up, and that made you want to get on his bad side just a little bit more.
But something was wrong. You knew that he had popped in out of nowhere, but you couldn’t figure out why. You could look through the multiverse with the right equipment and enough patience, but you didn’t have enough patience. You didn’t want to test your strength like that just based on a hunch that this person was from the wrong universe. But something happened, something terrible happened.
The world was in ruins, being destroyed from the inside out. You knew it was coming, you could sense it in the air even without the right equipment. When an unmasked man with the physique of the Spider-Man that you had been fighting showed up at your door, everything fell into place. He was an outlier, he didn’t belong in this universe, and here he was tearing apart your home from the inside out. The only thing you could find it in yourself to ask him was, “Do you know how excited I was to get this house, you douche?” 
It wouldn’t be until months later that he would confess that he knew who you were the entire time, that he was ‘just trying to wear you down’. It only took you a week to learn his real name, Miguel O’Hara, a pretty name if it wasn’t attached to someone who didn’t seem to dislike you at least a little bit. Or… a lot of bit. He didn’t seem to like you at all, which was why it was so baffling that he had bothered to get you out of that mess. It baffled you why you were here, why he didn’t just leave you to die. You weren’t a Spider-Person. You were a lowly criminal that sometimes collaborated with Doctor Octopus to make Spider-Man’s life hell.
But, he reasoned, you were good at what you did. He never felt the need to turn you in because he believed that he might be able to benefit from keeping you around. That benefit came, because he needed someone to help him with the scientific aspect of what he was building. You were able to do this for him, it came naturally to you after spending so long using science to terrorize poor Miguel. 
This Miguel was no fun, though. The version of him that you had worked against for so long was fun to fight, he was fun to get into arguments with. He was fun to disagree with because he seemed to still have some life in him. You always found him fun, intriguing enough to keep you engaged in him. But this version of him was cold and mean, like he just didn’t have time for anyone or anything unless he was actively scolding them.
He took everything incredibly seriously, and though you could understand why, you just couldn’t help but wish that maybe he would ease up for once. The both of you had lost that world, you had almost died there. Unlike him, however, that was your home that was destroyed. Not just your home that was destroyed, but your home that was destroyed because of him. Because he made a decision that he wouldn’t explain to you for a long time, a decision that you couldn’t fully hold against him, despite the fact that he might hold it against himself. 
In a sense, a quite literal sense, Miguel took everything from you. But something that intrigued you was that your life was better here than it was before. There was no need to turn to a life of crime, no need for you to fight against people like Spider-Man. For the first time in your life, you were on the right side. It felt good, it made you feel like a better person than you were before. But that didn’t change anything. It didn’t make him detest being around you any less, and it didn’t make you get along with him any better. Miguel didn’t want to let anyone in, and you couldn’t even default to the playful banter that you used to have with him because he didn’t find it entertaining anymore.
Eventually, you made other Spider-Friends. They weren’t like him, most of them were funny and kind. Miguel used to be funny, he used to do something like maybe smiling underneath that mask. He has a smile in his voice, at least. But that smile seemed like it would never come back, and all you were stuck with was one of the most unpleasant (yet absolutely gorgeous) men that you had ever met. 
But that was where the question arose for you: Why did he let you see his face? By all means, he didn’t need to. Sure, he wasn’t wearing the mask when he came to your door, when the Earth was crumbling. You had already seen his face, but that was obviously a drastic circumstance. There was no reason for him to not only let you see it again, but mainly see it in place of the mask. And there was certainly no reason for him to have told you his name.
Honestly, there was no reason for you to be here at all. He needed a scientist, sure, but once this society had progressed past what it once was he could have used a Spider-Man for that. There were plenty of scienc-y, smart Spider-People who not only could have done the same job as you, but maybe even done it better because they had personal experience with what they were working with. 
But he never got rid of you. He never sent you back home, maybe it was impossible. You’d toyed around with the idea in your head that Miguel hadn’t sent you home because he couldn’t, because he brought you here and he couldn’t send you back to nothing. There was nothing to go back to, so what would even putting you in the machine do? Would it kill you? Would it be able to detect a location for you to go back to? You figured that had to be why he was keeping you around, but you had yet to find someone that you could use to test that theory out on. 
Despite not understanding what your purpose here was, you rather enjoyed it. You liked feeling like you were a part of a group, even if you were only an honorary part. Some of the Spider-People were more social than others, and despite the kindness that you received from a majority of them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something. It was Miguel that you wanted to speak to. He was the only person here that remembers your universe, the only person that even knows about your past. The only way you could accurately describe how badly you watched to talk to him is if you were to think about how someone in a nursing home would feel if their roommate went to high school with them but was too brooding and moody to discuss what they remember. 
Your memories were in your mind, sure. But that didn’t mean that speaking about your shared memories wouldn’t be cathartic to you. Maybe it was because he had lost something. Maybe the loss of that child and life that he had found was too difficult for him to confront. Of course, that was why he did what he did - to prevent anyone else from going through something like that again. But that didn’t mean he should just close himself off to the world. Unfortunately, though. You could never bring yourself to express that with him.
In all of your conversations with Miguel, as brief as they typically are, you could never actually speak about emotions with him. Each time you would tell yourself it was going to happen, you would convince yourself that you were going to tell him everything that you had been thinking and finally get it off of your chest. But you never could, and instead you would end up in a snarky argument with him (that was typically more of a battle of wits than an actual argument) because as much as you liked to psychoanalyze Miguel, you really couldn’t bring yourself to discuss your past either. 
Today, though. Today was different. Miguel had gone too far earlier, harassing some random Spider-Man villain who didn’t understand why they were being brought in. Of course, maybe you were sympathetic because you had also been some random Spider-Man villain, but Miguel was just being mean. Whatever he did to make a member of The Sinister Six cry must have been extreme, and though you didn’t see it, you knew that you had to say something about it. It just wasn’t like him, at least, not the version of him that you had come to know. 
Throughout your entire time squabbling with him you had never left it crying, even when you physically fought with him you were never hurt enough to cry about it. He could be cold, and mean, but he wasn’t a bad person or a bully. He didn’t do this to be mean to people, he did it because he had seen what could happen when people weren’t regulated. He knew what destruction that he had caused, and this entire thing was supposed to be him helping people. 
Of course, when you found him he was sitting in that same spot he was always sitting in. Not paying too much attention to anything, or anyone, surrounding him despite the fact that you knew he could sense your presence. He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t say anything or move a muscle. But he had heightened senses, and he knew that it was you standing in the doorway, he had to. 
“Shouldn’t you be working?” He didn’t turn back to look at you, his eyes fixated on the screen in front of him as you neared the platform that he was always on. He was up so high, unreachable. Like a king on his throne. It drove you insane, but you couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t wonder what it was like up there. 
“Kind of difficult to work when there’s a crying Vulture in your lab, Miguel.” 
“He should have gone home by now.” He opted to lower the platform, though he didn’t see you rolling your eyes at how slow and overdramatic it was. The idea of him slowly lowering himself to the ground was amusing sometimes, but right now you wanted to have a serious conversation and he couldn’t even speed himself up?
“Yeah, there’s an issue with that. Spider-Byte is figuring it out.” The machine couldn’t seem to figure out where The Vulture was from, but you were sure he was going to be home within the hour. “That’s not what I need to talk to you about. Well, it is. But it’s not.”
“What do you want?” He was finally in front of you, and he was so damn big that it was difficult to focus on anything other than his broad chest. 
Still, you stood your ground. You wanted to have a serious conversation with him for once, you were sick and tired of beating around the bush. “What did you say that could possibly make a member of the Sinister Six cry like that?” 
“I told him the truth.” He was cold as ever, and it made you want to hit him. His face was stiff, his mouth curved into what seemed to be a permanent frown. 
“The truth meaning what?”
“That he, and everyone he loves, would die if he wasn’t sent back.” You were sure it was a bit more than that. For someone who had been through that exact thing, he wasn’t very sensitive when broaching the topic with someone else. However, it was better than what you were imagining.
“Oh.”
“Oh? What did you think I did?” 
“I don’t know, fucking- bullied him, called him names or threatened to kill him or something.” How were you supposed to know? That didn’t change anything, though. Maybe Miguel hadn’t done what you thought he did to that random, crying, Vulture. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t cold and closed off. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer.”
“I’m protect-”
“-Ing the fate of the multiverse. Yeah, I know, you tell me every single day.” 
“You ask every single day! And you should know why it’s important.” You paused, his dark expression making you want to take a step back. He had this presence, this presence that loomed over you no matter what you did. He was practically chest to chest with you, and you felt so small. 
“Really? Now you want to talk about our past? Of all the fucking times, right now?” Even when you brought it up, he would avoid the topic. He would insist that he wasn’t going to talk to you about it, he never wanted to speak about what happened. Yet here he was, bringing it up on his own accord because he wanted to win an argument. 
“We don’t have a past. We just came from the same planet.” He was so dismissive, so annoyed that you would even imply that you had a past. But you did, you had a past with him. You were sick and tired of pretending that your life began here, that you don’t have any memories prior to the Spider-Society.
“That’s bullshit, Miguel. We have a fucking past. I’m happier here, yeah, I’m not a dumbass villain of the week trying to get under your skin. But I have a past, and you can’t just pretend that you didn’t lose-”
“Don’t.” Miguel spoke with such a stern tone, you were pretty sure he was considering murdering you right now. You were usually attracted to those fangs, but now the only thing you could see is him literally trying to bite your throat out. All because you wanted to have a frank, honest discussion with him about something. 
Despite your fear, you weren’t going to back away from it this time. “This is a stupid way of coping, you’re going to be miserable for the rest of your life if you don’t at least talk about it.”
“Oh, now you care about my mental health?” 
“Of course I ca- God, you’re insufferable.” You weren’t about to spill your guts to him, admit that you cared more than you would like to discuss. Tell him that you were only committing crimes after a certain point because you liked his attention, because you wanted more of it. That would be stupid, especially because you know fully well that he doesn’t want to hear it. 
“Do you even like being here?” 
“I just told you that I do.”
“Did you even like being a criminal?” 
Oh. He wanted to have this conversation. You certainly didn’t, you were not going to talk to him about this, absolutely not. “I think I have work to do, I should have left Spider-Byte all alone.” You were quick to try and turn away, but Miguel had a grasp on your wrist so firm that you knew it would hurt if you tried to move any further. Still, you kept your gaze down, refusing to look at him even as he stood directly in front of you. 
“No. You didn’t, did you?” His other hand moved closer to you, his pointer finger arched and pressed against your chin. He tilted your head up and away from the ground, your eyes locking on his. You felt small again, that same feeling that you got every time you tried to speak to him. “You just wanted attention.” 
“I-” 
He didn’t allow you time to speak, and you were completely and utterly stunned by the feeling of his lips against yours. At first, you couldn’t respond to it, the best you could do was try not to pass out because this was absolutely not how you had envisioned this conversation going. 
But then you could respond to it. Your arm snaked around his neck as you returned the kiss, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He was beautiful, so beautiful, and he had always been beautiful. But he could also be one of the most mean, frustrating and reclusive people that you had ever encountered. Still, you returned the kiss with more vigor than you had really anticipated from yourself. 
He moved his hand from your wrist, his arm wrapping around your back. He pulled you against him as his lips started to move a bit faster - with a bit more vigor. He felt warm against you, despite the innate coldness that he always showed you. His lips were warm, welcoming. His body was firm, yet comforting. But there was clearly something more that he wanted out of you from the way that his tongue poked against your bottom lip.
At that moment, you were sure that you would give him whatever he wanted. Your body curved into his as you slightly as your fingers tightened in his hair. This was all that you could have ever asked for from him, his attention. The one thing that you craved from the beginning, the thing that he had caught onto you wanting all along. 
As he pulled back, you could feel him beginning to unbutton your shirt, and you become acutely aware of the fact that you had been so furious with him when you stormed down here that you hadn’t even bothered to make him think that you were wearing the lab coat you were supposed to be wearing when you were working. It wasn’t your fault, it felt strange against the sleeve of your shirt. 
“How long have you known?” You asked him, your finger toying with the zipper concealed under the arm of his suit. You knew exactly where it was, you were the one that helped him design it. He finished unbuttoning your shirt as you spoke, his eyes focused on your body rather than your face. He was still so close to you, though. You could feel his breath against you, the warmth of it, the slightly labored way that he was breathing.
“I don’t know, probably around the time you made a fuss of trying to rob the MoMA wearing metal tentacles you had no idea how to use. What was it you were trying to do, again?”
“I was… redecorating.” That was the excuse you had given him, and it was the fifth time you had caused a disturbance that would summon Spider-Man to the scene. “What can I say, I have expensive taste.” 
“You,” He untucked your unbuttoned shirt and pushed it off your arms, your hands briefly falling from his body as you let the white fabric fall to the ground. His hand rested on your cheek, his eyes teasing. “Have poor taste. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be interested in me.” 
That was the Miguel you were used to. Even the cadence to his voice felt completely different. He was teasing you, almost smiling at you as he spoke. You let your hand fall back to his side, your fingers working his zipper down his body. “Yeah, well. Maybe it was the fangs that turned me on.” 
“Like I said, poor taste.” He removed his arms from the suit once you had it unzipped, but before you could get it fully off of your body he tipped his chin down, your eyes following his. “On the floor.”
“Ew, no. The floor is disgusting.”
“It was cleaned last night.” 
“Have some decency, Miguel. I am not laying on the floor, who knows what-”
“Do you want me to fuck you? Because if you want me to fuck you, you’re going to take your pants off and get on the dusty floor.” 
After what couldn’t have been longer than half a second of consideration you had your hands on your belt, your fingers working to get it undone as quickly as humanly possible. “Yeah, shit. I love laying on the floor, it’s super clean.” 
If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that there was almost a smile on his lips. Technically, you had never seen Miguel smile before. Even when you knew him before he lost everything, you only ever saw him with the mask on. There was never a time that you’d seen even something similar to a smile on his face, but sometimes you could hear it in his voice. Sometimes, when you messed with him a little too much, you could swear that you saw his torso shaking with laughter. Since the incident, you couldn’t get as much of a smirk out of him. 
Once you had your pants off as he requested you carefully lowered yourself onto the ground, but that careful movement was started by him nearly pouncing on you. You were pretty sure you squeaked when he got on top of you. You might even venture to call the noise a yip, a bark even. But he was amused by it, his lips against the base of your neck as you leaned into him. You were both mostly unclothed, the only thing separating you being the undergarments on your bodies. You could feel the hardness in his boxers against your thigh, but you were mainly focusing on the sharpness of his teeth that brushed along your neck. If he wasn’t positioned in between your legs, you would have squeezed them together. 
You hardly noticed his hand trailing down your body until his fingers grazed the inside of your thigh, a chill running through your back as you arched into him. Miguel pulled back from your neck, his eyes locked on yours as you looked up at him. Your chest was heaving, but he looked completely serene. 
“There are better ways to get me to fuck you than arguing with me. You know that, right?” 
“Really, w- oh. Oh fuck.” His fingers hadn’t continued teasing your thighs like you had anticipated, an almost-smile growing on his face as he watched you. He had pushed two fingers inside of you, his thumb resting (but unmoving) against your clit as your mouth fell ajar. “Wh-What ways?” 
“I don’t know, asking?” He didn’t let up with the motions of his fingers, each time he pushed them inside of you it felt almost magical. They were so big, but everything about him was so big that you shouldn’t be surprised. Miguel’s thumb moved against your clit, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip to conceal a moan. “Don’t, don’t hide anything. I want to hear how bad you want me.” 
“A-Asking wouldn’t work, you don’t even like speaking.” You wanted to sound self-assured, like you were just as confident as he was about any of this. But your voice came out meek and mild, and it felt like he was fingering you like your pussy was a violin and he was playing first chair. 
“It would’ve, but it doesn’t matter now.” It really didn’t matter now. What’s done is done, but right now you were just realizing how embarrassingly wet you were. You leaned into it a bit, your hips jerking as he reached a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. “Did that feel good?” 
“You feel good, you’re so fucking good at this.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes… he was getting a lot of enjoyment out of this. He liked the way you squirmed against his hand, he liked the obscenely wet noises coming from between your thighs. He liked knowing that he was in complete control right now, but he also just enjoyed watching. He seemed to like knowing how good he made you feel, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he never really got to feel good about anything anymore. 
“Maybe you just haven’t been touched in a while.”
“N-Not really.”
“Do you think about me when you touch yourself? While you’re laying in bed, these pretty little fingers in your mouth? In your cunt?” His free hand had a light grip on your hand, his fingers playing with your fingers. You wanted to melt on the spot, but you also wanted to jump him. You wanted him inside of you so badly, but he seemed to want you to cum on his fingers if the way that he was moving them was any indication.
“When- Wow- Um, when I have time t-to. Yeah.” It was always him. You were a busy person, and you didn’t often have time to do something frivolous like touch yourself, no matter how much seeing him yell at people made you want nothing more than to go work out why that turned you on in the privacy of your bedroom. But when you had time? You were always thinking of Miguel, and it was always the idea of him fucking you that made you cum. “But- You knew that.”
“I had my suspicions.” He more than likely had heard you before, maybe his Spidey-Senses went off when he heard you calling out his name, no matter how quietly you whimpered it. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe he saw you clenching your thighs when he was scolding someone, maybe he saw the way that you bit your lips when he stood a little bit too close to you. Or maybe, he just knew from the look in your eyes that he was turning you on. That no person would go to the extremes of becoming a career criminal just to get his attention without really, desperately, wanting to feel his dick inside of you. 
And by golly was his eye contact not making things any easier for you. His eyes were intense, darker than usual somehow. And you were reacting to it. You wanted to look away, you could barely stand to look into his eyes knowing that he was watching you moan, whimper and squirm because of him, because of his fingers. But you couldn’t look away, because the truth was, it was bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 
“That’s right, be a good girl and cum on my fingers. I know being good is difficult for you, but you can try.” Being good wasn’t difficult for you right now, that was for sure. Your eyes snapped shut as your hips jerked erratically, your orgasm taking over your body and spilling more wetness onto his fingers. He continued to pump them in and out of you, his thumb massaging your clit, as you unwound from your orgasm. 
By the time your eyes opened they were hazy, but you couldn’t help the words that spilled out of your mouth. “Please fuck me.” 
It was a simple request, and one that caused an actual smile, or at least seventy-five percent of one, to cover his lips. “I’m proud of you for asking.”
Oh, he was a douche. You wanted to smack him for that, to call this whole thing off so he could sit in his little chair and brood about how much of an overt ass he was sometimes. But you couldn’t even consider that as he removed his boxers, settling in between your legs and teasingly-slowly pulling your panties from your hips. They were kicked off somewhere in the room, somewhere that you would need to look for them in later. 
Miguel didn’t question if you were ready, he didn’t need to. The tip of his cock ran along your clit, down to right where he pushed inside of you. Fuck. Of course he was big, he was so much bigger than just about anyone in a normal, non-sexual sense. It made sense. His fingers were big, his dick was big, his ass was big. 
One of your hands gripped his forearm, which was resting beside your head, as he bottomed out inside of you. He stretched you more than you thought you could take, but you were going to take it. You wanted this, you wanted him to permanently rearrange the composition and locations of your insides. This was what you wanted, and it had your clit throbbing just thinking about it, about the way that you would more than likely be walking with a limp for at least the next twenty-four hours. 
He was polite enough to give you a moment to adjust, but he was still him, and that moment didn’t last particularly long. You didn’t expect it to. Miguel used his free hand to grab your thigh, pulling your leg up and over his hip. The stretch burned the muscles in your thigh, but you could tolerate it. 
“You feel so-” He paused, pulling out of you completely before thrusting back inside. “Fucking-” His hand squeezed your thigh, a particularly loud moan echoing across the room as you squeezed his forearm in return. “Tight.” He punctuated the word with another thrust, and you could feel yourself clenching around him inadvertently. His head dropped a bit, his face hanging as his mouth parted slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he felt something like this was. He was so work-oriented, you wondered if it was before the two of you had ever even come here. 
Once he started moving he just didn’t stop. Miguel set a relentless pace, his hand gripping your skin so tightly that you were pretty sure he was actively trying to leave a bruise. You were sure that he was just trying to take out his aggression, the rage and darkness that had been building up in him for so long. Thankfully, this exertion of anger was a lot healthier (and felt a lot better) than anything else he could do. 
You used your free hand to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his face down so you could meet his lips. He returned the kiss feverishly, both of your respective moans escaping into each other's mouths. Each moan was interrupted by the sheer velocity of his thrusts, the way that he bit down on your lip had you thinking about those fangs, those fangs that turned you on so much to see. 
Miguel pulled back from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours again. It made you want to squirm still, it made you want to look away. But his eyes looked so good clouded in lust, and the moans that fell from his lips left you wanting more. You wanted to hear him, you wanted to memorize the way that his lips fell apart. The way that his hair got a little bit disheveled. Even the small bead of sweat that covered his head as he looked down at you. 
With each thrust you were bouncing back a bit, he was moving with such a strong velocity that you were pretty sure you would have been halfway across the room had it not been for his stable hand on the floor and the way that you were holding onto him. The moment you moaned his name, though, he growled. He looked like he wanted to devour you alive, and his pace only got rougher from there.
“Taking me so fucking well, I should’ve fucked you a long time ago.” He removed his hand from your thigh, gripping your cheek as he looked down at you. “I wanted to fuck you last week. You were bent over your desk, I don’t even think you could see me because of how hard you were working. I- fuck- I just wanted to fuck you right there.” 
Had you had half the mind to notice it, you would have commented on him not caring that you chose not to wear your lab coat if you didn’t think he was going to be around to scold you for it. Instead, you only let out a somewhat high-pitched whine and let your fingers tug on his hair a bit. “You- You should’ve.” 
You knew what he was talking about. You had been working on blueprints for a new suit, but the powers that this Spider-Man possessed were unlike anything that you had ever worked with before. You were so frustrated and tired after probably an hour that a good fuck might have done a lot for you. 
“Of course you’d like that.” But for someone who was so teasing, he seemed to be just as far gone as you were. His face rested in between your chin and your neck, his moans muffled into your skin as his body pressed a little tighter against yours. Your nails dug into his arm as you felt yourself start to throb around his cock, you were getting close, and so was he. 
“Miguel, I’m- I’m gonna-”
“I know, I know, baby.” You came around him, your face moving to press into the side of his hair as you muffled the loud moan that left your throat. Miguel followed shortly after, his teeth grazing your neck once again. His moans were heavenly and… repressed. You knew that it had been difficult for you to find time, or energy, to get yourself off, but from the way he moaned it sounded like he hadn’t had an orgasm in years. He sounded desperate, almost whiny. A far cry from the man that you had grown to know. 
Once he pulled away, you watched him detangle himself from you. It felt like this was it, he was just going to fuck you one time and then never speak to you again. But he moved to kneel in between your thighs, the feeling of his cum dripping from your cunt becoming all-too-noticeable as he started in between your legs. With a blank look, Miguel collected the cum on his fingers and pushed it back inside of you, a whimper leaving your throat as you watched him. 
“Clean yourself up, I’m joining you in the lab tonight.”
“Wha-” 
“We have a guest, remember?” Oh, right. Today was the day that a new Spider was joining the group, the very Spider-Person that you had been bent over and pulling your hair out over the previous week. “After he leaves… I still want to fuck you against your desk.” 
To be honest, you had no clue why you never felt like you belonged here because this was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best day of your life. “God, I should’ve propositioned you sooner.” 
That, at least, got him to crack another smile. They may have been rare, but Miguel’s smiles were absolutely heavenly to you. Not quite as heavenly as the kiss that followed, because for once, it felt like you were able to see the old version of him again - even if it was only for a brief, shining moment.
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marvellous1917 · 8 months
Text
Icarus Falling
(Part 2)
Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader
Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.
Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.
Part one ⬇️:
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A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3
———————
Bold is reader’s thoughts.
Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.
The size of the tattoo is in inches.
———————
Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?
Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.
The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.
The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.
“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.
“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.
“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.
“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.
Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.
Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.
“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.
“Why’s that?”
Fuucckkkk.
“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.
“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.
Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.
“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.
Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.
“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.
Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.
To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.
“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”
“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.
“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.
“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.
“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.
“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.
“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“
“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.
“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.
“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.
“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”
You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.
He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.
“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.
“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.
“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”
“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.
“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.
“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.
“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.
“I’m good I swear, now go!”
“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.
Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.
James:
Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?
Send me the address to the shop
Now… please
Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.
You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.
James:
See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.
Little shit.
————
You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.
Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.
Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.
Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.
“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.
“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.
Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.
“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.
“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”
“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.
“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.
“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”
His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.
“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.
“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.
“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.
“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”
“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.
“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.
“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.
“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.
“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”
“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.
Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.
“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.
“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”
Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.
Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.
The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.
If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.
He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.
You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.
He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.
“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.
“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”
Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.
“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.
“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.
Christ alive.
“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.
“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.
“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.
“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”
Like I could regret you.
You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.
“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.
You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.
“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.
“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.
I like him. He says okie dokie.
“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.
You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.
“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.
“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”
“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.
“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.
“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.
“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.
————
You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.
“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.
“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.
“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.
God he’s pretty.
“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.
“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.
“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.
“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.
“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”
“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.
————
The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.
“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”
“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.
He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.
You sat in silence as he started to speak.
“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.
The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”
Silence.
“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”
A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-
“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.
“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.
This should not be turning me on, shit.
“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”
His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?
“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”
Oh Clint sounds fun.
“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”
He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.
“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.
“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.
“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.
“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.
“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.
“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.
Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.
Ok right back to it. Got it boss.
“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.
“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.
Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.
“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.
He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”
“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.
“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.
“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”
“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.
“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.
“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.
Shit.
“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.
“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.
“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.
“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.
“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.
He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.
“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.
“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.
That’s a new one.
“Uh, say $180?” You respond.
“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.
He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”
You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.
They were hundreds.
“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.
“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.
You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”
“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.
“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”
“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.
“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.
“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”
There it is.
“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.
“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.
“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.
“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.
Fuck me running.
“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.
He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.
“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.
“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.
You say nothing.
He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.
“Would you?” He asks softly.
“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.
“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.
“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.
He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.
Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.
His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.
Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.
“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.
“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.
He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.
Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.
————
A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘
I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.
Tags:
@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp
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urdepressedslut · 9 months
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Just Like That
♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
♡ Summary: While you two were supposed to be repairing Sam’s boat, you end up giving Bucky head instead.
♡ Warnings: SMUT, blowjobs, deepthroating/face fucking, slight praise kink, literally no plot just filth
main masterlist
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+
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He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into your lips, the way your tongue ran on the underside of his dick— tracing the bulging vein.
“Doll… oh my… fuckkk.” He moaned out, his flesh hand tangling their fingers into your hair.
You hummed, sending vibrations into his dick. The action had him gripping your hair tight, the slight pain from your scalp shooting straight to your core. The throb had you whining around his length.
“Making me feel s’ good baby.” He praised breathlessly, easing his grip on your hair— petting it down soothingly.
You flattened your palms on his thighs, pushing forward until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.
His hips bucked instinctively, almost crying out at the way your throat was squeezing him. He grabbed the doorway of the boat, the wood splintering in his metal grip.
You pulled all the way off of him, before swallowing his entire length again— gagging as his head hit deeper in the back of your throat.
“S’ fucking good baby…” He whimpered, his head tilted back in ecstasy.
You snuck a hand down, playing with his balls, letting your other hand pump his length. You glanced up at him— spit leaking from your lips. You watched with lust filled eyes as he panted and whined.
“James… you’re so hard,” You purred, his head snapping down at you, “Bet you’re close, huh?”
He let out a pathetic whine as you squeezed his balls—his face contorted in pain.
“Words baby.” You demanded, leaning forward to swirl your tongue around his head.
His hips twitched slightly, the sensation of your tongue massaging around his tip heavenly. He let out a deep moan, feeling your tongue lick over his slit.
“S’ close doll— just like that.” He praised, letting his fingers comb through your hair.
There was something about you kneeling before him, eyes glossed over with lust, as the tears trailed down your cheeks— that made him absolutely feral. The position was so submissive, yet you held all the power. He was melting at your touch— his body putty at your hands.
You pumped his achingly hard length, giving his tip kitten licks. With your free hand caressing his thigh, you could feel the muscle twitch under your palm.
“Gonna cum James?” You asked hoarsely, his hazed over eyes meeting with yours.
You captured his length again, deepthroating him until your nose was buried into the hairs at the base of his cock. You gagged again, the convulsion from your throat making him growl in pleasure.
“Oh… that— keep doing that baby fuck…” He begged, his hips having a mind of their own, rocking into your face.
You whined around him, trying to breathe through your nose as he began to fuck your throat.
You reached around, grabbing handfuls of his ass— kneading the flesh. The action only made his thrusts deeper, his moans needier.
His thrusts were harsher, his needs a priority and if he had to use your face to chase his high— so be it. You on the other hand, we’re dripping. Your pussy was throbbing, him manhandling you making your entire body tingle— ache with desire.
He was nearly crying, his pants mixed with whines, getting impossibly close to the edge. You whimpered around him, his sounds only edging you on.
“Fuck baby… yes— you’re fucking mine,” He growled, his length growing impossibly harder at the image of you crying around him, “All mine.”
Your nails dug into the skin on his ass, your face drenched in tears, salvia leaking out of your mouth and down your chin. You gagged again, spurring him on further, his thrusts quicker. He grabbed your head, fucking your face with such force and suddenly he was pushing impossibly deeper in your throat, your jaw aching.
With an animalistic groan, he was spilling his seed down your throat. His breathing slowing, the waves of euphoria flowing throughout him. He stayed like that for a moment, relishing the feel of your throat around him.
At last, he released his death grip on your head. Slipping his cock from your throat with a hiss, his head sensitive. You gasped, panting in attempts to fill your lungs with the needed air.
With hooded eyes, Bucky gazed down at you with pleasure hazed eyes. His cock twitched at your flushed face, the tears tracks mixing with your spit— and his cum that had snuck out. Your eyes were slightly bloodshot, but as you gazed up at him— you were looking at him with such desire. You looked as if you were just getting started, and you wanted to devour him again.
“Such a good girl.” He whispered, voice hoarse.
He cradled your face, caressing your clammy cheek. He gently pulled you up, helping support your swaying state. You leaned into his palm, holding his gaze with adoration.
“I love you James.” You spoke into his palm, placing a kiss on his rough skin.
“I love you more baby.” He told you, wrapping his metal arm around your lower back, pulling you flush to him. “Now, let me return the favor.”
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yourmaximoff · 11 months
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Hunger for Sweets
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Summary: The search for sweets in the early hours of the morning ends with your stepsister, between your legs taking your virginity.
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem!Reader
Warnings: (+18) top!wanda, botton!reader, candy kiss, feeling of guilt, corruption, degradation, oral, fingering, loss of virginity.
Words: 5k
(English is not my first language, sorry for any translation errors)
𓆩♡𓆪
Sighing, you stopped in the middle of the kitchen with your eyes fixed on a large jar of sweets on top of the cupboard. Agatha, your stepmother, was very strict about everything since she arrived, always keeping any candy away from you and your new stepsister.
The lack of sweets bubbling in your veins made a rebellious thought pass through your mind.
'Is it just a little candy? What will it cost?'
You questioned yourself, your reputation as a good girl about to be destroyed by the hunger for sugar. You sighed, shaking your head at your own thoughts, that little voice in the back of your consciousness starting to curse you. You weren't one to break rules, you always stayed in line and did exactly what was asked without questioning. It's been two months since Agatha and her daughter moved into your house, and for exactly two months you've been without sugar clogging your veins.
Agatha wasn't so bad, at least not with you, but with her own daughter, Wanda, it was completely different. She always said that Wanda was a rebellious girl and that she needed to clip her wings, cut her freedom before it's too late.
That jar of sweets shining in the moonlight seemed to be calling you. It seemed to beg for you to eat just one of those colorful treats on the glittering glass jar. You looked around, it was late at night and everyone in the house was sleeping. Earlier that night, when you left your shared room, your stepsister was sleeping and your father and Agatha's room was locked. It was the perfect time for you to make your first mistake.
The voice of your conscience was screaming about how you would become a bad girl. Would everything your father had taught you about good manners be destroyed by your weak mind? Temptation was winning, the temptation to have control over things just once in your life. A wave of courage and adrenaline rushed through your body, and you pushed and shoved against that annoying voice telling you it was wrong.
As you put your knee on the countertop, you felt the cold touch of marble on your feverish skin. Supporting your knee and using your hands to hold onto the edge of the cabinet attached to the wall, you had the necessary support to stretch and finally reach the big glass jar.
Your eyes shone as you brought the jar down close to your face, all the cute and colorful treats making you salivate. Sitting on the kitchen counter, amazed at how easily you had managed to grab the jar, you began to turn the lid slowly to open it without making any noise.
You moaned deeply as the smell of crystallized sugar began to intoxicate your mind, bringing back memories of the last time you tasted it on your tongue. The memory was enough for you to abandon the good girl act.
Two of your fingers entered the jar, grabbing a colorful marshmallow like a claw that snatches stuffed animals at the mall. Squeezing between your fingers, you felt its softness and the tiny reliefs of sugar, along with the strong and intoxicating smell that made your mouth salivate even more.
Placing the candy on your mouth, it slid over your wet tongue and another deep moan escaped your lips. Closing your eyes, you slowly bit into it, and soon a sticky sensation stuck against your teeth, but a wonderful feeling began to pump through your veins. The sweet taste that you had forgotten began to completely impregnate your mouth and mind. Your feet unconsciously began to beat against the cabinet in the same rhythm as your sugary heart.
A low murmur startled you out of your small trance state, your eyes opening in desperation, and your heart began to beat frantically. A female figure emerged from the shadows of the dimly lit kitchen entrance, bursting into the moonlight and approaching where you were.
For a fraction of a second, all thoughts of being a bad girl dissolved from your mind. What would Agatha do to you if she saw you stealing candy in the middle of the night and still being awake at the late hour of the night? Fear settled in your stomach, the coils of your mind starting to spin frantically along with infinite possibilities of what Agatha would do to you.
When the figure of a smiling Wanda approached and was focused by your mind, you breathed a sigh of relief. There was still shame for being caught stealing candy, but the fear that it would be Agatha made you relax to the bones.
"The perfect little girl stealing candy?" The brunette said, shaking her head as she approached and crossed her arms over her chest.
Rebellious hair, dark with forest green tips, hung like curtains over her back. Her eyes, in a rare appearance without heavy makeup, were the same color as the colorful tips of her hair. The worn but stylish Deftones t-shirt was the only thing covering her body from explicit nudity, and her bare feet on the cold kitchen floor, just like yours.
Wanda definitely had a rebellious style, but extremely attractive to your eyes. You thought it was a brotherly attraction, since you were an only child before her. Not that you thought you would feel remorse for her, due to the 'privilege' of being an only child being cut. Not at all, it was quite the opposite, you lived in loneliness, not even knowing how to deal with your own doorbell. And now, this loneliness had been filled by your new stepsister. A very false reason to mask the real reason for your strange attraction to her.
Still with the marshmallow in your mouth preventing you from speaking, you put the candy jar on the counter next to you and move to explain yourself better to Wanda. But you are prevented by a quick movement and two pairs of hands resting on your thighs.
"Share with me and I won't tell Mama or Papa." Wanda says, unfortunately withdrawing her hands from your skin and crossing her arms over her chest.
The well-known authoritative air resting on the small bubble between the two of you. Even with little contact with Wanda, you could certainly identify Agatha's genes working in her nervous system.
You nod your head, chewing and swallowing the candy quickly. You put your hand back in the candy jar and pulled out another colorful marshmallow. Reaching out for Wanda to take, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, silently asking you to put the lump of sugar in her mouth.
You stared for a moment at Wanda's open mouth, her prominent canine teeth and a layer of saliva shining on her tongue. For a brief moment you caught yourself wondering what her saliva tasted like, what it would be like to feel her tongue on yours... You shook your head, dispersing the thoughts before doing something reckless.
Slowly placing the candy on her tongue as carefully as possible, she closed her lips almost nibbling on your fingers together. Wanda began to chew with satisfied murmurs, while her hands released her chest and supported one hand on each side of your body on the counter.
You looked at her smiling, her lips were glossy from the candy as her head shook from side to side like a happy child. Wanda had a threatening tone about her figure, but the way she seemed soft and cute made your heart warm.
"This is as good as I remembered." Wanda says, taking a leap and sitting on top of the cabinet next to you, only the candy jar separating their bodies.
You smiled nodding your head, sliding your hand back into the jar and grabbing a jellybean this time. The taste was a little sweeter, and when you bit into the small acidity that ran down your tongue, it made you let out another deep moan of satisfaction.
Wanda watched you with dilated eyes and heavy breathing. She always looked at you with different eyes, she knew the limitations of being her stepsister, but she couldn't control the sinful thoughts that always came to her mind when she looked at you. You didn't even talk to each other properly, but she began to cultivate feelings for you, feelings that tormented her confused and hot mind. Not that Wanda hadn't liked girls before, but now it was different. The fact that it was 'forbidden' definitely made her anxious for the adrenaline that could cause.
Wanda started having erotic dreams that tormented her when she started sleeping in the same room as you. She always woke up with a racing heart and a hot body in the middle of the night, scared looking around afraid that you were no longer there. When she saw you sneak out tonight, she knew you were going to do something. So, she waited a few safe minutes and followed you curiously to find out where you were going. When she arrived in the shadows in the kitchen, she felt relieved to see you sneaking over the counter to get the jar of candy that Agatha had hidden.
She thought you were going to meet a potential boyfriend. You were beautiful and very kind, for sure you would have many suitors at your feet. The simple thought of someone touching you, and the few seconds it took her to follow you, brought an irritation and a feeling of jealousy burning in her stomach.
But when she saw the cute and innocent little girl just picking up a jar of candy, her body relaxed and a hot wave came over her. Dressed in the flowered nightgown that Agatha had given her, a bit of your back and your baby blue panties were showing, while you were busy trying to reach the jar.
Her daydreams slowly began to disappear, and impure thoughts began to invade her mind as she fixed her gaze on your mouth. You slid your tongue over your sugar-lustful lips, cleaning it.
Wanda took a gummy worm and stuck a small piece against her lips, clapped her hands on your thigh, calling your attention. You turned around and slightly widened your eyes, remembering the movie you watched earlier.
Thanks to Agatha, Lady and the Tramp were always on the living room television. It was a gift from your stepmother to you, showing that even though you came to live here because of your father with her daughter, she would treat you like her own daughter.
You remembered the blessed scene of spaghetti and smiled. Wanda certainly knew that you loved that movie and made this small romantic scene with second intentions that you were too innocent to realize.
Putting your hands on the counter and leaning your face towards her, your lips captured the other half of the gummy worm. The short distance between your lips decreased gradually as both of you chewed and sucked. You felt her hot breath against your nose, her green eyes numb with lust, as the last distance between your lips closed.
Feeling consumed by the sugar, you bit into the candy, breaking it and making it fall onto your mouth. The acidity playing on your tongue and the acidity of Wanda's disappointed murmur reverberated through the air. You didn't have time to process, when you were going to tilt your head back, she was already pushing her lips against yours.
You sighed deeply with the unexpected action, but soon you closed your eyes feeling Wanda's acidic smell in your nose, but her sweet mouth leaving the perfect bittersweet taste registered in your mind.
Her tongue swept the sugar from your lips, asking for passage inside, parting the lips to give way, you felt the warm breath of her breath in your mouth. One of her hands rested on your jaw, delicately stretching your face further to her. You sighed against the kiss, her fleeting and hungry tongue sliding all over you.
Sneaking her skillful tongue, she found the candy, long forgotten, lodged on your left cheek. Separating your faces with the lack of oxygen burning your lungs, she began to chew and feel the taste of gum filled with your saliva in every bone, while you only turned forward. She needed to better record your taste, she needed to keep the taste of your beautiful and fragrant lips and your sweet tongue deep in her memory forever.
Staring fixedly at the kitchen wall with wide eyes, cheeks burning and hand over your mouth. Your fingers touching the lips that were previously glued to Wanda's, the same lips that are now red and swollen. You were shocked at what had just happened.
"Are you okay?" She asks, looking at you with a smile, her hand resting on your forearm.
You swallowed hard at how attractive her voice was, how her touch completely affected your body. Your mind was so confused, but your heart was beating like never before.
"I don't know," you sigh, shaking your head while tears of frustration begin to fill your eyes.
Wanda's other hand went up to your face, resting on your cheek, sliding her thumb over your red skin. It was almost a request for you to look her in the eyes, you wanted to look into those beautiful and addictive eyes, but you hesitated, knowing that if you looked at her, you didn't know what might happen. Would you cry? Would you shout at her? Or would you kiss her again?
You gave in and turned your face to her, those dark green eyes with a loving smile on her lips. You felt tears streaming down your face, you didn't even know why. Were they tears of sadness, guilt or desire?
Her thumb slid over your tears, wiping them away gently, her other hand sliding over your neck until it reached the back of your head. Tangled her fingers in your hair, she began to make small, affectionate strokes.
"Don't think too much," she whispered to you with a sweet voice. "Let me make the difficult choices, let me think for you and take care of you as you deserve, beautiful girl."
Ready to be taken by Wanda, you smiled, biting your lip, shaking your head still with wet eyes and cheeks. You wanted to stop thinking about the consequences and just jump off a cliff in the faith that Wanda would catch you or jump with you.
She got off the counter and positioned herself between your legs, her hands following to your thighs, squeezing them gently. She smiled, stretching her neck up, her eyes asking you to lean down and press your lips against hers, giving the answer she wanted so much, and the answer you already knew.
Your mind was empty for anything other than Wanda, for anything other than having her with you for this moment and letting her take care of you. You lowered your face and kissed Wanda, a deeper and more loving kiss than the last, a kiss that you had total control and responsibility. Their lips fit perfectly, first you sucked her lower lip delicately. Then, tilting your head to opposite sides, you both pushed your tongues at the same time. Like a wet and warm dance, their tongues rubbed against each other, your hand resting on her shoulders and her hands on your waist.
Feeling the heat consuming your body and the grip she unleashed on your waist, you moaned against her mouth. She separated the kiss, pulling your lower lip between her teeth, and began to kiss your neck. Using your nails, you left a loving trail on her neck until you stopped at her beautiful dark hair. You gripped your fingers against her soft hair, and began to stroke it as she did with you before.
She sneaked her hands down your dress, you gasped and widened your eyes when you felt her fingers curl against the side of your underwear.
"Wanda..." You murmured, heat crossing your legs with her fingers pulling the elastic of your underwear.
"Hmm?" She murmured still against your neck, her tongue licking your pulse.
"I... I don't..." You whispered, closing your legs around her body with an unconscious fear of her leaving. "Never..." The shame and redness of your face making you stutter.
"Never?" she asks, leaving your neck and tracing a trail of wet and sweet kisses along your jawline until she sprinkles cute kisses on your lips.
"Never made love."
She abruptly stops the kisses, her hand remaining still on your panties and her face tilting back to look into your eyes. You swallowed hard, afraid of what she might do. Maybe she no longer likes you, maybe she wants someone much more experienced, maybe she wants to tell Agatha the horrible thing you did, maybe...
A line slowly forms on her lips, opening up to a toothy smile, her eyes reflecting a different shine on her dilated green orbs, her cheeks protruding from the smile making her oval face even more perfect.
"Do you want me to make love to you?" she asks, smiling.
You look at her with lustful eyes and an unfamiliar discomfort in the midst of your legs. Your body was hot, your breathing faltering, and your entrance beginning to ache. You had never felt this way before, you had never felt so hot for someone.
"Please," you murmured softly.
One of her hands grips your waist tightly, bringing you to the edge of the counter, while her other hand slowly began to slide your panties down your legs. She bent down and stretched your leg forward, sprinkling kisses on the skin of your heel. The panties slid over your foot and were carelessly thrown up, while her lips began to give small bites on your thighs.
She positioned herself between your legs, her hands sliding against your knees, pushing in the opposite direction for direct access to your pulsing core.
"You're a mess, sweetheart," she murmured happily, seeing your entrance completely soaked.
"Is that good?" you ask, releasing a hot and embarrassed sigh.
"That's more than good," Wanda crooned, running her fingers along your thighs, moving up until they reached your sensitive spot. "You're perfect."
Your stepsister between your legs wasn't exactly the scenario you imagined for tonight or any other occasion. So, you were certainly embarrassed by all of this, you had never shown your pussy to anyone before, and now your stepsister was the first person to see it.
Wanda's fingers slowly rubbed against your soft and wet edges, one of her hands reaching into your camisole, groping your breast. Her thumb and index finger taking your hardened nipple between her fingers, with painful but gentle squeezes, eliciting deep moans from you.
She smiled at how sensitive and wet you were, your legs trembling in anxiety and anticipation to stop being pure. Your stepsister would take your virginity, she would make you a woman, yet to her, you would never cease to be a good girl, a fragile, corruptible, and breakable girl. Her fingers pulling Wanda's red hair hard, pulling her out of the perverse thoughts she started to have about you.
She lightly rubbed your hot slit up and down a few times with four fingers, feeling your legs tremble with the slightest contact. Pushing your legs even more, opening your slit, you felt a cold wind from the open window directly affecting your sensitive core. You tried to close your legs, but Wanda held your knees apart with force.
Stretching her thumb up to your clitoris, she pushed it up and down nonchalantly, without any kind of rhythm. You swallowed hard, your sensitivity acting directly on your toes, while all the blood started to pump rapidly through your veins. A wave of heat embracing your body as the wind from the window broke the warm aura, but not your fervent excitement.
"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Wanda asks, leaving a kiss on your lips.
"I... I think so." You swallow your anxiety, your knees trembling and your chest pounding.
"I think that is not an answer." She slowly responds, starting to move her thumb away from your clitoris, taking with it the pleasant sensation that was building up inside your stomach.
"Oh my god. Yes, yes! I'm sure." You reply with a heavy sigh, feeling desperate for her to continue making you feel good. "Please Wanda, I... I need you."
"Oh sweet." She murmurs with a coy voice and a face of fake sadness. "Do you need me to eat you?"
"I do." You quickly respond, receiving the stimulation again.
Her thumb still tirelessly torturing your clitoris, controlling your excitement in the palm of her hand. She slowly began to trap you in her arms, in her love. She would never let you escape from the love she was more than willing to give you. Now she would consummate the desire that had been slowly growing for two months. Now that little seed that was planted in her chest when she met you would bloom like a beautiful rose. A rose with thorns that would surely hurt you, but what is the beauty of love without a little pain, right?
Wanda leaned her face towards your thighs, a path of loving kisses being arranged on your thighs until they reached your bundle of nerves. Her mouth began to salivate and her chest palpitated, she would finally harvest the rose she had planted, finally the rose would be hers.
Without thinking twice, she pushed her face against your legs, you moaned holding her hair and biting your lower lip, swallowing the loud moan that would sound throughout the house like a beautiful high-pitched music.
Wanda shoved her nose against your folds, deeply inhaling the scent of purity and innocence. Pushing her tongue up and down your slit, she began to lick you and all parts of your sensitive core.
You dug your nails into her nape needing to grip something, or else you would give in to the loud moans, and everyone in that house would discover that Wanda was eating you on top of the kitchen counter.
Her tongue was so soft and warm that you felt your entire body relax. Her rhythmic tongue deliciously licked all the juices that dripped from your hole. The gears in your blank mind working, a strange pressure began to push against your uterus, you felt as if something was growing there. Wanda felt the contractions of your tight hole every time her tongue roamed there. Her finger abandoned your clit, but soon her mouth took its place.
"Oh shit." You whispered, feeling Wanda's tongue circle your button, one of her hands squeezing your thighs and the other descending over your folds.
Wanda sucking your clit was too much for you, you couldn't handle it, a low but thin moan escaped your lips. Your body slowly combusting, the more warm saliva left Wanda's mouth and slid down to your sensitive core.
"Sweet." She whispered against your clit. "You need to stay quiet." She slowly puts her index finger on the edge of your hole, playing with the heat and contractions.
"Okay..." You reply with drops of sweat forming on your forehead. "I can try, but I need you." You swallow hard, feeling your whole body tremble with sensitivity. Wanda's face leaves your entrance and rises to look at your face. She needed to see you, she needed to remember you begging for her.
"I need you inside of me." You have never had anything inside of you before, not even your own fingers, and now an unconscious desire was pulsing in your chest.
"Do you need me to stretch you?" Wanda asks with a harsh voice, her eyes dark and her index finger slowly entering your hole.
You close your eyes, biting your lower lip, unconsciously spreading your legs even wider, tilting your head back and feeling the strong wind from the window hitting your body. Sliding her finger all the way in, and reaching the edge again, she sighed, feeling her finger completely soaked. "Do you think you can take more, sweetheart?"
"Yes, yes," you sigh, feeling the delicious sensation of Wanda's finger sliding in. Even though it was just one finger, this new sensation was pounding your heart strongly. Your body began to boil just with the thought of Wanda putting another finger and sliding even harder inside of you, and that's what she did.
A moan escaped your throat, your teeth pressing against the flesh of your lower lip. Two fingers slowly beginning to bury themselves in you, your walls stretching and your sensitive clit receiving a constant rhythm from Wanda's thumb.
"Is it hurting, my baby?" Wanda asks, looking at your face. Your furrowed eyebrows bringing features of pain, but your legs press her against your body, begging for more of her.
"I don't know..." Your voice trembling. "I think so, but it feels so good... I've never felt this before." You murmur turning your head to look at her. Her lips smiling and her dark eyes looking directly into yours, consumed by the mess you already were.
Your eyes widened when Wanda started to create a rhythm inside of you, twisting her fingers and pushing them as deep as she could. "Fuck." You moan, closing your eyes tightly, your hands gripping Wanda's shoulders tightly, digging your nails into her thin shirt.
"Don't moan too loudly, sweetheart, what if mom finds out about this dirty thing here?" Wanda whispers intentionally putting things in your head, intentionally making your body tense and conscience heavy. "She'll probably be very angry with you."
"Yeah... fuck." You choke on your own moan, trying your best to stay quiet, but Wanda's speed wasn't helping.
"I think it's better to stop, I don't want Agatha to punish you." Wanda responds with a dark gleam in her face, her fingers breaking the consistent rhythm.
"Please, please." You choke on your own excitement, cheeks burning like your entire body. "I need more." You beg without even knowing what you were asking for, but the lack of the pleasurable sensation leaves your mind in a whirlwind. "You can't stop now, Wanda."
"Ah baby, you need to keep quiet so they don't find out." Wanda whispers, approaching your face, her lips close enough for you to feel her warm breath. You abruptly push your lips against Wanda's, her fingers starting to push inside of you again, and this time she swallows all of your moans.
The lascivious noises began to sound throughout the kitchen, the open window bringing raindrops that hit against your arms. The cold and rough wind hit against your hot face, your hair flying back with the force of the wind and the storm that was forming outside.
"Cum for me, Sweetheart." Wanda murmurs against your mouth. "Tell everyone who you belong to."
Three more rough and deep thrusts and you feel the pressure in your stomach pulsate, your legs crossed around her waist, keeping her still inside of you. Your mind begins to spin and your breath catches in your lungs, you hold onto her shoulders tightly and let yourself be overwhelmed by an intense orgasm.
The sound of the rain that formed outside the window, and the sound of the drops hitting the gutter, were enough to leave their parents deaf to your moans and Wanda's name reverberating like a deep echo in the kitchen.
Your whole body pulsated, but your muscles relaxed instantly, your body went limp and Wanda held you, mirroring the smile that was plastered on your lips. She slowly lowered her face down your legs and cleaned you with her own tongue. The overstimulation brought painful moans from you, but Wanda was cleaning you with so much care and tenderness that you only allowed yourself to feel her tongue taking care of you one last time.
"Ready, Sweetheart." Wanda smiles at you. Your eyes were tired, but still shining as you looked at her. "How are you feeling?"
"Amazingly good... and tired." You laugh, shaking your head, the nerves in your legs still contracting.
Wanda leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your lips and climbed onto the counter to put the jar of candy back in its original place, not wanting to get in trouble if Agatha found out.
"Let's go." She says, turning her back to you, patting her own shoulders. You smile, shaking your head and jumping onto her back. Your legs closing around her waist and your arms around her shoulders like a lazy sloth.
𓆩♡𓆪
Agatha woke up in the middle of the night to a disturbing noise. Putting on fuzzy slippers and a nightgown, she slowly descended the stairs of the house. When Agatha set foot in the living room, her eyes fixed on a rather shocking scene.
You and Wanda were lying together on the couch with the TV on. You were lying with your head in Wanda's lap, while she was sitting on the couch with her hands buried in your hair. In the background, the upbeat music from the romantic dinner scene from Lady and the Tramp sounded throughout the room, bringing a cute and sweet aura to the scene on the couch.
Agatha never thought she would see her rebellious daughter getting along with you, a girl with a completely different personality from Wanda. But there you both were, sleeping while the movie Agatha had given you played on the TV. She assumed, from the intense rain outside, that you might be afraid of thunder and Wanda comforted you with the movie. Agatha smiled, letting it pass this time, but she would definitely talk to you both about watching movies when you should be sleeping.
Climbing the stairs, Agatha returned to the bedroom shared with your father. If fate wasn't on your side and Agatha had gone to the kitchen, she would certainly have noticed your baby blue panties soaked and thrown on top of the refrigerator.
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