riverreignwrites

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine’s Day with Bruce Banner

Bruce Banner x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

💚💌🐿️🧪

You had plans. Very soft, very romantic, very calculated-to-make-a-nervous-scientist-blush kind of plans.

Bruce Banner was many things—genius, introvert, secret softie—but when it came to Valentine’s Day, he was a downright disaster. He stammered. He blushed. He overthought everything. Which made you love him even more, honestly. So your plan was simple:

Flowers. A park date. A card that you rewrote five times because the first four versions made you cry. A walk. A homemade cake (matcha and chocolate, because green and also delicious). And so. Many. Kisses.

You were going to ruin him—in the best, sweetest way possible.

Unfortunately… Tony happened.

You didn’t know what he said. Something science-y and wrong, probably. Something condescending or just too much on the wrong day. Either way, by the time you got to the tower, there was a very large, very angry Hulk smashing furniture and growling so loud it made the windows shake.

Natasha tried to calm him.

Didn’t work.

Steve tried logic.

Also didn’t work.

And then it was just you—your fluffy tail twitching with anxiety, your arms full of flowers, a picnic basket, a cake box and a handwritten card with a sticker heart seal on the back. You stared up at the massive green behemoth taking up half the common area and narrowed your eyes.

“Seriously?” you muttered, tail flicking. “Not today.”

You stomped up to the Hulk like you had every right to, because you did. He was breathing heavy, furious, but paused when he saw you—confused, wary, sniffing like he was trying to figure out if you were prey or someone he loved.

You dropped your gifts on the table behind you, planted your fists on your hips, and looked up—waaay up—at him.

“Listen here, Green Machine,” you said firmly. “You better give me Bruce back right now, mister.”

He blinked. Growled, low and uncertain.

“Because,” you continued, stepping closer, “I have a whole Valentine’s Day date planned, and if you keep this up, I’m going to be forced to give you even more kisses and an even bigger cake.”

You gestured to the box behind you. “I will do it. You think I won’t? You think I don’t have extra frosting? I do. And you know what else?”

You stood on your tiptoes and poked his massive chest.

“I love Bruce. But you? I love you, too. You big green grump. So either you calm down and give me my shy little nerd back, or I start smooching you until you melt like birthday candles.”

He stared at you.

You smiled up at him, totally unafraid, tail flicking once behind you as you said softly, “Happy Valentine’s Day, big guy.”

For a moment… nothing.

Then Hulk’s brow furrowed. His chest heaved once, twice…

And then he let out a long sigh, like a boulder rolling down a hill, and began to shrink.

Seconds later, Bruce Banner was standing there in ripped pants and a look of dazed confusion, glasses askew and hair a mess.

You smiled, stepped forward, and wrapped him in your arms, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Hi, sunshine.”

He blinked down at you, cheeks already flaming pink. “Did you just… scold the Hulk into giving me back?”

“I negotiated,” you said innocently. “With love. And cake.”

You handed him the card. He took it like it might explode in his hands.

“You okay now?” you asked gently.

He nodded, overwhelmed. “Yeah. I… I’m really okay.”

Then he noticed the flowers. The cake. The picnic basket on the table.

And you.

All soft cheeks and wild hair and fuzzy tail he could cuddle like a teddy bear.

“…You really went all out,” he whispered.

You grinned. “You haven’t seen the picnic in the park yet.”

💚💌🐿️🧪

(didn't know what to do with this one really, but i love Bruce, so i tried)

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Clint Barton

Clint Barton x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none really? mention of clint liking/staring at readers legs/thighs Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

🎯💘💌🐿️

You weren’t exactly clueless when it came to affection.

You just… had no idea what to do for Clint.

He wasn’t flashy. Didn’t like attention. Thought Valentine’s Day was a corporate scam and once shot a Cupid decoration off a lamppost in Times Square because it was “staring at him weird.” But he was yours. And that meant doing something.

So, naturally, you went to Natasha.

“Go full bloodlust,” she said over coffee, casual as hell. “Rage room. Knife throwing. Maybe tie him up a little—”

“I’m trying to be romantic, not on an FBI watchlist,” you said, tail twitching nervously. “Also, I cannot throw knives.”

“You don’t have to hit anything. It’s the effort. Or hey—archery. He’d love it.”

“He is archery.”

“Touché.”

She was trying. You appreciated it. But you knew Clint. He didn’t need explosions or blood. He needed quiet. Something that made his overworked, overstimulated, people-hating brain rest. Something warm. Something dumb and soft and just for him.

So that’s what you gave him.

You kicked everyone out of the tower. (Tony didn’t argue—he was halfway out the door with Pepper on his arm. Sam took Bucky. Steve just gave you a knowing nod. Thor was doing Thor things. And Natasha slipped you a knife on her way out, “just in case.”)

Then you got to work.

The lights were dimmed. Candles were lit in safe places. Flower petals were scattered over the floor in a very Pinterest but not too Pinterest way. String lights glowed across the ceiling like stars you’d strung up yourself (because you did). A movie was queued. Snacks were plated. Champagne chilled.

You were dressed in cozy clothes— A fuzzy sweater clint got you last year, along with some sleep shorts he adored. He really just liked looking at your legs.

So when he came in—exhausted, still in his black tac gear, hair slightly wind-mussed from the rooftop—he stopped dead in the doorway.

“…What is all this?” he asked, voice rough and confused and a little warm.

You smiled, ears twitching. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Barton.”

He blinked. Looked around. Took in the string lights, the petals, the flickering TV screen, and then finally you—sitting there all soft and smug, patting your thigh with a sly little smile.

“C’mere,” you said. “Your throne awaits.”

Clint’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “You really did all this for me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Nah, I did it for the other elite archer I’m dating.”

He snorted and kicked his boots off, stripping off his jacket and dropping his gear without a second glance. He made his way over and dropped onto the couch, head immediately finding its home in your lap. His hand curled around your calf, thumb brushing back and forth as he let out a long, tired sigh.

“Mmm. Best thing I’ve had all day.”

You leaned down, brushing his bangs off his forehead before kissing it. “Figured you needed a quiet night. Just us. No arrows. No missions. No Tony.”

“And you in shorts,” he added, grinning into your thigh. “God bless America.”

You cackled. “Pervert.”

“You like it.”

You pressed play on the movie and let your fingers rake through his hair. He melted. Like fully melted. The kind of relaxing that only came when he was touching you, safe and home and allowed to just be.

And as the candles flickered and the movie played and Clint drifted somewhere between consciousness and nap, he murmured, “Thanks, baby. You always know how to hit the target.”

Your tail curled around his arm gently.

“Only because you’re my favorite one.”

🎯💘💌🐿️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

💌🕸️🐿️❤️

The first time Peter saw your tail, he absolutely lost his mind.

Not in a bad way. Just in a mid-sentence, completely-distracted-by-the-fact-you-had-a-tail-and-also-were-weirdly-hot kind of way. He tripped. He blushed. He stammered something about animal genetics and totally blanked when you winked and said, “It wiggles when I’m happy.”

You had him. Right then and there. He just didn’t know it yet.

But then MJ—helpful, observant MJ—once casually muttered over lunch, “Y’know, squirrels eat birds sometimes. Even spiders.” Peter had turned white. He ghosted you for two days. (Sometimes he forgets you can't actually eat him. he's not an actual bug...) You’d been heartbroken—tail drooping, ears low—until you slipped a folded note into his locker.

"Not gonna eat you, bug boy. But I am gonna kiss you if you say yes. Happy almost Valentine's Day?" It was followed by a doodle of your tail wrapped around a cartoon spider with heart eyes.

That sealed it.

So here you were: officially together, officially ridiculous, and celebrating your very first Valentine’s Day.

Peter walked into his first class that morning barely awake and still reeling from a bad dream about missing a chem quiz, only to stop dead in the doorway.

Flowers. His favorite candy. And a little envelope with his name, written in your slightly messy handwriting, placed perfectly on his desk.

He stared.

The other students stared at him.

And he? He blushed so red it looked like he was about to detonate.

MJ caught his eye across the room and gave him a smug thumbs up.

He cracked the note open, heart pounding:

“I’m nuts about you, Webhead. See you at lunch. 💕 —Your personal squirrel”

He didn’t recover for the rest of the period. Ned teased him mercilessly. Peter didn’t care. He kept rereading the note like it might disappear if he blinked.

By the time lunch rolled around, Peter practically ran to your table, bag still half-zipped, heart in overdrive.

You were already waiting. Tail flicking behind you lazily, hair fluffy from the wind, a pink heart sticker on your cheek (you had no idea it was still there). You grinned and held out a small bento box decorated with tiny web and acorn doodles.

“For you,” you said, handing it over with a grin that nearly made him short-circuit. “Made it myself. Spider-approved ingredients.”

Peter opened it slowly, reverently. Inside was a perfect little homemade lunch—mini sandwiches shaped like hearts, strawberries cut into spiders (bless your chaotic little brain), and even a cookie with a squirrel tail piped in icing.

He looked up at you, completely overwhelmed.

“I—how did I get you?” he whispered.

You shrugged, sitting beside him and nudging your knee against his. “Dunno. Must’ve webbed me by accident.”

Peter blushed again, then leaned over and kissed your cheek—quick, shy, and full of teenage butterflies.

You wiggled your tail behind you and whispered, “Told you I wouldn’t eat you.”

He grinned. “Not unless I ask nicely, right?”

You snorted. “Peter!”

And that was the moment he knew: you were the one. And you always would be.

💌🕸️🐿️❤️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Loki Laufeyson

Loki Laufeyson x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: hickeys, little suggestive throughout Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

🐍💌🩷🐿️

Dating Loki felt like waking up in a fairytale every morning, if the fairytale included sarcasm, illusions, and the occasional sarcastic murder threat (never toward you, of course). He was sharp. Cold to most. Smooth and untouchable.

And somehow, you, a walking woodland cupcake with a tail, had landed the literal God of Mischief.

You didn’t really know how.

And when February 14th came creeping in, you realized: he didn’t even do Valentine’s Day. You’d looked it up in the Asgardian library. His last recorded romantic activity on the holiday involved the fall of a minor empire and a love spell that turned a king into a goat. So… expectations were low.

Still. You wanted to do something.

So you did what any rational squirrel-brained boyfriend would do: you went to Thor.

“I wish to help,” he said proudly, already halfway through polishing off a bowl of strawberries the size of your face. “Green. He likes green. And snakes. Possibly emeralds. But definitely snakes.”

“...That’s all you got?”

Thor beamed. “Yes.”

But actually? That was something. Not emeralds. Not real snakes.

You.

You waited until Loki was back in his suite, lounging dramatically in his robe like he was Valentine's Day, or at least a holiday people had to bow to. You’d spent hours getting it right—green, silky soft and shimmery; black, tight in all the places that counted; and gold, painted over your eyes in swirls and little fangs at the corners.

Then you walked in like temptation incarnate and slid into his lap without a word, straddling him with a soft little bounce that made his eyebrows lift in instant intrigue.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes already drifting down your body. His hands moved to your hips without a thought, like they belonged there. “Did I summon you, little beast, or is this a seasonal hallucination?”

You smiled, wicked and warm, fingers sliding over his shoulders. “Just felt like dressing for the occasion.”

“Oh?” His smirk deepened. “And what occasion might that be?”

You leaned in, your breath teasing his ear, lips brushing just barely over the skin there. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mischief King.”

The words lingered, like sugar and smoke.

Then you kissed him. Full and slow. Confident in a way that made his heart skip, because even gods could be caught off guard. Your tail flicked behind you as your mouth opened against his, tongue teasing, hands in his hair.

When the kiss broke, your lips trailed to his neck. And that’s where things got... cheeky.

You kissed. Bit. Sucked. With purpose. A little hickey here. A second there. And when you finished, you had left a heart of hickey's on his neck. Intentional. Obnoxious. Cheeky as hell.

You leaned back to admire your work.

“A heart?” he said, raising an eyebrow as his hand slid up your thigh. “You’ve branded me.”

“Snake bites,” you said, eyes glittering. “Venomous with love.”

Loki snorted. Then laughed. It was rare, and rich, and real. And then, with an expression caught somewhere between pleased and touched, he pulled you flush against him and whispered, “You ridiculous, glorious creature.”

“Still not a fan of the holiday?” you teased.

“I am now.” He kissed your jaw, then your throat, where you knew you’d be marked by morning. “Consider me properly bitten.”

🐍💌🩷🐿️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Tony Stark

Tony Stark x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

💡💌💛🖌️

“What do you get a billionaire who can literally buy anything?” you muttered aloud, sprawled upside down on the living room couch, tail flicking over the armrest, head dangling off the cushion like you were hoping blood rushing to your brain would help.

FRIDAY, ever so politely, answered: “I have compiled a list of unique objects Mr. Stark does not currently own, including a signed first edition of War of the Worlds, a rare meteorite sample from the asteroid belt, and a 16th-century automaton clock with working armor mechanics—”

“Too expensive,” you groaned. “Too... Tony. I’m trying to do something I can give him. Something from me, not my debit card.”

“…Understood.”

You appreciated her attempt. You really did. But in the end, your squirrel brain defaulted to what you knew: crafts. Messy hands. Paint that wouldn't wash off. Sentimental nonsense that made people sniffle and clutch things to their chests.

You bought a tiny golden locket shaped like a heart. You hand-painted it to look like Tony’s arc reactor—tiny glowing center, brushed steel edges, and those little cobalt energy nodes he always ranted about optimizing. Inside, you put two pictures: one of him laughing with his head thrown back (the rare, real kind), and one of the two of you, tangled up on the couch, your tail curled around his arm like it belonged there.

It was small. It was cheesy. But it was yours.

Dinner was… extravagant, because of course it was. Tony had rented out the rooftop of a downtown restaurant, complete with string lights, music, and food that looked more like art than nourishment. You dressed up. He did too. And it was beautiful. Perfect, even.

But still—you fidgeted with the little black box in your pocket the entire night.

Finally, when dessert came out (and Tony was halfway through monologuing about molecular gastronomy and passion fruit foam), you gently slid the box across the table to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyebrows quirked, but already smiling.

“Just…” You scratched the back of your neck. “Something small. I know it’s not—like—vintage Italian tech or a Stark Industries stock portfolio or whatever. I wanted to do something good, y’know? Something you couldn’t buy. But this was all I could think of.”

You shrugged, looking a little too intently at your spoon.

Tony opened the box.

The locket stared back at him. His arc reactor. A symbol of the thing that kept him alive and tied him to every part of who he was. And inside—his face. Your face. A quiet, tiny thing. Warm and human and handmade.

You didn’t look up until you heard him exhale softly, like all the wind had left his lungs. When you finally met his eyes, he was staring at the locket like it had knocked something loose in him.

“I, uh,” you said, voice softening. “I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out anything better.”

Tony looked at you like you were absolutely out of your mind.

“Better?” he said, voice rougher than it had been all night. “You painted my arc reactor on a locket, and gave it a brain and a heart—literally. You gave me us in a piece of gold. Better? Sweets, I don’t think I could build something that good.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

He stood up, walked around the table, pulled you to your feet by the hands and kissed your forehead.

“You made this with your own hands. Not a robot, not a credit card. Just you. That’s the one thing I don’t already have.”

Then, with one hand still in yours, he opened the locket again and stared down at it, his voice soft.

“I’m gonna keep this next to my arc reactor at the tower. Right where my heart should be.”

You sniffled. Just a little. And when he noticed, he smirked.

“Don’t cry or I will run through the streets with you like a Victorian bride if you make me feel any more things.”

💡💌💛🖌️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Thor Odinson

Thor Odinson x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none? Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

⚡💌🐿️⚒️

Valentine’s Day was hard when your boyfriend was literally a god.

Not because Thor wasn’t romantic—he was, in a big, golden-retriever-in-a-lion’s-body kind of way. No, the hard part was just figuring out what you could possibly do that he hadn’t already done. Man had once gifted you a constellation. A whole one. What were you gonna do? Bake him a cookie?

Actually... you did bake cookies. But also? You had a plan.

It started with dragging Loki into your scheme. Literally.

“Absolutely not,” he said, sipping tea and trying to teleport away. You jumped and grabbed his sleeve before he could vanish.

“Loki, I’m begging you,” you whined, tail twitching behind you, ears perked in full desperation mode. “Help me learn one line. Just one. I wanna say 'I love you' to Thor in Asgardian. He’ll melt. I know he will.”

Loki stared at you. Laughed. Laughed harder. “You—you want to learn—you—”

“I will sit on you with all my weight. Don't test me.”

Something in your tone or your glittering, determined eyes (or maybe the tail threatening to wrap around his throat) made him stop. He sighed deeply, dramatically, as if the universe had wronged him personally.

“Fine. But only because watching Thor sob into his breakfast would be hilarious.”

He handed you an ancient-looking book and began coaching you with the same energy someone would use to train a golden retriever to speak French. You mispronounced it ten times before getting close, and Loki cringed every time.

Still, by the end, you had it. Just one perfect little phrase.

Thor woke to the smell of breakfast—eggs, roasted meat (thankfully not boar this time), sweet pastries, and some Midgardian fruit salad you painstakingly carved into tiny lightning bolts. You stood over the stove in nothing but pajama pants and a t-shirt with a lightning bolt that said “STRIKE ME DADDY.” (It had been a gag gift from Tony. You wore it unironically.)

When he padded in, all warm skin and sleepy eyes and tousled hair that looked far too majestic for a man who just woke up, you turned and greeted him with a sunny grin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, thunder thighs,” you said, holding out a plate like it was treasure.

Thor took it with reverence. “You have made me a feast!” he beamed, and then bent down and kissed your cheek, his massive hand cupping the back of your head gently. “Thank you, my love. I adore you.”

Your heart skipped. Showtime.

You bit your lip and looked up at him shyly, then said: “Ek elska þik.”

Thor blinked. Once. Twice.

The plate hit the floor with a shattering crash of ceramic and splattered eggs.

“…Thor?”

He stared at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, and then his entire face lit up—like stars exploding behind his eyes.

“You spoke the tongue of Asgard,” he whispered, voice full of awe.

“I, uh—yeah! I said I love you. For you. Took me a week, Loki said I sounded like a drunk goat for the first—”

You didn’t get to finish. Thor swept you off your feet with a laugh of pure joy, spinning you in his arms like you weighed nothing.

“You are the greatest gift I have ever known!” he shouted, practically glowing. “I will never recover from this day!”

You giggled breathlessly, arms looped around his neck, tail fluffed up with surprise. “It was just one phrase!”

“One perfect phrase,” he said, slowing the spin to press his forehead to yours. “Ek elska þik, my squirrel prince.”

You kissed his nose and whispered, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Then we shall cry together—with honor.”

⚡💌🐿️⚒️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none i think. reader kisses Bucky's thigh? Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

🌹💌🗡️❤️

Bucky wasn’t an easy riser. He liked mornings the way he liked paperwork—left untouched and preferably nonexistent. But that didn’t stop you from climbing into bed and launching your sneak attack: a barrage of soft, silly, and absolutely loving kisses.

It started with his face—his temple, his forehead, the tip of his nose.

“Mm.”

You grinned against his skin and continued. His cheekbones, his jawline, a gentle press to the corner of his lips. His sleepy grunt only encouraged you. You moved to his neck, leaving featherlight kisses up and down the column of his throat, then trailed to his shoulder. You kissed the scar where metal met muscle, then the other arm, then down—cheeky little kisses on his chest, and yes, even one (okay, two) on his thigh.

“Doll…” His voice was thick with sleep and fondness.

“You’re not slick, Buck. I know you’re awake.”

“I’m unconscious.”

“You literally just spoke.”

“Talking in my sleep.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you flicked your tail across his face, fluffy and relentless. He groaned dramatically, half-laughing as he tried to bat it away with the vibranium arm.

“You fight HYDRA with a knife between your teeth but a tail undoes you? Weak,” you teased.

He cracked one eye open, and that sleepy, amused grin was worth every effort. “That tail’s got too much power.”

You giggled, then sat back on your haunches, tail curling gently behind you as you held out a small red envelope.

“For you,” you said brightly. “Card first. Then flowers. Then me.”

Bucky slowly sat up, propped against the pillows, blinking himself awake as he opened the card. Inside was your handwriting, messy and heartfelt and filled with dumb inside jokes and one sappy line at the end that just read: "You make the whole world quiet, and my heart loud."

He looked at you like you’d hung the moon, then reached for the little bouquet you had—deep red tulips, his favorite since you'd learned what they meant. He stared at them for a beat before setting them gently on the nightstand and tugging you into his chest with one arm around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your neck.

“C’mere, doll.”

You curled into him easily, tail flicking happily over the sheets as he pressed a slow, sleepy kiss to your temple.

“You’re dangerous when you’re this sweet,” he mumbled into your hair.

“You say that like I’m not always sweet,” you replied, smiling into his chest.

He hummed. “You are. Too sweet for me.”

You reached up and booped his nose. “Don’t start that. You’re getting the deluxe Valentine’s experience. I even planned us a date.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Just us, nothing fancy, but it’ll make you smile. Swear on my tail.”

He kissed your forehead and held you tighter, lips brushing your hair as he whispered, “As long as I’m with you, doll, I already got everything I need.”

🌹💌🗡️❤️

[riverreignwrites]

Valentine's Day with Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers x Male reader (reader is basically squirrel girl. i think all my marvel men x male reader fics will have squirrel boy reader) Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

💌🐿️🛡️❤️

You were up before sunrise, tail swishing with quiet excitement as you navigated the kitchen like a man on a mission. Pancakes shaped like hearts? Check. Scrambled eggs seasoned just how Steve liked them? Double check. Bacon arranged into a smiley face? Triple check. You even made fresh-squeezed orange juice, because your boyfriend may be a supersoldier, but he still deserved citrus served with love.

By the time Steve walked in—still in his sleep shirt, hair tousled, rubbing one eye—you were plating everything with the enthusiasm of a man preparing for a national holiday. Which, honestly, you kind of were. Valentine's Day wasn't just a day of flowers and chocolates. It was a day to smother your boyfriend in affection and protein. The best kind of day.

"Morning, sunshine," you chirped, hopping over to him with your trademark grin and your tail flicking behind you like a feather duster on espresso.

Steve blinked, eyes softening immediately when he saw you. “You made breakfast?” he asked, voice low and sleep-rough, the kind that always made your heart flutter like a hummingbird on sugar water.

“For you, Captain Heartthrob? Of course I did.” You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

His smile was so warm it could've melted the butter on the pancakes. "You’re too good to me," he said, reaching up to tuck some of your wild hair behind your ear, fingers lingering as he took you in.

Steve sat, and you slid the plate in front of him with a flourish. He raised an eyebrow at the heart-shaped food, but that dimpled smile was practically glowing.

You leaned against the counter, chin in your hands, watching him take his first bite like it was the most important review of your life. “Good?” you asked, ears twitching slightly.

“Delicious,” he said sincerely. “Just like everything you make.” He patted his lap, and you didn’t even hesitate before curling into him like a cozy blanket with legs. Your tail lazily flicked around his waist as he wrapped his arms around you.

"You know," he murmured, voice low near your ear, "I love everything about you. The ears. The tail. The way you bounce around like you’re powered by sunshine and caffeine.”

You giggled. “I am powered by both, thank you very much.”

Steve leaned down, kissed you softly—really kissed you this time, lips firm and slow and full of that old-fashioned love he wore like a second skin. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands warm and strong around your waist.

“You make every day feel like Valentine’s Day.”

You beamed, your tail coiling affectionately around his wrist. “Wait ‘til you see what I made for dessert.”

He chuckled. “Dessert after breakfast?”

“For you?” You gave him a wink. “Always.”

💌🐿️🛡️❤️

[riverreignwrites]

Seasonal + Holiday Writings

Valentine's Day (Marvel Men: Avengers)

[I will probably post these all today or between today and tomorrow, despite it not being *anywhere* bear Valentine's Day. I just write what ever ideas pop into my head. Had these in storage for a bit]

Bucky: Valentine's Day

Bruce: Valentine's Day

Clint: Valentine's Day

Loki: Valentine's Day

Peter: Valentine's Day

Steve: Valentine's Day

Thor: Valentine's Day

Tony: Valentine's Day

Christmas (Marvel Men: Avengers)

Bucky:

Bruce:

Clint:

Loki:

Peter:

Steve:

Thor:

Tony:

Halloween (Marvel Men: Avengers)

Bucky:

Bruce:

Clint:

Loki:

Peter:

Steve:

Thor:

Tony:

[riverreignwrites]

I was dealing with finals and traveling, sorry to those who read and enjoy my stuff. I should have more time to follow the schedule i posted

[riverreignwrites]

Tingles

Gwen Stacy x female oc Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑 🕸️🤍🖌️💫🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

Gwen Stacy had fought a symbiote shark in a subway tunnel. She’d once taken on five Vulture variants in one night. She could swing between buildings at ninety miles an hour, and keep her balance while texting Miles about band rehearsal.

But this girl? This girl was knocking the air out of her lungs in the middle of a hallway like it was nothing.

It started stupidly. Gwen was just on her way to calculus, earbuds in, hoodie up. She had the whole "I’m not really here to make friends, just need the grade" vibe going hard. Then she saw her.

The girl—Astrid, Gwen would later learn—was crouched beside a freshman who looked two seconds away from bursting into tears. Astrid's sketchbook was tucked under one arm, and her voice was soft, careful, the kind of calm that didn’t feel practiced. She pointed toward the English wing, then gently offered to walk the kid there.

And then she smiled.

It wasn’t even a big smile. Just the corner of her mouth curling, a little glint in her eyes behind those paint-flecked glasses. But Gwen felt her spidey-sense flare—not danger, not in the way it should be. It was like the universe had jammed its finger on the metaphorical "Hey, pay attention to this" button and refused to let go.

She ducked into the nearest stairwell and leaned on the railing, her breath uneven, her fingers twitching.

"Okay," she muttered, frowning. "What the hell was that?"

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The problem didn’t go away.

She started seeing Astrid everywhere—art room, lunch table in the back corner, sitting under a tree during free period. Always quiet, always in her own little world, her sketchbook open like it was a second heart.

And Gwen? Gwen was losing her damn mind.

Every time she caught sight of Astrid's profile, her Spidey-sense would go all garbled. Not danger, not exactly—it was like the signal was trying to tell her something in a language she didn’t speak. Her heartbeat spiked. Her palms itched. Her body tingled. Once, she nearly fell off a fire escape when she saw Astrid laughing with the ceramics teacher through a window.

It got so bad that Miles cornered her after patrol.

“You got a concussion or something?” he asked, crossing his arms on a rooftop. “Because you’ve been off. Like, twitchy-off.”

“I’m fine,” Gwen snapped, then immediately sighed. “Sorry. Just… something’s messing with my spider-sense.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s a new villain?”

“I think it’s an art student.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t know, okay? She’s just… she’s quiet. And sweet. And smiles like she’s apologizing for taking up space. And something about her is just—” Gwen threw her arms in the air. “It’s ruining my day!”

Miles grinned slowly. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up.”

“Spidey-sense glitching out over a crush? That’s gotta be a first.”

“I said shut up.”

🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

Eventually, Gwen couldn’t take it anymore. She cornered Astrid after class, heart hammering like a drum solo.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound chill and not like her internal systems were melting. “You’re… um. You helped that kid the other day. That was cool.”

Astrid blinked at her, surprised. “Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think anyone was in the hall.”

“I did,” Gwen said, then immediately regretted the intensity of her tone.

Astrid gave her a smile, soft and genuine. “Thanks.”

Her spidey-sense buzzed in her ribs like a tuning fork.

“I—uh, you wanna maybe… hang out sometime?” Gwen asked. “I’ve got, like, a rooftop spot. Good for sketching. Or not sketching. Talking. Breathing. Existing.”

Astrid laughed, a quiet, musical sound. “Sure,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That sounds nice.”

It was nice. More than nice. And the spider-sense finally calmed down. Not silent—but steady. Like it had been waiting for Gwen to get it.

Turns out, sometimes the danger wasn’t a fight. Sometimes, it was falling—into something gentle, and warm, and entirely unexpected.

🕸️🤍🖌️💫

[riverreignwrites]

Dizzy Like the Stars

Zendaya x female reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

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The set was bustling, but Zendaya was glowing.

And not just "good lighting and perfect cheekbone structure" glowing — no, this was giddy, flustered, smitten-to-the-point-of-inefficiency glowing.

She breezed in twenty minutes late with an iced lavender latte in one hand and her phone in the other, babbling to no one in particular.

“She said she’s getting a moon tattoo for me,” Zendaya said, wide-eyed, the kind of wonder that made assistants pause mid-walkie-talkie. “Like—on her ribcage. Her ribcage. Because I make her feel ‘dizzy like the stars make her happy.’ Can you believe that? That’s actual poetry. I can’t compete with that.”

Tom, already halfway through his harness check, blinked. “I thought she was afraid of needles?”

“She is! That’s the whole point!” Zendaya spun around, grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. “She’s terrified of them. She cried watching someone get their cartilage pierced once. And now she’s gonna get ink permanently stabbed into her side because I apparently remind her of the Moon.”

“Which one?” Jacob Batalon asked from behind a fog machine.

Zendaya blinked. “Which what?”

“Which moon. There’s like, a hundred. Jupiter alone’s got—”

“THE moon,” she interrupted, pressing a hand to her chest like she could calm her own heartbeat. “The Earth one. My moon.”

Tom tilted his head, pretending to care more about the cable in his hand than her starstruck ramble. “What’s she getting exactly?”

Zendaya, now pacing in a tight circle, recited from memory like she’d already thought about it for hours: “A crescent moon. Small, delicate. With a single star next to it. She said the moon is me. I’m the moon. Isn’t that insane?”

“No, Zendaya,” Tom said with a grin. “What’s insane is that you look like you’re about to faint over it.”

“I am! I’m—dude. She quoted Carl Sagan in the caption of the tattoo appointment post. She said I make her believe in gravity.” She threw her arms out. “Gravity, Tom.”

“Okay, that’s... absurdly romantic,” he admitted.

Zendaya sat down heavily in her chair and clutched a throw pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to Earth.

“She smells like vanilla and violets,” she said dreamily. “And she wears my hoodie to bed. She calls me her ‘anchor in the tides of space-time.’ I don’t even know what that means, but I’d buy her the actual Moon if I could.”

From behind the camera rig, someone muttered, “NASA would have questions.”

Zendaya ignored them, already unlocking her phone to scroll through screenshots of the tattoo sketch. “I swear to God, if this tattoo heals wrong, I’ll fly the artist to Italy for a do-over.”

“Have you eaten?” Tom asked.

“I had three bites of a star-shaped pancake. I cried halfway through.”

“Right.”

Zendaya didn’t notice. She was busy sending a heart emoji the size of a planet.

Because when your girlfriend gets a celestial tattoo for you — a permanent crescent and star to say, you make me feel like the sky is spinning in the best way — there’s no such thing as calm.

Only gravity. Only orbits. Only love.

And Zendaya was absolutely, completely, joyously lost in it.

🌙❤️⭐🌌

[riverreignwrites]

Student #27

Tom Holland x Male oc Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

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It was supposed to be just another day on the set of Spider-Man: Homecoming, full of harnesses, caffeine-fueled crew members, and vague green screen chaos. Tom Holland knew his marks, his stunts, and the sandwich schedule. What he didn’t know was how to function like a normal human being around Leo—the extra who had shown up three days ago to play “Student #27.”

Student #27 didn’t have any lines. Just a few crowd shots, really. But Student #27 had Leo’s face, Leo’s laugh, and Leo’s shoulders, and Tom was officially ruined.

Tom tried. Lord, he tried.

Day One, he’d opened his mouth to say hi. Instead, he sneezed, smacked his head on a boom mic, and dropped his smoothie.

Day Two, he accidentally followed Leo to the craft table and stood behind him pretending to ponder the merits of blueberry vs. plain cream cheese for twelve minutes until Leo turned around and said, “Are you okay? You’ve been holding that cream cheese like it insulted your mother.”

Day Three? He simply avoided him altogether, but not before accidentally walking into a lighting rig while staring at Leo’s smile from across the soundstage.

Zendaya had noticed by then. Of course she had. The woman could spot romantic tension from a mile away and she wasn’t above weaponizing it.

“Just talk to him,” she said, lounging in her director’s chair with the audacity of someone who didn’t know what it was like to be tragically, stupidly smitten.

“I can’t,” Tom hissed, peeking over his sunglasses as Leo adjusted his backpack straps for Scene 14. “He has... energy. Like, soft-boy-reading-poetry-in-the-park energy. I’m not equipped for that.”

Zendaya rolled her eyes so hard it echoed.

Later that afternoon, during a lull in shooting, Tom was sitting with his head in his hands, trying to regulate his breathing after Leo had complimented his “hair poof.”

That’s when Zendaya stood, stretched dramatically, and said, “Right. If you won’t do it, I will.”

“Wait, what? What?”

But she was already walking—no, gliding—across the set with the confidence of a Bond villain. Tom scrambled after her like a panicked duckling.

Leo looked up from his marked position, raising his eyebrows as Zendaya approached, Tom flailing behind her.

“Hi,” she said sweetly. “This is going to be weird, but I’m going to ask you out. For Tom.”

Leo blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said I’m asking you out. But, like, on his behalf.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “He’s tragically in love with you and has the emotional articulation of a wet sponge.”

Tom made a sound. It was half groan, half dying wildebeest.

Leo stared between the two of them, something slow and sweet blooming on his face. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Zendaya said. “He’s completely gone for you. It’s honestly kind of sad.”

Tom, now crimson, stepped forward, finally finding words. “Hi. Um. Yes. This is deeply mortifying. But true. I think you’re—like—great. Really great. And I’d love to take you to dinner. Or coffee. Or anywhere you like where I can stare at you without pretending to drop cutlery.”

Leo smiled, amused and amused and soft, and said, “You didn’t need an Emmy-winner to help you out, Tom. I would’ve said yes if you asked.”

Tom nearly melted into the floor. Zendaya patted him on the back.

“See?” she said, walking away. “You’re welcome.”

☕💫🍝🎞️

[riverreignwrites]

It Did Not Matter

Loki Laufeyson x Male oc Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

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Loki was loitering.

Not in the grand, villainous way. Not even in the dramatic, cloak-swishing way. He stood beneath the overhang of an old brick building on a crooked street, arms crossed, hood up, watching the human across the road place a tiny flower crown on the head of a duck.

The duck, to her credit, seemed entirely nonplussed.

"This is Persephone," the human had told him last week, as if Loki were the strange one for inquiring.

He hadn’t inquired. He had gaped, which was different.

Persephone was plump and white and waddled with the confidence of an Asgardian queen. And now she had buttercups nestled in her feathers and the human—Elliot—was beaming down at her like she'd just solved time travel.

Loki told himself he wasn’t smiling.

He told himself many things lately.

Like how it did not matter that Elliot’s bookstore always smelled like cinnamon and ink and something soft, like nostalgia.

It did not matter that Elliot invited him in when the rain started, with the sort of casual kindness Loki never quite trusted but couldn’t help standing in.

“Come in,” Elliot had said, brushing raindrops off Persephone’s head. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Loki nearly replied ‘I’m immune to mortal ailments’, but Elliot had already opened the door, already left a towel out, already gone behind the counter to make tea without asking how Loki took it. (He took it black, bitter, but drank the honey-sweet cup Elliot gave him because it was warm, and Elliot looked pleased to give it.)

It didn’t matter that the first time Loki lied—a small one, hardly worth noting, about how long he’d been in town—Elliot looked at him with those maddeningly knowing eyes and said, “That was a lie.”

“How dare you,” Loki had whispered.

“You're eyes shift a little, like this.” Elliot shifted his eyes comically, and Loki had nearly hexed the ceiling tiles in frustration.

(It had not mattered that Loki found himself testing that claim with smaller and smaller lies, just to see if Elliot caught them. He always did.)

It didn’t matter that Elliot had handed him a small bouquet once—odd wildflowers, unruly and bright—and said, “They reminded me of you.”

Loki had frozen, unsure if he’d been insulted or worshipped.

He hadn’t spoken for an hour.

Elliot, with a look of concern bordering on horror, had disappeared and returned with a loaf of homemade cinnamon raisin bread the next day and stammered, “I’m sorry if I said something wrong. I just thought they were beautiful, and kind of sharp, and I thought of you.”

And Loki, ancient god of chaos and stories, had taken the loaf and nodded.

Like a mortal.

It absolutely did not matter that Loki now found himself feeding foxes on the weekend, because Elliot had invited him along and handed him a little pouch of dried chicken pieces like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It did not matter that the foxes came close, that they let Elliot touch their ears, that one of them licked Loki’s palm.

And when Elliot grinned and said, “They trust you,” Loki had laughed awkwardly and said, “I’m not sure they should.”

“You’re not as scary as you think,” Elliot replied.

Loki could not speak for a minute. Again.

It did not matter.

None of it mattered.

Except that one day, Loki caught himself tracing runes into the condensation on Elliot’s tea mug, not to curse or charm it—but to keep it warm longer. Quietly. Without comment.

And later that night, Loki turned up at the Avengers’ compound, thunder crashing behind him, cloak damp, and looked Thor dead in the eye.

“I have a problem.”

Thor, halfway through a turkey leg, blinked. “Have you—conquered something again?”

“No. Worse.”

“A villain?”

“No.”

“Someone insulted your hair again?”

Loki closed his eyes. “There’s a mortal.”

Thor looked delighted. “A mortal? A friend?”

Loki made a strangled sound. “He owns a bookstore and has a duck named Persephone and he knows when I’m lying, Thor. He sees through me like glass. He fed me bread and told me I reminded him of flowers. I didn’t smite him. I didn’t leave. I—” Loki broke off. “It does not matter.”

Thor, slowly, carefully, put down his turkey leg. “Brother,” he said, serious now. “It matters.”

Loki stared at the floor.

The truth was: Elliot mattered. In a quiet, irreparable way.

Loki had once thought affection was for fools.

Now he found himself bringing Persephone enchanted seed that bloomed into violets, just to see Elliot laugh.

He found himself weaving warmth into the cracks of the bookstore walls at night.

He found himself writing poems—terrible ones, furious ones, aching ones—and stuffing them into books Elliot might someday open.

He found himself not lying, more and more.

It didn’t matter.

(It mattered more than anything had in centuries.)

🐍🦆🌧️💐

[riverreignwrites]

Endgame

Andrew Garfield x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: none Intended reader: Male Reader/Female reader Parts: One

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The morning light crept in slowly, slanting through the curtains in muted gold. Andrew stirred, half-lost in the quiet hush of dawn, wrapped in the warmth of sheets and the gentler warmth of the man beside him.

His eyes blinked open, slow and unfocused. The first thing he saw was his boyfriend’s face—soft with sleep, lips parted slightly, his breathing steady and slow, edged with the faintest sound of a snore. His hair was a mess, pushed up in some places from the pillow, in others falling boyishly across his forehead. He looked peaceful. He looked safe. He looked like home.

Andrew didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just… looked.

There was a stillness that came with mornings like this—where nothing needed to be done, and no lines needed to be memorized, and no cameras would follow his every move. In that quiet, Andrew felt something settle in his chest. Something deep, and sure, and real.

'He’s the one', the thought came to him, simple as breathing. 'I love him. He’s endgame.'

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t crash in like a scene from a movie. It just was. As true as the sun behind the curtain. As real as the warmth between them.

His heart full and aching in the best way, Andrew leaned in slightly, forehead barely brushing his boyfriend’s. Voice still heavy with sleep, he mumbled, soft as a secret, “I love you.”

There was a pause. Then—

“Mmhmm… love you too,” his boyfriend slurred quietly, not fully awake, not fully aware, but the words wrapped around Andrew like a blanket just the same.

He smiled. Eyes fluttered shut again, the moment folding itself into his memory like a pressed flower.

And there, in the quiet, in the stillness, Andrew let himself fall a little deeper into forever.

☀️❤️✨🎞️

[riverreignwrites]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

[riverreignwrites]

Player Two

Henry Cavill x Male reader Requested? yes/no Warnings: Tom Nook Intended reader: Male reader/Female reader Parts: one

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Henry had known love before. Or at least, he’d thought he had. He’d loved games, his dog, stories, characters, and silence. But he’d never known what it was to love someone who handed him a four-page critique of his Witcher performance on set, complete with color-coded notes and a highlighted diagram of the differences between the show’s timeline and the game’s quest structure.

He’d stood there, flipping through the annotated packet, while his boyfriend casually sipped coffee next to a baffled production assistant.

“You annotated a script breakdown,” Henry said, dumbfounded.

“Page three has footnotes,” his boyfriend said, like that explained everything.

That’s when he knew. Knew-knew.

This man was it.

They were the same breed of nerd—though his boyfriend might’ve been even deeper in. Henry liked to think he was seasoned, but nothing could prepare him for the moment he learned the love of his life owned three Nintendo Switches.

“Why?” Henry had asked, holding one like it might multiply if he blinked.

“Islands, babe. I need more islands.”

“That’s not… that’s not a normal sentence.”

His boyfriend just grinned. “Neither is the phrase ‘I repainted a Warhammer battalion while my RTX was compiling shaders,’ but here we are.”

Their love was messy and beautiful. They yelled at each other during split-screen Mario Kart, threw pillows during Halo, and fought dramatic, Shakespearean battles over who kept killing the farm’s chickens in Stardew Valley.

“You put the mayonnaise machine next to the graveyard!”

“It’s thematic!”

Henry, for all his strength and charm, absolutely refused to be in the room if Tom Nook was on screen. His boyfriend would enter the Animal Crossing shop, and Henry would stand up like it was a fire drill.

“Nope,” he’d say, grabbing his book and walking out. “I’m not getting emotionally involved in your raccoon loan shark spiral again.”

His boyfriend once threw a controller during a seemingly minor dialogue about loan repayments.

It had bounced.

Henry never forgot it.

But in the quiet moments, they sat side by side, controllers in hand, eyes glassy from a late-night indie game session. They passed snacks back and forth without speaking, like a well-oiled co-op machine.

“Did you cry at Spiritfarer?” his boyfriend asked once, in the dark.

Henry didn’t look away from the screen. “No.”

“Liar.”

Pause. Then, a quiet: “…Yes.”

And his boyfriend just smiled, sliding closer until they were touching.

When Henry finished a hard day filming, voice raspy from lines and body sore from armor, he’d come home to a blanket fort already built. A Switch charging. Steam already open. And his boyfriend with a second controller in hand, scooting over on the couch.

“Player One is tired,” he’d say, patting the seat. “Let Player Two take the lead tonight.”

Henry would smile. Sit. Melt.

And as the soft glow of screens lit their living room, fingers brushing on shared keyboards, bodies curled into each other between boss fights and stargazing in pixelated skies, Henry would think:

Yeah.

This is it.

His Player Two.

Always.