#mcu x gender neutral reader

[mlm-writer]

Aftertaste (Eddie & Venom x GN!Reader)

Pairing:  Eddie Brock & Venom x Gender Neutral Bottom Reader Rating: Mature for discussion of sex Words: 918 POV: Second Summary: After some kinky sex (<- click for the prequel), Eddie and Venom take care of you. Oh and Eddie experiences some mild dom drop. Note: Guess who's back? Back again? Gayden's back! Tell a friend! Tags: aftercare, dom drop, hurt & comfort, cuddling, could be read as romantic, could be read as you're fwb and reader's physical appearance is not described

A trail of cum connected the corner of your mouth with the puddle of cum on the tiles below your cheek. At the start of the evening, those tiles had been cold, but underneath you they have been warmed by your spent body. With the post-orgasm bliss fading into the background, you started noticing the soreness settling in your muscles. A warm hand gentle pushed your hair to the side and out of your eyes. In the dim light, you could see warm, concerned eyes staring down at you. “Are you with me?” Eddie spoke between laboured breaths. You licked his cum off the corner of your lips and smiled at him. “Good,” he added when he understood your non-verbal signal. He seemed relieved, smiling down at you with awe and surprise. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a towel appeared next to Eddie. However you could still spot the black tendril holding it up by a corner. Eddie took it and folded it up. He lifted your head and wiped your face with one side, before placing it under your face with the other side up. You could feel wet tendrils squeezing between your skin and all the duct tape restricting your movement. The sticky tape came off easily with Venom’s gentle wriggling, leaving no redness on your skin nor taking any hairs from your flesh. Once freed, you stretched your legs out, ending up face down on the floor. “That can’t be comfortable,” Eddie commented. 

“Let us carry you to the couch,” Venom softly mused in your ear. You hummed in reply, bracing yourself. Eddie and Venom merged into one and Eddie’s warm hands wormed their way under your body. He rolled you over and then carried you bridal style to the couch, where a blanket was already waiting for you. Venom’s tendrils wrapped the old fleece blanket around your bodies, protecting you from the chill in the apartment. “You must drink,” the symbiote commanded. He materialised another appendage to somehow make grabbing a glass of water a very perilous and loud endeavour. You thanked him when he eventually got the glass to you. You meant to sip on it, but in just a few seconds, the glass was empty. Venom put the empty glass on the coffee table for you. “Are you feeling satisfied now?” 

You chuckled at Venom’s word choice. “Very much so, Venom. Thank you.” You rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder. “What about the two of you?” Your question was met with a long pause. “Eddie?” You twisted your neck to look at his face. He was clearly thinking of something, but whatever that brain was cooking up, he was not sharing it with you at the moment. 

“Eddie, why are we feeling… guilty?” Venom’s voice was unusually small. It must be bad to affect Venom this much. You reached back, scratching gently at his scalp. Now you were paying attention, you could feel how tense Eddie’s muscles were under you. 

“Talk to me, Eddie,” you whispered as you moved underneath the blanket to straddle his lap. He avoided your eyes at first, but your hand resting at the back of his neck got him comfortable enough to really look at you. It felt like he was staring into your soul for the answers to questions he didn’t dare ask. He took a deep breath, before finally speaking up. 

“You really liked…” He waved his hand in the air as he tried to formulate words that were family-friendly enough that he could get them out of his mouth. That man fucking you within an inch of your life was nowhere to be found. “You liked us going back and forth, right? Like actually, for real?” He looked at you through his lashes. You huffed out a relieved augh and nodded eagerly. “Okay… okay good,” he huskily spoke between weighted breaths. 

You cupped his face and made him look at you. “Hey, Eddie, look at me.” You exaggerated your breathing, showing him slow, deep breaths. Eddie followed suit, following your breathing pattern. “Good boy,” you teased him once he no longer seemed like he was going to crawl out of his own skin and hide in the corner. You kissed his nose and caressed his face. “If I think too much about it, yeah the going back and forth was fucking filthy, but that kind of made it hot? And there is nothing wrong with that.” Eddie seemed to agree with you. A few deep breaths and he could nod more confidently. You leaned against his body, resting your head on his shoulder. You stayed like that for a while, until you thought too much about the wild sex you just had. “Ok, I am ready to brush my teeth now and gargle some mouthwash.” 

Eddie chuckled and helped free you from the fleece blanket. “Need any help?” He offered as he watched you stand up. There was dried cum on your body, your skin still glistening with sweat and your hair a wild mess. He wanted to burn that image in his mind. 

You looked at him over your shoulder and cocked up an eyebrow. “Why? Think I don’t know how a toothbrush works?” When you saw how your words pulled Eddie from his trance, you chuckled. He opened his mouth to probably tell you that was not what he meant, but your smile told him you knew. You shook your head in amusement and left Eddie on the couch. “See you space cowboy.” 

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure! A comment in tags or replies can prevent writer's block, even if the work is a decade old (not that I have works on here that are that old)!

[blank-potato]

need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept here. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares. 

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly. 

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything. 

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body. 

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room. 

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it. 

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing. 

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it. 

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word. 

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good.

But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body. 

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie. 

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

You groan into your hands, face burning.

Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles. 

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

[callahanisms]

pass/fail: the orange test

saw thunderbolts* and i believe in the mcu again. the movie was good and if you want to see it, go see it. thought this could be a cute little post because the orange test will never not be fun to me.

anyways i need more ava starr pls and thank you

divider by @cafekitsune

yelena belova / black widow

"you want me to...peel you an orange?"

yelena, at best, is confused about the idea of an 'orange test.' she doesn't exactly have the best relationship with tests. but when you explain that it's just an action that shows someone they care about you and see you...she does laugh. she laughs and says it's ridiculous. but then a few days later she'll slide over a plate of peeled oranges, separated in segments and looking mostly uniform (because she ate the non-uniform pieces). if you forgot, she'll remind you why she did it.

bucky barnes / the winter soldier

"i don't understand the point of this."

it's a trend on social media. you have to explain the significance and why people are really into it. bucky doesn't know what to think of it. he chalks it up to one of those trends that he's just too old for. but he'll do it regardless. the orange comes out whole.

ava starr / ghost

"you came to the right person."

one of the ways ava might have entertained herself when she was younger was with art. she views fruit carving as another medium for art. so when you ask her to peel you an orange, she peels it with a knife. with precision. she slices the orange to make a crane! isn't that cute? will also generally cut your fruit into cute shapes. there's something soothing about focusing on something mundane. it makes her feel normal.

john walker / u.s. agent

"i can totally do."

you might have overestimated john's capacity for peeling oranges. he's more of a insert thumbs into the fruit and then split it open. then he'll give you the portion, unpeeled. it's not what you want but it is funny. and besides, it's the thought that counts, right?

alexei shostakov / red guardian

"you know, yelena used to ask me to peel her oranges and make them fun. it was the only way to get her to eat fruit."

surprisingly is very much like ava. alexei can peel an orange no problem. uses a knife (a bigger one, not the smaller one for delicate lines like ava) and then slices it to make fun shapes! but it's not as detailed as ava's. he also ends up using the orange slices for a lecture and to talk about a story. and then you guys get to eat it!

bob

"that's kind of cute...actually..."

bob's no stranger to peeling oranges. he uses his hands and does it without question. he likes helping, he likes being useful. and even if it's something small like peeling the orange because you can't or because you don't like the smell of the citrus on your fingers, he'll do it. on the contrary bob would like the citrus smell. he tries to cut the orange into cute shapes like ava but messes it up.

[cece693]

Just something short I thought of—sad Bucky because he thinks reader is planning on leaving him or just doesn't love him anymore. Like, you're ignoring him (not on purpose), but that makes the man go down a spiral of doubts which leads to comfort. It's definitely shorter than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!

Did I Do Something Wrong?

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: sad bucky, misunderstandings, reader is just busy, I promise, comfort, fluff all the way, short little fic, might even be considered an imagine

Bucky tried not to let the little things get to him. The first time you brushed his hand aside, you’d been running on only a couple hours of sleep. After returning from a week-long mission, you were bone-tired—so you mumbled a distracted “Sorry,” shut your eyes, and promptly drifted off. Bucky told himself not to worry. You were exhausted, that was all.

But days passed, and the pattern persisted.

The next time he reached for you—lightly resting his palm on your waist while you scrolled through mission logs—you shrugged him off without a second glance. Then there were the mornings he woke up alone, the bed already cooling on your side by the time he blinked blearily at the clock. You were usually a late riser, but now? You were gone before the sun had fully climbed the sky. Sure, you’d told him you liked to get a head start on the day, to train or do paperwork, but it still left Bucky feeling abandoned.

And then there was Natasha.

Bucky had caught you and Nat in a quiet corner of the common room, laughing together, your heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. From a distance, it looked so intimate. He tried not to imagine the worst—he trusted you, he knew Nat was a close friend—but old insecurities, the remnants of a lifetime of trust issues, began to creep up. If you were distant from him, but so playful and close with Natasha…maybe your feelings had changed.

It all came to a head late one night when you finally tumbled into bed after a punishing day. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes filled with longing, an unspoken plea hidden in the furrow of his brow. You settled under the covers, practically collapsing into the pillows. You felt Bucky shift closer, his arms trying to wrap around your waist—but you were so groggy you hardly registered it. Without meaning to, you scooted away, giving yourself room to breathe.

It was enough to break him.

“Do I—” Bucky started, then swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Do I disgust you now?”

The sheer pain in his voice made you crack open your eyes. You squinted at him, your exhaustion making things blurry for a moment. His expression was drenched in equal parts hurt and fear. The exhaustion clinging to your brain cleared in an instant as alarm and confusion set in.

“Bucky,” you murmured, voice heavy with fatigue, “why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” He let out a rough exhale and ran his metal hand through his hair. “You never let me touch you anymore, you brush me off, you’re gone before I wake up. Half the time, I see you with Natasha instead. I just—I can’t figure out what I did, and it’s killing me.”

Your heart twisted as you finally registered the desperation in his eyes. He looked so lost, like a man expecting the worst. Pushing yourself upright, you shifted closer until your knees bumped against his hip, your gaze locked on his.

“Bucky,” you said softly, leaning in to brush a thumb over his cheek. “I’m not—I would never want to push you away. I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose.”

“But you are,” he insisted, voice small. It cracked a little on the last word. “You keep brushing me off, you don’t let me hold you. I…I don’t understand.”

You inhaled, guilt gnawing at your stomach as you realized how it must have looked from his perspective. “I’m so sorry,” you breathed. “I’ve just been so worn down. Between missions, late-night meetings, and a sleepless schedule, I’ve been running on fumes.” Your hand cupped his jaw, urging him to look right at you.

“I wake up early because…well, I know how important rest is for you. With the nightmares and everything, you don’t always sleep that well, and I didn’t want to risk waking you. So I figured if I slipped out quietly, you could stay under for a few more hours, maybe get some real rest.”

He blinked, startled. “You—You left so I could sleep better?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with apology. “You’re not disgusting to me. Far from it. I’m just so drained that half the time I don’t even realize I’m brushing you off. I’m on autopilot.” You sighed, pressing your palm against the place where his flesh arm met his shoulder. “As for Nat, we’re just close, like you and Steve. She’s been checking in on me, and I’ve been venting to her about mission stress. That’s all.”

Bucky’s posture loosened. You could see the confusion in his eyes giving way to fragile relief. Still, the ache in his voice lingered as he asked, “So, you’re not fed up with me? You’re not looking for a reason to leave?”

“No,” you vowed. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I’ve just been overwhelmed—no excuse, I know, but I promise, it’s not you.” You gently pulled him closer, letting him lean against you. “I’ll always need you, Bucky. Never doubt that.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling the breath he seemed to have been holding for days. Quietly, he brought a tentative hand to your waist, as if checking if it was really okay to hold you. Instead of moving away, you leaned your weight into him, letting your body mold to his.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m still tired, but not too tired to show you how much I care.” Wrapping your arms around him, you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to soothe his lingering fears. “Just let me make it up to you, okay?”

Bucky managed a small, wobbly smile, eyes burning with unshed tears of relief. “You don’t have to make up anything,” he murmured. “Just let me know what going on. Even if you have to leave in the morning, wake me up first. Tell me, so I know it’s not because you don’t want me around.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Deal,” you agreed, brushing your nose lightly against his.

With that reassurance hanging like a comforting blanket between you, Bucky allowed himself to settle into the bed, your arms wound safely around him. Soon enough, your shared warmth and the quiet of the night eased the frantic anxiety in his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling that familiar scent that reminded him you were his—and that no amount of exhaustion or misunderstandings could ever truly sever the bond you two shared.

In the morning, you did wake him up, gently this time. You had a briefing in a few hours, but before you left, you let him know—forehead pressed to his, your heart full of affection. Bucky watched you go with a subdued smile, heart so much lighter than it had been before.

[deniable-masterpiece]

forgot that inside that icon there’s still a young girl from new york

and he walks like a bitch too

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Steven acting all smug with Marc and Jake because the other night it accidentally escaped your lips that he was the best sex you ever had.

👀👀👀👀👀 just a thought you can do with it as you please

I AM WHEEZING AT THIS!!

The Title

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Steven is apparently the best.

Warnings: Kissing, pet names, innuendo, sex mentions, bickering, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 315

“Shut the fuck up Steven.” Marc practically growls

Steven smiles at his reflection, raising his eyebrows as he brushes his hair. “I didn’t say anything, mate.” 

“You were going to.” 

Steven scoffs, but can’t hide how his grin widens. “I wasn’t.” 

“You fucking were.” 

“Being a bit sore today, aren’t we, Marc? Yes.” Steven taps the mirror with the end of his brush. 

“You’re the one fucking swanning about and rubbing it in!”

“I’m doing no such thing, you’re being paranoid. Silly even.” Steven beams at him, definitely rubbing it in. 

“Steven-”

“Best sex they’ve ever had, you know?” He gives Marc a little cheeky glance, waiting until Marc’s eyebrow furrows in a scowl before he mouths ‘best’ again. 

“Fuck off.”

Steven chuckles. 

“No, literally,” Marc sticks his middle fingers up. “Fuck off.”

“Best.”

“Fuck-”

“As in, better than anyone else.”

“-Off.”

“Which includes you.”

“Fuck-”

The sound of you coming in the front door echoes loudly, snapping at Marc’s and Steven’s attention. 

Steven goes to call out, and at the same moment, Marc tries to force himself to the front. For a brief moment, they both shove at each other, speaking rapidly so that neither can really hear what the other is saying. 

In the hasty chaos, Jake silently slips forward. He fronts so gently that neither Steven nor Marc notices until they hear his voice coming from their lips. 

“Hello, amor,” he smiles as he greets you, kissing your cheek. 

“Hello, Jake.” You beam, giggling as he helps you out of your jacket and lightly kisses your neck. “What’s got into you?” 

“Well, Steven has been regaling us with tales of last night.” 

You pause, heat running along your skin. “I…” 

“Apparently, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” He gives you a cheeky smile and raises his eyebrow. “I was wondering if you’d care to give me a shot at the title?” 

Thank you for reading!

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[hopelesslygaysstuff]

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝐻𝑖𝑡

pairing: wanda maximoff x gn!reader

summary: You and Wanda hotbox a car, then fuck.

content warnings: reader has a penis, drinking, smoking weed, car sex, blowjob, handjob, unprotected sex, restraints, creampie, putting out a joint on skin

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

A/N: shout out to Rae for helping me understand what it feels like to be high ily pooks @wndaswife ♡

“Hey.”

You look around, squinting against the flashing lights. The basement smells like old beer, and there’s something suspiciously sticky on the bottom of your shoe. Wanda is shouldering her way through the crowd, her eyes locked on you. 

“This frat is totally lame, babe,” you say, raising your voice slightly so she can hear you. You reach out, pulling her in by the waist, your back resting against the wall. It’s slightly cold, but you don’t mind. The air feels stale, the warmth from the multitude of bodies packed into the basement making your skin damp with sweat.

Wanda rolls her eyes, finishing the rest of her beer before chucking it into the crowd. You don’t see it land, distracted by her hands on your shoulders. She’s feeling you up, running her fingers over your muscles for a moment before leaning in, her chest pressing against yours while her lips tickle your ear. 

“Wanna get out of here and smoke?”

You chuckle, nodding as she pulls back, her eyes glinting under her thick eyeliner. One of her rings catches on the fabric of your shirt as she pulls away, your hand finding hers and leading her toward the exit. 

Wanda’s car isn’t hard to find, the slightly chipped red paint standing out as you open the door for her. It isn’t much, but it was her brother’s car before he went overseas in the Army, and Wanda takes good enough care of it. She never lets you drive it, though. 

“The usual spot?” You ask, pulling out some rolling paper and your bag of weed. You double-check your pockets, finding two lighters and pulling them out. 

“Yeah,” Wanda says, her hand resting on the back of your headrest before she pulls out of the parking spot. It’s hot, and you make sure to return her smirk, adjusting how you’re sitting when her hand drops to your thigh. 

“And, you’re good to drive?”

Wanda rolls her eyes, giving you a look. “I had like, half a beer. Don’t worry so much. I saw the way you shotgunned with that one blonde guy, if anyone should be worried about how much alcohol they’ve drank, it’s you.”

Holding up your hands in mock surrender, you shake your head. “I don’t even know who that was, but who am I to pass up a free beer?”

You would start rolling a joint, but Wanda isn’t the calmest driver. She has one foot up on the seat, her fingers cranking up the music, metal blaring and reverberating around your skull. You lurch forward as she slams on the brakes, swearing under her breath as a car cuts her off, merging at the last second to exit the highway. 

“Fuckin idiot,” she glares, one hand running through her hair as the road stretches out. It’s late, with barely any other cars in sight. 

The hand on your thigh moves slightly, dragging up further as Wanda drives. You can feel your head pounding slightly, the alcohol making its way through your system, and your ears still ringing from the loud music that had bounced around the walls of the basement. 

Gravel sounds out under the tires, a sign that you’re close to the usual smoke spot. It’s secluded, with a great view of the city. Thick trees tower around you, and when Wanda kills the engine, the only sound is the occasional cricket or bird call. 

“Give me one,” Wanda says, her fingers grabbing a rolling paper before you can respond. 

“Damn,” You mutter, opening the baggie full of weed. The scent hits you, and you breathe in deeply. “You’re needy tonight.”

“Fuck off,” Wanda rolls her eyes, glancing at your crotch. “If anyone’s needy, it’s you.”

Smirking, you roll your hips for a moment, your bulge noticeable. “Guilty as charged, can you blame me? Your ass and legs look great in those jeans.”

Wanda scoffs, but you see the pleased blush she wears. You shake some weed out on your rolling paper before handing her the baggie, your gaze lingering on her focused expression as she does the same. Your fingers move, muscle memory taking over as you roll the joint, stuffing some more weed into it with the end of a pen. You offer it to Wanda, and don’t try to hide the way your bulge grows when her fingers brush yours. 

“Lighter, baby?”

You hand it over, licking the end of your paper as you finish rolling your joint. Wanda lights the end of hers, sucking in deeply before turning to you and exhaling, a lazy grin spreading on her face. 

“That good, huh?” You ask, taking the lighter and lighting your own joint. You suck in a breath, loving the slight burn at the back of your throat.

Wanda hums, dropping her head back until it hits the headrest of her seat, blowing smoke toward the ceiling slowly. You watch her do a couple of tricks, her grin spreading wider with each minute that passes. You adjust your hips again, spreading your legs further and getting comfortable, watching Wanda grow hazier as more smoke fills the car. 

“Are you feeling anything?” You ask, inhaling deeply as Wanda lets out a satisfied sigh. 

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t take long,” she responds, flicking ash into the metal tin that sits between you two. “We’re gonna be stoned soon with the way we’re hotboxing this shit.”

You don’t respond to that, feeling a warm fuzziness grow within your chest. Your limbs begin to relax, your lips tingling slightly. Catching a glimpse of yourself through the haze, you stare at your reflection in the side mirror. Part of you is aware of your hair loosely hanging over your forehead, Wanda’s hand resting on your thigh as she stretches out, and the joint feeling warm between your fingers. 

“Take another hit, baby,” Wanda murmurs, her voice low and soothing, her fingers finding the knob of the CD player and turning the volume lower until the music is no longer jarring. Your eyes roam around the car briefly, your chest feeling warm as you smile lazily. Wanda’s fingers are cool as they touch your hand, bringing the joint to your lips. 

The bass flowing through the car fills you, your heart thumping to the beat as you take another hit. Wanda fiddles with her phone, her auburn hair glowing slightly before she turns her screen brightness down. 

You can’t quite remember how you got in the car, or what you were doing earlier that night. It doesn’t matter. Wanda is here, and her green eyes are warm and big and looking right at you, her fingers reaching for your lap as low jazz fills the space. Your reflection is back in the side mirror, your face flushed as Wanda’s fingers brush your bulge again while grabbing a rolling paper. 

“Baby, where’s the weed?”

You chuckle. Wanda is asking where the weed is. It’s right here, silly. It’s… it’s-

Wait. Where is the weed?

“Fuck, um,” you mumble, your body weightless as you lean forward. When did your seat recline? You search around, your fingers brushing Wanda’s as she leans toward you. She’s giggling, her hair smelling like vanilla as she leans into you. Her breath is warm, her lips are soft, and her hands are all over you. They wrap around your waist and skate over your thighs, your fingers finally feeling the plastic baggie on the floor near your boots as her lips suck gently on your neck. 

“Found it.”

“Hm?” Wanda’s voice is all around you, her body practically on top of yours as she leans further into your space. She smells delicious, your skin aflame where her fingertips drag over it, lifting your shirt slightly to stroke your hips. 

“The weed,” you say, your voice somehow sounding both miles away and eerily omnipresent. You hold up the bag, smiling at Wanda’s hand quickly grabbing it. 

You pull out two more rolling papers, Wanda having dropped hers somewhere on the floor, and the silence stretches comfortably as you both focus on the task in front of you. It’s soothing to roll the joint, your fingers moving with practiced ease before you twist the end, your hand moving to Wanda’s thigh where the lighter rests. 

Smoke swirls lazily around you, the car reeking of weed. You find it comforting, the layers of jazz music blending and mixing together into a single endless stream as it flows through your consciousness. 

Wanda hums slightly as she finishes her joint, letting you take the lighter from her lap before she looks over at you. Moving slowly, she somehow manages to move from the driver's seat to your lap, straddling you and pulling the lever to recline the seat fully back.

“Get comfortable,” Wanda murmurs, stealing the lighter from your slack fingers and chuckling at your open-mouthed expression. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. It’s not a giggle, it’s a laugh. Definitely not a giggle. God, it’s just so funny, the way she- wait. What was funny?

Wanda is inhaling, her lips wrapped around the end of her lit joint, the flame casting sharp shadows on her face. Her irises glow for a brief moment as the reflection dances in her glassy eyes before she flicks the lighter off with a practiced motion of her thumb. You think it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Smoke is blown softly into your face, and you eagerly sit up, your muscles flexing as you grab her around the waist. “Do it again,” you beg, and part your lips. 

You long to feel her soft lips on yours, and you feel your cock throb hotly when Wanda grips your jaw with one hand, the other bringing the joint to her smirking lips. Everything else fades, the jazz music dulling and the city view out the window dimming as you focus on her. You breathe in when she does, releasing your breath quickly in anticipation. 

Those wonderful lips meet yours, and it feels like absolute heaven. Wanda breathes out, smoke and vanilla mixing as they fill your mouth and nostrils, every single sense of yours surrounded by her. You inhale carefully, breathing in her very essence as you feel your lungs burn slightly, the weed making your head spin pleasantly. 

“Good job, pet,” Wanda murmurs, kissing you fiercely. She bites into your lip, and you moan lowly as you exhale, smoke expelling from your lungs and joining the swirling mist in the air of her car.

She moves her hips, subtly grinding down on your lap. You feel yourself ache, your hips moving up to meet hers as you moan into her mouth. It’s over far too soon, the pressure building as she continues to move her hips, her lips detaching from yours as she leans back, arching her back and grinding harder. 

“Want something, baby?” Wanda asks, one hand bringing the joint to her lips while the other tangles with your hair and shoves your head back into the seat. 

“More,” you say, your voice breathy and echoing. Your head is fuzzy, your limbs weightless as your thumbs stroke her hips. 

Wanda leans down, the change in position pressing her hips firmly against your cock as it strains in your boxers. It feels trapped beneath your pants, but you make no move to release yourself. That’s Wanda’s decision. 

More smoke is inhaled directly into your mouth, and you eagerly suck it in. Wanda’s lips are all over you, sealed around your lips as she exhales fully, her fingers closing your mouth and forcing you to inhale. She kisses down your neck as you do, your throat bobbing as you fight a cough. Her lips feel like fire, her tongue dragging over your skin for a moment before she sucks gently near your collarbone.

“Fuck,” you whisper, watching the smoke escape from your lips as you speak, curling around Wanda’s hair when she sits back up. The joint is pressed into your fingers, the lit end casting shadows on Wanda’s face as she watches you place it between your lips. 

“Take a deep breath, baby,” Wanda whispers, her eyes intent. She looks almost hungry, and her hips shift on top of you when you nod obediently, filling your lungs with smoke. Strong fingers pinch your nose, Wanda licking her lips before speaking. “Hold it.”

You feel lightheaded, your limbs heavy and your chest warm. The warm tingly feeling spreads up to your shoulders and down your arms, your head fully relaxing on the seat as you lean back. Everything is comfortable, Wanda’s vanilla perfume mixing with the heavenly scent of weed, her figure slightly fuzzy as you peer through the haze of smoke. 

Wanda moves again, taking the joint from between your lips and letting go of your nose. “Breathe it out,” she murmurs, holding the burning joint away from her hair as she leans down to kiss you, eagerly inhaling the smoke you expel from your lungs. 

Time turns a bit fluid after that, the sensation of overwhelming warmth taking over you as Wanda sits on your lap, her hands mindlessly running over your torso. Her fingernails scrape down your chest, her palms warm as she feels your abs, one hand holding the joint to her lips. 

You find the joint pressed between your lips, the faint taste of Wanda’s vanilla lip gloss coating your tongue as you suck in. The smoke tastes more burnt than usual, the heat hitting your face as you realize the joint is almost out. 

“Another?” You look up at Wanda with wide eyes, feeling the muscles beneath your eyes contracting slightly as you squint against your will. She chuckles, the sound reverberating around the car before she grinds the end of the joint against the metal ashtray.

“No baby,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss you. “I want to suck on something else.”

“What-” You’re cut off when Wanda grinds her hips down harshly, reminding you of the aching hardness between your thighs. “Oh,” you say, a bit stupidly. 

The words feel weird on your tongue, your mouth not moving properly. So, you decide to do something else with your mouth instead, attaching it to Wanda’s neck and sucking. Her moans sound out, adding to the layers of fuzz building in your head while the blood in your body rushes down to your throbbing cock, her hips providing delicious friction as she grinds on your lap. 

You hear metal clinking, the sound cutting through the soft jazz and smoke, but you don’t have time to think about it before Wanda is grabbing your hands and wrapping something around them. The material bites into your skin slightly, and you let out a chuckle when Wanda finishes restraining you. 

“The seatbelt, really?”

Wanda smirks at you, pulling your hands above your head and attaching your seatbelt-wrapped wrists to the headrest. You’re not sure how she’s managed to effectively restrain you with the seatbelt strap, but when you test the restraints, you’re surprised at the limited movements you can make. 

The weight on your lap disappears, Wanda’s body shifting. You lazily look down, your muscles loose and movements slow. Somehow, your seat is shifted back until Wanda is able to fit herself on the floor, kneeling while she leans over your lap. 

Sharp teeth bite at your stomach, each jolt of pain sending heat directly to the tip of your cock. You can see it visibly straining through your pants, but Wanda makes no move to undo your zipper, her lips turned up into a smirk while she pulls your shirt up and begins leaving hickeys all over your hips and waist. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, throwing your head back and shifting your hips, rutting upward in search of any friction. Wanda carefully avoids your bulge, chuckling against your skin while her hands move to gently grab your chest. 

Your nipples stand at attention, pleasure blooming as the sensations cut through the haze in your mind. The only things you feel are Wanda’s teeth and hands, the rest of your body feeling disconnected as desperation fills you. 

“You’re so hot,” Wanda drawls, looking up at you with glassy eyes. Jazz fills your mind as blood rushes through your ears, your heartbeat loud as it pounds furiously in your chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Her hands are warm, smoke shifting lazily through the air when she moves. Your pants are pulled down, a groan clawing its way out of your chest when you finally spring free, your cock pulsing at the thought of stimulation. You shift your hips again, seeing the dark look in Wanda’s eyes as she licks her lips before kissing your tip. 

“Fuck.”

You barely have any time to think before Wanda’s tongue is circling your tip, the stimulation teasing while you try to fuck further into her mouth. Hands grip your hips, pinning you to the seat, your face flushed as your head spins. 

Wanda loves how pathetic you look. Your head is thrown back, your eyes glassy and your pupils blown. You’re whining slightly, the sound wrapping around her head and sending pleasure shooting through her body. She loves how your body looks when you arch your back, your muscles trembling from the effort of chasing your pleasure. 

She wants you, her mouth feeling empty all of a sudden. With one last breath, Wanda seals her lips around the tip of your cock and sucks. 

You let out a loud moan, your hips jerking at the sensation. Wanda wastes no time, one hand gently fondling your balls while she takes you further in her mouth inch by inch. Her tongue works the underside of your shaft, licking your balls once she finally has your whole length in her mouth. 

Choking slightly as your tip hits the back of her throat, Wanda bobs back up, her tongue relentless as she licks the sensitive spot just under your tip. She bobs her head, taking your whole length in her mouth again, her cheeks hollowing while she sucks, swallowing around your length as it buries itself in her throat. 

“Yeah baby, just like that. Sucking my fucking dick so good.” You moan, pleasure filling you. Every sensation is heightened, the sound of Wanda sucking your cock filling the car as smoke swirls around her. You feel her moan, the vibrations causing your balls to tighten for a moment while your tip throbs at the back of her throat. 

Spit coats your length, smearing on her chin and dribbling out while she bobs her head up and down, your orgasm approaching. It’s filthy, her hand glistening when she wraps it around the base of your cock, stroking you slowly while she sucks. 

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Wanda growls, releasing the tip of your cock with a popping sound, panting as she takes you in. Her hand works your length, moving quicker while her other hand tightens around your balls. 

You whimper. “Baby, please.”

“I’m not done with you yet.” Wanda releases your cock, your length throbbing and twitching as it slaps onto your stomach. You can feel the combined juices of your precum and her spit as it smears over your lower stomach, your dick twitching every so often while you watch Wanda fumble with the clasp of her jeans. 

“Let’s smoke another joint while you fuck yourself with my cock,” you say, the idea popping into your mind. You speak the words quickly, your thoughts quieting again before you forget what you’ve spoken. Wanda’s eyes light up, and she leans over to kiss you solidly before grabbing the baggie of weed from the floor. 

Wanda moves quickly, her pants discarded as she straddles your hips, teasing the tip of your cock. She doesn’t move yet, just lets her juices run down the length of your shaft, your tip slightly pressing into her eager heat. 

A rolling paper is set out on your stomach, your abs flexing while you try to remain still. Wanda is focused, grinding on your tip with a teasing smile on her lips while her fingers move quickly. She rolls the joint in record speed, and before you know it she’s lighting the end and sucking in a full breath while sinking down on your length. 

You’re in heaven. 

Smoke fills the air again, the haze swirling about as Wanda lets out a low moan. She doesn’t move for a few seconds, her pussy walls clenching around you as she closes her eyes. Leaning back, she grabs one of your knees to support herself while bringing the joint to her lips again.

Then, she starts to move. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, your cock throbbing hotly as she lifts her hips only to sink back down. She grinds on you as she does so, her clit hitting the base of your cock perfectly with each movement of her hips. You can feel her arousal as she fucks herself, her juices coating your cock as she easily takes your whole length. 

Heat and pleasure fill you, Wanda’s hands grabbing your shoulders as she changes positions, fucking herself harder. It’s addicting, the sound of her moaning in your ear and the burn of smoke when she places the lit joint between your lips. Her fingers dig into your muscles, her hips trembling as she chases her orgasm. 

You can’t help but fuck up into her, loving the sound of your hips meeting hers while you thrust roughly. Her breaths are ragged, a low moan sounding out when you breathe in smoke, exhaling around the joint as you hold it between your lips. 

Everything is fuzzy. You feel a burning need in your stomach, warmth spreading throughout your whole body. Wanda is everywhere, her hands tangled in your hair, her lips on your skin and her pussy gripping you like she needs you to survive. One of her hands reaches down to rub her clit, and you take one last drag of the joint before she grabs it between nimble fingers and breathes deeply. 

“Gonna cum, baby,” she mutters, blowing smoke directly into your face. 

You nod, moaning low as her movements become erratic. She reaches down, her eyes glinting as she forces the joint between your lips. It’s almost out, the lit end flickering dimly as you breathe in, feeling your skin start to tingle. 

“Cum inside me,” Wanda whispers, smiling darkly at you as your cock throbs violently inside her at the words, her hand hovering over your chest. The lit end of the joint is hot and close to your skin, your heart racing as you begin to understand what her next move is.

“Hurt me,” you moan, your voice pleading as you continue to thrust up into her. Her hand moves quickly over her clit, her walls squeezing you as she begins to fall over the edge. Your skin burns, the lit end of the joint extinguishing on your chest as Wanda grinds it into you, her pupils blown while she moans. 

Her orgasm seems to last forever, a whispered command for you to cum sending you over the edge as pain and pleasure mix together. Your whole body seizes, your balls tightening as Wanda’s walls grip your cock, your hot cum spurting inside her. You feel nothing but warmth and pleasure, the slight burn on your chest amplifying every sensation as your head spins, Wanda’s tongue soothing the mark while she drops the joint in the ashtray.

“Good job, pet,” she murmurs, moving her hips as she fucks herself slowly on your length. Your cum seeps out of her, dripping onto you and smearing on your stomach. Wanda trembles, slowing completely before finally stopping, your cock buried deep inside her. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, every muscle in your body relaxing as your orgasm fades. You can feel your cock twitching, her warm walls gently squeezing you and keeping you hard. Your hands are released, Wanda’s lips kissing your wrists where the seatbelt dug into your skin. 

“I love seeing you like this,” she mumbles. 

You nod, knowing exactly what she means. Wanda loves control, and you love giving it to her. She craves being in charge of your pleasure, and you find it incredibly arousing to give your choice in the matter up to her. 

Wanda moves slowly, putting another rolling paper on your slightly damp stomach, your chest heaving from your orgasm. You don’t say anything, enjoying her presence as she prepares another joint. The smell wraps around you, vanilla mixing in the air as the haze lazily swirls about, jazz playing softly as you feel your cock start to harden again with each subtle shift of Wanda’s hips. It’s obscene, the way your cum and her arousal drip out of her, coating your length. 

You can’t focus on anything, your head fuzzy and warm as you feel your high pleasantly fill your body. Wanda lights the joint, the smell of freshly burning weed adding to the layers of sensations already present in the car. 

“Let’s finish this,” Wanda smirks, sucking more smoke into her lungs before placing the joint between your slack lips. You obey, taking a long, deep breath as her eyes darken at your submission. “I want you nice and pliant for me before we go again.”

Well, you certainly weren’t going to complain about that.

---

Dm or comment to be added!

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[literaryavenger]

Everybody pictures Bucky joining the team as a broody, sour and glaring machine, but what if he just... Isn't? Because I can honestly picture him as like Jim from The Office.

Like, after he recovers in Wakanda and they manage to stop Thanos before he can get all the stones because Thor went for the head, life settles into a routine as the Avengers work together to keep the peace on Earth (and the rest of the Universe in Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy's case) and living at the Compound.

Slowly, an organization not unlike Shield starts growing again, but this time it's done the right way with Steve as the leader next to Fury and no Hydra or Red Room or purple alien grape with a nutsack chin plotting behind the scenes.

Of course, this means the Avengers have to train new cadets. Each member gets their own class to teach between missions until they're ready to graduate to agents and then the cicle starts all over again.

Bucky is mostly fine with this, the cadets are competent enough and respect him because they know his history, (also who wouldn't respect an Avenger that literally helped save the Universe?) but every once in a while he gets a cocky, insubordinate, defiant cadet that takes advantage of his easy-going nature. And he doesn't know how to handle it.

"I have to make an example out of him." Bucky mutters lowly to you as you both discreetly watch Cadet Johnson take a break from training with the other agents-in-training he convinced to relax instead of doing the exercise Bucky politely requested ordered they do.

"I could yell at him?" Bucky looks at you with a small frown.

"Can you yell?" You raise an eyebrow at him, mostly amused.

"Oh, I yell." Bucky insists. "You've heard me yell."

"I've heard you exclaim." You correct him after thinking about it for a moment. "Like that time you said, 'Hey, we parked over here!'"

"Well, that was Plums Day. There's no need to yell that day." He says like it's obvious as he turns back to look at the trainees. "I was just excited to find our car after leaving the farmer's market. Perfect end to a perfect day."

You almost want to laugh and coo at him at how cute and innocent he seems when he talks like that, but you simply kiss his cheek.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Sarge." You pat his arm and make your way out of the training room, leaving an adorably pouty Bucky behind.

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 3

It's scrunkly time.

I hope you guys like it, I wasn't so sure about this one. T∆T

Reader ages 12 - 15

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Not long after Grayson's departure from the manor... He came along, Jason Todd.

Coming in, rough around the edges, and bringing joy to the hollow halls. Ones you've roamed like a ghost on your own for years. He's got more adolescent defiance than your whole clique put together. The type of energy that shook up the old bones of this old house and awakened hope in your heart once again.

This was the kid's first time having a solid roof over his head, warm bed to sleep in, decent food to eat and people to worry about him, a real home. Unlike Bruce, who couldn't come to terms with your relations or Dick, who felt threatened by it. Jason was loud and clear in his intentions, he wanted to make the most of his new family. Including you.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a stocky build for a twelve year old stands besides Alfred. “Master Jason will be living with us in the manor. He'll be a brother of sorts to you, just as Master Dick.” but you didn't want this to be like your and Dick's unstable relationship.

Alfred smiled at the determination set on your face as you gave him your name, “It's nice to meet you.” your hand quickly outstretched to the boy, “Uh, I hope.. we can be.. friends?”

Jason's face lights up your offer, taking your hand in his, “Yeah, friends. ‘Never had a sibling before.” Tugging you closer, his hand in yours pulls you along, “Come on, show me around.”

From then on, your days spent with only Alfred for company had a new, refreshing addition. 

Alfred has allowed the two of you to start cooking your own breakfast unsupervised. Given that you don't burn the kitchen down. “How many times have you done this?” Jason huffs as he picks egg shells from the bowl he's whisking. They slip through the tongs of the fork as he scrapes them along the side.

Pouring your egg mixture into the frying pan, you smile teasingly at him. “Only a few.” You take the bowl from his frustrated hands, “Try this, it might be more your speed.”

He accepts the wrapped loaf of bread with a scowl. Pulling out the toaster with a grumble, “I'm not an idiot, I know how to fend for myself.” 

“I never said you were. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff.” You move to the sink, wetting your fingers to pluck the last bits from the bowl. “

Jason turns away, stuffing four slices into the double toaster. “So it's just cooking that i suck at?” He drops his head on the counter, arms crossing as he grumbles.

Returning to the stove, you move your own cooking egg to the side. “No! You're the best at, like, everything you do.” Tipping the contents into the pan it sizzles to life again. “A few shells won't change that.”

There's pink clinging to his ears at your praise, “I'm not good at everything..”

“Oh my- obviously!”

“What!?” Sputtering, he whips his head around.

“It's bruning!” Yanking the plug from the toaster, the blackened squares pop up together. Three out of the four of them come out half charred. 

“Tha-that doesn't count.” The heat creeping up his neck flushes his face. “You distracted me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah.” You slide the omelet onto a plate for Jason as he replaces the burnt bread. “Your eggs are done.”

Jason is quick to deflect the old butler's inquiries on the smell of burnt bread. You'd hate to have your kitchen privileges revoked. When you offer to teach him how to crack eggs and use the toaster, he tells you to shut up with an obscured smile.

You were happy. Even when the newest boy wonder was busy training his nights away with the Bat. Talking about Bruce, spending time with him, connecting with him like you never could. Even when Dick started to hang around again. Coming to the manor, eventually joining the occasional patrol. Now Nightwing, protector of Blüd Haven. Brand new spandex, stupid big collar, and everything.

It didn't hurt to see him appear to come around slowly to his successor. Eventually accepting his replacement with relative ease. When you would always just be a thorn in his side, locked in a one-sided fight for first.

"You know how to fight, right?" The two of you were sitting outside. It was as muggy as Gotham usually is but it felt nice to be out.

He snorts, tossing a stone hard across the water. "Of course. Can't get by on the streets without." The small rock hops only twice before sinking.

Swiping a smooth stone from the shoreline, you run your finger along it, inspecting each divet and groove. "Can you.. teach me?" 

Sure, you were trained in martial arts but, being on the mat differs from being on the street. While your work in Gymnastics has helped you slip through and run when need be. You knew you might have to fight back one day. Maybe you wanted to.

There's a huff of exasperation behind you "Yeah, no, not happening." 

Dick Grayson's approach was silent until he wanted you to know he was there. Arms crossed and face already set in an unimpressed look.

“What?!" Jason jumps to his feet, making his way swiftly over, "I could totally do it!" 

"Then what?" With a raise of his brow, he scoffs, "Get grounded forever?" 

"It's not like I'm gonna take them-" Dick cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Stop, Jay. You're only going to get the both of you in trouble." The older siblings' hands make their way to his hips.

Tossing your rock across a water's surface, it skips along three times before sinking. “I'm not exactly new to it.”

You're almost surprised when Dick actually responds. "I'm sorry, kid. Bruce isn't going to be happy about it either.” 

As if he would even notice. "You wouldn't have to be so.. worried if I could be taught to defend myself.” Sighing in irritation, you turn your gaze back to the water.

“You don't need to, we can protect you just fine." Dick steps up behind you, patting your head. The contact catches your breath painfully and you have to fight the urge to swat it away. "And if you really don't want anyone to worry. Stay home. Stay safe." Stay out of the way. 

When he finally leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. Jason's abrupt grasp pulls your attention back to him, "Dickie and the old man can blow smoke." His grin was brighter than the sun, his hand clasping yours as he pulled you to your feet, "Let's go."

You can't fight the pull at your own lips, feet stumbling to catch up to his sudden pace. "Right behind you."

No, it didn't hurt. Because you won't let it, because, despite it all, he always came back to you. 

After packing your schedule with martial arts training Mondays and Wednesday before stitch work and knitting circle with Alfred. Gwen decides to join your gymnastics, her studies leaving her sitting at a desk too long. Tuesdays you drag both girls to self defense classes, you've seen enough shit go down with the birds. Also, it's Gotham, they should be better equipped to handle themselves. Your photos with Mj for the paper is due Thursday morning in time for the paper to come out on Friday. That leaves the weekend up for grabs. This one in particular was claimed by both your friends and brother.

“Whatcha readin’?” 

Jason jolts in his seat, slapping his hand over his mouth to subjugate any embarrassing noises. With a bark of your name he whips around to find you snickering over his shoulder. 

Cerulean eyes narrow as he grumbles at you. “How do you do that.. it's unnatural.” 

It was unnatural to he who trains under the Bat. You used to hate being unintentionally sneaking. Mj and Gwen can pick you out of a crowd of clones, there's no way you could sneak up on either of them. But, other people? Shrieking when they finally realized you were in the same room as them. That only made you feel even more invisible, and not in the ways you wanted.

You scoff, “That's dramatic.” Now, with Jason, you can finally get a laugh from it. Settling down on the couch beside him, you recognize the book in his hand, “Hey, that's one of mine!”

Swiping it away before you have the chance to snatch it, “Ha! Shouldn't have left it out.” he lifts the novella over his head, tongue stuck out at you.

“It was in my room, on my bed.” You huff, jumping for it as he stands, holding it over your head. 

“Yeah, it was, wasn't it?” Jason smirks, waving the book just out of reach, “Y'know, you actually have taste. Sometimes.”

“Give it back!" Grabbing his forearm you try pulling it down but do better at lifting yourself off the ground.

"I'm almost done." He chuckles into his fist at your frantic cat like swiping.

"Wow. So, this is the totally cool brother you've been talking about?” At the sound of a new voice, he snaps his attention to Mj. Arms crossed as she leaned against the archway to the living room.

“Dunno.. Sounds like a bully to me.” Gwen chimes in coming up besides her. She mirrors Mjs stance, doubling the judgemental

The book falls from Jason's hands and you catch it. Tucking it away safely under your arm.“Wha- uh, no! I am totally cool, ask them!” Jason whips around to hiss at you, face flushed with mortification, “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing your friends over?”

You roll your eyes, “I did. That's, like, the one thing we talked about before school this morning.” You can just barely hear the strained ‘Oooooh, right.’ as he mumbled something about a long night under his breath. Of course, he tries to make a ‘smooth’ recovery only to be blasted by your friends. You do, eventually, come to his defense.

It's nice to bring these two sides of yourself together like this. Jason may make an ass of himself but at least he knows how to not lose face completely. It makes you proud when, at the end of their stay, they sing his praises. Insisting on involving him again in their next visit to the manor. 

He came home, he sought you out, he wanted that connection you craved. The one thing you wanted, for one of them to look away from the stage of their busy lives and find you there. Waiting at home, creating that solace from a bustling world beyond these solid walls.

Creeping your door shut, you slide the lock closed. Having someone walk in on you was never a worry before. Now, whether it be doing homework together, exchanging books, deciding anything, general complaining and gossip, avoiding chores, especially hiding from Bruce and occasionally just to annoy you. Your brother struts in whenever the whim strikes him. The prick.. Shuffling to the bed, you land on it heavily alongside your bookbag. Books, pencils, and such escape their confines, your camera ferried out on top of the pile.

With a stretch and sigh, you get ready to nip pick. Three folders, each with a plethora of candids, articles, and notes. One in particular is becoming just a smidge overcrowded. Threatening to spill its contents every time it's jostled a bit too much.

What can you say? Your brother serves more than just justice in that cute lil Robin suit, and his action shots are the best. The guy is out there having fun and it shows. Your friends even agree when you can't help gushing over your late night photography sessions.

Well, after calling you crazy for going out at night in this city. Especially, with how close to the fighting you had obviously gotten. It may have taken a while to convince them that you weren't going to get yourself caught up in the middle of a Riddler maze or Two-face shoot out.

Deciding which should go in and which should come out is always a tedious process. The one with better exposure or with neater composition? You've already got a shot of him perched on that same gargoyle but, this one's a year old now. Maybe you could keep both, like a comparison, but you couldn't possibly.. maybe.. Then you'd go over your count and need to tosse another and you'd have to pick which and-Your cell rings. 

Lost in thought, the noise makes you jump like a cat at the loud sound. Swiping the noisy thing off the sheets, you answer with a huff.

“Heyyyy.. Sorry, I can't make it tonight..” Jason's voice came through the phone with tight regret, “I've got, uh... something came up. Tomorrow, I promise.”

It was a phrase you've heard before, more times to count. They'd use such weak excuses, only for tomorrow to never come. There was no later.

“Yeah, it's okay Jay.” The response was automatic, coming without a thought. How could you deny their call to action? There were always going to be things more important. “I get it. Just.. be safe, okay?”

“Of course, not like I'm doing anything crazy. I'll be with Bruce, we're fine.”

So, it didn't hurt that he tried keeping you in the dark like they did. You knew his concern was real, his care genuine. At least you want to know that he meant it, that he wasn't trying to push you aside. You'd just have to trust him.

“Up there! It's Batman!” A young boy yelps and tugs at his mother's arm, finger raised to the sky.

Eyes cast upwards, you watch as they jump from one building to the next. Capes billowing in the wind behind them. Following close, you run along sidewalks and duck through alleyways to keep up.

Pulling your camera up, you snap shots of Robin as he leaps off a rooftop. Capturing him mid-air, bright yellow fluttering behind him. The domino hardly masking his face of sheer joy paired with intense focus. His were always your favorite, filling his folder was easy. You wish you could show him some of the pictures you have of him. Maybe someday the two of you could go through it together. Would he find it creepy? Hopefully not...

You would never dare voice it but, you were envious of them. When they took to the soggy Gotham skies, gliding with ease above it all. Mouth hung agape, you watched the wind blowing through Jason's hair, and Dick with his flips and twirls. Even Bruce, using his cape to glide alongside them.

Well, maybe you told- “Alfred!” Your ride’s here and your mad dash through the city has been cut short.

“Crime alley is no place for an upstanding teen.” He tuts with a smile as you reach the car. Always a pinch of sugar with his scolding, “Come along, let's get home.”

Hopping in beside him, you can't keep your eyes off the stars. “I want to fly like them one day...” With a hum, He drives you two back to the manor.

Life is feeling better by the day. It's as if everythings clicked into place. The years you get with him are the most whole you feel. The only real sense of normalcy throughout your youth.

That night, he was home late despite not being on patrol. You overheard, well eavesdropped, that Jason was put off duty. Still he was out on his own, positively pissed, and came home after dark. Heading straight to his room, he brushes off Alfred, insisting on being left alone.

You can't help finding yourself standing anxiously at his door anyway. It didn't feel right, letting him fester in his anger alone. Knocking yields no results but, calling out his name softly earns you the same in return.

Opening the door slowly you peek in to see him, sitting on his bed with a box. His face is grim but he waves you in, motioning for you to sit with him. You do, placing yourself at the foot of his bed. Across from him with a box of papers and photos between you. Jason fiddles with an old looking photo, scanning it over and over. 

"I know you don't like talking about it, but," He swallows thickly before his eyes can meet yours pensively. "You, um, got a mom, right?"

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of you. Yeah, you didn't like to talk about it, let alone think about it. "I guess, technically." You shrug it off the best you can, "I mean, ya know, everyone's gotta come from somewhere."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the picture back into the cardboard. "Yeah, no shit, that's not what I'm saying."

Really? You came to check in on him. Now you’re being snipped at over something he knows you're sensitive about. "Well, then, I don't want to know if your just-" Before you can fully lift yourself off the bed, he's gripping your wrist.

"Wait! I'm sorry, don't go!" His fingers tremble around his hold on you. He tries not to squeeze you too tightly while still keeping you close. "I-I just.." His other hand grips the box enough to crumple the cardboard under it.

"Jay..." You sigh, this unusual distress from your brother making giving in easier "I don't know. Maybe before but, I don't remember back then." Just nightmares of things you couldn't grip the memory of fully. Thinking of your mother and what she may have gone through with you? Only if it could help with whatever's eating at him, "I can't remember anything before being here. Blurry faces, locations I can't place. I didn't even know what her name was. Can't remember her face.."

When you sit back down he finally releases you. A hand runs through black curled, "I shouldn't have asked. Sorry if it's..."

"No, it's whatever. Who cares? Just..." You shrug, looking over the darkening Gotham sky, "Must not have been anything good." Fingers twist into the sheet below you in unease.

It did hurt though, every question slipping through your finger never to be answered. Flitting past your mind painfully when you linger too long on the past.

Your eyes are drawn back to Jason as he pulls a paper from the box. "I got some stuff earlier and..." He shows you old documents and photos that he was given by an old neighbor. You recognized the little Jason with, from what you're told, his father and stepmother. 

His explanation paused as you cooed at his baby face, which he does not appreciate. So, the woman who raised him, who passed, wasn't the same as his birth mother, who's alive. "I think I can find her but I don't know how long it'll take. I"

"That's," Blinking a few times at plie of evidence towards his childhood, you look back at him. "alot, but I'm sure if anyone could do it, that's you."

"You're not gonna.. try to talk me out of it?"

"Would you listen?" You raise a brow at him, his shoulders shoot up in turn, guilt evident. "Exactly." With a smirk you help him pack away everything. His face still knit pensively even after he sets the box aside, you scan the partly packed suitcase. It starts to feel too real but you know there's no helping it. So, you offer him all you can, taking his hand in yours, "Look, I don't know where you're going or what you're doing exactly but,” You squeeze his fingers and he returns it, “I trust you and I'll always be here for you."

Jason pulls your connected hand, rigging you into a tight embrace. "Thanks." His chuckle waivers against your shoulder, arms constricting around your midsection.

You repay his embrace in kind, forgiving the crushing weight of his hug as you blink away tears. "Just, please, stay safe. Okay?"

"Of course, look at who you're talking to, I'm the definition of cautious." He pulls away enough to give you a winning grin and you return it with your hardest 'You're joking, right?' face. "Alright, fine. I'll be careful. I'll be safe. Promise.”

“So, how are you getting there?" You sit crossed legs on his beds as he packs his bag. Chin resting on your palms you tilt your head as his rifles around his pocket.

“These!” He presents her a literal handful of credit cards. "I'll be flying, first class, duh” he notices your dropped jaw. "Please don't tell Alfred..." 

Teeth snapping shut, hands dropping to your lap, you blink at his little card haul, “Jason," you sighed, exasperated, “Where are you going?"

“The.. middle east?” Chuckling nervously as he stuffs them away, he watches the concern grow on your face at just how far he would be going.

“Your- Please, if you listen to anything I say. Jason.” You grab his shoulders, setting him with your sternest look “Do not die.”

“Oh my- Seriously?!" Rolling his eyes he shrugs your hands off, “I'm not gonna die!"

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

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[dance-is-life27]

Drive

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: After you find yourself not able to sleep, you take Joaquin out for a late night drive.

Warnings: Gender Neutral Reader, fluff, friends to lovers, flirting, first kiss, driving at night, not beta read

A/N: I need everyone to thank Halsey because the song Drive really inspired both of my most recent fics for some reason.

Reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

You know that it’s late when you call, that the last thing that you should be doing right now is interrupting Joaquin’s sleep but your brain has been going a thousand miles a minute since the sun set and you're desperate to do anything to get it to shut up for once. 

And still, Joaquin answers anyway. 

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks you, his voice deeper than usual as sleep mixes over the concern for you calling so late at night. The fact that he answered at all makes your heart flutter. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” You ask instead of replying, the silence that stretches over the call makes you wonder briefly if he’s fallen back asleep but it’s then that you hear movement on the other side of the line.

Joaquin clears his throat, “Give me ten minutes.” 

“I’m giving you five, Falcon.” 

Joaquin comes out true to his word, or yours you guess, five minutes later in a hoodie, a pair of shorts, and some old converse. You can’t help but laugh when he picks up speed to get to your car, probably to escape the biting wind that you know is howling right outside. It doesn’t take long before Joaquin is sliding into your passenger seat, looking tired but nonetheless happy to see you. 

“Hey,” Joaquin grins at you before his brows furrow, “what’s going on? Are you okay?” Joaquin’s eyes drift down your body, probably trying to check for any physical injuries on you but you wave him off with your hand before reaching for the radio. Turning up the volume you let the music from the station fill the silence before you take off. 

You drive around city streets, taking both new and familiar turns alike, letting only your gut lead you to where you want to go next. It’s surprisingly blissful being out this late, not that many cars on the road and any tension that you might normally hold within you during the day is completely gone. As expected, it doesn’t take long for Joaquin to start talking again about anything and everything, you turn the music down and try to keep up with the conversation when you can but mostly you’re just focused on keeping your eyes on the road. And it helps that Joaquin doesn’t seem to mind either, happy to talk and to let his words be the perfect distraction for you. 

It’s easy to admit that this is exactly what you were wanting when you pulled up outside of Joaquin’s house, debating if you should call him or not. 

You don’t know how long it is that you drive for, or where you’ve ended up, only that at some point you’ve yawned one too many times and that your eyes have started to feel heavy. That’s your cue to get you to pull into the nearest empty parking lot. You finally relax as you put your car in park, letting your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the headrest. 

A few moments pass before you realize that Joaquin has stopped speaking entirely and you crack open an eye to look at him.

“What’s on your mind, Torres?” 

Joaquin tilts his head, “What’s on yours?” he questions, an added gentleness to it that makes you feel comforted. Safe, in a way that only Joaquin has the power to do.

You shrug, before you finally force yourself to answer, “Everything, I guess. Couldn’t sleep, decided I wanted to go for a drive, then decided that I wanted some company and called you.” 

“Oh.” 

You laugh despite yourself, “Yeah, oh.” 

Silence stretches on in the closed space of your car. When you do find it in you to open your eyes again you're greeted by the dazzling sights of the city you’re in. A sight that you find yourself taking for granted more often than not these days. You look around at empty buildings lit up by neon lights, a sight that replaces the glow of the stars in the night sky. You’ll never get over just how mesmerizing the world around you becomes when you just stop to look and admire it  for once. 

You turn your head to face Joaquin, maybe to ask him a stupid question but the words die on your tongue when you find him already looking at you. 

“What are you doing?” You eventually ask as you stare at Joaquin, taking in how the glow from a business sign near by highlights his face in a gorgeous wash of blue and purple. 

“Enjoying the view,” Joaquin replies before he smiles at you and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. “Oh, c’mon that was a good line!” Joaquin tries to defend but even he doesn’t stop the few chuckles that leave him either. 

“It was cheesy.” 

Joaquin clicks his tongue before he leans over the center console, gently invading your personal bubble, “A good cheesy?” Joaquin inquires, his eyebrows going up as a smirk stretches wide on his face. You just barely repress the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I don’t think there is such a thing.” You reply, leaning into Joaquin as you do so. 

Joaquin hums, the low sound feels like it echoes in the space between you two, “Maybe you think too much.” 

You shrug, “Maybe I do,” Joaquin’s eyes shine in the night, the look of lights and love reflect in the all consuming warmth of brown, “You got a good solution for me?” 

Joaquin nods only once, the movement so minuscule that you barely notice it before he leans in. “I’ve got a few ideas.” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips as the gap between you both finally closes. You sigh into the kiss, a warmth settling over you as you and Joaquin explore each other like this for the first time. It’s gentle and soft and intense all at the same time, a mix that leaves you dizzy and your hands come up to cradle Joaquin’s face in an effort to ground you in reality. It feels like hours pass by when you and Joaquin break apart for air. 

You both gasp, your noses still brushing together as you breathe each other in. 

“We should-” Joaquin pants, you realize then that this is the first time you’ve ever seen Joaquin Torres at a loss for words. Speechless, because of you. “We should go on drives like this more often.” You find yourself nodding in agreement as Joaquin grins at you. The sight of his blinding smile and his flushed face under the lights makes you want to pull him back in again but you refrain, pulling back slightly when Joaquin tries to lean in again. He takes your cue without a word spoken and settles back into the seat as if nothing had happened at all. 

Your eyes glance over at the clock and you realize just how late it's gotten, “And you should’ve had your idea sooner,” Joaquin looks at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly questioning where you’re going with this, “Might’ve saved me some gas.” 

Joaquin’s laughter rings out as you put your car in reverse, you use your phone to map out the quickest way back to Joaquin’s place as you have a feeling that you won’t have any more trouble with falling asleep tonight. 

[ghostofmarvel]

Decompressing

Bob Reynolds x Gender Neutral!Reader

Author’s note: I’m just thinking about the Thunderbolts* and Bob… Specifically Bob’s eyes… so um here’s this, enjoy. Minors do not interact, thank you.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x gender neutral! reader

Synopsis: You teach Bob how to decompress :)

Content ahead: smut, sub!Bob, Bob likes being called a good boy, gentle dom!reader, mutual masturbation, oral sex, fingering, 69ing, reader has ambiguous genitalia, Sentry makes a slight appearance oops, switch!bob?, essence of switch!bob, usage of the term “sweetheart” for Bob (because he’s a sweetheart), basically p w/o plot, Bob wants to be good for you

Word count: 2,075

Bob being part of the team is truly the key in having the team remain a team. He’s the glue holding the whole team together because no matter how much everyone seems to bicker and fight one another after every mission, everyone loves Bob and Bob loves everyone. He’s essentially everyone’s decompression guy, which you are endlessly grateful for, but it leaves you to question what is Bob doing to decompress?

This brings you to your current situation where you’re sitting next to Bob in the center of his bed, backs against his headboard as you both lay with legs spread and hands underneath your pajama bottoms and underwear. Bob is leaning his head against your shoulder with your head resting on top of his as you watch his hand move slowly under his pants. He whines as his eyes squeeze shut in reaction to the sensation, “I-I-I don’t understand how this is supposed to help me calm down.”

You let out a soft moan as your hands slips out from your pants to reach around his shoulder, holding his head against you as you turn to kiss his head, body turning slightly to cross your leg over his as your other hand trails down his torso nearing the gap between his flesh and his tented clothing making room for his moving hand. His breathe hitches as your hand plays along the hem of his bottoms, fingers slightly dipping in between the gap of clothing and skin. You sigh as your fingers trail from playing with the coarse hair down his lower stomach to his pubic bone, “You will be calm after this, you’re decompressing, sweetheart.”

Bob moans at the sensation and the name you call him, body turning towards you as his hips rock towards you, lips absently kissing in the space between your neck and shoulder, “P-please, touch me,” he whispers breathlessly between kisses. His hand slips out from his pants as they move from squeezing your thigh to your chest.

You coo at him, “Bobby, sweetheart, the goal of this is so you know how to decompress by yourself.” Even with your words, your hands are moving to trace his cock through his flannel pajama pants.

Bob whines in response, “But why would I do that when I have you?”

You smile at his words, ruffling his hair as he begins to lazily suck on your neck, “You’re right. C’mon, help me take these off,” you gesture by tugging down on his pants, “I got a better idea on how we can both decompress.”

Bob excitedly nods and rushes to pull off his pants and boxer briefs, staring at you as you stand up to pull off your shirt and bottoms, “God you are so hot,” he compliments with both his words and a twitch of his cock.

You let out a soft laugh as you pull your underwear down, watching the precum leak out from his cock, “C’mon, pretty boy, why don’t you lay down for me huh?” You get back on the bed on your knees as Bob practically jumps down the bed to lay flat, his hard cock hitting his lower stomach where it lays heavy, begging to be touched.

You smile as you lean over Bob, giving him a sweet kiss as you give his cock a few tugs. He moans into the kiss, bucking his hips upwards for more contact. You quickly pull your hand away, prompting a cry from him before quickly quieting at you positioning yourself on top of him, your legs on either side of his head with your ass facing him.

Before he has any chance to question, you say to him “Breathe,” before leaning to sit back on his face. He moans as his hands go to grasp your ass, mouth kissing hungrily between your legs. You moan as you lean your chest forward, prompting you to lay on top of Bob with your face directly next to his cock. Completing this motion lifts you off his face somewhat, something he finds completely unacceptable as he readily cranes his neck up, wrapping his arms around your lower back, palm splayed flat across it applying slight pressure to hold you in place as he digs his face right back in between your legs. You moan as your hand reaches to stroke his cock, moving your head like a snake trying to get his cock in your mouth from this position with his movements shaking you slightly. With such a close, intimate position you’re both in, you immediately take in at least 3 inches of his cock in your mouth as you rest comfortably on top of him. You both moan at the feeling of his cock in your mouth, your tongue and moan wrapping around his cock making him roll his eyes back as he breaks away from you with a series of whimpering moans, “F-fuck you’re good, ah!”

You pull his cock out of your mouth, a coating of saliva covering his cock as he whines at the absence of your warm mouth. You’re quick to replace your mouth with the controlled movements of your hands over his now lubricated cock. His whine shifts to a broken moan in a brief second, effectively melting his brain slightly as he only focuses on pleasure and how good that pleasure feels.

“Where’s your mouth, sweetheart?” You ask, giving his cock a quick, open mouth kiss as you slowly stroke his cock, intentionally edging him.

Bob shutters at your contact, “I can’t focus my mouth on making you feel good when you’re making me feel SO so good,” he apologetically announces with a thrust of his hips upwards to meet your hands wrapped around him.

You give an apologetic kiss to his cock as your hand moves to firmly grasp his cock by the base, making it stand tall as you cupped his balls, causing a strangled noise he tried not to release to come out. “Well, you got hands don’t you?” you mockingly ask with a squeeze of your hands.

He shakes his head yes, even if you can’t see it in the position you’re in, and rushes his hands to rub up the backs of your thighs to your ass, paying special care to the bouncy flesh. He’s quick to suck two of his fingers intensely, making sure he coats them in his own saliva before circling his fingers around your hole. He draws out a “good boy” from you as he sinks a finger in you, moving steady and slow.

You moan as you take his length back in your mouth, hand stroking his cock, working in unison as you bob your head up and down. Bob views your praise and your mouth as rewards, so he continues the movement of his finger as he places kisses on your cheeks.

He tries. He really tries to focus his mouth on you, but he can’t help all the noises escaping from him as you relentlessly work your mouth and hands on his cock. The warm, wetness of mouth with the pressure of it all drives Bob to be full of energy, his eyes flickering between normal to his sentry yellow eyes. His arm flees to wrap around your lower back as he struggles to break focus from your divine mouth. He then replays in his head you calling him “good boy” and he regains focus on his submission and how he needs to focus on pleasing you.

Bob slides his second finger into you, causing your hand to grasp a bit harder on his cock, your other hand flying to squeeze his thigh as you choke out broken words on his cock. Bob can’t help but to thrust his hips up ever so slightly and ever so slowly into your heavenly mouth as he fucks his fingers in and out of you slowly, letting out a drawn out exasperated moan. You can tell he’s starting to reach a true mindless, submissive state as you’re not even sure he’s fully aware he’s thrusting his own hips up into your mouth, his cock going deeper and deeper in your throat. You slowly snap your hips up and down to meet his thrusting fingers, encouraging him to pick up the pace. You egg on his movement by increasing your own movement of your hands.

Bob eagerly picks up on your increased pace, rhythmically speeding up the pace of his thrusting fingers into your warm opening as his hips lift off the bed, trying to have his pubic bone meet with your chin. He moans out your name with chants of “please” and a broken cry of “god I’m so close.” You moan with your lips around his cock as you shake your head yes while squeezing his thighs, signaling your encouragement for him to take control of his orgasm.

Your submissive sweetheart fully thrusts up into your mouth as endless moans pour out of his, his eyes struggling to stay open and to remain one color. He’s approaching his climax when his eyes open widely to the pending sensation, his view full of his wet fingers thrusting in and out of you with your ass centimeters away from smothering his face. With that view, Bob cums with a trembling final thrust into your mouth, shakiness overtaking his body.

You lick his cock as your mouth remains tightly wrapped around him, causing Bob to release a squeak of a moan as his cock twitches in the aftermath of his powerful orgasm. After his cock seemingly begins to calm down, you slowly pull your mouth off his cock, swallowing the treat he gave you. You slowly pull yourself off of Bob as his breathless moans turn into pants, a sign of him calming down. You flip yourself over to rest your head on his chest, your arm and leg reaching over his body as you lay next to him. Bob sighs happily as his arms instantly wrap around you, finally decompressing. You kiss his chest as you hum, “You did such a good job, my love.”

He’s content as his breathing begins to become more regular as he reflects on the experience you two just shared. Hot, steamy, and needy memories cross his mind as his cock gives a phantom twitch to the recent memory of your lovingly warm mouth. He’s thinking fondly before he grabs you with urgency as you shoot to look up at him. Your face begs question out of his action as he exclaims, “Wait, you didn’t get to decompress with me.”

You half sit up from your original position on top of him, propping your head up with your arm as you look at your lover with confusion, “I did compress? Silly, you touched me and I got to be with you.”

Bob is quick to correct as he sits up, “But you didn’t cum.”

Your mind silently goes ohhh as you suddenly click together what he meant by decompression. You click your lips before soothing Bob, “Oh sweetheart, that’s okay, there’s always later.” You try to wrap your arm around his lower torso to get him back to laying down, but he resists, a sudden immovability felt as you result in laying face flat against the bed with a small laugh after failing to get him to crash into bed with you. You look up at him, expecting to see him smiling, but instead you see him with his altered yellow eye color.

He turns to you with an inquisitive look on his face, “Why don’t you show me how you decompress? Please?”

You sit yourself up as you look into his eyes, “You sure you don’t want to get some rest, sweetheart? It’s late,” you push some strands out of his face behind his ears.

His eye blink close and when he opened them his eyes were back to his normal blue hue, his face turning to follow your hand that brushed past his face, his head nodding, “Yes, I want to learn what makes you feel good. I just want to be good for you, please.”

You cup his cheek in your hand, and he turns his head to give your palm a quick kiss before turning his cheek back into your grasp, melting into your touch. You sigh lovingly as your thumb taps his mouth, “Okay, pretty boy, open up that mouth for me will you?”

Author’s endnote: uhhh, anyways that’s kinda crazy right lol. i haven’t written a fic, let alone smut, in SO long this feels crazy that i did this. i was BLUSHING while writing/editing this TvT

anyways please let me know what you thought! feel free to request or drop a message! :)

[mlm-writer]

Thoughtful (Wade Wilson x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Wade Wilson aka Deadpool x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: Mature (because reader says fuck) Words: 821 POV: Second Summary: Little domestic snippet with your boyfriend <3 Note: No proofreading because I am lazy. If you see a typo, no you don't. Tags: domestic fluff, cuddles, established relationship and chocolate milk

A waft of cold air infiltrated the apartment, rousing you from your warmed nap by the radiator. “NO,” you exclaimed reflexively, without even regaining full consciousness. You thrashed around on the couch, the thick blanket you had draped over yourself got tangled in your legs. A leather-clad hand came to rest on your shoulder. You relaxed and felt the blanket slowly being freed and tucket under your cold body.  

“Just stay half-asleep,” Wade’s gentle voice soothed you as he placed the blanket over you again. “Just don’t fully sleep, cause then the writer will have to write me doing stuff to you while you sleep and while I am a good guy, it still feels a little weird.” 

You turned over to your other side. “Shut up, Wade,” you mumbled, making your boyfriend giggle like a little lovestruck teenage girl. A bit later you felt a large weight crushing you just as you were about to fall back asleep. You groaned. “You’re heavy, get off me!” Wade pulled the blanket off your face and started peppering it in little kisses. 

“Come on babyboo, you love me so much, how can you resist me?” You thrashed around, trying to wrestle Wade off you, but he captured your lips with his, going in for the killer move of distracting you with slow and deep kisses. His rough lips slid against yours; his tongue coaxed its way inside your mouth to dance with yours. Your lips parted with a gasp and in the split second that Wade was distracted too, you chucked him off you, sending him from the couch to the cold hard floor. 

“You underestimate how much I love breathing,” you grinned in victory. Wade shifted on the floor, getting into a more elegant position where he laid on his side with one knee bent and an arm supporting his head. You rolled your eyes as he made suggestive eyebrow wiggles at you. “You woke me up. You owe me a hot chocolate.” It took your boyfriend less than two seconds to get on his feet and be on his way to the kitchen to fulfill your very high demands. You stayed on the couch like a burrito, staring at the black screen of the TV. Turning it on would require sticking your arm out into the cold. 

“I love this show!” Wade quipped from behind you where he was heating up the milk in the microwave. “I love the part where the person does the thing at the place. Don't you?” You rolled your eyes so hard they almost proverbially rolled out of your sockets. Wade chattered on an on about ‘the show’. “And I really like the entity that says the words that mean a lot. You know when it said the thing that helped the other character do the other thing? Oh what a great episode that was!” He didn't shut up until he came into your field of vision and kissed your cheek. “Here you go my little love spring roll.” He said down next to you and turned on the TV. He held the mug at your neck height. In the Pinkie Pie mug sat a glittery pink reusable straw. You smiled and craned your neck down to take a sip without exposing anything but your face to the air. 

“Thank you, baby,” you hummed happily as he put on a bad comedy movie and diligently held the mug up for you. When you had drank it all, he put it down and tugged softly at the corner of your blanket. “Fine, you have earned cocoon rights…” you sigh as you open up the blanket long enough for Wade to also crawl under it. You hissed at his cold skin coming into contact with you. “Fuck you're so cold,” you complained as you wrapped your arms around him, warming him with your body heat. Wade tugged his head under your chin, drinking in your warmth and scent. 

“You'll have to deal with it baby. The nonnie requested cuddles.”

“The who?”

“Oh don't worry about it sweet cheeks.”

You diverted your eyes back to the screen. Wade had the tendency to wiggle around, but your steady arms around him kept him safe and warm. He was surprisingly still. You didn't make it to the credits, the warm coziness lulling you back into a peaceful slumber before dinner. When you woke up, you noticed two things. One, you were a lonely burrito. Two, you could smell take out. You rolled off the couch and followed your nose to the dinner table, where a white plastic back with red lanterns on it was waiting for you. The receipt was taped on top with the back facing you. Red ink adorned the back of the receipt, the message “will be back after killing some bad guys! Love you!” was surrounded by little hearts. A smile stretched over your face. How thoughtful. 

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

[moonyflesh]

mood.

[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[cece693]

MY JEALOUS GOD

pairing: loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader synopsis: You didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with Loki—who would?—yet while everybody knew he was the god of mischief, to you, he's your jealous god.

The first sign something is off is the smell of petrichor in the living-room. You’d left the windows shut, but there it is: the scent of rain on stone, the signature Loki’s magic often leaves behind when he appears or, more ominously, when he’s been brooding. You round the corner and find him lounging on your couch, boots on the cushions, one arm draped over the back like a cat who’s caught the red dot and now wonders what to do with it.

“Evening,” he purrs, voice all velvet knives. “Did you have fun at Stark’s little soirée?”

You shrug out of your jacket, the lining still warm from Stark Tower’s overheated ball-room, and drape it over the brocade armchair by the hearth. A faint metallic tang of repulsor exhaust still clings to the fabric—a souvenir of Tony’s annual “low-impact” fireworks display.

“Fun enough,” you say, massaging the crick in your neck. “Tony’s birthday parties feature far fewer homicidal drones these days—small mercies—but it would’ve been considerably more enjoyable if my favorite god hadn’t ghosted before dessert.”

Loki’s smile thins. “Your dance card appeared congested.”

The archaic phrasing is deliberate, a rapier flick from a prince raised on court formalities. You know exactly which name hides behind the euphemism: Peter Parker, cheeks redder than Stark’s armor, tugging at a too-tight bowtie while begging you for “just one dance.” When FRIDAY obligingly queued a crackling waltz from 1912, you’d accepted to save the poor kid from spontaneous combustion and to keep Natasha from collecting wagers on whether he’d faint.

“Peter’s pulse only spikes to dangerous levels when I’m near,” you remind Loki gently, toeing off your shoes. “Because he’s nineteen, Loki—”

“Twenty,” Loki interjects, tone glacial. “I checked the records.”

“—fine, twenty. He idolizes everyone with an Avengers passcode. Our waltz lasted 90 seconds and ended with him apologizing for stepping on my feet.”

“Yet long enough for you to laugh,” Loki murmurs, verdant eyes darkening. The words carry neither accusation nor injury—something colder, older, like frost creeping across glass. Outside the window lightning flickers, though the forecast promised clear skies.

You cross to him, letting your hand skim his shoulder until frost becomes warmth. “One laugh, one spin, no hearts stolen. You, darling, occupy all available real estate here.” You tap your sternum.

Loki’s lips curl in a silken crescent, but the flicker behind his lashes is anything but serene. Emerald irises catch the lamplight, bright as storm-lit seawater—an omen you’ve learned to read the way sailors read cloud fronts.

You plant your hands on your hips. “Loki,” you say, drawing out every syllable like a sharpening stone, “what did you do?”

He splays a hand across his chest in wounded theater. “Must you presume mischief every time I inhale?”

“Yes.”

A beat. His shoulders slump in an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I may have redirected young Parker’s web-shooters.”

“Redirected how?”

“Up.”

“Loki!”

He waves a dismissive hand, as though you’ve merely noted the weather. “Midgardian gravity is pathetic. The boy dangled for what?—fifty two seconds before Rogers hauled him in. Perfectly safe.”

Your glare could etch glass. “And the glitter bomb that detonated on Clint?”

A flick of irritation crawls up Loki’s brow ridge—caught, again. You press on.

“I was having a perfectly calm chat with him about Lucky adjusting to farm life,” you remind him, tone sharpened to surgical steel. “Clint was mid-sentence—something about the dog finally not chasing tractors—when this puff of emerald smoke swallowed him whole. Next thing I know, he’s radioactive-pink from head to tactical boots.”

A half-smile curls Loki’s mouth, wicked as a fox in the henhouse. “Yes. I refined the pigment with bifrost dust—gives it that delightful day-glow sheen.”

“Which is now ground permanently into SHIELD-issue Kevlar.”

“An upgrade,” Loki counters. “Barton’s wardrobe needed flair.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I leave you alone for two hours—”

“You left me alone with them.”

The soft snarl on “them” tells the truth: Loki never felt comfortable in the Avengers’ tower, tolerated largely because of you. Their wary stares scratch old wounds he pretends have healed. Tonight, seeing you laugh—actually laugh—with the people who once hunted him? Salt in the fracture.

You exhale and join him on the couch, prying his booted feet off the cushions. They thunk to the floor. “Talk.”

“Must we?” His gaze flicks to the ceiling, expression somewhere between tragic poet and sullen teenager. “You looked radiant. They ogled you like magpies. I grew irritated.”

“Jealous.”

He scoffs, but the word loosens him. “Yes. Jealous. There. I despise how it feels—like being chained again, only the shackles are inside my ribs.”

Your annoyance softens. You catch Loki’s chin, turning his face until emerald meets your gaze. “If you need reassurance, ask. Don’t rig equipment or hex people. Use your words.”

His lips quirk. “I have many words. Most of them sharp.”

“Then learn soft ones.” You brush your thumb across his lower lip. “Tell me the truth instead of setting glitter‐traps and letting innocent people hang from the ceiling.”

A silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of Manhattan traffic. Finally, Loki exhales the breath he has been hoarding for pride.

“Very well. The truth: I watched you toss your head back laughing at Clint's joke and it felt like frostbite. I wanted that sound kept for me alone. I imagined Parker’s mask cracking under illusion spiders; I pictured Stark’s suit misfiring champagne across his face. I thought of a dozen vicious things, all because you smiled.”

You let the confession settle. His jealousy is a thunderstorm—beautiful from afar, dangerous when you’re underneath. But storms can be guided.

“You’re allowed to want,” you say slowly, “and I’m allowed friends. The line is harm, Loki. Pranks that bruise bodies or egos cross it.”

He leans in, voice low. “I will try. But understand: my nature is not serenity. It is wind and wildfire. I can shape it for you, but extinguish it? Never.”

You press a kiss to his forehead—just there, where the crown would sit if he still wore one. “I don’t want it extinguished. Just channeled.”

His shoulders relax, mischief dimming to ember. “Then give me a target suitable for such channeling.”

“I have one. The dishwasher’s broken again.” You gesture toward the kitchen. “If you must hex something, hex the water jets. Make them behave.”

It earns you a surprised laugh, warm and genuine. “Very well, my love. I will wage war upon domestic inconveniences.” Loki rises, cloak swirling into existence with theatrical flare. “But first—”

He snaps his fingers. A soft pop sounds behind you. You turn to see a potted hydrangea now placed in the middle of the coffee table. Petals the deepest green—the exact shade of his eyes. A peace offering formed from silent magic instead of spite.

“Soft words,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath fans your ear. “And softer deeds.”

You twine your fingers with his. “Keep practicing, Mischief-Prince. I’m a patient teacher.”

He smirks. “And I, an attentive student—provided the lessons are interactive.” You roll your eyes but tug him toward the kitchen nonetheless. Behind you, the hydrangea’s petals shimmer, shedding a faint glitter that—mercifully—stays on the plant.

[bbyseok]

Nights Like This : Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word count: 3k words

Content: Avenger!Bucky, gender neutral reader, petnames ‘sweetheart’ and ‘doll’ used, rivals to lovers, canon typical violence/injuries, some explicit language, romantic/sexual tension, suggestiveness

Synopsis: You’re a SHIELD agent with the night off… until a certain super soldier shows up at your door.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything and this is my first time writing for Bucky, so please enjoy! <3 And ty to my pookie Moony for moral support :3

— — —

You’re off duty. It’s a quiet night, a rare moment of peace where New York or any other place on the planet isn’t facing some impending danger.

So here you are in your quaint Brooklyn flat, rather than your designated room in the Avengers Tower in order to maintain this temporary peace all to yourself. No ongoing missions, no super enhanced roommates, no interfering AI (though you know JARVIS means well).

Curled up on the sofa, there’s some mediocre action movie playing on the TV screen as you nurse a bowl of your chosen snack. The last few weeks have been rough—tactical work on the field always is.

Your body can feel the exertion taking a toll on your limbs now as you sink further into the couch cushions with a sigh. Honestly, you’re tempted to doze off right here and now when suddenly, something proves that your peace is indeed temporary.

A knock sounds at the door.

You stir, a frown on your lips as you glance at the source of the noise. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour. You mutter, “Who the hell…”

You set aside your bowl on the coffee tabble and reach for your handgun you had placed aside. (What? One can never be too careful in this sort of profession.)

Not bothering to turn the TV off, you creep towards the front door and peek through the eyehole for a person—only to be met with the sight of something even worse.

It’s Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes, the formidable Winter Soldier turned redeemed Avenger, a force to be reckoned with in the throes of combat. Though, you know him as something else entirely.

A pain in the ass.

You don’t even remember how it started. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been on your nerves. From criticizing your performance during missions to making teasing comments when you’re minding your own business in the Tower.

(It doesn’t help that he looks damn good when doing it, but hey, no one heard that from you.)

With an exasperated sigh, you unlock the door and swing it open, fixing him with an unamused expression. “What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?”

He looks a little worse for wear. You remember that he had been assigned a long mission a while ago, which it seems like he had finally wrapped up considering the fact that he’s still clad in his gear. His metal arm is definitely dirty, but it still gleams somewhat due to the hallway light from above. His hair is messy and there’s a few cuts on his face.

(He still looks good. Unsurprisingly.)

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky simply greets, a ghost of a smirk curling on his lips as he leans on your doorframe. You’re tempted to shut the door right in his stupid handsome face... but then you notice he’s clutching his side with his flesh arm and— shit, he’s bleeding. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You blink hard in disbelief. Disbelief that one: he had come to you out of all people after getting injured apparently, and two: that he had gotten injured in the first place. Now you know he isn’t invincible, but it still takes you by surprise.

“There better be a good explanation for this,” you grumble under your breath, swinging the door open wider to make way for him.

Bucky eyes the gun still in your hand. “Hope you aren’t looking to put me out of my misery and using that on me,” he remarks dryly as he makes his way inside, still clutching the bloody side of his abdomen.

You roll your eyes and shut the door promptly, but not without casting a surveying glance outside just to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. You doubt it ‘cause it’s Bucky, but again, one can’t be too careful.

Bucky makes his way to your sofa, and you internally cringe knowing all the grime and dirt he’s going to leave on it.

He’s only been in your apartment once.

A few months ago, when he had insisted on walking you home himself after a night out with the rest of the team drinking. Vaguely, you remembered through your headache the following morning of him helping you into your apartment and tucking you into bed.

(He hadn’t brought it up afterwards, so you didn’t too.)

“Do not sit your filthy ass on my couch, Barnes,” you stop him before he can do such a thing, and he turns to offer you a glare. His icy gaze is enough for you to feel the chills, but you point to another door.

“Bathroom,” you inform, “I have first aid in there.”

With a grunt, the super soldier trudges over to the door. Before you follow him, you toss the handgun back on the coffee table. He’s taking in the appearance of your bathroom when you join him inside. He meets your eyes in the mirror, and you can tell he’s about to say something.

Before he can though, you forcefully make him sit down on to the toilet seat, to which he blinks up at you with that same icy stare.

“Care to tell me why you’re here?” you pry with a slight frown. You can feel his eyes lingering on you whilst you open a cabinet for the required items for first aid.

“The end of the mission just went differently than expected,” Bucky says curtly with a shrug. However, with the movement of his shoulders causes a strained hiss of pain emit from him.

You set aside some of the things—alcohol, wipes, some gauze—to meet his awaiting stare. “That’s not what I meant, Bucky,” you reply in a quiet tone, your brows coming to a furrow.

He blinks at you real slow.

“I meant.. why did you come here?” you ask more firmly, shaking your head, “I’m sure you can get patched up at the Tower. Or hell, maybe even a hospital nearby.”

Bucky is silent for a few heartbeats. “You were closer. Saved me the trouble,” he clarifies. He then adds, “Unless you want me to leave.”

For some reason, that last part irks you. You heave out a sigh. “No, you’re already here. As funny as it would be, I don’t think the team would appreciate you dying out on a street after I sent you away.”

His lips twitch into something of amusement. “Don’t know. I think Stark would find that pretty funny too.”

You almost laugh. You match his amused expression before tapping at his right arm that’s still applying pressure to whatever wound he has. “Lemme see.”

He gingerly moves his arm out of the way, but it’s hard to determine what the wound is with the gear still on. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to take this off, Barnes,” you comment, narrowing your eyes at the blood staining the material.

Bucky huffs but he begins tugging and removing the straps and buckles and whatnot. It’s a struggle considering the fact that he’s tired and injured—but touching him feels too awkward, too intimate.

Eventually, he removes the top part of his suit off with a grunt and— oh, he’s shirtless.

You try not to stare. Obviously it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. After some missions, days in the training room, in your dreams… but he can’t ever know that.

“That bad?”

His voice abruptly stirs you out of your staring. You can see the injury now—it looks like a bullet grazed his side just barely. You hum in acknowledgment, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”

A hoarse chuckle leaves Bucky then. “You don’t sound so thrilled now, doll.”

You grab the bottle of isopropyl alcohol and some of the gauze you had placed near the sink to dab at the wound. He grits his teeth at the sting, but other than that, he doesn’t move.

“Oh trust me, I am beyond elated,” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. You try to focus on completing first aid, rather than the fact that you’re touching him—his bare skin.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything in return. But honestly, you wish he would because you can feel his eyes burning into you. It’s almost unnerving. He lets you finish in silence.

The quiet that fills the space of the bathroom is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s just the sound of you cleaning and patching up his injury and his soft breathing.

When you’re finished, you sigh. Your eyes flicker upwards to his face, your lips flitting into a small frown to see his face still bruised and cut. Without another word, you start tending to that too.

Bucky blinks in brief surprise. “You don’t have to,” he says lowly, but he doesn’t protest any further nor move away from your touch.

A particular cut on his cheek makes him wince when you go over it, and absentmindedly, you grasp his chin to tilt his head back your way. He blinks hard again.

“Stay still,” you chide, pursing your lips in concentration. He does just that.

Finally, you’re done. When you pause in your ministrations, your breath nearly catches in your throat as your eyes meet his. It’s only now do you realize just how close the two of you are with you leaning in.

You can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “Thanks,” he murmurs quietly into the very little space between you.

“I…” You don’t pull away, not yet. The stormy blue of his eyes up close like this is almost startling. And then you lean back. “Don’t mention it,” you brush off.

Bucky shifts on the toilet seat, eyes still watching you like a hawk as you fix and put away the first aid items away back in their place. “You gonna kick me out now?” he jests, something to ease the tension in the atmosphere. At least, you think that’s what he’s trying to do.

It works, at least. “I’m sure you can show yourself out the door,” you retaliate. You turn back to glance at him. “Unless you need me to hold your hand.”

He rolls his eyes and stands with a grunt. “I think I can manage.”

Oh, fuck, he’s still shirtless—you blatantly realize as he rises to his full height. Suddenly the bathroom feels much smaller than it actually is. If it had been another time, you might’ve laughed since he looks so out of place standing there.

“Well,” you clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward, “Have a good night, Barnes.”

Bucky shifts on his weight, his combat boots shuffling on the tiles. “That’s it?” he gets out gruffly.

You quirk up a brow. “So you do want me to hold your hand?”

At that, he puffs out a chuckle, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair frame his face. “Lemme borrow a shirt, at the very least. I don’t think putting my gear on again will be any good.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now as you head out of the bathroom. But he does have a point, so you start your way to the bedroom.

“You owe me then. You’re going to stain one of my precious shirts,” you throw a teasing remark over your shoulder.

But he’s right on your heels, trailing after you. You didn’t think he’d been following so closely behind you, so you quickly look back ahead.

He hums aloud. “You’ll let me pay you back in some way.”

“Damn right.”

The two of you enter your bedroom and you make a beeline for one the dressers in search of a shirt that might fit him. Digging through the clothes, you’re still hyperaware of his presence standing by idly.

You fish out an old tee that he might manage to fit in and hold it out to him.

Bucky takes it into his hands with a tilt of his head. “You’re being awfully kind to me, sweetheart,” he tells you.

His comment prompts you to cross your arms. “Well, you did insist on me helping you out,” you argue with a soft shake of your head.

Bucky only stares. “You still could’ve turned me away.”

“Look, I already told you,” you say, exasperated, “I might not like you but I’m not just gonna not do anything when you show up bleeding in my apartment like it’s a patient room or something.”

“Yeah?”

The man still makes no move to put the shirt on, unrelenting in his stare. (Sam is totally right about his staring problem.) It’s unnerving. Dare you say you can feel a flurry of butterflies stirring in your stomach under the weight of it.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Bucky closes the distance between you ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he affirms, the fabric of the shirt twisting in his grip, “I mean it. Really.”

His genuine gratitude almost makes you take a step back. Instead, you swallow and nod. “You said that already.”

“I did,” he agrees. He takes another step closer. You don’t move back.

But you blink—uncertain, cautious. “You’re acting strange.” You decide to be blunt and confront him on his current antics. His behavior tonight has confused you too much.

It’s the usual back and forth banter that happens between you—but something felt different… too intimate. The way he had showed up at your door, the proximity in the bathroom, this current confrontation right where you’re standing.

“Only on nights like this,” comes Bucky’s reply as he comes to stand right in front of you. He’s not as close as he was when you were patching him up, but enough to where you can smell the lingering alcohol you had used on his wound.

You blink at him. “Nights when you’re injured?”

Bucky puffs out a laugh. It’s a soft sound. But his next words catch you off guard. “Nights when you make it hard to hold back.”

What?

Your surprise must be colored all over your face because you can see the faintest of smirks on his lips. It stirs up another set of butterflies within you.

“Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?” you manage to inquire, trying to steel your nerves. If he’s implying what you think he’s implying, your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.

“I…” He trails off, his look shifting into something more serious. You can feel the heat of his breath again… but when had he gotten closer? He then murmurs, “Just let me thank you.”

His right hand brushes against the length of your arm, and you can feel the goosebumps he leaves along your skin as he does so. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.

“Put the damn shirt on already, Barnes,” you whisper. You don't even realize that your voice is quieter than you would’ve liked—not with roar of your heartbeat in your ears.

Something cheeky comes across his expression. His smirk returns, and there’s a flicker of mirth in his blue eyes. “I don’t think you want that.”

He’s right though.

You don’t.

“No,” you voice out your agreement.

Against your better judgment, your own hand comes up to tenderly dust your fingertips over his chest. His bare skin is warm and smooth to touch, even with all the scarring both old and new.

Bucky’s breath stutters. It’s a barely audible sound, but you hear it.

What the hell are you doing? Bucky drives you crazy and annoys you to no end—and until now, you thought it had been the same for him. (Turns out you had been driving him crazy in a different way.) There’s a blooming sensation in your chest the longer you stare into Bucky’s eyes.

The words leave your lips before you can think twice.

“I want you to kiss me.”

The world seems to stop for just a moment.

Your lips part in order to say something, anything… maybe to take back the words you had just uttered—before Bucky leans in and kisses you silly.

A groan resonates from his chest as he does. The shirt drops from his metal hand since you can feel the coolness of it cup your cheek, angling your head into the kiss with need.

Your hand mirrors his, feeling the stubble under your palm whilst your other hand allows its fingers to tangle themselves into the threads of his hair.

It’s a blur of what happens next—both of your feet are shuffling against the carpet as you stumble back with his persistence, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and allowing the two of you to fall onto the mattress.

Bucky presses open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, a hefty laugh sketched onto your skin there. “And here I was, under the impression that you didn’t like me, sweetheart.” He refers to your earlier words.

You want to retort, but you’re a little distracted with the way his weight settles on top of you. God, and he’s still fucking shirtless. You huff, but it’s a fond noise.

He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at you. “Thank you,” he says for the nth time that night. The look in his eyes is enough to make you melt into the bed, but in a pleasant way.

“For what?”

Bucky’s smile radiates charm. For being a man out of time, he’s still got it. “For patching me up. For letting me kiss you. For.. being here for me.”

His unfiltered fondness has your heart thudding faster against your ribcage. Saying “you’re welcome” doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel enough. Not for Bucky—not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now. So you say the next best thing.

“Shut up, Barnes.”

And then your fingers are curling into the nape of his neck to pull him down towards you for another breathless kiss.

Hm. Maybe you can get used to having the night off.