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buckysm · 4 months ago

Text

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★ part one, part two

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ word count 8.4k+ (this was going to be 5k but then i ended up writing about 2.5k worth of smut... so!! beware)

ᯓ★a/n: this is weeks late, life happens, shit happens we get back up to write bucky barnes faniction. {para @dove4444 te amo, perdon por la espera <33333} (minor grammar edits on mar 11)

ᯓ★ summary: Tensions rise when a ‘friendship’ builds that leave both of you wanting more. Everyone can see how his eyes never leave you. If only you could get your head out of your ass and see for yourself.

ᯓ★ series warnings/ tags/ tropes: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, separation, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut, Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication Soft Bucky Barnes, Mentions of torture off screen ------[PART TWO WARNINGS: unhealthy coping strategies, miscommunication, smut, dry humping, cursing in other languages (Spanish and Russian), dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, p in v unprotected sex]

You needed time to heal after— two days of bed rest, stitches, and recovery from a heavily sprained ankle. And unfortunately for Bucky, that meant no clandestine meetings at quarter past two in the morning.

He tried his best to keep away. After the initial reunion, he handed you into the infirmary and avoided everyone like the plague. They avoided him right back; he couldn’t blame them. He felt as if a storm cloud enveloped him without you, knew he had murder in his eyes. It cost him to hand you up to the doctors, a pang in his heart at having you taken from him once again. He told himself it wasn’t like that, and you would be back in his line of sight before he knew it. His subconscious disagreed, so he trained for hours until he passed out on a mat, warring voices in his head quieting down with exhaustion that pulled at his body and made gravity stronger. Phantom hands yanking him down into oblivion mid-workout. He toed the line of danger training without a spotter, but once the black started to spot his vision and his dry throat burned with rage —he was a super soldier, neglecting hydration helped him pass out faster— he knew to go to the mat so when he did pass out, at least he wouldn’t injure himself.

One of those days, he came to the Black Widow frowning from above him.

He grumbled an intentionally incoherent sentence, not feeling like interacting. The redhead’s brows furrowed further. Unimpressed with his antics.

“Get a grip, Barnes, this self-pity schtick has to go. Here.”

He felt more than saw the weight of a water bottle against his stomach. Almost snarled before remembering himself. It was a bit embarrassing. He sat up and grabbed at the water with resentment in what was meant to be one fluid movement but came out clumsy and sluggish. His head pounded, his vision clouded. Embarrassing. Begrudgingly, he unscrewed the water bottle and finished it in slow, measured drinks under Black Widow’s judging gaze.

Said redhead dropped to a crouch, eye level with him, frown unfurling, and even he could see the concern in her eyes and the unpleased twist of her lips.

“Barnes, look. I long ago forgave you for the scar you gave me, and I know that you hold yourself guilty for— don’t give me that look. You know you do. Anyway, the others wanted to stage an intervention— No, before you start, let me finish! They care about you. —No. I know that face. I’m going to ignore all your passive-aggressive expressions now, you petulant child— I know you don’t like to think much about what happened during— well, yes, I know you remember. Haven’t you ever stopped to think why the fifty-sixth floor stayed destroyed? Huh? Yeah! Thought you didn’t. I know you pay close attention to Tony, so I know you know he is prideful and a perfectionist. He wouldn’t leave a floor wrecked just because. And before you get angry. No, he didn’t tell anyone why he let it be. And I know for a fact that he turned off the cameras. I couldn’t find any trace of the feed for the floor, and I am Black Widow — it didn’t take me long to figure out he had forgiven you no matter how much he teases you. Yes, he was hurt, but he ultimately understood that it wasn’t a choice, and he cares in his own asshole way. He— We care about you, Barnes. And I know things have been awkward with Steve�� since you tried to kill him and all--, but if you don’t see that he cherishes you, then you have been lying to yourself. And she cares, too! Did you know she has been accepting visitors? She’s about to be discharged to her own room tomorrow morning. She didn’t need to stay in the infirmary, but Tony worries, and I know you do too. So there is no reason to stay away from your friend— no rational reason. And it pains me to see hope bloom in her eyes once the door opens and how she tries to cover up its shatter when it’s not you. You two understand each other. You are best friends. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. We live together. She wears her heart on her sleeve. You just have to learn to read her tells. She will never outright say what she means to say. She will veil her true feelings with insults and sarcasm. Now take a shower and go to her, you big fucking idiot. You reek.” She sprang up in one smooth motion, leaving him with a fond stern look and scolded, all of which reminded him of his sister.

That was the longest she had ever spoken in front of him, even putting every interaction together. He didn’t have time to unpack everything, though. Bucky was left reeling, jaw clenched to prevent it from slacking open in shock. His breaths came in faster and faster. He missed you so much. He couldn’t stop thinking about having you in his arms, wanting you back there forever. But Black Widow was right. He reeked.

His thoughts ran a mile a second, his body going through the motions without instruction. He went to his bathroom, showered, and did his night routine on autopilot.

It was late… you were most definitely sleeping. His every thought is hyper-focused on you. On the fact that you weren’t there, your absence was a heavy and loud presence in his heart.

Bucky stared at his bed, bones weary and freshly showered. He would lie to himself if he said he contemplated sleeping there and visiting you tomorrow. He needed you now— needed you always— But his need for you felt more pronounced at that moment. His body was tired, but it yearned to hold you more than it did sleep. He needed his nightly dose of you. And even then, that wouldn’t be enough; he needed you close, needed you in ways that had him blushing and running himself a cold shower. He shook his head, trying to lose memories of him jerking himself off at breakneck speed, to find some sort of release of the lustful torture he found himself in just by thinking about you— never mind breathing in your scent.

He threw himself on his bed. He tried to keep away, but truly, he did. But between the lands of consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw you. Screaming for him, crying out as you were tortured. He couldn’t take it. His heart pounded as he ran his fingers aggressively through his hair.

He knew you deserved all that was good in the world, and that excluded him — but that didn’t calm down the tension in his body palpable through his teeth. Bucky tried to breathe in and think rationally, but his limbs moved on their own accord as if deciding for him.

His mind was a passenger to his body as he was pulled by an invisible string holding his heart hostage, tethered to you, throughout the building to your door.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You couldn’t sleep, or rather, you had been knocked out for a while, sleeping on and off, drifting between the blurred line of realistic nightmare and nonsensical reality, dozed in a wide array of medicine, and found yourself squirming at two a.m. in the morning.

You were unable to move much. Your leg was elevated to aid your heavy sprain.

Your eyes were heavy, blinking slowly in the darkness. You were so uncomfortable and had to sit with one big fact. Squirmed with it. You wanted to see him. You distracted yourself from any other thoughts, from processing whatever the fuck happened in the warehouse, the new drops in the bucket of blood and death, with memories of his arms around yours. You had relished in life-giving away beneath your hands, just as they had relished in breaking your bones. You glared at your palms as if they would give you an answer to why you didn’t feel guilty. You had to kill your way out. No one was coming to save you. He would’ve. You could see it in his eyes. He was about to fight Captain America to get to you. You shivered, not knowing how to take it. He had been so relieved, and so had you.

Your inhale was shaky. You tried to think of him, but— your greatest fears had come true those long hours before you escaped. Half unconscious with pain, you thought you were back in Hydra. When you screamed in pain from the torture, you thought those nights with him had all been a nice dream. That the beautiful man with the sad blue eyes had been a hallucination. The cruel eyes from not too long ago blurred into those of your past, of older memories from Hydra. A variety of eyes, twin flames, mirrored each other with sadistic pleasure and glee. There was a twist in your gut that didn’t let you give up and told you there was a man with soulful eyes and a gorgeous smile waiting for you. Pure grit brought you back online, moving your body in ways you hadn’t since your Hydra days. Killed so many. You were scared that you didn’t care. Bucky was real, had hugged you so tight—

But an anxious, paranoid part of you still thought so. You hadn’t seen him in days, and the rational part of you knew he was real, but a dark and needy side of you needed him here to believe it. A heavy sensation of being trapped grew in your body; your limbs, heavy and achy, impeded you from moving much. Frustration built in your chest, rising and rising. Your breaths came out fast and shallow. You didn’t know how to manage it, needed to move, needed him.

A knock at the door dragged you from your haze. Hope failed to bloom in your chest. Too often, it had grown only for someone who wasn’t Jamie to enter the hospital room.

You couldn’t see through your distress. It was late, and you didn’t want to be bothered— not by anyone who wasn’t him. You slid a hand under your pillow, fingers curling around the grip of your knife.

You knew those soft footsteps, familiar with them even in their uncertainty— you were dreaming. “Doll?” Oh, how you missed him.

You placed the knife on the bedside. “Jamie?” You weren’t able to keep the excitement and relief from your voice.

“I had a nightmare. I had to check for myself. I’ll let you sleep.” His voice was gruff, worried. Worried.

Yes, you were, in fact, dreaming a pain medication-induced nice dream. Your Jamie was proud. He would never— this was your dream where you could do whatever you wanted, and you wanted him around you. “Come here. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

Dream Jamie didn’t hesitate. The bed shifted with his weight. You flinched when you felt cold metal against you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I can move—”

You giggled softly. The dark haze dissipates from your mind by his presence. “It’s alright, Jamie. You’re so cold. Get under the covers with me.” You yawned. Now that you weren’t in distress, your subconscious pulled you towards sleep—deeper sleep since you were already in the sandman’s territory.

There was an awkward shuffle as he got inside the covers.

You curled around the cold metal arm as best as you could with restricted movement. You yawned again. “G’night, Jamie. Try to get some sleep. We’re safe here; nothing can hurt us in my dream. I’m so glad to have you in my arms. I missed you so much. So happy you’re real and here, even if it is a dream, Jamie.” Your words murmured. You rubbed your face into his cotton shirt. The pounding of his heart lulled you to sleep.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You thought you were dreaming! Did you dream of him often? It didn’t matter. He would ponder this new revelation later; now, he would focus on your soft, pliant body against him and tiredness overtaking him.

Bucky’s consciousness came to him in phases, each more forceful than the last, crashing into him in waves. The first sensation he became aware of was warmth. His body relaxed against it. It was familiar, as he had dreamt of it. The next thing he noticed was that the warmth was tangible, had a soft give to it— he could feel it. He rolled his neck against foreign pillows… His eyes flew open, muscles tensing slightly with alarm.

Your soft sleeping body cocooned his left side. It enveloped his usually cold metal arm— which was at that moment the same temperature as your body. He so badly wanted to give in again. Burrow into your warm, soft skin. He barely had time to overthink it. His groggy mind almost reached consciousness before a soft murmur from your lips brought his thoughts to heel.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, s’early Jamie, sleep.” You didn’t seem to care about him not being a product of REM. You curled up tighter around him. Your smile bigger than last night, cheek pressed against his metal arm. And never had he felt any semblance of gratefulness toward Stark. But the new arm sent feedback to his brain. A weapon of destruction cradled and enveloped softly by your body. Somehow, you trusted him. He felt less like a weapon with no agency and more like a person. He liked touching you with his metal arm. He knew that it was tainted, but your touch made it pure. Bucky acknowledged that he would’ve never gotten you here with him without that still-wrecked floor. Unwanted tears prickled in his eyes. Would he ever live up to this forgiveness?

He didn’t want to think anymore, so he followed the laced command in your sweet, sleepy voice, urging him back to dreamland and succumbing to his dreams.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The air around the two of you shifted after the one-person intervention. And yes, of course, the team noticed, but they chose to say nothing. They were glad that Natasha had gone in to talk to him by herself. Although she never did retell what happened, it seemed to work. And while they liked to tease Bucky— some billionaire philanthropists more than others— they were happy for him; he seemed a little calmer than before. Settled into himself.

While he never directly came out and touched you in front of them. He started orbiting you blatantly. Taking a seat next to you during the rare shared meals. Glaring at anyone who dared take his spot next to you on the couch. Walking into a room and making his way to you.

Two particular instances engraved themselves into the team members' minds who were lucky enough to behold it.

The first event took place in the morning. It started like any other. You chit-chatted with Steve and Nat as you made two breakfast bagels. They might’ve thought you had woken up hungry that day were it not for the two cups of coffee you set in front of the plate holding the two halved bagels.

Tony tinkered with a toaster in the background, his eyes looking up slowly when Bucky walked in, fingers not stopping their ministrations on the machinery.

And the team had been so wrong. Yes, Bucky had a strong disposition, but the way he always stared at you so intently was. It should have been obvious. It was like their eyes opened after the mission had gone wrong. The man was so obviously besotted with you.

It couldn’t be clearer as the usual dark storm cloud over him dissolved when his eyes found you. He strode toward you with one track mind.

You spoke to him before your gaze found his as if sensing his presence. “Hey there, I just made you my favorite breakfast. Grab our plate. Here’s your coffee. Dark and joyless like you.” You turned to look at him with barely veiled glee.

Steve’s brows furrowed slightly, concerned. He used to make those kinds of jokes with his Bucky, but he didn’t know how this Bucky would react.

Tony’s eyes furrowed with concern—

Bucky huffed and pursed his lips. But his eyes. They were accustomed to his eyes being perpetually set in a glare.

His gaze was soft, voice softer, “Doll… You know me so well.”

Your grin was dazzling, and you were the only one who missed the way his stare lingered a bit too long on your lips.

DOLL??? Oh, you guys were clearly fucking. Natasha smiled, amused, and raised an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve gaped at Bucky, lost and forlorn. He had spent so long tiptoeing around the man who used to be his best friend.

Bucky didn’t seem to care that there were other people in the kitchen; the man who didn’t show up for breakfast was long gone. You curled your fingers around the handle of the two coffee cups, concluding the chit-chat. He grabbed the plate with his metal fingers. Then, so slyly as if with half a mind, he reached out his right arm toward you, near your hips. His fingers slid inside the loop of your jeans and yanked you toward him.

You let out a surprised yelp and laughed. “Jamie! Careful. The coffee will spill!” You didn’t seem the least put off by his actions.

They had no clue when it started, but somehow, in a few months, you had gotten through the broken and hurting Winter Soldier and got to Jamie.

Jamie. Bucky never let Steve call him that. It was bittersweet. Your chattering voice faded as he dragged you out of the kitchen. It was then that he came to a conclusion. Bucky was a different man, and he wanted to get to know this version of him.

And they felt guilty. They had given a half-ass try to get to him, put off by his glower. You weren’t perturbed by his grumpiness or his mood swings. Letting him be silent whenever he got too in his head. Chatting to him about whatever until you eventually drew out a small smile perceptible in his usually clouded expression.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You had found yourself in the proud position of Bucky’s friend, closest and best — you did sleep in the same bed—yet you still felt like screaming in frustration. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t unhappy per se. You had him in your arms every night…Your cheek pressed against his warm, sturdy chest. The only thing between keeping your skin from his was a thin, flimsy shirt. And maybe it was wrong for you to, but you longed for more, to touch without restraint. Had feelings with more-than-friends connotations. Not that you had many real friends before you were recruited here. So, while you knew there was a difference between platonic and romantic love. You tried fooling yourself into thinking it was platonic. But you wouldn’t go and kill around 15 people for just about anyone, and it hurt. You wanted him to see you the same way you did him. Rare nights were you holding him instead of the more common inverse.

You’d scrape your fingernails softly through his scalp. Hope would make your heart full, inflating it with every hum of pleasure he let out in his sleep. But then he’d wake up shy and closed off, cheeks red with what you perceived as embarrassment and your heart would collapse once again, hope seeping out and leaving acid in its wake.

But he’d do certain things that would make your heart race, exhilarated and frustrated, leaving you reeling and confused.

Your feelings grew despite your protests, so you kept them locked in nice and tight, hidden even from yourself, for as long as possible.

You were full to the brim with tension, and one particular instance made you lose it, the container breaking with pressure and spilling all over the place.

It went like so. It was early afternoon, and sunlight spilled from the high windows of the tower, casting a warm glow on the room.

Natasha was telling you about these two guys; they invited her and you to a double date. You were certain in your decision not to go. The man you’d be paired up with was the same one who frequented the bar with the team; he had brown eyes and a sleazy smile. Nothing like your Jamie.

You were doubling down on your decision when he walked in.

“Hello, Doll, Nat.” His greeting was gruff, but a few months ago, you would’ve thought him possessed.

Natasha’s eyes glinted with mischief and calculation. She gave you a feral grin before turning around, her expression slipping easily into neutrality. “Bucky, it’s so good that you’re here. You can help me convince her to go out with me.”

Jamie cocked his head, expression unreadable. “Sounds fun, Doll; you need a girl’s night.”

This was it! The perfect opportunity to gauge his reaction to you going out with someone else! “It’s a double date with the guys from communication.” You deliberately omitted the part where you didn’t want to go, wanting to push a grand reaction. —It never came.

You saw his full body tense for a moment, and for a second, your heart soared… only to crash instantly when he gave you a terse smile. His voice was disappointingly steady, “Why don’t you want to go?”

You knew your body was overreacting, knew you were blowing it out of proportion, but your heart shriveled nonetheless. You tried still, but you couldn’t swallow down the frustration. Try as you did. “I like my men a little bit older…” Your mouth answered for you, giving him a cheeky grin.

He turned his full attention toward you, and your body viscerally recoiled from the look in his eyes. An angry and resentful glint in his eyes. So familiar—how he used to stare at you before the first meeting at two a.m.

“You should go.” His words were final, a command.

You didn’t understand, and you almost sobbed then. You prided yourself in being able to count the number of times you had cried on one hand. A chasm was growing between you, distance expanding with every word. He didn’t want you that way. Pinche ilusa! How could he ever want you that way? You snarled instead of crying, “Alright, I will, but don’t expect me here at two in the morning.”

His smile was bitter and mean. “I won’t.”

Your returning smile was filled with spite. Anger bubbling in your throat, you saw red. “Pinche pendejo, deveras.” (Such a fucking prick) It hurt to smile. You didn’t even want to think about the last time you used your Spanish. But his hardened eyes and clenched jaw brought out your most impulsive sides.

Beside you, Nat and Bucky tensed. You lifted your downward gaze toward them. Their heads were cocked to the side, assessing… You’d never slipped into your native tongue.

You took a deep breath before speaking, “I’m going to get ready, Nat! See you at eight!” Smiled at them both before prancing to the elevator, assuming a mask of joy, heart sunken in.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The elevator doors closed in front of you, taking you from him. The Winter Soldier’s gaze lingered on the spot where you’d disappeared, his eyes burning with a mix of longing and frustration before snapping toward his adversary.

The soldier was full of rage. Flowers had bloomed through the cracks in his stone heart only to wilt because of her.

The redheaded sensed the obvious danger and spoke in a language the soldier didn’t understand. He understood her disappointment with him, which displeased the soldier.

“говорить демон.” The soldier growled, beckoning the demon to speak, try to save herself.

She had been a friend…The redheaded demon responded in his language. “You were taking too long, and I couldn’t take any more of her sulking… So speak up or forever hold your peace, soldier. You don’t get to wallow in self-pity and watch life passing you by, cursing time for moving on and not standing still. You can’t unwind the clock, soldier. You can only go forward… So decide carefully before it’s too late.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe, bereft of oxygen. What had he done? Had the soldier really come back because of you? The threat of losing you?

He somehow found himself in his room. He didn’t quite remember how he got there. His brain was a haze of frustration and defeat.

His room felt wrong, empty, and cold. He didn’t even approach his bed, knowing how that whole schtick would go. So Bucky paced and paced, his mind running around in circles.

And what was that whole thing about liking older men? How was he supposed to take it?

He knew he had fucked up. But he wasn’t about to go crash your date… So he went to his training room. Came back to the land of the living hours later, an unknown familiar face framed by gold hair staring down at him. Warmth pressed against his mouth, and he drank greedily.

“… can’t keep hurting yourself like this, Buck.”

Bucky groaned in response and in acknowledgment. Looked at his friend’s concerned eyes. His chest ached with nostalgia, love, regret… everything. “That’s my line, punk.” His voice came out unsteady.

The ground moved underneath him, yanked by his metal arm toward Steve into a tight hug. Bucky’s arms hovered uncertainly for a moment, and he could feel Steve’s large body shake against him. So he hugged his friend back. He had been neglecting Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Stevie, it’s alright.” His voice was fond. He was yanked once again. Twin grips on his shoulders shook him with more force than merited.

“No, you stupid idiot! It’s not alright…” Steve looked like he wanted to say more for a moment, but he knew how Bucky was, so he kept in his spiel and sighed dramatically. “Come on, get some food in your poor body.”

Steve tried to help Bucky walk, which ended up with Captain America being whacked upside down. The blonde turned to Bucky with a fake offense, instead deciding to drag him to the kitchen by force. Oh, how things changed…

Steve had changed…he managed to beat Bucky in a stare-down. Even in his forties after the serum, that only happened once in a blue moon. So Bucky found himself eating a sandwich and a big glass of electrolytes with resentment. His leg bounced with vigor.

He kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding Steve’s too-observant eyes, eyes that had known him since childhood.

As soon as the last bite had been swallowed, Bucky looked up. Only to regret it instantly. Steve had a resolved expression. A glint in his eyes that told him to run. So he did. He was not ready for whatever conversation he wanted to have.

“Where’s Banner?” He pushed off the table in a harsh, sudden movement.

Steve’s face fell, confused and hurt. “Huh?”

“I need a cigarette.”

He got furrowed brows and a cocked head in response.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

A few blocks away, your leg bounced anxiously. Unbeknownst to you, mirroring the person who caused your stress.

You sat across from Nat, your date an uncomfortable breath away. The tension between you was palpable as you struggled to make small talk with him. Thigh pressed to bouncing thigh. You wanted to turn pleading eyes to Nat. And for what? You had come here out of your own volition. Fuck. You needed a smoke. You tried to convince yourself you wanted to be here. If he didn’t want you, you deserved someone who did.

A meaty hand slid against your bare skin. Ala mierda… Yeah, no… Abort.

“Calm down, baby… you are all… amped up… how about we go outside and—”

“That’s a good idea.”

You got a sleazy grin and a flash of eerily perfect teeth. His were charmingly imperfect; he wouldn’t call you baby. He would call you doll….

“I am going outside by myself. I need a smoke. Besides— I left my lighter at home.”

“I-”

“No, thank you. Sorry, Nat.” You flashed your not-so-sorry gaze toward her.

She was amused. “Go! by all means. I’ll get the check.” She moved her hand, shooing you off.

A grip on your arm stopped you. “Don’t tell me it’s because of that creepy guy with murder in his eyes.”

You shivered, giddy with pleasure. It was too obvious of a response for it to fly over your date’s head.

“It is! He stares at you like you hurt him. Like he wants to tie you up in his bed and never let you leave!”

Your wicked grin was enough for him to let you go with a huff of disgust. You didn’t care, kissing Nat’s cheek. “Goodbye, you evil woman.”

She spanked your ass, sending you off. You turned one last time toward her, grinning. Your smiles reflect glee and mirth.

You walked around the city for a while. Savoring being able to do so without recrimination.

You weren’t delusional; you should’ve known better. Yet you were so blinded by self-doubt that you closed your eyes.

Bucky wasn’t loud with his emotions, ever. He swallowed them whole, drowned in them. He was too prideful and scared of being hurt, even if he wanted you. Countless sleepless nights and nights where it was avoided deliberately to see each other told of a man who was interested in you in some capacity.

You weren’t dumb. You just chose to ignore the evidence. Turning a blind eye to the staggering difference in how he spoke to you versus anyone else. He gave you preferential treatment. You cuddled every night for fucks sake! And you doubted that he cared for you? He couldn’t sleep without you, and vice versa!

You checked your phone. 2:03 A.M. What were you stalling for?

You smiled all the way back to the tower.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The third time the elevator doors pinged, Bucky’s hope had worn out. Expecting Steve or Natasha. The latter had come from the double date alone. “I told you to leave me alone to— what had you called it?— wallow in self-pity and the consequences of my actions or whatever.” He raised a shaking hand, knuckles cracked and bleeding— he was embarrassed to admit he had succumbed to his baser needs and punched a wall out of frustration— taking a drag of a cigarette. It tasted radioactive… but it smelled like you. He coughed softly.

An achingly familiar laugh startled him from his stupor. He swerved around with wide eyes. A kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar… “What are you doing here? If you’re here to tell me about — I don’t want to hear it.” He grumbled. Yes, you were friends, but he really, really didn’t want to hear about you sleeping or even breathing in near another man. He took another drag of your cigarette. Filled his lungs with smoke, his blood with chemicals. Okay, yes. He got it now.

“You big, stupid man.” The candor of your voice dripped with irritation. You stomped toward him, heels clacking against the floor, and snatched the smoke from him in harsh movements.

He grunted in response, out of his depth, and turned his gaze toward the skyline. He was aware of your every movement. You took two drags and stomped a perfectly good half of a cigarette with your heel.

He turned to glare at you, giving you a once-over. Fucking helllll….. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bucky needed to dump cold water on himself ASAP. He was reminded of the many, many long showers he had jerked off in before joining you in bed. They were always futile, super soldier refractory period, and your soft skin, and— you were wearing a mini skirt and a top that accentuated your tits. Bucky mentally clutched his 100-year-old pearls. His breath hitched. Eyes catching on thighs— THIGHS. And boobs—BOOBS!Before meeting your pleased predatory gaze.

You took one step toward him. He took one step back.

“I’m going to ask you something. Please answer me honestly— Why don’t you want to hear about my date?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” he ground out his non-answer.

“Why are your knuckles bleeding? Why are you smoking my cigarette?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” He repeated, body tense, ready to pounce, touch, taste. You looked so beautiful. The soft night lights illuminate your tinted lips and glittery eyelids, bringing the color out of your iris.

“Well, I found myself seated next to him and thinking: Jamie wouldn’t say that— but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t you.”

When you advanced toward him this time, his feet stayed planted. You took your time advancing toward him. And you were taller now, easier to reach with those long heels. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed up against him.

His arousal grew to unavoidable levels. Pushing against your hip. “Fuck, doll. You can’t— I’m wrong for you, all messed up and angry. And from the forties…” His fingers clenched and unclenched on his sides. He was lacking in excuses to touch you. His limbs itched to hold you. Dig into you.

“Well, I hate to repeat myself, but I see I have to. I’ve told you I like my men a little bit older… And maybe I’m a bit messed up, too. Because seeing you all fucked up and angry…. Well, I wasn’t upset.”

“I can’t sleep without you. I dream of you, I—”

You smiled with glee, “I know; Natasha was all too pleased to explain to me the mechanics of ‘morning wood.’”

Bucky groaned in response. Letting his hands, metal and otherwise, slide against your hips. It was nothing like cuddling; his intentions were impure. They had always been, but he had not felt any past guilt over his arousal. Unashamed in his guilt, he felt no need to neglect his urges — unless you told him otherwise.

He could tell you had some snarky response in the makings. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off your face. You were gravely mistaken if you thought he would be taking the subservient route. At least right now, he needed to be in control, and you needed to trust him. Needed you.

Your eyes glinted with snark, your mouth opening to tease. His hand coasted up your back to your nape, his fingers gliding into your hair to pull you toward him. Your eyes widened in surprise, pupils blown out. Good, you thought too much; he needed to make your brain shut up.

He held his breath as he leaned in, humming with satisfaction once your lips pressed against his. Your lips, so soft against his. He needed more. He gripped your hip, conscious of the strength in his metal arm. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, but he did want to leave a mark. You gasped in pleasure. Your hands yanked on his hair, and he groaned against your lips.

He set his sights on a wall three paces away, pushing against you. So malleable under him, succumbing so easily to his ministrations, like putty under his hands. His blood sang with the escalating volume of your noises. With each step he took forward, you met with a step back. You gasped as your back met the wall.

“Jamie... please,” your voice was so whiny, so desperate, it made his cock hurt with arousal. Blood rushed in his ears; he needed more, needed you begging. Undone.

He yanked on the base of your hair with one hand, exposing your neck for him. He was oh so happy to kiss and lick your skin. You whined and shifted against him... sensitive. His other hand slid down your skirt until it met your skin. Groaning against your neck, he slid his hand up, finally reaching your perfect ass. He couldn’t feel any underwear... Fuck... he might’ve been from the forties, but he had internet access, and he could call a spade a spade, or in this case, a thong a thong. He yanked on the flimsy thing so it snapped back against your skin.

You whimpered and panted, eyes closed in bliss. He could feel your hips shift as if chasing after stimulation. And who was he to deny you?

He placed both hands just below your ass, lifting you up and pulling them apart, a silent command you gladly followed with a whine and a curse word in Spanish.

You locked your legs around his waist; his erection pressed against your warmth, and his soft cotton pants were doing nothing to help his desperation. He gave up on holding himself back when your lips met his once again, your hips jerking against him.

It was the best thing he had ever felt since... ever. His fingers spread on either side of your ass, your back supported by the wall. He was beyond words, and so were you.

His cotton pants were soaked with your arousal, hiding nothing. He could feel everything: your pussy open for his cock to grind on, and your underwear had twisted to the side. He lost all ability to think, his conscious motor skills deciding to go offline, the only movement he could do was jerking his hips. His lips opened to pant like a dog. It was your turn to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated, as he ground against you.

He had half a mind to be aware of his strength, but each time he tested the waters, pressing harder against you, you moaned louder. So it wasn’t long before he realized you could take all of him.

His body trembled with built-up tension. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced. His hands flexed and tightened on your ass, pressing you harder against him, making the friction so much sweeter. He chased the pleasure with a one-track mind, couldn’t think of anything but your scent, skin, taste – for years, he had felt numb, and you brought him back to life. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to feel such exquisite pleasure; it was you who had his hips jerking, dry humping like teenagers. He didn’t care.

Your fingers clawed at his back, nails scratching his skin; you had long ago stopped kissing him, opting instead for panting against his neck.

Pleasure built and built, mind-numbing. You were saying something... begging for him... He threw his head back and groaned as his pleasure crested, stars exploding behind his eyes; he couldn’t see...

His hips jerked with aftershocks, breaths harsh against your neck; his pants were soiled with his come and your arousal. Your legs slackened, dropping to the floor. Most of your body weight rested on the wall, the rest supported by his hands. He had two functioning brain cells, both reminding him of his selfishness.

You didn’t look displeased with him; your skirt was bunched up at the hips, and your top in disarray. Your eye makeup was a mess, and he loved that. Your panties were slid to the far side, showing off your glistening cunt.

His knees hit the floor before he even realized what he was doing. He felt your thighs shake against his skin as he leaned in to look closer. Your clit was swollen and dark. He leaned in to kiss, to suck. Fingers pressed against his face, pushing him away.

“S’ too sensitive,” your voice wavered.

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking up inquisitively at you.

“Came. Twice,” you clarified, tone shaky with satisfaction. Your gaze followed his movements as he stood up to cradle your face, tilting your head to kiss you softly. He sucked on your teeth before stopping the kiss.

“Huh, didn’t notice. You felt too good. I went crazy. Too bad, though, I want to feel you come on my face and on my cock.”

You smiled, satisfied, a cat who finally got the cream. “Sure, later,” you muttered against him.

“Whenever you want, doll face,” he smiled down at you. You looked fucked all the way to next week, and he hadn’t even dicked you down yet. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a silent request; he obliged happily, carrying you bridal-style to his room.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie was so soft, so careful with you. Your head was hazy with the aftermath of pleasure. No orgasm in your past could hold a flame to the explosive bliss from the earlier encounter.

Your head was hazy as he led you to his bathroom, your mind too fucked out for processing his room. You complied with whichever way he tugged your limbs, sliding off your rumpled clothes until the only thing on your body were your high heels.

He knelt in front of you, his touch tender as if apologizing for moments ago when he ground on you without thought. His cool metal fingers skated up your calf, reaching up to support your knee as his other hand worked on the latch of your heels. He pressed a kiss to each ankle before standing up in front of you.

You blinked slowly, your eyes trained on him. He was still clothed. Why was he still clothed? Your gaze caught on the wet patch on his pants, outlining his half-hard dick. Praise super-soldier metabolism.

You planted your feet on the white marble floor, your arms stretching toward him, fingers curling into his shirt and yanking. “Off.”

He grinned softly – you would never, ever get enough of his smiles – before sliding his shirt off in one swift movement.

Your breath caught in your throat—fuck, he was beautiful.

“Beautiful Jamie,” you said, taking a step closer. You slid one hand up his chest, using the other to trace fingers along scar tissue. He was so… captivating, so utterly himself, that you felt like you were the only person in the world who got to see him like this. “Only for me, only I get to see you like this.” You turned to throw him a challenging glare.

“Doll, I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I don’t share either. Call me old-fashioned –”

“If I see you with another woman, James, I swear to God, I will break my killing streak. And all three of us will end up in a –” Rage had barely simmered from the image before he had yanked on your hips to pull you into another kiss.

“Easy there, Doll, there’s no one else,” his voice was so satisfied, an assured tinge to his candor, in a way you knew it only got for you. You were so fucking stupid for not noticing.

“Good,” you yanked on his pants. “So... super-soldier dick... how long can you go? I bet we can get Jamie Junior tired.”

He laughed loudly, the sound enough for you to shiver with pleasure. “Doll, I don’t think you could keep up with me; you’d pass out. You don’t understand how long I can go if it’s with you.”

“Well, surely you can keep count if I’m passed out... set a record.”

His laugh was disbelieving. “I don’t want to fuck you when you’re unconscious; I want you awake and making those sweet, delicious sounds.”

“Another time, then – take off your pants.”

“As you wish.”

You tried, you really did, to focus on cleaning yourself once you’d gotten inside the shower. But you didn’t fight the urge to slide your fingers into his scalp and help him wash his hair. Forcing him into a crouch to aid your reach and resting his face on your shoulder.

His touch was gentle, a silent decision to wash each other. He went first. You pressed your fingers, massaging the soap against his skin, fingers traveling lower, your eyes fixed on his cock. He was beautiful. Your fingers reached his hips; he was fully hard at that point, leaking. You couldn’t stop yourself; you had planned on teasing him, but his cock was too pretty, red and wet with pre-come. Your soap-slicked hands circled his cock... and damn, the groan that fell from his lips was unlike anything – the groans before had been rough, taking. This one was desperate, needing.

You took him in both hands, dragging your thumb against his leaking tip. He threw his head back and groaned, fingers digging into the skating over your waist.

You dragged your touch up and down his length, your eyes studying his every movement: his clenched jaw and tightened face. He was holding his sounds back; that wouldn’t do. You tightened your grip and fastened your pace – only to have his tight grip on your wrist halt your movements. His gaze was heavy on yours. “The next time I’m coming, I’m doing it inside you.”

Tension filled the air as he had his turn and took his time cleaning you. He was so clinical it was driving you insane. But you could tell he was restraining himself. His movements rushed; he had an end goal in mind.

You dried off quickly, and showering would prove futile with what you had in mind. The night was young; it was barely 3 A.M.

The anticipation was thick in each deep breath you took. As soon as you had crossed the doorway to his bedroom, you couldn’t restrain yourself. You turned toward him, but he beat you to the first move, yanking on your arm and throwing you over his shoulder; you laughed as he spanked your ass.

Your body was airborne the next moment before your back bounced softly on his bed.

You leaned on your shoulders, breasts heaving with each breath, thighs open.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you, how long... I thought I was going to go crazy with how much I needed you,” he said, crawling on top of you. Kissing you once chastely, your breath hitching. You were out of your depth; this was a completely new situation, and you loved every second. His featherlight kisses peppered over your jaw, below your ear, along your neck – your body twisted and turned – over your collarbone, down... “You’re so beautiful, doll— I had to restrain myself. You deserve worship.” His gruff voice was all the warning you got before he latched on to a nipple and sucked, cool metal fingers rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers, awakening erogenous zones that made their debut with a bang.

“Ala puta, mierda..." This bliss was unlike anything. Your hips jerked, your cunt pounded with need. Warm fingers slid your pussy open, circling your clit. You could feel every nerve sing with pleasure. Your toes curled, the balls of your feet pressing down against the bed.

He slid one finger into your cunt, and your whole body jerked in response. “Ala madre – ala madreeee!" Your head lolled, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn’t form coherent thought; your brain decided to go offline.

Pleasure built and built, still sensitive from the past two orgasms. Just when you found yourself at the precipice, you were left bereft of pleasure, cut off from his touch. You looked at him with betrayal.

“No need for that, Dollface— you’ll come soon. I want it to be on my cock— give me a second I’m going to get a condo –”

“NO!” You wanted to feel him, and you wanted him inside you now.

“All right, Doll, and while I would love to put a baby inside you, I’m not sure I’m ready to share you yet –”

“I’m on birth control! I’m clean; I haven’t – in years.” Your voice was desperate. He smiled slowly at the neediness in your tone.

He shut you up with a kiss, fingers digging into the soft of your thighs, holding you open for him.

You felt yourself lose clarity, tears streaming down your face. You needed his cock inside you now.

You didn’t have to wait long; soon enough, he pressed his tip inside you. He was big... You babbled and pleaded for more to no avail. His fingers traced your skin, grounding you, as he slid in inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed. Your body writhed under him with pleasure. It was a tight fit, bordering on a little bit painful. The slight pinch only made the feelings more heightened as your cunt pulsed around him.

You tried to beg him to “move,” but none of the languages in your repertoire seemed to be available. So you were left a whining mess. He got the message. Felt his cock slide out of you only to slam into you so hard you saw stars. You could feel the exact moment he lost control and went feral and pussy-drunk. His thrusts were severe and hard, thrusting himself until your pelvises slammed together, the sound of your skin meeting his echoing through the room.

You were crying out, nails searching for pleasure on his back.

It didn’t take long for your pleasure to peak; it ebbed and rose in waves. You weren’t sure where your orgasm ended, and another one began. Had started to come down only to have him pinch your clit and –

It was so good; you took everything he gave you greedily, you had been fulfilled a while ago, and your needs were met ages ago. You were there for him to fuck however many times he wanted— drenched with your arousal and his come. His hips would stutter, and you’d feel a rush of his come, warm and drenching you. He’d slow down for a few moments, making you think it was over, hips sputtering softly inside you. He’d kiss your skin softly in apology and harden inside you again.

He made good on his promise. Once you were close to passing out, he stopped.

Your full body shook as he cleaned you with warm towels, your mind unresponsive as he moved your limbs softly to slide on one of his hoodies and boxer briefs.

You were halfway to dreamland when he wrapped his arms around you, the room reeking of sex.

“… doll... Mine... Love... Love you...” His voice was soft and barely processed as you fell asleep in his arms.

Did process enough for you to reply a sleepy, “Love you more.”

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments (they fuel me), and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading love ya hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻!!!!

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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Pt III good omens but i STILL SOMEHOW haven't watched it (and i'm increasingly passive aggressive)

i'm now basically held hostage adopted as mascot by this fandom. it's fine i'm fine *SIGNALS FOR HELP DESPERATELY*

Alright fuckers I swear this time I'm going to get some shit right. Without further ado, here's my third attempt at a good omens summary:

Everything everywhere is queer all at once

Angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley on earth likey each other

The car is a bentley and it is BLACK not silver and everyone is very upset about this. my bad yall it was reflecting light therefore i guessed more silver than black but I'm not Anish Kapoor take your black.

Then it is yellow, and aziraphale likes it. crowley preferred the black because he's a flamboyant emo.

God is a deadbeat absentee parent and you are all children of divorce.

There's a naked archangel and they cause problems for the husbands somehow. By being naked? By being an archangel? By being at their doorstep? Who knows not me

They were actually married for 6000 years, they just are the last to know about it.

Crowley is on fire. Like, he's slaying for sure, but also he is literally on fire, like Aziraphale's bookstore.

The actors like I said before are Michael Sheen and David Tennant but this is the place where I finally admit that I don't actually know who is whom. I'm going to assume Michael is Aziraphale because Michael sounds angel-y and David is Crowley because uh Michaelangelo made David and was gay for him.

Terry Pratchett is not fictional.

He co-wrote the book with @neil-gaiman, who IS fictional, because he does not have social media. Several of you have assured me that he is in fact a fandom inside joke. I like to think he would be proud of me.

They adopt a preteen and Crowley gives him bad advice.

At some point a baby was delivered to someone and was exchanged for the son of Satan. Idk if the baby is the preteen, or the son of satan is the preteen, or neither. This could be a fanfic, I have no way of differentiating the fanfic from canon on tumblr, except that the canon is weirder.

Crowley does not go down a chute. He goes down a telephone cord after making himself microscopic to pole dance on a pin with shroom-induced backgrounds.

During this his stage name is Disco Tony. Get it king go slay you're making better life choices than I am tbh.

Aziraphale is a biblically accurate angel, and you have all gone to extensive lengths to prove this to me. I understood nothing, but there you go.

It's all very queer, just like the fandom.

Crowley is a retired demon but he still sins by breaking the speed limit.

They eat at fancy restaurants and bicker but like in a sexual undercurrent way.

Crowley gives Aziraphale a private dance that is not a lap dance, it is an apology dance, but not in a kinky way, until it is.

Their haircuts keep changing and range from 'this is acceptable and gay' to 'i let a drunk chimpanzee take gardening shears and a blowtorch to my hair'

It's all ineffably queer my good fellows

Everyone keeps trying to convince me Neil Gaiman is the villain yeah no guys I know it's really you. Y'all be like 'SEASON TWO BROKE ME' and then you're making headcanons to make it sadder yeah I see you mmhm.

There is a final fifteen. It is sad. What is it? No one told me.

The demon turns goats into crows and the angel turns them back and then children are turned into newts (does the angel turn them back? who cares not yall) and the demon was the snake in the Eden garden and everyone's furry game seems to be on point.

There are a rather lot of children. I have not seen them. But I am assured they are there. They are, guys. I assume they were turned into the alcohol Aziraphale and Crowley drink or something.

There was an apocalypse plotline. It was averted. It is not important. You don't talk about plotlines in this fandom, no sir.

Crowley doesn't want to go to heaven. Aziraphale is sad.

The kiss is not nice, just like this fandom. It is queer, just like this fandom. It is sad and desperate and masochistic, just like this fandom.

Aziraphale doesn't want to stay back with Crowley. Crowley is sad.

Season 2 ends. Fandom is sad.

Everyone's sanity is hinging on the promise of a happy ending in season 3. Good luck guys.

Y'all better appreciate this. I can't even boast to my mother about this legacy of mine, hey mum your son has been held hostage kidnapped inducted into a cult adopted by a fandom he's not part of look he's winning at life.

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sleepy-fiction · 5 months ago

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Taming the Giantess.

lin lie x f!giant!reader

syn: Iron Fist is put on a mission to trap a giant devil on an island. After being brutally knocked out and separated from the group, he finds the shedevil's layer and learns the reason the giant is so aggressive is because she is on her heat!! So, he takes care of her the only way he knows how; using the shards of fu xi embedded in his iron fists. He's just trying to save the world!! ....no ulterior motives at all

tgs: fisting, size kink, breeding kink, cunnilingus (f+mR), watersports, excessive bodily fluids (the reader's a giant), improper use of the Fu Xi Shards

an: to give u a quick rundown of the reader's key appearance characteristics: fem, 20.5ft tall, has unspecified horns, has a specified "devil" tail, turns a dark shade of red/pink/violet mix when frustrated. Everything else is unspecified and up to the reader's imagination!! this was definitely a fun post. Lwk the characters might be ooc bc idk marvel lore im a dc gal, but overall the dialogue should really fit!! UPDATED!! + PROOFREAD

6K WORDS

________

The Alien Giant mission was one that lasted longer than it should. With an original team of Iron Man, Black Widow, and Spiderman, these heroes faced off a giant, horned alien as tall as the eye could see. No bigger than 20 feet tall, with horns and a long tail. Stark failed to find any sort of data of where the monster could be from, so he simply began to call it an alien for the time being.

As for the team? What he could say, he had a soft spot for the kid, and he could always count on Black Widow to get a clear shot.

In the beginning, a few weeks ago, the alien fell from the sky, crash lading in the state of Arkansa. Destroying crops and attacking farmers who got too close. Stark was convinced he could handle you on his own, as up until a few weeks ago, you were easy to capture and even easier to manage. He induced the alien to sleep and transported you by your arms with a combat plane to an island not too far from the Mariana Trench. A choice solidified by the fact that you were far enough for you not to hurt anyone, or yourself, just until they figured out what to do with you.

The island was 300 miles long, with a girth of 500 miles, just enough room for you to live your life and have room as a giant, but still small enough for them to keep an eye on you. There was a vast cave beneath the mountain top that led to nowhere, but Tony was aware of that.

The issue arrived when two weeks ago, you started destroying trees by the massive. You started at the beach, working your way through to the mountains. By the time a day had passed, the island had 1/18th of all its trees disappearing.

Now that was becoming a problem.

That meant within twenty or more days, you would have eaten through the entire island. Though that was a problem on its own, on top of it, you seemed to be growing. With no data, no identification, no planet, Stark didn't know what you were capable of.

But he tried to reason with you.

He appeared to you in his super suit and jet. But you were oddly aggressive, more aggressive than before. You flung his plane out into the open sea, were somehow immune to the lethal sleeping gas, and even went as far to brutually damage his suit. And all of that was something Stark knew he could handle.

So he went on his merry way, still trying to study you from afar.

The straw that broke that camel's back was when your skin started to tint a violet-pink. Your claws had grown in sharper. You started to brave out into the ocean, and no matter how many times Stark sent you back, it seemed like each time becoming more of a brutal battle thsn the last. You fought like a wild woman. Finally, stubborn Stark threw the towel in.

He needed help.

He would've never guessed recruiting new people would lead to the start of a war.

Fast forward today, the day Iron Fist, Doctor Strange, and Captain America were recruited to the mission:

Their plane landed on a massive doxing ship. The ship was not too far out from the island, barely 60 miles away. The new recruits ate, slept, and received an extra rundown on the boat. Doctor Strange was chosen, as Stark was led to believe the "She-devil" was more related to magic and timelines than an actual planet. Captain America, to protect the otherwise vulnerable team from brute attacks. And IronFist, to team effectively with Spiderman to deal swift and damaging attacks.

It seemed easy enough.

When the hour arrived, Lin was more than ready. The jet drove out to the island, drawing in and docking in the sand, the team stood in position, following Stark to the front to disembark.

"Alright, I need everyone to listen up," Stark commands tall and proud before the team, "She awakes the second you step foot on this damn island. From there, our she-devil will bee-line directly towards us. Widow, just as the briefing discussed, I need you to find a vantage point while Captain, Spiderman, and I distract her. Then, IronFist, on my signal - and only on my signal - we need you to damage her on three core spots," he pauses, glaring dead at Lin.

"Number one, her ankles," Stark raises a finger, "Two, Her Forearm. Then on three, her shoulder. But only on my signal. The goal of the mission is to disarm her while we buy Doctor Strange enough time to locate whatever crazy world she's from... Everyone, got it?" Stark gruffs.

"Got it," the team cried.

Doctor Strange speaks up, "It might take a day or more for me to find out her origins. There are-- millions of multiverses out there."

Stark nods, "Then we fight for days. But if today goes well, we will only need to fight once. So long as we all keep our heads in the game." Stark gives the group one last look before gesturing Captain forward with him.

"Alright, let's move out," he hums, his suit springing out. Stark steps off the boat and into the water, where they trudge behind him.

Carefully, checking his team once more, Stark raises a foot, and it crashes down on the shore. Within milliseconds, a vicious roar splits the air, the shirek's ferocity to rival the wails of a bobcat. Stark bursts, "Now, Widow! Everyone else move-move-move!"

Everyone rushes to their positions in the beach. With Captain America in the far front, Black Widow sneaking off to the side lines, Spider man webbing the trees that open to the beach, and Lin, standing still right at Spiderman's side.

Lin calls to Peter in the calamity, "Dude! Do you think we'll beat her?"

"N-No! I've been fighting her for days! The only way to get rid of her is to send her back h-home," Spiderman grunts, falling back into place after webbing.

The beach shook for every step. The shards of Fu Xi buzzed in his arms, he hissed and got into stance. Out from the trees and into the sticky webs came this she devil.

You were large, as tall as a building, with lucious hair and an ethereal face. Your body was clothed in leaves and torn cloth around your chest, feet covered in cuts and scores. Horned with sharp eyes and a sharp devil's tail, talons for toes and sharp claws for fingers, you were an apex predator. The only difference was that your skin was a violent and complete pinkish violet, borderlining an angry, bitter red. Not at all what they described you as earlier.

"You didn't tell us she was red," IronFist exclaims.

"She wasn't always," Spiderman yells.

You hit the sandy shore with your fist, sending a blast through the air. Lin was quick to notice how your body seemed to buzz with an unnatural purple glow. The sight alone was enough to make his shards beam frantically.

No, you're not from this multiverse. Hell, you're not even from this dimension! The insight from his ancestors burned through him.

He barely noticed Captain and Stark begin to attack as he went to share his information. He turned his head to yell but was quickly interrupting by the earspliting sound of a light beam fired dead between your eyes. He gasped in shock, but you didn't budge, you groaned in trepidation, clawing at your forehead. His soul stirred at the sight.

This couldn't be right. No. None of this wa--

"IronFist!"

Focus, focus Lin!

Lin sprung into action, calling on his chi and thrusting a flying kick toward your right ankle. Your knee gave in, causing you to kneel, and in that spread, he rushed up your leg, bouncing off your knee to send another flying kick to your shoulder. A nasty crunch split the air as he landed shakily on your shoulder.

Then--

Wait- Shit--

He was supposed to hit your forearm second--

An abrupt and even more confusing green flare burst through the sky.

A flare?

Lin's head was buzzing, his shsrd twitchings ans burnjng through his veins. He suddenly, now so close to you, felt deathly lethargic. He's off his game, hes out of his mind. And that flare? That sea-green fla--

Suddenly, it all kicked.

The flare was his signal.

Then? Who called him.

His knee seemed to buckle, as he swayed softly, staring at the tiny figures on the beach.

"IronFist! I-- Lin! Lin look out," Peter yelled.

Oh god, it was Peter who called out to him. Peter knew his head wasn't in the battle. Peter was warning him.

Shit.

A vicious claw sprung around and backhanded him high into the air. He was shot into the wind at an alarming speed, thwarting his clothes, colors flickering in his fading vision. The beach drifting farther and farther out of his view, his whole body aflame from the stinging slap.

The wind whipped and crackled around him, his clothes frantic before, and finally, his body crunched against a tree.

Iron Fist was out cold instantly. His head meekly slumped forward to his shoulder.

Lin.

Awake.

He gasps, "S-Shou Lao!" Lin promptly sat upright, his mouth parched, dried iron laid waste on his tongue. Groggily, he looked around, seeing nothing but dense trees and moss, the smell of salt water high in the ear, trickling down with the hum of crickets.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up, but all he knew night had befallen him. The crickets awake with their song. His head ached, his vision blurry and staunch, blood dribbling down his forehead.

He needs to return.

Lin shakenly stood, his knees threatening to buckle under weight as the memories of the battle burned in his head.

He was so off cue. His synergy far out from his body.

Wasn't his fault, your weird, magic aura messed with his timing- his shards were distressed just by looking at you.

And what if he did finish his attack? Was the purpose to break your limbs? He winced at the thought. Somehow, that felt too cruel.

Judging by what the briefing taught him, it's looking like you were sent here either by mistake or by something, and you're trying to get home. Sure, breaking your limbs would make it easier to transport you and keep you in one sitting, but. Can't send you back to wherever you're from with broken limbs, could he?

What if you're at the bottom of the food chain over there?

Or maybe he was just another idiot making up excuses for his failures.

No. If he was honest.

He knew he didn't want to fight you in the first place. Maybe Stark knew it too.

He trudged through the forest, the humidity high, the temperature hot, forcing his clothes to stick to his body. He was just walking the direction he was facing, trying not to be eaten up by the pain- or worse by the mosquitos who could smell his stench.

When he gets home, he's going to need a shower.

Probably a medic too.

He's not all too worried about running into you, as he glanced up at the mountain he was approaching. Stark told him that you disappear at night, and night would be the prime hours to either transport you or have Strange work on securing that portal. Thing is, he had no clue where you went at night, and worse, sometimes you'd use the night as an advantage to swim off to who knows where.

All of the team was led to believing that disarming you would be the best but. Fucksake, he couldn't do it. It was cruel. Then again, he had no better solution.

Maybe. Maybe he could find one.

Lin must've walked blind in the dark for miles before he stumbled across a cave opening on the base of the mountain. He had the energy to continue walking to the beach, but his arms were aching. Not just from the shards, but he used them to block most of your attack. Wither way.

A break would be nice. He deserved it, even after screwing up so badly.

AIron Fist ventures deep into the wide cave, it was dark and quiet at first. But then, he starts to hear a faint sound.

"Aa.... Ggr... Ff...."

He squints, the shards surging through him. There's danger a foot.

He briskly holds his fists up, staying in close to the wall to be less noticeable. And as he creeps in closer, a warm light flickers in from the depths of the cave.

The sounds ebb louder, "Aaah! Mm...h! Oo... ..Ff," clearer too. It's the she-devil's voice, and it's groaning out. He squints harder. Just behind a barrel of rocks was the source of the light and sound.

He uses the rock's cover to an advantage and sneaks in closer, resting against them..

Not to be crude, but those groans sort of sounded like...

Ironfist peaks over the rocks, and his eyes fail him at the sight. There in the cave lies the She-Devil, lying naked next to a warm fire. The cave opens up grand in here, enough to be a house sized for a 20.5ft woman. But that's not at all what he's staring at. He's staring at you, sanding down trees with your teeth and teetering them around your dribbling vagina. God, heat rushes straight to his pants.

Your pussy was giant and soaking, your skin hot and pink, even more so than before. It was a vulgar and agitated color, the color of frustration. And it made your body seem all the more tantalizing to him. It's was primal, the sight of your sex, as it called to his primitive apeish roots, lost between humanity's years of evolution. God, it called to him to hear your bellowing trills and moans. Called to a disgusting, feral, primal part of him he wasn't aware of.

He felt so lethargic again.

The shards oddly didn't buzz or flicker, and somehow, he almost forgot that he was Lin Lie.

Oh my god.

It finally clicked again for him. You were acting like this because you were--

Lin gasps, "Sexually frustrated," the words slip out from his mouth before he can register it.

You immediately perk up, a vicious growl bursting from your lips as you weakly toss your dangerous, makeshift dildo at the rocks before Lin. He steps back. The rocks clamor and knock down, rolling down the cave and towards you, revealing him standing there.

You narrow deadly eyes on him, baring your sharp canines with a growl. Lin freezes, aderaline perverse through his brain. He brungs up his fists, awaiting an attack. Instead, you do nothing but glare. You're too weak to chase him away, resting your sweaty, tired head against the wall, your sputtering pussy clenching on nothing.

Ironfist raises his tired arms, "Hey... Hey girl... I'm not gonna hurt you, 'kay?" His voice is slow and soft, his palms faced to show he's no threat. He's even crouched a little, trying to make himself as small as possible. Something that once again proved how evolution's natural survival instinct flowed through him.

You still growled, recognizing the body language, but not giving up your snarl. Your walls clench up on nothing, still reminding you of your vulnerable problem. You have no time to fight, youre to weak.

It hurts so bad.

You know you need a mate, and you need one soon.

You suddenly whimper, your claws grinding up chunks of rock and clenchjng your eyes tight close. Your brain thought of one thing and one thing alone. Helplessly, you chose to ignore the little creature. You could do nothing but try to reach for another tree to grind down. But surely, that would be more painful than it would be pleasurable.

"I'm," once again, he speaks before thinking, "I'm gonna get close to you, if that's okay." And the shard buzz in annoyance at the idea. He watches as you continue to ignore him, and a part of him can only wince at the sight. He cooes sweetly at you, "You poor thing, you're just in pain, huh? Having to fight these tiny jackasses all day... Jus' need a break, huh 'gal?"

Despite not knowing the language, you look up at him, a softer gaze brimming from you. Iron fist slinks down the same slope the tree and rocks fell down before reaching the flat bottom of the cave. It's here in thr down draft that he can smell just how brutually wet you are. The smell is strong and acidic, so primal and intoxicating. It's so strong that his dick grows impossible hard off it alone, precum dribbling from his head. Fuck, his cock was aching so bad, it took everything in him to not squeeze it. Or worse, drop to the floor and jack off like a maniac.

Yet he ventures into your warm, dangerous den, eyeing the various claw marks that etch the walls. He's ashamed of the excitement that brews at the sight. All of his body, every atom, from the root of his DNA, was begging to fuck-fuck- fuck. This was more than just him and you. This was cardinal.

Soon enough he's mere standing feet away from your pussy, his eyes glued to the gorgeous sight. It was a breathtaking. Your vulva was much bigger than his entire head, glistening in the fire light like a delicious, sloppy snack. His knows dick would feel like nothing to you, despite being fat, burly, and 8 inches long.

No, you need something more. His hand reached to touch your thigh, you chitter strangely, and move your legs further out of the way for him. He notices but can still sense your unease. Nevertheless, he didn't know how to help. That's when his shards buzz strangely, causing him to wince and stare at his arms. They stop once he sees it.

What? The fuck?

"Shao Lao... My ancestors... You all are not saying," he stutters. He's unsure if he should be embarrassed or confused. He stares dead at his thick, muscular arms, unsure, before flickering up at you. You're still weaning and whimpering. It's more painful than it is anything else.

You shouldn't be using a tree, your poor girl, he's sure his arms would be a great help.

The shards warp and shake. He only hisses in rebuttal. Fuck. Hell no. This was so wrong on so-so-so many levels. You were intoxicating him, overriding his logical senses since the very beginning. Everything was leading towards him letting go into his urges.

You weren't even figuratively intoxicating him either. Your scent was a natural aphrodisiac, made to numb the minds of your mates. It's just that when you're 3 times smaller than this devil, it's more intense to fight against. That's not to say that your chemical processes are overriding the whims of fate either.

Fuck.

Not that he wanted to fuck you. It'a just the sight of you from afar got him riled. He just needed to let go.

You were laying on your left side, your face pressed against the wall as your right arm limply hugged your ribcage. Your right leg rested on your left, knees pulled up closer to your chest with your legs sticking to the left. Out of the way of your pussy. It was the perfect set up to comfortably, flash all of yourself to the strange tiny being.

Truth be told, you were sent to this random world after a buzzing, purple object lifted and glitched in front of you. Back home, you were a warrior, fighting for money in your dimension's verison of a grand colesium. Then, in one second, you were in a strange green and blue world with angry tiny people. Worse of all, your heat was rapidly approaching, and you were nowhere near one of your many mates. You'd call for them in the blue sky yet didn't get any answer. You'd try to courage the blue waters, but a little flying thing would stop you every time.

You were scared, frustrated, and angry. So damn tired every day, forced to protect what little land you had from those tiny beings, yet still forced to escape all at once. But here you were, watching a green little being step close. You remember it well by its strong odor alone.

It hurt you.

You were scared.

But now it's, touching you. Soft and slow into the back of your thigh. You hiss at first, but you hear the voice again, "Hey, hey... Sweet girl. You're okay... You're okay," he whispers. Although you can't understand this language. You can't help but note how soft he sounded, how affectionate, the way caressed you.

You whimper and trill again, your people's way of communicating stress. His warm, tiny claw continues in its monotomus motion. It's soothing. So you trill again, this one sounding more of a plea.

Ironfist places raises his other hand, standing on his tippy toes to make sure you can see it. Your eyes follow it as it dips into your blind spot, yout hips; then you feel the softest and quickest touch against your clitrous.

On your heat, every sensation feels heightened. You mewl and trill, your tail whipping excitedly.

The little creature wants to become a mate now? Why? Has it changed its mind? Ah, it was your body scent, wasn't it? You've somehow convinced your attacker to surrender.

As much as you wanted to dwell on his motive, you could feel your body ache painfully, causing you claws to bear into the stone. You trill out again, this time it's loud and annoyance, filled with a whiney-bratty pleas. Your tail raises and thwarts against the stone floor. You don't care less about what he wants. The quicker you can solve this rut, the more strength you'll have later to beat the little thing into a pulp.

Lin giggles, softly laying both hands on your giant clit. It was plump and meaty to the touch. Soft and reqarding, he wanted to squish it. It was aa if it were a large, doughy treat, it made him salivate.

The shards, on the other hand, buzzed and whipped, but he braved it. "No matter the dimension, women are similar... You're a bratty type, aren't you, she-devil," He's mostly talking to himself, regardless, he talks loud enough for you to hear. He softly squeezes the large bud in both hands, feeling you arch down into him. He dips his hand in your giant slick, and it globs together on his hands. He then layers it heavily on your clit, grabbing hold of it on side and massaging it in unison.

Deliciously, you release the moans he heard before, "Oouh... Aahhf, mmh..."

His eyes seem to lid in relaxation, breath no longer caught. He hushes, "Do you like this, huh, girl?" He smiles softly. "Fuck I'm losing my mind," he grunts. Without a second thought, he abruptly buries his face against the giant clit. His mouth wasn't big enough for all of it, so he slurped a portion in his hot mouth, still rhythmically massaging the rest together. He squished it, increasing the friction and the vigor by which his tongue prodded and flickered your huge bean.

He gets in close. Feeling your heat burn against him, he ruts against your labia, your juices soaking his chest and body fast. The feeling seemed to make his skin numb, his body drooping and relaxed, his swelling and pain seemed to dip away. As your moans spiked high, mixed with song-like trills, he knew you were cumming soon.

He muffled out with a mouth full of pussy, "C-Cumff Cummff. Cum."

You arched down into him and orgasmed, your very first since your heat started. God, the sensation was deathly, spiking through the tips of your toes and running up your spine. Relief fled your brain for the first time in a while, chemical fires sparking grievous serotonin and dopamine.

The stimulation of tiny hands massaging and rotating you in unison, with a strange, tinier tongue suckling and slurping up the rest, was an undesirable experience. It made your talons curl up as you rode your high.

Lin pulls out from you with a gasp for air, trying to wipe off as much of your juices from drowning and making his body sticky. He looks up and notices you're still a blood angry pink. Only a few shades lighter shade than before.

"Not enough, hm," he asks.

He watches as you raise your giant leg and carefully moves it over head. You drop it next to him; a wider part of him scared you were going to crush his 5"9 ass. But instead, you now laid on your back and head propped up against the wall to get a good view of him, with both your legs spreading with him in the middle.

Once again, the tiny little thing was just staring blankly at you.

You whined, the sound accompanied by a needy, sexy trill. As if you were complaining and ending it off with a sultry flare.

Charmed, Lin laughs, "Mmh, alright, hold on."

You watch as the weird green creature removes its yellow stripes from his arms, revealing a bruised and we'll together scarred peach colored arm. Was those stripes clothing apparel? He seems to replicate the same for the other arm. His fists buzzed green, your eyes hone in on it.

Lin's shards were burning in his body, a useless forewarn as he succumbed to his flesh. The pain was intense, but he had a theory. Iron fist stuck four fingers into you, and you mewl, feeling them each squirm and feel you about.

Feeling you was pure escasty. Your walls were squishy, hot, moist, and wet. The soft feeling of your delicate walls treading against his fingertips was like carressing expensive velvet. Best part of it all, knowing this was a vagina made him bust in his pants. "Oohh, haa- she-devil," he mitters under his breath.

That's not counting the smell of you and how, as he pulled his fingers out, he found his fingers were coated in mounds of white cum.

His theory proved right. Your numbing made him lose some sensation in his fingers. Would it be enough to stop the ache of the shards?

Regardless, you seemed to really enjoy it. This time, as he sinks his whole fist into your warmth, he watches your face. Or at least as much as he can from up your vulva, through your large round thighs to each side of him, up your lucious belly, next the delicious mounds of your breast, and then to your face.

You were a gorgeous alien.

Lin's hips buck against nothing.

Your jaw falls in surprise at the feeling of his tiny arm inside of you. The creature thrust his arm deeper, and you pulsate against him. You can feel your walls suck up his forearm, his arm was wider at the base due to his fat muscles.

Your heat was so strong from all the factors against you, as if pure bliss feel upon you. You were embarrassingly defenseless, spread open by a creature barely the size of your leg. Letting such a creature, also your stranger and adversary, crack you open like a clam made it all the more wrong. And all the more pleasurable.

Wanton moans drifted off you as Lin began to thrust his whole forearm in you, his tight muscles working to pump you hard, but slow enough for you to keep the steady pace. He can only hear your loud trills reflecting off the cave walls. He delighted drinking up the pretty sound.

"Yeah? Feel good, feel good," he can't help but ask you so many times. Afterall, he doesn't even know what you're saying, let alone feeling, he can't speak whatever it is you're cawing about, but above all. He wants to give you what you want.

It's through this that he slides in his other arm, resting them thumb against thumb, a form he usually uses his fists to punch with. You walls flutter and pulsate around the newest addition, clenching hard, restricting against his skin, sucking him in with your recoil. He can only gasp as you end up sucking his whole body flush against your vulva.

He pulls away.

Perverse tempatous flood his mind.

Lin shamelessly calls on his chi to burst into you, fucking his fists into your body as if he were vigorously rowing a boat. His large muscular arms give you variations in shape for your sensitive walls to stimulate itself on. Not to mention, with his thrusts, as he pulled out, his arms separated, stretching you impossibly wide before slamming in impossibly deep. You swore, if he just extended his fingers out, he'd be just tickling your cervix.

"Aahtt! Ooh! Mmh," you mewled and trilled, your knees jolting up, legs twitching and claws reaching for purchase in the stone to each side of you. You watch the sight of the little creature's black head dipping closer and further from you, matching his intense rhythm.

And though he's unable to go particularly fast, it's enough to draw you to your second orgasm.

He only notices when you scream, and a strong stream of fluids burst against his hands, forcing his fists out of you, your walls barely clinging on to his wrists to keep them inside.

He slips out, laying an affectionate kiss on your sloppy, slick labia. You're a soft violet pink now. He hums in satisfaction. "Wanna' see a trick, sweetheart," he asks.

In your eyes, you watch as the little creature suddenly cries out, a burst of a dangerous green aura overtaking him. You flinch in a mixture of fear and anticipation. He pulls one fist out of you, turning to the side a bit and taking a stance. Suddenly, he frantically slams the single arm deep into your walls, his fists bumping around at a different target each time. You cry out loud, your moans boarding wails. He's at a break-neck speed, a speed brisk enough to make you lose your breath, lose your eyes behind clouds, to find yourself uncontrollably dizzy.

Finally, his fists curves up against your bladder, dealing a hard thrust against it, and you squirt dewlets into the air because of it. They barely miss him, but he doesn't care in the midst of calamity.

"Found it," he grins. Pleasuring women was his pride and joy, especially one whose juices made him not be able to feel the shards burn within him.

It's a feeling he almost forgot.

Fuck, it made him ridiculously horny.

He's relentless and precise, eat blow a vigorous compilation of unbreakable, nimble, and sharp thrusts. A speed you're sure not even one of your partners could top. Your orgasm was forced upon you, squirting out and cumming all at the same time. He doesnt stay in you for long after it, pulling his fist out immediately. You watch the little creature duck out of your stream, hiding and crouching by your left inner thigh to avoid the flow.

"Holy hell," he cursed. Your piss was beginning to puddle by his feet.

Quickly deciding the best way to avoid it all was to jump up onto your shivering thigh. It's then he finally looks up at you, the normal color that you were described as, while you convulsed and twitched. He grins as your eyes roll back as you rode out your high. "Oh yeah," he mutters, grabbing himself through his soaked pants. Mostly soaked from your juices, but a lot of it also being from the amount he came himself.

When you come to, drowning in pants, you look at him. Watching the yellow striped, white eyed, green, peach-striped creature flash a smile. Something you weren't aware that they could also do. You reach with your claws and stroke his black hair, your touch gentle.

You trill gratefully.

"Its no big deal, no problem. Just saving the world, one day at a time," he rests his hands on your claw. "Listen, devil. I kinda need you to be nice for a while. My team is--" but before he could finish his sentence, you pick him up by his green apparel, sitting up as you move farther from the warm fire. He squeaks, but soon he's found you've relocated to a new wall on the cave. You were starting to sweat.

You lean back and spread your legs, dropping him down on his belly. He bounces on the softness, falling on his butt. "Whoa, there. Heads up would be nice," he mutters. You reach, cupping his back with your right hand, and tearing off his apparel with his left. The little creature yelps, and you pause only to make sure it wasn't actually his skin. No blood oozes from him, so you remove his pants as well and simply scratch off the little miniature piece he had beneath it.

You watch as a dick springs out from between the creatures leg. You compare it to your smallest claw. You were mistaken. It wasn't that small. Instead, he was roughly about the length of your middle claw and as thick as your thumb. Regardless, it too was red and twitching. Was he in heat as well, but the little creatures show it differently?

You nodded. You see. They're more private about it. They hide it behind colorful garments.

You smile, picking him up and dropping him back between your legs. You give him a guide and push him flat against your vulva before resting your arms back to your sides.

"Want me inside," he asks, looking up at you.

He should be caring about his super suit, but honestly, he was aching so much already so...

You trill playfully. So Ironfist takes it as a yes. He lines up against you, feeling your giant clit against his chest, it was so soft and bouncy, he swore he could eat it for days. Fuck, the thought made him twitch about your entrance. He needs to feel your heat, now.

Lin thrusts into you, and you hum in delight. Lin stares up at your face as he drags himself in and out, the height difference putting him in an awkward position, yet still he handles it, thrusting at a constant, simple pace. He soaks in the delectable feeling of your hot slick and hotter walls burning against his (by your definition) tiny cock. All eight inches of him merely in the shallow end of your warmth. Your gummy walls were sucking him in so deeply, the wettest of it making a thick sloppy sound, forcing juices to cover up his chest and ooze down his bare legs.

His hands grip chunks of your pubes, using it for purchase as he begins to speed up. Now that he's knows he's fully taken care of you, all in his brain that is left is "fuckfuckfuckfuckcum," as fast as he can. He's breathless by his speed, legs buckling, his tiredness finally catching up to his numbed-out body. His eyelids are falling against his eyes, his cheek sloppily resting in your bed of hair as he fucks himself. To you, it feels like a speedy finger. To him, this sensation, this experience will be completely irreplaceable for the rest of his life.

He's sputtering out as he explodes inside you, shooting out at least five ropes into your sweetness, sagging against you as if his soul is sucked out from his body.

He pants against your vulva and weakly raises his head, "Wuh-- We're finished, right?"

You pick him up again, dropping him on your sternum, and he lands on his feet again, leaning forward to hold your collarbone. His eyes flicker to your breasts, his dick standing right up. "Eeh... One last- tuh... One last round," Lin smiles lazily.

He hops onto your breast, wrapping his arms around it and giving it a squish. You trill and yelp in confusion, your head drooping in dazed surprise. What's gotten into the little man? He rubs his cheeks against your soft flesh, giggling like a school girl as he uses almost his whole body to fondle you. He finally dips down, sucking your giant nipple into his mouth.

You cry, holding the little creature's back so it won't fall. It licks and slurps your nipple until it's hard, even softly nibbling and drawing his teeth on the side of it. Aah, it wants to mate more. You didn't want any more stimulation. You wrap your hand around his wrist, pulling him back, but his suction keeps his lips to your nipple. He mumbles something, but you whine and trill, and regrettably, he releases your nipple with a pop.

"Not everyday you get to fondle some giant b--" but before he could finish his sentence, you place him on your face. His hands awkwardly grab secure chunks of your hair, feeling his hard on against the softness of your upper lips. He stares now at the wall and the top of your head, his feet dangling off your chin.

You draw out your tongue, the heat making him fire a shot of precum into your open mouth. He shakes and shivers. Part of it being from sex the other part from the primal fear of being eaten. It makes him melt and buck his hips into your open mouth. You wrap your giant lips around his dick, your hot tongue flying up and greeting his cock. He moans out in ecstasy, clenching his eyes tight to fight an early send off.

He's has to savor this for as long as he can.

Your large, hot muscle licks him, your mouth adding a soft suction. She knows he's tight and wants to be gentle. But for him, none of it is gentle or soft. Your suction is perfectly powerful, as if he were in a cock milking vat, his toes crunch up in bliss. His eyes roll to the back of his head. He's cumming, oh no he's cumming.

You swipe your tongue around him, swirling and twirling, back and forth and back and forth again. His grip on your hair grows deathly tight. "Mmuh... Whoaa... Aah... Uhhn," he's babbling nonsense, bucking and twitching, his cock pulsating as he holds back. But eventually, to no avail, sprays your pretty mouth with two thick, creamy ropes of cum; all before he blanks out once, and then twice.

He's running empty now, his balls no longer thick and bothered, but tranquil.

You grab him again, watching him lay limpy in your hold. You trill and giggle delightfully, leaning to caress his little face with your nose. Your trill not only welcomes him as your new mate (for life), but also sends him off to sleep, as you lay him on your chest.

Maybe these creatures weren't so bad afterall.

---

A week had passed before anyone had seen any sight of Lin, and it was tearing Stark out from the inside. Peter tried his best to cheer him up, noting that his pal was capable and wouldn't die like this, let alone be subdued by the She-Devil. But still, it worried him. Doctor Strange ended up finding out that she was an inter-dimensional being from a parallel world to Earth. Unfortunately, this was learned the very next day after they lost Lin, and somehow, it made the lost feel worse.

Still, the team continued with the mission, trying to lead the devil out anyway that they could. For some reason, you didn't come out. Not even when they stepped on your terrain or sent loud blasts and sirens into the day sky. It was like she wasn't even there at all. As if you couldn't hear them at all.

As the sun began to set, Stark sat next to Black Widow and Dr Strange on the cargo ship, staring off at the island in the distance as the shared a nice cup of tea (more so coffee for stark). He drummed his fingers across the desk, nodding along to the conversation.

"The next action plan is to comb through that forest. Get the kid, find the devil. I dont care if we have to trap her, we need this case over with. Before she grows or worse," he pauses, staring at the black bitter substance in his cup.

"Worse, she does ze' unexpected," Widow suddenly stands, drawing out her scope.

Just then, Peter comes barreling down the board, pointing at the island. "Guys look, there's movement," he calls.

Black Widow nods, "I've got eyes on the devil," all rise abruptly at her statement. "She'll be at the shore in approximately five minutes."

Captain rushes in after Peter, catching the final glimpse of the conversation. "We'll need to hurry."

"Alright, team, board the boat. Strange, get that portal ready."

They board the sailboat, racing down to the shore. By the time they made it there, the she-devil was just stepping out of the trees.

"Alright widow, get a good shot. We need to do the same routine as last time, but Peter we'll need your webs in--"

"Look," Widow cries, abandoning her sniper to point at you.

Not only had you turned back to a normal color, but in your hands rested Iron Fist, who excitedly waved to the team. They all gasped, and you stepped closer.

"Lin!" Peter shouted, rushing off the boat, trudging through the water. The others followed in pursuit, gathering around as you lowered him into the sand.

But oddly, most of Lin's outfit was tattered. His chest was bare, and he held up his pants with his hands. And as they all got close to check him out, there was this strong, sultry, strench that was caked on him. As if he were soaked in it.

The smell was so acidic, so familiar to most of the team, but they couldn't quite--

Black Widow suddenly gasps, "You smell like f'acking kiska," she hisses, a flush over taking her face as she steps back.

Stark gasps, snapping his finger, his voice slightly distorted from his suit, "Ah, that's what the smell is!"

Captain turns to Peter, "What's 'kiska'?"

Peter whispers, "It's uh p-pussy in Russian."

Captain gasps in shock, slowly putting the pieces together as he stared at Lin. "The torn clothes, the disappearance for a week, t-the smell," he mutters.

Lin's face is a humiliating red. Most of his torn shirt used to pitifully cover what little of him that he could come from his team.

"Oh Godt', she did it with you? Why you," Widow eye's scale up the she devil's body.

"I don't wanna' think about Lin doing any of that," Peter quirks.

Strange scoffs, "Hello? Are we stupid? The most important part of this issue is that a human from our species, co-mingled--"

Lin stammers, "I w-wouldnt say comingle it's a weird word--"

"--With an inter-dimensional devil. That's the most important part," Dr Strange finishes.

"But she's so tall," Widow hums, covering her mouth as she stared only at you. "I mean, I v'would get if it v'ere Kaptain," she mumbles.

"M-Me?" He sputters.

"Cause, you're a big man. He's puny," she said.

Captain speaks, "Don't bring me into this!"

"Let's just- Please let's forget about it and send, (y/n) home," Lin drops his head in humilation. "A-And agree to never mention this to anyone."

"Agreed," the team cried unison.

Captain squeaks, "(Y/n)?"

The doctor opened up a portal for you, as electric sparks flung into a circle right beside you. You flinched away from it at first, but once you saw your dimension's lush lavender fields and soft sea green sky's, you lit up joyfully. A sweet trill brimmed you.

The creatures were just trying to send you home? Is that what they've wanted all this time? Your eyes quirked as you looked at them each, your tail swooshing in affection. You'll be sure to remember them well.

As for your mate, you squatted onto his level, taking your index claw and soft caressing under his chin, to the side of his face, then to ruffle his hair. "Ready to go home, sweetheart," he smiles, eyes lost in a dreary affection. Your week of endless fucking was a great bonding experience. He'd be lying if he didn't say he'd love to see you again after this.

Explore your planet. Learn more about you.

Speak your language.

You scoop him up in your hands one last time, he stands on your palms and bows his head, you do the same and brush your horn against his head; a custom Lin learned as an intimate gesture of connection. You placed him down, giving him one final look before stepping in, and the fire sparkled behind you.

Yet you didn't look away from him.

You had many mates, but none as exciting as him.

Lin stood in a daze for a moment before rushing off with everyone else to the sailboat.

"Lin, to the back, please. We don't want your smell blowing on us," Stark commands.

"Y-Yes sir," he sighs defeatedly.

Right as he sits, he watches Widow approach him. "V'ell," she crosses her arms as the boat starts.

Peter inches in close to the conversation.

Lin asks, "Well?"

"H'kow did you do it?"

Oh god.

#lin lie x reader #iron fist lin lie #lin lie #sword master lin lie #marvel rivals ironfist #iron fist x reader #iron fist x you #iron fist #lin lie x you #marvel rivals #mcu #mcu fandom #smut

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tinyshyteacup · 1 month ago

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TW: cussing, tension, loki is still villainous, creepy vibes.

Part 4

Touch that takes - Part 5

The lights in the medical bay dim to a soft ambient hum, casting long shadows over cold, steel counters and glistening equipment. You are still suspended in your perch—not so high anymore, having lowered yourself with coiled tendrils to crouch atop one of the large steel cabinets. The air around you is heavy with quiet anticipation.

The team lingers in a loose semicircle, careful not to crowd. Every move they make is calculated, telegraphed with exaggerated calm.

You aren’t violent.

But you’re not quite you, either.

Not yet.

You shift—your head tilts as you observe them like you're trying to decipher their purpose. Familiar, yet not right. Their faces are mismatched puzzle pieces. You squint softly at each one, almost frustrated by how recognition slips just out of reach.

Then, your voice—quiet, hoarse—rises from the silence.

“...Hungry.”

The word cuts through the room like a scalpel. One word. Simple. But it lands with weight.

Everyone stills.

Tony is the first to clear his throat, masking discomfort with faux levity. “Oh. Great. Snack time. Anyone bring—uh—monster kibble?”

Bruce shoots him a look, but you ignore them all. Your gaze finds Bucky.

His breath tightens, barely visible but there. He’s crouched again—not beneath you, but nearby, in your periphery, where you won’t feel boxed in.

“Doll,” he says gently. “What kind of hungry?”

You shift slowly. The metal beneath you groans. A tendril twitches near your wrist. And then you whisper again.

“Every ninety-six hours... or the tissue starts to die.”

You look down at your arm—turn it slowly, with a subtle grimace. The skin near your elbow is slightly greyed. Faint. Almost missed. But not normal. Not human.

“Hydra’s gift.”

The last word comes with venom. Your lip curls, not in a snarl but something more like betrayal.

Bruce frowns, inching forward. “Are you saying... it’s a metabolic fail-safe? A built-in dependency?”

You nod, slow and stiff, like each movement costs something.

“Starvation triggers necrosis… then aggression. Then—” your voice drops to nearly nothing, “then I forget.”

That hangs there.

You don’t specify what you forget. But everyone understands. You mean yourself.

Tony swears under his breath. “Christ. And we were debating feeding her?”

Wanda crosses her arms, expression unreadable. “What is the food, then? What does she need?”

“Living biomass,” Bruce answers grimly. “We’ve seen this kind of parasitic programming in certain types of genetically altered organisms. If Hydra laced her cell structure with symbiote analogs... she may need specific nutrients to maintain cohesion.”

“So... people?” Natasha asks flatly.

Silence again.

You finally speak, barely audible.

“Doesn’t have to be human.”

Everyone turns.

You’re not defensive. You’re tired. Your fingers twitch absently, kneading the steel edge beneath you like a nervous habit.

“Just something with… warmth. Life.”

Bucky rises slowly—no sudden moves—and crosses to you. You watch him with the trust of something that remembers him, even if you can’t quite recall why.

He stops at your side and slowly holds up his flesh hand, palm outward.

Your head tilts. You lean toward him without touching. There’s a moment where your eyes soften, and something flickers—recognition like the glint of a coin underwater.

“...Bucky?”

His name from your lips is more breath than word. He almost crumples under the sound of it. But he nods.

“Yeah. That’s me. You always called me Bucky.”

“Doll,” you whisper. “You called me Doll?”

He smiles—just a shadow of one, but it’s real. “Still do.”

His hand slowly lifts a little higher.

“C’mon, Doll. Let’s get you something. Something warm, something alive. Just not someone innocent. Not a kid.”

Your tendrils flicker. Your eyes shift back to the team, then to the door. You hesitate.

“But I don’t want them to be scared.”

“They’re not,” he lies gently. “They’re just... worried. But you’re not what they’re afraid of, not really.”

The glass conference room overlooks the now-quiet medical bay, its lights dimmed and monitors blinking softly like a room exhaling after tension. The team is gathered, chairs drawn into a circle—not their usual casual lean against walls or half-hover stance. This meeting is different. Heavy.

Thor’s arms are crossed, muscles tense under the golden-threaded weave of his Asgardian attire. He’s freshly healed, no signs of bruising or the raw burn from the encounter still clinging to his frame. A faint glow lingers at his wrist, where you’d fed.

Tony’s leaning against the edge of the table, one hand running through his hair while his other fingers tap a restless rhythm on the glass.

Bruce has a tablet in front of him—graphs, cell data, heat signatures. He looks pale.

Wanda is seated, arms folded tightly across her chest, red magic barely flickering at her fingertips—instinctive.

Natasha leans forward, elbows on knees, the picture of poise and measured thought, though her narrowed eyes show a hint of unease.

Peter is notably absent. Bucky made sure of that.

The silence hangs long before anyone speaks.

Tony breaks it.

“Alright. Feeding schedule. That’s a thing we’re seriously talking about now. Great.”

Bruce clears his throat, staring at the screen. “It’s necessary. If she goes into necrosis... I don’t think we’ll get her back. Not without risk to all of us.”

Tony scoffs, but it’s not dismissive—just tired.

“Right. So we volunteer to be snack bags. ‘Team Plasma Bank.’ Got it.”

“It doesn’t have to be lethal,” Bruce murmurs, glancing at the screen again. “A controlled transfer. Measured. Scheduled.”

The word scheduled seems to sting everyone in a different way.

“She doesn’t recognize most of you,” Wanda says softly. “Not really. Not even Bucky.”

Everyone goes still at that.

Bucky walks with you down a quiet corridor, your fingers brushing the wall as you move—still barefoot, still cautious. You track the shadows like they might bite. He keeps close. Not touching you unless you need it, but always there.

You pause beside a sunlit panel of reinforced glass.

"This place is loud,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, watching you instead of the hallway. “Lotta people. Lotta memories.”

“Don’t know them.”

“You don’t have to yet. One thing at a time, Doll.”

You look at him again. Something in you softens.

“But you… I feel warm when I look at you.”

Bucky’s jaw tenses—not with discomfort, but emotion he can’t quite hide.

“That’s good,” he says gently. “Means I’m still in there, somewhere. The real you knows me.”

Your fingers twitch slightly—tendrils trying to hide as if unsure they’re welcome. He doesn’t flinch.

“They’re scared,” you say. “I don’t blame them.”

“They’ll come around.”

“You don’t look scared.”

He meets your eyes, voice low, steady.

“I'm not”

“Why?”

He gives a faint smile.

“’Cause I’ve seen what you look like when your you. Even now, when you don’t remember, you’re still trying not to hurt anyone. That’s you, Doll. They’ll see it too.”

Bruce flips to another screen. “If we rotate energy donors—Thor, maybe Wanda or I don't know Steve—we could maintain her stability while minimizing risk. The bio-energy she needs may not require full metabolic draw. We’ll need to test that.”

“And if she loses control between feeds?” Natasha asks flatly.

Silence.

Wanda nods slowly. “She didn’t hurt Peter.”

Tony sighs. “Alright. Fine. But it’s voluntary, and we monitor everything. The moment she shows signs of slipping—”

“She won’t,” Bucky’s voice cuts in as he enters the room, guiding you gently behind him like you’re something precious. You hang close to him but don’t hide.

“She won’t slip. She’s already fighting it harder than most people could.”

You glance up at him, your hand ghosting near his arm, and then your gaze sweeps the team. You don’t recognize their faces, not fully—but you study them with something like cautious hope.

“You’re not scared?” you ask them, not accusing, just curious.

Tony raises a brow.

“Terrified,” he says honestly. “But we’ve seen worse, Thumbelina.”

Wanda offers a small, encouraging smile. “We’ve been worse.”

Bucky leans against the wall just behind you. Watching. Always watching. You shift every so often—like something beneath your skin is stirring.

Bruce clears his throat gently, attempting to cut through the silence.

“We should… start planning the next feed. Based on the data, every 96 hours gives us the best window for stability.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking up—not to him, but past him. Your voice is soft. “It’s been two days.”

A pause.

“We’re aware,” Bruce says cautiously.

Tony huffs from the table, where he’s been nursing a half-drunk cup of coffee, feet up like this is just another Monday morning.

“Yeah, thanks for the countdown, Little Miss Dracula. That’ll help me sleep.”

You blink slowly at him. Then, slowly, your head turns, gaze gliding toward Thor as he speaks.

“There may be… another option.”

He’s careful. Measured. Like he’s aware he’s walking into a storm barefoot.

“My brother is in containment. Loki’s strength is not unlike mine. His energy could—may—be suitable. It may even last longer, if… if you were to take from him.”

Silence.

Bucky goes rigid. Like something inside him cracks. Not loud. Just a quiet, burning shift.

“The hell he is,” he growls, stepping forward instinctively, like he could shield you with his body. “We’re not letting her anywhere near that snake.”

“Ditto,” Tony says, scooting forward and tossing his coffee aside. “Because what’s better than feeding the fragile, mostly-amnesiac cosmic leech? Feeding her a war criminal with delusions of grandeur. Sounds totally safe.”

Your head cocks—slightly too far.

You blink slowly again.

“He’s related to Thor,” you say softly.

Something’s off in your tone. Something uncomfortably smooth.

“He’ll taste good.”

The words fall like glass shattering in a cathedral. So wrong. Your mouth forms the syllables with too much ease.

Everyone freezes.

And then, your eyes go black.

Not darkened—not shaded—black. Oily and deep, consuming iris, pupil, and sclera until there��s nothing left. The soft girl, the one who cooked comfort food, is not the one sitting there anymore.

Your posture shifts—still. Too still. Your chin lifts with a slow, serpentine grace.

“A prince’s energy would keep us sated,” you murmur. “Longer. Stronger. Better.”

Bruce drops his tablet.

Thor stands.

Tony slowly pulls a palm repulsor glove out of his watch over one hand.

“Alright,” he says, voice careful now. “We’re officially at the part of the horror movie where someone needs to throw holy water or call Constantine.”

But Bucky… Bucky doesn’t move like the others.

He steps in front of you, kneeling. Blocking their view of your face.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Doll.”

The word is a tether, tossed into a black ocean.

Your eyes blink—once, twice—and he watches your breathing stutter. The black begins to recede, slowly draining away like ink thinned with water. You tremble.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you whisper, hugging your knees. “I didn’t mean to—he just sounded so—”

“I know, Doll. I know. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He touches your shoulder. It’s all you need. You lean into him without thinking, forehead pressing into the fabric of his Henley like it’s the safest place in the world.

The others exchange looks.

“We need to treat this like a predictable feeding schedule.”

Thor exhales.

“My brother is a willing participant.”

Tony nods slowly.

“Yeah. But if she goes in hungry? She might not ask for permission.”

Natasha, from the doorway, finally speaks.

“Then we take her now, don’t let her get hungry.”

The hallway leading to Loki’s cell is eerily sterile. The soft hiss of overhead lights hums against concrete walls, and the cool air smells faintly of ozone and disinfectant. Every step echoes too loud, too crisp—like reality itself is tightening.

Despite the caution in your stride, there's a fluidity to you now. Less tentative. Less human. A whisper of something stirs beneath your skin, quiet but coiled. The team walks in a protective wedge around you, but no one gets too close.

Not since the black-eyed incident.

Bucky walks slightly ahead, not blocking your path, but subtly positioning himself between you and whatever’s ahead. Every so often, he glances back over his shoulder—checking you, not just for safety, but to see who’s looking out of those eyes.

“You okay, Doll?” he murmurs when you pause at the reinforced door.

You don’t answer.

You’re listening.

Inside, Loki is already reclining casually in his cell—a transparent enclosure of reinforced vibranium-laced glass and hex-steel, glowing faintly with containment runes. He’s stretched across a bench like he owns the place, fingers laced behind his head.

The moment he sees you, his lips curve into that familiar smirk.

“Well now,” he drawls, voice like silk and razors. “They’ve finally brought me a new curiosity. How… uncharacteristically generous.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Careful, Reindeer Games. She's not as squishy as she looks.”

Loki’s eyes flick toward Tony, then Bucky.

“And they’ve brought her fan club. How charming. Tell me—who’s brooding more aggressively today? Metal Arm or Midlife Crisis?”

Bucky bristles but says nothing. His jaw tightens as he steps closer to the glass, shoulder-to-shoulder with you. His eyes are on Loki, but his hand hovers just behind your lower back—ready to catch you.

Anchor you.

Restrain you.

Loki shifts his attention to you fully now. He studies you.

“And what do you think, little wraith?”

Your eyes flick up to him slowly.

They go black.

Pitch.

Consuming.

Leech is here.

You don’t blink. Don’t flinch. You step toward the glass with a languid grace, head tilting—curious. Predator watching predator.

“You taste like blood soaked in wine.” you murmur.

Loki’s smile twitches wider, though there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. Wariness. Amusement.

“A flattering observation,” he purrs. “But I doubt your handlers will allow you a bite.”

You drag your fingers slowly along the glass, eyes not leaving his. Your tendrils begin to slip from your sleeves—black, twitching slightly like cobwebs tasting the air.

Tony shifts behind you.

“Uh, guys? Guys—”

You hiss softly. Not at the team.

At the barrier.

Your voice—when it speaks again—is not yours.

“Let me in.”

And then—you lunge.

Your body collides with the glass hard enough to send a deep, resonant boom through the hallway. Tendrils slam against it with a grotesque chittering screech, suctioning, sliding, snapping back only to strike again.

You chatter—a sound like bones cracking underwater—while your hands press flat, and your mouth parts, showing far too many teeth.

Loki grins like he’s watching a show.

“Oh, I do like her.”

Bucky’s already there.

“DOLL—!”

He grabs you, arms locking tight around your waist, yanking you back before you can get momentum for another strike. You fight, but not with you. It's Leech—snarling, limbs jerking, body arcing like a puppet in reverse seizure.

“Not him! Not today!” Bucky growls, pinning you. “C’mon, come back to me.”

He says it like a prayer.

You thrash—glass rattling, Tony’s repulsors glowing, Natasha crouched and ready, and Thor's hand hovering near Mjölnir.

But Bucky doesn’t flinch.

He drops to his knees with you in his arms, holding you tight against his chest, speaking low and firm.

“It’s me, Doll. Come on, breathe. Come back. Just you and me, alright? I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

The black drains away slowly.

Your breath hiccups.

Then your arms go limp.

“…Bucky?” you whisper.

He exhales hard, holding you tighter.

“Yeah, Doll. I’m here.”

The air still buzzes from the aftermath—residual pressure, like thunderclouds lingering after lightning has already struck.

The hallway is quiet, heavy with tension. No one speaks at first.

You're cradled in Bucky’s lap, your head tucked beneath his chin as he kneels on the floor. His arms are banded around you like steel cables—not to restrain, but to protect, to shield, to anchor.

His breaths are shallow, controlled—but his heart is pounding against your back like a war drum.

Your fingers twitch against his jacket. The black is gone from your eyes, but there’s something hollow behind them. Not calm. Not peace.

Sated interest.

“He smells… good,” you murmur faintly.

The words drift out of your mouth like a thought spoken too loud.

The silence breaks.

Tony groans, dragging a hand down his face, repulsor powering down with a hiss.

“Great. So now she’s a Loki fan. Just what we needed. Shall we roll out the Asgardian buffet?”

Natasha folds her arms tightly, lips a tense line. Thor—visibly conflicted—glances between Loki in his cell and you in Bucky’s lap.

“There may be… merit in this. If her instincts are attuned to energy, and my brother is indeed resonant—”

“Absolutely not.” Bucky cuts in, voice sharp as a blade. “That thing in there loves being useful. He’ll twist this until she doesn’t know up from down.”

You stir slightly in his arms.

Your voice is soft, but wrong.

“He wouldn’t mind. I know he wouldn’t. I could taste it through the glass…”

Your mouth curls, not into a smile, but something distant—almost reverent.

“…He would be scrumptious.”

Your head lolls slightly, eyes glossy. But your body is relaxed. Not drained. Not broken. Waiting.

Bruce’s brow furrows as he pulls out a scanner, running it subtly over you from a few feet away.

“Her vitals are spiking, but there’s no adrenaline response. It’s like she’s fixated—addicted, maybe. Neurochemical reinforcement from whatever feedback she got during the attempt.”

Steve leans against the far wall, arms crossed but jaw clenched. His gaze flicks to Bucky, quiet but sharp.

“You know her best. Did she ever act like this before we got her back to the compound ?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately.

He’s watching you.

Watching how your eyes flick toward Loki’s cell again.

Watching the little twitch at the corner of your mouth when the God of Mischief leans against the glass and smirks at you.

“No,” Bucky mutters finally, his voice low and ragged. “This isn’t her.”

You reach up and press two fingers against his jawline.

“You’re sweet, too, just not like him.”

The hallway goes dead silent again.

You say it without cruelty, without heat. It’s not you talking.

Tony exhales through his teeth and looks away, muttering to himself.

“Gonna need a damn sedative drip at this rate…”

“Enough,” Bucky growls.

He shifts you gently in his arms so he can look you in the face. His flesh hand frames your jaw, warm and grounding.

“Doll, listen to me. That thing inside you wants Loki. I get it. But you—you don’t even know his name right now. You don’t know me. And I can’t lose you to this thing. Not now.”

You blink slowly.

“I like the way he feels.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs bitterly. “I bet you do.”

Loki, ever the predator behind glass, laughs once—low and throaty.

“Oh, she’s divine. I think I’ll keep her.”

“You so much as breathe her name, I’ll make sure you can’t speak,” Bucky snaps, eyes burning.

Your head turns lazily toward the cell again.

“I want him.”

Bucky closes his eyes, jaw ticking. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t drop you. If anything, his grip tightens slightly.

Protective.

Devastated.

“Yeah, Doll. I know.”

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amethystarachnid · 4 months ago

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hiii could i please request some tony stark x reader headcannons or a drabble where reader is sick? i’ve had a really bad flu and could kinda use the pick me up 🤭

TONY STARK WHEN Y/N IS SICK - a Drabble

we all know this man is protective asf so, here's how he would act if you are sick:

The moment you sneeze once, Tony immediately pulls out a high-tech scanner and starts running a full-body diagnostic.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., is this the plague? Tell me it’s not the plague.”

He wears a fake doctor’s coat for the aesthetic. Possibly a stethoscope. Might even introduce himself as "Dr. Stark, Medicine Man Extraordinaire."

That being said, the man has zero actual medical knowledge. You catch him secretly Googling “how much vitamin C is too much” and “can you overdose on cough drops?”

He absolutely builds some ridiculous machine to monitor your temperature, even though a thermometer works just fine.

“Behold! The Stark Industries Flu Tracker™️!” It’s just an AI that yells at you to drink water every ten minutes.

Will not admit that he sat up all night watching you breathe just to be sure you were okay.

He burritos you in blankets so aggressively that you can barely move. If you protest, he just pats your head and says, “Shhh, this is for your own good.”

Acts like he hates being used as a pillow but absolutely thrives on it. “Fine, you can lay on me. But just so we’re clear, I expect a full recovery within 24 hours. My shoulder is not standard-issue medical equipment.”

He will hold you as long as you want, running his fingers through your hair and murmuring dumb things like, “You know, I should charge for this level of premium boyfriend care.”

If you fall asleep on him, he definitely stays still, even if his arm falls asleep, because he is soft for you and he knows it.

Randomly boops your nose but then makes a grossed-out face when you sneeze right after. “Okay, ew. That one’s on me.”

If you try to tell him to keep his distance so he doesn’t get sick, he scoffs. “Pfft. Please. I’ve survived explosions, space, and Steve Rogers’ moral lectures. A cold isn’t taking me out.”

…Cut to two days later, and he’s laying dramatically across your lap, whining about how you cursed him.

“I had a good run. Tell the world my story.”

The moment you start feeling better, he throws an unnecessarily fancy “Congratulations, You Survived” party.

Balloons. Confetti. A cake that says WELCOME BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING.

“Now that you’re back to full power, let’s never do that again, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

thank god Tony chose to be a superhero and not a nurse/doctor I dont think he could handle it, also, hope you get well soon!! <3

#amethyst arachnid #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #comics #gaming #movies #x reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #iron man x reader #drabble requests #fluff #marvel drabble #drabble #one shot

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dilfsona · 5 months ago

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OMEGA/OMEGA WINTERIRON RAHHHHHHH

James who's traumatized by alphas due to Hydra, which affected his sexuality, and now he's only attracted to omegas and very rarely betas.

Tony, who hates most alphas because they're posturing and weird and sexist so his relationships have always been with betas or omegas except for pepper (she's still his best friend, same with rhodey)

James being brought to the compound, hiding his scent and refusing to show any omegan signs + unable to scent other people due to Hydra experiments. Everyone assumes he's an alpha with how growly and scary he appears

Tony isn't impressed by him, but the second James gets into the lab, he's... Almost normal. Brighter eyes, slight smiles, no slouching. His handling of the workspace is careful and delicate, patient in a way nobody else other than Peter and Bruce are. And it makes him rethink how he feels about alphas

Slowly, they grow closer and closer, but James keeps holding back, despite tony's obvious attraction, because he assumes Tony is an alpha; he can't scent him. He hasn't gone into heat, and everything he's heard about the man and how he presents himself is smug alpha with a soft side. He doesn't even trust Steve, the guy who's apparently his childhood friend (he doesn't remember that but the history books say so), but he trusts tony, and that scares him!

Finally, Tony cracks and crowds James, who's admittedly very flustered and overwhelmed, but again he can't smell Tony so he's not about to drop to his knees for this alpha who's probably dripping in pheromones, but then Tony leans up, brushes his nose against James's jawline, and whispers "alpha" and James nearly passes out

Tony stands there in confusion as James pushes him away and aggressively rubs off his scent blockers before shoving his wrist in his face and- honey and lavender and vanilla and gunpowder and oh, omega

And Tony is fucking delighted, but James is still so confused to Tony explains very quickly that he's an omega too, and James has never felt so much relief in his life holy shit

extra: alongside being unable to scent others due to Hydra 's experiments, they also took away his ability to have a heat + his own scent is dull and barely noticeable unless you're directly up against his scent glands

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #omegaverse #iron man #winter soldier #mcu #my aus

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sgiandubh · 3 months ago

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Promo time...

... and the expected statements come (sort of) easy:

[Source: Ryan Kristafer's Instagram account, 10 April 2025]

The above excerpt is a promo interview for The Amateur, apparently released today. I am sure they celebrate across the street and sort of wait for our take on it (this is what makes some blogs breathe, after all).

Because here is an apparently benign question:

'Well, I've got to ask about being a decoder, you know, in this film. Now do you have like, friends or family calling on you like ' hey, can you fix my computer'?

From the get go, let me add that I think there is absolutely nothing spontaneous about it. This question has been negotiated with PR before and dutifully scripted, as always. It is part of the usual 'points of talk' and worth whatever the watcher's own opinion grants it. Just a reminder - and yes, I know some will screech: to be honest, I couldn't care less.

And here is the answer:

'Nah, absolutely not, I am useless and my husband is my IT guy. [Brosnahan, sympathetically: 'same']. Ah, Tony, and he's like 'did you press return' and I'm maybe...oh..'

This page has nothing to hide, as always. My take on it is easy enough and you are free to disagree: this is the typical staged content just about everybody, from agents to casual fans, are expected to see.

That this is part of the PR negotiated points of talk is very much apparent, when you take into account she mentioned it before, in the same Amateur promo context. At the same moment she gave the above interview, during what obviously was press day, or something.

Take this other interview for the Swiss (German) cinema news portal OutNow:

[Source: https://outnow.ch/News/2025/04/09/The-Amateur-Das-Interview-mit-Caitriona-Balfe]

I will try and translate it, knowing we have native German speakers in here, too. Please forgive any mistake - it's not my forte, far from it:

'The characters use modern technology when they don't want to be tracked. Did you learn anything from this project that you now use with your smartphone or laptop?

Oh God, I wish I had! I'm so clumsy. My poor husband is always trying to explain VPNs and all that stuff to me. I'm really bad at it. But I should talk to the technical advisor at The Amateur and try to get more info and tips from him.'

Hear me out, Mordor: her 'poor husband' is always trying to help, but yet she thinks it would be preferable to talk to the movie's tech advisor, for real tips?

Oh, wow. Such blind trust, such deep feelings permeate this logic-fractured statement, clearly meant to make something uncomfortable glide on as easily as possible! How can that be?

Perhaps because The Amateur's tech advisor is a real person, with whom she really sympathized?

If I were McGill, I would (again) feel borderline insulted, by this mildly mannered, but also lightly condescending and passive-aggressive quip! And God we know she can be open and wholeheartedly passionate about people she ahem, really likes , in her real life. No questions there.

The fact she now repeated this quip, in a more congenial manner and naming McGill like an afterthought, designed to give credence to an imagined moment, is barely compensation.

In such situations, body language helps, too. While uttering her obviously prepared and rehearsed line, at no moment is she looking at the interviewer. She is just smiling elsewhere, looks towards Rachel Brosnahan (for support? at any rate, RB obliged, as we saw in the interview) and mimics what obviously is an imagined, illustrative domestic life gag.

And Rachel Brosnahan seems to have her own, very personal reasons to be sympathetic and completely understanding of the situation. Let's just say she is probably familiar with the way such personal life intricacies can be successfully navigated, when answering press day questions:

[Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rachel_Brosnahan]

But Out Now is also the biggest specialized news portal in Switzerland. This is somehow very important, because this is likely to influence the number of sold tickets and therefore, the project's financial results:

[Source: https://basel.allianzcinema.ch/en/information/partners/outnow]

Let's not forget to which TV network this interview was given, too. This is FOX, a highly political US network dealing with a very defined set of (conservative) values. Who, in their right mind, would have expected anything else than some extra bona fide effort to fit with the targeted audience?

But even without this political context element, we know that she is not talking to her wild, bruised and battered OL fandom during this promo. Nope. Her main target are new fans, attracted to the new production featuring names like Lawrence Fishburne and Rami Malek. Who are likely to be intrigued and ask themselves who the hell is this interesting brunette playing the complex part of Inquiline.

These same new fans are also likely to take any future plot twist concerning C with considerable less drama than in here. Because they are simply consumers, who are only casually interested by her. Not borderline obsessed, like many people across the street. For them, she is just an actress they are discovering now, with great potential. Bless their hearts, for they don't know what they missed.

Did anyone expect anything else than the usual promo narrative from C? This is Belfast 2.0, although considerably toned down, since what is at stake here is just money, not a goddamned Oscar statuette.

So, yeah. Some might wish to pop out the champagne, or something. The usual, charmless foolishness. Mais rira bien qui rira en dernier, n'est-ce pas?

Color me completely unfazed, yet know I wrote this for all those who are, once again, wailing into my DMs. It's promo and drama-drama time, that's all.

#fandom #shitshow #The Amateur promo April 2025

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 months ago

Text

Crimson Ties ~ 16

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,475ish

Summary: Tony tries to make things right. The two of you get to know each other.

Warning(s): talk of abuse, non-consensual touching, injuries, panic attacks

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

While you were in with Tony, Steve and Yelena watched the cameras, overhearing everything. They quickly called everyone else, telling them what had happened. Steve scrubbed the footage over and over again as they waited for the others to arrive. Only to find that there was no proof Brock was ever here.

“Damn it!” Steve exclaimed, throwing the tablet down. “How did he do it?”

“Give me that,” Yelena murmured, grabbing the tablet. She aggressively tapped at the screen. “How the hell did he do that? There’s no proof that Rumlow ever got in.”

Steve sighed, running a hand down his face. “This is not good. That means that, somehow, the Stane’s got access to our security system and we never noticed.”

The front door slammed open, Howard entering first with Maria, Peggy, Natasha, Bucky, and Rhodey close behind.

“How could this happen?” Howard was clearly angry, but holding it together.

“We don’t know,” Steve responded. “We’ve scrubbed the footage.” Yelena handed the tablet over to Rhodey. “There’s no proof that he was ever here.”

“Where is Y/N?” Maria asked.

“She’s still with Tony,” replied Yelena. “They are in his office.”

“I’ll go see if I can be of any help.”

Maria quickly headed for Tony’s office. She gently knocked on the door before slipping inside. Her breath caught at the sight of you and Tony kneeling on the floor. Tony was holding you close, slightly rocking you, while you continued to cry into his chest. He met his mother’s eyes and her heart sunk further. There was a pain in Tony’s eyes that she never thought she’d ever have to see. A pain that only comes when someone you care about is hurting and you don’t know what to do about it.

“Oh, sweetie,” Maria cooed, coming up to the two of you. She carefully knelt down and placed a gentle hand on your back, only for you to flinch. She pulled away quickly.

“Sor—Sorry,” you cried.

Tony shushed you. “No, it’s okay,” he told you softly. “It’s okay.”

“I should have warned you,” Maria said. “That was my fault.” She turned her attention to Tony. “Everyone is here to come up with a plan.”

“Alright,” Tony gave a nod. His focus fell back to you. “Y/N, I have to meet with everyone.”

You gripped him tighter. “I— I— Please…“ You whimpered, unable to put your thoughts together.

“I can get you where you want to go and then mom will stay with you. I’ll have the cameras open on all the screens for the room you’re in. You will be watched over.” You nodded. “Where do you want to go?”

“My studio.”

“Alright, let’s get you there.”

Tony helped you up to your feet, but kept most of your weight. With Maria on your other side, Tony guided you out of the office. Everyone froze at the sight of you. They stared as Tony and Maria took you across the living area and to your studio. Tony led you over to one of the chairs and helped you sit down before crouching down in front of you. His large brown eyes met your red, cloudy ones.

“I’m going to be watching,” he promised. “Mom will stay here. We’re not far if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you said with a nod.

Tony stood up and motioned his mom over to the door. “She hasn’t eaten,” he whispered. “I’ll have someone whip up something for her. And I… She said that he marked her. I need to know if we need to call in one of the family doctors.”

“I will do what I can,” Maria said. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek. “You’re doing good, Anthony. You’re doing what you can.”

“Not enough.”

“She’s alright and she’s still here. Just find a way to end this.”

Tony nodded, sparing you another glance before heading off to join the others. Maria closed the door behind him and then came over to you.

“Y/N, sweetie, I need you to talk to me,” said Maria. “I need you to tell me where he hurt you. Do you need a doctor?”

“I… He…” you rasped. With a shaky hand, you pulled the neck of your sweatshirt down and revealed the dark purple hand marks that Brock had left.

Maria failed to hold back the gasp that ripped through her. “Y/N…”

“Doesn’t hurt… At least, not anymore.”

“I think we need to get it checked out.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, please.”

“You won’t have to leave the house. We have family doctor’s who can come and check on you. They bring everything you need and they set up in one of your extra rooms.”

“I don’t… I can’t…”

“I’ll be there the whole time. Okay?”

You could tell that Maria wasn’t going to let up. You gave in with a nod and she quickly pulled out her phone and texted one of the family doctors. Once she got a reply back, Maria slipped her phone away.

“Dr. Cho is on her way,” she told you. “What do you want to do while we wait?”

“No—nothing,” you mumbled.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

A soft knock sounded at the door and Maria moved swiftly to go check it. She came back with a plate of food for you and offered it.

“You haven’t eaten yet today,” she said. “You need to get something in your body. It will help heal the marks.”

You nodded and took the plate from her. She pulled up a chair and sat beside you as you began to pick at your food.

~~~

Tony’s eyes were focused on the live video footage of your studio in front of him. The others were scattered around his office, discussing plans to stop Brock and Obadiah.

“Helen Cho is at the door,” Natasha stated. “Maria called her in. She’s here to check over Y/N.”

“I’ll let her in and explain the situation,” Yelena offered. “I’ll stay with Y/N, just in case.”

“Thank you, Yelena,” Tony muttered. “And let me know what is needed.”

“Will do.” Then Yelena left to go help take care of you.

Tony sighed, hand running through his hair. “We need to end this.”

“Agreed,” Howard said. “But we can’t just go in guns blazing. We will lose more than we gain.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“We get everyone patrolling the streets. Anyone associated with the Stane’s get arrested by the police who are on our side. We have plenty of crimes to pin on them. We’re going to tighten up the reins and choke the Stane’s out.”

“They will not stop using Y/N. They won’t stop coming after her.”

“Then we deal with this, quickly.”

~~~

Dr. Helen Cho was nice and handled you well. Maria and Yelena stayed with you during the examination to make sure that you were okay. Maria teared up and Yelena clenched her jaw as they saw all the marks Brock left on you. Once you were given the all clear, you grabbed a book from one of the shelves in the living area and curled up in the window seat on your side of the house. No one disturbed you, though they hovered nearby.

Eventually, the others left and Tony watched you carefully from the kitchen. It seemed obvious to him that you weren’t completely focused on your book. You were lost in your mind. It was close to dinner time, but Tony wasn’t hungry and he knew that you weren’t either. He came over with steady footsteps, making sure you could hear him. He grabbed the closest book he could and stood in front of your window seat.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you replied, closing your book and glancing at him.

“Uh, how— how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

You both knew that was a lie, but Tony didn’t push. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

You curled in closer to the corner as you could while Tony did the same to the opposite one. He opened his book and began to read it. He kept an eye on you over his book. Tony could tell that you were a little bit more relaxed and focused on your book. His lips lifted up slightly when you finally turned the page of your book.

~~~

In the morning, you went to your studio only to see your wheel all fixed up. On top of the wheel, was the glued together vase that had been broken weeks ago. You walked closer to see a small note folded on top of the wheel.

I made some modifications to the wheel. It’s good as new and ready for you to use. The vase was the one I broke weeks ago. I tried to piece it back together as best as I could. I wish I could make it brand new again. Don’t feel like you have to keep it. And if you want a new wheel, just say the word and it’s yours. - T

You couldn’t help but smile at the note. It was so thoughtful of Tony to fix your wheel and try to piece together the vase. Carefully, you picked up the vase and examined it. Tony had clearly pieced it together with great precision. The vase could never be used to hold flowers, but it could be a great decor piece. Besides, you didn’t have it in your heart to get ride of it. Not after all the work Tony had put into it.

Setting the vase on one of your work tables, you quickly gathered paints and got to work. Where some may want to cover up the noticeable cracks in the vase, you wanted to make them the focal point of the piece.

You end up in your studio for most of the day. Yelena, Steve, and Clint came and went, bringing food and checking in. Tony kept fighting himself. He would get to your door and then chicken out, heading back to his office. The others kept him updated though.

When dinner time rolled around, you had the cook make something but still secretly hoped that Tony would join you. Tony exited his office to head to your studio to see if you had eaten when he noticed the table already set and you standing there.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he responded, stepping into the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?”

Tony shook his head. “I was just coming to see if you had.”

The two of you sat at the table and got to eating.

“I got your gifts in my studio,” you told him. “Thank you.”

“Are they okay? I did my research on pottery wheels but I don’t know how to use it to make sure it works. And the vase—“

“Both are perfect, Tony.”

“Good. Good.”

“I was looking at the schedule that Yelena made and it says I have class with you in the morning morning.”

“If it’s too much, then we don’t have to. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I think it would help me if we kept our class.”

Tony tried to not show how excited he was about that. “I’ll be there early to help.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

~~~

Tony kept his promise and he was waiting outside your studio before you were ready. The two of you entered and Tony’s eyes immediately scanned the room to make sure that nothing was wrong. He couldn’t take anymore chances with your safety and your items getting ruined. As his scanned, his eyes caught sight of the pieced together vase that was sitting on the counter, half painted.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, going over to get a closer look.

“Oh, I’m, uh, painting the vase,” you answered, nervously rubbing a hand down your arm.

“You… You’re not just tossing it?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Even broken things can be beautiful.”

Tony spun around to look at you and, for some reason, it seemed like he Wass seeing you for the very first time. Your words echoed in his mind as he lost his breath. How had he never seen how beautiful you were? And not like model on a magazine cover beautiful, but true beauty. He shook his head and gave the vase another look.

“You will show it off to me when you’re done, right?” He wondered.

“If that’s what you want,” you replied. “Our mugs are ready to paint, if you’re okay with doing that today.”

“I’m okay with anything you want to do.”

“I’ll grab the mugs. You choose out your paint colors.”

Tony nodded and headed over to where you kept all your paints. He decided that he wanted to paint the mug for you. You were constantly making items for other people, but he hadn’t seen you with a hand made mug. But as he looked over the paints, Tony scowled. He realized he didn’t know your favorite color. He actually didn’t know a whole look about you and that suddenly irked him.

“Uh, Y/N?” He called.

“Hmm?” You hummed, grabbing brushes, palates, and any other tools you may need for painting.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“It’s F/C.” Tony nodded, grabbing the color and a few others that would compliment it. “What’s yours?”

“Red. Red and gold.”

You walked over and grabbed the red and gold paints before heading back to where Tony was now getting situated. The two of you began painting, really paying no mind to what the other was doing.

“Do you, uh… Do you ever think about how we don’t know each other?” Tony wondered. “Like, we’re technically married but I just learned your favorite color.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it much,” you mumbled. “I guess that I was too busy worrying about other things…” You didn’t need to go into detail, Tony could easily guess what your mind was occupied with. “But we could get to know each other now. If you want.”

“I’ll start. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

You laughed. “Really? That’s where you start?”

“What? It really tells a lot about a person. So what is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve never given it any thought.”

“Well, mine would be super intelligence. The ability to have access to all knowledge immediately.”

“I didn’t even know that was an option. I guess I’d have teleportation. I could go anywhere, see anything… escape and no one could follow.”

Tony’s heart clenched at your wish. “If you want to see the world, I will make that happen, Y/N. Just say the word.”

“Maybe when all this is over…”

“Think about where you want to see and I’ll send you and Yelena.”

“You… you wouldn’t come?”

“Not if you didn’t want me to.”

You were surprised at his offer. That Tony wouldn’t force you to bring him along. Though, deep down, you did want him tagging along. Something told you that you would be safer with him around.

~~~

Steve and Yelena watched with fond smiles as you and Tony grew closer, laughing and getting to know each other. Days passed since the last Brock incident and it was clear to everyone that you were feeling more comfortable with Tony. Yelena was sure that you didn’t realize that you were seeking Tony out for comfort when your mind became too much. That you stood closer to him and were smiling more than she had ever seen.

Steve was noticing changes in Tony too. He seemed less tense. He was more about your needs and less about his own. The two of you no longer sat at opposite ends of the table during dinner, Tony’s new place was at the seat beside you, still careful of the space you needed to feel comfortable.

A week after the latest Brock incident, you and Tony were back in your studio. Tony was carefully holding the fired vase up to see the wonderful paint job that you had done.

“This is beautiful, Y/N,” he breathed out in awe.

“You think?” You questioned.

“I know.”

“Well, I was thinking it could go in your office.”

Tony gripped the vase harder as to not drop it. “What? You want… m-m-me to have it?”

“I haven’t made anything for your side of the house. But if you don’t want it, then I can—“

“No, no, no, no, no! I want it! I’ll take it!”

You giggled. “Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“There’s also this,” you pulled out the mug you had made with him, painted in his favorite colors. “I made this for you.” You handed it to him.

Tony carefully set the vase down and took the mug from you. “This is… mine?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Thank you. And I, well…” He put his mug down and grabbed the mug he had painted. “This is for you.”

“What?”

“I noticed that you didn’t have any mugs for yourself so I painted this for you.”

You took the mug from him. “You didn’t have to.”

“You deserve something nice too, Y/N.”

“Thank you… I really don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. And, please, start putting pieces on my side of the house. In any room, in any place. I would love to have more of your work around as I worked.”

~~~

Quickly, there were more of your pieces of various styles all around the house. Another few days pass and Steve found Tony outside of your studio, looking in. He was clearly completely mesmerized by you. Steve smirked as he came closer.

“You know that you can go in there, right?” Steve teased. “She doesn’t make you knock anymore.”

“I don’t want to disturb her,” Tony mumbled, still not tearing his eyes away from you.

“Mmm. Or you don’t want to disturb your view… You know, I may be crazy, but I think you’re catching feelings for your wife.”

Tony’s head snapped to look at Steve. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re falling in love with her.”

“I— I—“

“It’s not a bad thing, Tony. You two are good for each other. Don’t over think it.”

Steve walked away. Leaving Tony’s mind reeling at the idea of catching feelings for you.

~~~

Later that day, Tony knocked on your open studio door. You immediately looked over and greeted him with a smile.

“Hey, Tony. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to show you something,” he told you. “Do you have some time?”

You nodded. “Let me get cleaned up.” You quickly swashed up and met him at the door. He began leading you towards his side of the house. “What do you want to show me?”

“My workshop. I figured it was long overdue for you to see this side of me.”

He opened the door and the lights flickered on. You immediately took in the two fancy cars, the work benches, the half completed projects, and the tools scattered everywhere. Tony led you on a tour of the space, talking more animate than you have ever seen him about all his gadgets and projects. You got help but smile softly as you listen to Tony. This was a different side to him that you’ve never seen, but that you could get use to seeing.

“Do you want to try your hand at tinkering?” He offered.

“Oh, I don’t know—“

“You’ve let me try my hand at some clay projects. Come on, try it.”

Tony led you over to a stool and place a circuit board in front of you. From your side, he guided you through putting some of it together. He’s gentle and calm, making sure to never crowd you too much or touch you without warning. As you follow one of his instructions, you seemed to mess up something.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you say frantically. “I’m sorry!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Tony quickly got in front of you and tried to get you to focus on him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s an easy fix. See. Here.” Tony moved enough for you to see him fix it. “All good. It’s all good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need. Okay? No one expects you to be perfect at this. We’re just having fun. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded.

~~~

Later that night, in the darkness of the Stane house, Obadiah sat angrily at his desk.

“We only have one shot at this,” he stated. “We barely have enough mean thanks to the Starks. We cannot screw this up.”

“I’ll make sure the men understand the plan,” Brock said. “And I’ll hold up my end of the plan.”

The men turned to the third person standing leaning up against the wall.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Pepper responded. “I’ll handle Tony.”

next chapter >

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acexsmhking · 4 months ago

Note

GUESS WHO IT IS

Because my feelings on Toby are completely normal *cough*

Wrestler Toby x Wrestler reader

Fem ofc

BUT REAL WRESTLING NOT LIKE THE STAGE WWE STUFF

basically it takes place in like just a normal AU where Toby and the others never became pastas n shit-etc. They're still aggressive and bitches, Etc. Toby is in a wrestling team, right? Pretty damn good, CIPA and his strength makes him virtually undefeated

Until this lady shows up, who's not only the only women in the opposing men's team, Toby's weight class, but also completely catches Toby's eye

And suddenly, Toby isn't undefeated anymore, whether it's Toby losing just to get manhandled by a big hot buff woman, or that he genuinely just lost, it's anyone's guess.

But he's obsessed, stalking her social media, etc. eventually he is absolutely delighted when she transfers to his team (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

OKAY THATS IT

MANY KISSES FROM A DEVOUT TONY DROOLER

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

(𝗻.) 𝗟𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹

: ̗̀➛ Toby x FEM!Wrestler!Reader

Summary: Toby had built a well maintained reputation for himself in the wrestling world. He was undefeated since he became pro and graduated. That was.. til he saw you, shaking his world both figuratively and literally.

Warning(s): 18+ content, sexual content, p n v! sex, sub-ish Toby, dom-ish Reader, mentions of blood, mentions of physical harm, descriptions of excessive drooling, descriptions of stalking, Odaxelagnia

He hadn’t a clue of what happened, it was all really a blurr. His mind had blanked out completely during that fight, blinded with adrenaline and.. something else. Your team stood around you, patting you on the back and congratulating you while he sat to the side dumb founded. He..lost? He didn’t even know, not a single thought on his mind as he stared at you.

His eyes trailing all over your curves, the glow on your face. Mostly from sweat but also happiness. Not to mention tracking the flexion of your muscles. He couldn’t stop looking you over, as if he was watching an angel. He hadn’t even noticed when Lyra and his mom sneaked over to him, rubbing his shoulders and checking his limbs. “Oh sweetie are you alright?” His mother tilted his head, gently pouring water in his hair to cool him off so he didn’t overheat. He flushed at the embarrassment, heart still touched at his mother’s care. “Connie, he’s fine. He held himself up!” Tom chuckled, firmly patting Toby’s shoulder. “You did good.” He smiled, playfully nudging Toby.

His family stayed fretting over him all the way to the car. He was leaning against the car door as Lyra looked over his knuckles. They both paused at turned as someone called out. “Hey! Uh, sorry just.. wanted to say hi and,” You shuffled awkwardly, mostly from Tobias intense stare. Your cheeks flushing noticing him checking you out. “Just that, it was a good game and really cool to compete with you!” You smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. His mind was completely blank, he was cool? Oh god, you thought he was cool!

Lyra had that shit eating grin on her face watching you both, awkwardly and embarrassingly compliment each other. You briefly shared your socials with Toby before waving goodbye and heading off with your own family. “You like her!” Lyra exclaimed, pushing against Toby with glee. His eye snapped open as he covered her mouth, shushing her. “I n-never said that!” He groaned, slumping against her.

Getting home he took a nice shower, staying in there far longer than usual. He was.. pent up. But also to wash off the sweat others had spread on him and germs. His mother seriously would never stop coddling him. All he could think about was you. Every little detail. How you were just a bit shy of his height, maybe one or two inches. When you smiled shyly you had dimples, the curves and dips of your biceps when you shook his hand, you smell mixed with a sweaty musk that made him dizzy. He felt.. hot?

He tried playing everything cool as the day went on. Though.. he couldn’t stop himself from checking your socials. It wasn’t anything really.. he just liked a few posts of yours, commented a “good game” on your most recent and that was all! .. for all of ten minutes before he was going through everything. Your follows, followers, even found your parents accounts. Screenshotting pictures of you, saving some post where you were at the pool.. nothing really! He was cool.

By the end of the month Toby had basically put together your whole astrology chart. He had began texting you only a week ago, nothing extreme just casual. It was all casual. Not like he was desperate or had a massive crush on you, no absolutely not. You started the chat so clearly you liked him! Toby had been fiddling with his wrapping when the coach gathered the team together. He was starstruck watching you follow behind, just in casual clothes. But you looked gorgeous to him, he flushed when you waved at him. Giving you a small wave back as the coach started speaking.

“Listen up, I know this is a little sudden however, there will be a new student here.” He motioned to you, who gave a small wave to the onlookers. “Y/N here will be joining our location.” You shuffled as more and more eyes stayed glued on you, clearly everyone had remembered how you cleared Toby out. The coach left everyone to socialize for a short while before you had to leave. You moved closer to Toby as people talked to you, since he was the one you were most familiar with.

Toby was sure he could launch through the roof right now. You were with him, uh them! He’d get to see you at practices, he’d get to practice with you. His knuckles and neck popped at bit more, a very obvious failing attempt to seem calm. Everyone was thankfully nice enough, maybe a few who were clearly a little socially distant. Toby had been walking you to your car before tugging on your shirt a bit. “I was-was wond-der-ing if maybe you uh.” He shuffled his feet, he’d never asked a girl out, plus what if you didn’t like him? “I got this movie, the n-new one you were talking about. We cou-uh-ld watch it.” He attempted to play cool, gosh what was he doing. That was so stupidly lame. But you only giggled, nodding before getting into your car promising to text him your schedule.

Thankfully, Lyra covered for Toby making some lame excuse to lead the parents out the house and away for the early night. His nerves had been all over the place, especially when you knocked on the door. You were dressed absolutely adorably. Not to mention the shirt with short sleeves.. showing off your arms. Or the skirt flaunting your legs, and that styles hair that framed your face perfectly. He could feel the heat radiating from you as you both sat for the movie. Occasionally making sarcastic remarks about the movie, or making jokes. At some point both of you ignored the movie as you chatted, tension becoming less and less as you both relaxed around the other.

Maybe.. too relaxed. Or by now too tense? He felt like both with your arms wrapped around his neck. He felt so light and warm, arms wrapped around your hips. Your thighs pressed against him as you straddled him. Your lips were sloppy as you both tried obtaining more and more of each other. His hands were harsh as he gripped your ass, pulling you closer to him. The shift breaking your contact, a string of saliva connecting you both.

Toby whined, shifting up to try and capture them once again. You playfully dodged his lips grinding yourself against his growing erection. Grabbing a fist full of his hair you tilted his head, kissing along his jaw. Toby sighed, hands still feeling up your ass as they tried moving the thin fabric of your panties. You nibbled his neck in retaliation, angry red marks quickly forming on his delicate skin. Gently, Toby felt your slit which was gradually becoming more and more slicked. A stutter caught in his throat when you ground back against his fingers, causing him to accidentally rub on your clit.

Toby gulped as he kept going.. he hadn’t the faintest fucking idea what he was doing. But he craved you, the scent of your perfume made his sensitive nose twitch. You pulled back from Toby, reaching down to slowly maneuver his hand. “Like this, baby.” You cooed, leading his fingers to your clit. He gave it an experimental pinch, gently between his knuckles. That caused a yelp out of you. He heeded your advice, learning to rub her just how you liked. He listened to your every whim and command, a cute look on his face.

“Let’s do this on your bed.” You giggled, catching his ear lobe between your teeth as you got off him. He hurriedly scrambled after you. Excitedly he took your hand, leading you to his room. You didn’t even have time to look around, his lips crashing into yours. Hands hurriedly roaming bodies as you both fumbled with the other’s clothes. Desperate for the other to be naked. Lying on the bed, you cupped Toby’s face leading him to your aching heat. Toby gaze was absolutely captured, he thought you looked beautiful. Both of you. So enamored with your cunt, running a finger down the middle to collect your essence.

You hummed, encouraging him to explore. His fingers gently spread you open, your scent hitting his nose as a whiny moan left his lips. What if he didn’t please you? And you just left? Toby shook the thoughts from his head, leaning in to place his tongue on your clit. Simply savoring your taste and smell. He was growing furiously hard just at the mere taste of you. And gods did you taste good. Better than anything ever, he was certain. Pulling back, he place gently kisses on her, one of his fingers teasing your hole before pushing in.

“That’s it, good boy Toby.” You moaned, hand gripping his hair as you arched your back. He was pretty sure he was going to nut just from praise alone. Toby tried his best, listening to all your praises and every moan that left your mouth. His eyes looked drunk as he sloppily sucked on your clit, fingers scissoring you open. Muffled moans sending vibrations through you, only stimulating you that much more. His hips lazily grounded into the edge of the bed, your free hands interlocked together. A sweet and intimate gesture he initiated.

He was, surprisingly a very fast and eager learner. You were more than happy that this was becoming a very well placed gamble. Toby loved when your legs would wrap around his head, the hard flex of your muscles threatening to clamp around his head. You’d always spread yourself back out but he wouldn’t mind if you kept them locked around him. Forced to be buried by the nose in your cunt. He already was, honestly. The weight of his head pressed against you, completely giving you his all. He pulled back only briefly to switch his position, his tongue lapping at your hole while two his knuckles pinched your clit. His thumb rubbing quick motion on the now secluded bud.

Your hips jerked very eager to feel more and more of him. His chin long since being covered in your juices, his nose occasionally bumping into you and his fingers causing more pleasure. His tongue explored you with a furious pace. He was absolutely drunk off your pussy, mouth latching back onto your clit. Giving her a long, harsh suck as he pulled back. Releasing her with a pop. Your free hand combing his hair as he watched, watched how your hole stretched when he fingered it.

He gave you a hooded, teary look. His cock ache, horribly. “Aww, poor thing all neglected?” You teased, raising a mocked brow at him. He nodded, hips grinding more desperately. “Puh-lease honey, lemme in promise I’ll do good.” He pleaded, moving up to be nestled between your hips. His cock rubbing against your folds, catching on your hard clit. Your hands gripped his hips, stopping his frantic movements as you guided his cock to your hole. He hastily met your lips as he began sliding into you. He tasted like you, causing an embarrassed flush on your cheeks.

You groaned as he pushed more and more into you, he was not small or thin by any means. He was thick and long, your toes curling as he began immaturely pumping into you. Movement still needy and quick. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to slow him down but he just shushed you. His tip brushing against spots that drove you crazy. “So good! Fuh-fuck-eel so good!” He whined, pace becoming more and more rapid as he held onto your thighs. The wet sound of your thighs meeting were like music to your ears. Especially as you looked down, watching how his cock entered you. Toby seemed to have the same idea, eyes glued to watching your conjoined sex’s.

“Wanna n-nut in you baby, make yo-u feel good promise.” He stuttered, words jumbled and rushed as he pressed wet, sloppy kisses to your cheeks and lips. You moaned, wanting to say anything, but you could. He felt too good, so good that your words caught. Strangled sobs and moans being the only thing to leave your lips. Winded gasps as you tried breathing. But his pace was brutal, and you were sure you could feel him everywhere. “Fuck! Right there!” You yelped, he brushed across a spot that made you see stars. Spit escaping the corners of your lips as he drilled into you. He felt like he was in heaven.

You were so soft and wet, the velvety grip of your walls. He was sure he was going to cum. Was it too soon? He wanted so badly to cum with you, to feel that sensation with you. He was elated to have you in his bed, surrounded by his scent, covered in the marks of his teeth. He had bitten you all over in a haze. Marks on your cheeks, neck and chest. Currently he teeth stayed sunk in the fat of your shoulder, hips jolting you which cause his teeth to sink in deeper occasionally.

You were not going to last much longer, not with how reckless he was going. You could feel that coil in your stomach, you so desperately tried to hold on and wait for Toby but you couldn’t. You came with a loud sob, broken and hoarse as you jolted. Walls clamping around him furiously, a stuttered choke leaving him. He gave you a few more hasty thrusts before stilling in you, teeth leaving your shoulder to kiss you. Both of you shoving your tongues in the other mouth, not even really a proper kiss. Just a wet mess much like between your legs.

For a long moment both of you stayed there, Toby pressing flutter kisses down your chest as you held onto him. “So.. now a ba-bad time to ask for another date?” He said sheepishly, a nervous grin on his lips as he looked at you. Cock slowly slipping out of you. You chuckled, nodding your head. “Yes, we definitely can.”

: ̗̀➛ Let’s go guys only have like four more requests after this one. I’m also working on another surprise for you all so that’s why request might start coming out just a tiny bit slower, but don’t worry I’m still working on them! Love you all<3 — Ace

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby #creepypasta #toby rogers

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auroralwriting · 1 month ago

Text

illicit affairs chapter five

pairing: biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

summary: retail therapy with the girls is always the way to solve family drama, especially after you might've just cut ties with tony once and for all

warnings: violence, language, small age gap (6~ years), angst, arguing, drinking, overall crime and gang stuff, sort of enemies to lovers

: ̗̀➛ series masterlist | masterlist

Dread. That was the one thing you felt deep in your soul the next morning. Of course Tony had found out what you had done. Why wouldn't he? It was a stupid decision on your part. Even if you paid The Guardians to be quiet, Tony would've doubled it to find out who paid them off.

Against your better judgement and Clint's warning, you found yourself walking into Tony's penthouse, fist clenched and jaw set. You knew what you were walking into. Tony had a nasty temper--just look at your healing hand.

Tony's voice bounced off the walls. He sounded angry, rightfully so. The moment you stepped into the room, Clint sent you a weary look. Vision looked almost nauseous, Bruce's eyes grew wide, and Rhodey and Tony looked as if they could have killed you right then and there. It was actually surprising you didn't already have a bullet hole straight through your skull.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Clint shook his head. You could practically hear his thoughts: you shouldn't have come. Clint was usually right. No doubts he was about to be right again.

"Tony--" you tried, your voice calm, a hand out trying to coax him to be easy. Almost like you were walking up to an aggressive dog.

Tony’s glare cut through you like a blade, his dark eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. He was still in his suit from the night before, his tie pulled loose and his shirt rumpled, as if he hadn’t slept. His hair stuck up in a way that might have been comical if his face wasn’t twisted in such raw, seething anger.

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me,” he snarled, his voice crackling with fury. “You went behind my back. My back. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel the weight of the others’ eyes on you – Clint’s silent, pleading stare, Bruce’s worried frown, Rhodey’s tight-lipped grimace. Vision looked like he was trying to calculate the best way to break up a potential fistfight without anyone getting seriously hurt.

“I did what I thought was best,” you replied, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your hands trembled. “I paid them off to avoid a bloodbath, to keep you from walking into a trap. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Tony barked out a bitter, humorless laugh, his chest heaving. “You think you know better than me? You think you’re some kind of mastermind now, pulling strings behind my back like I’m some idiot who can’t handle his own business?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Tony cut you off, his voice rising with each word. “You just put a target on your back, do you understand that? You’ve shown your hand. You’ve proven to every goddamn person out there that they can manipulate you – that you’re the weak link. You’ve made us look like fools.”

He took another step toward you, his face mere inches from yours now, his breath coming out in short, angry bursts. You could see the wild, furious gleam in his eyes, the barely contained rage that had always lurked beneath his polished exterior.

“You don’t get to make these kinds of calls,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to play hero. That’s my job. That’s my fight.”

For a split second, you saw it – the fear behind his anger, the raw, unfiltered terror that had always driven Tony Stark. The fear of losing, of being outmaneuvered, of watching the people he cared about get hurt because he wasn’t good enough, smart enough, fast enough to save them.

“You're not a hero,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “None of us are heros.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to find a crack, a sign of weakness, a reason to keep tearing into you. But then he just let out a shaky breath, turning on his heel and raking a hand through his hair, his shoulders trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

“Get out,” he said, his voice rough, broken. “Just… get out. I can’t look at you right now.”

You felt a sharp, painful twist in your chest, the cold, cutting edge of rejection slicing through you. You glanced at Clint, who gave you a tiny, sympathetic nod, his eyes soft with unspoken understanding.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, your footsteps echoing off the cold marble floors as you made your way back to the elevator. You didn’t look back, even as the doors slid shut, cutting you off from the chaos and anger and hurt you’d left behind.

The ride down felt like an eternity, each second stretching into a painful, suffocating silence. As the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, you took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter, to hold your head a little higher, even as the tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

You’d made your choice, and now you’d have to live with the consequences. But a part of you, the part that still remembered the sound of Tony’s laughter, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, wondered if you’d just lost your brother for good.

Retail therapy – that’s what Clint had called it the last time you got into it with Tony, when you spent an absurd amount on a leather jacket you never ended up wearing. This time, you were determined to actually pick out something useful, something that felt like you, rather than a desperate attempt to fill the growing gap between you and your brother.

The mall was busy, even for a weekday. The steady hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes from the food court, and the distant, repetitive thrum of pop music over the speakers did little to distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. You’d barely managed to make it out of the Tower without breaking down, and now, surrounded by strangers and the bright, bustling chaos of consumerism, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

You wandered into a high-end boutique, your fingers brushing over the racks of carefully arranged designer clothes, the soft, cool fabric a small, tactile comfort. You were lost in thought, your mind replaying Tony’s harsh words on a loop, when a familiar, sharp voice cut through your haze.

“Stark? That you?”

You whipped your head around to find Natasha and Wanda, both dressed casually but still somehow managing to look effortlessly badass. Natasha had her hair up in a messy bun, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in, while Wanda’s soft, curious smile was framed by loose waves of dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

“Oh,” you stammered, trying to force a smile. “Hey, guys.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked over you, her brow furrowing just slightly as she caught the tight, tense set of your shoulders, the way your hands were clenching and unclenching at your sides. “You okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

Natasha’s gaze was a little harder to read, but you caught the way her head tilted slightly, her eyes sharp, like she was already piecing together the situation. She crossed her arms over her chest, one perfectly shaped brow arching. “You look like you’ve just gone ten rounds with Tony,” she remarked dryly, a hint of dark humor in her tone.

You let out a small, bitter laugh, running a shaky hand through your hair. “Close enough.”

Wanda stepped closer, her eyes still searching your face for cracks in the armor you were trying so hard to hold together. “What happened?”

For a split second, you considered brushing it off, making some lame excuse and slipping out the door before they could push you further. But then you remembered that these two women had probably seen more broken bones, bruised egos, and shattered friendships than anyone else you knew. If anyone could handle your mess, it was them.

"Tony found out," you sighed, rubbing a hand over your forehead. "About The Guardians. How I paid them off."

Wanda reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, her eyes filled with a quiet, empathetic understanding. “Come on,” she said softly, tugging you toward the back of the store. “We’re getting you something nice. Consider it a distraction.”

Natasha smirked, already scanning the racks for something in your size. “Yeah, something sharp, something that says ‘I’m not taking anyone’s shit today.’”

For the first time in hours, you felt a small, genuine smile pull at the corners of your mouth. Maybe retail therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

As the three of you shopped, you truly took in the presence of two women. It wasn't often you were surrounded by people other than the men in Tony's gang. Wanda and Natasha were lovely, truly. Even if they were Southside Avengers. They were funny, nice, and they truly seemed to give a shit about you--something you couldn't really say for your gang.

“Okay,” Wanda said, leaning against the full-length mirror in the fitting room with a mischievous grin. “You can’t just brush this off. What’s the deal with you and Bucky?”

You groaned, running your hands down the fabric of the jumpsuit, still processing the sudden rush of old memories. “There is no deal, Wanda. He barely looks at me, let alone talks to me. I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

Natasha’s sharp laugh cut through the air as she leaned on the other side of the mirror, arms crossed, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the way he stares at you when you’re not looking. It’s not hate, Stark. Trust me, I know the difference.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix the strap of the jumpsuit. “He’s just… intense. It’s not the same.”

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze soft but curious, head tilted like she was trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. “So, what happened? Why are you two so… weird around each other?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against the silky fabric. You hadn’t talked to anyone about this, not even Clint, who knew almost every dark corner of your life. But something about the way Wanda’s eyes searched yours, gentle but unrelenting, made you feel like maybe you could trust her. And Natasha, despite her razor-sharp edges, had a loyalty that ran deeper than most people realized.

With a shaky sigh, you leaned back against the wall, the coolness of the mirror pressing against your bare shoulder. “It’s… complicated. He was there. The night my parents died.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the rack she leaned against. “You mean he was involved?”

“Not exactly,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not like that. I think he was just… caught up in it. Wrong place, wrong time. But knowing he was there, that he saw it, maybe even could’ve stopped it… it’s hard to look at him and not think about that night because I honestly don't know. I don't know how involved he was or if he even...”

Wanda’s face softened, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours gently. “I had no idea. That must be so hard, to be around him.”

You gave a weak, bitter smile, your eyes drifting back to the mirror, catching the haunted look in your own reflection. “Yeah. And I think he knows it, too. It’s like we’re both just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For one of us to finally snap and say what’s really on our minds.”

Natasha leaned closer, her sharp eyes never leaving your face. “Maybe that’s what you need. Rip the band-aid off. Get it out in the open, and maybe you’ll both feel better.”

You huffed a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll just make things even worse. I don’t exactly have a great track record with this stuff, you know?”

Wanda gave you a small, encouraging smile, her fingers still warm against yours. “You’re stronger than you think. And if Bucky can’t see that, then he’s the one missing out.”

Natasha straightened, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “Or we just get him drunk enough that he can’t keep his mouth shut. I’ve got some very effective vodka stashed away for just this kind of situation.”

You couldn’t help the small, genuine laugh that escaped your lips, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to finally confront Bucky – to stop letting the past keep its icy grip on you.

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself off the wall and forcing a more confident smile. “Let’s get me out of this jumpsuit before I overthink this whole thing and run for the hills.”

Wanda and Natasha shared a quick, conspiratorial glance as you turned back to the fitting room, the echoes of their quiet giggles following you inside.

The three of you had just finished at the checkout, your arms weighed down with glossy shopping bags when Natasha suddenly slowed her pace, her sharp eyes locking onto a group lingering near the mall entrance. You followed her gaze, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the familiar, towering figure of Steve Rogers. He was standing beside Sam, who had his phone out, and Bucky, whose face was partially hidden by the brim of his baseball cap, the dark fabric shadowing his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes.

Wanda let out a small, delighted gasp, her arm brushing against yours. “Oh, look who it is,” she whispered, her voice dripping with playful mischief. “Talk about perfect timing.”

Natasha shot you a knowing smirk, adjusting the bags on her arm as she straightened up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t say I never do anything for you, Stark,” she murmured, her tone sly as a fox’s.

Before you could protest, Natasha raised her voice, calling out to the trio with a casual wave. “Hey, boys! Fancy running into you here.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his face breaking into a broad, welcoming grin as he spotted Natasha. Sam’s eyes lit up, and he quickly pocketed his phone, elbowing Bucky in the ribs as he straightened. Bucky’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced a small, polite nod in your direction, his eyes flicking over you briefly before returning to some distant, imaginary point on the polished mall floor.

“Hey, ladies,” Sam called, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s with all the bags? You robbing this place or just single-handedly boosting the economy?”

Natasha smirked, shifting the bags on her arm. “A little of both. You know us.”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Stark. Nice to see you out and about.”

You forced a small, tight smile, suddenly very aware of the way your heart was racing, the slight, annoying tremble in your hands. “Yeah, figured a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt.”

Wanda, still practically glowing with excitement, leaned in closer to you, her eyes sparkling as she glanced between you and Bucky. “We found some really cute stuff. You should see what she picked out.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up for a split second, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his gaze darted to the bags in your hands before quickly dropping back to the floor. You felt your cheeks heat, and you silently cursed Wanda for putting you on the spot.

Sam, ever the instigator, waggled his eyebrows, clearly picking up on the strange, tense undercurrent passing between you and Bucky. “What, you didn’t pick anything up for the rest of us? I’m hurt, Stark.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Maybe you should buy Barnes something. Might get him to actually speak to you for once.”

You shot her a sharp look, your heart now thudding wildly in your chest, but before you could respond, Steve clapped his hands together, his bright, blue eyes sparkling with that boyish charm that always seemed to disarm everyone around him.

“You ladies heading out for drinks again tonight?” Steve asked, his gaze shifting briefly to you, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “You should come by The Grove again. It’s on me this time.”

Wanda shot you a quick, excited glance, her arm tightening around yours. “Oh, we’re definitely in. Right, Stark?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, any excuse, but Natasha was already nodding, her eyes locked on Bucky with a wicked, satisfied grin. “Of course. We’ll see you there, boys.”

Steve’s smile widened, and he gave a small, approving nod. “Perfect. We’ll save you a seat.”

As the three of them turned to leave, Sam shot you a playful wink over his shoulder, while Bucky remained silent, his head dipped low as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. You caught the briefest flicker of his eyes in your direction, a ghost of something unreadable passing over his face before he turned away.

The moment they were out of earshot, you turned on Natasha, your heart still thundering in your chest. “What the hell was that?”

Natasha just smirked, tossing her hair back as she started walking again, her steps quick and confident. “That, Stark, was me doing you a favor. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Wanda giggled, her arm still looped through yours. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

You groaned, glancing down at the bags in your hands and already regretting everything. “This is a terrible idea.”

Natasha glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with the sharp, dangerous glee of a woman who lived for this kind of chaos. “No, sweetheart. This is a game-changer.”

#auroral writing #auroralwriting #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader

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widowsofchaos · 6 months ago

Note

Buckynat

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

—- even the unloveable can be loved.

pairing // bucky barnes x brown!fem!reader x natasha romanoff

warnings // dom/sub smut (Shibari), cheating, mention of pcos, stretch marks, and hyperpigmentation. mention of an unnamed omc.

a/n // read it here on ao3. I hope whoever requested this, sees this. sorry for taking so long. wrote this in a low point in my life. hope you enjoy. <3

It’s methodical.

A routine well practiced, it’s recited in your footsteps. Auto-piloting through the lavish apartment corridors, a secluded area in the compound that always leaves you in a daze, coordinating footfalls that felt as a maze—- with keys digging in your grip.

The rigid craved curves dig into the flesh of your thumb, wedging the copper tip underneath your fingernail, edging on subtle pain.

The path to the secure living spaces of the earth’s mightiest heroes is a familiar one. The billion-dollar compound is secured and shrouded in silence.

The ideal timing, when the majority of the avengers are in their own worlds. Some are on a mission, and some are just —- not here.

The walk of shame isn’t something you want. Despite being a lab technician for Tony, you don’t try to rub elbows. You’re use to being alone, casted in the shadows—- and just because you warm the bed of two avengers doesn’t mean, you yearn to fuck your way to the top.

Another turn in the hallway, and right at the end of the corridor, is that familiar sterling gray door. Just beyond it is your solitude.

Copper ridges twist and unlock, the crisp air conditioning fans your face as the door opens, relaxing your nerves.

Slipping out of your flats, by a whisk of your ankle, the shoes are perched at the door. Smoothly you glide your wedding ring off—- hide it away in your pocket, all its value is nothing more than a stranger now.

Steadied steps inside the spacious apartment. Pristine, with cool tones. Perched on the polished flooring is a rich violet pillow.

Well versed motions, mutely, you remove each article of clothing. From the flaps of your beige blazer, to your white button blouse, each button snapping open with anxious aggression, to your unzipping your black skirt—— the anticipation of the zipper splitting open against the flesh of your thigh.

Folding neatly, fabric on top of another, resting on the pristine couch.

It’s all arousing.

To be owned. To be eaten carnally. To be degraded, reduced to nothing. Some days, the aftercare is merely an afterthought, you think you don’t care for it, because it’s a belief of not deserving of it.

Some days, you depress yourself, thinking that you’re just a sex toy to a bored couple. But, when they touch you, caress you—- your heart settles, and you feel safe.

Grateful to them, for once —- in all the years of your life, you never once accepted your sexuality, nor explored regions of intimacy. Embarrassed of extra flesh you carry, and scars, finally, to have anyone adore these flaws.

To be taken care of is still a foreign concept, a notion that even your boyfriend doesn’t even entertain so often.

A few kisses here, and a stroke against the meat of your thigh there—- no, he doesn’t clean up the rawness, the humanity of facing the aftermath of sex.

Nor does he want to. He doesn’t want to touch the darkness that casts upon your inner thighs.

Rarely any relationship birthed from obligation promises a happily ever after.

Now you sit, kneeling on the lush readied cushion, just for you. Awaiting for the touch, the manhandling. The silence prevails in the apartment space. Enveloping you with bated breath.

The walls have eyes.

They��re watching you. You can feel the forest green and icy blue hues stalking you akin to predators in the wild, awaiting their vulnerable prey.

Goosebumps form on your flesh, palms resting on your knees. Skilled and lethal, years of expertise—- they tread in silence. All the more erotic, to be caught off guard, knowing that you can never win. Never hide from them.

They can sniff your soul a mile away.

They need control. After decades of being subjected forcefully to commit heinous acts —- even still seen as criminals, despite saving the world numerous times.

Used as puppets, with no autonomy. Both learned through each other —- even in the most violent environments —- that safety isn’t impossible, if it's through tender intimacy, or communication.

Mastered the art of speaking with just their eyes.

A moment passes, and you wait, as a loyal dog. It turns them on. To see you obedient, even when you’re trembling in your skin, to be touched.

Staring at the wall ahead, fingers fidget against your bare thigh, your bum seated against the soles of your feet.

You didn’t even hear him.

“Privet, moy pitomets.” Hello, my pet.

The vowels slip from his lips with ease, only a few words have been taught to you routinely, but the language remains foreign.

“Let me see your nails.” It’s not a request. Bucky inspects each nail closely. He sighs disappointedly to see swollen red cuticles.

“You’ve been biting.”

“More like ripping.”

Bucky gently smacks your fingers, with his right hand. “What did I tell you?” He chastises, his breath warm and wispy against the shell of your ear.

“Not to do that.”

Your head bows submissively, a twinge of genuine shame birthes itself, all your thoughts consume your mind, yes, yes, punish me, I deserve it.

“And yet, you deliberately disobey us.” A silky, Russian accent that edges on a moan with every vowel. Not daring to turn your face, gracious legs step into your eyesight.

Mindless picking relieves your mind from the small stresses. You don’t tell them the personal issues, just enough to indicate that there is a broken marriage, that was already fractured before the consummation.

“I want the pain.”

You are nothing, you are void of all that is pure. You deserve it—- “Pain, moya lyubov'?” My love. Natasha asks, kneeling to your eye level, but your eyes are downcasted.

Her index finger glides under your throat up the slope to your chin, sending a shiver down the terrain of your spine. Her finger curves, lifting your gaze to hers.

“Is that all you want?” Natasha speaks with silk on her tongue. Smooth metal fingers tread and engulf your throat, a caressing fist.

Bucky’s soft pink lips shower your check in tantalizing kisses—- feathery. Leaving you wanting more, his flesh hand weaves in your hair, stroking your scalp.

Pulling you to him, controlling you, handling you his way. Natasha hums, with that smug smirk she always dons.

“No.” You wheeze a whine, eyes dazed.

“Bucky hasn’t even touched you yet,” Natasha teases, her eyes catch your hip lifting just a bit, craving to be touched, “—- and already you’re cock drunk.”

You whine a whimper.

Swinging mid-air, bondaged with a blindfold shielding your eyes.

Washed in cold water, and oiled. Soft and flexible—- intricately hemp tied around the ceiling’s hook, and clings to your anchoring body.

Mischievously, you’re tied in a position that splits your legs apart, arms bent back as a bird’s wing, and digging into your torso in pretzel knots. Heavy breasts hang freely as the hemp is tied akin to a bralet, roving between the hills of each tit.

It’s been hours. Three to be exact. A few breaks in-between.

A gust of breath escapes you, panting as your body settles from another orgasm. Vibrating from your skin, if you could, you would melt within these knots.

Bucky’s thumbs caressing and digging into your hips assuring you.

But, some moments, you cringe at the sensation of his fingers stroking your spilt thighs. Fleshy, and darkened—- you swallow that tightness in your throat with soft moans.

Eye-lids wrinkling behind the shrouded fabric, but you swallow the brewing prickles in your throat. Masking the cringe deep inside.

Natasha is completely naked, unbuckling the leather strap from her hips; smugly staring as Bucky has been ravishing your soppy cunt. Your skin is coated in a dew of sweat, as faint purplish handprints bloom on the swell of your hips.

Both of them have been taking turns on you. Natasha fucking you deep with her strap, and Bucky with his cock. Having you eat Natasha out, her finger gripping your hair as Bucky savored you, thighs split. Just a moment ago, Bucky stuffed your mouth full as Nat’s long smooth pink dildo had you crying with pleasure.

“Hmm,” Nat hums to herself teasingly. Her slender ivory fingers caress your chin, lifting your head. She can see your chest heaving, you’ve been wrung loose. “Maybe we should stop.”

Bucky’s teeth nip at the rope, his lips gliding against your shoulder blade. “Maybe.” He taunts. “You probably had enough.” He whispers in the shell of your ear.

You mumble, but the words just can’t fall out.

“What was that?” Natasha’s brows lift, “We couldn’t hear you.” Her fingertips tapping the underside of your chin.

“Please fuck me.” Wringing your hands against the tight rope, a low whine stretches. Bucky tsks. “Please.”

Both chuckle. Insatiable, Nat mumbles with a lazy grin.

Bucky’s fingers glide against your split mound, fondling the empty connection between you both. With gentle ease, he readies himself inside you, following with a smooth thrust.

Bucky pauses for a second, and sighs. He looks down at his cock with realization, a lazy smirk. You turn your head over the slope of your shoulder, despite being blinded, “What’s wrong?” you pant.

“I guess we forgot a rubber.” Bucky laughs. Natasha breathes a chuckle, murmuring that she’ll get another one real quick.

Adrenaline rushing to your ears. You utter a small no, their smiles fade a little, but you don’t see it. Your skin feels the shift in the air, the quick silence.

Like vomit, your words spew.

“I can’t have children…. it’s okay.” You gesture over your shoulder, tugging on the knots. Not enjoying the silence, you swallow.

“Cum in me, please!” You wail, brows pinching. Tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Curls stuck to your face by the sheen of your sweat, nearly tangled, and tears kissing your lashes. “You don’t have to be so cautious.” You laugh through a squint, blur of gray cotton. Laughing to guise the bitter twinge, making your words softer.

An odd glimmer passes through Natasha’s face. But it’s gone as fast as it came. Soothingly caressing your cheek, a flutter of her gaze catches Bucky, who nods so tenderly. Speaking through the silence, the need for the rush now dissipates to a kinder pace.

Natasha retrieves another condom, as Bucky’s thumbs caress you in circular motions. One part of your mind enjoys it and the other is sinking into itself, reminding you that he is touching your fat.

Bucky leans down, kissing the arch of your spine, “Remember your safe word—-” another kiss, “we’ll stop if we have to.” Two more kisses, and he gently adjusts by your waist, so his tip is just at your entrance. Curved and hung, stroking through your lips.

Natasha’s hands cup your cheeks, “Remember to breathe.” Your skin yearning with lust, and desperation. Just as your lungs expand, Bucky slowly sheethes himself inside you, earning a breathy sigh from both of you, his eyes fluttering.

Moaning low, as an odd sense of comfort. That he is meant to be here, inside you. A reminder that you are wanted. The taste of Nat lingers on your tongue, and it feels like home.

Starving for that high, reaching for it one more time. Your body can feel every thrust, but your mind is drifting. Stifling the thoughts, you try to focus on the pleasure.

Your body is a spongy blob, in need to be used. You are nothing, and the void must be filled. With a cock, or a strap. Replace the sorrow with the crack of a belt, or a striking hand.

Bucky fucks deep inside you, your breathing becoming heavy. Nat holds your cheeks, kissing you, swallowing your sounds. Her warm tongue slipped inside, dancing against yours.

It’s all so suffocating. To be between their presence. Bucky hit a curved angle, making you cry out.

Yes—- the familiar knot is tightening. The curve of Bucky’s cock stroking and punching that spot, that delicious spot—- his balls slapping your swollen clit.

Soft moans and guttural grunts dance together in the air. Natasha’s slender fingers gripping your throat, no doubt, she’s touching herself. To see her husband fuck animalisticly their third.

String of slick connects between Bucky’s sac and your swollen clit, spilt and weeping on his cock.

The pit in your belly is tightening, so close. Swirling thoughts plague your mind, distracting you from your approaching high. Trying to pay attention to Bucky’s grunts, and gripping hands, but the thoughts of ugliness and shame rip at your skin.

Closer… closer … closer…

A gasp and …. nothing.

“I didn’t … cum.” You spoke in a hush. Eyes moon-wide, lashes blink against the cotton, disbelief eroding within your veins. Staring through the barely mesh blind-fold. Your breathing becomes short.

“That’s okay.” Nat says, caressing your scalp. She’s a slight blur in your hazy vision, coming forth to you with gentle ease.

But all you feel is the rush of blood flooding your ears.

“I — didn’t cum.” You repeat, breasts heaving, the cage of your ribs erratic with breath.

“And that's—- okay.” Bucky repeats. His lips kisses your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. Bucky moves around you, being careful with your body. Blood rushes to your ears, dissociating into the void, as their footsteps fade from your mind.

Your head hangs low, eyes watery, and humiliated. Expecting at any second for them to cut you down, and make your grand escape. Ensure that you must resign, never show your face again, pretend you never existed—-

Soft hands gently start cutting at the rope, as another pair grabs at your body, making sure you don’t fall. With kind precision, Bucky pulls you to his warm body. Natasha flicks at the rope, splintering fibers into split ends. A white towel wrapped around his torso.

He caresses your body into a hug, and you’re speechless. Nearly sinking into your skin, like being swallowed by a black hole. Cringing at the realization of being naked. Trying to muster the words, to tell them that you don’t need help, and you’ll be leaving, but Bucky just carries you as a feather.

“Where—-” your words die in a groggy grunt, “—- where are you taking me?” Your eyes are bleary, brows knitting in frustration. Bucky chuckles, “You need a bath.” His lips curl into a smile.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to—” your words are snuffed by a shush, Natasha’s fingers stroke the hairs clinging to the sweat of your brow.

“We’re going to take care of you.” Spoken with such firmness, as if saying you’re not winning this. With such declarations in their tones, it’s enough to shut you up.

And they did. They took such care of you.

Bathing you with gentle hands. You can feel they were deep in thought, a shift now in the air. Silently cursing at yourself for being so compulsive with your words, sitting in the bath with empty eyes.

Pampered you with a soapy scrub, and comforting silence. Naked among each other, but not sexual. Bathing one another, as you slip inside the bubbles. The water is warm, and it nearly lulls you to sleep.

All you can feel is hands holding you gently, and the blur of the dim bathroom lights.

The phone is stuck in the grip of your palm, blankly staring at the screen. Desperately your thumb hovers over the keyboard, itching to just rip the band aid off.

You peek over the hill of your shoulder, making sure Nat and Bucky are sleeping. Fiddling with the hem of Bucky’s shirt, you always loved wearing his clothes— spacious and big to conceal your fluffy body; plus, it smells like him.

You couldn’t sleep. Restlessly your mind raced. The pit of your belly pinches, as you set your eyes back on the screen.

His contact picture mocking you.

Let him know. It’s over. No more enduring the humiliation of being nippicked, for what you can’t control. Why continue being with someone who doesn’t love you for yourself? Who always makes you feel less than dog shit?

A soft hand glides up from your shoulder blade to the cusp of your neck, earning a gasp from you.

Your eyes flit to your side, to see Natasha’s sharp eyes staring into your screen. It’s hard to read her face, it’s … void.

“I can’t have children either.” Nat whispers. Her eyes shift to you, a small smile lifts. “Doesn’t make us any less of a woman.” Her eyes blink with sympathy, unflinching.

No quivering in the truth. That’s one of the best aspects of Bucky and Natasha. Neither one lies. It’s always been pure honesty, never looking away from shame.

You wish to master that. To not let shame eat at your core, till it’s festering. To the point of crippling anxiety, falling apart at the idea of being perceived.

And yet, these two, have cracked you open, physically and emotionally—- has seen every bit of you with no judgment clouding their eyes. Found beauty and value within you—- but is it love? What if they found another?

You wouldn’t find this connection again—- “Don’t get lost on me.” Nat’s voice pulls you back, her knuckles grazing against your forearm.

“We can help you pack your things.”

Your brows pinch with confusion. Nat breathes a laugh. “While he’s gone, we can help you move in.” The light of the phone dimmed, but Natasha can still see through you. Her observant eyes unblinking.

“You want me… to move in?” Your voice floats on a whisper, feeling that anxious drop in your belly.

“We’ve been wanting that for so long.” Natasha says. Her eyes flew over to Bucky’s sleeping body, “I had to stop him from just taking you.” She smiles, laughing a bit.

“He was ready to tear the door down.” The image of Bucky barging in your home, and just taking you sent a jolt to your core—- so rugged. Natasha’s eyes gaze back to you. Her shiny nails softly graze your forearm.

“We love you.”

Those three words nearly make you cry. Yet, you have no love for yourself. It felt compulsive to ask—- “Why?” the question just spews. Natasha’s brows pinch.

“How can we not?” She asks, as if it’s the most ludicrous question. Your eyes filter away, staring down in shame. The light of the phone screen goes out, the darkness becomes your veil.

“Because my body is ruined.”

Natasha remains silent, you can only see a glimmer of her through the dark, not even the night slipping through the blackout drapes.

Soft fingertips graze the outline of your shoulder, it was the warm flesh fingers you are so familiar with.

“You’re not ruined.” A soft husk whispers behind you. With how he moves in silence, it should have startled you, but it didn’t. You felt Bucky’s breath fan the skin of your shoulder, caressing you with a shiver in its wake.

You have no doubt he was listening to the entire conversation— nothing could ever be hidden from either. You shake your head, your lips caving into your mouth into a tight lip.

“A lot of people would disagree with you.” You say, it’s second nature to speak with such defeatism, to never accept a compliment. It was always a rare occasion to be told that you were beautiful.

“Many people can fuck off.” Natasha snips. Her finger curls under your chin, making you look at her. A swirl of frustration and sympathy tastes her ivory-skinned features, illuminated by the dim darkness.

“I wish it was that easy.”

“It is.” Bucky hisses low, “You’re making it difficult for yourself.” His words sting, but the truth is all too bare.

He exhales a sigh, so soft you barely hear it. Your eyes staring into the void, straining to see your lap before you.

By now, the light of your cellphone is gone.

Bucky’s flesh knuckles stroke your shoulder blade, you can feel he wants to speak more; but he graces you with the chance to swallow his words.

“What would the team say?” Unshed tears sting your oculus, filtering from your left to right. Your head shakes in disbelief, trying to find words; but the vowels seem to limp from your tongue.

“What— wh…” you stammer, nose flaring to keep the tears at bay. “The three of us…” your lips wrinkle, “I don’t fit…”. Your entire face prunes in despair now.

“How would that look?” You speak hastily and anxiously, your throat feels raw, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel their eyes piercing through your entire body, the rush of blood and heat captures your ears.

“It doesn’t matter what people think.” Natasha says, her tone is edged. Her face leans in closer, her breath fanning your face.

“It matters to me.” You sniffle, your fingertips pointedly hitting against your chest. “I have lived my life by everybody’s opinions…their taunts… I… I don’t know how I…” you begin to fumble over your words again.

“None of them would be against us.” Bucky says softly. “Or mock us.” He takes your fingers into his, interlocking. You can feel his warmth encasing you, from his thumb stroking your knuckles.

“We wouldn’t let them get the chance.” Bucky’s voice is low, an edged husk.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.” You spoke in a whisper, grinding your teeth, restraining the itching in your throat. Droplets of tears rain down your cheeks, soaking the jut of your chin, down underneath your neck.

“We’re not embarrassed.” Natasha’s fingers guide your chin. “Far from it.” She kisses your scalp, earning just the softest hint of a smile.

A pregnant pause.

“I would love to live with you…” you speak as soft as a baby’s breath, “to feel loved for once…”. A resignation rests on you, weighing heavier and heavier. A battle of resistance, to grasp violently onto the sadness, and on the other side, is acceptance.

Just give in. Don’t you want love?

It’s not important what I want.

It’s all here… in the form of two souls… doesn’t it feel nice?

It does feel nice.

“What do I say… to him?” The mention of your boyfriend back home stirs an odd tug in your belly. “How do I tell him? A fight can break out—”

“How about you sleep on it.” Bucky interjects, as Natasha’s open fingers stroke your spine. You nod, trying to swallow the harshness in your throat, muttering an okay under your breath.

A fight won’t happen, Bucky thinks, he won’t let it happen. He can sense Natasha feeling the same. A silent agreement that if anyone tries to hurt you —- it would end quickly and six feet deep in dirt. But, your anxiety vibrates too loud at the moment, it’s best to just rest now.

Laying down between them, sinking into the sheets. Natasha and Bucky encase you, as Bucky puts your phone on the nightstand. Out of sight, out of mind.

You let your last message to your now ex-boyfriend be your white lie of sleeping over at your mother’s. Now, your bones melt into the mattress, tucked between two bodies—- you can start anew in the morning, till then, you just want to rest with the two people who make you feel safe.

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