#What if Clint died... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

Text

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

3K notes · View notes

hurtspideyparker · 9 months ago

Text

Part 3 of if Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together

Part 1 Part 2

Mission debrief:

Thor: Don't feel bad Banner, I mean is there anyone at this table who hasn't killed somebody?

Peter: *slowly raises hand*

Natasha: Don't worry you're still young

Peter: 😟

Steve: Has anyone seen my shield?

Clint: *points outside*

*Peter, Thor, and Bucky playing frisbee with it*

Steve: I guess I'm not saving those orphans today :/

Clint: Tony I said seedless watermelon, are you trying to kill me?

Tony: You're a big boy, you aren't gonna choke

Clint: No but it might... grow

Tony: Oh please don't tell me you still think watermelon seeds grow inside your stomach if you swallow them

Clint:

Pietro: Bro got a licence to kill but still has a Jack and the Beanstock level of education

2:34 am

Tony: *leaving Steve's bedroom*

Sam: *leaving Bucky's bedroom*

Tony:

Sam:

Tony: Let's never speak of this?

Sam: Yep.

Steve: Tony, you're the smartest person I know. You understand anything you set out to study, your passion is remarkable, innovation beyond anyone on the planet, and an incredible memory

Tony: Thank you thank you

Steve: So why do you STILL NOT CLOSE THE KITCHEN CABINETS

Tony: Uh

Steve: SOME OF US ARE TALL TONY. SOME OF US HAVE BRUISES ON THEIR FOREHEADS BECAUSE OF THIS NEGLIGENCE

Tony: Goodnight kid *tucks Peter into bed and kisses his forehead*

*Clint, Vision, Thor, and Dum-E waiting outside the room*

Tony: Oh come on. All of you?

*nodding*

Tony: Vision you don't even sleep. Dum-E I am not kissing you again you gave me chemical burns last time

Dum-E: *lowers head and whirs sadly*

Bucky: Don't sit so close to me

Sam: Why, cause I'm black 🤨

Bucky: No because you smell like ass sweat

Sam:

Sam: Why, cause I'm bl-

During training:

Natasha: *flips Steve and slams him onto his back*

Peter: Woah! I wanna know how to do that

Natasha: *flips Peter and slams him onto his back*

Natasha: Seems like you already know how

Tony: Okay Merida, you and me, darts for a hundred bucks. My suit vs. your freak self

Clint: I'll take that bet

*7 minutes later*

Tony: I have advanced AI targetting technology. SUPER. SUIT. How did I lose?!

Clint: It can do a lot of things Tony but at the end of the day it can't super suck this di-

Bucky: Sam's in medical so I'll do the mission debrief with you

Natasha: That was fast, I thought you'd still be coddling your boyfriend the rest of the day

Bucky: What. How do you know about us.

Natasha: I don't, it was a joke...

Bucky:

Natasha:

Bucky: Damn you really are good at interrogation

Bruce: I've taken up puzzles as a hobby. It's actually really relaxing

*Box is missing the last piece*

Bruce: *sighs, erases the 61 under the 'Days Without Hulk Incident' sign*

Natasha: Kings

Bucky: Go fish. Sevens?

Natasha: Nada. Fives?

Bucky: Shit. Here

Sam: I thought y'all were playing poker, are you for real playing Go Fish?

Natasha: Our pockets got cleaned out so we quit. The poker game is over by Steve

Peter: HAHA SUCK IT OLD MAN, AMERICA JUST WENT BANKRUPT *pulls giant pile of animal crackers to himself*

Steve: Do you want to play catch?

Wanda: What?

Steve: Um. Do you want to watch Hannah Montana?

Wanda: I don't even know what you're talking about

Steve: Maybe I could show you how to brush your teeth?

Wanda: Steve you're really scaring me

Steve: The article said to do it together! *shows phone*

Wanda: Are you getting parenting advice from wikihow? Did you even read it or were you just skimming the pictures

Steve: ...Well why'd they put toothbrushing in the photo if it wasn't a good bonding activity?

Sam: Why are your titties so bouncy man. Is it to deflect bullets?

Steve: What did you just say about my chest...

Sam: Hey I call em as I see em, and they're staring right at me.

Peter: Yo Mr. Stark wanna see a backflip?

Peter: Oh Cap come see my front handsprings

Peter: Natasha watch this aerial cartwheel!

Tony: Why did you tell him you were in the circus. Now that the idea's in his head all he does is jump around and cause noise complaints from downstairs

Clint: C'mon it's cute! He's talented

Bucky: I'm gonna tell him it doesn't count because he has superpowers and that he's a cheat

Tony: But that'll ruin his confidence

Bucky: God I hope so

3K notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 1 month ago

Text

Headcanons for being the youngest Avenger and joining the Thunderbolts*

Thunderbolts x reader

warnings: spoilers!!! blood and guns and death n such u know the drill

a/n: i gave y/n unspecified powers until about halfway through so i just based the powers on an oc i am weak

prompt:

you’d always been the odd one out in the avengers, being the “young one” was not easy

like, you were teens during the battle of new york

sure, you were respected as a valiant hero, one of earths mightiest, but there was struggle in not having many peers to lean on

when you had wanda around, things were a little different—but that didn’t last long at all

then the blip happened, you survived, your world crumbled, and you got everyone back—but nothing was ever the same and it took its toll on you

the avengers disbanded, everyone left went their separate ways and you realized that the avengers, your family, were all you’d ever known

so you found your footing elsewhere, tried to stay in touch with those who you found comfort in. people you could count on

this included sam, clint, and bruce. rest were either preoccupied, plotting less than ethical things, or you just weren’t close with to begin with

“yeah, this kid—kate—she reminds me of you. she’s a bit more clumsy, awkward, and desperate, but it made me think of you…having another young person aspiring to save the world and all. or at least new york” -clint over the phone

“it’s nice to hear, thanks for checking in. hopefully she doesn’t accidentally destroy any buildings like i did” -you

“well, about that—” -clint

you always really enjoyed when they called you first, but no one was calling for your calling

you didn’t know how to not be a hero, it was really fucking frustrating

you were only made an avenger that early on because you had powers, and you were already a public hero. it’s not like you could get a job at a coffee shop, as entertaining as that would be

that’s when bucky called you one day, and you didn’t get close with bucky until steve died. yeah, you helped him out of a bind in germany, but that was about as far as it went. you were just acquainted because of sam

but bucky knew how it felt to be alone, lost, misguided, all that

and he just decided to run for congress

“y/n, i’d like you to be my advisor. there’s no one i could trust more—that would agree to this, that is” -bucky

“are you serious?” -you

“about running for congress or the advisor thing?” -bucky

“both i guess?” -you

“yeah, i’m serious” -bucky “i heard from a mutual friend you were still trying to find your place after…you know, everything. i am, too. so i’m asking you as a friend if you will join me on this path. it could be good for both of us”

and that it was, bucky won the election and you were now being paid decend money to be bucky’s #2. it felt right

you’d briefly been a government employee as an avenger, but now you were a lot more autonomous in a sense

yes, you had a lot of red tape, but it beat that sense of impending doom you had living with the avengers

you and bucky fought to keep new york safe in a different way. fought for the little guy. tried to clean up the system a bit

that included getting valentina allegra de fontaine impeached from her job as the head of the CIA

if there’s anything bucky and you knew about intelligence agencies, they needed to be as clean as possible. or else you’d have disasters like hydra infiltrating shield and secret human experimentation and super soldiers and child assassins. all that good stuff

you backed it, regardless of what little sway you guys had

you gave him a death glare as he was interviewed about valentina’s impeachment and all he could do was say “worrying” 10 times in a row

“we need to work on your public speaking” -you, immediately following his embarrassing comments

“yeah, i know” -bucky

you and bucky lived nearby each other, you relocated to brooklyn following the new job

so when necessary, you’d lean on each other

let me be clear that this is strictly friendship. lightly professional. the teo of you have seen dark days in your own respective ways. you were both turned into weapons without any say. had a hard time controlling it for a long time. made some terrible mistakes. tried your hardest to move up in the world. carry demons with you. misery loves company.

and right now, being new to the office, not a lot of other government officials were fond of you two. there was a lot of distrust.

first, we have the hydra super soldier who’s ledger is running with blood. his slate was wiped clean, but that doesn’t mean the people see him differently. it was a miracle he was voted into office to begin with

then there’s you, the late-20s, early 30s former avenger who was never quite taken seriously due to your youth in the public eye. you were viewed as dangerous due to your powers, as well, and some people feared you two would use your abilities to influence and intimidate

so you advised taking a very gentle approach to congressman barnes, that way no one felt threatened

that was until you and bucky went rogue to bring in valentina’s covert ops team as a last ditch effort to get her impeached

bucky bombing several CIA vehicles? not very gentle

but fun and refreshing? check!

“it’s been a while since i’ve been able to stretch my legs—the suit’s a little tight, though” -you

“you’re still rocking it” -yelena

“aw, thanks! we’re not letting you go” -you

then the rogue assassins and you guys get into it about a guy named “bob” and then bucky gets a call about “bob” its a whole mess. whatever

“okay, looks like we’re letting you go” -you

“hey, i meant it, your suit still looks good! im not even tied up anymore and i’m still saying it!” -yelena

“she’s right, you look awesome” -ava

“yeah, i need to change. my range of motion is severely limited” -you

you guys got to NYC to go confront valentina…at the old avengers HQ

you got a chill down your spine as you arrived

“you good?” -bucky

“yeah, yeah. just a lot of memories here” -you

this was the moment where it clicked for the rest of the team that you were an AVENGER. a real avenger. you were close with natasha. you knew the real steve rogers. you fought alongside thor and the hulk and wanda maximoff. and here you were kicking it with what alexei was calling “the thunderbolts”

“don’t get all misty eyed, we’ve got work to do” -john

lets note that this interaction took place after bucky crashed a commercial sized truck into the lobby, you’d just beaten everyone’s asses, and valentina invited you all upstairs

and there she was at the bar pouring a drink for herself and for just a small moment you saw a glimpse of tony stark standing in front of you again. giving you a smug smirk and asking for your ID before he made you a shirley temple. even after you were of age.

and a darkness overcame you a moment while you stood there. you were in sokovia standing next to pietro maximoff as he laid facedown on the ground. you were perfectly safe, didn’t even notice he was down. you never even realized he was beside you he was so fast. you heard wanda’s screams and you panicked, froze, didn’t know what to do. you were watching yourself go through these motions again.

and then bucky’s hand touched your back and you snapped back to reality, meeting the infamous “bob” for the first time

or as valentina called him, sentry

and immediately you were disturbed, there was something off about his presence

and immediately the team began to attack

you even hit him with a shock as powerful as thor with mjölnir, but he didn’t even flinch

it was futile, he was knocking you guys around like you were nothing

but he had this strange, kind demeanor about him too

once he ripped bucky’s arm off, it was time to GO

you all evacuated the building, a place you once called home, and wandered down the streets of new york. pathetic

and not even five minutes went by before a new form of this guy was literally turning people into VOIDS

“you know, buck, i’m starting to get real tired of shit like this happening in manhattan. this doesn’t happen in brooklyn AT ALL” -you, beginning to attack once again

you were the only thunderbolt with ranged powers—literal thunderbolts, if you will

but that didn’t seem to be doing much

the rest of them were mostly using guns and that also wasn’t working, so this became more of a rescue op

you liked fighting with bucky, it’d only happened three times before this. in germany, wakanda, and the avengers compound

and yelena reminded you so much of natasha, you knew exactly what the next move would be

alexei was…well, he took some inspiration from cap, you could see it you guess.

john walker was difficult. send tweet

he was trying though. you guess.

ava was more of a loner. she kind of reminded you of wanda. you missed her

when you saw yelena vanish, the LAST thing you wanted to do was to do the same

but bucky assured you that you were in it together

he took your hand and you walked into the darkness together

and ended up facing the worst pain of your life

for him: amputation, brainwashing, brutal torture, murder, losing steve

for you: the accident that gave you powers, sokovia, the blip, loneliness, mistakes that cost lives

but you powered through. you got bob. you saved new york. and for you, it wasn’t the first time!

and the moment valentina introduced you as the new avengers, you clenched your teeth and bucky nearly had to hold you back

you agreed to stick together to keep valentina in check, much to sam wilson’s dismay

“oh, hes gonna kill us” -you

“he’s not the only one” -bucky

“oh, my god. clint’s gonna kill me” -you

“eh, barton sees you as one of his kids, i’m sure he’ll give you a stern talking to” -bucky

he did.

you cried.

he gave you a big hug after and apologized for yelling.

and there you were in avengers tower again

just like you were 15 years ago.

“you used to live here, no?” -alexei

“i did. i did a long, long time ago.” -you, about to have a full on meltdown

“that’s great! you can show me around, then. please, show me your old room!” -alexei

he did know how to lift your spirits, for sure

and then there was yelena, who so desperately wanted to feel closer to natasha

“will you tell me a story, please? it would make me feel closer to her” -yelena

ironically, hanging out with yelena made you feel closer to nat

“well, nat trained me a good bit when we joined the avengers. she taught me how to fight, to not depend on my powers, to be a spy, to use weapons. i would be who i am today without her” -you

“yes, that’s great and all, but give me specifics!” -yelena

“okay, she LOVED desperate housewives. she’d make me sit through HOURS of it when we were off-duty. it was a great distraction. when we came back from sokovia and moved into the new compound, she had me on that couch for three days straight” -you

yelena snorted laughing

she also loved to spar with you

in a way, you felt like a sibling to her these days

in the way she was raised, at least

you laughed everytime you noticed a little “oopsie” val overlooked before the full remodel

“oh, my god. i once shocked the microwave while i was half asleep and i shorted out the whole building. this dark mark in the wall is the explosion of the microwave that led to the power outage” -you

“how long did it take to fix?” -ava

“about 10 minutes. tony was thoroughly embarrassed it took him that long” -you

there were also little dents and dings and bullet holes and such, especially it what was formerly the training room and being revamped for an even better one

“the last time i was here was when ultron booted up and sent the whole iron legion in after a party with the avengers. it was actually quite horrific, i thought the avengers were gonna disband right then and there. i thought i was going to be homeless” -you

“jesus, you sure talk about your past a lot” -john

“oh, sorry, would you rather i talk about yours?” -you, semi-threatening

he backed off

you tried to make as many new memories as you could, but everything seemed to remind you of the past

all you knew is the people needed to look up to something and that had to be the new avengers

and to have a former avenger on it? that was good for optics

did it make you feel stuck from time to time? uh yeah, you never really could escape your past

but the congress thing kind of fizzled out

so this was the next best thing

“alexei is calling me, hold on” -you

“y/n! i need directions” -alexei

“okay, where are you?” -you

“twenty third floor. i do not know how you lived in this maze as long as you did! i cannot find anything around here” -alexei

“hang on. you’re lost inside the building?” -you

you’d go to your favorite restaurant in manhattan with bucky sometimes, just to get out of the tower

“so, be honest with me. is this what you want?” -bucky

“i want to feel like i belong. and i do” -you

“because it’s familiar?” -bucky

“basically” -you

you explained that it still was an adjustment. you felt like you were seeing ghosts in a sense

but it was like a do over too

a chance to be the hero you grew up to be, to make steve, tony, natasha, clint, bruce, and thor proud

sam was still a little pissed about it. rightfully so

but making breakfast with bob, training with yelena, drinking with alexei, having heart to hearts with bucky, shit talking with ava, and ignoring john was not the worst thing to happen to you

you heard over exaggerated war stories, had eventful training, shorted out the microwave again, started to give john a chance, found a friend in bob, and more in this new life

and you were always meant to be an avenger, your calling was to protect the world. thats why you guys formed the avengers 15 years ago. so you did it in the name of the family you’d never forget.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

2K notes · View notes

jiyascepter · 1 year ago

Text

Caught You | 18+ Only

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Words: 4012

Warnings/Content: SMUT; Avenger! Loki & Avenger! Y/n, Themes of dub-con, dark-ish Loki??, dom!Loki, pervy!Loki, possessive, jealous loki, use of loki's magic (in a lot of sexual stuff), restraints, bondage, biting, licking, aggressive, pissed loki, praise, slight degradation, there's a tattoo on y/n's thigh (for the plot!), other mcu characters also make an appearance, clit licking, fingering, overstimulation, p in v.

Please lmk if I missed anything! Loki is a bit of red-flaggy in this one, please keep in mind this is only a fanfiction.

Summary: When you make fun of Loki's magic, he "demonstrates" how his magic can be useful. In many, ehm..ways. What did you expect?

A/n: i moved the title in the corner so that i can keep seeing tommys's sexy face in the middle 😮‍💨 im trying to make my fics dirtier but it's not quite coming down in my works, like it's in my mind but it's not easy to express??? im trying & hopefully it'll come soon

The cavernous, dimly-lit warehouse echoed with the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. The Avengers were locked in combat with a band of mercenaries armed with advanced weaponry.

Tony was in the air, repulsor beams lighting up the darkness, while Natasha and Clint worked in tandem, their movements precise and deadly. Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, was a blur as it struck down the enemies with thunderous force.

In the midst of the chaos, Loki stood with an air of detached amusement, casting spells with flicks of his wrists. His magic sent mercenaries flying, created illusions to confuse their ranks, and conjured barriers to protect the teammates. But Loki's magic, powerful and unpredictable, was also a bit reckless tonight.

Maybe it was the leather suit you were wearing today.

"Loki, for the love of—watch where you're aiming!" You shouted as you narrowly avoided being hit by a stray spell meant for an enemy.

Your eyes flashed with annoyance as you shot him a glare. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Loki smirked, eyeing you up, not taking you seriously. "Perhaps if you were more attentive, you wouldn't find yourself in such precarious positions, darling."

You scowled and ducked under a swipe from a mercenary, retaliating with a swift punch that sent your opponent sprawling.

Ugh, you hated how he always carried that stupid smirk.

"Maybe if your magic was actually useful, we wouldn't be in precarious positions to begin with!"

Loki's eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of irritation flashing through his otherwise calm demeanor. "Is that so? I seem to recall saving you from a similar predicament just last week."

"By causing it in the first place!" You shot back, dodging another mercenary's attack and taking him down with a well-placed kick.

Loki rolls his eyes and runs in the other direction. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured an illusion, making a group of mercenaries see each other as Avengers.

Confused, they turned on one another, giving the team a moment of respite. But the spell was too potent, and soon the illusion spread, affecting even the teammates.

Chaos erupted as friends and foes became indistinguishable.

"What the—" Tony exclaimed while flying over the scene.

"Damn it, Loki!" You screamed, ducking, as Natasha took a swing at you, mistaking you for an enemy.

"Enough!" Thor bellowed, his hammer smashing into the ground to create a shockwave that knocked everyone off their feet and dispelled the illusion.

The mercenaries, now disoriented, were quickly subdued.

The flight back home was quiet. Everyone was either tired, tending to their wounds, or just rethinking what happened back there.

Once you landed, the rest of the Avengers stepped down the Quinjet and walked into the building to their rooms.

"Loki, wait." Steve calls out and walks towards Loki in the lobby.

“About today—”

“Nobody died, Rogers.” Loki replies.

"That is not an achievement," You murmur to yourself loudly on purpose for him to hear while taking a sip from your favourite grey-coloured sipper.

Loki and Steve both glanced at you, with Steve carrying a hint of a smile on his face while Loki scowled and turned back to Steve.

You could tell he was not impressed.

A win for you.

Steve clears his throat, turning serious once more. "Look, what happened today was not good. We cannot work as a team if we don't know half of your tricks."

Loki grins. "Well, that's the fun, isn't it? A surprise for everyone.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. "But it isn’t helping, Lo-"

"Helping? His magic is useless half the time."

Loki shoots an eye at you when you say that, and you could tell the God wasn't pleased.

"He's showing off in front of everyone, like the arrogant ass he is." You go on, while Loki watches you with his grave, sharp eyes.

Why wasn't he replying with his usual snarky comments today?

Steve gives a light chuckle and pats Loki's shoulder as if feeling sorry for him, "Be careful next time, that's all I ask," and walks away through the corridor, leaving you and Loki to yourselves.

While waiting for the elevator, you silently stand in front of the doors, waiting for it to arrive.

Until you feel a hard pressure against your back.

The sensation is unmistakable—a solid, unyielding presence, warm and firm. Loki's chest. His closeness sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath and subtle heat radiating through his clothes.

You stiffen, unsure whether to move away or stay still, the elevator's arrival feeling like an eternity away.

You decide to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ego broken, Loki~?" You say his name in a sing-song voice.

"Do you enjoy testing my patience, mortal?" he says, leaning down to your ear.

"Someone has to keep you in check," you reply, your voice steady despite the proximity.

The elevator reaches your floor, and with a little chime, its doors open. You proceed to take a step forward to enter the elevator when his hand grabs hold of the back side of your neck and pulls you back to him.

"Careful," he almost whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, "your tongue is going to get you in trouble one day."

You pause for a moment, feeling the tension thicken in the air, before you turn your head out of his hands to look at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt the big bad trickster's feelings?" You taunt, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe if your magic wasn't so unreliable, we wouldn't be in these messes. Or do you need Daddy Odin to give you some pointers on how to actually be useful?"

Loki's eyes flare with fury, and in no time he grabs your neck once again and strides into the elevator, pinning your head to the panels. His body pressed against yours with a force that left little room for doubt about his intensity.

His frame, tall and lean yet undeniably strong, exerting a commanding presence as he pins you against the cool metal of the elevator wall. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill of the metal against your cheek.

He was so close to you, you could smell his sultry, intoxicating smell on him.

"You think my magic is useless, don’t you..." He whispers, his breath ghosting on your skin. "I’ll make sure you regret saying that."

"I don't "think", it's a fact." You try to push him back with your elbow. “Let me go, Loki.” You say it firmly.

"Not yet, vixen." He says so, and the elevator doors shut by themselves. And with one flick of his fingers, the front chain of your tight leather suit yanked open down to the end of your belly.

Did he just–

"I’ll make sure to demonstrate how useful my magic can be." He says and looks down to notice you were not even wearing a bra underneath.

He grins at the sight, licking his lower lip. "Naughty girl." He coos in your ear while his fingers work their way to your belly.

His fingers, though possessing a hint of coldness at first, quickly warmed against your skin as they made contact with your belly. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire that danced just beneath the surface.

"Let. Me. Go." You say, trying to stand your ground, but your attempts are futile.

"Told you no, darling." He says while his fingers trailed up to your nipples, sending a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rose in their wake.

It was a sensation that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated by the raw intensity of his touch.

He slides down your suit from your shoulders, proceeding with a graze of his tongue on your skin.

"Mmm…sweet," he murmurs, sucking on your shoulder, "unlike those words you use."

"FUCK. YOU." You reply with a gruff.

Loki chuckles darkly against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Oh, darling, you will," he murmurs, his voice dripping with seductive menace. "But not before I teach you to respect a God."

He pulls down your suit lower, his lips kissing the back of your neck, followed by melty little kisses down your bareback. Despite your discontent, you couldn’t help but feel turned on by him.

As Loki pushes down your suit to your thighs, his eyes catch sight of a small tattoo etched on the inside of your thigh. The ink reads the name of your ex-boyfriend. Loki's eyes darken with a mix of curiosity and possessiveness.

He paused, his brows furrowing as he read the name inked there. "Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a mix of curiosity and disdain. "So that’s what your little skirt was hinting at the meeting a few days ago..."

He traced the tattoo lightly with his finger, sending a shiver through your body.

So this bastard was always watching you?

You grit your teeth, anger and embarrassment flushing through you. "It’s none of your business, Loki."

He tightens his grip on your neck slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his dominance. "I know."

"But this mark... it irks me. An insignificant mortal claiming a part of you." He pinches your thigh, and you try to jerk away your leg but cannot.

You squirmed against his grip, but he held you firmly, his eyes dark and intense as they bore into yours. "Let it go, Loki," you demanded, trying to maintain your composure.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the tattoo. "Why should I?" he whispered, his voice a dangerous purr. "Why should I let some forgotten lover's mark go unchallenged?"

He gives you a rather harsh bite on your shoulder, trailing his lips to kiss your neck, which makes you whimper, which makes him grin.

He pulls away a bit, and with the flick of his wrists, an invisible force pins your arms above your head, securing you in place against the elevator wall. You struggle briefly, but the bonds hold firm. Loki steps back, his eyes raking over your exposed form with a predatory gaze.

Before you could retort, he bent down, turning his body against the elevator and facing you from below. He kissed the tattoo with deliberate slowness, his lips soft and maddeningly sensual.

The act was both possessive and teasing, with his tongue swirling repeatedly on the same spot that was making you crazy. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and a part of you hated how your body responded to his touch.

"Shh, people can still hear us, darling. Even if they cannot enter." He says placing pecks up and down your thigh, evaporating your steady facade away.

"Now, let's see what other secrets you're hiding," he murmurs, his hands sliding down to your hips. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down and exposing you completely.

You saw his eyes almost sparkle at the sight, placing a kiss on your mound, making you flinch against the metal. Where and when did your suit disappear? You didn’t know.

He leans close and starts exploring your already wet clit with his tongue. Holding your waist in his hands, he kept stealing glances up at your aroused form, watching your expressions while you gasped every time his warm tongue darted on your needy pussy.

The god had a talent for his tongue. The silver tongue.

"Are you still with him?" He murmured, pulling away his face from your pussy, making you let out a complaining whine.

He holds up his two fingers to caress your folds. "Answer."

"N-no…" You answer, your voice quivering in pleasure.

"Then why isn’t it off?" He says this, glancing at your tattoo.

"I never…Loki-"

He pushes two fingers in. "You never what?"

You shudder as Loki's fingers push inside you, his question hanging in the air, demanding an answer. Your mind races, caught between the intense pleasure and the need to explain yourself.

"I never... had the chance," you manage to gasp, your voice barely steady. "It didn't mean anything anymore. I just...fuck-forgot about it."

Loki's eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face, his fingers moving slowly inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes coherent thoughts nearly impossible. He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

"Forgot about it?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. "Or perhaps you wanted a reminder of something you couldn't let go?"

"No…" You moan, writhing against the panel with your hands above your head, your fingers aching to dive into his hair.

He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you with a deliberate rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. You squirm, your faint moans echoing the elevator.

"Good," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "Because I don't share, darling. And I don't like to be reminded of what once was."

You moan, your body arching against his touch. His words send a thrill through you, and the possessiveness in his tone both intimidating and exhilarating.

"You know I can just turn you into a pretty mannequin for me so I can do whatever I want with you…but I want to feel you squirm... to mewl... like a little prey." He says watching your face while feeling your pussy start to clench around his fingers.

"Now, let's make sure you never forget who you belong to, hm?" Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your thigh as he speaks. His mouth returns to your clit, his tongue flicking and sucking with a relentless intensity that drives you wild.

"Yeah, that’s right, just keep on making those little sounds for me." He says it with a satisfied smile curling on his lips, and he resumes his ministrations with renewed fervor.

The combination of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your clit sends you spiralling into a mind-shattering orgasm, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out his name.

As the waves of ecstasy subside, Loki slowly withdraws his fingers. He stands, his eyes locking onto yours. He releases your binds away and turns you to him, and his thumb caresses your lower lip as if studying it for a second before he holds you against the wall, cupping your cheek, and kisses you almost fiercely.

And gosh, you needed that. You needed that and more.

"Y/n, is that you?"

Both of you freeze to your seats when you hear Thor’s voice outside the elevator.

Loki's eyes narrow in annoyance, and he quickly glances towards the elevator doors. "Shh," he murmurs against your lips, his voice barely a whisper. "We wouldn't want to get caught now, would we?"

He continues exploring your mouth, and the kisses start spreading to your neck, tongue, and teeth, making their wild appearances every once in a while.

Until you couldn’t help it and let out a moan.

"This door is not openi- Y/n??" Thor repeats again. "Wait, let me call Stark.-"

Your heart races when Thor calls out again because of your moan. Loki’s eyes narrow, and he pulls away. "Are you doing this on purpose? Just another one of your games so we can get caught and you can have your fun?"

He gives your pussy a little slap, and you whine a no.

In a swift motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You barely have time to register the shift before the air around you shimmers and the familiar confines of the elevator vanish, replaced by the opulent and dimly lit interior of a room unknown to you.

The room is a stark contrast to the sterile metal of the elevator. Rich tapestries line the walls, and candles flicker, casting a warm, golden glow. A large, ornate bed dominates the space, its dark, luxurious linens inviting in a way that makes your heart race.

Loki wastes no time. He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed with an urgency that sends a thrill through you. He lays you down gently, his gaze intense as he takes in your still-naked form. His hands trace over your skin, as if committing every inch to memory.

The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Loki—intoxicating and alluring. "Now, where were we?" He purrs, his fingers tracing a delicate line down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You can barely catch your breath; the intensity of the moment overwhelming. "Loki, what if Thor—"

"Thor won't find us," Loki interrupts, his voice a low growl. "This is my domain. No one enters without my permission."

"Now," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, "let us continue our little magic demonstration."

The silken sheets cool against your heated skin, and with Loki's hands everywhere—caressing, teasing, exploring every inch of your body—his touch both gentle and demanding, leaving you breathless and craving more.

"So beautiful," his voice dripping with seductive menace as he conjures a binding spell that secures your wrists to the bedposts.

You gasp, your body arching against the restraints, as Loki's mouth finds your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples with maddening precision. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind is lost in a haze of pleasure and need.

Loki's mouth moves with deliberate precision, his tongue tracing intricate patterns over your breasts. Each flick of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you arch and writhe against the silken sheets. The restraints on your wrists keep you firmly in place.

"Loki…"

"Mhm," he hums, enjoying your squirms. But he wanted more.

He uses his powers to amplify his touch, making your nerve endings sing with heightened sensitivity. You gasp and moan, the intensity of his magic overwhelming your senses.

You can feel the magic pulsating through you, heightening your awareness of every touch and every kiss. His lips move from your breasts to the sensitive skin just below, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The combination of his mouth and his magic almost too much to bear.

His free hand trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. As his fingers reach your inner thighs, you feel a new surge of his magic, more potent and concentrated. It wraps around your thighs, making your muscles quiver with anticipation.

Loki conjures small, delicate tendrils of magic that wrap around your nipples, gently tugging and twisting. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before—a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for breath.

He moves lower, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your belly. The tendrils of magic follow his path, amplifying every sensation, making you feel as if your skin is on fire. You can barely think or breathe; your mind consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

As he reaches your hips, his fingers part your folds, and you feel a rush of cool air against your wetness. His mouth hovers just above your clit, his breath hot and tantalizing.

"Tell me, darling," Loki whispers, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot, "how does it feel to be at the mercy of a god?"

Before you can answer, his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with delicate, precise strokes. His magic enhances every touch, making you moan and writhe against the restraints. You can feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

"Loki I-" He sees your upcoming orgasm and pulls away quickly, enjoying your needy, complaining moan for him.

"Not so easy, darling."

And with another display of his magic, he completely gets rid of his clothes, his disrobed body turning you on even more, the heat of need between your legs almost unbearable.

He brings his already-hard cock near your lips. "Kiss it." and you do, the light hum of satisfaction he makes making you want to absolutely suck him out rather than just a little kiss.

"My filthy little vixen," he says, eyes blazing with hunger as he positions himself between your legs. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through you, "get ready for your god."

He lets out a low growl, a dark and seductive sound, before slowly pushing into you, his length stretching and filling you completely. The feeling is exquisite, with every inch of him sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"You feel so perfect," Loki murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Every part of you was made just for me."

He begins to move, slow and deliberate, his thrusts deep and controlled. Each motion designed to draw out the maximum pleasure to make you feel every inch of him. The binding spell keeps your wrists secured to the bedposts, preventing you from reaching out to touch him, to claw at his back as the pleasure intensifies.

Loki's eyes never leave yours, the connection between you palpable and electric. He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts. You respond eagerly, your moans muffled against his lips, your body arching to meet his.

His magic continues to amplify every sensation, making your skin hypersensitive, every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you. The tendrils of magic around your nipples tighten and twist, adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

"Loki," you gasp, barely able to form coherent words. "I can't... it's too much..."

He smirks, his eyes dark with lust. "You can take it, darling. You will take it. You will take everything I give you."

His pace quickens, and his thrusts become more urgent and more demanding. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving together. The pleasure builds rapidly, creating a coiling heat in your belly that threatens to consume you entirely.

Loki's hand moves between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. The additional stimulation pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your impending orgasm.

"Come for me, darling," Loki commands, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Come for your god."

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, the orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless and shaking. The pleasure is overwhelming, your vision going white as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Loki continues to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure, his own release imminent. His movements become erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own climax.

You can feel him throbbing inside you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he finally lets go, his own orgasm ripping through him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his groan of pleasure vibrating through your body. He collapses on top of you, his weight comforting and grounding as you both catch your breath, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing, the scent of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Loki's hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming pleasure.

"Fuck, you drive me wild." He murmurs breathlessly.

"Did you like that, darling?" Loki murmurs against your skin, his voice a seductive purr. "My magic can do so much more."

You breathlessly chuckle while he traces patterns on your skin. His fingers caress down to your thigh, where he glances at your tattoo.

"We can’t have that." He says in a low voice and grazes his hand over your skin, and the tattoo vanishes. Loki’s touch lingers on your thigh where the tattoo once was, his magic leaving your skin smooth and unmarked.

"And now you’re mine."

┈➤ Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭

3K notes · View notes

purple--queen · 2 years ago

Text

Winterhawk Wild west Au

#thats it...thats my though #it showed up in my head & now i have no idea what to do with it #the only thing i know is bucky isn't a sheriff #this belongs in the catecory things i want to write but will never start with it...maybe #why is writing so hard??? it's is easier to come up with an idea #anyway...#winterhawk #it could be slow burn #they all live in the same old town...#clints dad is an farmer buckys dad is idk...and sometimes young bucky is helping on the farm to get money...#at some point clints dad dies....and he & barney getting the farm...#& barney gets in trouble with some wierd dudes...& they lose the farm...but this is just the side story...#the main story is bucky & clint falling in love...but it needs years for both of them to get it...#ohh idiots to lovers...with a lot of sheeps :)

0 notes

pome-seed · 13 days ago

Text

Protective Friends (Right?) Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Friends to lovers!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky gets protective when your boyfriend intrudes on a get together and goes a little too far.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Verbal harassment. Slut shaming. Verbally abusive relationship themes. Jealousy. Minor violence.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Just a little drabble for fun, because I love protective Bucky. ALSO, if you want to be apart of my taglist, let me know :)

You giggle excitedly, drumming your hands on Sam’s back as he cracks open a beer. “I’m proud of you Sammy,” you cheer.

You’re all over at Sam, Steve, and Bucky’s apartment to celebrate Sam getting a new job- and leaving the one he’s hated for months. You wanted to celebrate him, but it was also just an excuse to get together.

You gladly tagged along, since you didn’t often get to join the big group hang outs. You used to, but just not recently. Your boyfriend, John, wasn’t the biggest fan of your friend group.

Specifically the guys.

Specifically Bucky.

“Sam you pick the music, or Bucky’s gonna put on some bullshit,” Clint shouts from the kitchen, where he’s making nachos.

“Watch it,” Bucky snickers from beside you, handing his phone to Sam. “I have great taste in music.”

You suppress a smile.

Bucky glances down at you, lifting a brow. “I do!”

You hide your smile behind your drink as you take a sip. “Hey, I like your music, you know that.”

“Then what’s with that look, huh?” He bumps you with his elbow.

“That pout,” You shrug. “You have a pout.”

“I do not pout,” Bucky scoffs.

“Yeah man, you totally do.” Steve shouts from the couch.

“Hey!” He rolls his eyes. He turns his fond gaze back to you. “I don’t pout.” He repeats, his lips curling in a soft smile.

“Okay, sure, you don’t.” You chuckle, turning to follow Sam to the kitchen. Bucky follows you wordlessly, like he always does. “So, now that Sam’s making big boy money, is he finally moving out?”

Sam clicks his tongue, handing Bucky a beer. “Hey, don’t go putting ideas in their heads. I’m here for the long run.” He sips from his drink. “Rent ain’t cheap.”

“Why? are you looking for a new roommate?” Bucky leans his hip against the counter, his smile fond as he looks down at you.

“Natasha’s probably the best roommate I’ll ever have, so no.” You chuckle, glancing at the woman in the living room.

Bucky sighs, shrugging. “Mkay, your loss. Hanging out would be a lot easier if you were just down the hall, though.” He pouts.

“I think I can make do with just a few blocks between us.” You respond.

“Sure about that? You avoid this place like the plague.” He groans, wiggling his fingers at you.

“I do not,” You roll your eyes.

But he’s right. You do.

“Keep telling yourself that. Last time you bailed I had to go to the movies with just Sam- awful.” He huffs.

“You went without me-?” you gasp, smacking his arm.

“You bailed, we already bought the tickets, what were-” Bucky’s sentence is cut short by a loud noise.

A rough pounding on the door cuts through the casual music and laughter. Bucky’s fond chuckle is cut short. He steps back from the group, off to answer the door.

The knocking doesn’t exactly pull you out of the moment just yet. You’re just too caught up in enjoying time with your friends, in a way you haven’t been allowed to in so long.

Bucky opens the door, but his smile dies instantly.

“Bucky.” John, your boyfriend, grits.

“John.” Bucky’s grip on the handle tightens.

You freeze on the spot, muted dread filling your stomach.

“Where is she?” John huffs, trying to look around Bucky.

“What are you doing here, John-” Bucky grunts as John shoves past him, into the apartment. The air in the room immediately sours as the blonde stomps forward.

“Hey, what are you-” You start.

“Are you serious, Y/n?” He spits. Someone cuts the music.

“Woah, calm down- let’s step outside for a minute…” You cringe, glancing at Bucky over his shoulder.

“Why? It’s pretty fucking clear you wanted to be here bad enough that you’d lie to me. Why not let them see this?”

“Lie to you?” You gawk. “What are you talking about?” Natasha crosses her arms from a few feet away, her protective nature gearing up as she listens.

“Don’t play stupid, Y/n. You told me you’d stop hanging out with these people. You know how I feel about them.” He spits, inching closer.

“Okay, man,” Bucky steps forward, “take a breath and calm down. There’s no need to yell.” He tries to keep things easy, tries to save the peace.

John whips back to look at Bucky. “Stay the fuck out of this, James.”

Even you flinch at the use of his real name. “John please can we just-”

“How could you go behind my back like this- and here of all places!” John shouts in your face. “You know how I feel about him!” He gestures angrily at Bucky.

Bucky frowns, yanking John back by the arm. “Look, I don’t know what has you so fucking pissed off, but you need to calm down, or get the fuck out of my house. You’re not gonna talk to her like that.”

Your boyfriend yanks his arm free and steps into the other man's face. “Why? How I talk to my girlfriend isn’t any of your fucking business, Barnes.”

You wince, your hands clasped together in front of your lips. “Oh god-”

Natasha’s hand pets your back silently as she watches Bucky try to calm the blonde man down.

“It doesn’t matter, you’re not going to throw a fit and yell in her face. Especially not in my house.” Bucky refuses to back down, his deep disgust for the other showing in his expression.

“It doesn’t matter?” John scoffs. He glances back at you with a scowl. “Is this why you’re here?” He shouts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You huff, throwing your hands up.

“Him!” John turns back to Buck, shoving a hand into his chest. “Is that it? I fucking knew it, man. I fucking-

“What are you talking about?” The brunette frowns.

“Are you fucking my girlfriend?” John spits.

The words are so out of left field that the entire room goes silent. It was already tensely awkward, but now it’s dead silent. Your jaw drops open as a flushed heat stains your skin red.

John has never been quiet about his insecurities, and specifically his insecurity around Bucky. Bucky is everything John wishes he could be, whether he wants to admit it or not. He’s always been convinced that you had feelings for the man- or the other way around.

And he never lets you forget it.

Since the moment the two men met, your boyfriend was sour. He got angry every time you mentioned him, and always demanded you stay home from group outings that the man would be a part of.

“What?” Bucky chokes.

“Are you fucking my girlfriend?”

Bucky’s confused gaze flickers to you over John's shoulder. Your stomach drops, humiliation burning hot beneath your skin. “John please stop- that’s not- we’re not-” You blurt, your sentence finding no end.

John steps back, looking between the two of you. “That’s why you wanted to come over here, isn’t it? Why you lied to me?” He shakes his head, how scowl curling deeper. “You’re fucking him. You’re a fucking liar, Y/n.”

“Alright, that’s enough-” Bucky’s jaw snaps tight. He yanks John back by the arm dragging him towards the door. “You need to shut your mouth.”

John laughs, his hysterics scaring you, frankly. “Yeah? You don’t want me insulting your little whore? Why not- she gives great head when you knock her down a peg, trust me.”

You barely have time to yelp before Bucky’s fist connects with John's jaw.

The blonde stumbles back a step, his back hitting the dresser by the door.

Sam winces from behind you, huddled against the wall with the rest of your friends as they watch this play out.

John grunts, his hand cradling his bruised jaw. “Fuck-” he groans.

Bucky yanks him back up by the collar, then gets up in his face. “I better never hear you say another fucking word about her, or I’ll break your fucking jaw next time.” He spits, then yanks open the front door.

Steve steps past you as he finally steps in, pulling Bucky back. “Okay, okay man- let’s not let this get out of hand.” He mutters, helping to shove your boyfriend out the front door.

Before the door can slam shut, John shoves his boot in the frame. “Y/n, if you stay here-”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, asshole.” Steve struggles to keep Bucky from swinging again.

“Fine, keep her.” John snarls, glaring at you through the men. “She’s a lousy fuck anyways.” He stomps down the hall.

The door clicks shut.

For a moment, the entire room is silent.

The comfortable atmosphere died, along with the rest of your dignity. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. But then Bucky’s heavy gaze falls on you, and you can’t take it.

You shove out of Natasha’s arms and rush down the hall. Bucky calls your name, but you ignore him. You slam the bathroom door shut behind you and burst into humiliated tears.

What the fuck just happened? You knew John didn’t like your friends, but you never lied to him. You’ve only been together for a few months, but you’ve always been loyal. Bucky has been one of your best friends for years, but you’ve never crossed that boundary with him.

No matter what you may have once felt for him.

You didn’t mean for this to happen. But why did it all feel like it was your fault?

The party was ruined.

Your relationship was ruined.

Your friendship with Bucky? God you can’t even imagine facing him after everything John said. He’s so kind and so gentle, so understanding and always there for you. But this was just mortifying.

A gentle knock makes you jump.

“Hey, can I come in for a sec, doll?” Bucky’s sweet voice vibrates through the door.

Your stomach twists with dread as you wipe your tears. “Yeah…” You whisper. The door creaks open, but you refuse to look up. You stare down at your lap, your body tense where you sit on the edge of the tub.

“Hey,” Bucky mutters, clicking the door shut. “You okay?”

You suck in a shaky breath. “Yeah…” Your hands curl to fists in your lap. “I’m so sorry-” You huff, slapping a hand over your face.

Bucky flinches, his brows furrowing. “Woah- no, no, don’t be,” he rushes forward, kneeling before you. Your lips press into a thin line as you try to keep from crying. “Hey, hey, it’s okay-” he whispers. His large fingers slip carefully around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your face. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You frown, blinking up at him. Your stomach drops beneath his gaze, shame burning in your veins.

“It’s not your fault that he’s a dick,” His thumb strokes your inner wrist, refusing to let you go. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, your gaze flickering in the space between you, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. “I’m fine- he just gets like this. He gets jealous…”

Bucky frowns, tilting his head up at you. “He does that kind of stuff often? Does he-” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Does he always talk to you like that?”

You shrug awkwardly. “Sometimes.” You murmur. “Mostly-” you pause, glancing up at him. He waits patiently. “Mostly just when you’re involved…”

His grip on your wrist twitches. “What do you mean?” Though he already knows the answer. Because he heard everything John said, every poisoned, directed word.

“He’s just insecure.” You shrug, wiping your cheek on your shoulder. “He’s always been insecure about you. He’s paranoid that you’re in love with me, or something.” You huff, staring down at your lap.

“Oh,” he mutters, his thumb still carefully stroking your inner wrist.

You glance up at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. He stays silent as he watches you. You almost flinch when his free hand grazes your cheek, wiping at your tear streak.

“Oh?” You prompt.

He tilts his head, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “He’s not wrong.” He admits, like it’s any other minute sentence. Your lips part in shock, your chest clenching in unexpected emotion. “But I don’t want that to make you think he’s right for what he did. He should never talk to you like that.”

“He’s not wrong?” You blurt, the rest of his sentence going straight over your head.

Bucky sighs and wipes a hand down his face. When he finally looks back up at you, his ears are tinted a soft pink. “Yeah, sweetheart. He’s not wrong.”

“You like me?” You gape.

He huffs, his lips twitching into a smile. “Did you hear anything else I said?” You swallow, shaking your head honestly. “Y/n, I like you, I’ve always liked you. But you’re my best friend, and you have a stupid ass boyfriend, and he doesn’t treat you right. I’m not saying that because of how I feel, I’m saying that because you’re my best friend, and I never want to see anyone talk to you- or about you- like he did.”

You chew at your cheek, flustered and still deeply humiliated. You nod, listening as he speaks.

“If you stay with him, that's your decision, and I’ll be there for you. Period, that’s it. But he doesn’t treat you right, and it’ll only get worse. That's how guys like that work.”

You listen and try not to just hang onto those three words, but it’s hard. You want to digest what he’s saying, but sadly, you’ve already thought of it. You know John's behavior is unhealthy. You know it’s a slippery slope to violence and even worse verbal abuse.

You nod, lowering your head. “I know, I just- I thought it would get better.”

“Do you like him? Not the version of him you first met, but the guy you know.” He tilts his head at you. You can’t fathom how Bucky can so easily have this conversation after what he just confessed. You don’t know how he can do this.

“I…” You contemplate his question, thinking over the last few months of your relationship.

Deep down you already knew the answer. Because even the version of him that you met wasn’t striking. You weren’t head over heels in love with John. You just noticed him, and he noticed you. He took you home, and took you out every week since then. You thought he could be funny, and he could be kind, but his temper was always short.

It always felt like you were a third wheel in your relationship, sharing space with him and his ego.

And truth was, there was only one reason you ever went out with John to begin with.

Bucky.

You just wanted to find an outlet, a distraction, a way to move on from the heavy weight in your chest you’ve felt for years.

“I don’t want to stay with him.” You start. “Because he was right.”

He stiffens, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “About me?”

“About me,” you whisper. “That he was a distraction for me.” You glance up into those pretty blue eyes. “He was right, because I’ve always liked you.” You confess with a heavy sigh.

Bucky’s fingers twitch around your wrist, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Huh?”

You blush, your chin dropping to your chest. “I have to repeat it? I’ve already had a pretty embarrassing evening-”

“I heard you,” he mutters, his hand slipping into yours now. “Are you sure?”

You nod, your stomach twisting. “Yeah, I’m sure…”

He tries to suppress his ill timed smile- because this really isn’t the time for this- but he can’t. “Oh.”

A soft knock echoes against the door.

“Hey, everything okay in there?” Natasha mutters from the other side.

“Uh- yeah,” Bucky shouts, his gaze fixed on yours. “All good…”

“I don’t want to go out yet- or ever, honestly.” You mutter, your fingers twitching against his.

“Okay,” He nods, crisscrossing his legs on the floor. ��We can stay here for as long as you need.”

And those simple words remind you of why Bucky was always the one for you, not anyone else. Because he would always be kind to you. He would always be there, patient and loving.

He would always be Bucky.

A/N: Not amazing, but just a little self indulgent. Also, fun fact- all the things John says are based off real events.

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt

490 notes · View notes

hattersrabbit · 2 months ago

Text

GOODNESS INCARNATE

yandere avengers x kryptonian! reader | sfw

CW! male reader, can be seen as either platonic or romantic, toxic behavior, overprotective avengers, obsessive behavior, golden retriever! reader, ambiguous ending

Summary! at some point something fell from earth and crashed into earth. A new hero rises up in the city of Metropolis and catches the eye of Earth’s Mightiest Defenders, and it ends up getting a bit too far.

✎ᝰ.don’t ask about the timeline or anything call it an au where endgame doesn’t happen :D

next | series

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

Somewhere in Kansas a space shuttle fell to earth. It was never found, but the couple said to be incapable of having children had a child, and a dog too.

A child that was above from normal. That being you. An alien from the planet Krypton that had died. You and your dog, Krypto being the only one of your kind.

The last surviving Kryptonians.

Your new parents were a joy to have. You loved them and they raised you very protectively, and in return you cared for them.

With your strength, and Krypto you helped save your city Metropolis for the first time. The massive billionaire Lex Luthor caused massive damage and almost killed a bunch of people if not for you.

Dressed in blue and red you were a symbol of hope. The S across your chest being a family crest. One of the last of your parents own existence.

The people loved you, and you find the world was interested in you. A hero that came out of nowhere.

And certainly you were loved. Nick Fury couldn’t deny the need to get you on the team of train wrecks.

In fact, it could all be seen all the way to a Spider Boy who could only look at the footage in awe. The hero was someone who Peter Parker aimed to be.

Beside him was Wanda, the Scarlet Witch who looked on with awe in her eyes as well. As a woman who’s gone after bad thing after bad thing she couldn’t help but want goodness.

You were goodness. She could feel it, even if it was through a video.

Tony was apprehensive but even so he never seen someone so good. It was like you never faced horror ever. Your kindness and not a hint of showing off, or playing around while fighting.

Determination.

Captain America; Steve Rogers saw himself in you. Goodness that he could never achieve. One that smiled despite it all, while somberness swallowed him into a boastful mouth.

Bucky would have to agree. He was smiling once back then, and you were literal sunshine. A smile on those lips with such natural strength, and treating civilians with such kindness.

Thor found you adorable, and could feel that you were worthy of his hammer. Even through videos of you he felt like you were worthy. Absolutely beautiful he also thought. What man could fly through the air so gracefully like that. Without a care, and just as quick.

Natasha and Clint admired you. Albeit maybe it was a sense of something they never got. A man who hadn’t ever killed in his life, and was smiling. A sense of light they never got, and there you were.

Sunshine for them to bask themselves in.

Bruce felt wary but you were strong. No anger seemed to be in your body. Surely yes you seemed angry at Lex Luthor but that was for obvious reasons. You weren’t always angry like him. Angry only when necessary, unlike him.

Control of yourself is what you had.

A semblance of this world is that it was corrupt. A source of true good like you, and while you weren’t of them you believed in good.

Good in human beings.

The avengers knew better.

So when you’re recruited they aimed to make sure you’d ease into that reality. When offered the chance you jumped at it.

Imagine the surprise when Krypto arrived by your side. The avengers were no less taken aback and flustered.

You smiled big and wide. Nothing to hide and kind to them all.

Unbeknownst to you the immediate thought of you changed. A being that was good and needed to be protected. This group had been through terrible things, and it brought them down.

Made them turn darker.

Wanda knew that better than anyone.

Bucky hated himself for it.

Peter remembered the days when people knew of him, and how in those last moments back then he almost committed true murder.

They hid it well.

Steve would greet you with open arms and a welcoming smile, “Welcome to the team!” He would pat you on the shoulder. He would blink when it felt like metal.

You would laugh brightly, and saying a lot of people said that. Although it wasn’t like you were gonna say you were an alien. Not yet anyway.

They would find out anyway. Thanking Wanda for that, for she read your mind.

Imagine the wonder Peter had when he talked to you. Over the years now that he was Spider-Man he had lost his once happy attitude in being a hero.

You a little older than him was still hopeful, and hadn’t started as a teenager. You were hopeful and Peter couldn’t help but admire you. That smile; the one he lost and you still had it.

You can’t blame him when he stole one of your notebooks. The pages had tons of notes of your perceived faults and self-hatred. Don’t blame him when he shows Steve and Tony.

Don’t mind the confusion when the entire team is praising you more than usual. Any time you lift something instead of the Hulk Bruce smiles. His anger dismissed and he’s praising you despite his shy nature.

Don’t be surprised when you get hurt and spit blood that you get tested by the scientist. Tony even going as far as tweaking your suit to make sure you’re more protected. It was sweet, but useless venture to say you didn’t need it.

Of course you needed it. You were young, and even had fewer experience than Peter. You had no idea what you were talking about. Bruce and Tony were older.

They knew better, and told you that.

Naively, you shrugged it off. Krypto would only tilt his head at the them, and albeit he became much more close to you.

Wanda didn’t seem to like the change.

Once or twice Krypto would stare at her. ‘Try it.’ The dog was protective and a nuisance. He could feel the darkness. The woman was more susceptible to the darkness. The obsession of getting you to herself.

The others so far, Bruce and Tony already got hands on you when you got injured. Although never really seemed to look into your mind. What if you got brain damage?

She could fix it. Her magic would change it from affecting you. Peter had too much time with you. She was more your age, so you should be with her.

In a way you reminded her of Vision. Kind and understanding. Normalcy that she begged for and clung to.

Maybe she could change the dog but you would notice. It would make you sad, and she didn’t want that. Surely she was wanting you to herself, but your happiness also mattered.

She would be careful.

Get Krypto’s trust was her plan.

The two who have killed before were floored with the kindness. With the protectiveness you gave them.

In act of almost being killed you rang over them with your huge size and protecting them in the blast. Your scream of pain was loud in their ears.

Thor heard it loud and clear. The enemy was on the floor in seconds. Too brutal for normal, and you questioned Thor.

The god gave an excuse that you completely fell for. Too sweet and naive for this world. A sheltered kid in the Midwest fields, with protective parents.

Still too unforgiving of this horrible world.

Thor couldn’t tell you that he almost aimed to kill the attacker.

Natasha would share a look with him.

They knew. Murder was out of the question, but when you screamed like that they knew that maybe maiming was the move. Clint would talk to you as the two discussed what to do with the assailant.

Hearing the news Bucky would want to check over your wounds. There were none but it didn't stop him from getting those mental fingers on your bare skin.

You would shiver. Cold against your warm skin. Shining like the sun Bucky would think. Steve would look too.

A body like his own and invincible to harm.

At least they thought.

Kryptonite was horrible. Lex Luthor's laugh haunted them. You on the floor and holding your chest. Blood flowing from your mouth and a bullet in your chest.

Bruce was terrified.

Peter and Wanda beside themselves.

And so when you awake from your slumber don't ask about the disappearance of Lex Luthor. Don't ask why you can't hear his distinct heat beat.

Don't ask your still on bed rest, and Krypto is so much more hostile towards everyone now. Wary of Wanda and her glares to your dog.

Don't ask why Bruce's lingering touch stayed.

Don't ask why your mind seemed played with.

Don't bother with the protective members who've been known to kill before to be so close to you.

Don’t tell Peter to leave your side. Don't ask Steve to stop defending your city, Metropolis.

All the avengers ask of you is to keep that smile on your face no matter how confused you are.

To keep there goodness, and to never be corrupted.

To be good.

267 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 1 month ago

Text

father figure III

a/n: So I've watched the movie like 6 times at this point and I just really love Clint lol. I have some things planned out and I cannot wait to write them, hopefully you all love what I come up with. Shout-out to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging me and for putting up with my endless questions and voice notes! 💕xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, pornography (watching while getting freaky) POV sex (wrap it up) Clint not pulling out, oral sex (male receiving)*swallowing*, dirty talk, nipple play, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, **DRAMA** Hurt/comfort, period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 5.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

---

Thursday morning finds you in a very different mood than the previous week.

You huff about it on your way to the bathroom, pout through the daily rituals with unwanted thoughts of Jen’s words. You mentally shove them away for the hundredth time, lock and bar the doors but they slither in regardless, like smoke.

You take a deep breath and sigh a deep sigh, drying your face off before continuing with your routine. His smile is there too, along with the blood and the violence, the soft slide of his fingertips across your neck, the plush press of his lips against your mouth, the toe-curling stroke of his tongue, his cock. Surely a man who pleasures you like that would never hurt you?

Your fathers voice is raised, argumentative over the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, enough so that he doesn’t register your presence until he slams the handset onto the receiver.

“Everything okay?” You ask him despite yourself, it’s not as though he tells you anything. He grunts in response.

“You working today?” He shoves different papers into his pockets, grabbing his keys from the counter.

“No, it’s Thursday–”

“Okay, I’ll be back later, probably late.” He huffs, shaking his head in annoyance, at what—you don’t know, don’t entirely care. He leaves, thankfully taking that annoyance with him.

Clint shows up a couple of hours later with a tape in his hand, and a mischievous look on his face. For a split second, Jens words echo, they project blood onto his clothes and splatter it onto his face. He smiles bigger though, leans in and kisses you soft and sweet, the vision dies and it seems almost absurd to even dwell on what may or may not have happened so long ago.

“Hi baby.” Cigarette smoke and his cologne mingle and flood your nose as well as your panties when he pulls you in close, when his mouth captures yours. You don’t respond, only pull him closer, wrap your arms around him tighter; enjoy the comforting strength.

“I’m not dressed–” Your eyes fall to your ratty old sweatpants, the holey t-shirt.

“I think you look very cute, very comfortable.” He steps inside and shuts the door. “I thought it might be fun to watch a movie, stay in, order a pizza. How does that sound?” The idea is perfect, after standing on your feet for hours on end at the store, a quiet night in is just what you need. The tape clutched at his side draws your eye but he slips it behind his back. He smiles, one eyebrow raised.

“What did you rent?” You try to peek again but he tsks, angling himself to keep it hidden.

“You’ll know when you know.” You huff, pouting and it only makes his smile grow.

“You’re such a little brat huh? I said you’ll know, when you know.” He taps the tip of your nose, laughing at the way you narrow your eyes, at the way you scrunch up your nose.

“Fine, so bossy–wait, are we watching here?”

“I think it’s best we go back to my place, and why don’t you go ahead and pack a bag.” Your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops down to your socked feet. He must see the shock on your face.

“Or, I could bring you back if you don’t feel comfortable staying over—“

“No! No I’d love to, give me a few minutes!” You surge forward, pulling a smiley oomph out of him before running up to get yourself together.

Your hands shake.

The soft, comfy pyjamas you usually wear don’t seem right. They sit in one hand, while a silkier, newer pair sits in the other. You toss the silky set into the open duffel bag. Clean, cute underwear join the bag, along with your basic toiletries, a clean pair of jeans–and your video store t-shirt, just in case he ends up driving you directly to your shift tomorrow.

He’s leaning against the counter when you jog back down the stairs, tapping the mystery tape against his leg. Wordlessly, he grabs the duffel from your hand and leads you out of the house.

A fluffy, grey thing winds through your legs, almost tripping you.

“Louis, manners.” Louis meows back, and you laugh.

“Hi buddy.” He butts his head into your hands when you crouch down. He’s so soft, so sweet, purring and chirping at you. “You’re just a little softie aren’t you?”

“Just shamelessly flirting with my girl huh? You little monster.” The casual way he claims you makes your face hot. It's not overt, or aggressive and when he smiles and makes his way inside you’re sure he’s unaware of what it’s done to you. The feeling is so foreign. No one has ever called you theirs before, not in this way, not with such a quiet certainty.

The smile lingers, aches in your cheeks when you pick up the big cat and carry him with you towards his cozy living room.

“So, can I know what we’re watching now?” He grunts on one knee, says nothing as he slips the tape into the VCR. There’s a gleam in his eye when he turns towards you.

“I think it’s best if we put Louis into my room, I don’t want him interrupting us.” It’s hard to work out what he means by that, but you make yourself comfortable on his couch regardless. My girl, you think, snuggling into the well-worn leather of his couch. Dustmotes dance in the shafts of light coming in through his window, a vision of slow afternoons with him float through your mind–what would it be like to live here? To have a life with him?

“Okay—“ there’s an energy about him, something electric, excited, eager, “I can guarantee it’s not a movie you’re expecting, but it’s something I really wanna watch with you.” He settles into the sofa, pulling you from your corner, and from your thoughts.

The smell of his cologne pulls your face into his neck, the warmth of it melds with the cigarettes he smokes, makes him completely irresistible. He hums to himself when you kiss just below his ear.

“I think you’re gonna like it.” There’s that undercurrent again, a knowing, a plan—

The tv screen flashes blue before the movie starts. Music you don’t recognize plays, FBI warnings flash across the screen and you watch, confused as to what it might be until you see her.

“Clint… is this…?”

“It’s porn.” His nose skims up your neck, his hands tighten around your thighs, your eyes remain glued to the screen though. It’s a little jarring how much she looks like you. Your heart races, your stomach drops and despite how confused you are over what you actually think about this whole thing, arousal pools in your belly; a deep pull, like something tugging behind your bellybutton.

The image of her, bubbly and laughing, flirting shamelessly with the single dad, the much older man holds almost all of your attention.

“She’s pretty…” he whispers in your ear, his smile is sharp when your head whips around to face him. “Nowhere near as pretty as you baby, but it could be you. You see it right?” His eyes turn to the girl on the screen, the scene has shifted dramatically, from flirting, to kissing and groping, you cannot help but watch.

“Same eye shape, same cute little smile, and look at him—could be my brother.” And it could, the man on the screen is nowhere near as hot as Clint, but he’s the same type, greying, handsome and broad as hell.

“And doesn’t she just love it when he touches her…look how wet she is…” the scene has shifted again, both of them are naked now and she really does seem to like the way the older man touches her, you can’t really blame her—

“Just like you huh? Your pussy gets so fucking wet when I touch you doesn’t it baby, I bet it’s wet right now.” A moan slips out and he laughs low. His voice, the images on his tv, his hand slipping between your legs to cup your cunt, it all drives you mad. Jealousy burns hot within at the thought that he’d want to watch this at all, but it’s tempered by the resemblance, it’s spiced with the possessive way he holds you to him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Talk to me, pretty baby, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he pauses the movie, “I—it’s a lot, my heart is racing right now.” You let out a nervous laugh, his fingers press softly to your chin and turn your face to look him in the eye.

“Do you want me to turn it off? I won’t make you watch it if it’s not turning you on. We can stop this whole thing and do something else.” The smile curls your lips up.

He would turn it off if you told him to, he’d probably take you right back to the video store and let you pick out another movie if you expressed any discomfort at his plan. Embers burn in your chest at the thought, a sticky heat that feels like genuine care, genuine feelings for this man fill you to the brim.

The paused image of this alternate version of you shines on the screen, frozen in absolute pleasure, a hand on her breast, a tongue on her clit.

“I wanna keep watching, but I want us wearing less.” It’s hard to get the words out without trembling, or feeling awkward but you do it anyway.

He smiles, presses play, and pulls you closer.

Clothes come off, your shirt and your jeans pile up alongside his shirt and slacks around you. The older man is feeding his cock into her mouth by the time you’re both naked. He was right about the state you’d be in, your panties shine with the clear, slippery evidence, his cock stands at attention.

“No, I want you facing the tv. We’re gonna watch.” You’re halfway to straddling him when he stops you and turns you around. A sharp bite to the meat of your ass makes you squeal, and then he sits you in his lap, and not on his cock.

“Look at that. She’s good at sucking dick… I bet you are too, aren't you baby?” His chin rests over your shoulder, “I bet you would look so fucking pretty with daddy’s cock in your mouth.”

The thought makes you squirm, makes you rub your thighs together in his lap. His hands slide across your belly, slide up to hold the weight of your breasts and then focus on your nipples. It’s a torture the way he touches you, soft flicks at the sensitive peaks, slow circles that end with them pinched gently, and then not so gently between his big fingers.

“Does that feel good?” His lips press against your shoulder while his fingers continue to pluck at your nipples.

“Yes.” It really fucking does, he knows it does. Your arms rise to thread through his slicked back waves, gripping while he continues to tease your breasts.

“He’s going to give it to her, you want me to give it to you? You want me to fuck this pretty little cunt?” One hand slips down, he lets out a laugh when your legs fall open. “Oh honey, just as eager as her huh? Answer me.”

“Yes daddy, I want it so bad—“ your voice shakes with anticipation, the words barely coming out as his hand hovers at your mound, those deft fingers slipping through the soft curls there.

“What do you want baby, tell daddy what you want—keep watching the movie. I want you to watch her get fucked while I have my way with you.” You let out a shaky breath, swallow thickly. She’s on her back now, legs spread while he plows into her. You moan at the sight. Clint’s cock is so fucking hard under you.

“Is that how you want daddy to fuck you? Hard like that—?” His fingers slip inside you, two, thick and long. A moan escapes, your head tilts back with the pleasure of it but he tuts.

“Eyes on the movie sweetheart.” With a whine you focus, or try to. His fingers start to thrust in sync with the man on the screen, your brain blanks. The girl moans on the tv, just as you do, both of you being filled. For a moment, that flash of violence fills your mind's eye again, that the solid, gorgeous man underneath you could inflict such pain on someone makes your heart race.

Shamefully, it makes you wetter.

“Oh baby, listen to that.” Heat floods the whole of you, your pussy sounds soaked–every thrust of his fingers rings out louder, messier. A breathy daddy comes out of your mouth, and he laughs, an earthy, low tone that only adds to your considerable arousal.

“You want my cock don’t you baby, just like her huh? You want me to fuck you just like that?” God you do, you want him to hold you down, you want him to bruise you, claim you roughly, make you take his dick until he says you’ve had enough. “I need words, sweetheart, those pretty moans won’t get you what you want.” He pulls his fingers out and you whine, desperate, feral.

“Open.” His word is law, and your mouth falls open while you writhe in his lap. His fingers rub your own arousal onto your tongue, a vulgar blessing, an anointing. Sweat beads on your skin and in your hairline, on your lower back.

“How do you want it?” He pinches your nipple again, already so sensitive from his earlier teasing.

“Hard.” You mumble around his fingers.

“Put your hands on the coffee table.” He taps your leg and for a moment you don’t really understand what he means, your brain is too full of the girl getting fucked on the tv, on how you aren’t getting fucked, too full and not full enough of his dick pressing into your back.

“Don’t make daddy tell you again. Bend over, and put your hands on the coffee table. Now.” He’s such a good man, the best man who ever fucking lived and there’s no way you aren’t going to obey the best man who ever lived.

Smooth, solid wood under your hands holds most of your weight, it’s a little awkward for a moment to stand bent over, until you finally feel the blunt head of his cock slipping through the mess between your legs. Those deft fingers ghosting over your skin.

“Watch her.” It’s the only warning he gives you before he bottoms out in one, deep thrust. That bruising grip you were fantasizing about finally rears its head, that firm feel of his fingers gripping your hips while he gives it to you exactly how you want it.

Your head drops with the force of his thrusts—

“Eyes up baby, don’t make me tell you again.” He pants, voice clipped with authority, exertion and passion.

“Yes daddy, yes, god yes.” Your whole body is on fire, the pleasure is so sharp, laser focused in that spot he’s hitting with every push in, but spreading like a wildfire through your veins, inching you closer and closer to that peak. Your head drops again.

“What did I say?” Your hands come off the table, one hand holds your throat and for a moment your heart races with something close to fear.

“Daddy told you to keep—“ he thrusts harder, shoving the air out of your lungs and making your pussy weep rivers of arousal, “watching, the screen—“ two fingers hook into your mouth, pulling at your cheek. He holds you to him, caught, subdued. Dominated.

You come all over him, hard and sudden.

Your body tenses with the force of it, arching sharply, ass pressed against his groin, breasts jutting out, half standing, half bent over. Half moaning, half sobbing.

“Oh I know, I know baby, so good huh? You gonna be my good girl and take this fucking cock until I come? You gonna take all of daddy’s come in that ruined little cunt?” He sounds frantic, animalistic. His fingers slip out of your mouth, dragging your spit across your chin, across your breast when he holds it. The girl on the screen laughs as she bounces on the man’s dick, flirting and teasing while your brain melts out through your ears, leaks out around Clint’s dick.

“Fuck, here it comes—“ you wince, feeling the way he grinds deeper, the warmth of his come, the humid pants against your neck.

You try to catch your breath for a minute, he does too. Your whole body aches when he pulls out and lets you straighten your spine. There’s a dark thrill that lights you up from the inside at the feel of his load dripping out.

“Give me a second and I’ll grab something to clean you up with.” Tender, soft, relaxed. He tilts your head back to press a soft kiss to your forehead before shutting off the tape, and walking over to his bathroom. There are scars on his back too, you can’t help but notice.

He's wearing a soft t shirt, and an old pair of sweats when he comes back. Gently, he wipes away the mess he made between your legs before slipping another one of his shirts over your head. It smells like his skin, like that tender spot behind his ear that smells like him and soap. Emotions swell within, an intensity, a vulnerability you can’t quite explain. You almost want to cry.

Methodically, he opens your duffel and roots around for a clean pair of panties, slips them over your trembling legs as you silently fall apart.

“Get cozy, I’m going to let Louis out, and then grab you some water.” He places another tender kiss on your forehead before walking away and again, the threat of tears lingers.

By the time he comes back, by the time he presses the glass to your mouth they fall silently. He frowns, but you shake your head.

“I’m sorry It’s not you, I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid–” He tsks, puts the glass down and then settles back, pulling you half into his lap in the process.

“It’s not stupid, and you have nothing to be sorry about. Happens sometimes.” He pulls you in, reassuring you with his tone, with his hands and his warmth.

You snuggle closer, bury your face into his neck. He’s so fucking solid, so warm. His big hand does a soothing sweep on your back, it melds the line between boyfriend and daddy, your face shoots up.

“What’s wrong?” His other hand cups your cheek, “Oh god, you must be hungry, let me order a pizza–” he groans, his whole body tensing up to rise but your fingers grip onto him. “What is it baby?”

“Um. I just had a thought, maybe it’s dumb, or the wrong time to ask but, are you my boyfriend?” His eyebrows rise up into his hairline and immediately you want to backtrack. Leave it up to you to have the most amazing, mind-blowing sex of your life and top it off with crying and interrogating him.

“Well–” He starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Oh my god no, I’m sorry, forget I asked.” You bury your face into his shoulder again, clench your eyes together and let the embarrassment overflow like a broken levee.

“Enough with that, hey–no more saying sorry for asking questions or telling me how you feel. I’m not trying to dodge the question, or avoid the topic. You just caught me off guard is all.” He tilts your head up, presses a kiss to your lips. “I want to be with you, I want you in my life, preferably not secretly but I understand you not wanting to deal with your dad. I am happy to be your boyfriend, or partner, whatever you want to label it.”

Your face heats, the whole of your body floods with warmth at the sound of those words.

“I’ll tell him, I don’t want you to be a secret.” Your nose connects with the warm skin of his neck again, he smells so good you sigh.

“We can do it together.” The sweep of his hand continues to work its magic as your heartbeat slows, comfortable, safe. Is this what it feels like to be loved? Is that too strong a word? Too fast?

“I think I should do it on my own, but thank you for wanting to be there with me.” He says nothing, only nods, presses his lips to your forehead.

The rest of the night was just as perfect as you’d hoped it’d be. He ordered pizza. You cuddled on the couch and watched other movies he’d rented, not that you’d actually paid attention to anything. Laughs and cuddles morphed into a soft makeout session, which then morphed again into a heavy makeout session. Soft sex on the couch. Longer, more intense sex in his bed. He laughed about needing to hydrate, teased you for being insatiable, made self-deprecating jokes about his age and keeping up with you. Your birth control was going to have to put in work.

The morning finds you awake before he is. Louis meows softly at the door, no doubt hungry for breakfast. You knew where he kept the food, and so quietly and quickly, you crept out and fed him.

Clint is still asleep when you slip back inside the room. He’s always the most relaxed right after he comes, but even that doesn’t hold a candle to how he looks while asleep. He looks a little younger, the lines in his face are a little less defined, that constant furrow in his brow is gone.

He shifts onto his back with a deep breath, settles, eyes still closed. Completely at ease. You study the freckles littered across his neck and shoulders. Your finger absentmindedly follows each little silvery scar you come across. Theories, or more accurate still–your own imagination fills in a little story for each one. A scratch from Louis, a cut from the sharp chef's knife in his kitchen, a fight. The scar on his nose is the hardest to rationalize, so you don’t even try.

His chest rises and falls with each even breath, a sparse little patch of hair, soft under your fingers when you trace them down from between his pecs. The sheet covers his belly, you move it out of the way to continue your soft exploration. A darker happy trail leads down from his bellybutton, towards his groin, ending in the darkest patch at the base of his cock.

You let out a sigh at the sight of it. It’s half hard, resting against the junction between his torso and his thigh. There’s an intimidation that grips your chest in regards to this part of him. He easily has the biggest dick amongst all of the guys you’ve been with. Thick and slightly curved, a prominent vein that makes your head buzz. In the short time you’ve been together you’ve slept with him a handful of times, he’s gone down on you, seen every inch of you but this is the first time you’ve come face to face with it, so to speak.

Despite being naked, despite having wiped the trickle of his come away every time you’ve used the bathroom, you somehow feel almost shy. His eyes are still closed when you shimmy closer. Your stomach jumps when you get really close. Slowly, tentatively, you run your tongue across the head. The nervous flutter in your belly is still there, but it’s tempered with how his cock twitches, you take a hold of it loosely and continue.

He lets out a soft sigh, half asleep, half dreaming while you let your saliva pool and drip onto the head. It’s an unhurried exploration, a slippery kiss of the shaft, a tentative lick from root to tip until it’s swollen and hard within the soft grip of your palm. The intimidation swells along with his cock in your hand, your heart races at the size of it, your cunt leaks.

He wakes up while you’re licking at his balls.

“What are you doing down there, Princess?” He smiles, his voice deep and morning-raspy.

You smile, responding with another kiss at the tip. It’s slick with your saliva, slipping through your grip with ease. His hand finds your throat, long, thick fingers curling around your neck when you take him deeper. There’s no pressure in his grip, only a gentle encouragement, a reminder of his strength. You moan onto him, take him deep until he hits the back of your throat, until your nose presses against his groin. He smells like himself only deeper, earthier. Clean. Masculine.

“Good Christ, baby–” The fucked out tone of his voice only motivates you to swallow around the tip, pull out all the stops, make him moan just how he makes you do. His thumb presses only slightly into the base of your throat–how can those hands ever hurt anyone? How can the thought of that strength turn you on so much?

“Fuck, that’s it Princess, swallow daddy’s cock.” He breathes, his other hand caresses your cheek. Up and down you bob, stroking his shaft while you suck, twisting your wrist on the down stroke.

“You’re gonna make daddy come, you want that pretty baby? You want daddy to come in that pretty mouth?” You pull away to let more saliva drip out onto your fist, moan a yes daddy, smile at the way he looks at you before dipping down to lick at his balls again.

“That’s my good girl, go on then.” He guides himself back into your mouth, the hand at your neck tightens a fraction, enough to make your cunt clench although deep down you know it really shouldn’t.

You focus, suck the head and stroke, twist your wrist and let him touch your throat with every bob. Steady rhythm, firm, wet grip, an aching jaw and determination pay off, and within a few minutes he’s panting; hips moving, balls tightening.

“Fuck, yes baby, yes baby, oh fuck, I’m coming–” He floods your mouth with a deep groan, hissing when you squeeze his balls softly and swallow every salty drop.

He drops onto his back, pulling you up with him. Your jaw aches, and another sort of shyness creeps in while he takes deep breaths. There’s a need for approval that threads like a network of veins that connects with your nervous system. The longer he stays quiet, the longer he lays there, the more the need grows. A wholly independent hunger that claws at you, separate from the overwhelming desire for him to love you with his body.

“Was I good?” Your head settles onto his shoulder lightly, muscles tightly wound, barely letting yourself fully rest onto him.

“Pretty baby, you were more than good.” He pulls you closer, sighing into the kiss he presses to your mouth. Your neck relaxes, all of you does, his reassurance is the relaxant, the special sauce that lets you loosen up.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up.” He laughs, hugging you tighter, he’s just as loose as you feel. His heavy arms are comforting, his mouth at your neck feels like a light somewhere deep inside has been turned back on. When had it been shut off? Was it even there at all before him?

“My turn.” His voice carries the smile, fills your heart to bursting with it.

Anxiety creeps in, just as his car creeps down your street. It’s a heavy weight that keeps your mouth shut, clenches your jaw tightly at the thought of just how differently the light shines through your windows, as opposed to his.

“You okay?” He presses the back of your hand to his mouth.

“Yes.” You give him a tight smile, he raises his eyebrows.

“You sure?” His big hand squeezes yours hard enough to warm you up from the inside.

“No.” You huff out a breath, sinking further into your seat.

“I don’t want to go home, I don’t want to see my dad, I don’t want to go to work, I just want to hang out with you and Louis all day.” Heat floods your face at the confession. It's unrealistic, obviously. You know he…well, you know he’s out making money.

“I would love that. Can you take a few days off in a couple weeks? I’ll rework some stuff, give you my undivided attention, or at least as much as Louis will let me.” He laughs, and suddenly you feel lighter. The thought of being sequestered up in his apartment, a Princess in her tower, only she’s already been rescued.

“That sounds amazing, I’ll talk to my boss.” You scoot over, burying your face into his neck before pulling his face towards you. He lets you kiss him for a few seconds before facing the road again.

Your house dims some of the light he’s lit inside, but the thought of a tiny vacation with him keeps it on.

He carries your bag in one hand, holds onto your shoulder with the other as you step through the doors of your house.

“Where the hell have you been?” Your dad speaks, his tone cuts through the quiet–your stomach drops to see his expression change, his eyes flit between Clint and you, realization dawns. Clint takes a deep breath.

“Dad–”

“So this is where you’ve been? This is why you’ve been distracted, not taking extra shifts at the store, head in the fucking clouds. You acting out like a teenager? Trying to get my attention by fucking around with my business?”

You scoff at him, this was not how you wanted him to find out.

“Acting out? I’m an adult. I haven’t been taking extra shifts because I don’t want to, it has nothing to do with your business.” You shake your head, part of you always knew it would be difficult for him to accept this.

“Don’t give me that, I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing? Living my life? Dating someone who treats me well?” It’s not fair how he can strip you of your good mood so easily, how quickly he can corrupt your happiness without even trying. The cruel judgement in his eyes shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. It almost makes you want to laugh, how unsupportive, how selfish he’s always been.

“Just like your fucking mother–” It’s a smack across the face without ever having to lift a finger.

“Hey!” Clint’s voice shocks him for a moment, the warning tone of it, “Cool it. Don’t speak to her that way.” His shoulders are square, part of you preens, revels in his protection.

“Do me a favour and stay the fuck out of it, she’s my daughter and I’ll speak to her however I want. If she wants to go around acting like a fucking slut then I’ll call her a–” He doesn’t finish his sentence. The sting of his words, of his insults don’t feel like anything compared to the shock of seeing Clint’s fist connect with your fathers face.

Time slows down, a slow motion shot of your dad falling back, of Clint rushing him. Wordlessly, calmly, animalistically, Clint’s fist pummels. Blood splatters, bones crunch, watery gurgles shake you from your frozen state. Your heart races, your stomach drops to the floor, time moves at its normal speed and your feet bring you to them.

“Stop! Please!” You pull at his shoulder, yank him away from where he beats your father into the ground. With shaking hands, you shove him towards the door. “Go! You need to leave!”

He seems almost drunk while he stumbles back, confused and disoriented. You cannot help the tears, you cannot help the fear of what might happen and so you push him, get him away from your father before he kills him. He cannot be here, he needs to go, he needs to get away before the police are called, before he’s taken away from you. That image of him in his bed with you this morning flashes, something in his eyes, something you have to shut away for now.

“Go!” You sob at him again, closing the door in his face to deal with the damage.

---

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name

@zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker

@tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @iamladyp @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr @lizzie-cakes @bunnibitez @kluvspedro @bluesweaters15 @freyablack90 @frodofreakingbaggins @madnessofadaydreamer @iknowisoundcrazyreads @the-last-twin-of-krypton @vibin-hippie @callmebyyournick-name @ro-nahime-things @suzysface @xcallmetaniax

#clint flood #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #clint freaky tales #freaky tales #freaky tales clint #clint #clint flood x reader #clint flood fanfiction #clint flood x you #clint flood freaky tales #clint flood smut #clint flood x f!reader

264 notes · View notes