#from the problem of Thor bridge

[contact-guy]

I just wanted to draw it

[doingbad]

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, you made so many specific choices here

full text under the cut

It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but it was long to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evident that it seemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him. Suddenly, however, as we neared our destination he seated himself opposite to me—we had a first-class carriage to ourselves—and laying a hand upon each of my knees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which was characteristic of his more imp-like moods.

"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection that you go armed upon these excursions of ours."

It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care for his own safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem so that more than once my revolver had been a good friend in need. I reminded him of the fact.

"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But have you your revolver on you?"

I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but very serviceable little weapon. He undid the catch, shook out the cartridges, and examined it with care.

"It's heavy—remarkably heavy," said he.

"Yes, it is a solid bit of work."

He mused over it for a minute.

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe your revolver is going to have a very intimate connection with the mystery which we are investigating."

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

Very proud of Mr. Sherlock Holmes who just absolutely destroyed another rich asshole by being Not Impresses and Disgusted. Well done, Holmes!

[47gaslamps]

Really, how did Gruner expect Holmes to respond to that? If he actually wants Holmes to give up the chase, he is aping the wrong villain.

I think he might have had a better chance if he'd modeled himself after... mm... Neil Gibson, the Gold King. Make out that Violet de Merville is kindling in his bosom a new and purer fire, that he is becoming a changed man. Holmes is strangely credulous on matters like that.

Well. Unbeknownst to Gruner, subsequent developments will be fatal to that strategy as well. But then Holmes will have learned his lesson about dodgy manly sob stories.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

too big

a/n: honestly, bless this man for being such a dick (and having such a dick, holy fuck i’m gonna pass out)

summary: cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

warnings: innocent!reader x frat!bucky barnes, stepbro!steve rogers, frat!ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, smut, dark content, dubcon halfway through, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, shower sex, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, manhandling, overstimulation, orgasm denial, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, impact play, pain kink, spit kink, choking, masturbation, oral, fingering, anal, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bukkake

word count: 6770

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist 

“Ah, not yet,” your stepbrother groaned over the booming music, that rocked the frat house, as he cut the sip of his beer short, “if you really don’t wanna be here anymore, can’t you just like go up to my room and wait?”

“Seriously?” a long sigh flowed from your lungs, “then I’d rather just walk back to my dorm alone, I don’t even know why you insist on escorting me like I’m a child.” 

“Because you shouldn’t walk alone at night,” Steve shot back as his gaze continued to keep his focus on the party around him, “don’t be a brat, just go wait upstairs.”

“Well, can’t someone else do it then if you’re so busy, your majesty,” your comment earned you a glare. 

“You’re my responsibility,” he stated, the bridge of his nose twitching heatedly as he glowered down at you, “I’m not just gonna dump my problems on my friends for them to deal with.”

“Wow, okay,” you nearly choked on the lump that promptly formed in your throat, “I’m sorry for being such a burden then,” you muttered before spinning around and storming up the stairs. 

The door to Steve’s room slammed shut like a crack of thunder behind your spine. 

Chest still heaving, you stared down at the ground for a long moment before you finally managed to force your feet to move once again and peel you away from the door. You flopped down onto the bed with a heated huff, blinking up at the ceiling before your gaze flickered to the night sky twinkling on the other side of the windows. 

Though as you laid there, your stepbrother's last words nearly swallowing you whole as they played on a loop in your brain like a plague, a different sound suddenly caught your ears and caused your cheeks to instantly heat up with something other than fury. 

Reverberating through the thin wall, shrill moans were tangled with deep ones, some that were familiar, though you didn’t place them till the female whines started screaming out his name. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky–,” the cries rang out each time the thud of a headboard thumped against the wall. 

And though you couldn’t make out every word, you still thought that you could hear Bucky’s low timbre crackle in dirty soliloquies, fractured sentences that soon persuaded your hands to subconsciously drift down along your frame.

Though by the time that your fingers had found their way down your pants and stuffed up your hole, rocking them to the same rhythm of the pounding that nearly cracked through the wall, the door to Steve’s room was suddenly ripped open and you tore your hand away from your cunt. 

“I am only gonna say this once, so you better fucking listen up,” he grumbled as he kicked the door shut behind him, “I–… am sorry…” he struggled to huff, “there, you happy now?” 

The lewd noises that echoed through the wall didn’t faze him at all as he apparently was so used to such background noise in the house that he barely registered it at all. 

“So, you don’t think I’m a burden?” you uttered, propping yourself up on your elbows as doubt stiffened your words. 

“…no…” resisting a roll of his eye, he instead faintly shook his head as he began to walk closer, “you’re not a burden… a brat? Yes,” he stated, “but I guess you’re not that bad…” a slight smirk twitched at his lip before he then bent down over you and kissed you. 

Though as it turned out to not just be a swift peck he’d sought after as he layed down at top of you, one of your palms pressed against the centre of his burly chest before you twisted your lips out of the way, “wait, wait,” your head faintly shook as you tried not to succumb to his intoxicating kiss, “no, if we do this, then we’ll both just fall asleep here.” 

“Would that really be so bad?” a soft scoff crackled in his throat. 

“I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight,” you tilted your head as you blinked up at him, your brows gently knitting together at the plea, “I didn’t even wanna come tonight.” 

“Oh, come on,” he leaned back down till his nose ghosted against your own, “I’m too tired to walk across campus right now, and if I’m tired, then I can only imagine how you must feel. Come on, just crash here tonight, do it for me,” he croaked, “and you’ve been so boring all evening, barely had a sip of anything, so at the very least you owe me this.” 

“But–”

“You can pop in some earplugs, then you won’t even know the difference,” his lips began to flutter across your cheekbone till his voice tickled your ear, all the while the party right downstairs still boomed above his manipulative murmurs. 

And though you knew that it wasn’t true, that even if you could somehow block out the noise, you still couldn’t stop the base from rocking the entire house and make you dizzy as you laid in your stepbrother’s bed. So, as fear arose inside of you at the thought of telling him no, you instead heard yourself timidly whispering, “…alright…”

You’d managed to slip out of Steve’s bed without waking him up before you then sneaked down the long hallway to borrow the upstairs shower. 

Though once the water was drizzling down upon you, in the relaxing steam that floated around your form, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to the night before, though not of the manner that your stepbrother had put you to sleep, but instead to the sinful sounds of his best friend that you’d overheard. 

Swiftly, the pads of your fingers began to draw needy circles over your clit to try and dull the scandalously intruding thoughts, though even when you detached the showerhead to spray the gush of water directly against your pussy, a dire problem continued to stand in your way, like you were peeping over the edge of a cliff, too petrified to jump by yourself. 

However, as time began to slip away from you, the door suddenly barged open.  

Your stifled whimpers promptly ceased echoing in the shower as your eyes snapped to the figure now standing in the doorway. 

“B-Bucky!” you dropped the showerhead in your humiliated scramble to twist your nude frame out of his sight. Picking it up as it began to spray up into your face, you swiftly spun around and splayed your hands across your frame in a feeble attempt at covering yourself up.   

“You do know that this door locks, right?” he chuckled as he gently pushed the door closed behind him, the one that you had apparently still been half-asleep when you forgot to bolt, “that’s twice now,” he pointed out with a grin as his stare pierced through the fogged up glass, deja vu smacking you in the face as well, as he reminded you of the incident that had happened over the summer break, “I think if it ever happens a third, then I should win a prize or something.”

“Get out!” you screeched, embarrassment eating you alive. 

“Why? So that you can go back to getting yourself off?” 

“I–,” your head swiftly soared to catch sight of him over your shoulder, “I wasn’t–…” before you squeezed your eyes shut and huffed, “oh my god, I hate you…” 

“I know,” he simply smiled at your groan before he shifted to go grab his toothbrush from the cabinet.

But before he could be on his way and slip back out, your head started spinning as your gaze traced him on the other side of the glass, going about his business as if you weren’t standing stark naked one single meter away from him. 

“W-wait!” you then heard yourself squeak right as his fingers reached for the door handle. Glancing back over his shoulder at you, the words that then slipped out of your lungs were accompanied by a shiver that trickled down your spine, “…could you–…”

Blinking back at you, his eyes faintly squinted as a smirk plagued his lips, “could I what?” 

“Well, I just–,” your breathing was ragged as you averted your gaze, “I’m having a bit of trouble making myself–, uhm…”

“Aw,” his broad shoulders gently shook in a laugh as he then began to mock, “what’s the matter? Can you not make your little pussy cum? Have you still not learned how to do it on your own?” 

“I–, n-no!” you hastily lied, “I’ve totally done it myself, loads of times, what are you talking about?” even though the truth actually was that the sought-after high was still too overwhelming to reach on your own, “I just right now when I tried that it won’t happen… I–… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” 

“Well, maybe you’re doing it wrong,” he shrugged, “or school’s just got you crazy stressed out or something, so it can’t snap into place.”

“Yeah?” a small drop of assurance settled within your belly, “…so would you maybe–, I mean, I know that you’ve done it for me before, but still, could you maybe help me out a tiny bit?” 

A big huff flowed from his lungs as Bucky then pretended that your request was something he wished to be no part of, “alright,” he teasingly grumbled, “I guess I could lend you a hand, but just saying, it’ll cost you.” 

“Cost me?” 

“Yeah,” he tried to keep a straight face, “I don’t give out favours free of charge.” 

“Fine,” a short giggle bubbled out of you as you assumed his dramatic terms were but a joke, “I promise I’ll be your getaway driver on your next diamond heist or whatever.”  

His tongue briefly flickered out to wet his lips before he simply chuckled condescendingly in return, “you’re cute,” before he then began to strip out of his sleepwear. 

Though you probably shouldn’t have been surprised, in your mind, you had merely pictured that he would stay on the other glass a moment longer to give you the guidance that you needed, only explaining what you should do and nothing more before he then left you to carry it out on your own. 

“What are you doing?” your eyes instinctively grew wide as his clothing hit the tile floor. 

“Sweetheart,” his head swiftly cocked, “you literally just begged all pathetically for my help,” he pushed his underwear down, revealing his beast of a cock, already half-hard and heavy, resting like a freaking baseball bat against the top of his thigh, “so that’s what I’m doing,” he brashly stated before he then joined you in the shower. 

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he then held you in a kiss until the tension in your body gradually began to fade away. When you started to suck in deep breaths through your nose, truly landing in the devilish deal you’d just agreed to, one of his fiendishly, inked hands then began to wander. Skimming down over your wet skin, his palm first caught your tits, briefly giving one of your nipples a teasing tug, before his touch strayed down to knead your ass and draw you that much closer to his frame. 

With the showerhead still clutched in your hands, hugged closely to your body, and gushing onto the both of you, the drawn-out kiss then broke when Bucky’s hand snuck down between your legs. Swiftly, he sought out your clit, already puffy and throbbing from the way you had bullied it mere moments earlier. 

However, then, as you blinked up at him, mouth falling open in a gasp, he suddenly spun you around for your spine to be pressed up against his brawny chest, before stealing the showerhead from your grasp. 

Extending his thumb, he dexterously switched the settings and changed the flow of water from several small and gentle streams to one thicker, and much stronger, jet. 

A whimper rolled off your tongue as he then held the gush down to spray its firm pressure directly against your little pearl, and as you had already been so worked up when he found you, it didn’t take very long at all before you finally tasted that sweet high that you still weren’t yet brave enough to catch on your own, his expert touch instead guiding you there. Your eyes squeezed shut as, not only your head fell back against his broad shoulder, but your knees also threatened to give out, lending him to snake a swift arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. 

“Oh my god,” you panted, completely melted back against his bulky physique, “how did you do that so fast?”

And as the muffled grunt, that had vibrated in his chest at your unravelling, morphed into a cocky chuckle that tickled your ear, he simply murmured, “you’re welcome,” before he then pressed a peck to the top of your head and began to tilt your body back away from his. 

But at the loss of contact, one of your hands suddenly shot out in desperation before he could disappear completely, “wait, please I–,” you gasped foggily, “more–, I want more–, please don’t stop–”

And as you peeked over your shoulder to meet his eye, a glimmer flickered in his blue ones, “oh, looks like someone’s getting greedy,” he smirked, “you finally developing a taste for all of this? Becoming the little slut we’ve been telling you all along that you actually are?” 

“No, I’m not a–,” you couldn’t even echo the same word out loud, “…Bucky, please? I just–, I can’t do it on my own–, I mean, not like you or any of the others can…”

“Well, you’ve just not had enough practice yet,” his palm swept up to find your jaw as he took a step back in your proximity, “you’ll get there if you just listen to Steve and stick with all of us,” he uttered as he turned your head for his lips to capture your own.

As he kissed you over your shoulder, his now raging hard-on digging into the softness of your bottom, he then blindly slotted the showerhead back into place on the wall, lending the water to drizzle down over the both of you as he swept his tongue ravenously against your own. 

His feet then began to shift on the wet floor, and steered your own to move slightly as well, till your tits smooshed up against the cool tile wall of the shower. When his lips then faded and began to migrate down and past your neck, you continued to peek back at him as he then sank down onto his knees behind you. Grabbing your hips, he yanked your butt closer to his head till your back was arched and your arms were folded up against the wall for support. Burying his face in between your thighs, he then spent the next chunk of time eating you out till he once again had you tumbling over the edge.

Though after you’d cum this second time, he feverishly reached up and shut off the water before he plucked up your dazed form and dragged you out of the shower, planting you instead on the counter beside the sink. 

Still all dizzy, you swayed slightly as Bucky then took a few steps away from you, enough to be out of your reach. 

“I wanna see how many of your fingers you can fit inside that pretty little pussy of yours,” he demanded as his stare coasted down to your core, utterly on display as your limp legs hadn’t drifted closed yet. 

“W-what?” you breathed, still too hazy to keep your heavy eyelids from temporarily blinding your vision. 

“You heard what I said,” he briefly let a dollop of spit drop down into his open palm before he then grasped his thick girth and initiated a silky stroke, “show me.”  

Though try as you might, the max you managed to cram inside of your drooling cunt was three of your digits as your stare stayed glued on his fist working over his big cock. 

However as he watched you reach your capacity, he then stepped back up and, with his free hand, joined your own touch between your thighs. At first, as his gaze found your own and held it captive, the tips of his fingers traced your hole, all stretched out by your comparatively thin digits. But then, gradually, he traded your own touch out with his. To begin with, his finger hooked under one of your knuckles to pull one of your fingers out of your pussy, barely waiting any time at all before he then swapped places with it and slid his own digit in beside the two of yours that remained.

The stretch sent a shiver trickling down your spine and you swiftly tilted closer to crash your lips messily against his own. 

And soon, none of your own fingers remained as he instead stuffed you full. Though you thought that two of his thick digits were a struggle, he somehow managed to work himself up and double it to four after he had coaxed your own touch away, his thumb being the only one he couldn’t cram inside, instead stretching it up to sweep against your swollen clit and roll it under the broad pad. His other hand stayed on his dick as your pussy began to stain his fingers with your cream, leaking needily into his palm. 

Though just before you could cum once more, his zealous touch suddenly disappeared, denying you of the luxurious sensation once again. As you desperately reached down to take care of it yourself, he swiftly swatted your hand out of the way. 

Both of his palms, still sticky from your essence as well as his own spit, then floated up to grasp the sides of your face before he then uttered, “grab my cock,” and frantically, you fulfilled his command as you shared his hot breath, “both hands, that’s it, good girl,” a gravelly groan rumbled in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around his fat girth and attempted a gentle stroke, “rub it against you,” he murmured as the tip of him was already mere inches away from your throbbing clit, “rub that big cock against your pussy, go on.”

And as you then tilted your hips and began to drag his hardness through your folds, parting your petals for his girth, a pout found your lips as you peeked down at his size as your juices soaked him, “why do you have to be so fucking big…” you heard yourself whine, “it’s not fair…” 

“Aw, what’s wrong, huh?” he huffed out a cocky grin as he promptly leaned in a bit closer, “are you tired of not being able to take me? I thought you liked all the fun ways we make it work since you won’t let me even try to stick it in, how scaredlittle you think I’m too huge for it to ever work.” 

“You are, that hasn’t changed, I’ve accepted that,” you puffed as you continued to tickle the bulbous tip of him against your core and drive yourself closer to the edge once again, “but I can just still, simultaneously, be a little sad about how I can’t do that with you, even with how crazy you make me, which is a mystery in itself, I don’t get it, frankly I think you’re a complete and utter asshole, but–, fuck… it’s like I lose my mind when I’m around you… all of you… I can’t even enter this house without forgetting my own name…” 

But then, just before you could catch another orgasm, a low growl crackled in Bucky’s throat as your words caused him to finally snap, grasping your frame and tossing you over his shoulder before he nearly ripped the door off its hinges from how feverishly he yanked it open.

Stalking down the long hallways that slithered throughout the upper floor of the fraternity, fear arose in you at the thought that someone might spot you, though as you squeaked about it through your billowing laughter, Bucky only smacked your ass in return, lending you not to notice the handful of doors that clicked open behind you. 

As you reached his room, your giggle still remained as he dropped you down upon his bed. You were too focused on him as he sank down over you to notice how he hadn’t bothered to shut the door. 

Messily making out, his fingertips tickled your sides as he wrestled you lightly, grasping both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before his hips then grinded down against your own. Though your legs didn’t manage to tangle around him before he then flipped you around to lay on your stomach beneath him. 

It continued to be all fun and game as he twisted your squirming hands down to the small of your back, even as he reached for a pair of handcuffs that rested on his nightstand before swiftly clicking them around your wrists, as you merely thought that it was something new and exciting, not him on the verge of crossing a line.

Though as he then yanked your hips up off of the mattress, your knees curling beneath you as your face and shoulder smooshed further into the bed, you playfully wiggled your ass back at him as you fully expected to feel the touch of his fingers or his tongue once again. But to your surprise, when you did feel something brush against your weepy cunt, your giggle finally ceased, gradually fizzling out as you realised what exactly it was that you were feeling caress against you. 

“Wait, what are you–,” your neck twisted further as you tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, though only managed to spot his silhouette looming behind you. 

Cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

“But I’m not ready–, Bucky, wait!” you tried to wiggle away from him, but he only grasped your ass and brought you back flush against him, “let’s just talk about this for a second–”

“What’s there to talk about, huh?”

“It won’t fit!” you yelped into the sheets.

“Yeah, probably not,” he smirked from behind you, “but I don’t care… I’ll just make it fit,” he uttered before then attempting to sink it in, though without success, his massive cock instead slipped through your slick folds and dragged roughly across your clit. 

“Bucky, please! I’m scared!” you whimpered as his fat tip continued to nudge at your hole, smearing the mess leaking out of you further against your core, “you’re gonna break me in half!” 

“I know, fuck, I know,” he chuckled darkly as he kept up his efforts, “your little pussy is just too goddamn tiny for this,” he pointed out before continuing anyway and trying once again to bury himself in your warmth, though this time failing as well, “fucking shit!” he exclaimed as rage began to bubble within him, making him huff like a bull behind you. 

With a smack against your propped-up ass, he then took a step back before making his way around the bed to the nightstand. Once he’d grabbed a bottle of lube, he briefly dipped down to smother your frown with a peck. 

“Please, Bucky,” you tried to plea once again, “you can stop now. You tried and it didn’t work, so just–, we can do something else, whatever you want, just please don’t try again.”

“But this is the only thing I want,” he murmured before kissing your nose and disappearing back behind you once more.

As he settled back into the same position as before, he liberally glazed his cock with some of the lube, as well as smearing some on your already slick pussy too, even pushing some inside of you with one of his long fingers. 

And as he then attempted a third time, snapping his hips with all of his might, the very tip of him finally popped inside and an actual scream erupted from your lungs, partly from the severe stretch as he split you open with his monstrous girth, but also just from the pure shock of it miraculously working. 

“Ah!” your vision blurred up with tears and you could barely breathe as your poor pussy ached around his obscene size he tried to wreck you with, “Buck! It’s too big! It’s too big!” your mind began to grow fuzzy as you’d never experienced such an intense sensation before, “o-oh, fuck, please take it out, it hurts!” 

“Oh yeah, does it?” his palm swept up the goosebump-ridden skin on your back before he caught the cuffs that linked your wrists together, crudely tugging on them to drag you further down onto his cock, cramming even more of him inside of you, “it sure fucking looks like it, goddamn… I should take a picture of this shit, you’re so fucking stretched out right now, it looks like you might actually break on me,” his other hand drifted to your core to trace the way you struggled to take him. 

“Oh fuck, too much–, too much!” you began to sob as he began to buck his hips and bury himself further inside of you, “t-that’s too deep, Bucky!” 

“No, it’s not,” he chuckled breathlessly through a groan as he continued to stretch you to fit him, “I’m barely halfway.”

“Half–,” you gasped as it already felt as if he was so deep that you could feel him everywhere. From your toes that curled to all the way up in your fucking throat, there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t flicker and spark for him like a bomb about to go off. 

And as he huffed behind you with every laboured thrust, his hips snapping to crave his way deeper into your sweetness, his hands on you got rougher as they began to come down upon the curve of your bottom, smacking it and making you clench achingly around him at each blow. 

The sniffles that filtered through your strangled moans then found Bucky’s ears, and he briefly tore his stare away from where he split you apart, to glance to your face and spot the tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

“Are you fucking crying right now?” he couldn’t help but huff out a faint and amazed laugh, “aw, that’s okay, baby,” your mouth then fell open as one of his thumbs moved to plug up your tiny asshole, “you can cry if you need to…”

But through the piercing stretch that terrorised your soul, like shocks of electricity flicking through your nerves, you began to notice the euphoria slowly overpowering the pain, confusing you from how the two mixed and mingled. And then suddenly, Bucky’s greedy thrusts started to sound wetter and wetter with each sloppy slam into your soaked pussy, soon coming to a crescendo when your walls promptly squeezed down around him so tight that it forced his huge cock back out as your cunt achingly gushed around nothing and your wobbly knees collapsed beneath you.

Though as you came crashing down upon the bed, he wasted no time at all sinking down with you, “fuck… you’re doing so good for me, you know that?” your eyes rolled as he hummed directly in your ear, “just a little bit more, okay? Just relax around me, let me in,” he groaned as he struggled a moment to stuff himself back inside, pushing past your trembling sensitivity to make room for his length once again.

Though when he sank in, a low and blissful groan rumbling in his chest, it vibrated against your spine as he nearly crushed you as his hips began to roll and rut down into you, burying himself even deeper than before. 

“Be a good girl, just lay right there and take it while I finally get to use this tiny little hole of yours,” he grunted as his efforts overstimulated you so fiercely that your legs trembled violently beneath him and drool began to trickle out of the corner of your mouth, soaking the sheets below, “mould you so good around me, make you take me, fit me perfectly, just the way you should, make you a pretty little fuckdoll for me…”

Though your face was twisted to face the door, it was a struggle to keep your eyes open, lending you only to notice the figures that filled up the exit when one of them took a step to the side and spoke up as he knocked on the neighbouring door. 

“Yo, Steve!” Thor slammed his fist against the door till it creaked open, “bro, come out here.” 

“Yeah, you gotta see this, man,” Ransom called out as well, his feet remaining in the threshold so his stare could stay glued on your cockdrunk visage. 

And when your stepbrother stepped out to spot what was happening just in the next room, he swiftly leaned his form against the doorframe as a wide grin bloomed on his features. 

“Holy shit,” Steve chuckled breathlessly as he stared at the pair of you in amazement, “well fucking done, Buck!” 

“Thank you,” the man that squished you further into the mattress chuckled smugly as he tangled a burly arm under your chin and let his inked bicep flex against your pulse and choke you lightly, “thank you very much.” 

“I mean, I for sure thought you’d have to hold out even longer,” Steve tilted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of how your cream stained Bucky’s cock as it helplessly leaked out of you, forming a messy ring around his fat girth. 

“Well, sometimes patience doesn’t get you what you want. Sometimes you just gotta stop playing by the rules and make life your bitch,” Bucky grunted before his lips began to nibble at your ear, “right, Y/n?” 

Scarcely registering their sinful words through your fucked out fog, all you could reply with was a slurred, “mmngmphh…” your mumbled moan only triggering Bucky to grow even more cocky than before. 

“That’s right, baby, I knew you could fucking take it. You didn’t, but I sure did,” he panted against your neck, “see, if you weren’t such a little prude, then you would have gotten this big dick so much earlier, wouldn’t you have liked that? Instead of being such a brat and making me wait till everyone else had gotten to use you as their own personal little fucktoy to get off with.”

And though you tried to answer, you instead heard your stepbrother chuckle over your pathetic moans, “fucking hell, look at how wrecked she is. Buddy, I think you might have actually broken her,” before he glanced over his shoulder at Thor, “hey, go get the other. Wake them up if you have to, they shouldn’t miss another second of this shit.” 

You barely noticed as the rest of the fraternity slowly filtered into the room as your eyes soon fluttered shut and yet another orgasm rocked your sense, your cunt creaming all over Bucky’s excruciatingly thick cock. When he then suddenly flipped you around onto your back, you dizzily discovered the audience that had formed as you hazily blinked around the crowd. Some were lined up behind Bucky, others off to the side of where you laid melted against the sheets, and a few remained staring in the doorway, though over half of them had already freed their own dicks, while the remaining few that hadn’t yet still only palmed their palpable tents as they watched intently.

A shrill yelp bubbled up your lungs as Bucky then tapped the hefty weight of his length against your overly sensitive pussy. Your legs were folded and crumbled on either side of your frame as he sloppily rubbed himself against your mess, letting the rest see just how much he had ruined you.

“You guys wanna see how pretty I can make her gape for me?” Bucky asked the others as his gaze stayed glued to your little hole, nuzzling against it as it looked as if it had snapped back into place, almost like he’d never been in there at all. 

And with the cheers that promptly rumbled behind him, he then repeatedly rammed his cock inside your cunt before retreating completely with the lewd pop of your poor pussy letting go of his monstrous girth. Each time he slid inside, he gradually ventured further, burying himself deeper before pulling back out and watching as your hole steadily relaxed for him, moulding to his size. At first, your leaky entrance only winked back at them all a brief moment before snapping back into place, till you eventually gaped properly enough for them all to applaud in awe as Bucky paused a moment to grasp you with both of his broad palms and spread you wide, holding you open for everyone a moment longer before your hole quivered back into place. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you then forced them to blink as you felt Frank momentarily step up beside you and swiftly free your hands from the cuffs that still kept them bound behind your back, seeing as you couldn’t possibly escape now that you were so cockdrunk you could barely stay awake. 

All of their deep voices and lewd comments washed over you like a stormy sea, crashing into you and making you even more lightheaded than before. 

Ari then shifted to kneel down next to you and scoop his palm under your head, tilting it up for your hazy vision to flicker down to the unobscured crude view of how your pretty pussy got impaled by Bucky’s obscene size, stretching you apart way beyond your limits. 

And as he mercilessly drove his cock into you, his balls managed to smack against your slick skin as he finally buried himself completely inside of your warmth, the tip of him not only diving deep enough to kiss your cervix, but to bump and bully against it with such force that it caused you to repeatedly lose your breath. 

You had never felt so full before in your life, surely too full, as even though you were blinking down at the hard evidence before you, you still didn’t fully believe that you were capable of such feats, of taking him the way that he made you. 

“O-oh, fuck…” you shakily whimpered when you caught sight of the way his monstrous size bulged through your belly, making it seem as though he was fucking straight through your pussy and into your guts.

Your teary eyes then flickered to find Steve in the crowd before one of your hands weakly grabbed for him. Seeing as it was the very least he could do, he granted you the comfort and closed the short distance, trading places with the frat’s president, before he grasped your trembling palm in his own. 

“Damn,” you faintly heard Curtis mutter as he stared, his girth ever throbbing in his fist, mirroring the rest of them, “maybe you should just make her cockwarm you for the rest of the day, just as a precaution to make it easier for you next time.”

“Oh, you’re right, she might need that princess treatment,” Steve murmured as he raised the back of your palm up to his lips for a brief peck, “you’d let him do that, wouldn’t you, sis? For me? Be good for my best friend?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself panting as their words flew straight over your dazed head as it jostled on the mattress each time Bucky’s hips snapped against your ass, your zealous slickness being so messy at this point that it clung to his skin as well and kept you both connected in glossy strings, like spiderwebs, each time his efforts retreated. 

“Shit,” Marc groaned as his fingers, tightly wrapped around his own dick, began to speed up, “this is so hot… I think I might blow my load.” 

“Me too, fuck,” Scott harmonized. 

“Cum in her mouth,” Bucky uttered, “go on, be a good girl, open up for them,” before you then felt your stepbrother beside you pry your lips apart mid-moan. 

And as the pair stepped up and, one by one, painted your breathless tongue with their essence, you heard Lloyd rumble firmly, “you better swallow every single drop they give you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it taste good what you do to them, to all of us?” Billy purred before he let a dollop of spit drop from his lips into his palm as he paused momentarily before silkily stroking his length one more to you. 

“Maybe if you beg real pretty, it could become your dessert after every one of your meals,” Miguel suggested with a smirk, “but only if you’re good, then maybe you can have the privilege of being our little cumdump.” 

“Is that what you want?” Andy uttered huskily, his fevered efforts stealing some of his breath, “you wanna be Kappa Alpha Nu’s official little toy? Just be all fucking adorable and help us get off?”

But then Bucky let out a low chuckle as he shifted your feet to rest up upon his broad shoulders, “you’re saying that like she isn’t already…” he grinned proudly before sinking down closer and folding your body in half.

Your free hand clawed at his bicep as both of them flexed to keep him from crushing you as he tilted down to kiss you ravenously. His rhythm picked up till it reached a desperate pace, pumping his fat cock into you as he groaned against your lips. Though even after you felt his big dick twitch inside of you and pump your pussy full of his cum, his efforts didn’t cease, only degraded slightly as he shivered above you, stubbornly fucking you till you unravelled as well. 

With a ragged moan, he finally withdrew from your haven and reached down to messily rub his touch against your poor pussy, all swollen and puffy as it squirted once again for him, your juices weakly gushing all over the bed as his load too trickled out.

It was all a blur after that. 

At first, as you still laid there, panting and twitching at Bucky’s overstimulating touch that he hadn’t yet freed you from, the three frat guys who were looming right beside you, Thor, Curtis and Andy, decorated your heaving tits and stomach with their hot cum. 

After that, one by one, Miguel, Billy, Frank, Ransom, Lloyd and Ari stepped up and came wherever their heart desired. Some chose your exhausted face, all cute and breathless, blinking up at them, while others elected to finish on the soft peaks of your boobs, making you flash them your soft tongue, or even just paint your puffy pussy white and add to the mess already sticky and sore between your limp thighs. 

And lastly, having clearly edged in order to grant himself the honour, your stepbrother let go of your shaky hand and slotted himself in between your legs. Wasting no time teasing you, he plugged the very tip of him into your wrecked hole, making your whole frame briefly jump and quiver on the mattress before your soreness clenched around him and milked him dry as he swiftly emptied his balls inside of you. 

“Well, I think it’s official,” Steve exhaled when he finally pulled his dick back out to admire his cum slowly leaking out of you, “she is finally ready and broken in enough for us to start having some real fun…” his eyes then briefly flickered around to his friends beside him as he uttered, “gentlemen?” before his gaze once again returned to you, “let’s begin.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[urdreamydoodles]

MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #29

Jazz Fenton did not mean to become a Black Widow. It just kind of happened. One minute she was babysitting Danny’s mess because he decided to pick a fight with Kang the Conqueror (again), and the next she was knee-deep in S.H.I.E.L.D. files, covered in blood, and being hailed as “one of the most promising Red Room graduates they had ever seen.” Which was strange, considering Jazz had never been to the Red Room. Or Russia. Or… spy school at all. She was a licensed therapist. She had a degree. She paid taxes. She made salad. She was a normal woman, damn it!

“You killed fifteen HYDRA agents with a clipboard, Fenton,” Director Fury said, pinching the bridge of his nose as Maria Hill silently sipped her coffee and refused to make eye contact. “That’s not normal.”

Jazz folded her arms stubbornly. “In my defense, they attacked me first. And they insulted my handwriting.”

“You wrote ‘Your unresolved childhood trauma is not my problem’ on a sticky note and taped it to one of their foreheads.”

“And it wasn’t my problem.”

Across the room, Natasha Romanoff watched with the wide-eyed horror of someone seeing their own ghost. “She’s… she’s me,” Natasha whispered, pointing at Jazz. “But worse. Worse.”

Clint Barton leaned in. “I think I’m in love.”

“Shut up,” Natasha and Fury barked at the same time.

Things had spiraled out of control after that. Somewhere along the way, some Russian spy network got hold of a very blurry surveillance photo of Jazz decimating an entire mercenary squad with nothing but a heel, a pair of chopsticks, and a very aggressive therapy session. They promptly assumed Natasha had gone rogue (again), and put out a bounty. A very large bounty. The kind that made even the Winter Soldier raise an eyebrow and go, “Damn.”

Naturally, Danny found out.

Naturally, he panicked.

“JAZZ,” he screamed through the phone while flying upside down over Manhattan traffic, “WHY IS THERE A TWENTY MILLION DOLLAR BOUNTY ON YOUR HEAD?!”

“I don’t know!” Jazz screeched back. She was currently riding on the back of a stolen motorcycle with Deadpool (who thought she was Natasha and wouldn’t take no for an answer) while simultaneously answering frantic S.H.I.E.L.D. calls and rerouting an emergency therapy hotline. “ASK THE RUSSIANS!”

“WHICH RUSSIANS?!”

“YES!”

Meanwhile, Deadpool, wearing a T-shirt that said “I Heart Therapy,” shouted over the wind, “YOU’RE MY FAVORITE AVENGER NOW, NATASHA!”

“For the last time, I’m not Natasha—”

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Things escalated when Bucky Barnes appeared out of nowhere, tackled Jazz off the motorcycle midair, rolled into a perfect crouch, and then pinned her to the ground with a knife to her throat.

“I thought you were dead,” Bucky hissed, eyes wild.

Jazz blinked up at him. “Buddy, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s what you used to say before,” Bucky whispered, full of tragic anguish.

Deadpool sniffled loudly from behind them. “I love a good forbidden lovers-to-enemies-to-strangers-to-lovers again trope.”

Jazz kicked Bucky in the face and ran.

Within three hours, every major faction of Marvel’s expanded universe was hunting her down—S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, the Russians, Deadpool, Bucky, a very confused Peter Parker who thought he was supposed to save her, the X-Men (who thought she was a rogue mutant), and Kang the Conqueror (who thought she might be a time-displaced Natasha clone sent to assassinate him).

Thor, meanwhile, simply declared her “a most worthy warrior maiden” after she threw an entire food court table at Loki during a hostage situation.

“It’s about time Midgard produced more women of valor!” Thor bellowed, swinging Mjolnir with dangerous enthusiasm. “I SHALL TAKE HER TO ASGARD.”

“Get in line,” Deadpool snarled, adjusting his “I Heart Therapy” shirt.

Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to commit actual murder.

“I swear to GOD,” she growled, stalking down a S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway, “if one more person says I’m being so quirky today—”

“Natasha, babe,” Tony Stark said, popping out of a side door, “your emotional dysregulation is off the charts and honestly? It’s refreshing. You should get cloned more often.”

Natasha shot him a look so cold that even JARVIS’ firewalls froze.

Tony raised his hands. “Okay, okay, chill, Strawberry Shortcake. No need to murder me. Save that for—” he pointed dramatically— “your emotional support twin.”

“She is NOT my emotional support twin.”

“That’s not what the footage says.”

On a giant monitor, Jazz was currently choke-slamming Sabretooth into a dumpster while shouting, “YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO HANDLE REJECTION HEALTHILY!”

“Icon,” Clint whispered, wiping a tear.

Even Steve Rogers, paragon of old-fashioned dignity, was looking a little starry-eyed. “She’s very… efficient.”

“Efficient?” Natasha barked. “She’s deranged!”

“I like her,” Steve said firmly.

Jazz, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, had holed up in a New York City bookstore, eating chocolate muffins and trying to finish her psychology notes while surrounded by six unconscious mercenaries she had “politely discouraged” from kidnapping her.

Danny phased through the ceiling with a pop and immediately tripped over one of the bodies.

“OH MY GOD, JAZZ!”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Danny,” Jazz said absently, underlining a particularly important point about cognitive-behavioral therapy.

“YOU’RE IN A BOOKSTORE FULL OF CORPSES.”

“They’re not corpses, they’re just resting. Violence-induced naps.”

“WHAT—”

“Keep your voice down, you’re disturbing the literature.”

Meanwhile, Nick Fury was in a meeting with the Avengers yelling so loud birds outside fell out of the sky.

“I WANT HER ON PAYROLL,” Fury shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “GET ME FENTON.”

“Already tried,” Maria Hill said wearily. “She hung up and said we needed therapy more than she needed a paycheck.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bruce Banner muttered.

Tony smirked. “I mean, I am kind of curious. What happens if we just… hire her?”

“World peace,” Clint said instantly.

“Or total annihilation,” Natasha said darkly.

“Either way, it’ll be entertaining,” Deadpool chimed in, somehow already sitting in one of the chairs with popcorn.

“WHO LET HIM IN HERE,” Fury bellowed.

In the bookstore, Jazz finally looked up from her notebook to find Deadpool holding out a bouquet of slightly singed daisies.

“For you, my queen,” he said solemnly.

“I will mace you,” Jazz promised.

“Just like Nat used to,” Deadpool said, sniffling again.

Peter Parker dropped down from the ceiling. “Hey, uh, hi, Miss Fenton? I don’t really know what’s happening but I think you’re amazing and could you maybe not kill me?”

“I don’t kill people,” Jazz said, affronted. “I help them confront their inner demons and process their suppressed trauma through intensive violence-based therapy.”

“That’s… oddly comforting,” Peter said.

It all came to a head when Kang, exasperated beyond mortal comprehension, opened a portal above the bookstore and tried to yoink Jazz into the timestream.

He succeeded.

Sort of.

Danny grabbed her ankle mid-yoink. Deadpool grabbed Danny’s ankle. Peter grabbed Deadpool’s ankle. Clint Barton, swinging from a grappling hook, grabbed Peter. Then Thor decided he wanted in and hurled Mjolnir into the pile for good measure. The portal overloaded with a sound like an air fryer exploding in a church.

When the dust cleared, Jazz was standing on top of Kang, holding his own dislocated arm in one hand and a muffin in the other.

“HOW?” Kang wheezed.

“You tried to abduct a woman during her muffin break,” Jazz said sweetly. “Actions have consequences.”

Thor roared with laughter. “TRULY A MAIDEN OF WORTH!”

Fury appeared, looking absolutely done with existence. “You’re hired.”

“I don’t want a job.”

“Too bad. You’re in.”

“Can I negotiate for dental?”

“You already have dental.”

“…Sold.”

And that’s how Jazz Fenton, licensed therapist, ghost expert, and once-proud civilian, accidentally became a Black Widow. She wasn’t trained. She wasn’t programmed. She wasn’t brainwashed.

She was just tired.

And honestly? That was worse.

By the time she got back to Amity Park, her parents had no idea why Nick Fury was sending them fruit baskets or why Deadpool kept showing up at their front door with mixtapes titled “For My Future Therapist Wife.”

Danny refused to speak to anyone for a week.

Tucker made it worse by posting “Jazz Fenton, New Black Widow” memes online. Sam bought Jazz a leather catsuit “for the aesthetic” and refused to take it back.

And Jazz… Jazz just made another cup of tea, put on a sheet mask, and scheduled herself a very long therapy session.

Because someone in the family had to be sane.

It just wasn’t going to be today.

[amethystarachnid]

no bc why would a loki friends to lovers be so good?? 😭 ✋✋✋

can i request loki trope best friends to lovers with female avenger!reader from love is in the air? i have a whole plot and i am so sorry in advance so here we go:

reader is lokis best friend and they became friends bc she was the only avenger who was nice to him when he first came to the compound and they got really close. he still gets bad nightmares and when he does, he goes to readers room and she just accepts him and holds him while he cries until the nightmares are over!! (she’s so book boyfriend coded i literally can’t) and then this happens a lot but is only mentioned like a few times in the story (i really hope you understand this im so sorry my thoughts are literally all over the place) and then one night he goes to her room again bc of another nightmare and she comforts him and they fall asleep and he doesn’t have any nightmares while sleeping and then in the morning when they wake up (tangled in each others limbs) he goes ‘i love you’ and she smiles and goes i know and then he goes like ‘no, i LOVE you’ and she smiles more and whispers ‘i know’ and then kisses him!!!

thank you for making this new game and always specifying the as much detail as we want part i love u and ur writing soso much and you are so amazing and im so sorry for making you read this super long request

— anon 🌷

NIGHTMARES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just some angst

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Loki has no choice but to be here.

It is a punishment, though not the kind he expected. No dungeons, no chains—just the ever-present weight of Midgardian hospitality, which is its own sort of prison. After Asgard’s fall and the madness that followed, Thor petitioned to bring Loki to the Avengers Compound rather than leave him to whatever grim fate awaited him elsewhere. It was a mercy, Thor claimed. Loki knew better. It was just another way to keep him under watch, to keep him leashed. So he plays along, lets them believe he is something tame and manageable, even if the mere presence of this place makes his skin crawl.

The others do not trust him. That much is expected. Even if Loki had miraculously decided to change his ways, there is too much blood between them all. Stark especially watches him like a vulture, always ready with some barbed comment, some clever little jab to remind Loki that he is not welcome. Rogers is quieter about his disdain, ever the noble soldier, but he does not mask it well. Romanoff does not bother with pretense—she does not speak to him at all. Barton is much the same, still nursing whatever wounds Loki left behind in New York. Maximoff has her own reasons to hate him. Strange treats him as one might treat an unpredictable wild animal, barely interested beyond the occasional veiled threat.

Thor is the only one who does not look at Loki like an enemy, though his efforts to bridge the gap between them are clumsy at best. Loki does not want his brother’s pity. He does not want to be here at all.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, you happen.

You are the only one who speaks to Loki without venom in your voice, the only one who does not look at him like a problem that needs solving. From the very beginning, you offer him kindness. Not the strained, obligatory sort Thor extends, nor the artificial niceties of someone waiting for him to slip up. You are simply… kind. It baffles him. It frustrates him. It keeps him awake at night, replaying your words and gestures in his mind, trying to decipher your angle.

He tests you at first. He is cruel, the way he has always been, sharp-tongued and dismissive. He tries to chase you away, because he cannot fathom why you would want to be close to him. But you stay. You take his barbs with an infuriating sort of patience, countering his wit with your own, refusing to let him push you into the shadows. And slowly, against his better judgment, he stops trying to push at all.

Loki does not know when exactly things change. One moment, you are just another foolish Midgardian trying to play nice with the villain, and the next, you are something else entirely. A constant. A presence that lingers in his mind even when you are not there. He finds himself seeking you out, watching for you when he enters a room. He makes excuses to be where you are, though he is certain you see through them all.

You are different from the others. Perhaps that is why he lets you in. Perhaps that is why, when you tease him, he does not feel the usual bite of mockery. When you speak to him, he listens. When you laugh, he does not wish for silence.

It is strange, this… whatever this is between you. He does not know what to call it.

There is a night, early on, when he realizes how much he enjoys your presence. The others are away on some mission, leaving the compound oddly silent. You do not know he is there when you slip into the common room, curled up in the corner with a book, lost in the pages. Loki watches you for longer than he should before making himself known. You do not startle when he speaks, do not tense like the others do when they notice him lurking. You simply glance up, meet his gaze, and smile.

It is a small thing. A meaningless thing. And yet, Loki feels it somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he thought long since turned to stone.

From then on, things are… different. You and Loki fall into an easy rhythm, one that does not require explanation. You are his friend, though he still struggles with the weight of that word. It is unfamiliar on his tongue, but there is no other way to describe what you are to him. You speak to him as though he is not a monster. You listen when he speaks, even when his words turn bitter. You do not pity him, nor do you fear him. It is a delicate balance, and yet, you hold it effortlessly.

The others notice, of course. Stark makes his comments, forever incredulous that you would willingly spend your time with Loki. The others exchange looks when they see you together, silently wondering what exactly has formed between you. Even Thor is perplexed by it, though he does not question it aloud.

Loki does not care what they think.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, he is not entirely alone.

---

The first time it happens, Loki does not intend for it to happen at all.

It is late—long past the hour when even the restless find sleep. The compound is silent, steeped in the kind of darkness that makes everything feel heavier, more oppressive. He should be resting. He knows this. And yet, as he lies in the too-soft Midgardian bed, the sheets tangled around his restless limbs, Loki cannot shake the remnants of his nightmare.

It is not the first time he has suffered such things. They have plagued him for years, twisting his thoughts into cruel shapes, dragging him into memories he cannot escape. Usually, he endures them alone, swallowing down the horror, letting it fester in silence. But tonight is different. Tonight, the weight of it is unbearable.

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face, breath still unsteady. The dream clings to him like a second skin. He can feel it—thick, choking, inescapable. His own screams still echo in his mind, a cruel reminder of how easily he unravels when left alone with his thoughts.

He needs to breathe.

Loki forces himself out of bed, out of his room, into the dimly lit hall. He does not know where he is going at first. He does not think at all. His body moves on instinct, his feet carrying him forward before his mind catches up.

And then he is standing in front of your door.

The realization strikes him like a blow. He should not be here. He has no reason to be here. And yet, something in him will not allow him to turn away.

He hesitates, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists. He should leave. The last thing he wants is for you to see him like this—weak, vulnerable, broken. You have only ever known the pieces of him that he allows you to see, the sharp wit, the clever smirk, the mask that keeps the world at bay. This… this is something else entirely.

And yet, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and knocks.

It is soft, barely audible, but in the silence of the compound, it may as well be a thunderclap. His heart pounds against his ribs, and he almost turns to flee before the sound of movement reaches his ears.

A moment later, the door opens.

You stand before him, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, confusion written across your features.

"Loki?" Your voice is thick with sleep, but there is no irritation in it, no impatience. Just quiet concern.

He does not know what to say. He does not even know why he is here, why he has come to you instead of locking himself away like he always does. The words catch in his throat, his pride warring with his need for something—anything—to ground him.

But you look at him, really look at him, and something in your expression shifts.

You step aside without a word, leaving the doorway open in silent invitation.

For a long moment, Loki simply stands there, waging a battle within himself. He should not do this. He should not need this.

But the alternative is far worse.

So, with slow, reluctant steps, he moves inside.

You close the door behind him, and the quiet settles between you, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. You do not ask why he is here. You do not press him for an explanation. Instead, you gesture toward your bed, a silent offer, as if you have already decided what he needs before he can admit it himself.

He swallows, shame burning in his chest, but he cannot bring himself to refuse.

Without a word, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. His hands tremble slightly as he presses them against his knees, his entire body taut with tension. He feels exposed, raw in a way that terrifies him.

And then you sit beside him, so close he can feel your warmth.

Still, you do not push. You wait.

It is this—your patience, your quiet understanding—that breaks something in him.

He exhales sharply, his composure fracturing at the edges. His shoulders shake before he can stop them, and then, before he even knows what is happening, his hands are gripping the fabric of his own sleeves so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

You move before he can react, before he can even think to stop you. Your arms come around him, careful but certain, pulling him into your embrace.

Loki stiffens at first, instinct screaming at him to pull away. He is not used to this—to being held. He does not know how to accept comfort, how to take something so freely given.

But you do not let go. You do not waver. You simply hold him, warm and steady, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

And Loki breaks.

A shuddering breath escapes him, and then another. His body sags against yours before he can stop it, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. The dam bursts, and before he can stop it, he is trembling, shaking, silent sobs wracking his frame.

You say nothing. You do not tell him it is okay, do not offer empty reassurances. You simply hold him through it, your hands moving gently along his back, your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

Time loses meaning. He does not know how long he stays like this, pressed against you, his breath uneven, his body betraying him. But you never pull away. You never make him feel as if he is too much.

When the storm finally begins to pass, when his breathing evens and the tremors fade, he feels exhaustion settle deep in his bones. He should move. He should leave before he humiliates himself further.

But then you shift, adjusting your grip so that you are holding him more fully, your chin resting gently atop his head.

"Stay," you murmur, the word barely above a whisper.

He does not fight it.

For the first time in his life, Loki allows himself to be held.

That night, he sleeps.

And then, somehow, it becomes normal.

It does not happen every night, but often enough that neither of you question it anymore. When the nightmares come, when the weight of his past becomes unbearable, Loki finds himself at your door.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

The shame he once felt begins to fade, replaced by something he does not have the words for. You do not judge him for his weakness. You do not make him feel like a burden. You simply accept him, in all his fractured, broken pieces, without hesitation.

It is terrifying.

It is the most comfort he has ever known.

And Loki does not know what to do with that.

---

Loki does not know when it begins. Perhaps it has always been there, buried beneath layers of denial and self-preservation, something too delicate to acknowledge, too dangerous to name. But slowly, steadily, it grows.

He notices it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between words.

It is in the way he seeks you out without realizing it, the way his day does not feel quite right until he has spoken to you. It is in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, in the way his mind lingers on your voice long after you have left the room.

It is in the nights spent wrapped in your arms, when the nightmares become too much.

At first, those nights were a necessity, a last resort when his own mind betrayed him. But now, they are something else entirely. The shame that once clung to him has faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. He no longer fights the pull toward you—he welcomes it. He does not know when it became so natural to find solace in your presence, to lean into your warmth without hesitation.

But it is not just about the nightmares anymore.

It is the way he lingers when he does not need to. The way his fingers brush against yours in passing, the way he memorizes every shift in your expression, the way your touch lingers on his skin long after you have pulled away. It is the way his heart pounds in his chest at the smallest of gestures, the way your absence leaves an ache that he cannot name.

And then, one night, it happens.

It is late, but Loki is not in his room. He is in yours, as he has been countless times before. The routine is familiar—he wakes from a nightmare, the echoes of it still clinging to his skin, and without thinking, his feet carry him to you.

You let him in, as you always do.

Tonight, the weight of it is heavier than usual. The nightmare lingers in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke. He does not speak of it, and you do not ask. You simply pull him into your arms, letting him bury himself against you, his breath uneven against your collarbone.

For a long time, neither of you move. The silence is comforting, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his back, grounding him.

And then, in the stillness, something shifts.

You sigh softly, a sleepy, content sound, your arms tightening around him just slightly before relaxing again. It is the simplest thing—an unconscious movement, a meaningless moment.

But it unravels him.

The realization hits Loki with the force of a thousand suns. It is sudden and absolute, as if it has been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.

He loves you.

It is not friendship, not even close. It never has been.

His love for you is deep and consuming, something that lives in his very bones. It is in the way he looks at you when you are not watching, the way your presence soothes him in a way nothing else ever has. It is in the way he would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

The realization is terrifying.

Loki does not move. He does not breathe. He simply lies there, pressed against you, as the weight of it crushes him.

This should not have happened. He should not have allowed it.

Love is a weakness. It is a thing to be used, to be twisted and turned against him. He has seen it happen too many times before. He has felt the sting of rejection, the sharp bite of betrayal. He knows better than to hope.

And yet, it is too late.

Loki swallows hard, willing the ache in his chest to subside. He cannot tell you. He will not. You are his closest friend, the only person who has ever truly seen him, the only one who has never turned him away. If he speaks this truth aloud, he risks losing that.

And that is something he cannot bear.

So he does what he has always done—he buries it.

He forces himself to breathe, forces himself to relax against you, as if nothing has changed. Because for you, nothing has.

You do not know. You cannot know.

And Loki will make sure it stays that way.

From that night on, everything feels different.

He pretends it does not. He is careful, measured. He acts as he always has, keeps his words and actions the same. He does not allow himself to linger too long, does not let his touch betray him.

But inside, he is unraveling.

It is a constant war, a battle he fights every second he is near you. He is hyperaware of every glance, every touch, every breath. He cannot stop looking at your lips when you speak, cannot ignore the way his heart clenches when you smile.

And the worst part? You do not even notice.

You treat him the same as always, utterly unaware of the storm raging inside him. You laugh with him, tease him, pull him into your arms on those quiet nights, completely oblivious to the fact that every moment is torture.

Because he wants.

Gods, how he wants.

There are nights when he stands outside your door, debating whether or not he should knock. Not because of the nightmares—those still come, but they are no longer the only reason he seeks you out. He knocks because he aches for your presence, because the thought of being alone feels unbearable.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

You do not question it. You do not ask why. You simply welcome him as if he belongs there, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, to you, it is.

But for Loki, it is agony.

Because he cannot have you.

Not the way he wants.

And so, he suffers in silence.

He lets himself be near you, lets himself feel your warmth, your touch, your kindness. But he never says a word. He keeps it locked inside, where it cannot hurt either of you.

Because if you do not know, then you cannot leave.

And for Loki, that is the only thing that matters.

---

It happens again.

Another nightmare. Another night where the ghosts of his past pull him under, drowning him in horrors he cannot escape.

Loki wakes with a sharp inhale, his breath coming too fast, his chest tight with panic. The darkness of his room feels suffocating, the walls too close, the air too thin. His hands tremble as he presses them against the mattress, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that he is here, not there.

Not falling. Not failing. Not alone.

The thought comes unbidden, as it always does.

Because he is not alone.

Without thinking, without hesitating, his body moves on instinct, slipping out of bed and into the hallway. His bare feet make no sound against the floor, the compound silent in the deep hours of the night. He does not question where he is going. He does not stop to consider if he should.

Because he already knows the answer.

Your door is slightly ajar, just as it always is. You never lock it. You never turn him away.

Loki hesitates for only a moment before pushing it open.

The room is bathed in darkness, the faint glow of the city outside casting soft shadows along the walls. You are curled beneath the blankets, your breathing slow and steady, lost in sleep.

He should leave. He should not do this.

But the remnants of his nightmare still cling to him, cold and suffocating, and he cannot bear the thought of returning to his room, to the silence, to the weight of his own thoughts.

So he steps inside.

The floor creaks beneath his weight, but you do not startle. You stir slightly, shifting against the pillows, but you do not wake.

And yet, as he stands there, lingering in the doorway, you sigh softly, murmuring his name in the dark. Not with fear, not with surprise—just quiet understanding, as if you expected him to be there all along.

Something in his chest tightens.

He does not speak, does not explain. He simply moves toward the bed, and when he hesitates, you lift the blanket in silent invitation.

He exhales, slow and shaky, before slipping beneath the covers beside you.

The warmth of you envelops him immediately, soft and steady, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

He presses closer without thinking, without meaning to, his forehead brushing against your shoulder, his hands curled near his chest.

And then, as if sensing the last of his hesitation, you shift just enough to pull him fully against you, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes everything inside him unravel.

Loki breathes.

The tension eases from his body, the nightmare fading into nothing, the ghosts retreating into the shadows where they belong.

You hold him, just as you always do, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns along his back. He feels your breath against his temple, soft and even, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself relax.

His eyes grow heavy, his body warm, and then—

Sleep finds him.

And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, golden and soft, chasing away the last remnants of night.

Loki stirs slowly, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, his mind still wrapped in warmth, in comfort, in you.

There is something different this time. Usually, when morning comes, he is awake before you, careful to slip away before you can stir, before you can see him in the vulnerable light of day.

But this morning, he does not move.

He is tangled in your limbs, his head resting against your chest, your arms still wrapped around him.

He does not want to move.

Your scent surrounds him, your warmth pressing against every inch of him, and for once, he allows himself to savor it.

His eyes flutter open just enough to catch the golden light spilling across the bed, the way your hair glows in the morning sun. You are still asleep, your breath slow and steady, your heartbeat a gentle rhythm beneath his ear.

And he is safe.

The thought settles in his chest, warm and unfamiliar, something he has never allowed himself to believe before.

And before he can stop himself, before his mind fully catches up with his body, the words slip out, slow and sleepy and utterly unguarded.

"I love you."

The words are barely above a whisper, a sigh against your skin, but you hear them.

Because you smile.

Loki does not see it at first, but he feels it—the shift in your body, the way your arms tighten around him just slightly, the way your breath catches for half a second before settling again.

And then, still drowsy, still wrapped in the warmth of morning, you murmur, "I know."

Loki freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, his body going rigid against you as his mind finally catches up with his words.

What has he done?

Panic rises in his chest, sharp and sudden. He had not meant to say it, had not meant to ruin this. He was supposed to keep it buried, to let it fester in silence where it could not hurt either of you.

But it is too late.

You know.

And then, just as he is about to pull away, just as the weight of his own foolishness threatens to crush him, you shift beneath him, tilting your head just slightly, pressing your lips to the top of his head in a touch so soft it makes him ache.

And then—

"I know," you whisper again, and this time, your voice is different.

He swallows hard, eyes squeezing shut, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"No," he breathes, barely audible, as if saying it again will somehow change the meaning, make you understand the weight of it.

But you do.

You have always understood him better than anyone.

"I love you," he says again, more certain this time, more him, his voice rough from sleep and tangled in something too big to contain.

He feels you smile against his hair.

And then, gently, finally, you whisper, "I know."

And then you kiss him.

Loki stills, every thought in his mind vanishing into nothing as your lips press against his.

It is soft and slow, something delicate, something precious.

It is not hurried or desperate. It is intentional. Certain.

Your fingers brush against his jaw, tilting his face up to yours, deepening the kiss just enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

And Loki—Loki, who has spent his entire life running from things he cannot bear to lose—lets himself fall.

When you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, Loki does not move. He cannot. His heart is still catching up with what just happened, his mind still drowning in the warmth of you.

You smile, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before murmuring, "Took you long enough."

A breath of laughter escapes him, something he did not expect, something light and unguarded.

He presses his face back into the crook of your neck, exhaling slowly as the last of his fear dissolves into nothing.

"You are insufferable," he mumbles, but there is no heat behind the words, no bite.

Only love.

And this time, he does not try to hide it.

[moroniccats]

What are some of your favorite quotes of Watson just unabashedly adoring Holmes? (Doesn’t have to be in a shipping way) Here are a few of mine, although they BARELY scratch the surface:

“‘What do you think of it, Watson?’

‘A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height.’” - The Bruce-Partington Plans

“I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them.” - The Dying Detective

“Had I not feared to give the public a surfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom above all others I revere.” -The Problem of Thor Bridge

“His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie before him. A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of baker street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy…” - The Priory School

“Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes’s pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience.” - The Six Napoleons

“The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands.” - The Solitary Cyclist

I just think it’s really sweet.

[ifwebefriends]

Just listened to The Problem of Thor Bridge part 1 and oh my god I can’t handle it we’ve got:

Sherlock accepting a hug from John and Mariana after he tried to make a hugging machine for himself

Sherlock saying explicitly that he likes John’s company

Sherlock caring about John’s PTSD triggers

Sherlock offering to hold John’s hand or talk about his feelings

John apologizing for shouting at Sherlock

Sherlock checking in on John after his outburst

[clearwingedmaven]

So we tied. And for the starting blog:

Favorite underrated Sherlock Holmes stories, and why you should read them!

1) The Five Orange Pips: Look. I am a sucker for examinations of consciousness, and this was like the first time we've seen Sherlock Holmes feel and seem human. Be vulnerable. Be angry, despairing, haunted, even. He's lost a client, and as far as we know, that's the first time that's ever happened to him. It's the first time he's failed at this magnitude.

And his rant to Watson before he goes to chase down Openshaw's killers is definitely a worthwhile read.

2) The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb: After doing the research for the fic, and finding the terrifying Paget drawing for this one, yeah, this one's good. It's a little bizarre, given the ending, but the implications of Colonel Stark still being out there, and maybe doing this to other people is chilling. If you like... well, horror, definitely worth a read.

3) The Adventure of the Naval Treaty: I don't see this one talked about a lot! I find the cottagecore aspects appealing, and the interwoven political intrigue and little bits of back story for Watson are fun, too. An absolute bonus is the ending: I would also be jumping up and down if I got my important document given to me for breakfast, and the monologue with the rose... also a plus!

4) The Adventure of the Lion's Mane: I do like cottagecore Holmes, I guess! I love this little story, especially that Holmes, despite being retired, still immediately rushes in to help solve this mystery. I feel like it's a great demonstration of Holmes's humanity and kindness, rather than just his logic and rationality.

5) The Problem of Thor Bridge: I can't say that this... elaborate plan made sense, but it was deeply intriguing. I love how again, it's a great showcase of Holmes’s humanity and kindness, and the woven cold blooded rivalry, and plotting made for an intriguing short story in the long run. Extreme bonus points for the Granada adaptation: Jeremy Brett strutting across the bridge was an incredible image.

And finally:

6) The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter: I really don't see people talking about this one, either! There were bits of mystery that were deeply intriguing, such as the papers that were left about, and it's a very bittersweet tale, but also as a deeply human tragedy. There's no real villain here(apart from Lord Mount-James), but there is death and despair with the death of Godfrey's young wife. If you like an angsty read, this is worth it.

And that's my two cents.

[moniquesha]

exfil

part three: first job back.

18+

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Shaken but unable to walk away, you find yourself back in the fight. The past lingers, the weight of old habits settling in. And when the moment tests you, someone is not convinced you’re ready.

Warnings: Angst. PTSD. Panic attack. Violence. Mentions of past trauma.

a/n: if you haven't noticed yet, this is my attempt in the most realistic way a soldier can act towards others! in other words, this is a slow burn series.

“I detected irregularities in your vitals,” Vision said, eyes scanning you. “Your heart rate is still elevated.”

You sighed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Yeah, thanks, I noticed.”

Vision tilted his head, studying you for a second longer before concluding, “You should sit.”

You weren’t going to argue with a synthezoid, not when your legs still felt unsteady. Before you could even think about finding a seat, Wanda appeared beside you, pressing a bottle of water into your hand.

“Here,” she said softly.

You hesitated. Then, with a muttered thanks, you took it.

Wanda didn’t leave. She just stood there, watching you like she was debating whether or not to read your mind.

You shot her a look. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she replied, but there was something too innocent in her voice.

You narrowed your eyes. “Wanda.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But only because I don’t need to.” She tilted her head slightly, searching your face. “It’s written all over you.”

You looked away, taking a sip of water. It didn’t make the bitterness in your throat go away. By now, the others had gathered again—Bucky, Yelena, Sam, and of course, Tony, who looked way too satisfied with himself for dragging you back inside.

Bruce was there, too, watching cautiously from the sidelines. Clint and Rhodes had started talking amongst themselves, probably debating whether or not this was their problem.

Thor, at least, had the decency to look a little lost.

You exhaled, staring down at the bottle in your hands.

Then, Tony clapped his hands together. “Alright, so, now that we’ve all had our little emotional meltdown—”

“We?” Sam scoffed.

“—can someone please tell me what exactly we’re doing here?” Tony ignored him, looking at Yelena. “You’re the one stirring this pot, so start talking.”

Yelena glanced at you before answering.

“I asked her to help with Fontaine.”

Tony raised a brow. “And her response was to nearly pass out in the parking lot?”

“More or less,” Bucky muttered.

Tony exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I hate this job.”

“Technically, you don’t have a job anymore,” Rhodey reminded him.

Tony waved a hand. “Semantics.” Then, he turned back to you. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Oh, you so do,” Tony shot back. “Look, I get it. You wanna stay out of this. You don’t wanna go running back into another spy thriller disaster. But—news flash—you already care.” He pointed at the water bottle in your hands. “That’s why you’re still here.”

You looked away. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Tony scoffed. “You always have a choice.”

You exhaled sharply.

Silence hung in the air.

Yelena spoke next, voice measured. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t need you.”

You swallowed hard.

Bucky, for once, said nothing.

You let out a breath, staring at the ground.

Then, finally—

“I said I’ll read the damn file.”

Yelena’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Tony smirked. “Look at that. Progress.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it, Stark.”

He held his hands up in surrender, still grinning. You sighed again, rubbing your temples. This was a mistake. You knew it.

But just like Tony said—you already cared.

Your apartment was quiet when you stepped inside. Too quiet.

You locked the door behind you, tossing your keys onto the small table near the entrance. The lights flickered on automatically, casting a dull glow over the space—small, simple, nothing like the places you used to stay in when you were somebody.

Now? You were just someone trying to get through the day.

You shrugged off your jacket, throwing it over a chair before making your way to the kitchen. You grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.

The file Yelena had given you sat on your coffee table. Untouched.

You exhaled sharply.

Against your better judgment, you walked over and picked it up. The paper felt heavier than it should have.

You don’t have to do this.

That’s what you told yourself. But it was a lie.

Because the second you took that file, the second you agreed to read it, you were already in.

Like a bad habit you couldn’t shake. You sat down, flipping open the folder. The first thing that greeted you was a photo.

Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Her face stared back at you, just as smug as you remembered.

You skimmed the documents, scanning the details, the movements, the suspected operations. Some things you knew. Some things you wished you didn’t.

You leaned back, rubbing your temple.

This was a mistake.

A big one.

You should’ve burned the file, walked away, never answered another call from Yelena again. But instead, you were sitting here, debriefing yourself, like you still belonged in this world.

Like you were still the agent you used to be. You sighed, shutting the file. You’d read the rest later. For now, you needed sleep. You haven't even noticed how time is the quickest when you worry. The sun barely peeked through your curtains when you woke up, a dull headache pressing against your skull.

You had slept—technically. But it wasn’t the kind of rest that left you feeling any better. Your body still felt heavy, your mind still restless.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling. You could still feel the weight of the file sitting on your coffee table. The second you touched it, there was no going back.

But was there ever a chance of walking away?

You sighed, finally forcing yourself out of bed. The cold air hit your skin immediately, grounding you in reality.

The apartment was as quiet as it was last night, save for the occasional hum of the city outside. You went through the motions—brushed your teeth, washed your face, threw on whatever was clean.

Then, without thinking, your eyes flickered to the coffee table.

The file was still there. Untouched.

You exhaled sharply. Then, reluctantly, you sat down and flipped it open again.

This time, you really read it.

The more you took in, the more you realized why Yelena had asked for your help. Fontaine wasn’t just another opportunist trying to play in the big leagues—she had reach. Resources. Plans that ran deep, deeper than most people realized.

And you? You knew things about her that no one else did.

Because once upon a time, she had been your fix.

That part still made your stomach turn.

You’re out, you reminded yourself. You left that life behind.

But if that were really true, why were you still sitting here, memorizing every detail in that file?

Your phone buzzed. You hesitated before grabbing it.

A message from Yelena.

Yelena: Morning. So… how much do you hate me right now?

You stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then, with a sigh, you typed back.

You: Still deciding.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Yelena: Fair. Coffee?

You ran a hand down your face. You had a choice.

You could ignore this. Pretend like you never saw the file. Go about your day like none of this mattered.

Or—

You exhaled, already reaching for your jacket.

You: Where?

The café was a quiet hole-in-the-wall kind of place—nothing fancy, nothing flashy. The kind of spot you’d pass by a hundred times and never notice.

That’s why you didn’t like that Bucky was sitting at the table with Yelena when you walked in.

You stopped just inside the door, debating whether you should turn around and leave.

Yelena saw you first. “Ah, there you are.” She waved you over like this was some casual brunch meetup and not an attempt to drag you back into something you had no business touching.

Bucky turned, catching your eye. You met his gaze for a split second before looking away, sighing as you walked over.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” you muttered, dropping into the seat across from them.

“Relax,” Yelena said, taking a sip of her coffee. “He was already here when I got here.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t expecting you either.”

“Good,” you said flatly. “We can both be disappointed.”

Yelena smirked, but Bucky just sighed, leaning back in his seat. He looked like he’d been here a while—coffee half gone, a plate pushed to the side.

You ordered yours without looking up, rubbing a hand over your face. “So?” you said after a beat. “What’s the plan, then? Or am I just here for the ambiance?”

Yelena leaned forward slightly. “You read it?”

You hesitated. Then, finally—

“Yeah.”

Bucky didn’t react, just took another sip of his drink.

Yelena, though, watched you carefully. “And?”

You exhaled. “And it’s bad. I didn’t know she divorced Everette Ross, and I didn’t know she had jurisdiction over stuff that was supposed to be SHIELD’s files only.”

“No kidding,” Bucky muttered.

You ignored him. “Fontaine’s been playing a long game. And she’s good at it. I just don’t know what she’s doing with all this intel. Yet.” You glanced at Yelena. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Yelena shrugged. “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

That didn’t mean it was the right choice.

You tapped your fingers against the table. “It’s not just her. She’s got people. Connections. A lot of them.” You looked between them. “As far as I know after Sam’s heroic event, she has Walker on her side. You two better be ready for that.”

Bucky met your gaze. “Are you?”

That question sat between you like dead weight.

You didn’t answer. Because you weren’t sure you wanted to.

After discussing more points, and probably trying to convince that you could be the girl on the computer while they did all the fighting. You realize now that you should’ve just walked out of that café, tossed the file into the nearest gutter, and ignored Yelena’s texts until she got the hint.

But instead, they insisted that you should also be there, no skills wasted—and after 5 hours later you're now standing in a dimly lit warehouse, double-checking your gear, because you had agreed to run a damn extraction mission for stolen vibranium.

Some things never change.

Bucky was securing a suppressed rifle across his back, his metal fingers adjusting the strap. Yelena was beside him, flipping a knife between her fingers like she was waiting for an excuse to use it.

“Let me get this straight,” you muttered, pulling on your gloves. “T’Challa has an entire army of elite warriors, but we’re the ones handling this?”

“Dora Milaje are occupied,” Bucky said, pocketing the knife. “So he asked us.”

You frowned. “And we said yes?”

Yelena snorted. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You shot her a glare before looking at them both. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Yelena pulled out a small tablet, tapping the screen. A blueprint of the warehouse appeared.

“The vibranium shipment is here,” she said, pointing to a storage area near the back. “Heavily guarded, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Bucky glanced at the map. “Security?”

“Armed. Mercenary types,” Yelena replied. “Not Fontaine’s best, but enough to be annoying.”

You sighed. “Great.”

Yelena smirked. “Come on, old friend. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bucky rolled his vibranium arm, cracking his neck. “Let’s move.”

No more talking. You followed them into the dark.

The fabric felt suffocating.

It had been years since you last wore a tactical suit—long enough that you should’ve forgotten how it felt. But the moment you zipped it up, that familiar weight settled on your chest, heavier than it used to be.

The holsters, the straps, the weapons—they all sat on your body like a ghost of the past, dragging you back to who you used to be.

Who you swore you wouldn’t be again.

Your grip tightened around the pistol in your hand. Your fingers twitched, muscle memory kicking in as you checked the slide, the safety, the magazine. It felt automatic. Too easy.

Too natural.

You shouldn’t be here.

The thought came out of nowhere, sharp and insistent.

You shouldn’t be here.

You closed your eyes for half a second, forcing yourself to breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

You barely registered Yelena’s voice in your ear. “We’re moving in ten. Get your head on straight.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

She didn’t notice anything off.

But Bucky did.

You felt his eyes on you before he even said anything.

“You good?” His voice was low, meant just for you.

You gritted your teeth. “Fine.”

Bucky didn’t buy it.

You could tell by the way his gaze lingered, scanning your posture, your hands, the way your breathing had gone uneven.

And just like that, your chest started to tighten.

The room suddenly felt too small, the weight of the suit pressing harder against your ribs, your lungs struggling to catch up—

No, no, not now.

You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to force it down.

But Bucky was already stepping closer.

He kept his voice steady. “Hey. You need to breathe.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, but the air still felt thick. Your hands clenched and unclenched as your pulse pounded in your ears.

Bucky didn’t push. Didn’t grab you. He just stood there, close enough to be an anchor but not enough to suffocate.

“Deep breaths,” he said quietly. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You tried.

Tried to listen, tried to focus on the way his voice cut through the noise in your head.

After a few moments, the pressure in your chest started to ease.

Not gone. But manageable.

You let out a shaky breath, rolling your shoulders like it would help shake the feeling off.

Bucky studied you for another second before nodding. “Better?”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

Yelena’s voice crackled through the comms. “We’re moving. Get your asses in gear.”

Bucky held your gaze for another second before he turned.

You stayed there a moment longer, flexing your fingers before gripping your gun again.

It felt different this time.

Because now, you knew that you weren’t ready for this.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its steel walls dull under the dim night sky. It was the kind of place that smelled like oil, rust, and bad decisions. Yelena was in front, scouting the perimeter with quick, precise movements. Bucky stuck to your right, silent but alert.

You kept your grip tight around your pistol, but the weight of it still felt wrong. Like you were holding something that no longer belonged to you.

Yelena’s voice came through the comms. “Four guards at the entrance. Two patrolling near the shipment.”

Bucky glanced at you. “Silent or messy?”

You forced yourself to focus. “Silent.”

Yelena’s smirk was audible. “Boring, but okay.”

You moved. Years away from this kind of work hadn’t erased your instincts. You slipped through the shadows, your footsteps soundless.

The first guard went down without a sound, your arm wrapped tight around his throat until he slumped against you. Bucky caught another, his vibranium arm clamping over the man’s mouth before he could make a noise.

Yelena took care of the other two with her knives, moving with an ease that made it look almost casual.

You adjusted your grip on your gun, signaling forward. The three of you pushed deeper inside. The warehouse was vast, rows of crates stacked high. Your objective was clear—retrieve the stolen vibranium and get out.

Simple.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

You rounded a corner and spotted the shipment. A metal crate, locked down with reinforced security measures. But it wasn’t unguarded.

Two men stood nearby, rifles slung across their backs. One of them was checking something on a tablet.

You should’ve waited. Should’ve assessed the situation, formulated a plan.

But something snapped.

Maybe it was the way the gun felt right in your hands, the rush of adrenaline flooding your veins.

Or maybe it was the months—years—of pretending you weren’t built for this.

Before either Yelena or Bucky could stop you, you stepped out of the shadows, raised your pistol, and fired.

One shot.

The first guard dropped.

The second one barely had time to react before you shot again, the bullet striking true.

Everything went still.

Yelena cursed. “What the hell—”

Before she could finish, an alarm blared.

You barely had time to process before Bucky was grabbing your wrist, his hand closing over the barrel of your gun, forcing it downward.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, his voice low but sharp.

For a second, you just stared at him.

His grip was firm but not crushing. His eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Because for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—it was just the two of you.

No mission. No war.

Just his hand around your gun, grounding you.

Then Yelena snapped, “Incoming!” and the spell shattered.

Footsteps thundered against the concrete. More guards. Bucky let go, his expression unreadable. But you knew what he was thinking.

You were losing control.

And if you weren’t careful, this mission wouldn’t be your only mistake tonight.

No time to dwell. You reloaded your weapon, jaw tight.

“Сволочь.” (Jerk)

The second the alarm blared, the whole operation shifted from quiet extraction to get in, get out, and don’t die trying.

Yelena was already moving, ducking behind a crate as bullets sprayed in your direction. Bucky shoved you down just as a round barely missed your shoulder, embedding itself into the steel wall behind you.

“We need cover!” Yelena shouted.

You pushed off the ground, your pulse hammering. “We wouldn’t need cover if I—”

“Yeah, yeah, you screwed up,” Yelena cut in, already firing. “Save it for later!”

Bucky was already ahead, metal arm raised as he fired back at the incoming guards. “Move!”

You did.

It should’ve felt more familiar, more instinctive—but it didn’t. It felt reckless. It felt dangerous. And the worst part? Some part of you liked it.

You took the left flank, dropping low behind a stack of crates before popping up and taking your shots. Every pull of the trigger sent another guard collapsing.

Too easy.

Too familiar.

Too much like before.

Bucky reached the vibranium crate first, yanking at the security lock while Yelena covered him. You moved to back them up, but then—

“Y/N!”

You turned just as a guard charged, swinging the butt of his rifle toward your face.

Instinct kicked in.

You ducked, twisting his arm and slamming him hard into the wall. His head cracked against the metal with a sickening thud, and you didn’t even hesitate before delivering a sharp kick to his ribs, just to make sure he stayed down.

Something in you snapped.

The adrenaline. The fight. The feeling of being back in it.

It took over.

By the time the next guard reached you, you didn’t even raise your gun—you met him head-on, grappling with his rifle before yanking it free and slamming the stock into his throat. He choked, stumbling back, and you pressed forward, using your weight to drive him into the ground.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t think.

You hit him again. Then again. Then—

A hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you back.

Bucky.

You struggled for half a second before realizing—his hand was tight around yours, but he wasn’t hurting you. Just stopping you.

“Enough.” His voice was low, steady, but there was something sharp behind it.

Your chest heaved. The room felt too loud, your pulse too fast.

For a second, you weren’t in the warehouse anymore.

You were back in that old mission, years ago—when you first realized HYDRA was behind everything. When the world collapsed beneath your feet. When you lost yourself.

Bucky’s grip stayed firm. His expression unreadable.

Yelena’s voice cut through the chaos. “We have the vibranium. Time to go!”

Bucky didn’t let go immediately.

Not until you nodded, your breath still shaky.

Then, wordlessly, he released you.

You didn’t look at him.

Couldn’t.

Because if you did, you’d see the thing you were trying to ignore—the thing you were trying not to be again. The three of you moved, slipping through the chaos and vanishing into the night. But even as you left the warehouse behind, the weight of what just happened followed you. You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to shake it.

The ride was silent at first.

You sat in the back, staring out the window as the darkened city streets blurred past. The weight of the mission still sat heavy in your chest—the rush of it, the violence, the way you lost yourself for a second.

You felt Bucky’s eyes flick toward you in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. Yelena, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let the silence linger.

She let out a sharp exhale from the passenger seat, tossing her gloves onto the dashboard. “Okay. Debrief.”

You didn’t respond.

She turned slightly, looking at both of you. “We got the vibranium. That’s the good news.”

Bucky kept his eyes on the road. “Bad news?”

Yelena crossed her arms. “They definitely know we took it. Fontaine’s people are not gonna be happy.”

You scoffed under your breath. “When are they ever?”

Yelena gave you a look. “Not the point.”

You stayed quiet, staring at your hands. Your knuckles were still bruised. Your hands still remembered what you did back there.

Yelena must’ve noticed, because her tone shifted slightly. “What the hell happened back there, Y/N?”

You clenched your jaw. “I handled it.”

Bucky scoffed. “You lost it.”

That got you to look up. “Oh, don’t start with me, Barnes.”

“Start?” He shot you a sharp glance in the mirror. “You’re the one who nearly took that guy’s head off. That wasn’t handling it—that was something else.”

Your grip on your knee tightened. “He was trying to kill me. I did what I had to.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s tone was flat, but there was something beneath it. “Then why did I have to pull you off him?”

Your chest tightened.

Yelena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, enough. We’re all alive, mission’s done—let’s just get back and figure out our next move.”

No one argued. But the weight of Bucky’s words sat heavy in the air, unspoken but there.

You stared out the window again. Head leaning back as your body now accepts that the fight is over, you can sit back and breathe.

The vibranium was gone. Safe.

Sam had taken care of the delivery back to Wakanda, ensuring it made its way into the right hands. It was out of your jurisdiction now—out of your hands.

But the guilt wasn’t.

You sat at the safe house, hands clasped together, elbows resting on your knees. The room was dimly lit, the low hum of a fan filling the silence. You should’ve felt relieved. Should’ve felt something.

Instead, all you could feel was the lingering weight of what happened back there.

You almost lost control.

Again.

The worst part? You weren’t sure if it was a mistake or if some part of you liked it.

A soft thud broke you out of your thoughts.

Yelena had dropped into the seat beside you, stretching her legs out like she wasn’t carrying the same exhaustion you were. She leaned back, arms crossed, watching you for a second.

You didn’t look at her.

She sighed, then nudged you with her elbow. “You gonna sit there all night, sulking?”

You exhaled slowly. “I’m not sulking.”

Yelena smirked. “You are.”

You shot her a look, but it didn’t last long. Eventually, your gaze dropped back down to your hands.

Silence stretched.

Then, softer, she said, “You did what you thought was right.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What if what I think is right isn’t?” you muttered.

Yelena tilted her head. “That’s a stupid question.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “You did what needed to be done. And maybe it was messy. Maybe you almost lost your shit.” She nudged you again. “But you didn’t.”

You swallowed, jaw tight. “Bucky doesn’t think so.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Bucky is dramatic.”

That almost got a smirk out of you. Almost.

She sighed again, her voice quieter now. “I asked you for help because I knew you could do this.”

You glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable. Not pitying, not condescending—just honest.

“You’re here,” she continued. “That means something.”

You didn’t respond.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure what you believed anymore.

But for now, you just let yourself sit there.

Let yourself breathe.

Yelena offered to drive you home. You shook your head.

“Walking seems more… healthy right now.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but for once, she didn’t. Just gave you a knowing look before nodding.  “Fine,” she said, opening the car door. “Try not to get mugged.”

You snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”

Yelena smirked, but there was something softer behind her eyes. Something like don’t disappear again.

She didn’t say it. Didn’t need to.

Then she was gone, leaving you standing under the dull glow of a streetlamp, the city stretching ahead of you. So you walked.

It wasn’t about the distance. It wasn’t even about clearing your head. It was about breathing. About putting one foot in front of the other and reminding yourself that you were here.

That this was real.

That you had walked back into all of it the moment you showed up at Hill’s funeral.

It had started there.

Seeing old faces.

Hearing old voices.

Feeling the weight of a past you thought you’d buried pressing down on your shoulders again.

And then Tony had seen you. Disbelief written all over his face.

Yeah, well, I actually did.

You hadn’t planned on staying. You’d wanted to just be there, pay your respects, and leave. But then Sam had noticed you. Greeted you.

Sam… I mean, Cap.

And then Yelena.

No work?

As if you weren’t the biggest ghost in the room.

As if you hadn’t disappeared all those years ago because you couldn’t stomach the idea of fighting for the wrong side again.

Then Bucky had arrived, shaking hands with old teammates, the same man you had fought once without knowing who he really was. The same man you’d crossed paths with later—when he was in hiding, and you were trying to heal.

And then the HQ. The hesitation.

For Maria’s sake, Sam had said.

And somehow, you had ended up back at that bar, ordering an Old Fashioned, just trying to exist while ghosts of your past talked about missions, strategies, threats.

Then her name came up—Fontaine.

And suddenly, you weren’t just a face in the room anymore.

You were in it again.

And now, here you were.

Walking the streets of a city that had moved on without you, with bruised knuckles and a mind full of noise. You weren’t sure if you regretted it yet.

But you were sure of one thing—

You had never really left.

You were almost home. Almost.

The night air was cool against your skin, the streetlights humming softly above you. The walk had helped—at least a little. The weight in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt a little less suffocating now.

Then you saw him.

And you cursed.

“Oh, for f—” You cut yourself off, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Seriously?”

Bucky stood near the entrance of your building, hands in his pockets, looking every bit like he hadn’t just been on a mission with you hours ago. Like he belonged there.

He lifted a brow at you. “Nice to see you too.”

You let out a slow breath, irritation settling in your bones. “Are you following me?”

“No.” He shrugged. “We just have really shitty luck.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”

A beat of silence.

Bucky studied you, his expression unreadable.

Then—so casually it made you want to punch him—he asked, “You good?”

You barked out a dry laugh. “Do I look good, Barnes?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking over you, like he was actually considering it. “You look tired.”

You scoffed. “Great. Exactly the look I was going for.”

Another pause.

You should’ve walked past him. Should’ve gone upstairs, shut the door, and let the night end. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, arms crossed, voice quieter this time.

“Why are you really here?”

Bucky exhaled.

“For the same reason you’re still standing here talking to me.”

You hated how much sense that made.

You stared at him.

For a second, the city felt quieter, the usual hum of distant traffic and late-night murmurs fading into the background. It was just you and him, standing under the streetlights, carrying different versions of the same weight. Bucky shifted slightly, his hands still in his pockets. His voice was lower this time, more careful.

“I just wanted to say sorry.”

That threw you off.

Your brows pulled together, skepticism creeping in. “For what?” His jaw tensed for a moment, like he had to force himself to say it.

“I get what you meant,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “The other night. When you called me two-faced.”

You swallowed, not expecting him to actually bring that up. You had said it in the heat of the moment, bitter and frustrated, hurling words at him like knives.

He continued, gaze steady.

“You were right. I got out.” He inhaled, like the words were heavier than they should be. “And you didn’t.” Something in your chest twisted, sharp and deep.

You looked away, your arms tightening around yourself. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Fine. Maybe I did.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, softer, you muttered, “I was just angry.”

“I know.” Bucky sighed, his stance shifting. “It’s not fair. Any of it.”

You scoffed. “No shit.”

Another silence.

Bucky hesitated before adding, “But you’re here now.”

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring.

You looked back at him, studying his face—the exhaustion buried deep in his eyes, the kind that never really left. He understood. Maybe not in the exact same way, but he understood.

And somehow, everything about this man made sense.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Go home, Barnes.”

Bucky watched you for a second longer. Then, with a small nod, he took a step back.

And just like that, he was gone.

series masterlist

divider from: daylighted !

[last-herondale]

Almost

Bucky Barnes x FemReader!

Angst, heartbreak, longing, unrequited love

Hello! It’s been a while, but here is my Bucky fic that I promised from my poll!

The night air was cool and crisp against your skin. The wind was blowing slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to cause stray pieces of your hair to swirl into the night as you leaned on the balcony of the Avenger’s tower. You could hear the music from the party inside, its rhythmic beat softly booming from within. It was Steve’s birthday party and it was a lively event that you, Nat, Sam, Bucky, and surprisingly Tony, had spent weeks planning. The guardians had flown in for the occasion, as well as Carol and Thor, who had Loki in tow with him. The night started off simple enough with a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was just Steve, Bucky, Nat, Sam, and yourself at dinner while Tony was busy finishing the party preparations with Bruce.

You had wondered if dinner would be awkward at all. It had been 10 months since Bucky and Nat had broken up, and it had been a strenuous ordeal for the whole team. Nat had broken it off with Bucky, for personal reasons she had told you in confidence. You knew they had had problems during their relationship, problems mostly stemming from their mutual inability to be there for each other emotionally. It was a tough reality to face, for both of them. You often felt like the bridge between the two of them, being the one that both parties were able to confide in. It was hard to be impartial to either side.

On one hand, Natasha was your best friend. She had been ever since you joined the team. She had been dating Bucky when you first joined the team, and your friendship only seemed to strengthen once they broke up. You loved Nat, and treasured her friendship more than anything in the world. You were very surprised when she told you that she started seeing Bruce Banner a few months ago. Even though Bruce seemed like the opposite of Bucky, in all accounts she seemed very happy with him. And you were happy that she was happy…

But on the other hand, there was Bucky. He had been devastated by the breakup. He had wanted nothing more than to drown away his sorrows in booze and fill his nights with endless distractions. You had been very surprised when he had called you one night, asking if you wanted to hang out with him and Steve. Nat had been out with Banner that night, and the tower felt lonelier than usual, so you agreed.

The three of you had spent the night drinking and playing darts. It had been a fun night of laughter and jokes. You were almost glad to see Bucky as he once was, happy and carefree, but as the night wore on, and Steve tapped out around 4 am, it was just the two of you left at the bar. The two of you just sat at the bar, sipping the last of your drinks when you asked him how he was doing.

His facade had slipped away, the smile he had forced all night was gone, and instead he put his head down and let out violent sobs of anguish. “I miss her, god, she was…everything.”

It broke your heart to see him so miserable. You never knew he was in such a poor state. It had been 7 months since they had broken up at that point, and as far as you or Nat knew, he hadn’t seemed like he was upset about it. Why he decided to be so open in front of you… you couldn’t understand. But you comforted him, as best as you could. You stayed with him all night, agreed to take a walk with him and let him vent to you until the sun came up. When he finally passed out on your couch at the avengers tower, he woke up hours later and left without a word.

You thought that was the end of it. That it was just one drunk night that had him so emotional, but then he called again. And again. And again. Hanging out with Bucky started to become a normal part of your routine. Half of the time it was always with Steve, the three of you hanging out. But then Bucky would want to hang out with just you. Mostly you both would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes watch a movie or even sing some karaoke once the liquor started to hit. It was…nice.

You had made sure it was okay with Nat, of course. Asking her if she was bothered by you hanging out with her ex, but Nat seemed undisturbed.

“It seems like he needs a friend, and I know I haven’t been around for you a lot lately either. I’m okay with this, really. Whatever it is— and whatever it becomes.”

Despite your many assurances that nothing was going to happen between you and Bucky, Nat just brushed it off and teased you further about it. She was in a really good place with Banner and she seemed genuinely thrilled with the idea of you and Bucky becoming an item.

The idea had crossed your mind a time or two. Mostly when you were very intoxicated and alone with Bucky. It was hard not to be drawn in by the beauty of him. You’ve caught yourself staring at his arms when he was throwing darts more times than you’d care to admit, and whenever he would throw his arm around you in a fit of laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach flutter.

Getting to know him on a deeper level made the idea of not wanting him even harder to deny. He was still very much hung up on Nat, that was clear, but whenever he let himself be vulnerable and he talked about his past and the things that haunted him, you couldn’t help but feel connected to him in a way that you hadn’t felt with others. Everything about him seemed to be drawing you in. It was a maddening cycle trying to stop yourself from catching feelings, but it was one you fought for the longest time.

Until tonight. The party had been the biggest eye opener to you since you started being friends with Bucky. Dinner was not an awkward affair, much to your surprise. Nat and Bucky were cordial with each other at the dinner table, even sharing a few laughs as you sat between them.

“How have you been James?” Nat asked. Bucky gave her a small smile. “I’ve been alright. I heard about you and Banner, congrats by the way.” Banner had proposed to Nat a few weeks ago. To your surprise Bucky had taken it rather well.

“Thank you, we are very happy,” Nat beamed. She gave you a quick glance and smiled. “Have you seen anyone Buck?” You opened your mouth to protest to Nat, but Bucky just laughed.

“I have been talking to someone for a little while now.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. This was the first you had heard of this. You kept a steady grin on your face as he continued talking. You thought you saw Nat flash you a Quick Look, but it was so fast you could have thought you had imagined it.

“Well, that’s awesome. I’m happy for you Buck,” Natasha smiled.

“Yeah, we’ve only been on a few dates but so far it’s been going well.”

The rest of the dinner felt like a strange blur. You remember sitting there, you remember eating, and you remember getting into the car to head back to the tower where the surprise party was, but any other detail of the night faded away into nothing.

Why did it bother you so much? You had no right to lay claim to all of Bucky’s attention. The two of you were friends, and nothing more. You had set that boundary yourself, for yourself to stop yourself from getting hurt. But then again, you had never gotten as close to anyone as you had with Bucky. There had been people in the past, those you thought had the potential to hold your heart, but nothing ever worked out with them.

When the party returned to the tower, an uneasiness settled deep into your stomach as people began to arrive. You tried your best to distract yourself with trivial tasks such as handing out drinks, messing with decorations, or just following Sam around and letting him talk your ear off. But as the party grew, so did the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Who was this girl? Would she be here tonight? Would you be able to handle it if she was?

As these thoughts were swirling around your head, you decided that maybe it was time to talk to Nat about your feelings. You searched around wildly for any sign of her or Banner but came up empty. You saw Bucky momentarily, he was talking with Steve and your eyes met for a single moment but you quickly looked away. You needed air.

So, that’s when you stepped out of the party and had been hiding ever since. You sent a text to Nat to meet you outside whenever she could. You stood there a bit, swirling the drink in your hand and enjoying the breeze on your flushed cheeks. You heard the sliding door open and you turned expecting to see Nat.

“I need to talk to— oh, hey,” you caught yourself and pitched your voice higher as Bucky closed the door behind him.

“Hey, doll,” He said, his usual playful tone was a bit strained, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, a bit too quickly, “I, uh, just needed some air.”

You moved a bit from your spot as he came to stand beside you. The smell of his cologne hit your nose as he sidled up next to you on the balcony, the leather of his jacket brushing against your arm momentarily. Your chest felt like it was contracting, being so close to him. As if the proximity alone was enough to unravel your whole being.

“How are you enjoying the party?” You choke out, refusing to look him in the eye, focusing instead on the city skyline below.

“It’s fine,” he began cautiously. It seemed, “It would be better if you would talk to me though.”

Your back stiffened at his words. You said nothing and yet he continued. “You’ve hardly said a word since dinner and we both know that isn’t normal. You didn’t even laugh when Sam made fun of Banner’s bowtie in the car.”

“Yes I did,” you said weakly.

“If you’re gonna lie to me, can you at least look me in the eyes?”

It was the brokenness in Bucky’s voice that made you turn to face him finally. His eyes were searching yours, trying to read every detail from your face. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” he begged quietly.

You opened your mouth, wanting to answer him, wanting to take away his discomfort at this moment, but the aching of your heart prevented words from coming out.

A choked out noise came from your lips just as the sliding door opened.

“—and I told him, I said—- oh hey!” Scott Lang said in a slur of words, having some unfamiliar guy in tow behind him.

“This are my buddies! Barnes and—“

“Leave Lang. Now.” Bucky said with icy venom.

You didn’t have to look to know that Bucky’s cold tone was enough to do the job as the door slammed shut again.

You wished you could follow Scott out of the situation, but you couldn’t. You took a deep breath, summoned your courage, and downed your drink in one fell swoop.

You shut your eyes right and clenched your jaw a moment as the liquor burned down your throat.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed there after was deafening. You opened your eyes and looked at Bucky. His expression was soft, his eyes a bit wide with the information, but there wasn’t any hint of anger or disgust.

“I…” he began, “I don’t deserve that.”

His eyes finally looked away from you, as if it was his turn to be embarrassed. His turn to feel ashamed.

“Look, you’ve been everything to me lately. You’ve put up with me when other people wouldn’t— when other people haven’t. You’ve cared for me, truly cared… and it’s lit a fire in my soul again. A fire I thought would forever be extinguished when Nat—- when we broke up.”

His eyes flickered towards you for a moment here and there. You held a steady gaze out towards the balcony, letting his words sink in as you felt your heart shudder at each word.

“I owe you more than I could ever pay back, and that’s why I know— I know I don’t deserve you.”

Suddenly your felt his bare fingers under your chin, his hand gently tilting you gaze to him. Tears fell down silently and touched his hand.

“Listen to me, okay, please,” he begged, his voice catching slightly, “I love you. Okay? I love you, I do. But you deserve more than me. You deserve someone whole, someone who has all the love you give them in turn equally back to you, and then some. I want what’s best for you, and I know deep down that I am not that.”

You did everything in your power to not turn into a whimpering mess, you held his gaze, ignoring the tears. You took a ragged breath and moved your chin enough for him to drop his hand.

“Tell me about her.”

Bucky sighed and put his hands in his pocket.

“She’s nice. Has her own issues, but she’s more like me. Broken like me.”

You nodded, wiping at your face in vain. The tears kept coming, even if you didn’t feel sad. Even though you were pissed.

“I’m happy for you,” you said as happily as possible. You took a step towards the door but he moved in front of you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, please.”

You didn’t fight him. You met his gaze in defiance and you swore you could have seen a smile creep on his lips.

“There she is,” he murmured.

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at him. Even though a million emotions were running through your mind at the moment, the idea staying mad with him never stuck for long. Even now.

“I need you to know how much I care about you. I need you to understand that. If you hate me for it afterward then I can live with it,” you opened your mouth to tell him you could never hate him but he kept going as if to purposefully stop you.

“I would still be in a very dark place if it wasn’t for you. I value your life significantly more than mine. I would die for you, I would kill for you. You are everything to me and more and I am so honored to be loved by you. I treasure you, I adore you, but I am no good for you. Please understand that. You deserve so much more than I have to offer. And I would hate myself if I broke your heart. And I would. I already have. And I hate myself.”

Suprisingling the tears stopped. You looked at Bucky and studied his face. He was sincere. He was broken, that you already knew. He had more ghosts than anyone else could ever imagine, and past that haunted him daily. But he was Bucky. And he was kind and he was gentle, and he was fierce and loyal.

And you loved him.

That feeling would not easily go away, no matter how much Bucky might wish for it to. But you decided then that you would hold onto that feeling for now. Even though he warned you, had told you he did not want anything further. It would be harsh. It would be devastating. It would be soul crushing.

But it would be yours.

“I think I need some time.”

That was all you said further. His hands dropped from your shoulders and you walked back into the fray of the party. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked through the lobby. People were dancing and drinking and laughing and having a blast. You walked past them all, not paying them any mind. Nat found you, tried to talk to you but you just brushed her off as you found the elevator.

You held yourself straight. Composed. Even when the door to the elevator closed and you were alone. Even when you walked down your corridor and found your way into your dark apartment. It wasn’t until you changed from your party clothes into your sleepwear, curled up in your bed, alone in the dark, that you began to cry.

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

“There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you have consumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook has favoured us. Their condition may not be unconnected with the copy of the Family Herald which I observed yesterday upon the hall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demands an attention which is conscious of the passage of time and incompatible with the love romance in that excellent periodical.”

Not Sherlock Holmes complaining that his eggs are overcooked because his cook was busy reading love stories. XD (Glad that he never watched me having one eye on Ao3 and the other one on ... basically anything else in my life. He wouldn't approve. :D)

[swallowtail-lotus]

Potential Opponent {Thor x Goddess!Reader}

A repost from my old blog!

Still kinda in love with Thor ngl (I keep putting down thot instead of Thor, my fat fucking fingers-)

~~~~~~~~~

In the middle of a humungous field full of flowers, sat a beautiful woman, who was admiring the butterfly resting on her finger with an gentle smile on her face. She watched its wings move slowly, giving her time to take in the pretty pattern it has.

The silence that filled the air around her was comforting to her, as it represents how she's feeling right now. At peace.

"To think my home used to be this breathtaking..." You muttered, your smile slowly fading from your face. With your superhuman hearing, you heard the sounds of footsteps rushing towards you.

"Lady (Y/n)! The Lord would like to speak with you!" A female servant exclaimed, stopping beside your sitting figure. The butterfly has fled from the two of you as soon as the servant had stepped too close.

"Which Lord? Because if it's about those marriages, I'll keep refusing." You hissed with disgust, rolling your eyes at the mental images of the Lord's sons trying (and failing horribly) at courting you.

Reason is that you always challenge them to 1v1 matches, and so far, you haven't lost a single one.

"Lord Zihao wants you to-"

"Tell them I refuse and that I'm busy." You interrupted your servant, your eyes moving to glance at her. The female servant gulped at your stern side glance and nodded vigorously, taking off from you. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration.

"These bastards clearly can't read the message." You grumbled, standing up from your spot and twirled around once, teleporting to a rather dark castle. You looked around, not finding anything familiar with the place.

"Shit, must've thought of the wrong thing."

You cursed yourself. As you were trying to make out anything, you felt a strong gust of wind hit your back. You quickly moved away, dodging whoever was trying to attack you.

"What the- Thor?!" You questioned, your gaze meeting his yellow eyes. Said God moved his hammer away from you when he heard your voice. You tried to see his face, but to no avail.

There was a deafening silence between the two of you. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to some light, relieved to see your love.

"So good to see you again!" You spoke up, trying to fill the silence. Thor look down at you, finally realising you and his face soften.

"Good to see you too, my love." He finally greeted you, a small smile on his face. His hands cupped your face and took his time to take in your features. He leaned down and kissed you softly. The gods didn't know who you were at all. All they knew was that you are a deity, just like them and Thor's love.

They recently noticed the two small blades attached to your hips, some wondering why you have them. This was confusing them a lot because you spent so much time admiring the flowers and playing with small animals. They think there was no need to keep whatever were attached to you when you have the strongest Norse God by your side.

If only they knew...

Twirling a single flower in your fingers, you smiled fondly at it. It was like your normal day, going to the gardens and admire the plants everywhere. You always loved nature, so you were given a garden as a gift.

Deciding you had enough time in the gardens, you placed the flower in your hair, walking out and in the hallways of the castle.

Stopping in your tracks, you reached for your blade on the left side. You felt something touch your shoulder, and out of instinct, you swung your right arm at the person, sending them flying. You sworn you felt your soul leave your body when you saw who you hit.

"I'm sorry, Thor! I tend to hit whoever startles me!" You exclaimed frantically, rushing over to your love. The God picked himself up with no problem, but his face was something of shock.

You noticed his lips curl up in a smirk, you know, that one and his eyes glowing bright.

Maybe you shouldn't have hit him...

[tobiasdrake]

Not saying that it's doomed to fail or anything, but if Brave New World ends up being a bust box-office wise, do you fear Disney will blame DEI and start making moves to replace Sam as Captain America? Normally I wouldn't be nervous about stuff like this, but given the political climate right now it's a genuine worry to have...

No, I feel ya. I'm nervous too. The return of RDJ is already a clear indicator that they're becoming desperate to recapture past glory.

Unfortunately, Disney is a corporation. Their ideology is to follow culture to wherever the profits seem to be. For a time, LGBT representation was improving because of cultural shift. Art both reflects culture and reinforces culture.

This is why Disney's always flipflopped on exactly how much to support LGBT rights. Because the answer is, "The exact amount of support that will sell tickets to LGBT people but without alienating the customers who hate them." And everything Disney does is an exercise in negotiating where exactly that line is.

The main problem Marvel's having right now is that the Multiverse Saga just isn't any good. The multiverse can be interesting as a mechanism for telling individual stories. Everything Everywhere All At Once certainly proved that.

But as a substitute for the Infinity Gauntlet storyline? It sucks. There aren't any interesting moving parts to it. There's no sense of progression the way there were with each time a new Gem was established or we learned a bit more about them and Thanos. The only thing the multiverse can do is exist, so every time it comes up, it's just characters pointing at the multiverse and going "LOOK. An interesting movie's going to come out of that some day!"

Worse than that, they made the boneheaded decision to break up their universe into more isolated and disconnected stories in Phase Four, which completely destroyed the ongoing audience investment in their universe as a whole.

And then there is the box office poison that is the shadow of Disney Plus looming over their enterprise. A lot of people around the world subscribe to Disney Plus. But a lot of people don't. And they don't want to watch a movie that they think they need to have done homework in a separate medium for first.

I get that. I dropped Kingdom Hearts when they came out with two gacha games for mobile phones that are plot-critical to understanding future games. I did not get into this series to play gacha games on my phone. I could forgive the occasional genre shift on a handheld video game platform but that was a bridge too far.

If you told me that the next Captain America movie is going to be connected to the video game Captain America: Super Soldier for the Xbox 360, that would adversely affect my willingness to pay ticket prices. Marvel was insane to think that every filmgoer would be comfortable crisscrossing platforms between the theatrical films they're comfortable in and a paywalled set of television miniseries.

This is why Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Netflix shows originally had an exclusively one-sided relationship with film canon. Where the movies are canon for them, but they aren't canon to the movies. Where Sif might show up for an episode of Agents, but you will not see Agents Fitzsimmons popping in to Thor: Ragnarok to pitch in and fight Hela.

It was to avoid exactly this.

There's a lot of things going wrong for Marvel these days.

But. When a minority led movie does badly, the minorities are the first on the chopping block. Even when other minority-led movies did spectacularly. So. Yeah. I do worry about what lessons Marvel's executive team will learn from the recent performance of their films.