#mcu beautiful words challenge

[buckets-and-trees]

What You Want

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Your boss, powerful lawyer Bucky Barnes, insisted he needed his indispensable assistant to accompany him on his trip to Norway. He also promised he would have you home in time for Christmas, but the weather decided to strike its wrath and decimate international travel, leaving you stranded for a few more days.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, periphery/secular reference to the Christmas holiday, vaginal fingering, use of "plum" as a term of endearment

Logistical Notes: Written for @sstan-hoe Vee's Holly Jolly Challenge - I was given a selection of prompts including "That noise...keep making it," reindeer, and lawyer/assistant power dynamics. Also my December entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the FLASHBACKS prompt. Divider by @saradika.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You heard the door open and close behind you and then familiar footsteps approaching, but you didn’t turn to look, instead keeping your eyes on the beauty of the frozen wilderness on display before you.

“Peace offering?” Bucky spoke as he stepped up beside you at the rail of the balcony, holding one of two steaming mugs in his hands toward you.

You sighed but gave him a small smile and took the mug. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re a very powerful man, Bucky, but I’m relatively sure you don’t control the weather.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying to pull some strings,” he said with a smirk, and you smiled.

“It’s not your fault we can’t get a flight back to the States when a blizzard has taken out half the Eastern Seaboard.”

It was unlikely that even with all of James Buchanan Barnes’ considerable lawyering power and money that he would be able to get you back home before Christmas. The main international airports in New England would have to live through the record raging blizzard, dig out, and then there would be hundreds of thousands of passengers to accommodate in and out of the country. Reasonably your guess was that you wouldn’t be returning until as early as the day after Christmas at the earliest.

“I should still apologize though. I said I would have you home for Christmas.”

You took a sip of the hot coffee. “You should apologize, but you’re not.”

He smiled. “No, I’m not.”

He turned and looked out over the forest and frozen tundra with you, the snow sparkling by the moonlight. This side of the resort hotel Bucky had booked the two of you into looked out over the wilderness.

“How long are you going to stay out here?”

“Until I see a reindeer. You brought me to Norway in December. I want to see a wild reindeer.”

“Fair enough.”

After a few more minutes, Bucky spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? They said our accommodations should be ready after dinner.”

It had been a bit of a feat to find any place this close to Christmas that wasn’t closed or completely booked, but Bucky had managed to find this place that although they said they didn’t have a place immediately available, they had late check outs that just needed to be cleaned and refreshed for new guests.

“It’s a very fine restaurant.”

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

“If that will be all for the evening, I’ll be happy to escort you to your suite, Mr. Barnes,” the maître d’ said. He had been attentive all evening, but being with Bucky on this business trip you had quickly learned only the most excellent service was a common thing for him.

“Yes, thank you, I think we’re finished,” Bucky replied, looking to you, and you nodded. You both scooted your chairs back from the table and then followed the man out of the restaurant, through the hotel lobby, past the bar, past the observatory lounge and balcony you’d visited earlier, and to a pair of elevators.

Dinner had been quiet, but not an uneasy quiet by any means for the two of you. Bucky was an intimidating man, power emanating from him very naturally, but after the first few weeks as his assistant, you had gotten over your nerves. After sitting with him through many lunches, plenty of meetings, taking notes from him on cases and projects, and a fair few late nights, you had grown comfortable around him, learned that he could be easy to talk to, but didn’t strive to fill a silence for conversation’s sake, something you appreciated.

The hotel Bucky had found was an upscale, moderately sized wilderness and ski lodge. When you arrived on the fifth and top floor, there was a cozy hallway that only boasted three doors, and you were led to the one at the very end, where the man unlocked the door, stepped in to hold it open, and then handed the key to Bucky.

“If you should need anything at all, simply pick up the phone and our staff will assist you,” he said. “Have a good evening, and we hope you enjoy your stay, even though we know it was unexpected for the holiday.”

“Thank you, dinner was fantastic, and the place looks wonderful, you’ve been great, Lucas. Have a good night,” Bucky said, and pressed what you were sure was a generous tip into the man’s hand.

All your and Bucky’s things had been left neatly to one side of the entry of the suite. A quick look around revealed that there were two rooms off either side of the spacious sitting area as well as a small kitchen and bar, and on the far side full floor to ceiling windows and a balcony. You had hoped for two rooms like you’d had at the previous hotel, but two rooms in a suite would be perfectly fine, especially since the stunning view out of the sitting room’s windows wasn’t the only beauty in the place. There was a fireplace with a gorgeous mantle with a roaring fire already ablaze and a stunning Christmas tree with gorgeous trimmings in the Scandinavian style.

“It’ll do, yes?” Bucky asked, watching you take in the beauty of the tree.

You smiled warmly at him, then looked back at the tree. “Yes, it’ll do just fine.” The sitting room was spacious and rivaled your cozy studio apartment back home for size. You stepped further into the suite. “Do you want to take a look at the rooms and pick which one you want?” you asked. All the trip was on the company’s expense account, and as his assistant, although you suspected he might be a gentleman and offer you the better room, you would defer to Bucky to actually pick.

“We’ll share whichever one is better,” he said with a shrug.

You scoffed. “No, there are two rooms in this gorgeous suite, I’m sure they’re both fantastic, I don’t mind taking the one you don’t want. Might even sleep on the couch so I can stay by the tree and look out those windows all night.”

He chuckled, low, and suddenly at your back. “You misunderstand me, plum,” he said, placing his hands on the curve of your hips and pressing his chest up against your back. He leaned in to speak the next words directly in your ear. “I’m having you in my bed tonight.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t move, and a soft, “Mr. Barnes,” was all you could say.

“Aw, none of that, plum, you haven’t called me Mr. Barnes for months, and I won’t it happening again now.”

“We shouldn’t,” you tried to protest, but even as you said the words, a traitorous part of you didn’t put much feeling behind them.

“Shouldn’t we? You’re smart enough to know I didn’t really need to bring you on this trip with me, but I wanted to. Didn’t want to go that long without seeing you, wanted you by my side in a charming Nordic country during the height of its festive season, and you said yes, like the perfect assistant that you are. I told myself that was enough, didn’t go knocking on your door any of the nights we were at our first hotel, kept it professional despite wanting more and more of you every day we spent together away from the office.”

His hand moved from your hips to circle around your front, his left moving over your soft stomach over to the other side to rest over the front of your right hip, and his right further up your torso, his hand brushing the underside of your breast and resting firmly just below it, bringing you flush against him.

“Fate won’t let me get you home for Christmas, so why deny what it’s dangling right in front of me now?”

He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, and a small whimper escaped your throat.

“Let me have what I want,” he murmured, leaving a slow trail of more kisses down your neck. “I know you want it, too.”

“I – no, I don’t – I”

It was impossible to put up the words of protest when he licked the shell of your ear. You shivered in his arms instead.

“Let me ruin my perfect girl,” he pressed, slipping the hand that was at your hip into the waistband of your trousers. His hand stopped when his fingers met the lace edge of your panties. He turned you around abruptly and kissed you full on the mouth, cupping your face with both hands so you had no choice but to take the heat of his kiss, and the flame he’d been sparking started to catch more dangerously in your core.

He had somehow maneuvered you further into the sitting room so that when he suddenly broke off the kiss, you were in the middle of the space, the warm glow of the fire and the tree lights casting over you both.

Bucky stepped back, and you frowned in confusion, still breathless. He trailed a finger up the column of your throat to the tip of your chin, his blue eyes dark and hungry. “Undress,” he said.

He moved to the couch and sat, his eyes returning to you as he settled in.

“Undress,” he repeated.

That commanding tone struck another spark right to your cunt. You knew you were already growing wet for him.

You toed off your shoes one at a time, then took off your socks – those requiring you to move a little less elegantly than you wanted with his searing gaze on you. Standing aright again, your hands moved to the button of your trousers, fingers trembling since you had never stripped in front of anyone before. You weren’t a virgin, but although the partners you had been with before had been eager to have you naked, none had ever asked you to undress for them like this, like they wanted to see your full figure, not just fuck it.

Bucky spoke your name in a way that had you pause and look up at him again.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You know I pride myself on my instincts. I think we both want this, but there are two rooms here.”

You bit your lip.

He was offering the veiled choice if you wanted it.

Your mind raced with flashbacks of conversations and thoughts you’d had over the past few weeks clear back to the first few meetings with your boss.

Insisting to your mother that your boss did absolutely need you to fly with him to Norway to assist him with meetings with an international client the week before Christmas.

Your best friend insisting on a shopping trip for your fancy work trip to a foreign country “because if your hot boss isn’t going to seduce you, have a foreign fling!”

Your heart stuttering the first time your eyes met your boss’s deep blues the day you interviewed with him.

The same eyes that were riveted on you now.

On you.

You unbuttoned your trousers and lowered the zipper. You glanced down as the fell to the floor, then stepped carefully out of them. When you looked back up, you saw even more hunger in Bucky’s eyes, and it warmed your blood. Looking right into those eyes, you reached for the hem of your sweater and lifted it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor as well.

“Mmm,” he hummed in approval. “C’m’ere,” he beckoned, sitting back on the couch again, but beckoning you into his lap as he watched your every move.

You concentrated on his eyes and on keeping your breathing steady. When you were close enough for him to reach for you, he held out his hand. You took it and let him pull you gently down to straddle your legs on either side of his.

“My perfect plum,” he murmured. His hands moved up your thighs, over your hips, up your waist, and back down.

“Your plum?” you asked, watching his face as his eyes roved over you up close.

“My perfect plum - I want to savor every delicious curve of your body,” he said before dropping a kiss to the top of your breast. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself. “When I felt that lace of your underwear, I thought maybe you did want this, too.” His lips moved to the other breast where he kissed the exposed skin, then traced his tongue along the edge of the lacy cup, causing you to shiver. “There isn’t any other reason you would be wearing such pretty lingerie, is there?”

“No,” you admitted immediately.

“Just for me,” he said as he moved his hand to your mound and immediately slipped a finger beneath the fabric to stroke along your folds, making you gasp. “Good girl, already wet for me.”

You keened as his finger traced your warm hole but didn’t go in, instead taking the slick there and pressing it up over your folds. He continued tracing them up and down before moving up to find your clit, knowing he found it the second your head dropped back, and you let a, “Yes,” tumble from your lips. “More.”

His other hand skimmed up from your hip, up your side, to your neck, and then angled your head back down for another kiss. Your lips met his eagerly, mouths parting, you licked into his mouth, and he growled his approval. He moved his finger from your clit, but your whine was brief as he slipped that finger along with a second straight into your cunt, stroking in and out, over and over again. You canted your hips into his hand, and you felt the rumble of a chuckle in his chest, but he didn’t stop kissing you. Instead, he curled his fingers forward with each stroke, quickly finding the spongy spot that made you tremble and moan.

Breathless, it was you who had to break off the kiss first, but you pressed your forehead to his. “Feel good, plum?” he asked, and you registered that he sounded as earnest as you felt, his voice deep and a little breathless, too.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped.

“Mmm, sir? I like that,” he said, and rewarded you by moving his thumb to start circling your clit.

You moaned openly.

“That noise…keep making it.”

He sped up his motions just slightly, seeming to feel how your body was tensing up, building toward a powerful release.

“Ready to cum for me like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir!” your answer was more like a plea. “So close.”

Keeping up the rhythm on your clit, he applied more pressure with each thrust of his fingers up inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot on the front of your walls, and with just a few more strokes, the wave crested and rolled over you.

“That’s it, plum,” he cooed as you trembled above him, his other hand coming to smooth unhurriedly up and down your back as his fingers continued to stroke your channel, slowly extending your orgasm. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up to your mouth. You sucked them in, laving your tongue over them. “Can’t wait to see you come for me again,” he said. And too impatient for you to lick his fingers clean, he withdrew them and crashed his lips back into yours.

“Earlier tonight when I said I should apologize, and you called me right out for not doing any such thing?”

“Yes?”

“This is why I didn’t apologize. I was in no way sorry that I had more time with you, and I’m going to use it to take you apart and put you back together all night.”

You would think about all of this later. But he emptied your head of anything but him and the pleasure between you, making more than good on his promise to take you apart until you were completely spent and ruined in his bed.

READ THE SEQUEL: NOW THAT I SAW YOU

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter nine

Summary: Ah, the return of John Walker.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. Major The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Spoilers.

Word Count: 928

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A/N: Oh look, an update. ALSO text like "This... Bold and Italic." is spoken in Wakandan. But, I am also excited to go back to annoyed Bucky next chapter when John's back in the picture.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff | @buckys-metal-arm | @matchat3a | @shadowzena43 | @torntaltos | @honeydew3064 | @scott-loki-barnes

The door swung open as Bucky entered the apartment, his strides long as he made his way over to the kitchen. “Well, the Wakandans are here,” he paused momentarily, looking at you. You sat with your knees up to your chest, scrolling on your phone, your gaze met his the second he mentioned the Wakandans. “They want Zemo, bought us some more time.” 

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, as you returned to your phone. You ignored their conversation, taking an interest in your phone again. 

A small gasp escaped your lips, Karli bombed a GRC supply deport, you thought as Bucky vocalized to Sam and Zemo. You listened intensely as Bucky explained what happened to them, while you read along with the article. 

You kept searching for any information, coming up blank as all the articles reused the same information. Going over the list of demands, wondering how the world can agree. Was Zemo right? Is the only way to stop it, by stopping her? 

“But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” Zemo asked in response to Bucky.

The couch dipped by the side of you as Bucky sat down. You met his concerned gaze as you glanced up from your phone. You could see the worry over his features. 

Sighing softly, you put your phone down on the cushion next to you. Bucky’s eyes remained locked on yours. 

Without a word, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm. His muscles were tense beneath you, a testament to the stress. His expression began to soften as he looked down at your hand, then back up at you. You gave him a reassuring smile, his lips turned into a faint smile in return. 

He shifted closer to you, his other hand moving to cover yours. Your thoughts couldn’t drift away from the sensation of his touch, his conversation with Sam and Zemo faded into the background. 

~

Zemo led the way into an old courtyard, “Shame what’s become of this place,” he mused. “When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” 

You, Sam, and Bucky looked around, scanning the surroundings. “I’m gonna take a look around upstairs,” Sam said, “See what you can find out here. And, keep an eye on him,” he directed to you and Bucky, nodding towards Zemo. 

“I’ll stay out of your way,” Zemo replied with a slight smile.

You followed Bucky as he approached another group of people, “Donya? No?” he asked cautiously. 

You sighed, sharing a frustrated look with Bucky. This mission was proving more difficult than you anticipated, but you knew giving up wasn’t an option. Bucky continued to search for leads, but the local resistance made his task even more challenging. 

You observed Zemo, he began moving toward a group of children, surprisingly gently. He started singing a familiar tune. You watched his body language, it suggested he was trying to gain their trust. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Bucky muttered as Sam came up beside you, his eyes narrowed toward Zemo. “He’s up to something,” his tone wary.

“Yeah, but we need him,” you replied. “At least for now.” 

Zemo walked back toward you, a triumphant smile on his lips. “Cute kids,” he said simply.

~

The narrow streets of Latvia felt even more claustrophobic as you walked alongside Bucky, your senses on high alert. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily as you approached the location of Zemo’s lead. 

Suddenly, you heard hurried footsteps ahead of you as John Walker and Lemar closed in with determined expressions.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit,” Walker stated, his voice was sharp. 

Sighing, Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ah! How’d you find us now?”

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar retorted while gesturing toward you and Sam. 

Stepping closer to Walker, a playful smirk danced on your lips. “Wow, Johnny, I didn’t realize you were so invested. You like keeping an eye on us, don’t you?” 

Bucky shot you a warning look, however, you ignored it. Stepping between you and Walker.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker stated, looking over Sam’s shoulder and offering you another one of his winks. If hadn’t been enjoying Bucky’s reactions so much, you would have vomited. “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” 

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky scoffed at him. Walker’s eyes remained on you. Sending him a smirk, you listened intensely to the men’s conversation. 

Moving around Sam’s body, you placed a hand on Walker’s arm, your fingers tracing the fabric of his uniform. “You know, it’s nice having a strong, decisive man around. Makes a girl feel… safe,” your voice dripped with flirtation as you smiled up at him. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing on you. His patience snapped as he muttered in Wakandan. “Touch him again, and see what happens.” 

“You know, Bucky, it’s cute when you get all worked up.” you teased back to him in Wakandan. Your eyes gleamed with mischief as Walker looked down at you in confusion. 

“I’ll kill him,” he retorted, the tension showing in his shoulders as he stepped closer, edging his way between you and Walker. “Try me.” 

You shrugged nonchalantly, taking a step back after sending Walker a wink. 

As the group continued walking, you couldn’t help but feel Bucky’s gaze on you.

---

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[liyawritesss]

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: MCU!Riri Williams x Shy!Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 5.3k

Synopsis: You’ve always been the type to let your mind run frantic. But when a certain girl asks you out for a day on the town, you find yourself slowing down and taking in the beauty of living in the moment. 

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use (cannabis), one of reader’s exes was a guy

A/N: Just something cute inspired by the song “Slow Down” by Skip Marley and H.E.R. It’s been stuck in my head for the longest and the music video just SCREAMS Riri so I had to do a lil sumn sumn for my girlfriend. Hope yall enjoy! Suggested songs to listen to when reading: “Slow Down” by Skip Marley ft. H.E.R., “Right Track” by Syd ft. Smino, “oui” by Jeremih.

Tags: @inmyheadimobsessed @badass-dora-milaje @babyboiboyega @verachii @heartsforjojo @letitias-fav @kingstormpostsshit @shurismainbxtch @zayswriting @rxcently @nzia-writes @writingintheshadowsforever @hufflehans @kokichiis7 @xxmilli @typicalme13 @zestgodtj @generallysapphic @ziayamikaelson @shuriszn @percsane @justariellove @n7cje @mbakuetshurisprincess

You knew you would regret coming to this party.

This kind of scene was never your cup of tea. You weren’t a fan of dancing, or loud music, or getting so drunk that the only thing on your mind was finding someone to grind with on the dance floor. You’d barely drunk the heavily diluted liquor in your red solo cup, finding the watered down burn of the beverage displeasing to your throat. The dim green lights that danced across the numerous bodies on the dance floor did you more of a favor by obscuring your position against the wall, as you didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone. You were comfortable against the wall, away from sweaty bodies and the heavy stench of alcohol and the mingling perfumes, colongues and pheromones that danced in the air.

You were here for a friend, but as you watched them get swept away by another party goer to continue their more than inappropriate grinding in secret, you were left virtually alone, made to endure the loud, bass-heavy music and overwhelming amount of people by yourself.

You ran a hand through your faux locs, some of them adorned with gold ornaments, brushing the long locks of hair to rest over your left shoulder, leaving the right one bare and shining underneath the green lighting. Your outfit wasn’t extravagant or eye catching, as you didn't want to be quite noticeable at this sort of engagement. A simple black crop top covers your chest and ends just under your rib cage, and just under your belly button is the elastic band of your leggings, which are black as well. An oversized white sweater rests around your frame, much of the material bunched up on your arms with your hands barely peeking out of the sleeves, and matching white Air Force One’s decorate your feet. The hands that hold your red solo cup are adorned with a variety of silver rings, your nails a simple coffin shaped, matte brown color, and on your neck rests a stainless steel chain that could be mistaken for that of a cuban link chain at first glance.

You’d seemingly done everything in your power to concoct an outfit that would not get you noticed, but there’s a pair of eyes from across the room that challenges that theory. And it's in one of your scans of the room that you make contact with those eyes, and for a moment, your breath stills as you realize that this person is staring right at you. They’re staring right at you, and it looks like they have been for a while.

She’s standing on the opposite end of the room, and you can just barely see her as she stands on some elevated part of the floor, her body visible from the torso up, the rest being obscured by the many dancing bodies. She, too, has a red solo cup in hand, and she’s holding her firm gaze while she takes a sip from it. Her hair is done in neat cornrows, a few of them laying over her shoulders. She has on a white cropped tank that fits tight on her chest, and from what you can tell through the dancing heads that hide the rest of her body, blue ripped jeans that are high waisted and fit her curves just right.

She was very pretty, you had to admit, but the thought of her eyes finding you of all people is what caused your mind to start racing. Did she know you? Did you know her? Did she know your friend, and in extension, you? You cast your eyes aside as your mind began to come up with so many different questions and rationalizations to explain why she could have been eying you down, how long had she been doing so. You’d gotten so caught up in your head that you hadn’t noticed that the girl from across the room disappeared from her spot on the adjacent wall. Instead, she was coming to take up a spot next to you. 

Out of your peripheral vision, you watch her walk towards you.  It’s not  a pace out of haste, but not one of caution either. She seems skillful in her approach, as if she had done the same many times before. It has you questioning the exclusivity of the occurrence, but seeing as you don’t know much about her, other than the fact that she’s extremely attractive and seems to have taken some sort of interest in you, you decide to push that thought into the back of your mind. You watch carefully as as she comes closer to you, eventually stopping next to you, and the sheepish grin that graces her lips makes your breath hitch in the slightest.

“Hey,” she says, just loud enough for you to hear her above the thundering music, “you looked lonely over here. Want some company?”

Perhaps there was a time a few moments ago when you would have rather been left alone, but now that she’s right in front of you, the resolve to say ‘no’ gets caught in your throat. Instead, you allow her to make herself comfortable next to you on the wall, and she’s so close that you can feel the heat of her caramel-toned skin against your own. There’s a sense of bashfulness building up in your body that you can’t push down, no matter how hard you try to remain calm and collected with this beauty that stands next to you.

“There a reason why you holdin’ up the wall?” She questions, and you realize that fuck, she’s talking to you, and you have to answer her in a normal tone, and not the high-pitched, childlike one that normally comes out when your shyness taks over.

“Just not used to this whole thing,” you admit, taking while releasing the breath you had been holding, “I was originally here with a friend, but they, um…went somewhere else.”

The mystery-pretty-girl catches on quickly to what you’re insinuating, her head bobbing up and down with a nod of understanding. “Well, that ain’t no good friend. No dick is worth leavin’ yo homegirl out to dry like that.”

She’s right, and you know she is, but you still find a way to rationalize your friend’s behavior, “Could be worse. They could’ve left completely and left me here.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would leave someone as cute as you alone,”  and for the third time tonight, you feel your breath get caught in your throat, and for the first time, there’s an intense heat that’s creeping up your neck and flooding your face. The dim lighting and the depths of your melanated skin are a blessing, because you’re sure that without either, you’d be as bright as a strawberry. The suddenness of her flirtation brings from you a sheepish chuckle, and despite the current setting, it’s almost as if the world is beginning to fade away, slowly but surely, the more that this myster-pretty-girl is in your presence. 

For a moment, the mystery-pretty-girl pauses in thought. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth for a split second, before letting it go, and instead raising her free hand to yours. “Name’s Riri.” She introduces, and you take her hand hesitantly. They’re the same size, not counting the additional centimeters added on by your acrylics, and they’re soft with a gentle scent of shea butter on them.

“(Y/N).” You reply, and it causes Riri to smile again. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty name. That checks out, I guess.” She says, and you find yourself giggling again, abashed. 

“You say this ain’t your scene?” Riri questions.

You nod in response, your finger tapping against the red solo cup in an attempt to ground yourself as you’re being forced to hold Riri’s intense eye contact. 

“No. I came as a favor,” you clarify, “I’d rather be at home. In my bed. Reading or watching TV. But I owed my friend a favor, so here I am.”

“Yeah, and they ain’t,” Riri reiterates, “but I am. I’on know about your friend, but I ain’t gon’ let nothin’ happen to you, ma,” and it’s when she calls you that very dangerous pet name that you feel an insatiable pool of butterflies begin to violently flutter in your stomach. Riri is making it hard to stay calm and collected, and even hard to keep down the smile that is so insistent on making a home on your lips.

“That’s very sweet of you,” you commend, and it is, but you believe that there’s a hidden agenda behind those sweet words. You were no stranger to flirting, despite not having been flirted with yourself or you flirt with anyone, but you know when someone is applying pressure. And Riri was doing just that, leaving your question to be ‘why?’

“So you were so worried about my safety that you were staring at me for a good minute across the room?” You question the other, a sudden sense of confidence surging through your veins. Maybe it’s the heavily diluted alcohol finally catching up to you, or maybe it’s because you find your body relaxing in the presence of Riri. “So worried that you came up to talk to me?”

“Damn, you makin’ it seem like I’m a creep or somethin,” Riri laughs, and it’s such a sweet sound that fills the air around you, drowning out loud music, “I just thought you were cute. Wanted to shoot my shot.” 

Oh.

You didn’t expect that. Neither the confession, nor the bluntness of it. It causes the same raging heat from before to make its way back to your face, burning your ears and making your breath hitch. It’s futile to even try to come up with a witty retort, because the moment you open your mouth, you begin to stutter out incoherent noises. Your bashful nature causes Riri to laugh, this time it's a bit louder, even drawing the attention of some nearby partygoers. You try to shield yourself by raising the red solo cup to your lips, reluctantly downing a gulp of the watery alcohol and letting the dull sting of it trickle down your throat as a wake-up call to what was happening.

“Okay, that was funny-”

“It definitely was not-”

“-and cute as hell-”

“-also definitely was not-”

Your little back and forward ceases when Riri brings her red solo cup to her own lips, downing a gulp, and once she’s done, the faint smell of something fruity wafts through the air. It smells way better than the diluted dark liquor you acquired hours ago, and you wonder if it tastes any better. You find yourself looking at Riri’s lips as you think this, which she takes every opportunity to point out.

“You ain’t gotta be shy about kissing me,” the brown-haired girl said, and her lips curled into this shit eating grin as she watched you realize that she picked up on where your eyes were. You were sure that she was also catching on to your timid nature and just the right buttons to push to turn you into a spluttering mess. And you couldn’t tell if you despised just how easy she was able to read you, or if you were enjoying that she was learning you.

“That is the last thing I want to do right now.” You retort, a slight tone of amusement in your voice. It was a slight fib. Her lips did look very kissable right now, but you were not about to give in to her temptation. 

“Okay, fair. You’re a ‘kiss after the first date’ type of girl. I can get with that.” 

“You’re really laying it down, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? When I see what I like, I apply the pressure accordingly.”

And the proof was in the way she had you pressed against the wall, her arm propped to the side of your head, holding her at just the perfect distance from your face, one that made you want to close the gap, but refuse to be the first to do so.

“And do you say that to all girls you come across at parties like this?” You respond, biting your lip in curiosity. There was absolutely no way that someone like her was so smooth with words just on the first go. Riri had to have spoken like this to other girls, otherwise, how could she have learned this so easily?

“Nope,” Riri answers, which causes you to frown slightly, “cuz ain’t no girl got me so sprung I went up to them to shoot my shot.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” you retorted, a bit of sass in your voice.

“Aight, then, lemme take you out,” Riri proposes, “and I’ll show you better than what I can tell you.”

You weren’t sure where your friend was now, and you would feel bad about not caring in the morning. Right now, the world of the party you were at had just died around you, and in its place, the mystical that was Riri Williams took its place.

You were starting to regret agreeing to this date with Riri Williams.

You'd been waiting inside the train terminal for thirty minutes passed the original meet up time. At 10 minutes, you chalked it up to the shitty transportation that was the Chicago Transit Authority. The trains never ran on time these days, and when they did, there were always unnecessary pauses for CTA police personnel to have their German shepherds sniff in each car to catch an unsuspecting dealer switching through cars with their signature chants. At 20 minutes, you checked your phone for any response to your messages, and you were becoming less and less shocked that the messages would have 'ready displayed underneath them, or an appearance of the three dots signifying she was typing, but a response never came in. It was now at the 30 minute mark, and you were beginning to think the worst. 

Was this a joke? Some inhumane prank she thought was funny to play? A huff leaves your lips, the puff of air blowing away your faux loc from in front of your eyes to the side of your face. You could feel yourself getting emotional from the thought of being stood up. You were no stranger to the feeling of rejection, it was an emotion you had become quite familiar with in high school, but you’d allowed yourself to give Riri Williams, some random girl from South Shore, a chance to woo you because you thought you felt something when she spoke those words to you at that party last night. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, you rationalize. Perhaps it was being under the influence that provoked the other girl to strike up a conversation with you, to speak smooth words and sweet nothings in your words over the loud bass of the music that still left rhythm in your veins, even after a good night’s rest. 

You checked your phone once again - still radio-silence from the other woman’s end. You closed your eyes, heaving another sigh of defeat. 

The sound of rushing commuters echoed throughout the terminal hall, people brushing by, exiting and entering the toll thresholds as they paid their fare in a rush for the train. The loud footsteps and voices clouded your thoughts, you didn’t even hear Riri approaching. It was her touch that brought you back to reality - it shocked you a bit, given the current place you were standing, one just doesn’t touch someone on the CTA without announcing their presence first.

“Yo, hey, chill, it’s just me!” Riri rushes out as you come down from preparing your defenses when you realize who had come up to you. While you returned to your dormant position, your face still held disappointment, and Riri caught on to it instantly.

“I’m sorry I’m late, the trains have been shit today,” she says, “and then the bus to even get to the 79th train station was delayed.”

You were, at the most, glad it was nothing too serious, but your face was still in a frown. “You could have texted me back, you know,” you respond, “it’s not good date etiquette to leave the girl you asked out on read. Have her thinkin’ you stood her up ‘nd shit.”

“I know. That’s my fault, that’s all on me,” Riri owns, and it’s here that you’re able to finally take in her appearance. She’s got on this oversized sweatshirt that’s a pretty forest green color that compliments her skin. It’s paired with a pair of baggy blue jeans with various rips in the fabric, and a pair of green kicks to match. A gold chain rests on her chest, drawing the outfit together. It’s simple, but on her, she makes it look like it’s a part of some fashion designer's latest collection.

The heat that rushes up your body makes your own sweater seemingly unbearable. If your skin tone had been anywhere near the cream color of your sweater, your shyness would have been given away instantly. It seems you aren’t the only one who has taken the time to admire your shared choice of clothing, as Riri steals a once-over of your attire, stopping briefly at the rips in the jeans on your thighs, revealing the plush skin, and smile.

“You look cute,” she compliments.

You swallow the squeal that begs to leave your throat, “s-so do you.”

“Look at us, already cute together.” Riri hums, and the shiver that makes its way up your spine is unavoidable, because her subtle insinuation and the tone of her voice has you thinking about how the date would end before it could even begin.

Riri takes your hand into hers and leads you up the stairs and out of the train terminal, the crisp spring air revitalizing your lungs from the stuffy stench of trash and filth that clings to the underground terminal. You notice a few notable stores the minute the two of you break view - the gothic Target that’s directly to your right with two floors ready to be explored, the Jacks off 5th that’s across the street, the Zumiez that is also across the street and a little ways behind you, and a Foot Locker next to the Jacks. 

You were no stranger to these stores, having eyed them every time you’d come downtown with your friends just to walk around and window shop. You were broke highschool kids, who’s only fun was walking aimlessly along State Street, eying the window displays and imagining yourself having the money to buy the things you wanted. You would’ve been happy window shopping like all the times before, but it seems that Riri has other plans.

“I’on know about you,” she begins, as the two of you cross the ever-busy street, “but I need me a new pair of shoes. So first stop is Foot Locker.”

You barely get a chance to resist, because before you know if, you’re in the store, and the associates greet Riri as if she’s a regular. You stiffen a little, your hold on her hand tightening at the new environment you found yourself in.

“Hey, you alright?” Riri whispers as she drags you along with her to one of the wall displays, thankfully one that seems to be isolated.

“Yeah,” you fib, biting your lip, “I mean - I don’t exactly have Foot Locker money, but-” yet the moment you see the look on Riri’s face, your words trail off, and the feeling of embarrassment begins to fill you.

“If I remember correctly, I was the one taking you out, right?” Riri asks. 

“Yeah, but-”

“-and if I asked you out, what kind of date would I be if I let you spend your own money?”

“Riri,” you whisper-yell, her words beginning to hit you, “you are not spending hundreds of dollars on me for a pair of shoes!”

“What was that?” The other woman hummed in response, feigning cluelessness, furthering your frustration, “You said this pair of shoes is cute?”

She picks up a pair of black high-tops, one that has a big white tag on it that reads two hundred-fifty dollars, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “I swear to god, Riri-”

“-y’know, these do look nice as hell,” she comments, completely ignoring you at this point, and there’s a whine that’s pushing against your throat, begging to be released, but you suppress it with all your strength, “now are you gonna keep arguing with me, or are you gonna let me actually date you?”

In the short amount of time you’ve talked to her, you’ve come to realize that arguing with Riri Williams was futile in every attempt. She would win every single time, in some way, shape, or form, and to refute her would cause you your own headache. Remembering your observation, you all but sigh, giving in to her antics, and Riri’s lips carry a smile of victory. 

She asks for your size and you give it to her, with no resistance. Almost an hour later, and the two of you leave the store with a bag each - you having the one pair of high tops Riri had brought your attention to earlier, and her two pairs of shoes she said were new additions to her collection. She’s a sneakerhead, you deduce, and imprint this new information into your brain for recollection later.

After Foot Locker, the inevitable rumble of your stomachs leads you to a nearby Subway, of which the two of you bunker down for a moment to eat and get to know each other.

“So you’re an engineer?” You question after taking a bite of your sandwich. “Anything specific?”

“Nothin’ much, really,” Riri replies, speaking through the mush of food in her mouth, covered by her hand. She continues after swallowing, “I do some robotics here and there. I be buildin’ people’s shit for classes, it’s a good side gig. Honestly, though, I just make whatever comes to mind.”

You were indifferent to the world of math and science and technology, but the way Riri speaks about it, it sounds like STEM became her saving grace. She has a passion for it, and you admire it. You admire her.

“That’s fuckin’ amazing,” you murmur in response, “I mean, I can’t tell an expression from an equation, but I can tell that you talk like you love it. Not just for the money, but you actually love what you do. A lot of people can’t say that.”

Riri shrugs, chugging down a sip of her drink before she speaks again, “I been doin’ it since I was a baby; if it ain’t love for this shit, I can’t tell you what it would be that drives me. That money do be a good motivator though.” And the both of you laugh, and it is deep and boisterous and genuine.

The next stop on your day on the town is to Block 37 - a five story mall building with various shops, food spots, and a cinema on the top floor. Riri takes you to Banana Republic, and tells you to look around  to your heart's content. As much as you want to fight her on it, the look in her eyes immediately shoots you down, and so, the pair of you begin to look around at the various racks and shelves of items.

“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” Riri suddenly asks. You could reply with some witty remark, but the fact of the matter is that Riri’s words are true.

“Not really,” you admit, “I’m not exactly the first option for people.”

Your experience within the dating field is very limited. You weren’t as outspoken, confident, and alluring as some of your friends. You were the wallflower, the shy, quiet girl who never caught the eyes of the people you wanted. You were content with that label, as you had come to accept your position a long time ago. So to say you were a bit shocked that Riri even asked you out, and actually meant it, was a little bit of an understatement. 

Riri saves her next question for when the two of you find refuge on a bench in Millenium Park. It’s a slightly secluded area, with the bushes obscuring the both of you and giving you a sense of privacy. 

“Okay, now I’m curious,” she begins, and you can already tell she’s about to ask something absurd, “have you ever had another girlfriend?”

“I’ve had other partners,” you answer, “doesn’t mean they were necessarily good, though.”

You lean back into the wooden seat, eyes directed upwards to the blue sky, puffy white clouds slowly floating by. “Before I was out, I dated a guy. Horrible experience, zero out of ten, would not recommend. Then during my phase of questioning, I was talking to this one girl, and she practically led me on for the entire time we were talking. And aside from them, I haven't had any other experiences.”

The first guy you dated was during your freshman year. Thinking back on it, you probably couldn’t consider the engagement a relationship, as he never claimed you, and entertained other girls during the time you were supposed to be together. You’d been the one to ask him out, and you’d been the one to break things off.

The second girl you dated during the summer of your sophomore year of college - not too long ago, actually - was the person to help you realize your sexuality. That was the only thing that came out of that situationship. Perhaps it was the aura, the appearance, the smooth words or her demeanor that drew you to her. You couldn’t confidently say that the emotion you felt for her was love, but it was something closely akin to it. Which made it all the more painful when you ended the engagement after a long period of consideration, because while it killed you to hate her for the way she toyed with your feelings, loving her would have truly murdered you.

Riri takes notice of the somber look on your face. It makes her wonder just how wrongful were you treated by these prior suitors, how they had fumbled your heart and left you as this timid, weary person, nervous at the idea of someone genuinely finding interest in you.

“Well, they sound like assholes,” she remarks, and you snort at her conclusion, “and that they don’t know something good when it’s in front of them.”

“And what, you do?” You shoot back playfully, and although your words were supposed to come off as a joke, Riri’s face displays a seriousness you hadn’t seen until now.

“I wouldn’t have asked you out if I was just tryna fool around, ma.” she confesses. It takes you slightly by surprise - this is the second time she has expressed her interest in you. 

“Then what are your intentions?” You question, fiddling with the sleeves of your own sweater. Did you have doubts that Riri was taking you seriously? Of course. You met at a house party, of all places. What percentage of couples who met at house parties actually stay together for the long term? You were sure it wasn’t a large number. What could she have possibly seen in you in less than twenty-four hours that captivated her so intensely?

“I wanna date you,” Riri says, matter of factly, “wanna make you mine. Ain’t that the purpose of dating? To get to know each other and see if we’re compatible?” And for the second time since you’ve met her, Riri Williams has you completely speechless with her straightforwardness.

“I mean, yeah, when I saw you at that party, I saw a pretty face standing alone on the wall; I had to come shoot my shot,” the engineer confesses, “but I’m vibin’ with you. You’re cute, you’re funny, and we match energies. You’re down to earth and you’ve got a mind of your own. I like that, and I like you.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being cooked in an oven by the way the intense heat from your bashful nature took over your being. You had never experienced a confession of this caliber before - much less one at all. You shy up instantly, your voice getting lost in the incoherent noises that were begging to be released from your throat. Riri Williams has yet to not amaze you.

“Th-That’s nice and all,” you begin, pursing your lips together, darting your eyes away, “but that’s hardly a decision I can make just off one date.”

“Then lemme take you on some more,” Riri chirps, finding the solution to your faux dilemma easily, “I’m not asking you to make a split second decision right now. I’m just saying - gimme a shot, and I’ll show you that you ain’t gotta overthink about how I feel about you. Let me get to know you.”

You turn your gaze back to the girl sitting next to you, and for the third time since you’ve met her, Riri Williams has you speechless. But as you think about the initial proposal, the idea that Riri took her time to observe you, and would continue to learn you voluntarily, because she did like you, makes your heart flutter in a way it hadn’t done so in years. Perhaps it’s a proposition you could entertain, you think, as a small smile makes its way to your lips.

“What kind of dates would you take me on?” You ask, your voice a bit lower, and you don’t even notice that your body begins to leave in to the space between the two of you. It a cute act of flirting, Riri deduces, and she reciprocates your movements, leaning closer into you as she responds.

“Whatever you wanna do, ma,” She murmurs to you, “I’on think you’re the party kind of girl. I can tell you like lowkey shit…at home dates, that kinda stuff.”

“I do like me a good movie marathon,” you chuckle, and due to some unknown burst of confidence, you’re able to hold her intense eye contact, chocolate brown irises staring into each other. You catch Riri’s eyes darting from your eyes to your lips in a swift motion. The sudden burst of confidence grows in you, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, a little bit of mischief climbing its way up your throat.

“You ain’t gotta be shy about kissing me,” you mutter, recalling the use of those very words by her the night prior. 

Your words cause Riri to chuckle as her eyes dart to your lips again. She sucks her teeth, “Got a nigga to confess to you and now you actin’ bold.”

But she’s not complaining, not in the slightest, and neither do you when she leans in a little bit more, closing the gap between the two of you. It’s a dangerous near touch, your lips barely ghosting against each other. She’s holding back, you think; her hesitancy asking you for permission to proceed. But instead of giving her a signal, you take the leap - reaching up in the slightest manner to close the centimeter gap between the two of you, locking your lips together in a kiss that sends your stomach into a frenzy. Riri’s hand travels to the side of your neck, holding you there and erasing anything thoughts you had of pulling away. It’s mind numbing, the way the pads of her fingers press so gently against your skin, pressing more of you into her, and the way she tastes of cherry carmax and mint.

The world slows around you, and for the first time, your mind isn’t racing with doubts or questions. And you quite like this feeling. Perhaps with Riri, you’ll get to enjoy it more.

[dira333]

Courage - Cameron Klein x Reader

for Tay's writing challenge - @thesoftdumbass

I haven't written for MCU in about 5 years, but I realized I entered a writing challenge and never submitted my piece. And since I am a hardcore people pleaser, I could not let that slide. So, almost 4 years to late, I present to you:

Prompt: “And if tomorrow it’s all over, at least we had it for a moment”

Cameron remembers it like it was yesterday.

Sitting on a park bench next to you, hands clammy with sweat as the lights of the city twinkle all around.

First dates are nerve-wracking. Even more so when it’s with you.

But you’re so easy to talk to, you laugh about his jokes and when you smile at him like that, he thinks there’s no one out there who could possibly be more beautiful.

“My favorite song? Easy. No Choir by Florence and the Machine.”

“What’s it about?” He asks, because while he does listen to music, his taste can be described with the same words people use to describe him. A little nerdy, a little boring, a little uneventful.

You pull headphones out of your purse, untangle the knots and offer him one. The way you lean closer to share them properly has his heart beating faster. Forget kissing, sharing headphones is the real act of intimacy.

He’s not sure if he likes the song or if it’s you that makes his soul sing along, but the lyrics strike a chord.

“Happiness is an extremely uneventful subject…. there will be no grand choirs to sing, no chorus could come in, about two people sitting doing nothing….”

Cameron’s not a hero, just barely out of College, but he does know one thing.

What he wants in life is nothing more but uneventful happiness.

-

The air is buzzing with tension. Hardly anyone is talking.

Just last week he told you that his job was getting a little boring, all that programming that never seemed to amount to anything, all those controls no one ever got to use.

If only he could turn back time, rewind history, and change it.

But he’s not a hero, barely feeling like the age he’s at.

“The price of freedom is high, always has been. It’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”

The words, and their meaning, have not yet settled in when the door of the control room bursts open. 

Cameron tenses. His thoughts wander to you like they always do, and to the uneventful happiness the two of you have managed to build. 

Is he willing to pay for that? What price is too high? What-

Rumlow reaches him. His eyes are cold like they always are. The order is not surprising. He’s been working on this project for months. 

His mouth is dry, everyone’s looking at him. Cameron doesn’t want to die. 

But if he has to die, he will not die a coward. 

His lips move. His voice does not shake. Before he knows it, the cold steel of a gun is pressed against the back of his head. He closes his eyes, hands raised, and thinks of you.

-

His tie is burnt, most of his hair probably too from the smell of it. 

Cameron’s coughing as he stumbles down the street, waves down a taxi that actually dares to stop for him. 

“Hospital?” The driver asks, voice filled with sympathy.

“Home,” he croaks out and names the address.

The world, as he knew it, is over. 

He’s not sure what tomorrow will bring.

But you’re waiting for him, worry written all over your face, and he knows:

“If tomorrow it’s all over, at least we had it for a moment… things seem so unstable, but for a moment we were able to be still.”

[darsynia]

Pascal's Wager (Brodinsons oneshot)

Summary: There was no challenge in conquering a primitive, superstitious race. When Thor argues that Midgard has become much more advanced a realm, perhaps even so far as to reject belief in either of their divinity, Loki is intrigued. Then, his earnest oaf of a brother suggests a wager.

Word Count/Warnings: 1,100 | none

Written shortly after watching the first episode of Loki; as a true crime fan I was delighted by the idea of the trickster god as D.B. Cooper, and wanted to come up with the circumstances. @thorfics this is for you!

MASTERLIST | MCU MASTERLIST

Pascal’s Wager: Humans bet with their lives whether or not God truly exists.

It took a thousand years for Loki to find Thor’s favorite of the nine realms interesting enough to bother with. Compared with life on Asgard, Midgard was dull, full of lesser beings with lesser imaginations who had only very recently dragged themselves out of complete mediocrity. What good was conquering a race of filthy, groveling worms when their most lavish palace had no means beyond his own powers to heat it comfortably? He’d visited every hundred years or so and left disappointed in the complete lack of challenge.

Midgard would be his someday, but only once the conquest mattered.

Thor, though… Thor delighted in the accursed place, even back when they were both young and the humans were only just starting to question their long-held ignorance. How ironic that their pathetic consensus grew to exclude magic as something that truly existed, even as an actual god walked among them, imbued with it? Then again, Thor had never been a showman of the sort that would preserve belief in the mystical. His strengths were as grounded as his fancies were not; and when Loki saw that gleam in his eye which signaled a return to Midgard, he simply couldn’t resist.

“Off to your pet planet again, brother? Tell me, how have you been able to resist teaching those squealing sows the means to harness electricity? Doesn’t it gall you to be fawned on by a people who fear the very essence of your power?”

“Not at all,” Thor said pleasantly. He rested a large hand on the balcony column and looked out over the landscape below them, nodding toward it. “Asgard’s beauty is unmatched, but Midgard has a raw excitement that comes from being so young. And you’re wrong-- a good deal of them have access to electricity now. It’s a very different place.”

Loki sniffed disdainfully. “Still far too eager to believe in an all-powerful god who will rescue them from their pitiful folly?”

“Some, maybe,” Thor allowed. “Why? Are you looking for an excuse not to follow through with your childhood dream? Loki, the God-Emperor of Midgard?”

Of course Thor would put it that way. Loki had been quite shocked to discover on his first visit to the wretched place that the glorious culmination of his boyhood goal was so easily achievable as to be practically worthless. Within an hour of his contact with humans, he’d been treated with frightened deference, as was appropriate, but it had all gone downhill from there. Oh, the regional warlord had offered the Lord Loki his humble abode, but it had been humble. No gold to be found, not even gold leaf. None of the chairs had been sturdy. It had been cold and dark, and the act of providing his own illumination had prompted fully half of the assembled crowd to flee in abject terror.

Fear was to be expected, but over proper lighting for a feast? Not that what had been served could be described as such. No, Loki had told his supplicants that they were profoundly unworthy and left in disgust.

“Come now, you know there’s no sweetness in an easy conquest,” Loki said. It was a rebuke. His brother found much sweetness in such a thing, when the fight was about desire rather than dominion.

“I doubt it has been easy for a while, Loki. Midgard is a bustle of technology, primitive though it may be. Tarry too much longer and you may find yourself in need of help to achieve your goals.”

That piqued his interest. “Really?”

“Indeed. I’d wager you’d find it difficult to find even one human willing to believe you’re a god worth bowing to, much less a kingdom’s worth,” Thor said. He strode over and reached for one of the apples in the silver basket at the center of the table Loki was reclining beside. With a quick gesture, Loki drew the apple to his own hand using his magic, conjuring up a squat pine cone of like shape to replace it. Thor grabbed the pine cone and immediately dropped it, shaking his hand with a muttered oath.

“Are you trying to imply I’m too slow?” Loki asked him, biting into the apple. It was sour, the inside rotten, but another infusion of magic concealed that inconvenient fact from his brother.

“I am,” Thor stated confidently. “Your reputation there is thin as rabbit’s blood by now. All they remember are your tricks, your unreliability.” Thor grinned, that characteristic vitality and puppy-like joy shining through his blue eyes.

“You fail to provide one measly harvest after a volcano and suddenly it’s all negative press,” Loki sighed, tossing the rotten apple over the balcony’s edge. “Ahh, well. That just shows I’m willing to punish unbelievers.” He stood and tapped a thin finger on his chin thoughtfully. “You say they’ve advanced, yet still hold to some of the old ways? What about luxury?”

“You’re still sore about the lack of palaces, aren’t you? Should have dropped by a few centuries ago. Opulence and fashion--”

“Human opulence is almost certainly lacking in proper sanitation,” Loki interrupted, but Thor’s eyes were closed, caught up in the memory.

“--low necklines, long skirts, and quite a few disused hallways. There’s worship, and then there’s worship.”

“How stimulating for you,” Loki said. “Before you devolve into describing exactly how you wielded your hammer, are you serious about this bet of yours? Tell me what it entails, I grow weary of your pontificating.”

“You wanted two things, did you not? Subjects who believed in your godhood and fitness to rule, and what? A proper castle from which to rule?” Thor asked, crossing his massive arms. “What say we each try for the first, and once one of us succeeds in gaining followers, the other must furnish the second, paid for with Midgardian means. No magic, no trickery.”

“Come now,” Loki chuckled, spreading his hands out in an amused plea. “That’s hardly fair. You, who cannot properly employ trickery, banning its use? If that’s the case, I’ll set forth an interdiction against feats of strength.”

“You’re saying I cannot build the palace myself, and you cannot conjure it? I accept,” Thor said. “The loser must earn the funds with which to construct his brother’s palace. The Midgardian way. Is it agreed?”

Thor had not outlawed using magic to create belief. The image of his regal brother using Mjölnir to work in a dark, dirty mine was quite glorious.

“It is agreed,” Loki said with a slow, satisfied smile.

[antvnger]

((I'm so frustrated right now. I keep seeing videos on Youtube saying that Ant-Man 3 is the worst way to end a trilogy or it's the worst MCU movie 'EVER' and other things. It's driving me nuts.

Can you do us a favour and tell us all the great things about it? 😭))

((GLADLY!!

*pulls out soap box and megaphone and stands on the box*

*speaking into megaphone* Testing, 1, 2, 3. Testing, 1, 2, 3.

Attention good people! I am here to remind you about the really good things about Ant-Man and the Wasp Quantumania! Because this movie deserves it!

First of all! To those who say this movie ripped off Star Wars, lemme tell ya, Scott Lang is a Star Wars nerd and if he was told a part of his life reminded people about Star Wars, he would eat that crap up!

And honestly, that was one of the coolest atmospheres I ever saw in an MCU movie. The Quantum Realm was beautiful and full of really creative creatures and landscapes and colors and it was better than I envisioned. I love how they portrayed the Quantum Realm.

While we're on this subject, the probability storm was ingenious and really fun to watch in my opinion. OF COURSE the QR would have something to that effect. It was an intriguing premise, and I would love to learn more just about probability storms in the QR tbh.

And what's even more beautiful is showing ALL of those Scott probabilities teaming up to help save Cassie because no matter what the challenge may be there is a 100% chance Scott Lang will do anything to help his daughter!

AND THEN if that wasn't enough, having all of Scott's probabilities and Hope's probabilities merging into one unit as if every probability led to them succeeding when they work as a team???? Poetic cinema, y'all!

I got ahead of myself, let's jump back to the beginning. Here we find Scott Lang living his best life, and I am here for it. He is successful, he is happy, he is loved, and he is loving people and life and getting the recognition he so rightfully deserves.

Those kids in the library dressed up as Ant-Man and with Ant-Man action figures and stuff? *cries* Scott deserves that.

And he also gets to enjoy life now. He gets to be a dad and tell dad jokes and finally relax and not have to worry about prison sentences or missing out on stuff or some crazy crisis pulling him away from his family. He's happy, and he's earned it.

Cassie calling Hank "Grandpa" gives me life.

Having my headcanon confirmed that one of Scott's favorite places to be is on top of the Golden Gate Bridge and him and Hope having a cute little date up there? I mean how cute are they?

Scott and Hank's relationship has grown so much, and it makes me happy like seriously. *so proud* "You read my book?" *so proud* "Every goddamn word." And when you read the book, there's a really nice interview there between Scott and Hank which makes that scene that much better to me now. Like it's wonderful.

People have been saying that Scott acted ooc in this movie, and I'm like no. No, he did not. He's not the same guy we met back in 2015. He's grown up some, he's figured some things out, he's got a better handle on life than he did back then, and he wants to protect and preserve it as much as he can. Especially Cassie's life and happiness. And why not? We all know he was like that before Endgame and then after Scott watching Tony with Morgan and knowing better than literally anyone else there (I take that back, literally everyone else there except for Doctor Strange of course) what Tony sacrificed...Scott's not ooc in this movie. He's growing. And good for him.

Paul Rudd's acting, I swear. He's amazing. The entire performance was phenomenal. Period.

This was a really good intro movie for Cassie as Stature. I'm really hoping that's what they'll go with because it sounds so much cooler than Stinger. And it's a really good intro because not only does she have her dad teaching her things midbattle that click for her later on, she is facing a ghost from her past that traumatized her. I think it was important she face Darren again. Facing him, evading him, and eventually overcoming him and her fear of him is a good jumpstart for Cassie, in tandem with the legacy her dad and grandad built, into this superhero role she so desperately wants. It was a growing moment for her too, and for her to realize that the monster that haunted her childhood wasn't a threat to her anymore was empowering for her. She's outgrown Darren Cross, and honestly, if I think about it a little more, there's a really good message for us in there too.

"This has been a weird day." Like Scott, my sweetheart, you're so relatable, I love you.

Could Hope have had a bigger role? Yes. *shrugs* I get what they were doing, but it could have been done better. But hey! She came in clutch at the end, which only underlines everything from AMATW: "Maybe you just need somebody watching your back, like a partner." And that's exactly what Hope is and did! My boy Scott was ready to make the sacrifice play yet again, and Hope swoops in and was like not alone you're not! All hail Queen Hope van Dyne!

And MicroSCOPE fans rejoice, I love you's happened! For those who are like "why didn't they kiss??" like hello? Covid restrictions, my dudes, so calm down.

Also what Hope's doing with that company of hers now? Like oh my gosh! She's doing what I've been saying Pym Tech should do with the shrinking technology, and I'm so glad Hope agrees because now I feel smart ;)

"She wasn't you, baby." Like please. I want someone to tell me this. That's love and devotion and a breath of fresh air from how Hank was in the comics.

Alright, I know you all have been waiting for this, so here it is. We get Kang the Conqueror. We set up the upcoming phase for the MCU. We show the importance, the intensity, the severity of what's to come without sacrificing the heart and humor of the Ant-Man movies. And honestly, I think they pulled it off.

And Kang was phenomenal. The controversy surrounding Majors aside, he was an incredible actor in this movie. He did such a good job, and I hope we do not suffer a recast.

Speaking of Kang, let's not forget that there is nothing quite as...fascinating as a character we know to be good and pure and sunshine personified just absolutely go ham. GiAnt-Man getting angry over Kang having Cassie in his grasp is really good, hot tea y'all, and I love it. After having imagined instances where Scott would get genuinely angry and imagining what that would look like and then to see it in canon? I feel validated.

I've said it a million times: Momma Bear ain't got nothing on Ant-Dad!

"I don't have to win. We both just have to lose." This quote still haunts me. It's so good and honestly it's so...Scott.

And also! For those who said it would have been better if Scott and Hope got stuck in the QR, shut up. No it wouldn't. No. It. Would. Not. It would have been predictable, and I feared it. I knew it was coming, and I was prepared to cry over it. Seriously. The intense relief I felt when Cassie rescued them genuinely choked me up a bit, I'm not gonna lie. It's good they're not trapped.

Also, I'm guessing those of you who are saying being trapped in the QR would have been better than the ending we got don't deal with anxiety and worry eating away at your insides until you feel like they're just gnawing at your bones, don't ya? Because my boy is seriously trying not to panic over the fact that he may have very well doomed the universe he just finished rescuing.

And honestly, that's more relatable. That's more human. We can relate with that, we can ache about that, and honestly, me just thinking about Scott trying not to have a panic attack over all of this is making my chest tight too like I'm in his shoes. The human element, very prominent in the Ant-Man movies.

Seriously. Did these people watch the same movie I saw? Because this movie has so many of the things we love about the Ant-Man films. It has heart, it has comedy, it has that familial love we love to see, it has a gorgeous and mysterious landscape, it has a badass villain, and most importantly it has ants.

And anyone who says this is the worst MCU movie probably hasn't seen all the movies because I can think of 4 off the top of my head that made me want to bang my head against the wall. And guess what? Quantumania is nowhere on that list.

I could go on, but apparently I hit a text limit in Tumblr, so I had to cut back. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. No, I am not up for debating the amazingness of this movie. Any and all hate towards it will be removed from this blog, thank you.))

[munsons-hellfire]

Everett Ross x Avenger!Reader (Ex-CIA) Headcanons

REQUESTED BY: @autistic-solar-fandom

PAIRINGS: Everett Ross x Ex-CIA!Avenger!Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry this took a while, I really had to think about how I wanted to set this up and the headcanons that I thought would hopefully be good. I don't know if I even did this right, but I like the way I have it. This is my first time making headcanons. I kind of made it into an AU, so most of the events of what happens in the MCU (mostly the Accords), doesn't happen. Hopefully it is to your liking.

WORD COUNT: 1.06K Words

You and Everett met in the CIA before you joined the Avengers, it was there that your relationship started to blossom only after you two had finally trusted each other.

You and Everett had gone on a mission that had really tested your limits of trust.

You were injured in the line of fire and left in a hospital bed for a few days. Everett never once left your side.

After that mission that left you injured the two of you were hard to separate from each other. You had both bonded pretty quickly.

Your established friendship quickly turned into a relationship, and while the two of you weren't afraid to tell anyone you were dating each other you did keep it professional at work.

About a year after you and Everett started dating you joined the Avengers fighting alongside them. With your new job, life was a lot more riskier. But you were able to handle yourself out there, even Everett knew it.

Two years into the relationship Everett got down on one knee after a romantic dinner and popped the question asking you to marry him, you of course said yes. There was no doubt in your mind that you didn't want to spend the rest of your life with Everett and he felt the same way.

Six months later you were married in a small ceremony with your friends, family, and coworkers (the Avengers), as well as Everett's friends, family, and some of his coworkers. It was a beautiful wedding and at the end of the day you were just happy to be with each other regardless of marriage.

During the first year of marriage it was a challenge to always see each other. Sometimes you both would be on missions for months at a time. Sometimes you'd be undercover, or vice versa. But when you could get time off from work and Everett could do the same, those were the nights that made everything worth fighting for.

Five years into your marriage, you find out you're pregnant. At first you're afraid to tell Everett because the two of you were happy as could be and had never really talked about wanting kids. But now that there was a baby involved that was made from Everett there was no way you couldn't give this up.

You called Everett to the Avengers, he showed up after he had gotten off of work. He was so excited to see you given that he had been working on a case for about three weeks. You had everything picked out to tell Everett about the baby on the way.

When he got to the tower you spoiled him with his favorite dinner, dessert and his favorite drink of choice.

After everything had been devoured you gave him a present which contained the announcement. When he opened the box he was shocked at first not entirely sure how to process the news (not because he wasn't happy, just because it was the last thing he was expecting). But his confused face turned into a happy face and you knew he was over the moon excited to have a kid with you.

After you told him, you stopped going out on missions with the Avengers because you wanted to stay safe and keep your baby safe. Everett also agreed with your choice.

Throughout the pregnancy it seemed to be an easy one, but everything changed when you and Everett discovered that you were not only having one kid but you were expecting twins. Both of you were shocked at first and didn't know how to process the information that the doctor had given you and your husband.

But like everything else the two of you worked together to figure it out. As your due date got closer everything started to fall together, you had the baby's room done.

Your hospital bag was ready and you had the clothes that your son and daughter would come home in. The names were picked out and you would announce it to your family after you had given birth to the twins.

When your water broke, everything started to settle and both you and Everett would be parents in less than a few hours. The experience was a painful one but well worth it. Your son was born first, though he did take his time arriving into the world. You told Everett that he was going to be just like you. While your daughter on the other hand came out into the world quickly, you and Everett both knew that she was going to be like him.

Everett had picked his name, he named him Felix Alexander Ross. You had named your daughter Florence Annabelle Ross. Their names seemed to fit them perfectly. And neither you nor Everett couldn't be more happy.

As the kids got older you and Everett noticed that Felix really did take after you and Florence really did take after Everett.

When the twins turned 14 you decided it was time to do smaller missions with the Avengers, mainly staying home because they both wanted to train with you and Everett. They wanted to learn everything and anything that they knew their parents would allow them too.

Everett knew there was no way that neither him nor you would be able to stop your children from fighting alongside them. But when Fury came to you and Everett with the idea of a Young Avengers, you both knew that the twins were going to want to be apart of it.

You both agreed on the condition that the two of you got to help them. You both stayed on the sidelines but you helped make suits for them, create new tech (with Tony's help), and help train them as well if they needed it.

Life was perfect so far, you were both so happy of who the twins had turned out to be while still allowing your guidance and Everett's.

You and Everett would be celebrating your 24th anniversary together and while the two of you tended to stay back you still went on missions together, some dangerous, some not so bad, and sometimes Felix and Florence would tag along and the four of you would fight the bad guys together, it was perfect bliss and one you never ever wanted to let go of.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Just a Dream

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Female Reader, Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2517 // Rating: Mature

Summary:  It was two weeks after the day she turned eighteen All dressed in white, going to the church that night

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, Halloween Challenge, Writing Challenge, Songfics, Marvel Cinematic Universe, MCU, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Weddings, Grief, Funerals, Established Relationship, Wedding Day, War Time, Change to Storyline, Steve Doesn’t Go To War, Army, IDK how they do the flag thing, Love Letters, Engagements, 1940s Era, Just a Dream // Carrie Underwood, I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now // Bing Crosby, The Song Varies But I Like The Bing Version, Lyrics, Reader’s Wedding Dress

Notes:  This is part of my writing Challenge for Halloween 2022. All fics are based off of songs I love. The aim is to write one fic a day for 15 days straight. I’m doing a similar thing for Christmas but they will all be headcanons [requests welcome for that] Enjoy x  

15 DAYS OF SONGFICS FOR HALLOWEEN (OCT 15TH - OCT 31ST)

I sat on my bed my fingers combing through the box of letters in my lap. They were dirty, fingerprints full of grime across the page where he’d stopped and started either picking what to say or being torn away from writing to me. But I didn’t care. My fingers deftly selected the one I’d be looking for. One of his most recent ones. I unfolded it carefully a small smile coming to my lips as I saw his familiar chicken scratch handwriting on the page. 

Y/N,

Sorry I haven’t written to you much these past few weeks. I was hoping to get this one to you by your birthday so if it’s late let’s pretend it's the post office’s fault, not mine. I hope you have the best day sweetheart. I know we already planned everything but I was hoping that I’d be home on the day to give you that ring we saw at that jewellers down on 3rd street. But when did the pair of us ever get that lucky? I promise as soon as I’m back that ring’ll be on your finger and we’ll be in that church. 

Love you always

Buck

My thumb swiped over his name as if I was trying to absorb the love through the page into my body. I sighed and placed it back in its box before I bent down and placed my shoes in front of me, slipping into them one by one. As my foot hit the bottom of my left dainty court shoe I felt something underneath my toes. I wiggled them trying to get a grip on what it was. It was round and cold against my stocking-covered foot. A sixpence. I smiled. My mother, ever the traditional and also the efficient. God knows how long that had been in there just waiting for the day. I stood up and smoothed my dress out careful for the creases of where I had been sat not to show. 

‘Oh you just look,’ my mother said. I turned to find her standing in the doorway. She was in a stiff skirt and suit jacket, a small hat nestled in her hair, and she was looking at me with tears in her eyes. She came into the room and grabbed me by the elbows as she looked me up and down.  ‘You look, beautiful sweetheart,’ she said thickly. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.  ‘Thanks Ma, do you really think this is still right though? I mean …white?’ I whispered gesturing to my dress. It was simple, skirting around my mid-shin with long sleeves and a moderate v-shaped neckline though I knew it would be enough to get tongues wagging.  ‘I bought it specially,’ Mom said, ‘besides anyone says a word they’ll have me to deal with-’

‘Girls,’ my Dad said cutting her off. He stood by the bedroom door nervously, ‘we oughta get going. Traffic..’ He didn’t linger instead he headed back downstairs leaving me to watch where he had disappeared. I felt my mother caress my arms softly and then she headed to the door and waited for me. I looked at her trying to push the lump that had returned in my throat down. With my head held high I walked towards her and we headed downstairs and into the car that my Dad was waiting in. 

The ride to the church wasn’t all that long though it felt eternal as my Mom babbled on nervously. Eventually, we pulled outside a grand old building that was starting to look more and more out of place in the middle of downtown Brooklyn. My Dad pulled the car to the kerb and motioned for us to get out which we did, standing on the sidewalk as he pulled around into the parking lot and reappeared, looking harried, a few moments later.  ‘That parking lot is busy as hell,’ my Dad griped.  ‘Frank,’ my Mom said in a warning tone. ‘That’s a good sign,’ he said quickly, ‘plenty of people.’ 

I didn’t say anything. My stomach had formed a colossal pit inside itself and my legs felt heavier than lead. I couldn’t focus on anything else but walking up those stairs to that front door. I entered first, my parents behind me, and looked out into the grand hall of the church. It was lined with stone pillars, ornate statues on every wall and stained glass windows that were now blocked out from the light on one side from where New York had continued to grow around them. As the door made a noise heads turned towards me pew by pew, taking me in. Some smiled. Some bowed their heads. Then as my eyes swept down to the front of the line I saw Steve. He stood up watching me closely.

I felt tears burn my eyes and I pulled the veil that had completed my outfit down over my face blocking me somewhat from view. Music started gently in the background as if announcing our arrival. 

And then, he was there. At the end of that aisle waiting for me. Bucky.  Except he wasn’t him.  His handsome face wasn’t smiling back at me as planned.  No, instead, a cold hard wooden casket was propped up in front of the altar draped in an American flag. 

I felt bile at the back of my throat. Anger.  He fought for that flag.  Died for that flag.  And here it was like some horrible reminder separating me from him one last time. 

I felt my Dad’s large hand press into the small of my back, edging me forward though my feet didn’t want to go. I walked down the aisle, my head bowed so I couldn’t see everyone watching me, listening to the clack of my heels on the tatty tiled floor.  

We got to the front quickly and my parents slid into the pew behind Steve. He stood there awkwardly looking as if he was trying to decide whether or not to hug me. His eyes were red-rimmed and tears brimmed in them as I stood there. I couldn’t do it any longer. I couldn’t look at him. So, I sat down and he quickly followed sitting next to me in the pew. My vision was blurry and my head bowed but I still spotted the order of service as Steve pressed it gently into my lap. Bucky’s face beamed up at me bringing with it a new wave of silent tears. I heard someone up ahead clear their throat and looked up to see the preacher standing at his lectern, itching to begin. 

‘The funeral director tells me everyone expected is now seated,’ he said sadly as the music faded out, ‘so I would like to begin by asking everyone to bow their heads as we come together in prayer.’ 

I dropped my eyes to my booklet, opening it so I could read the order of service as he started to speak.  

‘Dear Lord, we ask you today that you lift up the soul of our dearly departed Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and with that heal the hurt that has brought us all together on this very sad day,’ he said. I fought the urge to snort. He spoke as if one church service was going to fix everything. As if it was going to pull the knife that had been sticking into my chest for the past few weeks out. My mind wandered, blocking him out, as I dropped my eyes to the page which listed the readings and songs I had chosen for today. As I did I felt a gentle hand slip into mine. Steve.

His fingers were cold and slender. Entirely unlike Bucky who could wrap both of my hands in just one of his. But like I would with Bucky I didn’t shake him off. It wasn’t what I wanted, what I yearned for, but it was enough to keep me from breaking down entirely. Like it had been a week ago. 

‘I don’t want to meet with them,’ I said folding my arms across my chest in an effort to hold myself together. My Mom pushed the kitchen door to and turned to me, her face sympathetic yet thunderous.  ‘Well you have to,’ she said. ‘Why?’ I said pathetically, ‘I don’t care what they pick. Steve can do it what does it matter.’ ‘It matters because it’s important that Bucky gets a decent service!’ she hissed. She was desperate to yell at me I could tell but the threat of guests in the next room and the fact I kept spontaneously bursting into tears seemed to stave her off, ‘and it might have escaped your notice but you and Steve are all that boy had left. Now, I know you don’t feel like talking to people but I doubt Steve does either. And I know it’s not the same love but he’s hurting too. Maybe a little support from you wouldn’t go a miss.’ 

I stared at her. Her eyebrows were skirting the top of her forehead and I felt annoyed at just how right she was. I trudged past her and into the living room where Steve was sitting opposite a portly gentleman who was offering him a brochure that Steve took and started to leaf through. The pair of them looked up as I entered and Steve threw the brochure onto the coffee table. 

‘Miss Y/N?’ the man said as I sat down on the couch beside Steve, ‘Steve said you’d be along in the minute. We were just going through the brochure and I was just asking Steve if he’d thought about opening hymns.’ ‘We hadn’t started properly,’ Steve said sheepishly.  ‘Of course not,’ the man said, ‘though I did say Make Me A Channel of Your Peace is a really nice one.’ ‘No,’ I said my voice hard.  ‘Or Amazing Grace-’ ‘Buck,’ I said my voice strangling his name as it came out. I had barely spoken it since we had heard the news, ‘he didn’t go to church. He didn’t know any hymns.’  ‘Yeah,’ Steve said, ‘what about a song instead?’  ‘Well, the organist-’ ‘Would be able to read any sheet music we got right?’ Steve said overriding the gentleman who was looking a little irked.  ‘Yes, I’m sure they would,’ he said setting aside the sheet of paper he was holding. 

‘What should we pick?’ I said nervously looking at Steve. He looked exhausted. His face was practically grey and the bags under his eyes were more black than purple. He also looked thinner, if that were even possible, his face a little more gaunt.  ‘I wonder who’s kissing her now,’ he said without missing a beat then his gaze caught mine. He dropped his head nervously as he mumbled, ‘he loved that one…played it the entire day the first time he met you..damn near broke my record player.’ 

That familiar lump returned to my throat as I pictured them sitting in Steve’s tiny front room him putting the needle back again and again so the song would play. It wasn’t even my memory and it was like a knife to the gut. 

‘Shoulda never turned him down that day,’ I said with a chuckle which surprised everyone in the room.  ‘Nah,’ he said, ‘he needed knocking down a peg or two.’ ‘I bet it bruised his ego,’ I said sadly.  ‘Never, you know Buck…never backed down from a challenge,’ he said and I nodded though it was tiny. His words hit me like a freight train. He was right. Bucky never did back down from a challenge. This was why we were here.  ‘Right,’ the man said clapping his hands together in order to move proceedings along. As he started to babble on about psalms and readings I stared at the wall behind him blankly. Until, after a moment, I felt a tiny hand slip into mine on the couch beside me. My fingers laced into his at once and I didn’t let go until that man was firmly out the front door. 

My not paying attention had lasted longer than I had expected because when I looked up I found everyone was standing and Steve’s hand was tugging me upwards. We sang a couple more songs. My Dad got up and said the eulogy, a fact a was thankful for as neither Steve nor I figured we could get through it in one piece, and then just like that it was over. Army officials descended from the sidelines in perfect unison as we stood watching their dance. I could feel Steve stiffen beside me. Out of patriotism or longing, I didn’t know which. And then one of them was in front of me offering a folded-up flag out to me like some medal of honour. 

Dozens of eyes burned into me as I looked at this man. Stern. Unyielding. I reached out and took the flag off of him holding it to my chest but it was no use. As a horn started to play a military procession and several men lifted Bucky’s casket off of its stand my heart broke.

It was like a bullet ripping through me, fragmenting my heart into pieces. I wanted to drop to my knees. I wanted to scream. Sob my heart out. But I couldn’t. I was stuck. As they moved passed me leading Bucky to the hearse I stood frozen to the spot. Steve and my Dad grasped me gently by the elbows and pushed me forward. It was a wonder one of them didn’t have to move my feet in step either. 

It was like wading through custard. Wading through custard on a road a mile long. Like I was dreaming. I wished I was. I willed myself to wake up. Hoping that when I came to I’d be lying in bed with Bucky, his arms wrapped around me as he gently caressed my hair. I wanted him to ask me what my nightmare was about and for us to laugh at how preposterous the idea was because he would never leave me. 

I wanted to walk out this very door as I had planned. My Dad and Steve were still behind me but Bucky was on my arm instead, confetti around us as we celebrated being newlyweds. Like we should’ve been doing today. 

But I couldn’t. 

 Y/N, 

I’m coming home! Well for a while at least. They’re shipping us somewhere new so in the downtime me and you will be back together. And I know just what we’re doing first! 

Tell your Ma to start organising a date for the church. I’ll be back in two weeks so anything after then is fine. I don’t want to waste another minute. And tell Steve to get to writing his best man speech, can’t have him letting the side down.

Love you always, 

Buck 

 Baby, why'd you leave me, why'd you have to go I was counting on forever, now I'll never know Oh I'll never know

[samwontshare]

Nakia/Namora ficlet

Off I go to rarepair hell!

I have written Nakia/Namora. It will probably be the only fic for this pairing. Thank you in advance to anyone who reads MCU rarepairs. 

You can find it here on AO3. 

Pairing: Nakia/Namora

Rating: General

Word count: 729

Summary: Namora plans to kill Nakia in retribution for the Talokanil woman slain. She doesn’t plan to find her so beautiful. 

Namora had a spear she wished to dull upon one surface dweller’s ribs. If this woman could sneak into their caves, then she could sneak onto this woman’s beach. But as she gripped her spear tight in her fingers, she saw a small boy tug at his mother’s skirts, run screaming in delight as she made herself a monster mask of seaweed. It would do no good to kill the child under their alliance. This had to be done without a fuss, without anyone knowing.

She would watch.  

Namora watched for many days. She watched the surface woman sew shells from her lands into her hair. She watched her teach all of the surface children about the sea. She taught them about all of the life that lives there, how important it is that humans respect and protect the ocean. She taught them that water connects all life. The woman talked about how she came from water, not the ocean but the rivers of Africa. She shared in hushed tones with the children that when she missed her homeland, she would come to the water and know that she was home.

Namora had drowned the woman's kin in those rivers. It had seemed so necessary at the time. She did not think she regretted what was done. The woman kept her pain well hidden from the children, and only by dark did she add more salt to the sea. Namora envied the way she released her pain.

And still she watched.

It infuriated her that she didn’t lure this woman to the ocean and be done with it. But when the little angelfish strayed too far from the woman and was pulled out to deep water, she did not let the boy drown. Namora saved him. She sent a gentle ray to swim him close to shore. She watched the way the woman, Nakia was her name, embraced him as the most precious object in the world. She watched the fear and sorrow she had hidden shine plain on her face. Namora wondered what it would be like to feel such grief. Hers was stored in the depths.

She found Nakia that night, alone on the beach. She let the water play at her feet.

“I know you’re out there. I can feel you watching me.”

Namora said, in her native tongue, “I came to bleed you for the sharks.”

Nakia said, also in Namora’s native tongue, “Then do it.”

Instead, Namora sat on the empty beach with her, a safe distance. The air felt so strange on her skin. She felt so light she might blow away. It took conscious effort to breathe only from her mouth, to let the salt flow. It was dangerous to be on land. It was dangerous to let Nakia live.

“I’m sorry, for the sister I took from you,” she said at length. Despite the danger, Nakia stared at the water, her arms wrapped around her knees. She still had shells in her hair. The moon made Nakia’s skin glow blue, like Namora's people. Namora swallowed a gulp of water and looked away.

“I’m not sorry for protecting my people,” Namora said because it was true. “She was my cousin. We are all related, every one of us. We’re all part of the same whole. To lose one of us is to lose all of us.”

The woman stared at the stars, her eyes heavy with longing. “I think I understand.”

Namora hesitated, drew up her own knees. “I am sorry for your pain. You are too beautiful to look so sad.”

Nakia held her gaze for just a moment, a small smile on her lips. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“For an air breather,” she retorted, standing to break this spell on her. She waded into the water. “Do not linger in the ocean should I change my mind.”

“Why did you save my son?” It was less curiosity and more a challenge. Namora frowned. She did not believe in the alliance. She believed the surface world was a threat. But maybe… maybe there was more to them. Maybe there was room for women with shells in their hair who glowed in the moon light.

Just before the water took her, she heard Nakia call: “How many hundreds of miles did you swim just to see me?”

Too many, and not enough.

[buckets-and-trees]

Fic: Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams

Title: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader, side of Steve

Word Count: 8k

Summary: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined. This was written for prompt #14 in Roo’s Hallo-Cream Extravaganza: Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Additional Notes: I will leave more detailed notes at the end of the fic so I don’t give specifics away, but this is loosely based on some Scandinavian folklore I’ve been exploring. I emphasize this is loosely based on the folklore – I’m not a Scandinavian folklore expert AND there were a couple of elements I did adapt to fit the direction of the story overall. I've left some songs throughout the fic for a bit of a soundtrack, if you wish. The title is taken from a Taylor Swift lyric (from "This Love"), but don't let that fool you. Here be a dark story.  

Also, thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for letting me in on the party here with the challenge (my first challenge in this fandom) AND for literally saying "take all the time you need" when I said the beast was still being tamed and that life had been more life-y than I thought it would be over the past few weeks.

The first thing you’re conscious of are the warm fingers stroking lightly up and down your back. You take in a deep breath of morning air, and hum in contentment as you let it out, stretching one of your arms out across the mattress, and the other above your head, pushing out from under your pillow to press against the headboard.

“Good morning, beautiful,” your husband says softly, his hand now moving beneath the hem of your shirt to press gently against the small of your back.

“Morning, Buck.”

Then you frown, registering that he’s not on his side of the bed, but sitting on the edge of your side of the bed. You turn and try to sit up. “Wait, what time-?”

He cuts you off and pushes you back down to the mattress. “Early.”

“James! You said you were leaving at six!”

He chuckles, “I know. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, brushing some hair out of your face before kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to get up until seven, and I didn’t want you to go to the trouble of getting up at five to try and make breakfast and send me off.”

He’s kissing you again to try to swallow your protests, which only works for a moment, but then you turn your head. “It’s our first day going back to work since the wedding, you should have let me dote on you.”

Pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he counters, “Shouldn’t a husband allow his wife to sleep in so he can keep her up all the later when he gets home?”

You let out a soft moan as he punctuates his question by sucking softly at the crook of your neck.

“What time is it?” you manage to whisper, trying to stay focused on your spat.

“A little after four.”

“What?” you jolt up with shock. “Four!”

He laughs. “Wheels up at five so we could get back for dinner.”

You groan and settle back into the mattress. “Four in the morning is disgusting. I’m glad you tricked me. Just make sure to grab some toast or something on your way out.”

“Yes, dear.”

As he moves to leave, you pull him back. “One more kiss.”

“Always.”

He sinks back into you, and your lips meet again. You love to feel his weight pressed against you, but he does prop himself partly, his metal forearm right next to your shoulder, and vibranium fingers tangling in your hair. Both your hands hold his face, and you part your lips to drink in more of him. He reciprocates, tongue seeking yours earnestly. His flesh hand skims up the side of your body, moving again under your sleepshirt, over your ribs, and then he begins to gently palm your breast, and your moan again.

“Keep up with that, and you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon,” you murmur against his lips, your back arching into his hand.

He huffs out a sigh, easing his hand away, but pressing his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I know.”

Your lips capture his again, but with less urgency, just lips and feelings, and his warm hand withdraws from your chest and comes up to caress your face.

After another minute, he sits up.

You sigh but smile at him.

“I promise to pick up where we left off when I return.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He takes your hand and presses a warm kiss into your palm before standing, then pulling the covers back up and tucking you in. You yawn, both of you laugh, and then he leaves a final kiss on your cheek.

“Sleep well, my love.”

 The sky grows darker, and you frown as you look at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t a problem for Bucky to be taking longer than you expected to get home for dinner because the soup was safe just simmering, but this much later when he texted he would be home soon wasn’t normal.

There’s a knock on the door, and you carefully move Alpine off your lap and deposit her back on the cozy armchair to go answer it. You wonder if it’s Bucky and maybe he forgot his keys?

A quick glance out of the peephole reveals the familiar frame of your husband’s best friend on the other side of the mahogany door.

“Steve!” You open it wide and beam at him. “Bucky didn’t say you’d be coming by! You’ll stay for dinner, I’m assuming?”

Because Steve is already such a regular fixture in the place you and Bucky had recently moved into before the wedding, you had already turned and crossed the living room, heading for the kitchen, when you pause and turn back around, realizing that Steve hasn’t said a word of greeting and has only taken a few steps inside.

He’s watching you closely in a way he never has, and you read hesitancy in every muscle and movement of his body. He slowly pushes the door closed behind him.

Steve looks around the room very quickly, then takes a deep breath in and out before saying your name, and there is so much emotion in it, your blood runs cold immediately.

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no. Steve, he can’t…”

He closes his eyes and gives a single nod.

The flood of anguish is overwhelming, dropping you to your knees, and the tortured sound that erupts from your soul is foreign to your own ears. In less than a moment, Steve is crouched next to you, wrapping his arms around you. As much as you’re clinging to him as you sob, his arms are holding you so tightly you can feel he must be trying to hold both of you together, but he weeps as well. You stay that way, huddled together, until both of you are empty – no more tears, past feeling, beyond exhaustion – overcome with the grief that Bucky is gone.

There is no body to bury, but Bucky had already stipulated he didn’t want to be buried. He and Steve both stated they wanted to be cremated when their time came to remove temptation for trying to develop any new super soldier serums from their remains.

Without a body, you, Sam and Steve decide burning mementos as part of a funeral bonfire would be a fitting tribute for those who wanted to pay their respects.

The man who so often perpetuated that he was a taciturn and sullen retired assassin had collected a small but mighty community of neighbors, friends, and colleagues who show up on the day. Seeing so many who regarded him as Bucky, James, Sergeant Barnes, or the White Wolf – not HYDRA’s Winter Soldier – gather to say goodbye is a balm to your soul in those days immediately after losing him. You know it will take years and still the vast hole of losing him will never be truly filled, but you don’t want to drown in the depths of despair.

Still, you are a shadow of yourself as you live through the enormous heartache.

Steve comes by to “check in” on you every other day, but it’s always around dinner, and you think he needs someone who feels this much pain over losing him, too, needs to know it’s okay that it still hurts, with someone else who knew him, even though you knew different parts of him. You’re glad because Steve had also become someone you considered one of your own close friends, and a small part of you had worried that without Bucky to tie you two together Steve might have disappeared as well.

One night about a week after the service, Steve seems a little distracted, and you ask what’s on his mind. He mentions that there have been two deaths reported that Bucky would have been interested in – Senator Stern and Jack Rollins. The senator had already been in treatments for advanced colon cancer, but it appeared there had been a severe reaction with his chemotherapy. Rollins, the former number two on SHIELD’s STRIKE team who was revealed as a HYDRA sleeper agent when Steve exposed them and Bucky escaped and went into hiding, had gone underground himself, a mercenary operating in the shadows of the shadows, but had turned up in an alleyway in Detroit. He’d died of what looked like an aggressive infection from a wound, likely from a violent altercation.

“I know he never pursued vengeance, but I think he would’ve liked to know those two were gone for good. It’s just another thing I won’t get to talk to him about,” Steve says.

“Damn it, Barnes,” you sigh. “This would all be so much easier if he’d been a pain in the ass not worth missing.” 

The ache still hurts, but the small genuine laugh you and Steve share is another tiny piece of healing.

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Alpine who’d been distant and skittish at Bucky’s abrupt extended absence at first, but then finally sensed you were as forlorn as her and largely refuses to leave your side now. It’s late, and you’re starting to fight with your eyes to stay open as you read, when two distinct poundings on the door startle you and Alpine both.

“Who could possibly be here at this hour?” you whisper to Alpine, gently moving her from your lap into a small cocoon of the blanket you’d been wrapped in.

You move to the door as quietly as possible. You don’t want to confirm to whoever’s on the other side that you’re home if you can help it, glad now that you had been too lazy to get up and flip the record in your record player when the music came to an end however long ago.

But when you see the shoulders of the man leaning weakly against your doorframe, a shocked cry bursts out your chest. Your fingers struggle with the locks as you hastily work to throw the door open, and he stumbles in.

You’re quick to try and catch a cold and shaking Bucky Barnes as you close and lock the door behind him.

“Bucky?” Your left hand moves to his bicep to steady him, but your right hand tentatively seeks his.

He seems lost for another moment, but then his other hand comes up to cover yours and when his fingers brush over your wedding ring, he turns his eyes to look at you, and you see the flame of recognition. It’s confirmed and your heart sings when he murmurs your name.

“How are you here?” you ask, desperate to know this is real.

“I promised.”

Your breath hitches. You’d relived the pre-dawn moments of your last morning together in so many dreams, waking up with a tear-stained face too many times to count. “Is it really you?”

You’re not convinced this is any more than a hallucination.

But then he pulls you in and his lips consume yours, and its lips and teeth and crashing, too desperate and too real to deny.

“What do you think?” he growls, breaking the kiss for a moment, leaning his forehead to yours again as he had so many times.

“God, I missed you,” you respond, tears freely spilling down your cheeks.

“God has nothing to do with it.”

His hands grab the collar of the old sweatshirt you’re wearing, and you yelp in surprise as in one swift motion he rips it from top to hem and pulls it down away from your body. He’s never ripped your clothing – he always wanted you to feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments – but if he’s anywhere as close to as desperate as you are in this moment of reunion, it’s no wonder he doesn’t hold back.

Your hands go beneath the collar of his jacket to push it down his arms, and before it hits the floor, he’s already lifting his Henley and undershirt up and off his torso. You quickly unhook your bra and drop it while he yanks off his shoes. Then he’s up, and his lips capture yours again, his metal hand tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other palming your breast. This is truly where you left off the last morning you saw him, and you’re entirely overcome – by the grief that has enveloped you the past two weeks, the release of relief, confusion, but, more than anything else, your love and lust, blazing out from the depths of your soul. He sinks to his knees, pulling you with him, then pushing you back to the floor, the hard wood solid against your spine while he hovers over you, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing and sucking, nipping at your collarbone. Then his hungry mouth latches onto your other breast, alternating between sucking the nipple and teasing his tongue over it, drawing a moan from your lips.

Your hands seek every part of his bare skin they can reach, running over his face, his neck, in his hair, gripping his shoulders, up and down his arms, the planes of his stomach, his broad back. Then you pull his head back up to you, needing his lips against yours. You need him more than you need to breathe.

He pulls down your underwear, and you work at his belt and zipper, and in the next moment, he’s plunged fully inside you, bottoming out in your wet heat, and any pain is welcome, less painful than your heartache without him. He doesn’t let you take a breath to get used to the fullness of his cock inside you again before he’s already setting a quick pace, thrusting in and out brutally. You whimper against his lips, but you don’t want him to stop.

“I didn’t want to believe you were gone.”

“’m never leaving you again,” he swears.

You’re hit with a fresh wave of tears at his words and with a shift in his hips, his cock now hitting at a different angle, pressing furiously now against that most pleasurable spot up against your pubic bone.

“More,” you moan, and he grunts and gives you exactly that, more force as he ploughs into you.

Your walls clench around him, and he reaches down to pinch your clit, biting down on your lip at the same time, and it all pushes you over the edge, and you cling to him as your orgasm shakes you. He continues to fuck you through the waves, not slowing his pace or his force, and you whimper, but with no desire for him to stop. Every brutal thrust is primal, and you need to feel this as much as he does.

Finally, his movement stutters and then he’s filling you with his hot seed, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, hot heavy breaths against your skin. His pace slows, but he continues to pump into you until he’s finished, then collapses fully onto you. You welcome the weight of him, another reassurance he’s really here. You thread your fingers through his hair, no thoughts of moving.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” you say softly.

Bucky raises his head to look at you. His expression is unfamiliar – haunted, hungry. It’s unsettling. Or it should be.

“You’re still cold, Buck,” you note, moving a hand to stroke his cheek. Immediate intensity of your reunion starting to abate, and now you begin to assess and worry over him.

He moves quickly, standing up, then scooping you from the floor and pulling you into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. His destination is the bathroom where he deposits you on the counter before turning to the shower, twisting the knobs to initiate the stream of hot water. As you’re securing your hair up and out of the way, he drops his pants to the floor, and then the two of you step naked into the shower.

The hot water pours over your skin. Enclosed by the sanctuary of tile and glass, in here he kisses you as if it’s as essential as breathing, slow and concentrated. It’s still overwhelming, but it’s not the same frenetic desperation he took you with on the floor, and time flows by just like the rivulets over your skin, until you realize the temperature of the water is cooling.

A small laugh bubbles up from your chest, and you pull away from his lips. He tries eagerly to follow, but you gently cover his mouth with your fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we lose the hot water completely.”

Bucky sighs, but nods meekly. You turn to see only your things in the shower, and it’s only a half of a second that you bite your lip before pushing out of the glass door, not caring that you’re dripping water all over the floor but do take care not to slip as you take the few steps to across the bathroom to the cupboard. You had removed Bucky’s toiletries from the shower, the counter, and his designated shelves behind the mirror so you wouldn’t be constantly reminded of his absence but couldn’t bring yourself to throw them out and had only been able to stash them in a box. You slide the box from the shelf, set it on the counter, quickly fish out his shower gel and shampoo, and return to him and the shower.

Bucky's already soaped up your loofah and gets to work running it over your skin as he has so many times before. You switch him spots to rinse off, then turn your attention to him. You work up the shampoo in your hands, and he bows his head down when you reach up for him. You draw a moan from him as you work your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp and his posture relaxes. You trade places again for a moment to let him rinse the suds out of his hair, then pull him back out of the direct stream so you can wash the rest of him. Neck, shoulders, arms, chest. You tug his vibranium arm to get him to spin around for you, but then you gasp.

“Bucky!”

Your fingers skim over burns below one shoulder blade, and he tries to turn back to face you, but you press your left hand firmly against him to keep him there as you continue to examine him. You knew every freckle and mole on his skin, the scars he had before, and these are new. So, too, are some bruises, and there’s even a gash lower on his side.

“Bucky, what happened?”

He’s slow to turn back and face you now, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow, the haunted look is back in his eyes, and he’s frowning. Your heart aches while you wait for him to speak.

You take his hand and gently tighten your grip, trying to reassure him that you’re here, that there’s no rush for him to answer.

After another moment, he finally answers, but he drops his gaze to the floor. “I don’t remember everything that happened. It’s just fragments.”

Setting aside the foam sponge you were using, you take a half step closer to him and cup his cheek, urging him to look back at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure it out together.”

He engulfs you in another kiss. The heat and urgency grows, and then you two quickly rinse off the suds from his scrubbing down, and you’re escaping the shower, quickly toweling each other down, and Bucky pulls you to your bedroom and buries himself again in you. He’s relentless, taking you apart for hours, pulling orgasms from you, spilling his own into you, until you’re beyond spent, unable to move a muscle. Only then does he sink into the mattress next to you, pulling you into his side, you burrow happily against him, and he pulls the sheets and blankets up and around you both.

“Sleep well, my love.”

When you wake in the morning, you feel the sun on your face and fingers softly stroking up and down your back, and you sigh in contentment. A moment later your eyes fly open, and you shoot up in bed, your heart skipping a beat as you lock eyes with Bucky. You’d been so consumed by grief and conditioned yourself to coping with his absence that the reality of having him back hit you anew, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest even as you heaved a small sob.

“You’re really here,” you say softly, confirming it, reconditioning your brain.

“Never leaving you again,” he promises, pulling you close and wiping the few happy tears that spilled over your cheeks.

Tucked in under his right arm, you rest your cheek on his shoulder and let your fingers come up to trace lazy patterns over his chest, reacquainting yourself with the planes of his body. “I thought I had dreamed all of it.”

“This is not a dream.”

You shift slightly and laugh. “Yeah, my muscles are saying last night was very real. Can’t conjure up this kind of soreness in a dream, and I’m sure I’ve got bruises.”

“I’d apologize, but…”

He can’t see it, but you roll your eyes. “Bucky, I’ve always said I’d tell you if I ever needed you to stop, if you ever really hurt me.”

He huffs.

“Speaking of bruises,” you continue, letting your hand move to the side of his torso where you had discovered the gash in the shower. It’s still there. You lean up on your elbow and with your other hand, push up under his back, urging him to roll up onto his side. He tuts impatiently but indulges you all the same. Your fingers skim over the same bruising and burn marks that remain unhealed on his back. “Why are these still here? You always heal so quickly.”

He rolls onto his back again, looking at your concerned face. “I don’t know.” Your frown deepens. “No, I really don’t know, but they don’t hurt either.”

You sigh. “Okay, okay. But you’re also looking pretty peckish-“

“Peckish?” he interrupts, a smirk on his face. “I don’t think that means exactly what you think it means. How much BBC have you been watching lately?”

“Fine! Gaunt! You’re looking pretty gaunt for my super soldier, and I at least know how to fix that, so can we go make a ridiculously big breakfast?”

This had been a routine weekend ritual for the two of you, so you fall naturally into your roles in the kitchen, moving around each other to prepare your typical feast. Bucky is on waffle duty, in addition to making coffee and cutting up strawberries and bananas. You take care of scrambled eggs and frying up sausages and thick slices of tomato. The two of you know your timings, and you’re placing everything on the table around the same time.

He looks at the different dishes laid across the table, studying them. You watch his face, reaching slowly to spear a waffle with your fork. “Bucky? Everything alright?”

“Hmm?” He blinks and shakes his head before looking at you. “Of course, just… been a long time.”

You smile, but it’s a sad smile. He’s here now, but it doesn’t erase the weeks of pain your heart crawled through day by day, alone at this table, in this kitchen, in your bedroom, in this home you’d built with him.

“Tell me what you read this week,” he says, starting to pile food on his own plate.

And then you two fall into your rhythm. In your job as a literary agent, you read incessantly, and in a relationship with a man who turned out to be quite a book nerd, you’d established that you didn’t talk about books every night so you could have some off time from your job at the end of each day, but he was an eager listener each Saturday morning, and at the end of the week you always had an array to talk over with him. He would take seconds, and often thirds, while you spoke, and today was a dive back into that.

After an hour, the two of you cleared up the table, put the food away, did the dishes. As you do, Bucky eyes are on you constantly, and he takes any opportunity to touch you that the mundane tasks afford, a hand on your back as you pass each other putting things away, fingers brushing your skin when you hand him dishes, standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink.

As you close the cupboard, you turn and find Bucky moving to press you up against the counter, his arms bracing the marble edge on either side of you, and he slots his lips over yours, kissing you with a hunger that takes your breath away, and your fingers take desperate purchase clinging to the green t-shirt he’d thrown on with a pair of sweats.

When you finally break away to gulp in a lungful of air, he nips down your neck, then spins you around to face the counter and kneels behind you, yanking down your shorts and underwear with both hands, and you lean forward against the counter as he forces you to swiftly step out of them. Then he’s nudging your legs apart and burying his face into the apex of your legs, first biting at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, making you keen. Bucky makes one slow, torturous lick along your folds before going at your core with abandon, licking, sucking, slipping his tongue into your pussy, teasing your clit, bringing you to the edge. He backs off completely, and you whimper. “Bucky, no! More!”

He chuckles darkly, caressing the round curves of your hips. “More?”

“Need you. So close.”

He picks up again, but slowly, teasing you more, making you a whimpering mess, desperate for him. Your legs tremble, and you push back against his face, urging him to push you into waves of ecstasy.

Suddenly he backs off again, but he stands quickly, turns you around, and pushes you up onto the counter. He pushes his pants down, and you wrap your legs around him. Bucky sinks into you, but doesn’t move yet, instead demanding more kisses. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Take me back to bed,” you finally gasp out against his lips.

He nods and lifts you off the counter while keeping his cock inside you and takes you back to the bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you shuck your own clothes off, tossing them to the side, while he hastily removes his own and joins you on the bed. You push him down onto his back and straddle his hips. His hands move smoothly up your thighs as you reach down and guide his cock into your slick folds. You sink down slowly, and you both moan at the sensation. You close your eyes, but you can feel he’s watching your face. Your move your hands down to twine with his at your hips, and you gradually begin to move above him, raising and lowering yourself unhurriedly.

Since the very beginning taking Bucky as your lover, it’s always undulated between fast and slow, but with passion burning steadily through all of it. His every move, every touch, has always felt more intentional and cherished than everyone who came before. It consumed you in those early days, and he’s consuming you again now.

After a few minutes though, Bucky is not satisfied with the pace, and he sits up to take more control. With your faces close again, his hands move your hips up and down more quickly, setting a blistering pace, racing to another climax for you both, and you’ve no complaint, head falling back. He plants hot kisses along the column of your throat, his hands moving up your back, kneading, almost pinching the flesh as he clutches and clings to your shoulder blades.

He can feel you clenching down on him, knows your close, and he brings his metal hand around to reach down where your bodies meet in the thrusts, and rubs the small, tight circles over your swollen bud. Just another moment, and you let out a sob as another orgasm rolls over you, pulling him over the edge with you as your walls constrict around him. He grunts and holds you down, rocking your hips together back and forth as he shoots his hot sperm inside your womb.

You’re both breathless as he lays back, pulling you down to rest on his chest.

As your pulses return to normal, you place your hand over his heart, humming in contentment. But then you frown, noting that the skin you were so used to running hotter than anyone else because he’s got that super soldier serum running through his veins is still cooler than it’s supposed to be.

“What is it?” he asks, sensing your mood shift.

“Maybe we should call Dr. Banner and ask him to run a physical.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel the hesitance.

“I’m worried is all, Buck. You’re cold, and you’re never cold, and then the lack of healing with your wounds, I think something strange is going on.”

“Something strange is going on,” he admits, “but no Banner, not yet.”

You shake your head and push away, sitting up to look at him, “Why not?”

He earnestly sits up and cups your cheek for a moment, eyes seeking understanding in yours. “I can’t do it – no, I won’t do it again. I just got to a place in my life where I finally felt almost normal, and I don’t want to return to being be the oddity to everyone while I’m putting things back together.”

“What about Steve? He knows you better than anyone.”

He shakes his head. “Not even Steve. I’m not my old self yet, and Steve has seen me broken too many times, I can’t do that to him again. Maybe in a few days.”

You sigh.

“I know you’re worried,” he continues, “but please don’t. I still can’t tell you what happened, but I knew I had to get home, but it took me so long to remember how and to remember why. Someone said promise and I remembered I’d made you a promise. When I got here and you opened the door, when you put your hand on my arm and then I felt your wedding ring, another piece – quite a few pieces actually, it’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop last night. Every touch put more pieces back into place. I’ll figure this out, but I can’t do this to Steve again.”

You chew the inside of your lip. “He’d want to know.”

“That punk doesn’t get to have everything he wants all the time.”

The comment draws a smile to your face again. Bucky rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m getting more clear pieces all the time; I just don’t know how they all fit together yet.”

“Okay.”

“Besides, you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pull away again, searching his eyes.

Now he is the one with a small smile on his face. “Steve doesn’t know me better than anyone. You do.”

Another kiss.

You melt. You understand. You trust him. You agree. 

Unfortunately, you don’t know what you don’t know. Neither does Bucky.

You spend the rest of the day wrapped up again in each other, the night as well.

Sunday passes much as Saturday had – eating, talking, more sex than you had on the honeymoon. He’s seemingly insatiable, and you’re no less desperate, but also no match for his stamina.

Monday he lets you work, but only just. He convinces you to set up shop in the living room, where he promises to behave, he just wants to be near you, and your heart can’t deny him. He is always near you, almost constantly touching you in some way whether it’s one of you leaning against the other on the couch, holding your feet in his lap, sitting at the table and your knees touching. He lets you read manuscripts, but not for long before exacting more than proximity or the innocent touches from your body. You’re so intoxicated in his return you can’t think of denying him. Even during the night, you sleep more than he does (you always have), and as you drift in and out of consciousness, it’s to the feeling of his hands or his lips on your skin, waxing again between innocent and carnal.

Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Tuesday so many of your bones and muscles ache that you draw yourself a hot bath, unable to sleep and waking earlier than you had planned. The sex has been desperate and rough and frequent, and so the bruises on your body seemed natural.

When you step out of the tub, you happen to look over your shoulder in the mirror and see there are a couple of bruises that had bloomed on your back that were much darker than any you’ve had before. You just frown, finish drying off, and get dressed. Part of you longs to go back to bed and back to sleep, but you want to check in and see if you can’t get a few hours of work done. You do call off for the afternoon, and Bucky joins you for an afternoon nap.

You awaken with a gasp. It’s dark outside and Bucky has you on your back, planted between your thighs, his cock thrusting into you the action that woke you up. You clutch at his shoulders, letting him carry you away in the pursuit of more pleasure. He pulls you later into the kitchen to eat, but you’re still so tired that Bucky insists on returning you right back to bed after. You drift off, but not before he’s exacted another orgasm from your body, with his lips on your clit.  

The next morning, you look at the bruises on your back again. They’re still just as black, but now two of them look like they’re starting to open up like wounds. Your stomach floods with dread, and you call for Bucky, trying to keep the edge of panic out of your voice.

When he enters the bathroom, in the mirror you see there’s something that flashes in his eyes when his eyes first take in the planes of your back, but you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone too quickly. You want to ask, but you’re also too afraid to know what it could be.  

“I…” he starts, then swallows almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking I would go to the store. I’ll get something from the pharmacy for that, but I think we should get you back to bed.”

You’re so bone tired you don’t protest, and even your worry is swept away by your exhaustion. He tucks you in, and you’re already beginning to fall asleep again.

Another long rest seems to help, and you’re able to pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. The clock reads that it’s early afternoon, but Bucky is still out. You warm up some soup, toast some bread, and curl up on the couch with your modest meal. You switch the television on and stream some of your favorite reality show; it’s engaging enough to pull your mind a little from worrying about Bucky’s extended absence.

There’s a soft plop, and Alpine has suddenly appeared on the other end of the couch. You extend your right hand out, and she stalks over, nuzzles her head against your hand, and climbs right into your lap as if she hasn’t been absent for days.

You chuckle. “Where were you, you little minx?” It wasn’t uncommon for her to come and go on her own adventures in and out of the home, but she rarely left for so long. “Bucky’s been back since Friday night, and you’ve missed him completely!”

She settles down and purrs as you start petting her, seemingly oblivious to your inquiry and revelation. You turn your attention – as best you can – back to the screen.

Bucky was only supposed to be going to the store, two stores at best, but many episodes later, he’s still not back, and you can’t even contact him because you realize you two haven’t even got him sorted out with a new phone since he’s come back from the dead.

It's dark when you finally hear a key in the lock, and you’re fully alert again, turning to watch him enter, disturbing Alpine asleep in your lap, and she jumps down and darts away.

“Bucky!”

His back to you, he methodically closes and locks the door. When he turns back around, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes are wary. His whole demeanor is tense with dread. He moves slowly toward you.

Adrenaline floods your veins, relieved that he’s back, but worried at his state. “Where were you?” you ask, noting he has returned empty handed. “You were gone for so long.”

He sits down next to you on the couch, positioning himself to face you, never taking his eyes off of you.

“James, talk to me. You’ve got me scared to death.”

He opens his mouth at that, then closes it again. You move closer and take one of his hands in both of yours, pulling it into your lap. “Dying moves lower and lower on the list of bad things that could happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m already dead.”

The blood rushes in your ears, and your heart stops.

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

A bitter laugh falls from your lips, jumpstarting your breathing again. “A bit late with you talking like that. What happened? Where did you go? Why are you saying this?”

“I told you the other day that pieces were coming back.”

“Right, go on.”

“The marks on your back, they reminded me of a very old piece I didn’t even know was there.”

You nod slowly.

“When I was just a boy, my grandmother’s older sister, my mom’s aunt – so my great Aunt Ida, she came from Sweden to live with family here in the States after her husband died. They didn’t have any children of their own, and my grandmother had written to her and convinced her to come live with her in Brooklyn, because she’d have all of us around.”

Bucky rolls his left shoulder, something you’d noted he would do when he got uncomfortably nervous. You don’t push him, but just wait. He rubs his left hand up and down his leg, then continues.

“Aunt Ida liked to tell stories and read books – got me into books, actually. When my sister was around, she’d tell harmless stories, fairytales and stuff, but a couple of times when it was just me, I’d ask if she knew any scary stories, and she played along, teasing me, get me going. The last time, she told me this old folktale I’d never heard of before or since. She told me about there were souls who were killed but refused to die, souls who were either so tormented in life or who had tormented others so much that they could never be laid to rest.

“She got lost in the tale and before she realized what she was saying, she joked that her husband never wanted to leave Sweden, for years he knew my gran had wanted her to come to America, and she said she was surprised he hadn’t already risen from his grave and followed her to New York. She said it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down. My gran overheard that from the doorway though and screamed and scolded Aunt Ida for suggesting such a thing.

“A couple of weeks later Aunt Ida got pretty ill, I saw her only once more before she died, and she had the same kind of black bruise on her arm that I saw on your back today. Only once did I see my gran draw the two together – I wasn’t supposed to be close by, but I was down the hall when the doctor made a final house call to look over Ida, and my mom had to pull her out of the room. She was hysterical, saying it was this creature I’d never heard the name of before, that it was Ida’s husband, come to pull her away, but I couldn’t remember the name she used.

“But when I saw your bruises, and the way they were opening up like hers, I remembered everything about Aunt Ida and that story. I went to the library. I wasn’t sure where to start, except I figured folklore always starts with roots of truth somewhere in its distant past, so I pulled books on Swedish and Nordic folktales and got to reading.  

“Then I found it. They’re called gengångare, and I know I am one.”

“No!” You had let him go on for some time, fascinated and horrified, not even sure what you would’ve interjected previously, but this you couldn’t believe or agree with.

“I must be. No, don’t cry,” he says, bringing his vibranium fingers up to gently brush away the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “It explains everything: you said I died, and I’ve remembered a lot about my life before the incident, but almost nothing after, only scattered pieces that are so much slower to come and foggier than my actual life. It explains why my body isn’t the same as it was – I ignored every time you said my skin was colder, didn’t want to think my body wasn’t healing, but I’m not feeling any pain with those injuries either. I’ve been so desperate to touch you, to please you, because the heat and the physical sensations – especially the pleasure – I can feel something of that.”

He pauses, his expression changing slightly before he continues. “It explains why loose ends from my past have turned up dead in these past weeks.”

You have to move away from him, have to think. This is too much.

You stand abruptly from the couch and start pacing, but you only manage to take a step or two before you sway and have to steady yourself with a hand on the mantle so you don’t fall. Bucky is at your side in an instant. He’s calling your name, but you feel so lightheaded, and it sounds like he’s miles away instead of right next to you, holding your arm.

You blink and try to shake your head to clear it.

The cool vibranium of his hand is suddenly on your face, pressing against your forehead, then your cheek, your neck, and your cheek again. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.

You remember his enhanced hand can register temperatures.

He scoops you up bridal style into his arms and takes you to the bed you share for the last time.

“The gengångare went after souls,” he continues to explain, “trying to pinch and pull at their life, whether to steal them away into death or try to just pull some life back into their own souls, they couldn’t seem to control their draw fully one way or the other.”

Bucky seats you on the edge of the bed, and you remain quiet. Truly, what could you say?

He plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t fight him when he reaches for the hem of your shirt to pull it up and over your head. He turns your body so he can examine your back again, and his breath hitches. When you turn back and meet his eyes again, your heart sinks because his are full of resignation.

“I should have known it was too good for us to be happy. Taken from you after our honeymoon, brought back in a cursed state, doomed to lose you.”

“What now?

He lifts his own shirt up over his head and lets it drop to the floor.

“You’ll be consumed by what loves you. Ruined.”

He steps out of his boots, unbuckles his belt, and unfastens his jeans, sliding them to the floor.

Another tear slips slowly down your cheek, and he falls to his knees in front of you, fingers brushing the tears away. Then his fingers continue trailing down your neck and ghosting over the lace trim of your bra over the swell of your breast, making you shiver, terror and yet desire for him surging through your veins.

“You’re still so beautiful here at the end,” he whispers, his other hand smoothing up your leg.

Not knowing what else to do, your hands reach out and cup his face, drawing him to your lips. He kisses you so deliberately.

Bucky releases the clasp of your bra, you shrug it off your shoulders, and he pulls it away, tossed onto the floor in the heap with the rest. He pushes you back further on the bed and lays you down gently. The places you know those horrific bruise wounds should be feel numb against the sheets. He draws your panties down, discarding them as well.

Worshipping you as he has so many times, he hovers over your body, kissing your neck, your heaving chest, your breasts, while the skilled fingers of the assassin delve into your folds, drawing the wetness from the heat there, touching you in the way he knows your body craves. His fingers slip into you while his thumb rubs over your clit. He finds the tender spot within your pussy so easily, and you moan and whimper, one hand clutching his shoulder, the other tangling into the sheets.

You can only manage a short scream with your release, and though he was slow in the first stages, now he’s feral, wasting no time kneeling between your thighs and plunging his cock into you. It jerks you, but he pays no attention. He’s chasing with abandon now, both hands gripping your hips as he thrusts in earnest, bottoming out with tremendous force each time. The fullness, the force, it’s so much pain and pleasure with each stroke that you sob, clinging to him as another orgasm washes over you. His face is buried in your neck, and he cries out, his own climax coming soon after as your walls contract around his full cock. He pumps you full of his seed, moving until he’s empty, everything and every emotion poured from him into you.

He drops onto you, his energy fully spent. Once he’s recovered enough, he moves off of you, rolling to the side, and pulling you with him, chest to chest, face to face. His vibranium arm holds you close, and his other hand gently pushes some of your hair out of your face.

You look at him for a moment, but you can feel you’re slipping out of consciousness. So tired.

“Don’t be afraid. Dying is much easier than living.”

His blue eyes, darker than you’ve ever seen them before, are the last thing you see.

He whispers quietly to you in the dark as you fade away. He wouldn’t let Steve see him like this. He’d pulled you away from life, he wouldn’t do it to another now that he knew. He would return to Russia, so fitting to go to where so much else went wrong for him, and vanish in Siberia, waste away where he would never be a danger ever again.

Then after a while, he falls silent, wanting to hear the rest of your heartbeats while they last.

Then finally, he murmurs his goodbye.

“Sleep well, my love.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Writer commentary available here as part of the 2023 Dark Forest Fest

More detailed author notes...

First, LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN (I've got some very old HP fandom days under my belt from many years ago, just not attached to this tumblr account). Just kidding. I lost my masterlist, and so I'm going back through my fics and saw that Into Dust actually almost hit 9k.

Second, Into Dust was only a slightly dark fic, but this was a. dark. plot. I was stoked to write something for spooky season, and when I got the line part of the prompt, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, so I... knew I wanted to go into some uncharted territory. This year I've been turning toward discovering my own ancestral heritage instead of just "being American." My ancestry DNA test reports that I'm a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT of Swedish - like almost half my ancestry. I've had an affinity for Sweden for ages - have friends who moved there, have been able to visit once myself and completely fell in love, half the stuff I own is from Ikea, etc, etc.

So with this, I was initially thinking, what's a folktale or fairytale or halloween thing that I could use that's not totally overdone... but then I thought, wait, I'm trying to learn more about my Swedish heritage anyway, so why not see if there are some creepy awesome SWEDISH folklore elements I could research and explore. I googled "Swedish folklore monsters" and started combing through different top 10/top 5/top 15/top 20 lists, and this Gengångare came up across most of them, and the concept intrigued me. I think I stayed true to about 90% of what my deeper digging led me to. Anyway... if anyone is more interested, let me know/send me an ask/whatever and I can share more of what I found and catalogued away.

[ironstrangeao3]

During the darkness (you were my sun)

by itsmaneskinbitch

In 2016, the Avengers broke up and everyone went their own way, leaving a handful of heroes to protect the world. In 2017, their names are being cleared and the fugitives were allowed to come home.

Wanda Maximoff is trying to get adjusted to life with people she used to loathe while Natasha Romanoff is trying to have a new beginning with her teammates while teaching her sister how it is to be a hero. When a few midnight coffee meetings start developing into something more, the young women come face to face with feelings they've never had before and the challenge of allowing themselves to be happy for once without pushing their needs aside.

Words: 2633, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Black Widow (Movie 2021)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F

Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, Avengers Team, Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Clint Barton, Thor, Bruce Banner, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Pietro Maximoff, Yelena Belova, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Vision (Marvel), Michelle Jones, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Kate Bishop

Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov, Avengers Team & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Avengers Team & Avengers Team, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff/Peter Parker/Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff, Natasha Romanov & Thor, Wanda Maximoff and Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff and Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark/Thor, Avengers Team & Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

Additional Tags: slowburn, gayest story I have ever read, natasha is 32 and wanda is 26, There's smut, a lot of smut so you've been warned, there's nothing dark and there will be warnings at top of each chapters, civil war happened but everything after this is not canon, also slowburn friendships because mcu didn't repair all the friendships they broke, half of the couples are gay if you don't like it go, natasha and wanda adopt peter at some point, and bucky and steve have their little apartment in brooklyn and are happy, now warnings, anxiety and ptsd, ADHD, natasha gets the life she deserves and wanda doesnt become a villain because she's finally happy, pietro does not fucking die he deserved better, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Protective Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Protective Wanda Maximoff, yelena nat and wanda become an unstoppable trio, there's some fight scenes but not really graphic, me investing my gay needs into a fic, Found Family, wanda still becomes the scarlet witch, nat and wanda are also the best gay mothers no other opinion allowed, both team cap and iron man friendly, i am also projecting my daddy issues on pietro so

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46037407

[mari--lace]

thank you for the tag @novasforce

Number of stories posted to AO3:

17

2. Word count this year:

38568 (on Ao3. It doesn't account for what I only published on an italian fanfiction site [which doesn't have a word count like Ao3])

3. Fandoms I wrote for:

taking the list from AO3:

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Black Widow

Daredevil (TV)

Harry Potter

Hawkeye (comics/TV)

The Mirror Visitor

Miraculous Ladybug

Moon Knight (TV)

Ms Marvel (comics/TV)

She-Hulk: Attorney at law

Spider-Man (MCU)

The Avengers

4. Pairings:

I mostly wrote gen relationships this year, but here are the pairings:

Matt Murdock/Jennifer Walters

Matt Murdock/Claire Temple

Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanov

Clint Barton/Laura Barton

Michelle Jones/Peter Parker

Draco Malfoy/Luna Lovegood

Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MLB)

Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MLB)

5. Stories with the most:

Kudos: What am I looking at, Matt? — published right after She-Hulk ep 8 and the hype for the episode did the rest, my most popular story ever :")

Bookmarks: same as above!

Comment threads: A marvelous october, which has 31 chapters. The fic with more comment threads on a single chapter would be the same as above!

Word count: Same as above with its 31 chapters. As a writer, most of my stories are pretty short; my longest one-chapter story on Ao3 (for 2022 at least) would be Sorelle dal sangue diverso, a one-shot in Italian.

6. Work I'm most proud of (and why):

What's in a soul? I'm really proud of how this turned out. It has Natasha coming back without her memories when Bruce snaps his fingers and it delves on the bond between memoried and identity. Is she still Natasha? Is she not? She meets Matt along the way.

7. Work I'm least proud of (and why): maybe a short hogwarts!au I wrote in italian for a challenge. I'm not super satisfied with the final result (mostly because it doesn't really go anywhere), but it was one of the first things I wrote for the Daredevil fandom, so there's that.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

"oh my goshhhh this is so poetic and beautiful. "Would you like to tell me why?" MY HEART.

Also, Nat saying she “Swapped it for an orange rock.” made me smile. A very Nat thing to say. (And she says she's not still Nat!)"

"oh wow, this is so good, and so poignant? in a way. how you portrayed Nat’s identity issues and struggling to be someone you’re not, someone everyone expects you to be, felt so real. this fic was so lovely. thank you so much for writing! <3"

Both those two comments made me smile so much 🥹

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: Pretty much all the first part of the year, from January to September. I wrote next to nothing then.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Maybe that I actually wrote about Clint and Laura. Also Jennifer Walters, I wasn't expecting it but I found writing from her pov pretty easy and kinda fun.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: from What's in a soul?:

“I'm the ghost of a sister. I'm the ghost of a friend. I'm the ghost of a killer and a hero.” She pauses. Her heartbeat slows back to its usual steady rhythm. “I'm a shadow who is more comfortable talking and fighting with a vigilante than surrounded by people who say they love her.”

12: How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote a lot directly in English, which is something I didn't really do before (I've translated a few stories in the past, but translating and writing are pretty different processes).

13. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to keep writing, first of all, in both English and Italian. I hope to improve and to be able to write meaningful stories.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): I can't not mention @ceterisparibus116. I read pretty much every Daredevil story on her profile and I fell in love with everything – the themes, the characterizations, the plots. So good aaaaaaaaaaaa

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: there's always something from my experiences in my writing, usually in a not very explicit way, but yeah.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Don't write to cater to an audience; write to cater to yourself. If you love what you do, readers can see that love, and they'll believe in it, too. <- I'm keeping @novasforce's advise because it's really good! And I completely agree. Write what you like first and foremost, without worrying about how many people might or might not read and appreciate it.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: I am working on something for the DDE, so there's that. I'm also joining a challenge to write a story a month according to certain themes, so I hope to be able to fulfill that too (last year I only got 7 months/12).

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

Just, anyone who wants to do this feel free to! Plus @reginadiutopia @drogatadiapifrizzole @folkloristico

[ao3-elle1991]

I posted 789 times in 2022

23 posts created (3%)

766 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@saintlopezlov3r

@ghostly-lee

@petite-madame

@elkleggs

@boomdafunk

I tagged 788 of my posts in 2022

#marvel - 758 posts

#mcu - 758 posts

#avengers - 558 posts

#bucky barnes - 283 posts

#winter soldier - 283 posts

#captain america - 263 posts

#steve rogers - 253 posts

#stucky - 154 posts

#loki - 125 posts

#loki laufeyson - 121 posts

Longest Tag: 46 characters

#steve and bucky try the extreme yoga challenge

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

6 notes - Posted September 23, 2022

#4

Pass the happy! When you receive this list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications 😙✨

Ooh this is cute!

OK, 5 things that make me happy:

My friends 🤗

My mum 👩

Writing ✍

Travelling 🌍

Cats 😻

Tagging the last 10 people in my notifications, feel free to join in and share what makes you happy! @callmekayyyyy @frickss75 @debinthewind @theslightlyevilpooka @asexualyeeter @astro-reblogs @randomhottieactors @agoldenplum @ruinerofcheese @daniellerivers70

6 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

#3

*DEMENTED HAPPY SCREECHING NOISES!!*

Have I just finished plot-planning a sequel to Fearless? Yes!

Is the plot plan 36k words long? Yes!

Will I finally starting writing and publishing this beast of a story in the coming weeks? YES! 🥳

9 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

#2

Let Me Go

Coming to terms with death is difficult, particularly when that death is your own.

When Natasha Romanoff sacrificed herself on Vormir to help bring back half the Universe, she did not expect to survive.

But whilst her physical body perished, her soul awakened in a place that different cultures have named the Soul World, the Afterlife, or Heaven.

This is not the end of her story; it is a new beginning.

AO3 warnings: Major Character Death

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Laura Barton, Cooper Barton, Lila Barton, Nathaniel Pietro Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Phil Coulson, Original Characters

Tags: Grief/Mourning, Healing, Afterlife, Magic, Love, Friendship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study

Chapter 1: Whatever It Takes

24 notes - Posted August 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

1 million words celebration! 🎉

With the publication of chapter 2 of Let Me Go last Friday, I've now written over 1 million words of fanfiction on AO3!

What started in 2016 as a way to cope with heartbreak and grief has turned into a beautiful hobby that I absolutely adore and has led to:

1,004,115 words

27 stories

303,286 readers

A huge, huge thank you to all of you who have been a part of this journey with me! Friends, collab partners, readers, commenters -  you have all made this so much fun and I can't wait to keep creating and sharing my imaginary worlds with you ❤

Big love in particular to @chiyume, @call-me-kayyyyy, @callmekayyyyy, @wickedromanoff, @lignadm, @schatten-wolfsdrache, @nicholasbholmes, @ahufflepuffnannywriter, @shalandrial, @thewickedverkaiking, @nonexistenz, @ruinerofcheese, @withinmeloveresides1, @velvetjinx, @thelittleblackfox, @bethofaus, @darkestspiritofthemoon, @beaarthurpendragon, @cryo-bucky

25 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mianmimi]

I guess it’s okay to talk about Black Panther spoilers now right? This isn’t written in any kind of order, just whatever spewed from my brain first.

I absolutely loved the movie. Everyone brought their best to the table with this one. The acting, directing, writing, all of it hit so perfectly.

Queen Ramonda is easily the most beautiful being in the entire MCU. The lady is the definition of STUNNING.

The ladies in general shone wonderfully in this movie. I loved how complex they were, being beautiful, strong, smart, and assertive all at once.

The way this movie dealt with grief was handled incredibly well. You could tell there was a lot of respect there too, and that the people making this are coming from a place of love and loss. Chadwhick’s absence was felt but it didn’t feel empty, if that makes sense. Like yes he’s not there but his presence was everywhere, especially in moments were the characters were grieving.

Shuri’s arc in this was 🤯 Like holy fuck. One of the best character developments in the MCU thus far. Her journey made sense too, and you can definitely see where her emotions and choices steamed from. Honestly I wondered if this was gonna be a villain origin story for her, and even if she did go that route I don’t think I could ever consider her villainous. Her choices would be justified. She grew so much from that happy go lucky little sister from the first movie 🥺😢😭 She had to grow up fast and my heart aches for her. I was happy to see her interacting so well with Riri! She finally found a friend closer to her own age. I hope we see more of them. Riri was really endearing and I can’t wait for her show!

And now for Namor. I fucking loved every bit of him. The good, the bad, and the sexy. Cause fuuuccccckkkk that man’s all sorts of beautiful. But hotness aside, I loved his character. Sure he’s the antagonist but if this story was told through the point of view of the Talokanil, he’s definitely the hero. The man is a great leader and true king. No one can deny that. Everything he did was for his people. He lives and fights for his people and sees them as his family. Hell he even admitted his mistakes and how he compromised them, he didn’t need to do all that yet he did. He’s a man of his word too. Whatever he says, he does. When he said he’d do something, he fucking did it. I just loved everything about his character.

I really didn’t expect to enjoy Namor/Shuri. That pairing wasn’t even in my radar. Like at all. Never crossed my mind. But while watching movie I definitely got some vibes there. I didn’t expect the ship to take off the way it did either! But definitely pleasantly surprised. Do I think it will ever be canon? Nope. Nothing I like ever becomes canon so this is a doomed ship already 🤣 And even in the context of canon, this ship will not work due to the fact that Ramonda’s death was directly caused by Namor. Realistically that’s gonna be impossible to overlook in the light of romance. I just don’t see Shrui excusing that and becoming Namor’s queen or anything without something MAJOR happening to work in Namor’s favor. And that’s where the fun of fanfiction and fandom comes in. You get to tackle that challenge creatively to make the ship work, or you could simply avoid it altogether with AUs. That’s the fun of fanon. And that’s why I have no issue with people shipping it 🤷🏻‍♀️ I really enjoy it too, if anything for the challenges that come with it. Cause challenges prompt characters to change and grow.

Also I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers and this ship is 💯 actually, genuinely, enemies to lovers. I adore that size difference too there’s just something so sweet about it 🥹 I really like how Shuri had her own agency too! Meaning that she’s not gonna be a pushover and she’s her own individual person that gets her goals. Actually they’re both like that! They have their own goals and roles outside of each other and I absolutely dig it. I can’t stand pairings that can’t exist without the other. I need them to have separate lives, identities, and responsibilities. I need them to be complete characters before being a pair.

Also the alliance they formed in the end….. Why did I think of Shuri getting kidnapped or something and Namor finds out? And he sees the bracelet he gave her just laying on the ground and suddenly there’s war in his eyes? *faints* Let him burn the world to find you girl 😭

[justagirlinafandomworld]

I posted 2,626 times in 2022

219 posts created (8%)

2,407 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@firefly-in-darkness

@justagirlinafandomworld

@princessmisery666

@deanwinchesterswitch

@gone-to-fight-the-fairies

I tagged 2,581 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#mcu - 307 posts

#just a girl reading fics - 280 posts

#spn - 262 posts

#dean winchester - 150 posts

#jensen ackles - 98 posts

#movies - 96 posts

#dean winchester x reader - 94 posts

#ffc4 sign ups - 90 posts

#flash fiction challenge 4 - 89 posts

#comment reblog - 82 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#but if that's what happens that's what happens i'll go prepare my flight to jump in a volcano it's cool i always wanted to go to hawaii

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

MESS

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You learn the side effects of sex pollen first hand. Bucky doesn't know what to do. But Dean does.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Language. Sex pollen. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). First time writing for: Established polyamory & DD/LG relationship.

Word Count: 1k (plus 4 little words!)

Prompts: She’s pulling on the sheets. | “She might be your girl, but she’s calling me Daddy.” | A GIF described in bold.

A/N: Written for the fabulous @negans-lucille-tblr and her birthday bash! Happy birthday Bee! Hope you get lots of presents! 💗

He ran his hands back through his hair, the sounds of your moans driving him up the wall. You scratched at the door like a trapped animal and it was all Bucky could do not to open it.

Something was wrong.

Had been wrong since you came back from your last hunt.

“Baby,” you whined through the door. “Please…”

He had made a call to the one person who would know what the fuck was going on and who hadn’t gone that far after dropping you off.

“Dean,” he greeted upon opening the front door.

“James.”

“Did I interrupt something,” Bucky guessed, eyeing the suit and tie that was in place of the usual flannel and blue jeans.

“It doesn’t matter. Based on everything you’ve told me, you’re not going to like what needs to be done.” The sound of you falling to the floor in the bedroom behind them interrupted Dean and both he and Bucky turned to the door.

“You’ll help her feel better?”

Dean paused at the genuine concern in Bucky’s voice. He had nothing against the man, they both just so happened to be in love with the same woman. And the agreement to keep their relationships separate was about to change in a drastic way.

“You’re gonna wanna brace yourself before we go in there. She’s your girl, right,” Dean waited for Bucky to nod before he took a deep breath and continued. “The moment we walk in there, she’s going to be calling me Daddy.”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. But when Bucky made a face, one that clearly expressed confusion but the willingness to punch him, Dean shrugged and walked past him to at least hide it.

See the full post

99 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

#4

Welcome to the reading list for January 2022!

Take a dive into some wonderful fic that I had the pleasure of reading this month. From fluffy drabbles to angst multi-part fics, you can find a little bit of everything for that particular mood you are in.

Summaries and warnings have been provided as listed by writers. Remember, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Read what you like and share what you love. ❤

Happy reading!

2022 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Beautiful dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

See the full post

103 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#3

I always loved this scene haha

Maybe one where the reader sits in the backseat? Or something completely different. Go nuts

Thank you for the request, sweetie! I decided to go nuts 🥰

Title: Time Warp

Word Count: 245

Summary: You and Dean are stuck in a time warp, jumping from one of his memories to another with no end in sight.

Warnings: Time travel. The image of two Deans in one space. Crack, fluff – Look this is really just meant to be fun.

See the full post

125 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

#2

I'm excited to share all the new fics I've read for the month of June, from my own exploration to taking part in the Champion Week challenge hosted by the fabulous @cockslutpadalecki and @maladaptivexxdaydreaming. Thank you, both of you for hosting this fantastic event that introduced me to the talents of new writers. And, of course, I want to say a great big THANK YOU to the writers on this list. You are incredible, thank you for sharing your works on this hellsite. ❤️

This list is alphabetical by fandom (mostly), then by character. Summaries and warnings are included as provided by the authors.

Read what you like and share what you love!

2022 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

See the full post

127 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Title: Drowning in Silence

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Gen!Reader

Word Count: 894

Summary: Silence feeds the insecurities deep within. You can either drown in it, or break it.

Warnings: ANGST. Break-up. Low self-worth.

Bingo Squares Filled: @spnmixedbingo – dream sequence. @howbadcanitbebingo - woke up, and it was all a dream.

A/N: This is written for @negans-lucille-tblr ‘s nlthreenager writing challenge, celebrating her blog’s three-year anniversary with so many good angsty prompts. My prompt was you can’t deny how hard I tried from the song Easy On Me by Adele. Watch out Bee, I may be back for more! To everyone, I hope this breaks your heart just a lil’. 😘

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

See the full post

131 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

This is amazing. I love my longest tag! Pretty sure it was one of my heartfelt reactions to @jawritter 's Too Close to Gone which is a Dean series I still highly recommend.

And thank you everyone for supporting my Dean stories. This really was his year.