#new marvel au

[orions-athenaeumficlibrary]

When You're Smiling- Prologue

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Synopsis: Throughout your life you have been labeled "boring" because of your quiet, thoughtful nature. For example, you weren't a fan of parties, frats or really anything that required you to be around big groups of people. But after being dragged to a party, you meet someone who seems determined to prove that you have an adventurous side as well.

Chapter Warnings: panic attack, anxiety, drinking, sexual harassment

Word Count: 1.5k

Prologue

“Please Y/n. You don’t even have to stay for that long.” Sitting on the floor of your apartment, you continued to track your eyes over the pages of your textbook. You weren’t really retaining any information, you hadn’t been since your roommate Wanda barged in five minutes ago and began pestering you to go to a frat party with her. 

“Seriously, a night out would be good for you. You don’t even have to talk to anyone, but at least leave this apartment. Honestly, it’s getting kinda sad that you just sit here with your books every night-” 

“OK.” You cut off her somewhat offensive rambling by roughly slamming your psychology textbook shut. “If you are so concerned about my social life I will, for forty five minutes, go to this party.” Wanda squealed and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you, I promise once you get there you’ll have so much fun!” Your face remained neutral but inside your stomach was beginning to twist itself into a tight knot. There was a reason you didn’t really like parties, of course you wouldn’t judge your friends for going to as many as they could, they just weren't your scene. “-oh, I’m gonna call Nat, she can bring over some tops for you to try, let me grab my phone, I’ll be right back.” You didn’t realize you had zoned out long enough for Wanda to bring your other friend Natasha into the equation. When Wanda left the room you tried to distract yourself from spiraling by watching the rain dance against the window. This is “cozy romance novel reading” weather, not “get wasted with a bunch of randos” weather, you thought to yourself, but then instantly shook your head and brushed your glasses up to rub your eyes. Maybe you were in desperate need of a party. Or not. Because frat parties were the worst. The last one you were at was three years ago during your freshman year: you went in excited to try something new, and ended the night drenched in someone else’s beer, with tears running down your cheeks and mascara staining your face. You didn’t know who spilled beer on you, but the tears and mascara combination was courtesy of having to watch the guy you liked make out with not one, but three girls that night. To top it all off, one of your heels had snapped, forcing you to walk home in 30 degree weather with no shoes. So you weren’t a fan of frat parties, and maybe you shouldn’t base your judgements on one awful experience, but you had never been party type before and that night seemed like a sign from the universe confirming, “you and parties do NOT mix.” 

Wanda’s hurried footsteps interrupted the mental storm that had been picking up speed over the time she was absent. 

“Ok, Nat is on her way, and she’s bringing options for shirts, and I have this new pair of heels that would look so-” 

“No. No heels, sorry Wan.” You said somewhat sheepishly. You hadn’t known Wanda yet when you went through the frat debacle a couple years ago and for some reason you had elected to withhold that story from your two closest friends. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t brought it up, maybe you figured they would stop trying to force you to party every weekend, or maybe they would insist you give it another try. The latter is what you were afraid of, and knowing Nat and Wanda, the former was not likely to happen. 

Wanda gave you a curious look, but if she thought something was off she didn’t say anything. Instead, she ran to the door as a buzz sounded on the intercom. 

_________________________________________

An hour later, you were dressed in a long sleeved open back top, baggy jeans, and a pair of well loved (extremely dirty) shoes. Wanda and Nat practically dragged you out of your apartment and down the street, laughing and talking animatedly all while you stayed quiet and counted the yellow taxis that rushed past you.

When the three of you finally made it to the party, an inky darkness had settled over the city. The grass beneath your feet was still damp from that afternoon’s rain and you couldn’t help but frown at how humid it had become, dreading how suffocating it was going to be inside the house. 

“Do you wanna grab something to drink?” Nat yelled over the bass as you tried to squeeze through the crowded entryway. You were immediately overwhelmed, strobe lights were flashing against the walls, music was shaking the floor and hot, sweaty bodies kept bumping up against you. You closed your eyes in an attempt to somehow center yourself. After a few seconds of futilely waiting for a moment of peace, you let your eyelids flutter open and to your annoyance, Nat and Wanda were no longer standing beside you. You knew it wasn’t their fault, and that they would never intentionally leave you alone, but you couldn’t stop the panic that began rising in your chest from the absence of your two friends. Not knowing what else to do, you shouldered your way through the mass of drunk college students, searching for a quiet place to stand and look for Nat and Wanda. You had scouted out a small, unoccupied alcove under the stairs and made your way to it. Two steps and you would have gotten some reprieve from the chaos, but instead a tall body blocked your path and sharp brown eyes eyed you up and down. 

“Haven’t seen you at one of these yet.” His voice was slightly slurred and the mix of alcohol and cheap cologne pouring off of him was almost nauseating. “You lookin’ for someone to spend a little time with?” He asked inching closer and forcing you to press your back against the railing of the staircase. Now your breath was coming much too quick and the familiar numbness sprouting in your fingertips told you that you were on the verge of having a panic attack. You’d been through enough over the past years to recognize when one was coming. You also knew that if you could’t find a calm place to ground yourself in the next few minutes you were going to break down. With your mind in panic mode, you glanced over your shoulder and saw that the staircase you were pinned against led to a seemingly quiet hall. Deciding that was your only option, you shoved the guy’s chest and used his sluggish, drunken state as an opportunity to escape his grasp and head towards the stairs. You jumped over the “Stay Downstairs or Thor Will Kick Your Ass” sign that was haphazardly strung across the bottom entryway and took the stairs two at a time to get to the hall. There were no lights on in the corridor, but the strobes from the party downstairs provided you with enough light to find a doorknob. You desperately pushed on the door, but it was locked, so you ran to the next one, only to find yourself in the same situation. You didn’t notice the faint glow under the third door you tried and you almost cried in relief when the knob turned without any resistance.

You hurried into the room and closed the door, pressing your back against the cool wood and shutting your eyes. Starting at 100, you took a deep breath and exhaled counting backwards by three in your head. In your anxious state, you barely noticed the tears that were rushing down your cheeks. And you really had not noticed that you weren’t alone in this room. 

“Uh, is everything- are you ok?” A baritone voice caused your eyes to shoot open as you desperately tried to figure out its source through your blurred vision. Bringing your hands to your eyes you began to furiously wipe away the tears, ignoring the slight burning caused by the friction from your shirt against your skin. 

“Hey, whoah, hold on, you're gonna hurt yourself.” The voice said again, this time with more urgency. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands wrapped carefully around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You were able to blink back enough tears to make out a head of blonde hair, broad shoulders, and kind blue eyes. The man in front of you continued to coax you down from your panic, and slowly the tears stopped falling while your breaths evened out. As embarrassed as you were that this kind man had to witness your anxiety attack you were grateful for his help. But just as you began to offer your thanks the door was thrown open, and a deep voice shouted over the blaring music downstairs. 

“Steve, what the hell are you doing locked away in your-” his words trailed off as his cerulean blue eyes landed on your tear stained face…

Chapter One coming this week!

tags~

@vicmc624 / @sjsmith56

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she'll never be wanted, not only by the man she's crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: I could blame yall for talking me into it but we know it's all my fault.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The sharp zip cuts through the air. Lloyd hauls the long black bag up and checks his watch. He struts over to you and shoves the heavy luggage at you, letting it go before you can wrap your arms around it. You nearly topple from the weight.

You grunt and hug it tightly, the long duffle isn't exactly a vacation's worth Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. You can feel the long metal barrels as cases of ammo dig into your arms. You manage to get a hand on the handle and swing it after several tries onto your shoulder.

He's already halfway out the door. You trail after him, nearly stumbling to keep up. He's so tall you often find yourself running after him like a stray dog. So tall and handsome and--

Shut up! That's not what you should be thinking about.

Your phone vibrates and you struggle to pull it out of your pocket. You sigh as Lloyd continues along without notice, whistling casually as he approaches the stairs. Shit.

As he begins down the stairs, you stop at the top, leaning with the pull of the bag. You try to reply to the text as he makes quick progress to the bottom. 

He whistles up at you and snaps his fingers. You pop your head up and amble down the steps, barely catching yourself against the railing as you slip. When you get to the bottom, he's standing at the door, huffing impatiently.

"What's goin' on, kid?"

Kid. That's what he's always called you. Even though you're not that much younger than him. It's never sweetheart or honey like the pretty ones. Just kid.

"Plane's delayed. There's headwinds--"

"Christ's sake," he snarls.

"Sorry, sir, the pilot's trying--"

"Boring," he chops his hand through the air to silence you, "let's go."

He stands by the closed doors. You try not to let his impatience bother you. You can't blame him. He has an important mission. There's no time to be waiting on a cloud cover.

You open the right door and he steps through, tramping down the stone stairs to the mosaic walkway. Once more you're on your toes as you scurry after him. You watch how his jacket stretches between his shoulder blades. His sleeves hug his arm tightly, showing off his hard work and muscle. You shake your head, stop. Ten years. You know better.

You're out of breath as you get the idling car. Jackson, the driver nods but is similarly ignored as he opens the door for Lloyd. You go to the trunk as it pops and you put the gun bag inside.

You get in the other side as Lloyd splays his legs out and unlocks his phone with his thumb. You keep your cell clutched tight and tap it nervously. He doesn't handle roadblocks well, he's the type to demand and get. Something he hired you to make sure of.

"Well, extra time, I guess," he mutters as he swipes across the screen.

The car rolls up the long drive as you check your messages again. Still no updates. You cross one leg over the other as Lloyd's loafer nearly touches your oxford shoe.

"Hmmmm, can't decide on this one," he grumbles and tilts his screen toward you, "what do you think, kid?" He wiggles it at you as you look at the woman on the screen, "tits are nice but the tattoo screams Hep C."

You nearly gasp but just raise your eyebrows instead. He's always looking for a reaction. Your cheeks set alight and you twiddle your fingers around your own phone.

"Well, sir, I… she's pretty."

"Relax, you won't be invited to threesome," he scoffs and leans back, swiping left, "that's what this is for. Variety."

You don't say a word as you bring your hand to the side of your neck, feeling the heat of your skin. It's not just that it's him saying it, it's that gnawing feeling of inadequacy. The mystery of the unknown makes you self-conscious and wary of saying the wrong thing. The same way when you talk to your sister and she tells you about her husband. Well, you don't hear from her much these days.

"I'll send you their info. You can make a few calls before we get back," he snickers, "get everything ready for me."

"Uh, sure, sir, but uh… like I said before, that's not exactly part of my job."

"Don't tell me what your job is," he barks as he blacks his phone, "goddamn, you're always such a tight ass. Usually I'm all for a tight hole but you really know how to squeeze a man by his balls."

"I'm sorry, sir–"

"Another fucking 'sorry, sir' and I'm gonna snap. I can't do eight hours on a flight with you pouting like that."

"Understood, won't happen again," you dip your head down, "sorry, s–"

You clap your hand over your mouth. The words are so habitual they start to fall out before you realise, and yet another urge to say them. Just stop talking. You peek at Lloyd with wide eyes and drop your hand.

"You're a fucking downer, kid," he sits forward, "Jackie, pull the fuck over."

"Yes, sir," the driver replies from the little speaker under the barrier between the front and back seat. "You, get the fuck out."

You're surprised by his sudden flare of anger. There's not much about him that truly shocks you anymore but as irritable as he can be, this is unusual. His agitation has boiled to molten hot in a matter of minutes.

"Sir?"

"You can walk back and start getting shit ready. I mean, we'll see if you can since you can't get the goddamn plane on the ground," he growls as the car pulls onto the gravel wing of the road. "You're getting fucking soft, kid."

"Sir, I didn't–"

"You did. You fucking killed my boner so get out," he shoos you with his finger and unlocks his phone again, "buh bye."

You hesitate. You slowly move to the door and let yourself out. You're buzzing in disbelief. He can be a jerk, you're used to that, but this all seems so abrupt. You can only assume there's something else bothering him.

You shut the door as you stand on the side of the road. You hear Lloyd's deep timbre muffled inside the car before it pulls away. You stare after it, crossing your arms as you sniff and the sun glares along the edge of your vision.

You slowly turn and face the horizon. You're not that far. Maybe twenty minutes. Well, the single silver lining. You can't help your disappointment. You look forward to missions. It's an excuse to be with Lloyd. A reason for him to put up with you.

You set off, trodding along without urgency. There's nothing at the compound for you. It's not like you go on every mission but it's the unexpected change that gets you. More so, his temper. You see it aimed at others more than yourself.

Your phone buzzes again. The plane's landed. That's good news. As you continue your trek, you dial out to Lloyd's phone and put the speaker to your ear. No answer. Several more tries have a similar result, the last call clicking dead right away.

You send a text and it bounces back as undeliverable. You don't get it, your signal is strong. It's a military grade phone. You slide your phone away and try not to let your anxiety get the best of you.

He wouldn't block your number, would he? 

You're not special, that much is clear, but you've stuck around so long that you just can't see it ending over one slip-up. Sure, Lloyd has screamed agents out of the compound, he's even stranded them in hostile grounds, but they weren't there as long as you've been.

You drag your feet as you approach the gate. You let yourself in with the code and ignore the gazes of agents as you cross the yard and go back inside.

All this and for what?

If Lloyd fires you, you've spent ten years pent up in places like this, doing his grunt work. The tail end of your twenties and much of your thirties traded for imagined cues and empty hopes. You accepted long ago that Lloyd would never see you, just the woman he called 'kid', but the thought of losing even that makes you want to cry. You can accept that you're not as good as the models he fucks around with, but you can't accept not being there at all.

You're overreacting. You always do this. It's always the end of the world.

Lloyd will come back and everything will go back to normal. You're the only one who gets his coffee right and knows that he hates mushrooms but loves Salisbury steak. He needs you, just not like you want him to.

❤️‍🩹

Radio silence. You don't hear from him and any message you try to send is unanswered. He's on a mission, he's in blackout mode, yet you can't help but be paranoid.

Without him to order you around, you're not quite sure what to do with yourself. It's sad but that's just who you are. You're not the one doing, you're the one listening to those who do. 

The first day is the worst of it. On the second, you're not as addled and a bit relieved not to be hidden in some safe house waiting for a signal or listening to Lloyd make sick jokes. Still, you'd rather be with him.

The second night, you expect some sort of word from him. Still nothing. 

You lay in bed, restless. You don't dream about him anymore, you don't close your eyes and think about what it'd be like to be beautiful or interesting, you know it will never happen. But you worry about him. That you'll never be rid of.

The third morning, a Saturday, you go down to make your coffee. Other agents mill about as the tech crew speak into their headsets and type furiously. Something’s going on.

You near the doorway and listen in, trying to discern the chaos. There's cams to switch cameras and directions given, coordinates read out and warnings about oncoming targets. It's the usual, the same chatter you listen to over the comms when Lloyd's out in the field. Now you can only hear one side.

As the tempo builds, there's another furor. The chime that signals the censor at the front gate. Rico storms out of comms central as you flatten yourself to the wall and wait to trail him until he's past the stairs.

"What the fuck is going on?" He waves an agent in black close, "who the fuck is here?"

The agent puts his fingers to his earpiece, "we have sights."

"I asked who it was, not if you can make a shot," Rico shoves the man and stomps to the front doors, shoving them open before him. "Tell them to go the fuck away."

An agent runs up the driveway, puffing as he holds his gun securely in front of him. He stops as Rico gets to the bottom of the stairs 

"Sir, sir, it's… it's Valhalla."

"Val-what?" Rico snips.

"Valhalla!" The man repeats louder.

"Shit. Fuck." Rico continues in a rampant flurry of Spanish, "they're early."

"Sir," the agent bows his head as another appears before him.

You frown and watch from the doorway, trying to stay out of sight as you eavesdrop. 

Hm. Valhalla. You know the name, rather well, but only through correspondence. A code name. For a faceless man and his deep pockets. You hadn't heard it recently though. You thought that whole thing fizzled out.

"Fuck, Hansen, take your fucking time," Rico mutters between his Spanish diatribes, "let them in. Full search." You hear him clop back up the stairs before he blusters inside, "I need men. Now!"

He turns and sees you cradling your coffee with a dumb look. He sneers and rolls his eyes, "perfect. You'll do. We need rooms. We have guests."

"What?" You squint. 

"You're a woman, you should know how to make them at home."

"You're not my boss," you grimace and drink your coffee.

"Don't get smart with me just because that idiot keeps sniffing at his heels. Go and do something useful for once," he claps at you.

You don't move. You take orders from one person. Otherwise, you stay out of the way.

"Fuck!" He hollers and twists on his heel again.

He marches into the next room and you slowly near the front doors, still ajar as they gape out at the golden day. You come outside and descend the steps, standing just by the plinthed flower vase at the bottom. You watch the gates roll apart, letting in the convoy lined outside.

There are four cars in total. All ivory and gleaming. They hardly seem like military vehicles.

You don't get it. You pull out your phone and scroll through your emails. The last message you got from Valhalla was months ago and it left you at a stalemate between them and your indomitable boss.

The first car pulls up and stops, the other fanning out behind it. Agents circle, keeping a broad perimeter as they watch with similar intrigue. Rico appears again, muttering to himself as he holsters a gun.

You look back to the grated bumper of the luxury SUV. The engine rolls over as you find yourself holding your breath. This is it, the vaunted Valhalla. You keep your mug close to your chest as the car door opens and your jaw nearly hits the floor.

It's a man more gorgeous than anyone you've ever seen before. Well, maybe not everyone but damn close. His golden hair is braided down his back and a few wavy strands hang loose around his face. His sky blue eyes shine in the sunlight as he smiles, the expression lining his face immaculately. You gulp and force your mouth shut.

There's a brief lull before anyone reacts. Rico is the first to snap into action. He clamours down and offers a hand, "Valhalla, hello, Rico. Hansen is in the field but I will be your host."

"Ah, Rico," Valhalla repeats with a keen lilt, "you'll do for the time being."

His blue eyes scan the facade of the compound. It appears nothing more than a remote and overpriced mansion. The man takes a deep breath as if tasting the air and pauses as his gaze falls upon you. His brows twitch but he does not react otherwise.

He turns back to Rico and claps his back, "well, we traveled far, we require food and sleep and if you can spare it, lots of alcohol."

[mr-tony-stark]

Continued from here...

Tony took hold of the waist band of her panties and dragged them down. "Oh yeah, that's a good one. Can be a little much, but you can get drunk off it."

He tossed her underwear away and slowly licked up the inside of her thigh. "Is that what you want? To just be the passive victim here? To not get a say in what happens to you right now?"

@firestorm-heroes

[lilbitofmac]

Guardian Angel AU: Stephen is at his wit’s end following the aftermath of Endgame. After pushing himself nonstop, saving the world, the universe, and the multiverse from an onslaught of threats, it seems he’s gained someone’s attention.

Who’s this supernatural being? And why won’t they just leave Stephen the hell alone?

[frightshack]

into the ring

[the-spirit-of-adventure]

Hi K’nuckies

[gaysindistress]

Cece and Schmidt wish they were us

Bucky x desi!reader mood board

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest.

[soulless-bex]

god!percy who walks into stark tower after the battle of new york only to tell the avengers that they did a good job like you would a five years old who successfully glued two piece of paper together and then disappears with thor and loki because, in their dumbassery, they broke the accord the greeks had made with the norse

[fvcking-panda]

Just thinking in big nerd of comics Gareth who LOVES Marvel and went to every movie premier when the MCU started.

He used his fame as CC drummer to get tickets every time and it get a regular meme how people waited for his photos instead of the main cast, because he was photographed before and after every movie, Is kinda funny how some fans score the movie with that, if he's crying then the movie will be amazing, if he's not the movie perhaps is funny but not spectacular, If he's just smiling awkwardly then that's the lame movie even witnessed (it only happened with Iron Man 3 tho).

The first photography after Avengers wasnt Robert Downey Jr or Chris Evans or Scarlette Johansson, it was Gareth Emerson crying in Will Byers arms because he was overwhelmed for seeing his favorite heros in screen for the first time.

He eventually open his social media accounts and people though it was fake because he immediately started discussing about the MCU and the comics, his social meddia accounts are divided between Corroded Coffin news, embarrasing stories about Eddie, Will Byers n. 1 fanpage and Marvel.

He's always the most excited with new material, and when Infinity War came, Gareth had to take some days out internet before and after the movie to avoid spoilers and then because he was absolutely devastated crying in bed, Will had to post a photo where you could see him in bed cuddling his Spider Man plushie with a caption saying: "worst time to be Marvel fan but he'll survive."

Will also shares in ig stories how he's taking care of him and Eddie films himself going to the Byers-Emerson house with what it looks like buckets of ice cream saying to Steve: "dont wait for me tonight, my best friend is probably dying" and post it in tiktok.

Corroded Coffin also had the chance to record a song for the MCU and Gareth still believes is his biggest achievement, the next one is marrying with Will (and Will doesn't feel offended because he says his biggest achievement was meeting "The Clash" and then his marriage)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she’ll never be wanted, not only by the man she’s crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: I hope you all have a great day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, at least on your end. Lloyd chews loudly, licking his chops, and sucking his fingers loudly. The rose tint is tinged gray.

You pull into the compound and shift into park sharply. You don't move as you wait for Lloyd to get out. He wastes no time ditching you, letting out a shameless belch as he drops down onto the ground. The door snaps shut behind him and you huff.

You look over at the garbage left in his place. That's exactly where you belong. Right there with the trash.

You swipe up the crumple bag filled with wrappers and his half-finished soda. The keys jingle against the paper cup as you swipe your phone out behind you. You dump what's left of the espresso from your own cup and sheath it around the other.

You elbow the door shut and cross the dark grounds. The moon is a sliver that offers little light in the dark. You approach the doors and enter to the muted ruckus of voices and clinking bottles. Yet another night of debauchery. You don't know how Lloyd hasn't fallen right in with his guests.

You go to the kitchen and jam the bag and cups deep in the bin. You have half the mind to go through the fridge and get rid of all those meals you slaved over. Just like everything else, he'll spit it back in your face.

You flip open the door and stop yourself. No, no, he got the reaction he wanted, you're only shooting your own foot at this point. 

Your eyes center on a dark bottle with a silver label. Fuck it. You snatch the prosecco and swing the fridge shut.

You march back down the hall and ignore the din that seeps through from the dining room and various other doorways. You go upstairs to your room and close yourself in, letting the wood slam into the frame. You're not even mad at him, you're furious at yourself. Why can't you just accept it?

You drop the keys on the dresser, your phone too, and keep the bottle in hand. You untwist the wire around the cork and toss it aside. You push with your thumb until it pops and a fizzle escapes the long neck. 

You watch the wisp that rises and you gulp straight from the bottle. You cringe as your eyes water from bubbles and the stringently sweet wine floods your mouth. You gulp until you can't anymore. A quarter of the bottle down, you plunk it on the nightstand and let it sink into your veins.

You undress lazily and leave your clothes on the floor. You don't give a fuck. For one night, you just don't want to think. Hell, if you drink enough, you might just do something real stupid.

You grab the bottle and carry it into the bathroom. As you bend over to twist the faucet, the wine creeps into your brain, hazing your vision in warmth. You pull the lever for the stopper and slowly push yourself straight.

You lean on the porcelain and take another swig. You pop your mouth off the rim and lift one leg, then the other. You ease into the tub, splashing slightly as the water flows higher and higher.

You lean your head back, resting the bottle against the edge as you grip it tight. The ripples around you and beneath the skin and numb the ache in your chest. You close your eyes, drinking without thinking, guzzling until your stomach is full and the tub is nearly full.

You lay as you are, basking in the heat of the water. You could fall asleep right there. Just drift beneath the surface.

That thought jerks you awake. You sit up, dizzy, and get to your knees clumsily. You reach over the side to clunk the bottle onto the tile. You flip the stopper and lift yourself.

You get out, feet crashing onto the bathmat. You cling to the tub and take a breath. You reach for the bar and drag the towel off. You don't feel too bad, just a bit unsteady.

You wrap yourself up and teeter as you bend to grab the bottle. You clamber towards the door. You nudge it all the way open with your elbow.

As you enter the room, you stagger to a halt. You don't expect the figure sitting on your bed, watching you enter as he faces the bathroom door. You blink and squeeze the bottle tighter. 

You're buzzed. No, you're drunk.

You skin singes with self-awareness. Not only of the alcohol that dulls your mind but of the single piece of fabric around you.

“It's not healthy to drink alone,” Thor grins, a paper crinkles between his fingers, “or other things.”

He shows the slip of paper and you shake your head. He clicks his tongue and squints at it, “didn't take you for a cherry girl.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head, confused until you recall hastily hiding away the receipt in your pants. Fuck.

“I don't really use lube myself. Don't need it,” he reaches to drop the paper on the night table.

“What are you…” you clamp your lips shut as a hiccup rises. You swallow it and sway. 

“I don't make promises I don't keep, “ he stands, towering over you as he comes closer.

“You… it was a joke, wasn't it?” You babble dumbly.

“Why would I joke about that?” He stops before you and wraps his hand around the bottle, “mm, not much for bubbly,” he wiggles it free and swiftly empties what's left before examining the empty bottle, “how was your little business trip, eh?”

You frown and cross your arms over the top of the towel, “why are you here?” You ask again.

“I told you–”

“No, why… why did you come here? He hates you.”

“I got that sense of him,” Thor chortles, “doesn't bother me much.” He backs away and sets the bottle on the receipt, “I'm here to play with him. Have a bit of fun. However, he's not as amusing as I hoped. But you…”

“I…” you shake your head, “I'm drunk. I need to lay down.”

“Happily,” he winks as he reaches for you.

You sidle away, “please, I…” you swallow and your eyes flit around, “I can't–”

“Because of him? You’re wasting your time,” he latches onto your hand and draws it away from your chest, “he doesn't deserve you, little lamb.”

“I don't… it isn't because of him…”

“You're a poor liar,” he tuts, “shouldn't take your lessons from him.”

“Stop,” you try to tug away.

“You don't know what you need,” he drags you towards the bed, “it isn't him.”

“Please,” you whimper.

“You don't need to be nervous, I can be nice, kitten,” he purrs as he yanks you against him.

“I can't–” you squeak into a yelp as the towel falls away from your body, “Thor, please–”

“Louder,” he swiftly picks you up with his hands on your ass. 

You writhe against him as he spins and falls with you onto the mattress. It bounces under you and you nearly choke on your tongue. You slap his chest as he leans over you and smothers your mouth with his.

You close your eyes as they tingle and you dig your nails into the fabric of his shirt. You whimper and feel around with your other hand as he kneads your ass. You're overcome by his brusqueness. More so, you can't handle the touch, the way his hot breath consumes you, and that flicker on your core that has the vision of another flashing in your mind.

You turn your head and let out a croak as your tears leak out, “I can't,” you whine, “you're right, okay? I want him. I'm a stupid girl that wants someone like him.”

You bring your hand up to shield your face as he lifts himself on his elbow. He hovers over you as you devolve into sobs, “I'm pathetic.”

“Shhhh,” the soft stroke along your cheek startles you, “little kitty,” he slithers, “shhh.”

He shifts and comes down to his side. He slips his arm under your neck as you curl up, trying to disappear. He rolls you towards him so your face is against his shoulder. He pets your head as he holds you.

“Oh, little one,” he cooes, “it hurts now… but I can make it so much better.”

He stays like that, embracing you as you quake in your despair. You keep your face buried against his shirt as his thick muscles fill you with a sense of security. His other hand rests on your hip but does not wander.

Heaviness drapes over you and your body slowly slackens. The wine dulls your nerves and swirls in your head. You feel yourself spiraling and quickly fade into the void.

❤️‍🩹

Your brow twitches and your nose itches. You nearly smack yourself as you throw your hand up and groan. The effort makes you wince.

Ugh, hungover. It's been a while.

You bend your leg and the blanket falls away to uncover your naked thigh. You frown and peek down as you lift the blanket. No clothes. You blanch and lay back, trying to summon the memories of the previous night.

The buzzing of the shower draws your attention away from your internal search. Along with the thrum is the deep baritone singing a song you've never heard. You blink, long and hard, and push yourself up.

Your heart feels as if it's stopped beating. Your breath catches and you look around the room. There's clothing hung over the chair in the corner. Men's clothes.

Oh god.

You wouldn't…

As the melody carries, slightly offkey, you recognise the singer. Thor. Oh. Oh no.

You curl your fingers against the mattress, barely able to hold yourself up. You remember the bath and then him waiting and him on top of you but everything else is gone. How can you not remember? 

A pit plunges down to your stomach. No, you're not like that. You've held out all these years…

Well, how many chances did you really get?

The shower cranks off and you gulp, hugging the blanket against your chest as you sidle around to the edge of the bed. You can hear him moving around, humming. You don't know what to do.

As the door opens, you try to think of what to say. Hi, good morning, what the heck happened last night?

You're speechless as he emerges butt naked. Brazen as he has himself on full display. Full display.

You snap your mouth shut as he uses a towel to dry his hair and winks as he drops it down to wrap his waist. 

“Morning, kitten,” he growls, “you seem chipper.”

You try to talk but can only cough. You reach to touch your throat and rub the lump free, “Thor, what… last night…” your voice cracks with each syllable.

“Ha, you think we…” he lets the suggestion dangle and scoffs.

You nod. Of course, he's all bluster. He wouldn't actually want you.

“When it happens, you will remember it,” he taunts, “I like to build up to sleep fucking.”

Your jaw falls open, “Thor…”

“Besides, if anything had happened, you would remember it.”

“I…” you flutter your lashes, “I should–”

“Well here you are,” he knots the towel around his waist, “lucid…”

“...get dressed,” you complete your previous threat.

You stand but he blocks you easily. He catches your shoulders and urges you back. Your legs hit the mattress and you sit, unable to fight his strength.

“Now?” You squeak.

He rumbles with laughter as his hands trail down your arms, “just a taste. To pep me up for the day.”

“Uhhh,” your voice rolls out senselessly as his hand crawls over the blanket and he tugs it. You cling to it desperately. 

He snarls and yanks up the bottom, tossing it over his head as he seizes your thighs beneath. You yelp as he bows and pulls your legs apart. You lose hold of the blanket and it rumples at your waist as you catch yourself on the heels of your hands.

You wriggle and try to resist him as his head pokes up beneath the blankets. He has you leaning back on your arms as he pulls your legs over his shoulders. You lift a hand and slap his head as you realise what he's about to do.

Too late.

Your hand falls against his head as his hot breath tingles along your thighs. His cool tongue slips between your folds and you gasp, electricity coursing through you. Oh!

You let out a pathetic noise as you push futilely on his head, still writhing as he nuzzles further into you. His large tongue spreads wide and he flicks it up over your clit. You spasm and yipe in surprise at another zing.

“Thor,” you breathe.

He pulls back for just an instant, “louder, kitten, can't hear you under here.”

He dives back in and the bed bounces as you jolt. You try to smack him again but only urge him. You gasp and quiver helplessly, toes curling and legs tingling. What do you do?

Oh god, what can you do? This is better than any toy you got hidden in your nightstand. This is an actual man. It's real and it feels so good.

He wraps his arms around your legs and rips you down onto your back as he lifts your pelvis higher. He hums into you and it ripples up to your chest. You hiss and slap the bed as lay defeated.

“Ohhhhh,” you drone out as you succumb to the delightful swirls.

He growls and your breath hitches. He turns his head, just for a moment, and nips your thigh, “louder…”

You mewl and utter his name. It's as much a plea for him to keep going as it is for him to stop. He laps at you again and you cry out. That seems to fuel his fervour as he suckles at you eagerly. 

Your voice rises without your permission. Your whines burst from you as you claw at the blanket and squirm. You can't hold back. It's more than just that moment, it's years of waiting, of wanting.

You don't care that it's not who you wanted. You don't care if anyone else hears. You can't think straight enough for any of that as you call out Thor’s name, bucking your hips desperately into an orgasm.

[venuran]

but does he know you call me when he sleeps ?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

New Girl [01]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

(slow burn, endgame, as in you’ll be seeing some short term pairings here and then as well)

MODERN DAY AU

Word count: 5,417

Warning: self-doubt, anxiety, hurt/comfort, cursing

Summary: Life threw you a curve ball when you walked in on  your long term boyfriend making out with someone who definitely wasn’t  you. Since living with him was no longer an option, you’ve ventured out  at the advice of a work friend and found the absolute perfect loft to  reside in. The only issue?

You suddenly have four very odd roommates.

[01]: REBOUND SEX

“Wow, I regret this.” Bucky bobbed his head once and turned to look at Peter who stood in the kitchen with him, “What the fuck did you do to us?”

“How is this my fault??” Peter scoffed.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “Uh, I think your exact words were, ‘Come on, guys. Models will be crawling around the apartment. This will be an absolute dream.’” He pointed to the living room where you were slumped over on the couch watching the same movie you had put on a week and a half ago. “We have used tissues, a crying girl, and I now have the ability to quote Legally Blonde in my sleep.”

“There are less models than I thought there’d be.” Peter mumbled to himself.

Clint stepped out of his bedroom door, it sat by the kitchen, and clapped his hands, “Legally Blonde is a great movie. Excuse you.”

“Yeah, I agreed until about the 132nd hour of it.” Bucky said between clenched teeth. “We need to do something to stop this nonsense, and by we I mean you.” He turned to point at Peter. “You got us into this. You get us out.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Bucky crossed his arms, “I don’t know. Crying girls aren’t my specialty.”

“And they’re mine??” Peter scoffed.

Clint shrugged, “We just assumed you make girls cry all the time. Plus, you’re like super tight with Gamora and Mantis, right? They’re girls.”

“What part of who Gamora is makes you think she cries at all?” Peter replied.

“Yeah, but Mantis seems like the type to tear up every other day at the least.” Bucky countered. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Mantis was empathetic to an extreme. He had just watched her cry at a commercial where a dog kept trying to hide a bone, but people kept digging it up. That didn’t mean he wanted this responsibility placed on him though.

Peter’s mouth fell open with a silent argument, but Bucky just glared at him and Clint’s attention was already focused in on the coffee pot. He grumbled under his breath and turned to stalk over to the living room couch where you were sprawled out sniffling.

“Heeeeey.” Peter dragged the word out as chirpily as he could.

You turned your face away from the screen to look at Peter who had just sat down by your feet. He gave you a sheepish smile and began to pat your ankle with his hand at an awkward pace. You assumed he was trying to bring you comfort, that’s probably what the whisper fight in the kitchen had been about, but it didn’t help.

“Hi.” You greeted before blowing your nose. Peter grimaced, but you just slowly sat up and pointed to the screen. “You wanna watch Legally Blonde with me?”

Peter shook his head, “No. No, I really don’t. I’d love to never see this movie ever again. Ever.“

“Sorry.” You deflated. “I know it’s annoying, but Legally Blonde is my breakup movie.”

“Right. I get that.” He paused. “Well, I really don’t actually because I don’t understand how this is your breakup movie.”

You stuck your lower lip out into a pout, “Elle Woods is a strong independent woman who needs no man.”

“Mhmm, okay.” Peter reached out for the remote and paused the TV, “Here’s the thing though. This isn’t going to make you feel better. What we need to do is go out and find you a rebound.”

You shook your head, “I don’t know if I’m ready for a rebound.”

“You’re so ready for a rebound. Sex with strangers fixes everything.”

“I don’t know…” You replied skeptically. For the past three years, you had only been with one guy. In fact, you had mentally already established that he would be the only guy you’d be with for the rest of your life. He had been your future. The thought of going out and trying to find someone new was… daunting. It also sounded a little impossible. Did you even remember how to flirt with a stranger? You grimaced, “I don’t even think I know how—”

“That’s what we’re for!” Peter gave you a broad grin, “You’re coming out with us tonight and we are going to find you someone new.”

“Really?”

Peter nodded and set his hand on your shoulder, “Absolutely. We are going to get you some good, after breakup sex.” He smirked. “Even if I have to knuckle down and get in there myself—”

“Jar!” Bucky and Clint yelled from the kitchen.

Peter cursed under his breath and moved to put money in the jar designed for him. His words hadn’t even fazed you, your time here had gotten you used to some of the things Peter said. He was a really good guy who sometimes slipped into a douchebag headspace. All the guys here were good guys. Clint was a disaster, you found him sitting on the dining room table at 2 AM once chugging coffee from the actual pot and he still used a flip phone for some odd reason, but he was also sweetheart that would sit on the couch with you at some odd time in the morning to watch your comfort movie. Sam seemed the more responsible one in the loft, when he wasn’t trying to one up or mock Bucky, and he reminded you of a caring older brother. Especially when he made you breakfast last week before the two of you left for work and talked to you about one of his worse breakups. Then there was Bucky. Bucky was… well, he was grumpy for lack of a more accurate word. He was kind of like a 100-year-old trapped inside a 26-year-old’s body. You hadn’t gotten to spend much time with him yet but you knew he meant well. He was protective of the loft group.

You sunk in your seat and rolled the thought of going out around your head. The idea of finding someone new was terrifying, but you couldn’t sit on this couch and cry forever. Plus, the boys would be there to make sure you didn’t cave in on yourself. Peter had said so himself. Fortune favored the bold, right?

You shifted in the booth and tried to readjust the dress you had put on. It felt weird to be in something that wasn’t your pajamas or your work clothes. The bar was crowded, unsurprising on a Friday night, and the atmosphere was comfortable. You hadn’t really found a bar in the city that you liked enough to frequent, but this one was actually kind of nice. It was kind of a mess, not in a super great area of the city, and some would probably use the word ‘sketchy’ or ‘ancient’ or ‘weird, carpeted drinking hole in the wall’ to describe it, but you liked it. This was the bar where Bucky worked and somehow that made sense to you.

“You look great, stop fidgeting.” Peter said from beside you. Sam, on his other side, nodded in agreement and you gave the boys a small smile. It did kind of feel nice to clean up again. “Here comes Buck.”

You glanced over to see your roommate make his way toward the booth with drinks in his hands. Bucky wore jeans with a long sleeve t-shirt and a short sleeve one on top of that. His sleeves were rolled up though and he had a rag thrown over his shoulder casually. “Alright, here.” Bucky set the two beer bottles he was carrying in one hand onto the table in front of Peter and Sam then set a glass of wine in front of you. It was the same as the type you drank at home. “You coach her into finding a winner yet, Quill?”

“I don’t like your tone.” Peter replied then took a swig of his beer. Bucky chuckled once, shook his head, then wandered back to the bar. Peter turned to you, “Alright. Rules of the night. You will speak in short sentences, you will not mention anything about your ex, unless you’re talking about rebound sex, and you will be going home with a date at the very least or my name isn’t Star Lord.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and scoffed, “Your name isn’t Star Lord, dumbass.”

“Stage name, Sam. Jesus. How many times do I have to have this conversation with you people?”

“Okay.” You ignored the argument between them that you definitely had heard before and looked around the bar. There was a cute guy leaning against a pillar talking to some of his friends. He wasn’t half bad. “He’s kind of cute.”

Peter focused back on you, “Go get him, tiger.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Go…talk to him?? Like where he can hear me?”

“Him hearing you is an important part yes.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. Sam cleared his throat and motioned to you with his bottle, “You don’t have to do this. As the self-appointed voice of reason, I think I’m supposed to suggest waiting until you’re ready.”

“Waiting ‘til you’re ready is for pussies.” Peter said.

“Jar.” Sam snapped his gaze to him.

“We aren’t even in the loft! There’s no bar jar!”

You didn’t want to wait. You wanted to be over your shitty ex-boyfriend and if this was how you had to do it then so be it. Without waiting, you threw back half the wine in your glass, Peter and Sam both made noises of surprise, then you stood up and pointed at them, “Rebound sex, bitches.”

Peter and Sam both chuckled and you whipped around to go talk to the cute guy. You could do this. You could do this. You were a fucking catch, and any guy would be lucky to have you. Obviously, your ex didn’t think that when he cheated on you. Apparently, you weren’t good enough for him—no! No, bad thoughts. Just flirty thoughts. You could do this damn it.

Could you do this??

Bucky poured another drink, delivered it, then moved to wipe the bar of any spills. When he looked back up, both Sam and Peter were sitting at the bar in front of him. Clint was at work tonight, which meant they had no idea where he was, but that was the norm for them. Peter leaned onto the bar and clasped his hands together.

“Bucky, I need you to get us into the Stark party.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Bucky replied. Peter gave him a hard look and he rolled his eyes in response, “I am not calling my ex-girlfriend to get you into this dumb party—”

“We go every year! You can’t take this from me. The theme is wild wild west. Do you know how cute of an outlaw I make? We have to go.”

Bucky shook his head, “I am not calling Elektra.”

“Why?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him, “You call her drunk all the time.”

“I do not.” Bucky glared at him.

“You literally called her drunk three days ago.” Peter said. “Now please—”

Bucky shook his head again, “No. I’m not gonna do it.”

“I thought you loved me!”

“Well, like always, you were wrong.” Bucky replied dryly. He glanced around the bar, “Where is little miss rebound sex? Did you idiots leave her alone?”

“She’s fine. She’s picking up a dude right now.” Peter pointed behind him. Bucky leaned to the side to look past his giant head and spotted you leaning against the wall talking to some random guy. From the looks of it you were talking very, very fast, maybe not even breathing, and your hands were flying around as you told whatever story you were telling.Your hand caught the edge of his drink and it spilled back on the dude. Bucky grimaced, Sam flinched, and Peter groaned. “Okay. Maybe she’s not picking up a dude right now.”

Bucky pointed in your direction, “That was painful to watch. Go save her.”

“She’s a big girl. She’s just gotta…brush off the cobwebs. Get back in the groove.” Peter argued.

Sam took a big sip of his beer then set it down and stood, “I’ll go get her.”

“Thank you.” Bucky replied and went to serve another customer. When he came back, Peter was giving him a pleading look that bordered on pathetic and pitiful. “Quill, I said no.”

Peter grumbled, “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

“—and I think it was going okay until I spilled his drink.” You said as Sam motioned for you to take what had been his seat. All three men shook their heads at you, and you groaned in defeat before setting your head down at the bar. God, you were so out of practice.

Peter and Sam said you needed a break and they peeled away to talk to some other friends while you moped at the bar. This was the place for it after all. Someone cleared their throat, and when you looked up Bucky was still in front of you. He had placed a new wine glass by your resting head. You took it with a small smile, “Thanks.” He nodded his head once. You took a long sip then spoke, “Well I guess at the end of the day, I just can’t hide my crazy enough to pick up a guy anymore.”

“I really don’t think you’re trying that hard to hide it, doll.” Bucky shook his head.

You chuckled, “I’ve just…never been good at this.” Sad thoughts began to creep in again. Doubts that you’d ever find someone to put up with for another three years. You took another big sip of your drink and motioned to Bucky, “Well, at least I’m not alone.” He raised an eyebrow at you and you continued. “Just a couple of dumped losers, huh?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky argued with a shake of his head. “It’s been six months.”

“Do you know why she dumped you?”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Didn’t make a difference.” Bucky grabbed a glass to clear with his rag and gave you a tight lipped, awkward smile, “All I knew was that I wanted to set her trash cans on fire afterwards so…”

“You don’t wonder, like, what you could’ve done differently?” You asked, leaning onto the bar, “Racking your brain at night, wondering what’s wrong with you.” Bucky gave you a skeptical look and you forced another chuckle. “You know what happens when you keep all your emotions bottled up inside like you do?”

Bucky hummed, “What?”

“You become old, and bitter, and sad, and a little weird.”

“Who says I’m not already all of that?” Bucky scoffed.

You pointed at him, “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, Barnes.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, his jaw locked, then he leaned forward with another smile that wasn’t quite a smile, “You’re right. Maybe I should just be more like you. Watching weird movies on repeat and burning through twelve boxes of tissues and talking about it with anyone who stands too close to me.”

“Yes!” You nodded with a smile, “Exactly! Let it out!”

“I’m trying to be mean to you.” Bucky replied. “I’m very obviously not going to do that.”

“Why not??” You asked.

Bucky gave you a deadpanned look, “Because I have a penis.”

You stared back at him for a moment before speaking in a deep, mocking, grumpy tone, “’My name is Bucky Barnes and I have a penis, blah, blah, and I won’t talk about my feelings, blah, blah’,” Bucky’s lips twitched up in the corner to form a smirk, “’And I wanna set trash cans on fire or something, blah.’”

Bucky glanced away, steeling his features, then looked back to you, “Doll, I watched you spill a $30 glass of whiskey on a guy.”

“Jesus, it cost him $30?? Who pays that much for a drink??” You pressed. Bucky tilted his head slightly and you cleared your throat and straightened your back as you spoke with dignity, “I mean, maybe that’s just one of my moves, Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, “Mhmm.”

You gave him a bright grin, but the conversation was interrupted when someone suddenly sat beside you. It was a curly haired guy that you had seen speaking with Peter earlier in the night. One of his friends who was also in a band of some kind or another. He leaned on the bar with a smirk, “Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied nervously, your eyes darted to Bucky who gave you a nod. Encouraged you introduced yourself.

The guy asked if you wanted to find a booth and you rose eagerly and followed his lead. Bucky watched you walk across the bar toward a back booth. He wasn’t crazy about any of Peter’s band friends. They were all assholes, and he was a bit hesitant to let you walk away with one. You suddenly turned and shot him a thumb’s up while mouthing, ‘oh yeah’. When you turned back to the guy, Bucky chuckled to himself with a shake of his head.

To be honest, he was surprised to see how okay you seemed to be. It had been a couple weeks since your boyfriend cheated on you and yet here you were trying to get back on the horse. It had been six months since him and Elektra broke up and he was still drunk dialing her.

Bucky reached under the bar to grab his phone and shot off a brief text asking if Elektra could get them into the Stark party. She was one of the assistants that worked there, and she usually got them in every year.

Ten minutes later, Peter and Sam circled back around, and both were surprised to see you in the corner booth talking to a guy. Peter nodded, “Damn, that’s Jonny. Look at her go. What a pull.”

“Jonny is a tool.” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but rebound sex is rebound sex.” Peter replied. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Peter whipped around to face Bucky, “One last time. I am begging—”

Bucky interrupted him, “I already texted Elektra. She got us in.” Sam’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing skeptically. Peter on the other hand let out a squeal of excitement and then lunged his top half over the bar to hug him. Bucky hugged back briefly, but as Peter pulled back, he felt a kiss on his shoulder. Bucky motioned to him, “Did you just kiss me on the arm?”

“Yes.” Peter replied unashamedly. “You deserve it.”

A couple more minutes passed before you ran over while Jonny left. All eyes shot to you and you pumped your fist in excitement, “Guess who has a date!” The men cheered for you and you gave Peter and Sam high fives. “Yeah, I just spoke in short sentences, didn’t wave my arms around, and then I told him I want rebound sex—”

Bucky’s eyes widened, “You what??”

“—and then he asked me out!” You jumped in place. “Tomorrow is date night!”

Peter shook his head and yanked your forward into a hug, “I’m so proud of you. Our little girl is all grown up.”

Jonny wasn’t your soulmate by any means, but a date was a date. This was a very good step in the right direction and you were beyond excited to move your thoughts away from your ex.

The loft was silent as five people sat in the living room staring at one another. Well, more accurately four men were staring at one gorgeous, red headed model. Natasha Romanoff sat in a recliner facing the couch while her best friend’s new roommates sat across from her staring—no, gawking.

She crossed her legs, “Do the shoes fit?”

From your in the back she heard a loud thud then you yelled back that you were alright. Natasha turned her attention back to the men in front of her. The one named Clint gave her a small nod, “You a model or something?”

“Yes.” She replied slowly. “Mostly print right now so…”

Peter, sitting between Bucky and Sam, sat forward, “You said it was Natasha?” She didn’t reply. He smirked and Bucky began to roll his eyes before words even left the blond’s mouth. “Tell me, what are your hopes and dreams?” Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. He shifted in his seat, “Are you—Are you warm? It’s a little—”

“Don’t.” Bucky said firmly, but Peter was already shrugging out of his shirt. “I said—”

Peter threw the shirt behind him, “I’m a little warm right now.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, “Please put your shirt back on. Don’t make me laugh at you.”

“Can i get you a drink? Coffee? Water? Some tea?” Peter questioned. Sam and Bucky were both just staring at him now while Clint just continued to gawk at her in stunned silence. Peter nodded, “Some tea bag action.”

Sam nodded, “There it is. Douchebag.”

“Got it.” Bucky reached over to grab the jar and slapped it into Peter’s chest making him yelp in pain while trying to dig out dollar bill from his jeans.

Natasha just watched the interaction and wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into. The red head uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, with a smile she knew was more menacing than charming, “Listen to me. That girl back there is my best friend. The greatest person to walk this planet. An angel.” She laced her fingers together while Bucky took the, now one dollar heavier, jar and placed it back on the shelf. “If you guys let anything happen to her, if you hurt her, I am going to come here and crazy murder you.”

The men all bobbed their heads in agreement. Sam respected the loyalty, Bucky was a little fearful because the woman definitely had eyes that screamed, ‘I’ve killed someone before’, Clint fell a little more in love, and Peter… well, Peter.

“I’m gonna be honest with you.” Their resident idiot started again. “I did not hear a word you said because I can kind of see your party hats right now through that dress.”

Bucky sighed, “There we go.” He leaned over to grab the jar and gave it back to Peter. “Just hold onto that until she leaves, yeah?”

Natasha called out for you and stood to seek you out. She distinctly heard Sam question why Peter was talking this way while she walked out. When she opened the first door on the right in the hallway she came face to face with you lying sprawled out on the floor wearing pajamas and her heels.

You sat up partially to see Natasha standing in the door staring at you quizzically. You gave her a tight smile, “Nat! I fell and I can’t get up. I think I live here now.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Natasha walked over and helped you sit up. “You okay?”

“No.” You groaned and buried your face into your hands, “I can’t go on a date. What if it’s horrible?? What if I have nothing to talk about??”

Natasha reached forward to grip your chin, “Then you go to the bathroom, you call me, and  I show up to rescue you.”

“Maybe I just shouldn’t go.” You mumbled. The excitement from last night had simmered as you sobered up and all day today your nerves just grew and grew and grew.

“Babe, you got hurt.” Natasha replied. “That doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

Natasha was right. She was always right. From the moment you met her in the 7th grade, you knew she was right. The red head been there for you through thick and thin and you had been there for her. It took several days to convince her not to actually murder your ex-boyfriend because you didn’t want to have to hang out with her in jail instead of your favorite coffee place.

She looped her arm through yours and dragged you into your closet to change. Fifteen minutes later, you were all dolled up and feeling confident. Your friend had a very good way of turning your mess into something special. Natasha was gorgeous, and an amazing model, but you always felt like her talents were wasted. She’d make such a good stylist or designer. You turned to her and gave her a tight lip smile, “Thanks, Nat. You’re the best.”

“I know.” She replied with a quick hug. “Now go knock your date dead and if he hurts you—”

“You’ll knock him dead. I know, I know.” You laughed.

Stark parties were known for being loud, crowded, and wild. The billionaire knew how to throw them that was for damn sure. For someone like Peter who thrived on huge crowds and large music, it was paradise. For someone like Bucky who liked day drinking in an uncrowded bar, this was kind of a nightmare. Still, his friends enjoyed it and he could usually have a good time as long as his friends did. Maybe he could be a little more like you and find a rebound himself.

The theme tonight was ‘Wild, Wild West’. Bucky wore his normal clothes, Sam wore his normal clothes, but with a cowboy hat, Clint had a bundle of rope wrapped around his torso which made him look more like a rock climber than a cowboy, and Peter was decked out in full outlaw costume.

“Oh, there she is. Go get us in.” Peter slapped his chest and Bucky shot him a glare.

Like Peter had said, his ex-girlfriend stood outside the doors by the line waiting for them. She looked great tonight. Elektra hadn’t dressed in costume. Instead she had on a tight, red mini dress with her dark hair pulled up into a long ponytail. Bucky swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and wandered over. His friends stayed a few steps back.

“El.” He greeted awkwardly. “Hey.”

“Bucky.” She beamed. “It’s nice to see you. I was happy to get a text from you while you were sober rather than a 3 AM drunk dial.”

Bucky waved off her words, “Drunk dial? No. You must be getting pranked or something. That wasn’t me.”

“I have caller ID, Buck.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Anyways, so the party?”

“Let me go talk to the bouncer and I’ll get you guys in.” She gave him a soft look, “Then maybe me and you can catch up?”

The logical side of him said that was a bad idea, but every single other side was thrilled. He nodded and watched her walk over to the bouncer. As he turned around to let the others know what was going on, some of Peter’s asshole buddies wandered up. The two loud men greeted them, and Bucky suddenly recognized one of them.

“You’re Jonny.”

“That’s me! What up, my man—”

Bucky demanded to know where you were. The others stiffened while all eyes shot to the curly haired man. “Did your date already end or did you bring her?”

Jonny shook his head, cowboy hat nearly falling off, “Who?”

Sam snapped your name at the man, then added, “The girl from last night.”

“Ohhh, yeah.” He laughed, “Look, I was just looking for a hook up. She was texting me all day long. Constantly. I didn’t want nothing to do with that.”

Clint crossed his arms, “And you told her this?”

“No. Why would I?”

“So, she’s just at the restaurant alone waiting for you?!” Sam cried out.

Jonny shrugged and Bucky had to physically resist the urge to punch the man. God, this was awful. Your had been so excited for the date. Your friend had gotten you all dressed up and now you were alone somewhere being stood up. Bucky shook his head, “Come on, guys. We gotta go.”

“But—But the party?” Peter motioned behind him.

“Pete.” Clint said. The outlaw of a man nodded once in agreement. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, spotting Elektra still talking to the bouncer, then sighed. You needed them and they didn’t leave a roommate behind.

You sat at the table, eating your third basket of bread, and wondering if your water glass was deep enough to drown yourself in. This was probably one of the more pathetic moments of your life. Stood up by a guy who played tambourine in whatever band he was in. Jonny hadn’t been your type, but a rebound was just about getting back on the bike, right? Well, you had jumped onto the bike only to immediately ride out into traffic and get hit by a semi.

The waitress began to make her way back to you and you couldn’t help but sink in your seat a little. Maybe she wouldn’t see you. The woman stopped in front of you and picked up the empty bread basket with a frown, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask you to give up the table now.”

“Can I get…one more bread basket?” You mumbled.

“No.”

You nodded in understanding and went to grab your purse. Before you could stand from your chair though, you heard yelling at the front and suddenly four familiar faces ran into the upscale restaurant. Sam was in a cowboy hat, Clint was carrying rope around his chest, and Peter was literally dressed like a space cowboy of some kind. Bucky looked like Bucky though. The four of them ran over to your table yelling that they were here and you laughed.

“We’re here. Sorry we’re late.” Bucky said to the waitress.

“You’re her date? All of you?”

Sam nodded, “Yes. We are her boyfriends.”

“One isn’t enough for her.” Clint shrugged. “We’re sister wives, but the male version.”

“Brother husbands?” Peter supplied.

You chuckled, but you could feel your eyes watering at the sight of them. Bucky leaned his hands on the chair in front of you and shook his head, “Doll, that guy was an asshole.” The other guys nodded and chimed in agreement. “He’s missing out.”

“You guys skipped your party to come and see me?”

“Course.” Bucky answered. “We care about you. We like you.”

Sam nodded and sat down at the chair to your left, “You’re family. Whether you like it or not.”

“I do like it.” You said, holding back tears. “I like it a lot.”

Peter dropped down into the chair on your right, “Besides, it’s Stark. He’ll always throw another party. It’s kind of what the guy is known for.”

Clint pulled a chair away from a table beside you, ignoring the glares from the couple sitting there, and brought it to the table to sit while Bucky took the chair he had his hands on. The guys picked up menus and began to look them over and you felt your chest swell in happiness. You didn’t think it was possible to be so happy considering how sad you had been just moments before. You liked these guys, and knowing they liked you enough to take care of you like this just made you so soft.

Bucky caught your eye, and he gave you a smile. Not a tense one, not an awkward one or a half grimace like you had seen, he gave you a real smile that made his entire face brighten. The kind that up until now you only saw the guys pull out of him. It made you feel like you belonged, “We got your back, doll.”

“Hey, guys.” Clint said slowly and looked up from his menu, “Yeah, I can only afford the tap water here.”

Sam flipped his menu over and his eyes widened, “Jesus, that’s excessive for a salad.”

You nodded, “It’s stupid expensive. That’s why I’ve only eaten the bread.”

“Alright,” Bucky tossed the menu onto the table, “Pizza at the loft?”

There was a chorus of agreements and everyone rose from the table. You stood and when Sam held one arm out to you, you didn’t hesitate to fold into his side for a hug. The boys walked you out of the restaurant while Clint told some story about his odd job yesterday and while the others laughed at his expense all you could do was bask in the warmth they radiated. You always thought the best part of the loft was the open floor plan, but as it turns out, the best part was the adopted family you accidentally fell into.

[backtothefanfiction]

You Either Die The Hero, Or Live Long Enough To See Yourself Become The Villain. | Prologue: The Angel In The Garden of Evil

Summary: All it took was one night, one conversation for Peter Parker to change the course of his life. Being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man didn't seem to be getting him anywhere, clearly it was time he took matters into his own hands and began playing his foes at their own game.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: fluff, little smut and a little bit of teasing for what's to come! 18+ ONLY!

A/N: So as teased the other day, I have become a little bit obsessed with Mob!AU Peter Parker stories, especially after reading the absolutely delicious story that was Sugar and Vice by the wonderful @liz-allyn (if you haven't read it, I highly recommend), anyway, it got me thinking about how I would construct my own Mob!Peter story and when I was day dreaming at work the other week, while listening to Liz's Sugar + Vice playlist (thank you by the way Liz, that playlist is a god send) it all started to come to me. So here is the Prologue, the tease, the moment that turned Peter Parker from the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man to a life of organised crime and the woman who was by his side through it all... until she wasn't.

PROLOGUE 8 YEARS AGO

Knock, knock, knock.

Her head turned to the window at the sharp tapping sound. It was late, really late, she shouldn’t have even still been up, late. But midterms were in a week and she didn’t feel anywhere near prepared, so unfortunately she was burning the midnight oil. She smiled to herself, that giddy feeling taking over whenever he decided to show up at her window. His gloved fingers pointed at the latch and she rushed across the room to let him in, sliding the window up before stepping back so he could swing his legs into the room.

“What are you still doing up, missy.” he chastised jokingly with one hand on his hip, the other held out in front of her wagging back and forth.

“Would you believe me if I said I was waiting for you?” she asked with a tilt to her head and a butter wouldn’t melt expression on her face.

“Not a chance.” he replied as he reached up and ripped his mask off his face. Her lips pursed together as she tried to fight her smile and he quickly moved past her to her desk before he got too wrapped up in how that face made him feel. He was Spider-Man after all and he’d already learnt the hard way that emotional attachments were a weakness. No this was purely a relationship of convenience he tried to remind himself.

“What are you working on anyway?” he said, sitting himself down at the small dorm desk and reading through the essay that was currently on the screen. “You know I can’t understand a word of this.” he joked, pointing at the screen.

“Now you know how I feel when you start talking physics to me.” she said, crossing the room and sitting herself down on his lap. “How’s patrolling the big bad city?” she asked as she began to type away again.

“You know, same old, same old.” he replied nuzzling into the back of her neck as his arms wrapped around her.

“If there’s anything about my Dad, I do not wanna-”

“Know.” he said at the same time as her. “I know, I know.”

“I mean it Peter, I’m not getting tangled up between you two. Not to mention, the less I know about my Dad’s work, the safer I’ll be, you know what happened to my Mom.”

“Yes, I know, I know.” he repeated as he tore himself away from her neck. “You still don’t wanna talk about it?” he asked after a pause.

“Nope.”

“Okay.” he conceded quietly. It was a hotly debated issue between them, both of them always trying to get the other to open up further about their emotions, yet still neither one of them was ready to trust that with the other.

“Uhh, come here.” he groaned as he grew bored, his feet rolling the chair backwards away from the desk, forcing her to give her attention to him. She sighed, her head falling back slightly as she surrendered to him. She quickly turned herself around so she was now facing him, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he tilted his head back to look at her.

“You’re so beautiful.” he cooed quietly into the dim room. 

“What even like this.” she joked pulling at her college hoodie and old sweats.

“Especially like this.” he said, lifting her up and making her squeal as he carried her the short way to the bed, before dropping her down on it.

She beamed up at him as he came to settle between her legs, his lips finding hers.

Her hands reached into the hair at the nape of his neck and neither of them could help their growing moans of arousal as their makeout session deepened.

“Uh, uh, one sec.” she said, breaking her lips away from him.

“What?” his teeth grinned against her mouth.

“Before we go any further, are there any injuries I need to know about and be careful of?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he said, playfully shaking his head.

“Oh really? Because I seem to remember the last time you climbed through my window you’d pulled a hamstring which you tried to hide, that ultimately ended our night very abruptly I might add.”

“No. no. I am the picture of health.” he continued to gest as his head lowered and his lips tickled her skin.

“Sure you are Parker.”

“Really? Okay.” he said as he started to get off of her.

“No, NO!” she protested with a large smile on her face and a rasped giggle on her breath. “Come on Pete, I was only joking.”

“Yeah?” he said as he stood before her. “Well I’m not.” 

With one quick sweep he rolled her over, bringing her up onto all fours. She couldn’t help the small shriek and giggle that escaped her lips, but Peter knew right then, there would never be another sound in this world that would sound as sweet.

He was suddenly tender as he pulled down her sweats, tossing them across the room, before he leant over her, encouraging her to turn her head and give him a kiss, his tongue slipping tenderly past her lips. She moaned into his mouth as he continued to deepen the kiss and she quickly rose back onto her knees so she could hold his face in both of her hands.

“Take this off.” Peter muttered into her mouth before he reluctantly broke away, his own hands reaching for the zipper for his suit, quickly stripping himself of it and kicking it across the floor.

When his eyes focused back on her naked body he couldn’t help what fell from his mouth. “Fuck.” he sighed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he said, climbing across the bed to her. 

She smiled, reaching her hands to his face to pull him in for a kiss again. He obliged for a moment, but quickly flipped her back onto all fours, his fingers reaching for her sex. 

He ran his fingers down the length of her seam. “Damn, always so fucking wet and ready for me.”

“Stop teasing Spider boy.”

“As you wish.”

In one swift move he lined himself up, thrusting deeply into her pussy. She gasped and he stilled, allowing her a brief moment to adjust to him before he slowly started to rock inside her.

~

20 minutes later they were both panting, laying back on the bed naked. Peter spread out his arms and she quickly nuzzled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, as they found their space on the small single bed. She gazed lovingly up at him as she watched his face intensely, observing every brow furrow, every lip and eye twitch as he stared up at the ceiling, one hand behind his head, the other absentmindedly stroking at her bare back.

“Everything okay there, Spider boy?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s just-” he paused as if he was trying to think of how to word the thoughts running through his head.

She had noticed he’d stopped by a lot more lately, regularly needing to blow off some steam, looking desperately for constructive human interaction, not always just battling and fighting and jesting with people.

“You’re starting to wonder if it’s all worth it.” she filled in for him quietly.

Peter was always surprised when she came out with things like that. It was like she could see inside his head, but not just see into his head, articulate how he felt better than he ever could.

“Mmmm.” he hummed in agreement as he rolled her closer to his body, holding her tight as his head turned to place a kiss on her forehead.

“You know you can talk to me about it.” she said tentatively into his bare chest, her voice ghosting warmly across his skin.

He lifted his head to look down at her. “But you said you didn’t want me to talk about your Dad.”

“I know, but,” she replied, staring up at him with those eyes, those eyes that felt so old, so wise, so sweet and innocent, but oh so sad, “it’s not just about my Dad though is it.” she continued, rolling to prop herself up on one elbow. He remained quiet as he waited for her to continue. “The whole city’s fucked Pete and no amount of vigilante, neighbourhood spider power is gonna change that. Most of the guys who turn to work for my Dad only do it because they have no other choice. They don’t have qualifications to get good jobs. They can barely afford food for their families, let alone health care. Regardless of what my Dad does or any of the others, no matter what you do to try and take them down, someone else will always just come and take their place because the system itself is fucked.”

He sighed, his head falling back into the pillow as he looked back up at the ceiling, the weight of her statement, the fact that she was right, it was like a punch to his gut, yet also, somehow, brought him so much peace. Confirming all of the thoughts he’d had racing around his head and validating them, solidifying the ideas he had been having into his head.

“What are you thinking?”

“Just that… you’re right.” He paused and she blinked patiently at him in the dark as she waited for him to continue. Then he said the words she never thought she’d hear come out of his mouth. “I think if I’m gonna get anywhere, I’m gonna have to start playing them at their own game.”

__________________________________

*******

Chapters 1 + 2 will have a double drop on Friday with a weekly 1 chapter drop every Friday from then on.

If you want to be added to the tag list put it in writing. Also if you enjoy, don't just like, be sure to re-blog, just like tipping a waiter at a restaurant, every little bit helps.

@scmdsblog @angiexsv @thef1nalgirl @did-someone-change-my-name

(Initial tags are due to like on the original teaser post, if you want to be taken off, please let me know. If you liked the original post and are finding and your name isn't on the list, it's because it wouldn't let me tag you.)

[local-crying-boy]

Pietro MaximoffX GN!Reader

Shakes and shivers

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Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Gender Neutral!Reader, romantic relationship established

Genre: One-shot, fluff, winter-time imagine

Warnings: quick little idea I thought about that I just wanted to write about, weak ending but I just wanted to get this out of my drafts.

Summary: it’s cold in the compound, you being unable to get warm and comfortable again, call over your boyfriend, Pietro, to come give you cuddles.

Word count:

A/n: It was cold when I started writing this and I was in need of something to cheer me up in the winter months. Even though I only finished writing this in Spring

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It was cold. Of course it was. And, of course, despite Stark’s abundance of money, the boiler broke and there was no source of heat throughout the compound. It would have been fine if you were up and about doing things like the rest of the team, but you were done with training, hell, you were done with the day.

It was already quite late in the day, not too late that most of your team were heading up to bed, but not early enough that you were able to do things such as training. You’d been in your pyjamas, curled up in your room, shivering ever so often because your bed had been annoyingly by the window. Despite the rain pattering outside your room, hitting the sides of the window, you weren't all that relaxed as others when listening to the sound.

It hadn’t taken long for you to get fed up of the cold, huffing out when you felt your body tense for far too long. You were quick to text Pietro, telling him to come to your room, ready to justify your reasoning if he asked you why.

Though, that time never came. You should have known. He had raced to your room as soon as he read that to come over. The air swished around your room, when you looked up he was already there, that stupid, lovable grin on his face.

"You called for me, dragâ?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You quickly patted the space beside you in the bed, looking up at him with a frown. "It's cold."

The speedster only let out a laugh, flopping onto your bed beside you and turning on his side with his hand propping up his head. He was looking at you with that stupid smirk of his. "Oh? So you want me to warm you up, is that it?"

"Stop looking at me like that." You huffed out, moving closer to him so that you could feel some of his warmth.

The man usually ran warm, he was always doing something - well, he was always running around - and, in result, his body ran hotter than the average person from his continuous movement. A lucky thing for you.

He let out a small tut, but he did not hesitate in wrapping his arms around your shivering frame. "I suppose I could help you out, dragâ."

"You suppose?" You exhaled out, shaking your head, but there was a hint of amusement in your voice. "It's your job as my boyfriend to help me."

He laughed at that, his chin resting on your head, before he moved down and inhaled the scent of your shampoo that lingered in your hair. "I didn't know I signed up for this job, you know."

"Good to know I've enlightened you now, 'Etro." You grumbled out into his chest, already starting to warm up with the blanket around your body and now Pietro's arms around you.

Masterlist

Pietro Maximoff Masterlist

[artworkmartins]

WEB CRUSHER Alchemax Institute of Brazil — Part II