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urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

Note

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

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ghostfacesvalentine · 8 months ago

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Halloween day 12: House arrest- Scott Lang x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Scott Lang x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drinking, little makeout session, mentions of alcohol and being under house arrest

Type: Blurp

Request: N/A

Word Count:

Prompt: Scott is under house arrest, so Y/N spends Halloween with him at home.

Notes: I’m fucking trying here.

Scott was making the best out of his situation, he managed a deal to be placed under house arrest for a few years due to his alliance with Captain America.

Due to his predicament, it made sense for you to crash a little longer than a few weekends. You could help him with the “outside world” and you got a reason to snuggle up to him every night. The price to pay was just to have the government keep an eye on you a little more often, or so they said.

Most of it seemed like a small price to pay to spend time with Scott. He was creative of course, especially with his daughter’s play dates.

Halloween was no exception, thankfully with the ease of placing orders to deliver to your doorstep, you were never really short of anything.

There were a few decorations to be added to the already existing collection of Halloween decor. This was always your favorite part, it seemed like you and Scott had all the time in the world to make sure it was perfect.

You both even managed to make a haunted house for Cassie, switching it up every weekend she came to visit.

“It’s almost like you’re a ghost that can’t leave this place”

Scott looked up pausing his movement of the batter. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it” he joked back, his smile appearing again on his face.

He was doing the best he could with what he had, for both of you. The faint sound of 80’s Halloween music played in the distance.

As the sun went down, the neon orange lights reflected more in contrast of the darkness beaming through the windows.

You both decided to bake some Halloween cookies, make some spooky drinks and set up the fog machine. You mentioned you’ve always wanted to go to a Halloween party since you were a teenager and since Scott can’t take you to one, he sure can bring you one.

The 60 inch TV flashed in greyscale as you prepared the celebratory cocktails.

Scott closed the oven after sticking the tray of cookies inside to bake. You greeted him with a glass of bubbly red liquid, your smile shining against the orange lights.

“What?” Your smile soon turned shy, eyes looking away when he got closer to you. He took a sip before setting the glass down on the counter.

With a downturned smile, he shook his head, walking over to you. Scott’s arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him, pressing his lips against your forehead. Your body pressed against his, you relaxed against him, feeling his hand rub against your side, you looked up to face his dorky smile.

The sound of the muffled screams from the TV made you both smile at the silence. He looked so beautiful, if he had a tail he’d for sure be wagging it.

It wasn’t uncommon for Scott to kiss your head, every time he did it felt like he had the world in his hands.

“Can we stay up?” You pleaded with big eyes looking up at him. How could he ever say no to you?

“We always do.” He admitted trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrows knit together in response. “But it’s Halloween, it’s different.” You protested, head dropping down to look at his stomach.

“You know what, you’re right. Absolutely. First one to fall asleep has to clean the kitchen” he teased, hands treading down to your hands. He picked them up in his and kissed your knuckles.

“Thank god, I was starting to get tired of being the one to clean”

The rest of the night was fulfilled with Halloween cookies, popcorn mixed with all kinds of candy, chips, Halloween candy, soda, beer and alcohol. It was like you two were high schoolers all over again.

You’ve never felt comfortable enough to drink the way you did with Scott, feeling safe enough to let loose was quite the experience. He even taught you how to play beer pong, which didn’t take you long to learn.

Seeing you plunged into the couch with a pumpkin blanket hugging your figure, eyes glazed with joy and slightly too much alcohol, Scott couldn’t be more in love with you.

The sound and reflection of the classic horror movie on the screen brought out your best features. How was that possible? Your eyeliner was smeared, your cheeks were rosy and burning, your lipgloss was long gone and you took off your lashes during the third round of beer pong. Still, you were the most beautiful woman before him.

Hours of laughter came to a halt while all of that was racing through his brain, his smile faded into a loving gaze. You kept your drunk smile, but your gaze had no less amount of admiration.

Scott didn’t hesitate to lean into you, pressing his lips against yours, tasting all the sweets and alcohol you’ve had tonight. He was in a trance, not being able to get enough of you. You tried to keep up, catching your breath and laughing between kisses, your cheeks flushed when you felt his hand press against the back of your head, bringing a new energy to your body.

You pulled away for a breath, laughing and happily receiving all the attention. “Never leave.” He pleaded, half joking and lazily kissing the corner of your mouth. “Wouldn’t ever dream of it” you snapped back, lips looking for his drunkenly.

Whether or not he was under house arrest, you were sure you’d end up on the same couch, the same night.

#Scott lang #scott lang x reader #ghostfacesvalentines halloween #marvel x reader #marvel one shot

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

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「 take her under your wing AU 」

warnings: innocent!reader x various, stepbro!steve rogers, bucky barnes, professor!peter parker, professor!reed richards, ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, dark content, essentially everyone is soft!dark, college au, polyamory, idk what to tell you this is just porn

polls for this au

asks about the au

101, an intro to the au | pinterest board

masterlist | join my taglist

FICS:

the many firsts

something in return

locked out

i dare you

what i say goes

too big

the basement

REQUESTS:

gaming + intox kink (headcanons)

billy & frank catch you discovering billy’s toy collection (headcanons)

desperate to help (headcanons)

curtis helps you fall asleep (headcanons)

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years ago

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Irresistible - Scott Lang X Female Reader

Title: Irresistible

Scott Lang X Female Reader

Additional Characters: The Avengers (Mentioned), Pepper (Mentioned), Tony Stark

WC: 2,065

Warnings: Fighting, #eattherich, slight angst, yelling, emotions, nervousness, anxiety, Scott's in love, and fluff

Running along the street, Scott looked up, seeing you running along the roofs. Scott had a small disadvantage, not being able to get on the roof fast enough to stop you and not fall behind. He ran under light posts and dodged the few and rare people on the sidewalk as you ran through the night. Scott had been trying to stop you for the past couple of months, but every time he thought he had you, you'd just vanish. He was tired of trying to catch you, but he needed to focus on stopping your evil schemes, which were growing more elaborate with each passing day.

But Scott had a small problem... He was falling in love with you. Every time he saw you, it was like there was this spark inside him that lit up at the sight of you. He couldn't think straight when he would see you and it made him so frustrated because he couldn't be with you, but he wanted to be with you, and he didn't know what to do about it. You were the bad guy for crying out loud.

You stopped, your pathway blocked by a taller building, way too tall for you to jump and climb up it. You quickly looked around, finding you were also way too high up to jump and run. You were out of options. Breathing heavily, you turned and let out a sigh, watching as Ant-Man climbed the building next to you, before leaping over to your building. He walked over, but you could tell by his body language that he was confused. You knew he'd never gotten this close to you before you found a way out and escaped. You had been running away from Scott for so long.

For months you had eluded him, his Avenger friends, and the police. In the beginning, you found Scott to be annoying, a bit of a class clown, but annoying. But, as the months went on, you got to know him a bit from your teasing and chatting back and forward and found out his name. You found him cute and even had a small crush on the man, but you needed to keep yourself first. You weren’t going to let your attraction for the man get you in trouble. No matter how irresistible he was.

"Well, Y/N... Seems like you're stuck." He remarked, taking a step closer to you. He opened his mask so you could finally read his expression, a small smile on his face. "I'm sorry but I have to bring you in."

You shifted your weight to the side, crossing your arms, smirking lightly, "Mmm, no, I don't think I want to. I'm fine right where I am. You know, not being tortured and interrogated."

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed, "We're not going to torture you, interrogate, yes, but not torture you. That's not what we do."

You rolled your eyes, "Questions are torture. You and your Avenger friends are going to ask and ask about why I’m doing what I do and how I do it and it’s going to get annoying real fast. Can we just pretend you never ran into me? That'd be great." You spoke sarcastically only for Scott to shake his head.

"Sorry, honey, but I have to bring you in. You have been hacking into the stock market. You keep crashing it."

You nodded, walking up to him, circling him as if he were prey, "Yep, and I am pretty proud of it." You paused, placing your hands on Scott's suit shoulder, resting your chin on your hands as he turned to look at you. "Besides, you should be thanking me. I'm making sure dumb millionaires and billionaires aren't taking advantage of others." You whispered at the close proximity, reaching out to poke Scott in the cheek with your finger. "You know... Eat the rich."

“You also help hack into the Tower’s system. We’ve had four security breaches because of that.”

You shrugged, staring into his memorizing green eyes. “Yeah, but no harm, right?”

Scott frowned, “We’ve had a lot of Hulk appearances.”

“Mmm, but that’s all I’ve done to you and your poor baby Avengers.” You cooed, going back to poke Scott’s cheek repeatedly. So soft. You thought.

“You posted a fake dating profile of Stark to almost every dating website on the internet.”

You nodded, “One of my proudest achievements. So fun. Half the reason why you should let me go… I make life harder for dumb million billionaires.”

Scott slowly grabbed your hands from his shoulder, shaking his head with a frown. "I wish I could, but I can't, Y/N." Making you narrow your eyes.

"I am not coming with you, Scott." Your sarcastic and flirty side was now gone as you tried to pull your hands from his.

"I have to do this, Y/N. I don't want to but what you do is illegal and the cops can't get you so I have to. So please, it's been a long couple of months of this. Just stop." Scott begged you, wishing and hoping you would just give up and come with him quietly.

You stared at him with a hard gaze, "Oh, what's a couple of more months?" You then twisted your hands around, grasping Scott's wrists, and before Scott could even realize what was happening, you pushed his arms together and twisted him around, before pushing Scott forward.

Scott stumbled forward in surprise, before turning to see you trying to run off. Running over to you, Scott was much faster, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his chest. You both breathed heavily out as you struggled in his grasp.

"Just stop, Y/N. You're only making this harder on yourself." Scott tried to convenience you again but you weren't having it. You took a hold of his arm around you, using your strength to push it up and over your head before spinning around and out of his arms once more. And so your fighting dance began. Scott tried to capture you but you deflected his attempts of grabbing you, making you more and more irritated as you kept avoiding him. Usually, with some heroes, you punch, kick, whatever you had to to get away. But... You didn't want to hurt Scott. He wasn't like the other heroes he worked with. He was good. Too good. He was nice, he treated you well, and he was attractive. You liked him, and he was still trying to help you. You grew more and more annoyed with yourself the more you thought about it. You didn't want to get caught. You were becoming desperate now, chest heaving as you began to slow.

As a last resort, you just managed to push him off of you before he grabbed your wrist. Before you knew it, you were falling backwards, unable to catch yourself. You fell onto your back, Scott’s hand swiftly making it behind your head before you hit the ground. Before you knew it, Scott was over you, pinning you down. You squirmed under his weight, struggling as he tried to hold you still. "Please..." Scott begged, "Just stop!" You huffed as you stared up at him, his green eyes practically begging you as well. "Y/N... Please... Stop..." Scott pleaded once more.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes, "Alright… Alright." You grumbled, as Scott let out a sigh of relief. Quickly, you opened your eyes, you placed your hands on Scott's shoulder, using the rest of your strength to roll over, pinning Scott to the ground. "Ha! Now, here's the deal. I'm going to go and you're going to let me. Okay? okay. Good talk."

"You're beautiful," Scott spoke breathlessly, staring softly up at you, making you freeze.

You stared back down at him, speechless, "You- You can't say things like that, Scott. I'm supposed to hate you."

"And you don't?" Scott asked you, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes... The look in his eyes made your chest warm up and your stomach flutter with butterflies.

You pushed through those feelings building up in you as you pushed against his chest, sitting up frustratedly, "This isn't how this works! I fight you, you fight me. And I escape getting captured by those dumb Avengers! End of the story." You exclaimed as Scott sat up as well.

"Or... You could not run away again." As you shook your head rapidly, Scott's hands landed on your waist. “Not run away and come with me…”

"You are such an idiot! You don't understand-"

"Your idiot." Scott smiled dopily up at you.

You groaned, feeling your cheeks warm up, "Oh my god! Shut up! Why do you have to do this to me?"

Scott tilted his head to the side, "Do what?" He asked and you let out a sigh, one similar to the defeated one you had done only moments ago. But this time, as Scott looked at you, you actually looked sad.

"Why do you have to make me like you? Why do you make me feel like you..." You groaned, placing your hands over your face. "Like you care for me? Why are you so confusing!? Why can't you just hate me!?"

Scott spoke up, his voice soft. "Because, I can't hate you. I do like you. A lot really." He confessed, reaching up to take your hands in his, bringing them away from your face. Noticing your tearful eyes. "You mean so much to me."

"Don't... Say things like that..." You mumbled quietly.

Scott chuckled slightly, looking down and biting his lip, "So what do you want me to say?" He glanced up at you, meeting your sad and red eyes, "...I love you." He finished, holding eye contact.

You sucked in a breath before looking back down, "Not helping." You muttered.

"But I-"

You quickly cut Scott off, leaning in and pressing your lips against his, silencing him. When you pulled away, Scott looked shocked, blinking slowly. After a few seconds of silence, Scott leaned into you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his eyes darting from yours to your lips and back. Leaning in, his nose brushed yours before he kissed you deeply. You kissed back, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. Soon, the two of you broke the kiss to catch your breath.

"Wow, that was..." Scott trailed off. You laughed a little, pulling your hand back, and brushing your fingers along his jawline, stubble tickling the tips of your fingers.

"Yeah... Wow." You replied, smiling down at him. "Goodnight, Scott." You gave him one final peck, before you jumped off his lap and ran across the roof, jumping to the one next to it.

Scott watched as you went, with hearts practically in his eyes as he let a smile grow. Once you were out of sight, he slowly stood up, rubbing his forehead, "That girl, she is something else." Making his way down the building, Scott made his way back to the tower, taking his time. Humming a soft cheerful tune as he had a pep in his step. Finally making his way inside the tower, he did a small happy dance in the elevator, singing the song he was humming as he walked into the main room of the tower. Tony turned from his spot on the couch, he raised an eyebrow at the hero.

"Looking pretty happy there, Lang. Finally catch her or something?" He asked, hoping that he did.

Scott turned to the billionaire with a smile, "Something like that."

Tony sighed, running a hand down his face, "You can't let her go next time, bug boy. Who knows, she might try and make it look like I'm on dating sites again. I got in big trouble with Pepper about that, you know?"

Scott chuckled lightly at the image of you trying to make it seem like Tony was on a dating site. Hunched over a computer, wherever you were hiding. Adorable. "No, Tony, I know," Scott said, chuckling. "Won't let her get away next time."

"That's what you said last time. What happened this time?" Tony asked and Scott shrugged.

"She got the upper hand." Scott headed to the kitchen, ready to cook himself a toasted bagel.

Tony hummed skeptically, "Uh-huh... Sure."

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incorrectquotesmcu · 2 years ago

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Scott, doing a magic trick: Take a card, any card.

Y/N: [Takes Scott’s credit card]

#source: incorrect quotes ideas #scott lang #scott lang incorrect quotes #ant man #scott lang x reader #marvel incorrect quotes #marvel #avengers #avengers incorrect quotes

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fatkish · 1 month ago

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The Avengers x Y/N

——————————————————————————

[(Y/n) is sick and has been throwing up and is in the living room with the others]

Y/n: I want Bobo

Sam: *handing y/n a bottle of water* who’s Bobo?

*Bucky walks in*

Bucky: okay I got you that soda you like to drink when you’re nauseous, I also got some applesauce and some warm blankets

Y/n: *making grabby hands towards Bucky* Bobo!

Bucky: *snuggles next to y/n* Bobo’s here.

Steve: *lays the warm blankets on y/n and Bucky before setting the soda and applesauce packets on the side table and settling next to y/n* c’mere doll. You want to ask Loki to read to you? Would that help?

Y/n: yes please

Steve: hey Friday, can you ask Loki to come down and read to y/n, they’re sick

Friday: of course

Tony: wait a minute, you’re telling me rock of ages reads to y/n?

Thor: of course, lady/sir y/n says that my brother has a soothing voice and he often reads books to them that they are too lazy to read themselves

*a few minutes later*

Loki: *walks in with a thick book under his arm and sits behind y/n* alright now, where did we last leave off…oh yes, here we go. *proceeds to start reading aloud*

Y/n: *snuggles into Steve, Loki and Bucky while holding a large bowl on their lap and closes their eyes*

——————————————————————————

Natasha: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Tony: Sex.

Pepper: Seriously, answer faster.

Tony: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Pepper: It’s like a giant hug.

Natasha: Y/n, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Y/n: Food.

Natasha: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Y/n: Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Steve: What about you Thor? What would you give up sex or food?

Thor: Oh... um... I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Steve: No, you gotta pick one.

Thor: Um, food... no, sex... no, food... sex... food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want hot people on bread!

——————————————————————————

Thor: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Loki recently.

Y/n: No, Thor, it's not what it looks like, I swear.

Thor: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous?

Y/n: No! You’re the only one for me.

Thor: Is that so?

Y/n: I promise! Loki and I are just dating, okay? He’s my partner.

Thor: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved?

Y/n: You are still my one and only best friend! Loki is just the love of my life, nothing more!

Thor: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right?

Y/n: Of course bro!

Thor: Bro...

Loki: What the-

——————————————————————————

*y/n is playing Amnesia the horror video game in their room*

Y/n: *is humming the jeopardy theme song*

Steve: *in the living room* has anyone seen y/n

Peter: uh yeah, they’re in their room, why

Steve: I’m just curious, haven’t seen them since yesterday

Y/n: *the amnesia monster appears and starts coming after them* OH FUCK! Oh no! No no no no no no stay away! I’m gonna die

Loki: *had snuck into their room and was hiding*

Loki: *cast an illusion to make himself appear as the monster from the game and slowly creeps up behind y/n*

Y/n: *managed to get away in the game* phew, I’m safe. *takes off their headphones*

Loki: *taps y/n’s shoulder*

Y/n: *looks behind them and screams* Ahhhhhhhh!

Y/n: * falls out of their chair and runs out of their room screaming*

The avengers are in the living room watching y/n run away screaming followed by Loki smiling

Tony: I seriously do not understand their relationship

Thor: Loki is simply getting back at y/n for hiding the Poptarts and blaming him for eating them

Thor: *realizes something* this one may be my fault

Steve: how so?

Thor: I may have gotten a bit upset and possibly thrown my brother out the window…

Bruce: *looks at Thor with that bewildered and slightly horrified look on his face*

Clint: remind me never to eat the last poptart

——————————————————————————

*Y/n, Peter, Scott and Thor are in the living room with pictures of the other Avengers on the TV screen*

*Natasha’s picture comes up*

Y/n: pass

Peter: respectfully pass

Scott: well I’m with Hope so pass

Thor: I still don’t get the point of this game

Scott: Thor, if you’d have sex with the person who’s picture is shown then you say smash, if not then you say pass

Thor: ah! Well lady Natasha is indeed quite the warrior! Smash

*the other avengers walk in*

*a picture of Clint comes up*

Y/n: not gonna lie, if he weren’t married, I’d totally smash

Peter: pass

Scott: pass

Thor: I too would smash

*clint looks shocked at the others but also blushes*

*a picture of Tony comes up*

Y/n: meh, pass. He’s like a dad

Peter: pass

Scott: he’s mean to me, pass

Thor: Smash!

*Tony rolls his eyes*

*a Picture of Steve pops up*

Y/n: Smash! Smash that ass

Peter: smash

Scott: I want him to smash me

Thor: I too would like to smash the captain

*steve is shocked*

*Loki walks in as his picture comes up*

y/n: Smashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmash! SMASH!

Peter: pass?

Y/n: *looks at Peter bewildered* you’d pass on this glorious piece of art!? Look at him! Look at that beautiful face! Tell me you wouldn’t want to see this face breathless and lust driven. I don’t care if he’s on top or bottom, he can blow my back out any day.

Scott: *whispers* smash

Thor: y/n, you find my brother attractive?

Y/n: yesssssss!

Loki: *walks up behind y/n with a smug look on his face* is that so darling?

Y/n: *turns around and faints upon seeing Loki*

Loki: oh dear, are they dead?

——————————————————————————

*y/n and Peter are in the living room inside of a inflatable kiddie pool filled halfway with water wearing swimsuits. Both of them are wearing snorkels and goggles and are laying on their stomachs.*

Tony: *enters the room and sees Peter and y/n* what the hell are they doing?

Scott: I have no idea but honestly I feel the same

Steve: it’s -5 degrees Fahrenheit outside and these two are laying on their stomachs in a kiddie pool

Tony: how long have they been like that?

Scott: I don’t know, they were like this when I got here

Steve: and how long have been here?

Scott: thirty minutes give or take?

Tony: alright, that’s it, I’m pulling the plug on whatever this is

Clint: *from the vents* it’s fine! The kids are just trying to pretend it’s summer. They’re trying to pray the snow away and bring back tolerable temperatures

Steve: how long have they been doing this?

Clint: *from the vents* 7 hours

Tony: Jesus, I’m getting them out. *taps on y/n and peter’s shoulders* C’mon you two, out.

Peter: *lifts his head and removes the snorkel* but mister stark

Tony: no, no buts. Get out.

Peter and y/n: awwww *gets out*

Tony: and clean this up

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes running into the living room with a box that’s taped up*

Y/n: it’s here! It’s here! *sets the box on the coffee table and proceeds to open it*

Tony: what’cha got there kiddo?

Y/n: *pulls out an old creepy doll* This is Bella-Ann and she’s supposed to be haunted

Clint: yeah nope, I’m not staying anywhere near that thing

Tony: oh come on Legolas, it’s not real

Y/n: Bella killed her last owner, supposedly…

Steve: why would you want that?

Y/n: cause it only cost me 2 dollars and the seller promised it was haunted

Tony: yeah no, I’m calling the wizard. *calls Strange*

Dr. Strange: *picks up and is clearly annoyed* what is it this time?

Tony: y/n bought a supposedly haunted doll

Dr. Strange: and why are you calling me?

Y/n: uh, Tony?

Tony: not now y/n

Y/n: Tony!

Tony: what?!

Y/n and Steve: *hiding behind the couch*

Y/n: *whispers* the doll has a knife*

The doll: *is standing and holding a knife*

Tony: *to Strange* yeah there’s definitely something wrong with the doll, it’s got a knife and is currently chasing y/n*

Y/n: *running from the doll* help me!

Dr. Strange: *sighs and opens a portal* fine

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes skipping into a meeting*

Y/n: Balls in holes! Who wants to put ball in holes?!

Fury: excuse me?

Steve: language!

Y/n: aww ain’t anyone wanna play skee-ball, I’ve got tickets

Tony: y/n, we’re in a meeting

Sam: I’d love to but we’re kinda busy

Y/n: fine, I’ll go play with myself

Steve: you hear what you’re saying right?

Natasha: don’t bother, they’ve been hanging out with Deadpool

——————————————————————————

#mcu avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #avengers incorrect quotes #thor x reader #Thor x y/n #loki x reader #loki x y/n #scott lang x reader #Scott lang x y/n #steve rodgers x reader #steve x y/n #bucky x reader #Bucky x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n

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alixandra-multifandom-version · 27 days ago

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It's me, my daddy issues, and my father figures against the world

#matthew lillard #joel miller x reader #tony stark x reader #phil dunphy #jim hopper x reader #gomez addams #carlisle cullen x reader #scott lang x reader #charlie swan x reader #fp jones x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #skeet ulrich #clark kent x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #snape x reader

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biting-miguel-ohara · 8 months ago

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Breeding with Scott Lang

A/N: Third fic of Kinktober! This is more of a breeding kink fic than the actual breeding itself, but I hope that’s okay

Also, please don’t be weird about me including Cassie Lang’s name in this. She’s his canonical kid, and plenty of other people have written breeding kink fics that start off with the Reader interacting with a child. If it really bothers people, I’ll take it out, but just don’t be weird about it, please

Written with an ftm!Reader in mind

Link to masterlist here

CW: breeding kink, mentions of lots of sex, indirect mentions of pregnancy, doggy style, could be read as ass play, mentions of breeding, no actual pregnancy occurs from the events of this fic, cuddling, teasing, kissing, Reader is referred to as hottie and as Scott’s boyfriend, ‘I love you’s, compliments

437 words

You’re not sure when it all started, but it definitely happened after you babysat Cassie for the first time.

The two of you had a blast, ending with Casie begging to come back and Scott with a look in his eyes you couldn’t figure out then.

You’re pretty sure that’s what started it.

Ever since then, Scott’s been… particularly interested in sex. Not that he wasn’t interested before, but now he’s almost hungry for it. Like he can’t get enough of you. It’s gratifying, in a way.

You tease him about it once and only once.

“God, Scott, it’s like you’re trying to put a baby in me or something.”

You missed his expression. You did not miss the way he practically pulled you into the bedroom.

Which leads you to now.

He’s fucking you deep. Gripping your hips and pounding into you with an intensity you didn’t know he had in him. You adore it, face to the bed and ass up with your legs spread wide.

“Scott! Scotty! Fuck!”

He groans and pulls you closer to him. “You’re so perfect. Could fuck you all day and never get enough.”

You moan in response. Arching your back to lift your ass higher. You cry out at the new angle, his dick hitting that perfect spot inside you. “Fuck, yes, right there!”

“Gonna, fuck, put a baby in you,” He groans out. “Gonna fill you up so nice and full.”

You squeeze his dick with your walls, moaning at his words. The idea, him breeding you, is unfathomably hot. You need it. You crave it.

You know it won’t really work. You’re taking something and he wouldn’t really force that on you. But the idea? Hot. As. Fuck.

He curses loudly, somehow bullying his dick even deeper inside you. Pressing himself firmly to the meat of your ass as he cums. You follow right after him, your body milking his dick for all its worth.

He pulls out, collapsing next to you on the bed and gathering you into his arms. He kisses you hard, letting you settle on top of him.

“Knew you were trying to put a baby in me,” you tease.

He groans and covers his eyes. “Don’t. I don’t think I can go again so soon.”

You laugh and press a kiss to his lips. “Can’t believe I get to be your boyfriend.”

“I can’t believe I get to be yours!” This time, his kiss is slow and sweet. “You’re perfection in a person.”

You laugh and rest your forehead against his. “I love you, Scott.”

He grins. “I love you too, hottie.”

#scott lang #ftm!reader #trans male reader #scott lang x reader #scott lang x you #scott lang x ftm!reader #scott lang x trans male reader #ant man #ant man x reader #ant man x you #ftm reader #x ftm reader #x ftm!reader #transmasc reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #biting-miguel-ohara’s kinktober

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waltermis · 8 months ago

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Rumor

Natasha: Moya Lyubov', I heard an interesting rumor today…

Y/N: Only one? I started like twenty.

Tony: I started thirty something...

Scott: Twelve, but they're awesome ones!

*Everybody looking at Sam*

Sam: Oh, I haven't stopped since Ultron...

Y/N: SAM! Ultron was 4 years ago!!!

Sam: Exactly!!

*Somewhere deep inside the compound*

Steve: WHO SAID THAT I WAS A NAZI?!?!

*Natasha looks at everyone*

Y/N: RUN!!!

BONUS:

Clint: *casually sitting in the vents above everyone, knowing full well that he's the one that started the Nazi rumor*

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chairwiththreelegs · 1 year ago

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There’s only one thing the marvel fandom can agree on.

Ant-Hony had the saddest death in the entire mcu

#don’t boo me i’m right #i scurry off the stage as people start throwing tomatoes #the post only summons non-toxic marvel fans #funny #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #ant man #scott lang #scott lang x reader #ant man and the wasp

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urdreamydoodles · 6 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.2)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.2)

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock & Frank Castle

Loki Laufeyson

- When Loki senses your anger, his reaction is one of mild panic hidden behind a mask of indifference. He’s not used to dealing with his emotions head-on, so he may initially act dismissive, trying to pretend it doesn’t bother him. But as the tension lingers, he realizes he can’t stand the thought of you being upset with him, and he knows he’ll have to address it.

- Loki’s first attempt to make amends is usually manipulative charm. He’ll try to win you over with clever words, even playing the victim a little if he thinks it might work. But when he sees that you’re genuinely hurt, he drops the act. His apology, when it finally comes, is quiet and almost vulnerable, a rare moment of honesty where he admits he hates the thought of you being unhappy with him.

- To make it up to you, Loki does something truly meaningful and personal. Maybe it’s a gift tied to a private memory you share, or a show of his magic in a way that’s tender rather than grand. He wants you to know he’s put thought into it, going out of his way to make you feel special. It’s his way of showing that he’s willing to try for you, even if vulnerability isn’t his strong suit.

- As you begin to soften, Loki opens up more than he usually would. He lets down his walls a little, talking about the parts of himself he usually keeps hidden. He’ll even joke about how “you must be the real trickster” if you’ve managed to make him care this much. Beneath the teasing, he’s genuinely grateful that you’re willing to give him another chance.

- When you forgive him, Loki’s relief is palpable. He gives you a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your forehead, his hands lingering as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He might joke that you’re too good for him, but there’s something uncharacteristically sincere in his voice. Loki knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s grateful all the same, and he silently vows to make sure he never drives you away again.

T’Challa

- When T’Challa realizes you’re upset with him, he immediately takes it to heart. He’s a leader, used to taking responsibility, and seeing you angry makes him instantly reflective. He approaches the situation with calmness, his face serious but soft, wanting to understand what went wrong. He respects you deeply and is ready to listen without judgment.

- T’Challa’s apology is direct and sincere. He’s never one to evade responsibility, and he owns up to his mistakes without hesitation. He’ll look you in the eyes, telling you how much he values your feelings and that he’s truly sorry for any hurt he’s caused. His words are heartfelt, and there’s a quiet strength in his voice as he assures you that he’ll work to make things right.

- To make amends, T’Challa chooses something deeply meaningful, likely a private moment where he can focus solely on you. Maybe it’s a walk through a quiet part of Wakanda’s gardens or a peaceful night under the stars, giving you his undivided attention. He’s regal yet humble, and he makes sure you feel appreciated and respected, knowing that actions speak louder than words.

- Throughout the time he spends making it up to you, T’Challa is gentle and attentive, his presence a calming force. He’s careful to show you through his actions that he cares about your happiness, making sure you feel seen and valued. He might open up about the challenges he faces as a leader and how much he relies on your support, wanting you to know that you are his anchor.

- When you finally forgive him, T’Challa’s relief is warm and heartfelt. He pulls you into a close embrace, holding you tightly, his hand lingering on your back as if grounding himself. He thanks you for your patience and promises to always consider your feelings. T’Challa values loyalty and love, and he’s deeply committed to making sure your relationship is built on trust and understanding.

Marc Spector

- When Marc realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately defensive, his body language tensing up as he prepares for confrontation. He’s used to keeping his guard up, even with those he cares about, so he doesn’t respond well to criticism at first. His instinct is to pull away, maybe even avoiding you for a bit as he tries to process what’s happening.

- After he’s had time to cool off, Marc comes back, his expression serious and his tone softer. He hates apologizing, but he hates the thought of losing you even more, so he does his best to be open. His words are a bit clumsy, and he struggles to be vulnerable, but his honesty is evident. He tells you he’s not great at this kind of thing, but he values you enough to try.

- Marc’s way of making it up to you is practical and thoughtful. He might surprise you with something you mentioned in passing, or he’ll fix something around the house that’s been bothering you. Marc doesn’t do big romantic gestures, but he shows his care through small, meaningful actions, hoping you’ll see the effort he’s putting in to make things right.

- When you start to soften, Marc’s demeanor becomes gentler, more comfortable. He opens up a bit more, talking about how hard it is for him to trust people and how much it means to him that you’re still here. He’s careful with his words, but his sincerity shines through. You can tell he’s genuinely trying to let his guard down for you.

- When you forgive him, Marc pulls you into a tight hug, holding on longer than usual, as if grounding himself in your presence. He doesn’t say much, but his embrace is warm and reassuring. For Marc, actions speak louder than words, and his quiet, steady affection is his way of showing that he’s grateful for your forgiveness and that he’s committed to you.

Steven Grant

- When Steven realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately flustered, his expression filled with concern and confusion. He’s not used to upsetting people, and it bothers him deeply that he’s somehow hurt you. He’ll ask, in a soft and anxious voice, “Did I do something wrong?” his eyes wide with worry as he desperately tries to understand what went wrong.

- Steven listens carefully as you explain why you’re upset, nodding along and taking in every word. He’s genuinely apologetic, his voice soft and sincere as he says he’s sorry. Steven is open about his feelings, admitting that he sometimes makes mistakes without realizing it, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make things right.

- To make amends, Steven will put together a thoughtful, heartfelt gift for you. It might be something personal, like a handwritten note explaining how much he values you, or he might buy you a small trinket that reminded him of you. He’s sentimental, and his effort to make it up to you is sincere, filled with little details that show how much he cares.

- Steven is extra attentive after the apology, going out of his way to be thoughtful and supportive. He’s always asking if there’s anything he can do for you, maybe even cooking your favorite meal or suggesting a quiet night in to relax together. Steven’s kindness and warmth make it hard to stay upset, and he does everything he can to show you that he’s there for you.

- When you finally forgive him, Steven’s relief is immediate and obvious. He beams at you, pulling you into a gentle hug, his touch soft and affectionate. He’ll murmur about how lucky he feels to have you in his life, and he’s grateful for your patience. Steven’s love is earnest and wholehearted, and he promises himself that he’ll try even harder to make you happy.

Jake Lockley

- Jake’s reaction to your anger is a bit unconventional; he’s not one to openly apologize or make a big deal out of things. When he first realizes you’re mad at him, he keeps his cool, almost acting indifferent. But beneath the calm facade, he’s carefully observing, figuring out exactly how to approach the situation without making things worse.

- Jake may not be the most verbal with apologies, but he’ll pull you aside and, in a quiet, serious tone, tell you that he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s direct and to the point, admitting that he’s not the best at this “feelings” stuff but that he does care about you. His words are simple yet genuine, and you can tell he’s making an effort in his own way.

- To make things up to you, Jake does something unexpected and a little daring, like taking you out on a thrilling adventure or a drive to a scenic spot he knows you’ll love. Jake isn’t one for flowers and love notes; he expresses his affection through bold, memorable experiences that bring you closer. He hopes the thrill and excitement will help mend things between you.

- Once things start to ease, Jake becomes more attentive and protective. He’s the type to keep an eye on you, making sure you’re safe and happy, even if he doesn’t say much about it. His subtle actions, like putting his arm around you or keeping you close, show that he’s invested in you and wants to keep you by his side.

- When you finally forgive him, Jake’s reaction is understated but genuine. He’ll give you a small, satisfied smirk, pulling you into a brief yet affectionate hug. He might whisper something like, “Knew you couldn’t stay mad at me,” with a playful glint in his eyes. Jake’s love is quiet but intense, and he’s grateful to have you in his life, even if he doesn’t always show it with words.

Scott Lang

- When Scott realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a bit panicked, his eyes widening as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. He’s naturally lighthearted and doesn’t like conflict, so he immediately tries to lighten the mood, maybe cracking a joke or two to ease the tension. When he realizes you’re not laughing, though, he knows he has to be serious.

- Scott’s apology is genuine and a little rambling. He’s awkward, tripping over his words as he tries to explain himself, but his sincerity is obvious. Scott doesn’t try to deflect blame or make excuses; instead, he’s honest about his mistakes, even poking fun at himself a bit to show he’s willing to take responsibility. He’ll say something like, “I’m a bit of a mess, but I’m your mess… if you’ll still have me.”

- To make it up to you, Scott goes all out in his own quirky way. He might plan a fun, silly date that’s just the two of you, or he’ll do something offbeat and heartfelt, like creating a mini scavenger hunt with little notes and clues he’s hidden around. Scott’s got a big heart, and his way of apologizing is playful, thoughtful, and just a little over-the-top.

- As you start to soften, Scott becomes even more attentive, peppering you with sweet gestures and affectionate touches. He’s incredibly open with his feelings, constantly reminding you how much you mean to him and how lucky he feels to have you. Scott’s love is enthusiastic, warm, and reassuring, and he’ll do everything he can to make you feel appreciated.

- When you forgive him, Scott’s relief is immediate and heartwarming. He breaks into a huge smile, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a big, exuberant hug. He’s incredibly grateful, telling you over and over how much he loves you and how he’ll try harder not to mess things up again. Scott’s love is vibrant and genuine, and he makes sure you know just how much you mean to him.

Wade Wilson

- When Wade realizes you’re angry with him, he’s quick to act dramatically hurt, clutching his chest like he’s been shot and whispering, “Betrayal… by my one true love!” He’ll follow you around, trying to make you laugh with exaggerated groans and over-the-top pleas for mercy. But when he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he dials back the antics (well, a little) and asks what he did wrong, his voice a bit softer.

- Wade’s apology is both heartfelt and a complete mess. He stumbles through it, alternating between cracking inappropriate jokes and telling you he’s sorry in his own awkward, sincere way. His mouth runs a mile a minute as he promises he didn’t mean to mess things up and insists he’d do anything to make you smile again. It’s clear he’s trying, even if he’s not great at keeping it serious.

- Wade’s attempt to make it up to you is pure, chaotic Wade. He might surprise you with a random gift, like a stuffed unicorn, or even write you a (terrible) poem in crayon that’s equal parts hilarious and surprisingly sweet. He’s not big on traditional romance, but he knows how to keep things memorable. His efforts are ridiculous, but his heart’s in the right place, and he’s hoping you’ll find his weirdness endearing enough to forgive him.

- As you begin to soften, Wade becomes more openly affectionate, toning down the jokes just enough to let his softer side show. He’ll look at you with wide, hopeful eyes, holding your hand tightly and telling you he’s genuinely sorry. He’ll even admit he’s scared of losing you, which, for Wade, is about as vulnerable as he gets.

- When you finally forgive him, Wade’s relief is palpable. He breaks into a huge grin, shouting, “Yes! I knew you couldn’t resist all this!” He’ll probably tackle you in a playful hug, peppering you with sloppy kisses and laughing as he holds you close. Wade’s love is chaotic, messy, and intense, and he makes sure you know that he’s beyond grateful to have you back.

Logan Howlett

- When Logan realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is to clam up. He doesn’t handle emotions well and tends to avoid confrontation, so he might retreat to brood alone for a while, hoping you’ll cool off. But as he stews over things, he realizes he can’t stand the thought of you being upset with him, and he knows he has to make things right.

- Logan’s apology, when it finally comes, is quiet but heartfelt. He doesn’t waste words, simply telling you he messed up and that he’s sorry. There’s a rough sincerity in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that he rarely lets show. He might even mutter something like, “I don’t know how to do this… but I care about you,” his gaze steady as he waits to see if you’ll give him another chance.

- To make it up to you, Logan’s approach is practical but meaningful. He might cook a quiet dinner for the two of you or take you somewhere peaceful where you can talk things through. Logan doesn’t do grand gestures, but his actions are thoughtful, showing that he’s listening and genuinely wants to make amends. His way of caring is subtle, but it’s filled with raw sincerity.

- As you begin to soften, Logan grows more relaxed and open, reaching for your hand or placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. He may not say much, but his quiet presence is grounding, and he lets you know through small, affectionate gestures that he’s there for you. Logan’s touch is gentle, steady, and reassuring, making it hard to stay mad at him.

- When you forgive him, Logan’s response is understated but warm. He gives you a slight smile, a rare softness in his gaze as he pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. He murmurs something like, “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” his voice gruff but sincere. Logan’s love is steady and intense, and he makes sure you know he’s committed to you.

Matthew Murdock

- When Matt realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately worried, his heightened senses picking up on your every movement and sigh. He tries to talk to you, asking gently, “Are you upset?” as he tilts his head in concern. Matt’s naturally empathetic, and it bothers him deeply that he’s hurt you, so he’ll listen closely as you explain what went wrong, taking in every word.

- Matt’s apology is calm and sincere. He admits that he makes mistakes, especially when he’s caught up in his own battles, and he apologizes for any hurt he’s caused you. He’s not one to hide from his flaws, so his apology is straightforward and honest. He tells you how much he values your presence in his life and that he wants to make things right, his voice soft and genuine.

- To make amends, Matt goes out of his way to plan a thoughtful evening for you. Maybe it’s a quiet dinner at home where he can give you his undivided attention, or a peaceful walk through a spot you both love. Matt’s incredibly attentive, always picking up on what makes you feel special, and he uses these details to make his apology feel personal and meaningful.

- As you begin to soften, Matt’s relief is visible, and he becomes even more attentive. He holds your hand, brushes a gentle thumb over your knuckles, and speaks in a soft, affectionate tone. Matt’s world can be dark and filled with pain, but he finds comfort in you, and he makes sure you know how much he appreciates your patience and love.

- When you finally forgive him, Matt smiles, his expression soft and full of warmth. He pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and tells you how grateful he is to have you in his life. Matt’s love is calm and steady, and he promises that he’ll try his best to balance his own battles with making you feel loved and appreciated.

Frank Castle

- When Frank realizes you’re angry with him, his reaction is a mix of confusion and frustration. He’s not used to dealing with feelings in a healthy way, and his instinct is to shut down or brush it off. But when he sees that you’re genuinely upset, his defenses start to waver, and he realizes he needs to do something to make it right.

- Frank’s apology is rough around the edges. He’s not great with words, but he’ll mutter a gruff “I’m sorry” and look at you with a steady, serious gaze. He’ll admit he doesn’t always handle things well, but he’s trying to be better for you. His apology is raw, straightforward, and filled with the kind of honesty that only Frank can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Frank’s approach is quiet and thoughtful. He might bring you something meaningful, like a small trinket he thought you’d like, or he’ll simply spend time with you in a way that shows he’s committed. Frank’s gestures aren’t grand, but they’re heartfelt, and he makes sure you know he cares in his own reserved way.

- As you begin to soften, Frank’s demeanor becomes more gentle and open. He’s careful with his touch, maybe placing a comforting hand on your shoulder or pulling you close, his presence solid and reassuring. Frank may not say much, but his actions speak volumes, and he lets you know through quiet moments of affection that he’s grateful for your forgiveness.

- When you finally forgive him, Frank’s relief is visible in his softened gaze and the way he holds you a little closer. He’ll wrap his arms around you, his embrace protective and strong, as if silently vowing to never let you go. Frank’s love is intense, raw, and unwavering, and he’s deeply grateful to have someone like you willing to stay by his side.

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milkbean69 · 1 month ago

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No but seriously guys why the hell has no one written for avengers assemble. Like I can't be the only one who watches this show.

Why are they so hot, like fuck why!!!!!!!!!! Marvel why would you make these characters so sexy..

#avengers assemble #avengers assemble x reader #steve rogers x reader #captian america x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #sam wilson x reader #falcon x reader #scott lang x reader #ant man x reader #marvel x reader #loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #vision x reader

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 months ago

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i dare you

a/n: for all of you hoes who are also hot for teacher, bon appetit, bitch ♡

summary: “no, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?”

warnings: professor!peter parker x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, college au, polyamory, student/teacher relationship, forbidden romance, age gap, dilf!peter, babysitting, alcohol consumption, kissing, corruption kink, car sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, panty sniffing, dirty talk, hair pulling, masturbation, fingering

word count: 3611

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

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

masterlist | join my taglist

Staying back, you watched in your periphery as the other students slowly filtered out of the lecture hall, though your gaze stayed glued to the teacher as he packed up his things down by the wide chalkboard.

Professor Parker’s back was turned to you as you neared, and a murmur quickly rolled off your tongue, “professor, I just wanted to–,” but then as he whirled around, unaware of how close you had crept, his frame bumped directly into yours, and the half-empty cup of cold coffee in his grasp jostled in the clash and splashed down upon the both of you.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed as his eyes first flickered down to the large stain on his shirt before they blinked up to discover who was to blame.

“I am so sorry, oh no…” you gasped as you stared back at his ruined button-down, the sodden state of your own clothing not seeping through your guilt yet.

“It’s–,” the flash of anger that had momentarily sparked was swiftly squashed when his gaze fell upon you, “it’s alright,” he exhaled as his shoulders relaxed, “I have some spare clothes in my office.”

“Really?”

“Habit of being a dad,” he shrugged as he picked up his leather satchel, “this is not the first time I’ve spilt something on myself. Come, you can borrow one as well. I’m guessing you don’t want to walk around campus like that,” he faintly nodded to your t-shirt as his eyes fought not to stare.

“What?” you finally glanced down at yourself and noticed how the soaked coffee stain had turned the thin cotton of your shirt nearly transparent, “oh…” heat swiftly began to rise in your cheeks for a different reason other than just the mortification of the clumsy collision, “oh my god…”

Though you only shrugged on the button-down he handed you once you stepped inside of his office, merely covering up the sheer state of your shirt enough for you to get back to your dorm and change, your heart began to hammer in your chest as he absentmindedly stripped off his ruined shirt and didn’t realise what he had done till half of the buttons on the fresh one was fastened.

“So,” he swiftly cleared his throat as you struggled to blink away from the sliver of his chest that he hastily covered back up, “what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Hm?” you hummed, fearing drool might be leaking down your chin by now.

“When I walked into you,” he reminded your foggy head, “you started saying something, so what was it?”

“Oh, that…” an airy chuckle puffed out of your lungs as you averted your gaze, “it’s so silly now…” and you tugged open your backpack and reached into it before you uttered, “I know it’s cliche, but I brought you an apple…”

“Oh,” a smile warmed up the older man’s features as you plucked the fruit out of your bag and held it for him to grasp, “that’s cute.”

Once in his hand, he twisted around to place it delicately in the middle of the cluttered desk behind him.

“You know, now that you’re here,” he began before he turned back to face you, “I wanted to talk to you about maybe looking after Benjamin again.”

“I dare you.”

“What? No!” you shrieked at Andy as he cracked open another beer for himself, “he’s my professor!”

“So? That shouldn’t stop you,” he cocked a brow, “go ask Billy, he’s screwed more faculty members than I can recall,” he nodded to the frat guy currently propped up against the far side wall, chatting up some girl as the party buzzed around him, “come on, you said you have a crush on him.”

“Oh my god,” you swiftly buried your head in your hands, “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Well, then maybe don’t play truth or dare if you’re gonna be such a baby about the things you share,” he only chuckled in return.

Marc then draped an arm around your shoulders and boomed over the music, “you should go for it!”

“Stop, I’m not gonna seduce him,” you crawled out of hiding with a groan, “I’m not some siren.”

“No, but you are a hot little freshman, which is pretty damn close,” Marc smirked as you met his gaze.

A head then poked through the open doorway before it swivelled to find you, “hey, there you guys are,” Scott waved a hand, “we’re up.”

“Oh, finally,” Andy exhaled before you all began to shift into the room in the fraternity where the beer pong table was permanently set up in, “who won last round?”

“Curtis and Bucky,” Scott cocked his head as you settled in beside him on one end of the table while the two others migrated towards the opposite side.

“Aw, man…” Marc swiftly sighed, “they’re probably gonna take the crown again…”

And as you all prepared the table for another game, lining cups up in triangles on either end, Andy’s voice then found your ears as you grasped the small ping pong balls in your palm, ready for your first toss.

“Wait, how about we make this a little more interesting?”

Furrowing your brow, you shifted the lightweight sphere from one hand to the other, “interesting how? I don’t wanna put money on this, if that’s what you mean. My stepfather, and by proxy Steve, may be rich assholes, but that doesn’t mean I am…”

“No, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?”

“Oh, wait, I get to choose something?” your eyes couldn’t help but widen at the temptation.

“Yeah.”

Mulling it over, you then uttered, “…well, my notes for pretty much all of my classes are really messy… so, if I win, then you guys could organise them all,” you pointed at both of your competitors with a smile, “rewrite them in nice legible handwriting, colour code it and everything.”

“Seriously?” Andy promptly squinted at you as a look of disappointment washed over his features.

“That's what I want.”

“You know you could have had anything, or anyone, as a prize, and you chose that?”

“What?” you blinked back at him as if you were a puppy, “it’s what I want.”

“Alright then,” a chuckle slipped through his sigh, “game on.”

“Oh, hey. You’re back,” you uttered as you picked your nose out of the textbook cracked open on your professor’s dining table and glanced up to spot him waltzing in through the door. He was slightly wet from the brief trek up the driveway and into the house as rain had begun to hammer against the windows.

“Yeah, that fundraiser dragged on for an eternity…” he sighed as he hung up his coat. Stepping closer to where you sat, he asked, “how did it go here? Is Benji down for the night?”

“Yep, he’s asleep,” you nodded, “we played outside in the garden,” you smiled as you reported, thinking back to how you and the six-year-old had played hide and seek, “he helped supervise while I made dinner, by the way, there’s still some left over in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet,” you briefly pointed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, “and then we started reading Ronja, the Robber's Daughter as a bedtime story, and just as a fair warning, he is hooked. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes up tomorrow morning with a burning desire to run into the woods and pretend that he is the daughter of a viking.”

Your collective giggles about the child filled the air a moment before it simmered down once more and Peter’s eyes drifted to your homework on the table.

“And what’s this now?” he planted a hand close to where you sat and leaned in.

“This is the assignment for your class, but don’t peek yet!” your fingers swiftly grasped the corner of the notebook in front of you before you tilted it mostly shut to hide the scribbled words from his view, “that’s cheating! You’ll just have to be patient and get it next week along with all the others.”

“I’ll try my best,” he chuckled as he gazed down at you.

And as you met his eye, your vision soon flickered down to the buttoned-up collar of his shirt before you remembered, “oh hey,” and you dipped down to slip a hand into the backpack you had leaned against the leg of the dining table, “I forgot to give this back to you earlier.”

“Oh, thanks,” his eyebrows floated up a tad as you handed him the shirt you’d borrowed, “I almost forgot about it,” before his fingers drifted up to push his glasses back into place.

A crack of thunder then ripped both of your attentions to the broad window behind you.

“Wow,” you murmured as you watched a bolt of lightning split through the darkness of the late evening, “it’s really coming down out there…”

“Yeah…” Professor Parker hummed before his glance shifted to you, “wait, was that your bicycle out front? You can’t ride back in this weather,” his head faintly shook from side to side.

“Oh, well, you live so close to campus, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you,” he pressed.

“You really don’t have to, it’s already so late.”

“Young lady, I am giving you a lift and that’s final,” he captured your timid gaze, “I can’t have my best student get sick or struck by lightning.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you breathed, “well, when you put it like that…”

“Let me just go put this away,” he raised the shirt in his hand up slightly, “and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Great,” you smiled before it promptly dropped as he slipped out of the room.

It had been the guys who had talked you into shimmying off your panties the next time you were here and placing them on his bedside table to enjoy, though you had all but forgotten about the lack of coverage currently beneath your skirt right until you watched your professor waltz right into the lion’s den.

“W-wait–,” you tried to stop him, but by the time you parted your lips, he was already long gone.

And before you even realised it, you had risen from the chair and your feet had begun to tip-toe after him. The dark hallway swallowed you whole as you crept through it towards the open doorway into his bedroom.

Hiding yourself in the shadows with your fingernails digging into the doorframe as you peeked inside, a silent prayer left your lips as you hoped he’d not notice the tiny ball of folded-up, pastel-blue cotton on the nightstand, at least not while you were still under his roof.

Though when he’d tossed the shirt into the hamper by his closet, his footsteps faltered when he turned to exit the room. As he stared at the small bundle, it wasn’t till he reached the bedside table that he realised what exactly it was.

Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand a moment before your palm soared up to clasp over your mouth and silence a gasp as he then raised the pale fabric up even higher till it reached his nose.

Though you knew that you should have, you just couldn’t tear your stare away from him, even after his free hand had squeezed the growing bulge in his pants, after he had freed his fat cock, and even after soft grunts began to tumble up his throat as he let his eyes flutter shut and his tight fist began to stroke his length.

And once he’d gotten himself off, his cum now staining your panties clutched tightly in his grip, he then crumbled them up and stuffed them into his pocket.

Scrambling to rush back to the dining room, you tried to ignore the throbbing between your thighs and the arousal that had begun to leak down them as well from that sinful display.

When you heard his footsteps echo down the hallway, you packed up your things as quickly as you could, tossing them into your backpack as you tried your best to pretend that nothing had just happened.

Clearing his throat as he entered the room once more, he then murmured, “you ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you twisted around to face him, however noticed how he refused to meet your eye.

Though you both tried to be hasty as you went out into the storm, strapping your bike to a rack on the back of his car, you were both still completely soaked when the vehicle’s doors closed behind each of you, low exhales acting as punctuations after the slams.

You tried to recall the long list of tips and tricks your stepbrother’s friends had pushed on you, but your mind went completely blank as all you could think about was the vision of your teacher touching himself before your very eyes.

And before Peter’s fingers could slip the key in and turn on the engine, you found yourself, in your flustered frenzy, leaning in to press your lips to his own.

The kiss was rushed and rather clumsy, but you stayed frozen, long enough for your tense shoulder to begin to thaw, though when you finally felt him slip from his stunned state, he only kissed you back for a split second before his hands grasped your shoulders and he tilted you away from him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded breathlessly as his grip stayed at your upper arms to keep you at a distance.

“I’m sorry, I just–,” you gasped shakily, “I think I might like you…”

“Oh fuck…” a long sigh slipped from his lungs as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, “this can’t be happening…”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just kind of panicked,” you tried, hearing your voice tremble embarrassingly.

“No, you shouldn’t have asked, because none of this should have happened in the first place,” he swiftly grumbled before he let his touch fade from your arms, “this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have crossed this line, opened my home to you and let you see me as something other than your superior.”

“Professor,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m sorry that I kissed you, I just thought that you might–”

“Kissed me? Oh, this isn’t just about you kissing me,” a soft scoff bubbled out of him as his head faintly shook, “miss Y/l/n, you can’t just leave your undergarments around for your teacher to find.”

Averting your gaze, you found yourself muttering just beneath your breath, “…well it didn’t look like you minded…”

“What?” he nearly growled, “what did you just say?”

“I–…”

“Were you spying on me?” he accused heatedly.

“I–, well–,” you panted, “I can explain, it wasn’t my idea–”

“So, what–, this is just some game you’ve got going with your little friends? See who can sleep with a teacher first or something?”

“No, it’s not,” you frantically shook your head before you had to tilt it in shame, “or well–, some people I know found out about the dumb crush I have on you and then they kinda dared me, gave me some suggestions on what to do…”

“Oh my god…” he exhaled slowly and averted his gaze, “…okay…” he then enclosed his fingers around the steering wheel, “I am gonna drive you back and then we will both forget that any of this ever happened, you got it?” he said firmly, though the hurt in your eyes he then spotted as you blinked back at him swayed him to take a step back and choose his next words very carefully, “look, you’re a very sweet girl, and I’m flattered, truly, but you don’t want me,” he faintly shook his head as he gazed back into your glossy eyes, “you should go be with someone your own age…”

“Should I?” you innocently uttered in a heartbreaking tone, “just like you shouldn’t be getting off to the thought of your students?”

Checkmate.

Slowly, you inched closer to his frozen form, “it’s okay,” you whispered when you leaned so near that your noses nearly touched, “I promise, I won’t tell anyone…”

And then as if something inside of your teacher snapped, he huffed, “fuck…” before he closed the short gap between you both and kissed you fiercely.

It felt as if he was trying to devour you whole as you began to make out in his car, rain still thrashing against the outside as his tongue fluttered against yours for a taste of your youth.

Your fingers soon drifted up to tangle his soaked tie in your grasp and you found yourself purring meekly against his lips as his own touch floated up your frame, ghostly against your sides, before he cupped your jaw.

But just as quickly as he had shattered, he once again pulled back, just ever so slightly to murmur, “this is wrong…” his hot breath fanned across your flaming cheeks, “you’re my student…” before you tilted up to steal another peck from him, one so sweet that it prompted him to crumble even further, “h-how old are you? You’re eighteen?” he asked breathlessly before you offered him a faint nod, “you’re eighteen…” he panted through his conflict, “holy fuck…”

You then kissed him again till his hands gradually began to gain more confidence as they raked across your frame. His touch was bold as it captured your tits, palming the softness through the wet clothing that clung to your curves, making you whimper into his mouth, a sweet sound that caused him to smirk faintly against your lips before he deepened the kiss even further.

“You can touch me, professor,” you panted as one of his hands soared up to weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, “it’s okay, I want you to.”

With his grip rooted in your hair and keeping you close, he held your eye as he then let one of his palms slowly wander down between your thighs till your skirt gathered around the watch on his wrist and his touch crept up to brush against your bare core.

Studying the reaction that flashed across your features closely, he groaned, “holy shit…” as your needy nectar soaked his careful touch, “is this for me? Really?”

“Mhm…” you struggled to nod as his fingertips swept up to graze against your throbbing clit.

“Fuck…” he shared your breath, “you really had me believing that you were just a good little girl who’d never pull a stunt like this…”

“Well, maybe I am,” you uttered raggedly as his caresses caused you to tremble with every rub and flick he granted you in his exploration of your haven, “maybe I just have some really bad influences in my life.”

“Yeah, well then lucky me,” two of his long fingers promptly swept down to slip inside of you, making you gasp at the sudden stretch before you squirmed, your legs instinctively wiggling further apart for him, “keep that devil on your shoulder if this is what it gets you.”

Loosing himself completely, it was as if he was possessed as the kind hearted professor you once knew was no longer the man sitting in the car next to you, certainly not the older doctor who soon began to fuck you with his fingers, making your pussy sing for him, and weep against the leather seat below, as he greedily rocked his digits inside of you.

Tilting down, he let his lips flutter against the collum of your neck as he murmured, “what else did your friends say you should do to get me to fuck you, huh?”

“They–, they–…” you tried to recall, but simply couldn’t as the sensation of his fingers, dragging in and out of your dripping cunt, rendered it an impossible task to accomplish, “fuck… I don’t know, I don’t remember…”

“You don’t?” a low chuckle rumbled in his chest at how flustered he’d made you.

“N-no,” your thighs trembled on either side of his hand as it momentarily withdrew to slip up through your soaked petals to offer your puffy pearl a brief rub, before his touch once again soared down to fill you up, “fuck, please don’t stop, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he pressed his nose against your cheek as he gazed down at your pussy, the front of your skirt now pushed up so high on your hips that one merely had to glance to catch sight of the leaky mess now on full display, “you gonna cum?”

“Mhm,” you nodded frantically as your eyes too fluttered down to peer at his fingers, shiny as they pumped within you, and your eyebrows knitted tightly in pleasure as the overwhelming high threatened to come crashing down upon you like an avalanche.

“Then do it,” the grip he had on the roots of your hair flexed as he then tilted your head slightly for him to capture your hazy gaze, “give me something to think about when I get myself off,” he groaned breathlessly as he kept up his ruthless pace, “cum all over my fingers like a good little girl.”

And as your cunt clenched down around his digits, your loud moans bounced off the car’s walls, “p-professor–, o-oh fuck!”

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