#marvel two shot

[side-shawty]

Family Line

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: sequel

Prompt/Summary: Part two of the fic based on Saint Bernard by Lincoln. This one was inspired by Family Line by Conan Gray.

Pairing(s): Tony Stark x Steve Rogers, Stony x daughter!reader

Requested? Not even a little bit

PART ONE

The drive from the compound was silent. You’d left your Stark phone in your bedroom in exchange for the one you’d made yourself. But this one didn't have the playlist and songs you’d spent hours putting together and no the silence was deafening.

Racing down the empty upstate roads towards Manhattan was easy until a single raindrop on your windshield turned into an all-out storm. 

You had no idea where you would end up but you knew at that moment that anywhere would be better than where you were now. 

——

When you drove away, Red walked through the halls for several minutes before he found anyone. Once he found Tony, he almost walked in until he heard the yelling. It scared him enough to make him turn around and walk to your room instead. He nosed his way in and let the door shut softly behind him. 

He placed the package you had given him onto his bed right at the foot of your own and laid on top of it. It stayed there for almost two weeks. 

That was when your dads had gotten back from Germany, tearing through the compound with fervor once they realized neither of them had seen you since the day before your departure. 

——

Two Days Ago: Germany

“End of the line Rogers! Stand down, hand Barnes over, and let's go home!” Tony shouted to his husband, glaring at him.

“You know I can’t do that! He’s family!” Steve yelled back and Tony visibly flinched at his words. Tears stung at his eyes and a single one slipped before he let his faceplate shut.

“So was I,” Tony said and the two teams began to run at each other.

Tony and Steve went head to head, attacking with broken hearts and shattered dreams.

“Why are you doing this?!” Tony asked.

“It’s the only way,” Steve responded, taking a swing with his shield that Tony narrowly dodged.

Tony moved back and let a blast hit Cap’s shield, “It’s not and you know it. You always swing first! There are other ways.”

“Not this time,” Steve spoke and dodged as Tony threw a punch, catching his wrist and looking him in the eye as he held it between them.

Tony let his helmet retract into his suit to look into the blue eyes that he still loved so deeply. The two of them were frozen, just staring at one another nearly forgetting about all of the fighting happening around them. 

Tony spoke first, “If you’re going to leave me, at least let me say goodbye to my daughter.”

Another tear slipped down Tony’s cheek and it took everything in Steve not to drop his shield and wipe it away. When Tony’s words finally registered, Steve’s face became riddled with confusion.

“What?” Steve asked, brows furrowing together. “Y/N isn’t with me. I didn’t even tell her I was leaving,” he told the other man.

“Bullshit. I haven’t seen her since you packed up and ran away with your boy toy,” Tony argued, trying to hide how the hurt tore him in two.

This time, Steve did drop his shield along with Tony’s wrist. He moved both of his hands onto the cool metal of his shoulders and Tony averted his gaze.

“Tony. Look at me,” Steve pleaded.

Tony reluctantly looked back at the older man, there was both sincerity and fear in his eyes.

“Oh god, she’s really not with you,” Tony said softly and his heart plummeted as his blood ran cold. He suddenly remembered the last time he saw you, looking solemn as the two of you had pizza for dinner in silence. He knew something was wrong but he couldn’t risk fighting with both you and Steve at the time.

Tony put his helmet back on and spoke quickly, “Friday, what’s Y/N’s current location?” 

A map of the globe popped up in front of him and Friday scanned it quickly then beeped twice, “No location found for Y/N Stark-Rogers.”

Tony’s breathing began to quicken as his panic began to take over. Steve knew the signs and found the emergency release near his left ear. It scanned his fingerprint and the helmet retracted again.

“Friday can’t find her,” he said, almost breathless.

Tony tried to push Steve away as his knees gave way under him. The super soldier wouldn’t let him, taking a knee with his husband as he pushed Tony’s forehead against his own, placing one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder. 

Steve began to count softly and it wasn’t until the fifth round of tens that Tony was grounded enough to breathe again. He pushed Steve’s hands off of him and stood. 

“Thank you,” Tony said quietly and Steve only nodded before joining him on his feet.

It was then that they both realized that the fighting around them had stopped. Though there was a distinct line between the two groups, it was clear that they were all concerned for the two men.

Tony stepped forward first. 

“We’re going back. Rhodey, Romanoff, Vision, Kid get the jet,” Tony was right in front of them now. None of them moved as he stood in front of T’Challa.

Tony tried his best not to break down as he spoke. “King T’Challa, I know you’re here because you want to bring Barnes into custody but I’m afraid I can’t help you anymore. My daughter has gone missing.” 

The tension in the air became fearful as he spoke. T’Challa let his helmet retract into his suit and placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

“I understand. But this will not be the end,” He let his hands drop and turned to look at Cap’s team, where Steve was now beside Bucky. “I won’t stop until he’s in Wakanda’s custody.” He looked back to Tony once more before continuing, “For now, I will help you find your daughter.”

Tony looked at him with grateful eyes, “Thank you.”

Steve took a hesitant step forward, “Tony—“

“Stop. I’m going back to the compound to find Y/N. You have your hands full with your fugitive,” Tony’s voice was cold as he spoke. He didn’t spare Steve a glance as the auto-piloted quintet touched down in front of them and Tony’s team entered before flying off.

Before the jet was even out of their sight, Steve fell to his knees and cried, having no idea Tony was doing the same just a few thousand feet over his head.

——

When Tony and his team arrived at the compound without Wakanda’s King, Steve and his were already there. Tony had made sure they didn’t have access and was glad to see it worked.

The man made no more to acknowledge them, just past by with his team in silence as he rushed into the compound's living area. 

“Y/N!” Tony yelled but was only greeted with silence. He glanced at the others, “Split up, see if you can find anything. I’ll check her room,” they all nodded and headed in different directions. 

Tony sprinted to your room, ignoring Steve’s presence as he followed him in. They were met with a very sad-looking Red on your bed, barely perking up at the sight of the two men. Tony knelt and opened his arms.

“Hey buddy,” the dog hopped off the bed without much grandeur and sat directly in front of Tony, head on his shoulder as his tail wagged weakly and he cried softly. Tony looked around the room and saw that his automatic feeding bowl was full and some of your things were gone. 

“Oh Red, buddy. Where’s Y/N? Is she home?” Tony questioned. 

Red barked and stood up, walking to his bed and picking up the package you have him so long ago. He brought it to Tony and the man took it, giving the dog a pat on the head and standing up.

He flipped it over and saw in your handwriting, ‘To Dad and Pops’ and it filled him with relief. This at least you left on your own accord and weren’t taken. 

Tony opened the package with shaking hands, still hyperaware of the super soldier at his side. It was your hero mask, there was a blinking red light indicating an awaiting message. 

Tony pressed it and they watched with desolate hearts as you told them you were leaving.

___

It had been three weeks since you left. You didn’t bring anything with you that could be tracked and had even swapped cars miles from where you ended up.

So when a knock came at your door of your apartment on the outskirts of Ontario, you armed yourself with the kitchen knife you were using to chop onions.

My father never talked a lot. 

He just took a walk around the block. 

You approached your door with all the silence of an assassin trained by Natasha Romanoff herself. When you were almost at the door a voice rang through it.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there,” they spoke and knocked once more before speaking again, “Open up, please.”

The tinge of pain in the words was breaking you as your grip loosened on the knife, almost dropping it. Your weight shifted a bit and one of the floorboards creaked under you.

You flinched at the sound.

“Y/N,” a different voice this time, “Honey, please.”

You could hear the tears like they had been at this for years and not weeks.

My mother never cried a lot.

She took the punches but she never fought.

Finally, you let yourself reach the door, swapping the knife to your left hand as you pressed your right against it, holding your weight. When you caught sight of the two men bruised and drained on the other side, it took everything in you not to open it and leap into their arms. 

But you held back. They couldn’t just show up after probably not even noticing your absence. So, you donned an accent and spoke in French.

I say, ‘They’re just the ones who gave me life.’

But I truly am my parent’s child.

“Pas de Y/N ici, tu t'es trompé d'appartement,” you spoke and you heard a deep sigh on the other side. (No Y/N here, you have the wrong apartment.)

“Êtes-vous sûr? Il y a un chien ici avec son nom sur l'étiquette,” Tony spoke in perfect French. It only made you want to cry again. 

(Are you sure? There's a dog here with her name on the tag.)

You clamped a hand over your mouth to hold back a sob that threatened to spill over. You cleared your throat before you spoke again, “Je suis sûr. J'espère que vous trouverez qui vous cherchez,” you turned your back on the door and moved to sit on the couch, placing the knife on the coffee table.

(I'm sure. Hope you find who you're looking for.)

“What now?” You heard Steve ask, quietly as you stared intently at the door. You heard Red give an enthusiastic bark and a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Now we be parents,” Tony replied and you heard a series of mechanical clicks.

Then silence.

Scattered ‘cross my family line.

I’m so good at telling lies.

And finally, a quiet ‘boom’ as your door handle was blown off in one clean circle.

You stared at the door as it began to creak open. Before either of your fathers could push it, Red came barreling through and straight onto you. You held him tightly and buried your face into his fur as he wiggled energetically in your arms.

“Hi Red,” you whispered into his warmth as you heard a pair of footsteps walk inside and attempt to shut the door.

You didn’t want to look at them but you couldn’t ignore them as they spoke.

“I could have just pushed it open, Tony,” your Pops spoke as they made their way further in.

“I took care of it, Rogers,” he replied, a chill to his words as they both sat on the opposite ends of the couch across from you.

That came from my mother’s side.

Told a million to survive.

They sat in silence as Red began to calm down and you were forced to look at them when he decided to lay on your lap.

You look to your Dad first, there was a healing bruise on his eye and his entire form was tense. Your Pop was about the same, sans bruise but looking uncharacteristically disheveled. 

You decided to speak first.

“How did you find me?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Your Dad clearly wanted to roll his eyes, “I’ve got 10 satellites in orbit, I could find a needle in a haystack.”

“Tony,” you Pops said as if warning him that he was becoming too harsh.

Tony sighed, “Why’d you leave?”

You actually did roll your eyes, “Maybe because my parents are getting a divorce and our house was turning into a civil war,” you could feel yourself getting worked up as you spoke, your powers beginning to bubble up to the surface. 

You took a deep breath and regrouped.

“Why didn’t you take Red?” Your Pops asked.

I can’t forget, I can’t forgive you.

‘Cause now I’m scared that everyone I love will leave me.

You looked down at the lovable pile of fur on your lap and gently stroked his head, “He’s too easy to track. I needed to be on my own for a while.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to us?” Tony’s voice was edging on desperation, he had moved up on the couch, now almost on the edge of his seat as he rested his elbows on his knees. 

“How could I?!” You spoke loudly as tears stung your eyes and your body began to shake as you tried desperately to hold yourself back. 

“When I tried to ask you,” you pointed at your Dad and the sudden made Red jump off of the couch in favor of sitting at your feet, “you’d just play it off like I was some little kid. And you,” you dropped your hand and looked sadly at your Pop, “you were ready to leave us the second you found out Bucky was alive.”

This time you couldn’t help it as the tears fell. You gave yourself a second of sadness before pushing yourself up and standing, wiping at your eyes. They stood with you.

“You’re still young Y/N/N. I didn’t want you involved in any of this,” Tony said, as his own tears shone in his eyes. 

You gave a dry laugh, “Please, I’ve been involved since the day I was born. I was a kid I wasn’t clueless!”

Both of your fathers flinched at that.

“All that I did I tried to undo it by pushing you both aside to help Bucky, and that wasn’t fair,” Steve began.

“Please, we did what we had to do to protect you,” He continued looking just as desperate as you felt. 

“Protect me from the two of you!? Do you know how insane that sounds!? All of my pain and all your excuses we’ve been hearing since the day he showed up aren’t going anywhere! You thought he was dead for decades!” You were yelling now but you didn’t care, they needed to hear it all. You could feel yourself begin to heat up from within as you fought your power down.

They were both inching closer to you now, less than an arm's length away on either side of you when they rounded the coffee table.

“We did it because we had to. Because we love you!” Tony tried but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Someone who loves me wouldn’t do this!” You cried, falling to your knees as your power came out in a shimmering wave, pushing your parents flat on their backs, making every lightbulb in the vicinity pop and shatter.

You were nothing but tired now, as you wept. Red, who had crawled beneath the couch had inched out at the sound go your cries. You hugged him against your chest as your parents sat up with a groan. 

They both came toward you and wrapped their arms around you. You only cried harder as they whispered apologies and let their own tears fall silently.

Everything was far from perfect, but it would be better.

I can run but I can’t hide.

From my family line.

#tony stark daughter #steve rogers daughter #stony daughter tony #stark x daughter!reader #steve rogers x daughter!reader #avengers x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel angst #stony x daughter!reader #marvel two shot #stony x black!daughter!reader #tony stark x black!daughter!reader #steve rogers x black!daughter!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #tony stark x black!reader #avengers x black!reader

[5ummit]

The Winter Soldier in What If...? Season 2

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #masked!bucky #what if #marvel #marveledit #my edit #what if spoilers #tusermerc #tusershay #useraurore #usertammy #usersameera #userashe #mcufam #I REALLY wish I had more time to make gifs but I have to leave for a christmas party RIGHT NOW #they picked literally the worst possible day to release this ep #also I know I already giffed that first shot from the trailer but the quality of this one is slightly better and I wanted to pair these two #GOD that side eye

[moritashie]

I HAVE A FIC IDEA vol #5

• Tony and Peter start spending some time together after the events of Homecoming. Sometimes Tony would invite Peter over to the compound to tinker in the lab, other times he would join Spider-Man on some mission a little over the teen's level.

∘ While these meetings become something more frequent, they always end up doing something that requires his influence, is connected with a lot of public, his status as a superhero etc.

• Gradually, Tony finds himself spending more and more time checking in on the kid, whether it is through the baby monitor protocol, talking with May or the kid himself.

∘ Rhodey points that fact out one time they decide to have a drink at a bar together, joking about Tony becoming quite parental when it comes to Peter, and that leads Tony to the realization that he does in fact view Peter as his kid.

∘ At the same time he realizes that Peter must feel nowhere near the way he does. To the hero-worshipping kid he must only the "OMG it's freaking Ironman!", and he figures out that he is quite bothered by that fact. He has to change it.

• Tony devises a special plan to do as many awesome (read: fatherly) things with Peter as possible, to distance himself from the media image of Tony Stark.

FOR EXAMPLE (but doesn't have to be any of these)

∘ Building a tree-house together

∘ Teaching Peter how to make Italian pasta

∘ Going camping with him and Rhodey

∘ Organizing a Movie night with snacks

∘ Telling Peter some more casual/wild stories from his youth, (ones that Peter could relate to)

#rhodey could be Tony's wingman in this #i have checked out “WikiHow” just to get some ideas for what these two could do LMHO #This could become a one-shot SO easily #also. Peter probably does feel similarily about Tony but what do I know #there is a lot of potential in there #peter parker #iron dad #spider son #marvel #spiderman #marvel art #irondad and spiderson #spiderman fanart #irondad fanfiction #irondad fluff #marvel fanfiction #spider man #marvel mcu

[softiedingo]

#loki season 2 #loki spoilers #loki laufeyson #loki #mobius m mobius #mobius #lokius #tom hiddleston #owen wilson #natalie holt #ali plumb #some heroes really don't need capes #i'm sorry but this is so funny #marvel clearly shot itself in the foot #these two deserve a kiss and a hug for all the fantastic service they did

[marlenacantswim]

guess who just watched jessica jones in the year of our lord 2024

#there's almost no shot i'm the first person to assign this post to this episode #bc like that's quite literally what is going on #also to clarify i didn't watch the whole show; just s1 and the above s2 episode #i've come away from every defenders show i've watched thinking it was excellent television #but i've never felt the need to watch any past season one or two #anyways i hated kilgrave with every fibre of my being but also had the most incredible time watching him #jessica jones #krysten ritter #kilgrave #david tennant #eka darville #running my mouth #made this with my hands #marvel

[jrueships]

can you please walk us through the relationship between wemby and jabari the people need to know

i think the most notable thing about vic and Jabari's relationship is that they don't have one, when it would be so beneficial if they did. they're like two soldiers fighting for the opposite sides of a war, too loyal to the cause to stop and think about what could have been if they just lowered their respective weapons aimed by cold hands larger than their own. foils by fate, friends by freedom.

' remember, you will Always be Different. '

' remember, you will Always be Replaceable. '

'Replaceable'

Jabari's dad made it in the NBA, then didn't. He was a big that could shoot, but wasn't a post-up man. Back then, post-up was the desired style. Ironically, now, it's all about shooting. But his dad didn't live in the now, and his career in the US was short-lived, to keep it cordial. Jabari's older brother played basketball throughout his whole life, but stopped after college. Jabari's cousin, Kwame Brown, was drafted 1st overall in the lottery, and became a notorious bust for the Washington wizards.

Basketball is a business. Basketball is fleeting.

It doesn't matter that a big with sharpshooter skills is valued as something so 'prized' in today's nba, not back then, not when it would have mattered for Jabari's dad. Making it is one ballpark in its own, but Staying in it? Can perhaps be an even more painful ordeal when the hoops to accomplish it aren't circus hoops, but a plain hill some just don't have the strength, mentality, or the materials to help climb without distraction or pitfall.

Jabari's dad made sure Jabari had this threat forever ingrained in his mind. When he yells at Jabari for misplaced eye contact, for typing the wrong words in a public social media reply, for reacting in a way a camera might misinterpret, it's out of love. Jabari's dad was known for being a hassle to coach back then, maybe because he knew his potential and no one else did because it was too new to the mold. So he makes sure Jabari doesn't follow his same habits. Jabari is polite to authority, simply replies with a 'Yes Sir' or a 'No Ma'am', he holds eye contact, he wakes up hours before he needs to just to jump rope, just to uphold the standards that his family could not. He is Everything his father is and isn't, plus more. When his team wins, he's still talking about his missed freethrows even 8 hours later. Because someone else could have won the game And hit those free throws too . someone from a family that gained success and stayed in that success. Someone who wasn't Just Another Son of a basketball player trying to do what his father couldn't, someone who was Different .

Everyone knew wemby was different. When his literature class was asked to write an essay about your future dreams in life, he wrote a fictional romance about a couple where the woman got in a car accident and was comatosed as a result, but got better in the end. He didn't write about being a great basketball player one day, because his parents don't pressure him to hunker himself into the norm, even though his mother once was and now coaches. If Wemby one day realized this wasn't for him, they would encourage him to leave and follow whatever greater passions propelling him. He's so agile for his size because his dad was an Olympic talent in track and field. He is someone who has hobbies and talents that are considered common alone, but strange combined, because he loves what he has and what he does. He reads every night for one hour before bed not to appear as some pseudointellectual, but because he Genuinely loves it, and when he loves something, he excels at it. He does try to be different, but not out of ego. He just loves to be. He either accomplishes at 200% or zero. It may be 200% in an unexpected direction, but it's His direction and that's what matters. If he somehow does wind up a bust, a possibility he considers without fear but acceptance as potential fate, then he won't go down as yet another failed first pick. He'll fall as he flew, Victor Wembanyama.

' Different '

' Replaceable'

Jabari winces each time he's subbed out, even for a second, even on an injured ankle, he's silently Stubborn, his posture shrunken and his gaze at the ground yet his eyes, big, wobbling, staring up always at the speaker, he's silently scared.

Jabari doesn't Want to be different. He just wants to be what his family couldn't be when it came to fame: irreplaceable . His parents split when he was younger, he tries his hardest to appease them both as to not cause any more issues. The relationship relies on his shoulders more than ever, and he can't fumble it again. He has to be what his dad couldn't so his dad can stay, commenting on commonality or surprises. He wants to support his still working mother, especially after the split. He doesn't Want to be unique, he just wants Security.

Because this can crumble any moment now, it doesn't matter how high your pick was or how bright the future Could Have been or how the game would later shift to your style if you had just somehow Stayed. Why bet on low chances if you know you can't handle the risk. He shakes any college coaches' hands that showed up to his practices, personally thanks them for coming even though he's one of the best in the country so their presence should be a given to him, it's not. When he picks a college, he picks one that guaranteed their faith in him from day One, and didn't require any further prodding to finally say '.. Maybe we'll offer you a position' like Kentucky did, as big and famous as it is, it wasn't Secured . They saw him as a risk at one point, and that's everything he's been trying to avoid when it came to attention, negatively standing out.

Jabari wants to be known as the strong shoulder to the world. He WANTS to be known as That One Guy who can just carry everything, nameless but Good. He just wants to be Good. Please tell him he's good. Please tell him what he's doing is Good. That basing his entire personality around yet another soldier who ultimately fell in battle but fought nonetheless being nameless is Good. Please feel free to give him all your burdens to bear like he's just some mule, an animal, a Tool .. because that means he's Useful, at least. That means he's Good. And if he isn't good, then he's nothing. Because you can always just buy another one anyways. A better one.

'Different'

Although his parents try not to treat Wemby by simplifying his differences into a strictly labeled, simple FUTURE BASKETBALL PRODIGY box at birth, that doesn't mean that can always stop others from doing it. Wemby signed his first autograph at ten years old.

It didn't matter if he was a kid who was so much more than just his basketball future, basketball fans wanted one thing from him and one thing only: Success. People didn't care about his literary skills or his drawing hobbies. The eyes on his alien needed to be smaller 'so your shoe can sell better, trust us, it's still Your drawing.. your weird little .. not money-making hobby, do believe me, Vic, We know what We're doing. You just stick to whatever you do.'

His differences, in the end, are minimalized just to that. He's just Different. That's what everyone says who wouldn't really care to say anything at all if he never hooped as well as they wanted in the first place. The youtube videos of 40 year old men criticizing his 15 year old games didn't Really care if he was just a kid, they just cared in the 'imagine when he reaches peak physicality? imagine the points (money) he'd make for the nba.' His beautiful differences, artistic, soft, unique but oh-so wonderfully common and passionate.. are all dissolved into 'Different', the Base definition.

he's an alien. Someone you can just dump all your poverty franchise worries onto because don't worry, he's Different. Trust me, he'll save your team. 'He's Different. ..am i talking about how he'd effortlessly answer questions in class while also trying to hide the fact that he's playing on his phone by tucking his bony legs awkwardly in his chair and crouching his spine over that it looked almost scary? HELL NO? what does THAT have to do with BASKETBALL?? no, he's just freakishly long, but like. Gifted. Though. ... I don't know, man, he's just DIFFERENT, okay? you can trust me, i'm a sports podcaster, okay? everything i say is gold.'

A celebrity approaches him because he was different than most famous basketball athletes. He was Different. And yet, when he didn't recognize or notice her presence due to Different cultures ( due to Being Genuinely, Detailedly Different ), he was scorned and ushered out of public eye so another possible pr bomb couldn't injure his reputation as a Difference That They Really Would Rather Not Want.

that's what his reading falls into, his old friends, his family, his art, his personality. If it's beyond ball, if it's beyond Business. The world only cares if it's marketable. Sure, some reporters will ask a question outside of sport, but only because it'll be a Different.. funny little nugget of knowledge for fans to laugh at then soon disregard for what Really made him famous. But, Wemby is what he always wanted to be. He's Different. So What if it's not exactly the kind of Different he actually wants, he actually functions on? No one has the time to perform 200% anymore. Slap the label you wanted and call it quits, stop being so High-Maintenanced. That's not marketable.

You're just different. And to some people, that's all you'll ever be. No need to explore it any further. Who knows, your Consumers might find something they won't like. And we can't risk that happening to our greatest circus freak.

i mean. Generational basketball talent .

If there's a press conference going on that somehow includes the two, then Wemby just wants to be sure everyone can hear what he really wants to say, in his own words, not echoing anyone else's, and Jabari just wants to Be in the Room.

His brother stopped playing basketball because his family said he didn't try hard enough. Jabari Can't have that. His whole life revolves Around basketball, around sport. He doesn't WANT to be DIFFERENT if that isn't the soundest option, he just wants to be GREAT. Because GREAT is SUCCESS. Jabari Smith is not success. It's just a retry at it . His father shares the same name.

Wemby's life did not always revolve around basketball, to people, at one point. At one point, Wemby's life was just his life. Now, it seems like only his family think that, and they're from a whole other country. When he comments on videos critiquing his playstyle, he doesn't do so out of anger or questioning, he does so because he genuinely Wants to improve. He Does want to be great. But, he wants to be great in Everything that he finds interesting. He always did. When he likes an author, he reads All their books, not just their most notorious novel. He wants to be transported into other people's worlds so he can learn, so he can change, so he can be Different. Even if he somehow were to lose all of this fame, this Greatness, this job, this opportunity, he will never really lose. Because he's someone who's always taken opportunities to the fullest, so even if they pan out a little differently, that's Fine, really, because he's different. Not in the minimizing, dictionary definition then leave the meaning at that different, but in the butterfly effect. What he once was ten days ago is not exactly the same of what he is now, and it hurts, sometimes, when people fail to see that, or simply don't want to because textbook different is easier to digest than worldly different.

IN SHORT.. theyre foils. i can't Exactly walk u thru their relationship bcs .. there Isn't one.. & that's what's so Interesting about them. That's what makes their relationship, to me. Because if they WERE to be friends, if they somehow in some alternate world WERE to get paired up on the same team... they would be friends. I really think they would be. Not only because their signs are so compatible, or their differences are so stark, but because their similarities would triumph everything beautifully. Maybe. We don't know because they Weren't paired together, we can only speculate. But i think it would be big and beautiful, whatever they would have, it would be Something.

unfortunately, we don't live in an alternate world where they're teammates though ! Double unfortunately, Jabari and Wemby's biggest similarity is their loyalty to the game (a double-edged sword in both their lives from Jabari's silent unhealthy desire to be limited and Wemby's silent desperation not to be) Wemby, in Jabari's eyes, is Indeed a powerful...

Problem.

He's not really a person to him . In all fairness, no one really is when they're involved in the basketball world, not to Jabari, not from the way he's been taught. Everyone's supposed to be Replaceable, a faceless tool in the pocket of good business.

.. except for This freakazoid. Apparently.

APPARENTLY, he's some supposed 'saint'. someone to be feared for being more. APPARENTLY, the reporters just LOVE yapping about him SO much, that Jabari HAS to take the time out of his training just to talk about some guy who doesn't even GO here, yet when they ask him about his opinion on future prospects. WELL, that's ALL wemby IS to Jabari, just another future prospect. Just another problem.

A problem he'll be sure to check off his list.

... okay, so Maybe he's a bit more than a problem.. maybe.. he's just a really persistent problem? yeah, that's it, nothing more. Jabari will work through this. He Always does. That's what he does well, Work.

Wemby wonders if that's all he ever does .

But he doesn't have long before Jabari's marching down the tunnel to beat himself up over all his mistakes other people would never make, and Wemby's being escorted to an interview that other people would never make solely to show how Much he just Stands Out as a soul... in basketball .

I hope they find each other in basketball, and out of it as well. I just feel like

Something would Happen

#THANK YOU for this ask #i was so scared making it tho like... im srry it's so long but im afraid i cant short answer in life 😭 #if im scared it's gonna miss something 😭 #i MAY be an overthinker hooper 🗣‼️‼️💯🔥 #in reality thank u for asking fr <333 it's been a while since ive done one of my (in)famous ted talks LMAO #i hope this helped 😊!! <- i say as the whole point of it was that it couldnt actually help #LiSTEN- iN THE END.. IT'S FOR THE DELULUS IM AFRAID #the OHHHH but the POTENTIALL #mfs who have mental illness (multi shipping) #theyre like pg and dame Thats a Bad Shot to be #like they both have insane 200% or nothing work ethics... but driven into such POLAR opposite means to an end #theyre like two people who wrote an antithesus to the other but would actually rule the world together if given the chance #2 veey powerful heroes belonging to two different alliances or worlds.. holding similar but different ideals #corny one liner quip bcs i have to for the kids marvel wemby and trying to be edgier bcs fck them kids dc jabari #idk theyre insane to me #pls say u understand #bcs i dont think i rlly do myself and thats why i love them so much #theyre a puzzle and i wanna know if the final product is exactly what ive been imagining from the pieces given to me #or if it's completely opposite #either way it's so fun for me to figure out but again. i may be insane #if i am .. feel free to tell me 😭😭 really. at least have the courtesy to tell the polar bear his world is melting before taking a picture #ted asks #ted longer #jaba #webby #IF I MISSPELL WEMBYS NAME PLS BE NICE 2 ME. I DID LORE RESEARCH HIM i SWEAR. I RESEARCH ALL MY POSSIBLE SHIPS PEOPLES CUS IM SCARED OF #MISINTERPRETATION. SO IF U SEE ME MISSPELL WEMBY.. IT'S BCS I AM STUPID YES. BUT LIKE. NOT WITH RESEARCH. IT'S JUST MY STUPID BRIAN #*BRAIN**** <-SEE?? i Dont think i have to explain any further how his name is a Nightmare for people like me who #think 8s are 6s on a math test and fails bcs of it EVEN THO the problem wouldve been right if it WERE to be a 6.. it is simply not

[amandaoftherosemire]

Genghis Khan -- Part Two

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU/MCU AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6393

Format: Two-Part One-Shot (Complete)

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, sexual intercourse, possessiveness, angst, fluff, language.

Summary: You and Bucky are neighbors and friends-with-benefits. Neither of you like the arrangement, but neither of you are willing to risk ruining it to ask for more. One night, you both get pushed to your limits.

A/N: Hooray! I got this out in a reasonable amount of time! I know I said soon, but I say a lot of things. Not because I am a liar, but because I am an optimist. I am always hoping that this will be the time that I’m not going to make myself a liar. And this was it! We did it! Enjoy!

<<Part One here

Genghis Khan Part Two

 “Damn right you are.”

Bucky's heart was pounding in dread and excitement, in violent anticipation and deathly fear. Your agreement sent shudders of relief running through him, weakening his knees just as he reached the edge of your bed. He bent to place you in the middle of the mattress, stretching out on top of you at the same time.

He braced himself on his vibranium elbow as his other hand gripped the back of your thigh to spread your legs for his gently undulating hips. He buried his face in your throat to close his mouth over the sensitive skin under your ear, desperate for the taste of you on his lips. When you arched into his mouth with a low moan, it made him shudder with the stifled urge to lose control, the need to ravish your body with his own.

When he'd knocked on your door, he'd had no idea what he was doing. He'd known it was dangerous to confront you when in such a wild and reckless mood. He felt possessive, jealous, and he knew that he needed to stay away from you until he could tamp it back down. Despite all he knew, he couldn’t help himself, needed to have it out with you with no filters. He'd been unable to stop himself from demanding answers, damn the consequences.

The honesty with which you'd answered, the emotion quivering at your mouth as you'd done so had nearly brought him to his knees. Your refusal would have been literally painful, but he would have understood. Your acceptance had been so sultry and soft, he'd been unable to keep his hands to himself. Whatever his intentions, he always found himself circling back to you, bound by what was between you.

Bucky finally had to admit that his every attempt to keep you at a distance had been a complete and utter failure. He was hung up on you, too, and he knew he needed to tell you that, but when you'd opened the door looking like an angel, any intention toward conversation had gone up in a puff of smoke, incinerated by desire. He'd wanted to assure you that all that stood between you was his own fears and insecurities, but the look on your face had left him stunned and weak, unable to form the words.

Now that he was sinking into the softness of your bed, the softness of you, his heart rose to his lips and tumbled out in soft sighs of adoration as his lips brushed over your shoulders, nudging the straps of your dress aside. If this was what it was to be vulnerable, it was worth the risk. "Beautiful," he whispered, a moan in his throat, as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your collarbones.

Your arms moved to slide up under his shirt, around the barrel of his chest, lost in the feeling of Bucky's mouth worshipping your skin, making you feel like affection was seeping beneath the surface and spreading through you in a warm wave. He’d always made you feel wanted, desired, but never like this. He’d never given you the soft and sweet the way he was now, even as his hands pressed and gripped with a greed you’d never felt from him before. You shivered when you heard him whisper, his voice sweet and smooth as honey as his words spilled over you.

"I hated the idea of you inviting him in," he murmured as you dragged his shirt upwards, trying to get him naked as quickly as possible. His relentlessly rocking hips were driving you crazy, made you need to feel more of him. "Hated that I don't have the right to hate anything you do."

The growl in his tone was dark, almost angry. Something primal inside you growled in response and your hands grew even more frantic as they raced over him, pushing at his shirt, the waistband of his jeans. Regardless of the black mood that spurred his words, you couldn’t help but thrill at the avarice underneath them.

In a move so quick and easy it made you blink, he'd lifted up so that the tight grip of your thighs around his hips tugged at his jeans around his hips. He yanked his shirt impatiently over his head and toed his boots off while you yanked at the button fly of his jeans. When he came back down, you discovered that he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his jeans when his bare cock slid against the damp silk at the apex of your thighs.

He had only gotten harder as you'd frantically pushed his jeans down over his hips to bare him to your gaze, your touch. Pressing his body to yours, he took your mouth in a rough yet tender kiss as his cock went from rock hard to diamond, the electricity of every touch arcing through both of you from every place your bodies touched. The feeling of him sliding against your clit through your almost embarrassingly wet underwear added another layer of frantic desire and had you moaning together.

His hands fumbled at your waist and hips to drag at the scrap of fabric there, eventually giving into frustration and tearing it away. Your body quaked in reaction, pure lust washing through you as you watched his hands close around your thighs so that he could spread you open and bathe in the wetness his hands, his mouth, his body had brought forth. Your head fell back on your neck as you whimpered in need.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the hoarse sound rasping lusciously over your eardrums and sending shivers through you as his hand slid up your side, searching for the zipper he'd seen under your arm. "I'll pay for those." He leaned close to breathe the words into your ear even as his vibranium arm slid beneath your shoulders, his hand dipping beneath your dress to deftly unsnap your bra as he went. Your thighs tightened around his waist when his other hand, having found and vanquished the zipper, pulled at your dress, discarding your bra, until you were bared to the waist. With a purr of pleasure, he palmed your breast, squeezing and kneading as his mouth continued to move gently over your skin.

This wasn’t the first time he'd torn your clothes off, nor the first time he'd expressed remorse for doing so, but you loved it when he did things like that, whether you should or not. Maybe you’d feel differently if he’d ever touched you with anything resembling violence, but only passion could occasionally push him into any kind of wanton destruction, and that only against your clothing. You knew who he was, what he’d been, but you did not, could not fear him.

You stretched your neck to give him better access to your throat, arching your chest to press your breast more fully into his hand, flexed your thighs to meet every gentle thrust against your clit with one of your own, dragging him through your folds. You wanted more, wanted to feel him all over you. For the first time, it felt like he had opened up and you wanted to bathe in all the passion flooding over you.

Bucky had never felt so out of control and yet so at peace with it. You were out of control with him, and that was all that mattered. His eyes narrowed on yours as he lost himself in you. He couldn't get enough, dipped his head further to the breast he wasn't already teasing. He took your nipple in his mouth and began to suck in the same rolling rhythm as his hips and the sensation had your hands scrabbling at his back for purchase as you pressed yourself up and into him as much as you could, wrapped in his powerful body.

You were getting hotter with every second in his arms, but there was something about this moment that left you unguarded in a way you'd never been before. With a growl, your hands dove into his hair, pulling him gently but firmly away so you could look into his face in the dim light coming in through the curtains from the street.

Bucky could only watch in awe as your arms fell to your sides and you braced yourself as your legs tightened around him, tilting your hips. To his surprise, he was suddenly pressing against your entrance and your diabolical thighs were tightening to take him inside you. Arching, you thrust yourself onto him, panting in desire, eyes glittering on his as you began to rock gently, inviting him to slide deeper.

Shocked, but hardly displeased, Bucky found the fire of your passion arousing beyond anything he'd ever known before. His eyes were locked onto your face, and the carnal look there had his hips shifting downward to press his cock more deeply into you. You bit your lower lip as he slipped deep and the sight, the sensation, had him shuddering. He dipped his head as he held still to pant and pray for the strength to resist the siren song your body sang, at least until you’d sang in pleasure first. When he thought he’d pulled himself back from the precipice, he gave a little testing thrust that made you purr and forced a groan from deep in his throat.

Finding his mouth only a breath from yours, he closed the gap. As his tongue slid between your lips, you whimpered softly. The sound made him feel a strange combination of feral need and infinite tenderness and he thrust gently to see if he could make you do it again.

The sensation of his cock, rubbing gently deep inside you even as his teeth were scraping over your lower lip, had you shuddering out a sigh of pleasure. Everything seemed both slow and dreamy and yet painfully real and intense.

Bucky devoured your mouth with a tender voracity that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him in desperate need as he pulled slowly out, enjoying every dragging inch. When he slid back into silk and wet, he thought the pleasure would destroy him. You felt covered by him, surrounded by him, filled by him, the feeling so lovely you hummed with the warm bliss of it.

He knew he had only himself to blame for the hard distinction between friend and sometime lover that defined your relationship, but all of a sudden he couldn't stand it anymore. "God, babygirl," he growled as he broke the kiss to drag in air. Your eyes widened in surprise when he took your hands in his and pressed them into the bed next to your head, his elbows outside yours. His body enclosed you as he bent close, nose to nose, his eyes bright and fierce. "How do you do this to me?"

Your breath caught when he started to move more quickly inside you, his eyes still burning into yours, his gaze devouring your face. You were shocked to see that the wall he'd put between you was down and he was showing you everything that had been beneath his studied indifference.

"Bucky," you gasped, the sensation of his body petting yours both inside and out making you breathless with pleasure, despite your confusion, "I'm not trying to hurt you."

Bucky stopped moving at the sound of your voice, pain under the baffled tones making his heart throb in response. His hand moved from its place next to your head to brush his thumb over your cheek to wipe away the trail of the single tear that had fallen down your temple.

“I’m crazy about you, doll,” he murmured, his heart in his throat. “But I’m not safe, and I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone, or you, because you make me crazy.” He hadn’t meant to say it that baldly, but the darkly possessive part of him that existed whether he would or not was in charge right now.

At last, your heart called out, understanding relaxing your muscles and your mind. Instead of letting him surround you, you slipped your arms around his neck, your limbs a twining squeeze, your body caressing him as your hips rocked slowly and deliberately up into his. The honest admission allowed you to let the rest of your questions go, for the moment. He was as lost and confused by this as you were. You could lay back and enjoy being lost in feeling with him in the light of that.

Bucky had admitted to feelings for you. What happened next could wait until you'd dealt with the fire in your body threatening to drive you mad. "Okay," you murmured as you lifted your head to suck soft kisses into the skin of his throat. “Crazy’s okay.”

Bucky couldn't think straight when you touched him like this, all softness and honey. You seemed always able to draw him in, down into a place of dark pleasure and soft torment. Your hands dove into his hair, tugging gently, or skimmed over his back and arms, nails digging in just enough to leave a prickle of sensation. Your thighs tightened rhythmically, lifting your hips to meet his with each thrust.

He caught your eye, watched your face as the tempo of his thrusts increased, your hips moving faster to match him. Pleasure-soaked wonder chased sorrow across your face. Bucky didn't know how, in the moment, to take away the sorrow, though he wanted to do so with all of his heart. As he couldn't relieve it, he shoved forward and up, seeking a new angle with which to drown your sorrow in ecstasy.

Bucky slid one arm beneath your hips and the other beneath your shoulders as he shifted until his knees were under him. At this angle, and with this leverage, he could thrust both deeper and harder. "Crazy’s okay?" he muttered even as his head dipped to sink his teeth into your shoulder in irritated lust.

You laughed, losing your focus in the feeling of being held so tightly against him. His arms were uncompromising bands around you, holding you in place for every brush of his body against yours, every surge of his hips between your thighs. You were wrapped around him like a vine, meeting every thrust with ever-increasing force as you climbed rapidly to peak.

“Just please don’t stop,” you moaned, the tiny warm shivers heralding your impending orgasm. Between the even friction of Bucky’s pelvic bone against your clit and the delicious rubbing of his dick deep inside you, climax was inevitable as long as he kept doing exactly the same thing.

Bucky kept moving at the same force and speed despite his own body urging him to pound into you. Experience had taught him to take you literally in your commands. He was almost immediately rewarded for his restraint when you started to shiver and cling to him while you whimpered in your throat as soft waves of pleasure began to shudder through you.

As your limbs twined around him and squeezed, Bucky kept moving, watching the pleasure move over your face. This was always his favorite part of making love to you, the part where your body took over and molded itself to his in ecstasy. He never felt closer, like he was seeing all of you, than when he looked into your eyes as they blurred and fluttered closed as your climax took you.

When your body went limp in his arms, whimpers for mercy escaping your lips, something primal reached up from the depths of his mind and grabbed him by the throat. With a growl, he loosened his tight grip around your body and gently let you fall to the bed. He lifted up onto his knees, sitting back on his heels, his torso a smooth curve of movement as he sat up. The sight inexplicably sent you right back into wanting him, your core clenching despite the waves of your climax still shimmering through you.

Bucky’s hands were eminently gentle, if inexorable, as they closed around your hips and flipped you with an alacrity and speed you found astounding. Once you were on your stomach, those demanding hands pulled your dress from where it bunched around your waist, down your body and onto the floor. He kicked his jeans all the way off and pulled your hips up so that you were on your knees as he positioned himself behind you. In no way averse to this particular turn of events, you braced yourself on your elbows and clenched your hands in the sheets, knowing from experience that you were about to really enjoy yourself.

A low rumbling growl came from deep in Bucky’s throat as he drank in the sight of you, on your knees, braced and ready for him. He loved seeing you like this, loved that you trusted him with your body completely. He placed the tip of his cock at your entrance, still holding your hips, and watched as he slid easily inside you. He never tired of watching himself join with you, a singular pleasure that gratified something both soft and sexual inside him. Being allowed to be with you like this was more vital to him than he'd realized, the connection more important than he'd wanted to admit. The fear of vulnerability couldn’t counteract the simple satisfaction, however, and he reveled in the sight of that union.

Bucky pulled out slowly, enjoying the gentle rasp of his cock against your walls as he withdrew. You responded by shuddering with pleasure, a ripple of sensation around him that incentivized him to take his time. Wanting to feel more of your skin, he leaned over so that his chest was brushing against your back and his hand was reaching under you to cup your breast. His other arm slid, cool and solid, beneath your hips, right where you were bent at a right angle to receive the hypnotic rocking of his hips against your ass, his cock rubbing deliciously inside you.

"I get primitive about you, can’t help it." His voice was a low rumble as he nuzzled the back of your neck. The way his body was wrapping around you, the feeling of his breath on your skin, the relentless rhythm of his digging hips made you feel like he was surrounding you, filling you, destroying you.

Bucky's teeth closed around the cord of muscle between your shoulder and your neck, squeezing gently. You moaned out loud at the feeling, the slight prickle of his teeth sending shivers over your skin to meet the shudders he was evoking with his fingers plucking at your nipples. "Like that," he murmured against your skin, thrusting in a little harder, a little deeper. "Make that sound again. It makes me crazy."

You laughed, low and breathless as you stretched up into him, pushing back against him as much as you could inside the circle of his body. The sultry sound, along with the soft give and tight clench of your body, made him groan low in his throat and press deep. You responded with another soft moan, the kind that haunted his dreams, and the sound seemed to shoot straight to his stomach. His muscles locked down in response so that he wouldn't let go too soon but resisting the allure of your body was a battle.

You felt him go rigid around you and recognized one of the signals that he'd been pushed over the edge into need, rather than just want. Sometimes the heat between you became something more, something electric, like when lightning follows a volcanic eruption. That eruption was always preceded by this absolute stillness, and when he froze for a moment around you, inside you, the muscles of your thighs flexed in preparation, in anticipation.

Cool air sent goosebumps over your skin as his chest left the skin of your back bare when he straightened behind you. His hands closed around your hips in a tight grip, and you fell to your elbows to lower your head and pant as he slowly pulled himself almost entirely from your body.

The eruption blew through you when his hips started to slam into you. In contrast to the slow, methodical rhythm he'd stuck to until the feeling of your body, the sound of your pleasure had gone to his head, he was now pounding into you with abandon. Fast and hard enough to send crackles of electricity through your whole body with every thrust, he fucked you relentlessly, driving cries of need from your throat.

Bucky loved this moment with you, when everything else, past, present, and future, fell away and there was nothing left but you and him in a timeless moment. The arc of your body spread out on your knees before him was deliciously sexy. The position had the added bonus of keeping him from your all-too-perceptive eyes. He was too afraid that the joy he felt in the feeling of you coming around him would give away how deep his emotions truly ran.

But your voice was calling out his name, pleading for more, demanding satisfaction. Your body was clenching and rippling around him, insisting that he give in and join you in your tumble into ecstasy. Whether you knew it or not, he was yours for the taking; he could not deny you anything.

Still, he had intended to ease back rather than chase his own climax when he felt your hips shift under his hands. In the next moment, you had readjusted your leverage and were pushing back into him with the same relentless force and speed that he'd been driving into you. Pleasure grew teeth and clamped into his spine as he lost the rhythm and came inside you with a shuddering groan and stuttering hips.

When Bucky's moan blended with yours, the quakes rocking through you only increased in intensity. You sobbed with sensation when you felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips and ass to thrust as deeply and hold you as tightly as possible. It was a rare thing to make him lose even an iota of control, and the surprise you could hear under the moan told you he hadn't been done when he'd finished. You smiled into the sheets even as you waited for the tremors of your own climax to fade.

He made a sound halfway between a purr and a rumble even as his hands skimmed over your back and ass, thighs and belly as he bent close to press appreciative kisses in between your shoulder blades. The two of you slowly fell into a heap, his arms still wrapped around you as he kept you spooned together even as your bodies naturally separated.

No matter how many times you'd engaged in this activity, he'd never held you like this after. He hadn't been cold, but he had always remained deliberately casual. You weren't really certain what to make of this tenderness. His arms felt like rapture, however, the press of his body against yours a joy, and you had no willpower to remove yourself.

Bucky shifted slowly, easing the both of you onto your sides with his vibranium arm underneath the pillow where your head rested. His other arm curled around your waist to snug you firmly against his body. You felt wrapped in him, cradled by him, and it felt like a warm and generous heaven.

You felt yourself getting drowsy, tempted to fall into the deep slumber that called to you now that both your body and heart felt satisfied, safe in the circle of his body. Unable to face the prospect of waking up alone without any more understanding than you had in this moment, however, you forced yourself to burst the contented bubble that had encircled your bed.

"What was all that jealous shit about?" Your voice was gentle, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere, but needing to have this out, once and for all. The words he'd poured over you when he'd first walked in and taken you in his arms had stuck inside your mind. They'd been pushed to the side in the tide of pleasure, but now that your skin was cooling and your breathing had returned to normal, all the questions you'd ignored were making themselves known.

Bucky was more relaxed than he could remember being in longer than he'd care to examine. The softness of your bed didn't seem to bother him when he also had the softness of your body caressing his where he'd wrapped himself around you. He had been hovering somewhere between awake and asleep when you spoke and responded with a drowsy, "Hmm?"

"All that shit when you first came in," your voice stayed calm and quiet, but you had no intention of letting this go, "about not wanting me to go out with other people and wanting to hunt down anyone who's ever touched me. That shit."

The length of the following pause may have driven you insane if it hadn't been accompanied by the gentle but firm tightening of his arm around your waist, the way his body seemed to curve even more firmly around you. When he finally spoke, his lips rested against the back of your shoulder and their brushing movement sent shivers through you.

"I'm not rational about you, doll. I…" The warm purr of his voice trailed off, leaving you waiting with ever-increasing impatience as he remained silent. You couldn't tell if he was done, or if he was still thinking about what he wanted to say.

You considered rolling over so that you could see his face, but you weren't sure you had the courage to ask for the answers you needed if you had to look into those guarded, tired eyes. "So this isn't just sex for you?" You were able to control the volume of your voice, able to stay calm, but the ache underneath was crystal clear. "You have feelings?"

You closed your eyes, afraid that your heart, so defenseless out there on your sleeve, was about to be crushed by the kindness of a friend who wanted nothing more. Still, you'd reached your limit, could no longer pretend that you could maintain the careful separation between friends and lovers without damage.

"Too many feelings," Bucky answered in a murmur. Feeling your breath release in a sigh of relief, he realized you'd been holding it in. He'd thought you'd known how highly he thought of you, would understand that his reticence was due to his own fears. It had never occurred to him that you wouldn’t know how much he adored you. "I almost threw that guy out the window tonight.”

The jealous growl of displeasure in his voice rumbled through you and inexplicably made your body tighten in desire. He didn't sound angry, or violent, and so you felt no fear or discomfort at the sound.

“His name is Neil," you retorted, snotty and superior. You felt Bucky's lips curve in a smile against your skin and the sensation encouraged you to keep going. "And you didn't almost do shit. You skulked around the stairwell to eavesdrop like a creep and then knocked on my door to grovel.”

You snuggled back into his arms, feeling the same relaxation that had brought Bucky to the brink of sleep before you'd started this conversation. Now that you knew that there was something to discuss, that there was some emotion here to unravel, you could take your time in doing so. You simply couldn’t stand the uncertainty anymore.

“I wanted to murder him." Bucky was incredulous at how serene you seemed despite his confession. You never reacted to anything the way he expected, always took the things he struggled with in stride. "Why doesn’t that worry you?”

To Bucky's shock, your body softened fully against him, and your voice sounded almost bored when you answered his question with one of your own. “Why should it? You didn't murder him." You shifted your head slightly to peer awkwardly over your shoulder with the mildest of suspicion. "Haven't murdered anyone recently, right?”

“No, but--," Bucky's voice betrayed the confusion your matter-of-fact questions had inspired, but he shook it off quickly and went back to trying to warn you. "I was a weapon, y/n. I'm still trying to figure out what I am now.”

You'd heard this empty tone from him before, whenever you'd poked around the edges of his past. You'd been careful up to this point to treat the subject with kid gloves, not wanting to cause pain or distress. By now, though, you had run out of the energy you needed to tread quite so carefully. You had to speak your mind. “Was a weapon," you retorted wryly. "Is that why you run hot and cold? You're afraid of yourself and you think I should be too?" Your voice was mild, not a trace of resentment or anger, which is why you were surprised when he didn't respond.

After the longest pause yet, you gave into the urge that had been riding you since the beginning of this conversation. This was the closest you'd gotten to real answers, and you wanted desperately to see the look on his face, wanted that extra bit of information to make sense of all of this. Unable to resist any longer, you moved to roll over without leaving Bucky's embrace. His arms loosened to give you room to move, but once you were nose to nose with him, your legs tangling with his, his arm draped itself back over you to pull you close once again.

The sensation of his body enfolding you, the warmth and tenderness with which he held you made it impossible to even imagine being frightened of him. Whatever he'd done before, whatever violence still lived within him, you felt in your soul that you were safe with him, in every way. Your eyes devoured his face, searching the carefully blank expression there for some clue as to what he was thinking.

"Bucky, if you want me to be afraid of you, you're gonna have to make me."

You murmured the words seriously, but Bucky could hear the lightest of teasing underneath your tone. His heart throbbed in reaction, adoring the warmth you showed him so easily, but his face fell into a scowl. "I don't want you to be afraid of me." In fact, he hated the idea, would do whatever it took to make certain he never gave you a reason to fear him. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, his voice soft and lost.

"What do you want?" You spoke softly, calmly, afraid to push too much and have him shut down again. He'd been more honest about his feelings tonight than the entire rest of your friendship combined. You were hoping that he was ready to tell you the truth. You needed to know, so that you could make yourself finally decide what to do.

"You." He breathed the word as he took your mouth in a kiss both deep and passionate, but different in character to any other kiss he'd ever given you. This kiss wasn't new in its searing heat, or its desperate need, but it was extraordinary in its sweet tenderness. His lips clung to yours gently, his tongue tangling with yours in soft caresses.

You kissed him back, all your shields down for the first time. Your mouth met his with open devotion, unable to disguise it when he was being so warmly affectionate, so candid in his feeling. You wanted him, had wanted him for months. If there was a chance for more, you were willing to risk nearly anything for it.

He pulled his mouth from yours

"Y/n…" Your name fell from his lips in a rasp of hope, then trailed off at the sight of your lips swollen from his, parted to let gasps of need in and pants of excitement out. His hand came up cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip and causing a shuddering sigh to escape you. He wasn't surprised that he was already hard again. He always wanted you more, again. Only the coming dawn had ever chased him from your bed, full satisfaction always out of reach. "What do you want?"

Though you loved his honesty, you didn't love that it obligated you to return it. As much as you wanted to hide, you felt like this was your chance to reach out and grab what you wanted; you simply had to have the courage to tell him the truth of how you felt, as he had done. "I want you to stay until morning." Your voice was a breath of sound, afraid to speak too loudly and startle the woodland creature that you'd convinced to sniff your hand. You didn't want to scare him off. "I want you to care," you gave him a wry half-grin to take the sting out of it, "at least a little."

"I care way more than I'm used to, doll." His arms tightened around you and an exhilarated thrill ran through you at the growl of frustrated desire in his voice. He paused a moment, searching your face. You wondered what he was looking for even as you looked back at him, used to his habit of pausing to consider his words. You knew that he simply needed another moment by the tension in his mouth and patiently waited for him to finish his thought.

Bucky stared into your gentle eyes, wondering if he could resist the tenderness in your face, in your touch, if he even really wanted to. His voice gruff, he told you the truth. "I have nightmares. I'm afraid I'll hurt you in my sleep."

He'd dropped his eyes to your mouth when he made his admission, so he didn't see your eyes soften with the compassion that welled up in you at the admission. You melted like butter in the sun, but still needed to ask basic safety questions.

You kept your voice soft and calm as you asked, "Have you hurt someone else, broken anything?"

"No," Bucky frowned, realizing that he hadn't damaged anything in his sleep since before Wakanda, wondered if Shuri had done even more for him than he'd known, "but I haven't slept next to anyone since…"

Bucky trailed off, realizing he hadn't slept next to anyone in a very long time, that it was the intimacy of doing so that had given the final push each time he'd left your bed before morning came. He didn't want to leave, wanted to sleep with you in his arms, wanted to wake next to you, your face the first thing he would see. All he had to do was take the chance.

You saw him search your face, waited again for him to either keep talking or decide he was done. His eyes warmed with his small, but very real smile, and you saw that he'd made his decision to stay. Your heart swelled with joy and excitement and you smiled fully back.

"For science, then." You leaned in to catch his mouth in a soft, happy kiss. The smirk on your face when you pulled back could only be described as arrogant. "If we're both still here in the morning, I'll make pancakes."

How could he refuse? He loved pancakes, and he adored you. If he was supposed to leave you alone, he didn't know how to do that as long as you liked having him around. If he didn't deserve this kind of happiness, it didn’t matter; he couldn't refuse it. He belonged to you, wanted to claim you in return. He pulled you in tight, so that your legs were tangled together, your arms around one another, your head underneath his chin.

"If I hurt you, I'll never forgive you."

You gave a laughing hum, low in your throat, and snuggled in closer. "I'm obviously totally worried about it."

You woke on your side, Bucky spooning you. His body was curled protectively around you, his arm tight but gentle around your waist as he snugged you into him. His breathing was deep and even and you assumed he was still asleep despite the iron bar of his erection pressed into your ass.

You couldn't help yourself, had to move your skin against the soft skin over steel. Gently, trying not to move too much and wake him, you rocked your hips against him. The sensation of his hot hardness against your ass made you sigh out in pleasure. You kept thinking about how easy it would be to move so that you could trap his cock between your thighs.

Once you'd started thinking about it, you couldn't stop. The thought worked on you until you rocked slowly up and precisely back down until Bucky's dick was sliding between your thighs and through your folds. Once he was there, you paused to breathe in quick, excited pants.

"Thank god you're awake," Bucky rumbled behind you, his hand coming up to cup your breast as he started rocking back and forth between your legs.

His other hand found your clit at the same time you asked, "Powdered sugar and fruit?" You squealed a little when his hips tilted, and he slid slowly and inexorably inside of you. "Or a river of maple syrup?" You finished the question on a breathless gasp of wonder at the sensation.

"First you." He didn't know where the two of you were going, but the two of you had already cleared several hurdles. You made him happy, and he believed he was making you happy, somehow. He'd keep it up as long as possible. "Then pancakes."

When you felt his lips skimming from your shoulder towards your neck, you tilted your head so he could kiss your throat. You gasped when he rested hilt deep inside you, “Well, you are my guest.”

Bucky thought the warm laughter in your voice was one of the loveliest things he'd ever heard. Pulling you in tight, he began thrusting into you slow and easy as he purred in your ear, “Thanks for having me, doll.”

-The End

 Taglist: @hellzzzbelle @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @miraclesoflove​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @irritated-bisexual​ @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #two part one shot #pantswrites #genghis khan

[orlissa]

The X-Men '97 trailer is out, and Jean is apparently pregnant, and I'm not against the concept per se, but damn, they are gonna be strange about it, aren't they?

#there is a shot of all the team facing Magneto about to pounce and there is Jean right behind Scott cuddling her belly with two hands #gosh they are going to be miffy about it #x-men #x-men '97 #marvel

[sbd-laytall]

Peter and Lois fanboying and fangirling over each other is now one of my favorite pieces of canon (technically non-canon, but you know what I mean).

Superman vs. The Amazing Spider-Man (1976) #1

#it truly is something I didn't think I needed #but I did #two baddies admiring each other #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #lois lane #mary jane watson #mj watson #marvel #marvel comics #dc comics #one shot #my post

[lesbianrobotwizard]

Every animated adaptation of shazam gives him the worst fucking hairline

Like cmon dudes 12 in an adult body does he have to look older than superman???

Like look at him!

No wonder they didn’t realize he was a kid dudes practically balding!!

#mine #billy batson #shazam #captain marvel #superman #dcau #there are some exceptions to this ofc #but I’m not wrong asdfghjk #old man baby boy 🫵 #this is a joke #I actually really like the episode and movie the two screen shots are from

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

creeping under the skin

Sequel to but i’m a creep

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, incel and misogynistic opinions (which I do not agree with so pls don’t even assume), age gap, oral, and some violence, humiliation. My warnings may not be exhaustive so reader beware.

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

Summary: Peter continues to torment you after exposing his true colours.

Characters: Peter Parker

Note: I couldn’t help myself and had to do another part to this. Peter is a true menace.

Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read. I appreciate any and all feedback you can provide. If you can, please reblog as well <3 Most importantly, have a wonderful day.

Reader

The laptop closes and you flinch. You hiss as you get to your knees, haphazardly closing the front of your dress. Peter chuckles as he nears, grabbing you by the tied belt and jarring you to your feet. 

You stagger and grasp his wrist as his other hand tugs the knot until your dress falls completely loose. You shove him away from you, try to, and he pushes you so you fall onto the couch.

“Get that shit off,” he orders as he turns to strut away, “I won’t be any nicer if I have to do it myself.”

You hesitate and watch him disappear around the wall and hear him in the kitchen. You blow out a quivery breath as you look down at yourself. Your panties are twisted and caught in the crease of your thigh, your bra crooked and digging into your flesh, your stomach just visible behind the unbuttoned dress.

“What would May say–”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he comes back to the front room, the bottle of prosecco in hand as he drinks the fizz from the long neck, “I know exactly what she’d say about an old lady preying on her nephew. It’s pretty fucked up, don’t you think?”

“You know it’s not like that–”

“Who do you think she’ll believe?” He pushes his lip out and puts on a face, “‘Aunt May, I was so confused, she just started touching me, I think she was drunk but–’” he ends his performance with a laugh, “I think you can imagine the rest.”

“What… happened to you, Peter? This isn’t you–”

“I told you to get naked,” he takes a deep swig, “I’m getting real tired of you not listening.”

You shake your head. You can’t believe it. What he’s just done. How he’s speaking to you. So crass, so heartless. You were only ever nice to him so why was he being so cruel?

“Is this about MJ?” you ask quietly.

“What?” he pulls the bottle away from his mouth, “what did you say?”

“N-nothing,” you stand unsteadily as the flash of fury startles you, “I didn’t–”

You push your dress down your arms and let it drop. You wince as suddenly he’s before you, tugging your bra until the straps droop down your shoulders. He jerks your body as he does.

“Good, better keep saying nothing,” he scowls, “you might be an old bitch but it doesn’t mean you know everything.”

You keep your eyes on the floor as you reach back to unhook your bra and he quickly strips it away, flinging it behind the couch. Your hands tremble as you roll your high-waisted panties down your legs and step out of them. 

His fingertips send a shiver through you as he brushes them along the rippled lines along your lower stomach. You shy away, humiliated. Maybe, just maybe, the stretch marks might deter him.

He grips your hip and gets close, holding the bottle before your lips. You look him in the eye and let him pour it into your mouth, swallowing it down as you hold back tears. You never dreamed you’d be afraid of Peter but in that moment, he is utterly terrifying.

“Loosen up,” he says as he pulls it away and takes another drink, “let me guess, you haven’t had any since the old man croaked–”

“No, you don’t talk about him–”

He raises the bottle and flips it, dumping it over you as he lets go of your hip. You sputter and wipe your eyes as you step out of the downpour. He laughs again and flicks the last few drops onto the floor.

“Get on the couch, you dumb bitch,” he snarls.

You stare at him as the wine drips from your chin and trickles down your chest. He tweaks your nipple and you grunt.

“Tits aren’t too bad for your age, huh,” he gestures to the couch with the bottle, “you want me to help you out. Back to me, on your knees. Now.”

“I could call the cops–”

“You stink of alcohol,” he huffs, “I’m sure they’ll take you so seriously,” he rolls his eyes and pokes you meanly with the bottle, “so…”

There’s a slant to his jaw, a glint in his eye, a very clear message written on his face. How much more can he humiliate you? He’s already exposed you to you don’t know how many people. Boys? That’s what he said.

You turn slowly and resign yourself to his whims if only to be done with it. As young as he is, he will tire himself out soon. You put one knee on the cushion, then the other, shifting further as you curl your fingers around the back of the couch. 

You close your eyes and try to wipe your mind. Don’t think.

He nudges your thighs further apart, dragging his fingers along the curve of your ass, a shudder rippling through you. He walks his fingertips up your spine and grips your shoulder, urging you down until your chest is against the upholstery. You flinch as you feel the prod along your cunt.

“Pet–”

“Sir,” he pulls his hand away from your shoulder and spanks you harshly, “call me… ‘sir’. I think I like it.”

You grit your jaw as your tongue dries bitterly. You muster all your restraint and utter the word, ‘sir.’

He hushes you, “I didn’t ask you to talk, slut.”

He pushes the brim of the bottleneck between your folds and wiggles. He inches it into you and you groan, flesh roiling with shame and spite. You still can’t quite believe this is really happening. 

He slips it in deeper, a single thrust so it’s buried to the broadening of the glass, the rounded belly of the bottle flush to your entrance. You whimper and lean heavy on the couch.

“Now, look at you, hm, sweet little teacher,” he purrs as he slides the bottle back and shoves it back in. 

You cry out, louder as he moves behind you, bending over you as he plants his hand next to yours. He fucks you with the bottle steadily as he nuzzles your shoulder and snakes his other arm around your stomach. He glides between your labia and rolls your clit tauntingly. You huff as you resist a moan.

“You’re not a very good actor, slut,” he rams the bottle into you hard, “I can feel how much you like it, how much you want it.”

You hum and dip your chin down to your chest, “no…”

“No?” he taunts and thrusts against, “you want a break, you gotta cum. I know you got it in you… among other things.”

You whine through your teeth as your heart hammers. Your ass rubs against him, his dick hard again as he lets it rest along your flesh, rocking slightly as he moans at the friction. Your cunt squelches as he teases your clit, flicking faster as the bottle painfully invades your walls.

“That’s it,” he pants and nibbles your shoulder, “you’re almost there… so fast–”

You groan, long and loud, the pulsing in your thighs make your whole body quake. You tense before the final release and feel it drip down the bottle.

“Oh, ho, ho,” he stills, keeping it deep in you, “good girl.”

You sniffle and he slips the glass neck from you. He tosses the bottle so it bounces and rolls over the floor. He stands and grasps your hip firmly, his other hand on the back of your neck as he keeps you as you are. He snaps his hips, fucking between your cheeks as he begins to drone.

His heavy breaths fill the air around you as you squeeze your eyes tight. Just finish, just finish, just finish.

He grunts and you feel the spurt up your back as he spasms. He eases himself still with long, rigid thrusts and leans against your ass. He draws his hands from you and sighs, tapping his tip against your skin.

“Mm, you look even better with me all over,” he sneers.

You push yourself straight and carefully put your feet on the floor. He lets you in the small space between him and the couch. He takes your arm and makes you face him, his stringy cum dribbling down your spine.

“Back to work,” he says, “don’t want the food to spoil.”

“Wh–” you rasp.

“Just like that,” he cups your tits and considers them, “you can clean up after you bring me my snack.”

You search his face for anything. He seems bored by your desperation and spins away.

“You got any salsa?” he falls into the chair shamelessly, legs splayed as his softening dick flops against his thigh, “oh, shoot, I forgot, I’d love some ice cream.”

“I’ll… check,” you mumble as you back away.

“You know,” he calls after you as you enter the kitchen, “you don’t fuck like an old lady.”

You pause and inhale deeply. You lift the bags onto the counter and focus on unpacking the rest. You know he wants a reaction but he got enough already.

❌

“I hope he was good,” May says as she stands by your door.

You smile, it feels hollow. She looks so happy though you can’t bring her down. Peter looks impatient as he hikes up his duffel and checks his phone, clicking his tongue.

“He.. was,” you answer as his eyes flit up to yours, “you two should go. You must be homesick.”

“It was one night,” May trills, “but… yeah, sorta.”

“See ya,” Peter grumbles as he reaches for the door. Who would ever guess what he really is? He plays his part so well.

“Alright, alright,” May clucks, “you,” she points to you and you stand stalk straight, “call me. I have so much to tell you–”

“Ew, come on,” Peter whines.

“Whatever,” May turns away and pokes his shoulder, “you’re just jealous.”

“Shut up,” he snarls.

“Bye,” she waves over her shoulder as she cackles, “thanks again.”

“No problem,” you say before you close the door.

You twist the deadbolt and the strength drains from you. You descend to your knees and slump against the wood, legs tucked under you on the doormat. Your hand remains on the handle as you shake. Disgust courses through you and threatens to expel up your throat. You hold it back as you cover your mouth.

You’re old enough that you’re supposed to know what to do, but you don’t. You don’t know.

❌

It’s an hour, maybe, before your phone vibrates. You grab your cell from your jean pocket and look at the notification. Peter. You don’t open it as you force yourself from the floor. You need to shower, you need to scrub him off of you. The dull pain lingers in your walls, aching each time your thighs meet.

You go into the bathroom and leave your phone on the corner of the counter. You stare at the sink, refusing to acknowledge your reflection as you undress. There are bruises you feel as you shed your clothing, pressing on those more painful, in those places where he held onto you.

The shower hisses and hums to life and you pull the curtain across the bar as you stand under the freezing cascade. It warms after a few minutes and you let the steam obscure your existence. You take your loofah and scrub until your skin stings.

The nausea swells again but you will it away. Outside the tub, the walls weep with the condensation. Your phone buzzes again. Several messages and a missed call.

You wrap yourself in a towel and enter the bedroom, sitting on your bed as you stare at your wallpaper. You press down your thumb and the screen unlocks. There’s a video in the chat, the preview image is enough to assure you of its content. Below a message in all caps.

‘ANSWER OR I POST’

Your phone lights up and you hit the green dot. Your eyes gloss over and you sniff.

“There you are,” Peter sings, “I was just about to hit publish.”

“Peter,” you warn, “please, I’d lose my job–”

“Not to mention your best friend, huh?” he snorts, “what kept you?”

You blanch and nod at yourself, steeling yourself to proceed. “Shower–”

“Oh, facetime,” he says, “sounds like fun–”

“Please, Peter, I’m tired–”

“Oh, I know you are,” he intones and line clicks.

You draw your phone away from your cheek and look at it. The screen flashes again and you sigh. He’s a brat if you’ve ever known one. Once more, you answer.

“Go on, let me see,” he smiles, his hair’s askew, a headset around his neck as you spy the posters on his bedroom wall behind him.

You stand and carry your phone to the night table. You put it against the lamp and step back. He tilts his head and squints.

“I don’t wanna see the towel,” he mocks.

You squeeze the cotton before you drop it. You’re on fire. You don’t think as you hug yourself, shying away.

“Show me that ass,” he says, “I think that’s your best… asset, ha!”

You turn your back to him and stare at the wall. “Bend over, slut.”

Your lips thin and you obey. You hear a zipper and the creak of his chair. You grimace at the floor, your hips sore as you hold onto your thighs.

“Fuck, I wish you were hear right now to sit on my dick,” he purrs, “shit, so fucking hot, aren’t you, slut?”

You inhale, “yes, sir.”

“Good girl, now touch yourself,” he orders.

You bite your cheek and reach down your stomach. You push two fingers between your folds and hold in a gasp. Your touch is led by memory alone, the intimate knowledge of your own body, of lonely nights and too much wine.

“Inside, to your knuckles,” he demands, “fuck yourself for me.”

You spread your legs wider, nails digging into your thigh as your back aches and push down to your entrance. You curl your fingers inside, heel of your hand firm to your clit. You pull in and out as you hear him playing with himself.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he slithers, “fuck, I wish I was there. What I’d do…” he groans and the chair squeaks again. “Holy shit, you got me going that easy, hgh.”

He sucks in air and you hear his voice catch in his throat. His moans rise and you keep your fingers moving. Despite the circumstance, the stimulation has you tense.

“Fuck, fuck–” he growls, “goddamn, I mad a fucking mess.” You still your hand as you hear his chair lurch forward, “shit.” Movement in the silence as you stay bent, worrying then you might not be able to stand straight, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

A tear trickles down your cheek and you wiggle your nose. You hold back the rest and rock your hand against your pussy. You focus on that alone.

“You cum and you’re done,” he taunts.

You furrow your brow and part your lips, shallow breaths as your thighs begin to quake, as much from the strain as the pleasure. Your muscles knot then release all at once, you sway and reach out to keep from falling, holding yourself up as you cum, legs bent and ready to fold entirely.

“Ah, you really have been practicing, huh,” he says, “babe, get up.”

You pull your hand free from between your legs and standy with a stagger. You face him and near the phone, grabbing it as you sit on the bed and try to catch your breath.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow after your class,” he says, “I’ll make sure May is busy.”

“Right,” you nod dizzily. He smirks, victorious.

❌

You don’t know how you make it through your classes. All those years of repetition help guide you through each lesson. 

The only mistake came when the door opened a few minutes before the dismissal of your final period. Peter claims an empty desk at the back and leans his chin in his hand as he watches you.

Flustered, you finish your summation of the lesson and smile at your class, wishing them a good night. Amelia sticks around as the rest pack up to ask some questions and you happily help her as she scribbles in her notebook. You wait patiently, dreadingly, as she grabs her bag and long shawl and leaves.

Peter stays where he is. He winks as he sits back. There’s a shopping bag by his feet.

“Mm, I am hot for teacher,” he kids as you lift your bag onto the desk and pack away your notes in the drawer. “Not curious about what we’re getting up to tonight?”

You look up at him as you shoulder your bag and walk along the center row until you’re only a desk away. You stare at him blankly though your irritation no doubt shows as it tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“Here,” he bends and lifts the bag onto the desk, “got you a gift.”

“Peter–”

“That’s not ‘thank you’,” he tuts.

“Thank you but you shouldn’t spend your money on me,” you insist.

“I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about. Lots more where that came from. My internship is paid and Mr. Stark is no cheapskate,” he hooks his finger through the string handles and lets the bag swing from his hand, “go change.”

You blink. He still calls him Mr. Stark. It’s another reminder of how fucked everything is. You take the bag and peek inside; smoky purple satin.

“Go put it on, babe, it’s already after nine,” he says.

“I can just wear this,” you insist. Your blouse and skirt aren’t that frumpy, not half as bad as the rest of your wardrobe.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he squares his jaw, “I’ll be here.”

“Can I at least know why? Are we going somewhere?” you ask.

“We are,” he answers and shoos you with his fingers, “now hurry up and you’ll find out where.”

❌

It’s been more than a decade since you last stepped inside a club. Not a bar, a dance club, a place meant for youth and excess. For all your memories of laughter and drunken fun, you aren’t impressed with the flashing lights and loud music. You feel your age completely as you’ve never heard the song in your life.

The silk sends a shiver through you as the short dress offers a lot less coverage than your usual fare. It doesn’t quite reach your knees and a small slit exposes even more of your thigh. The straps are thin and those of your bra are slightly thicker. Your chest is close to falling out entirely as Peter leads you through the crowd.

He diverts suddenly as he drags you by your wrist and directs you to a table where two others, about his age, stand with drinks. You shy away as Peter nears but he yanks you forward and forces you next to him as he approaches the table. He snakes his arm around you, his hand on the small of your back as he grins at his friends.

“Hey,” he seems proud, smug even, “you two squares always show up early?”

“Shut up,” the boy with the square glasses snarls and pushes back his tight curls, the sides of his head shaved close. 

The other, a redhead with freckles speckled all over his pale skin stares at you, almost lewdly. “Hey, baby, how are you?”

You get a bad feeling and glance at Peter.

“Don’t be a fucking creep,” Peter snaps, voice raised above the music, “babe, this is Grady,” he gestures to the brunette, “and Stony.”

You nod as you look between them. Neither of them could be much older than Peter, more than twenty years your junior. You want to shield your face and melt into the floor. Stony’s eyes wander to your chest as you squirm restlessly, Peter’s fingers tickling the top of your ass.

“Drinks?” Peter asks.

You shrug as you look at him again, rubbing your neck anxiously. A woman your age shouldn’t feel so small with these… boys. Ugh.

“Don’t worry, they don’t card here,” Stony calls out, “about ninety percent of the room are freshman.”

“Ripe for the picking,” Grady adds.

You keep from showing your disgust at the comment and nod at Peter, “sure.”

“Any suggestions?” he leans in close to your ear.

“Anything but tequila,” you answer dully.

He taps your ass before he gives a two finger salute to his friends and you look around, watching girls much younger than you drinking bright blue drinks in clear plastic. 

You chew your lip, longing to be in your bed, finishing your next chapter until your eyes can’t stay open. You wince as Stony slides around the table, closer to you.

“So, you and Peter–”

You look at him, pointedly. You’re still an adult, still older than him, and you won’t let him get to you.

“Me and Peter what?” you challenge.

“Well…” he smirks, “you know, we…saw it.”

“Probably the closest you’ll be to getting it,” you sneer, “you’re young, alright? You need to reconsider your friends and your attitude.”

“Jesus, you sound like my mother,” he says over the bass.

“You’d be into that,” Grady hollers over.

Stony frowns and puts his elbow on the table, “I always thoughts sluts were all used up by thirty–”

“Let me tell you something,” you jab your finger up, “you’ll be thirty and still alone with a limp dick and no one to wake it up. You wanna get gross with me, I’ve heard it all.”

“Where was all this when he had you–”

You wave your fingers at him dismissively and back away to the other side of the table. You let his voice fade into the music as you look over your shoulder. Peter weaves through the bodies, he has two shots. You know by the rich amber exactly what he got.

You don’t show your irritation as Stony keeps up his gawking, anger ticking in his temple. Peter offers you a shot. You know it’s just another show of his power over you. Whatever you want, he’ll do the opposite.

“Thanks,” you take the short glass and pluck the lime off the rim.

He watches you as he mirrors you. He wants a reaction, well you won’t give it to him. You suck the lime and lick salt from the brim before dumping it down your throat. You put the glass down and breathe out the burn of the tequila through your nose.

“You getting along?” Peter asks innocently.

“Your friends are disgusting,” you shout as you glower, “I see where you get it from.”

He laughs, amused. “You need another drink, babe?”

You suck in your cheeks and focus on your nails, they really need a trim. His hand finds your ass again and he squeezes without shame.

“Well, boys,” he announces as he pushes his empty glass away, “we’re going to dance. Good luck.”

“Hey, wait–” Grady begins.

“You can always partner up with each other,” Peter smirks as he grabs your hand, “it’s a safe space.”

He tugs you until you follow. Your chest coils tightly as you keep your eyes on his dark hair. You feel like everyone is watching but you know, no one is. A club is hardly a centre of consciousness. 

Peter surprises you as suddenly he spins to face you and pulls you against him. You press your hands to his chest as you stumble and he sways with you, grinding his crotch into you. You’re not a prude but you’re not exactly the type for this.

“Come on, babe,” he stretches his hand across your ass, his other on your waist, “chill out.”

You slide your hand up to his shoulder as you get your footing. Humiliation scalds every inch of skin as you let out a shudder and let him guide you. You feel him twitching inside his pants.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, “you know that?”

“Peter,” you shake your head, “please.”

His hand crawls along your waist and around your back. His other trails along your thigh and presses down between your bodies. You grip his arms as he pushes against the front of your panties. He teases you through the cotton as you continue your awkward dance.

You lower your lashes as tendrils coil from his touch and you squeeze his shoulder, other hand clamped around his wrist. You feel the tendons as he curls his fingers, drawing circles around your clit. You bite your lip as tension nestles in your core.

You stand on tiptoes, unsteady as your nerves bounce off each other, and your moan is muted beneath the blaring beats. You cum as you hide your face and he rubs your panties until they’re soaked with your juices. He slowly pulls his hand up and sucks his fingers. 

“Fuck it,” you see his lips form the words but don’t hear them.

He has you by the elbow as you try to pull your skirt straight, staggering as he urges you across the dancefloor, the crush of bodies around you tighter and tighter. He drags you down a hall marked EXIT and into the darkness limned in only the red glow of another sign.

He pins you to the wall and yanks your skirt up. You wrestle with him until he pinches your thigh cruelly. He swats your cheek and points in your face. You can hardly see him in the dim. The walls vibrate with music as he reaches beneath your skirt and rolls your panties down, letting them fall around your feet.

He lifts your leg, freeing your ankle from the cotton, and hooks it around him. His other hand works between your bodies and he shifts as he undoes his fly. You brace the wall with one arm and shove against his chest.

“Please,” you cry and he covers your mouth, leaving your leg to dangle loose around him.

He prods along your cunt and thrusts into you easily. You gasp into his palm and your fingers fists around the front of his shirt. He rocks into you, a hand trailing up the thin fabric of your dress. He guides the strap down your shoulder than that of your bra. He bends his hand as he folds the cup away from your tit and covers your nipple with his mouth.

You turn your face away from his hand and whimper. His hand falls to your leg and holds it against him as he ruts, nibbling as he traps you against the wall. You close your eyes as you pant, walls clenching as he fucks you harder and harder.

You smell his sweat and the alcohol on your breath, your lungs fiery as you gulp down air. He shoves his arm up behind you and hooks his fingers around your shoulder as he lifts his head. He pulls you down onto him as his fingertips sink into the soft flesh under your thigh. He snaps his hips against you several times as his body quakes.

He cums in long strokes and leans against you weakly. Your hand slips down his shirt as he puffs against your neck. He pulls out and turns to slump against the wall, bending to swipe free your panties from your foot. He wipes himself with the cotton, only the dark outline of his figure visible in the red glare and tosses them away.

He turns to you and fixes the top of your dress then your skirt. You shy away as he leans in and pecks your lips, pulling you away from the wall and back down the hallway. Your legs move clumsily as you struggle to keep up.

“Peter,” you call over his shoulder, voice threatening to crack, “want another drink?”

He peeks at you from the corner of his eyes and his lips curve, “sure, babe.”

❌

Peter

Peter emerges from his room, the light of the kitchen stinging his eyes as the contrast to his dark room makes his head pulse. He’s been neglecting his gaming and after some nagging, consented to a session. Besides, May was over at her place so he had nothing better to do.

He smiles to himself as he goes to the fridge. He remembers how shy she was when he came out shirtless, how fragile she felt as he pressed his need for her against her ass. Then he wonders if she feels weird welcoming his aunt into her apartment when he fucked her there, several times over.

He laughs to himself as he takes out an energy drink. He pushes the tab back and leans on the counter thoughtfully. They fuck at her place mostly. He gets off and leaves her in shambles. He loves how it makes him feel, to see her powerless, almost broken.

Last night, he was a bit careless. He fell asleep after and when he woke up, she was on the couch. He knows she cries after even though she tries to hide it. He could see it on her face when he found her. He was tempted to wake her up, or let her sleep through it. But it was 2am.

He left and ended up here. May asked why he was so late and he lied about being in the library. He pushes away from the counter and goes back to his room. The semester’s almost over, he’ll have to come up with new excuses.

He falls into his gaming chair, his side of the chat still muted as the guys mine deeper. He pulls out his phone and finds the file in his most popular. That first time still haunts him and he’s happy he recorded it. The fear, the punished pleasure, her soft body against his hard one.

He thinks about her a lot when he doesn’t mean to. Not just about fucking her, or playing with her, watching her eyes dull or her face draw. No, he just thinks about her. The things he learned about her that he never thought of before.

She reads. He always finds a different book on her night table. And why wouldn’t she, she’s a teacher. And she embroiders cute little patches with bees and little squirrels. She has good taste in television if not a bit dated in her collection of DVD boxsets. 

He zones back into the video on his phone, the slapping of flesh as she whines. He snickers and exits out, flicking to the photo he took last night. He found the photo in her dresser. She didn’t have anything but landscapes and paintings of flowers around her place. 

But he knew who it was; the man was good-looking and the photo was worn. Her husband. Somehow looking at it makes him hurt. It makes him angry. 

He blacks the screen and shrugs away the emotions. He puts his headset back on and switches his cell for the controller. He needs to stop thinking about her when she’s not there.

❌

Reader

“Get over here, now,” Peter demands over the speaker. You hold back your agitation. You don’t want to go to May’s, it feels wrong.

“Why don’t you come here? I just went shopping–”

“I’m not asking so get your ass here,” he snaps, “May’s with Happy for the night so we got the place to ourselves.”

You sigh. You were really looking forward to a hot bath. He was just at your place last night. Your body hurts. Your soul hurts. Every part of you is achy and stiff. You can’t keep up with him.

“Alright, I’ll head out after–”

“Now,” he barks.

“Alright,” you relent, “jeez.”

The line clicks and you roll your eyes. As mean as he’s been, as pushy, he’s been much worse the last few weeks. And rough but scarily so. There are moments when he is close to gentle then pulls back and does his best to hurt you. He doesn’t stop until you beg him to.

You grab your purse and leave, mourning your book and bath. Tomorrow.

The subway takes you swiftly across the borough and you curse the peculiar efficiency of transit that day. You pass yellow cabs and familiar awnings on your way to May’s. 

You stop in front of the building and wring your hands. It feels wrong. More wrong than ever.

You enter the lobby and buzz up. Peter lets you in with a buzz in return and the door unlocks loudly. You take the stairs, the elevator always out of order, and reluctantly find May’s door. It opens as you mull over the last month.

“Hey, babe,” Peter greets you nonchalantly standing in only his boxers, “hot out, huh?”

You nod and wipe the sweat from your forehead. Your baggy blouse and peasant skirt tent in the summer heat. He waves you inside and you take tedious steps across the threshold. He shuts the door behind you as you play with the strap of your purse.

“School’s done for the year,” he announces, “so I’ll be doing full days at the lab but I’ll have lots of time to hang around…”

“Summer classes,” you say, “tends to be busier.”

“You’ll find time,” he takes your purse and puts it on the shoe rack, “get comfy, babe, we got all night.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to my place?” you ask, “I have lots of snacks–”

“What’s wrong?” he taunts, “you think May will smell it?”

“Peter,” you cringe and cross your arms, “haven’t you… just for a minute, felt bad?”

He smirks, “no,” he answers bluntly, “hurry up and get your clothes off.”

He walks away and stops at the end of the entryway to push down his boxers. He kicks them away as glances back to wink at you. He sticks his tongue out as he grips his dick and wiggles it, already half hard.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says.

You take your flats off and follow. You enter the kitchen as he runs his hands over the wooden top of the counter. He taps it as he sees you.

“I want you up here,” he grins.

You unbutton your blouse and hang it over a stool across from him. You shimmy out of your skirts as he comes up behind you and unhook your bra. He pulls it down your arms as you stand and tugs down your panties.

He frames your hips and guides you around the island, spinning you to face him. He bites his lips and lifts you abruptly. You catch yourself on the counter as he places you atop it. Sometimes you forget how strong he is. It always surprises you.

“Just relax,” he coos as he rubs your thighs, kneading them as he hums, “you’ve been so good, you’ve earned it.”

He slides his hand up your stomach and gropes your chest. He pushes you onto your back as he pushes between your knees. You murmur and close your eyes as he bends over you, his breath tickling you. You hold your breath as he dips his tongue between your folds and you gasp at the warm sensation.

He flicks his tongue then seals his lips around your clit, suckling as he reaches up to fondle your chest blindly. Your nails stab against the wooden top as he laps eagerly and your thighs tingle, heels pressed to the side of the counter as you arch your back. You descend into delight as your reticence fades away.

He purrs and it rumbles through you. You moan and writhe as you're overcome by the ripples that flow through you. You gulp and puff through the rising tide and spasm as you cum with a squeak.

He drags his nose up your pelvis and smears the wetness from his lips across your skin. He looks up at you and grabs your wrists as he pulls you to sit up. He edges you closer to him and hooks your legs around him, leaning you against the wooden counter as he nuzzles your neck. 

He feels below you and lines up with your entrance, easing you down as the countertop presses into your lower back. He cups your ass with one hand, his other on your neck, choking you as he begins to rut. He kisses you, deeply, growling into your mouth as he fucks you.

You cling to the edge of the counter, legs hugging him as you fear slipping to the floor. You gurgle as he squeezes your throat and parts as he groans long and loud.

“God, you’re so good,” he snarls, “aren’t you, slut?”

“Mmm,” you moan, “yes—” the friction of your bodies clouds your mind as it coils in your pelvis, “oh, god.”

“Yes, yes,” he utters against your cheek as he slams into you harder, “yes…”

You hear a click and your eyes flick open. You shake, confused as you hear footsteps, then voices. Your heart drops as you slap Peter’s shoulder and say his name. He grunts as he speeds up.

“Wait,” you beg.

“Oh god! Peter!” May’s shrill cry erupts and Peter stops, buried deep in you, “what are you–” she stops, a silence as you keep your face away from her. She says your name and you tuck your chin down, “oh my god! Get off of him–”

You shove Peter away as he drops you and you hide behind the counter as may roars, “are you fucking kidding me? You–”

You reach for your blouse and hold it over your front as you face her, “May, please, it’s not–”

“My fucking nephew! My nephew! Oh, Peter, Christ, cover yourself.”

Peter grabs the dishcloth and holds it over his dick, his cheeks flushed as his eyes are spacy.

“He’s young enough to be your son! You’re disgusting!” She screams, “get out of my apartment, now!”

“Aunt May, please,” Peter says softly, softer than he’s ever been with you, “don’t, I… I love her.”

You sputter at him, horrified at his declaration. What the fuck?

“I’ll go, I– I’m sorry,” you utter as tears spring and leak out in your horror, “I’m so sorry.”

You pull your blouse on and do up two buttons and step into your skirt. You gather your undergarments and rush around the island. May pushes you before you can pass her and you hit the wall. She punches the plaster beside your head and you cry out in shock.

“I never want to see you again,” she sneers, “you stay away from him!”

“I’m sorry–”

“Shut the fuck up,” she shover you away from her, “go!”

You grab your shoes and your purse and scurry out. There’s a man in the hall, tall, pudgy, dark curly hair. You keep your face down as you pass him and nearly sprint to the stairwell. 

You thought it couldn’t get worse but you were so so wrong.

#peter perker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #sequel #oneshot #two shot #series #mcu #marvel #spider-man #avengers

[blondie20000]

Rockin Around the Christmas Tree - Loki x Sylvie

What in God's name is that?

Loki narrowed his eyes and looked through the branches.

He saw boxes flying out. Loki couldn't see what was in the boxes but he is pretty sure they are coming from a time door.

A time door?

How is that here?

Loki leans forward as much as he can. His frown deepens when he saw tables of various food gliding out of the time door.

What is this?

It kept going until Loki's eternal prison is covered with boxes, food, presents and...is that toys?

Loki focused on the doll which gave him a creepy smile.

Not weird at all.

He looks nervously around suddenly feeling vulnerable and on edge. He knew whoever is coming could attack him because after all Loki couldn't let go of the timelines he is powerless in this situation.

Then there's another possibility this could be a hallucination? He has sat here for...Loki couldn't say but it would make sense for him to lose his mind by now.

The God of Stories suddenly groans as his power courses him. His eyes shone green as images of the timelines go across his mind. He bites his lip and waits for the episode to ride itself out. After several moments the images fade away and Loki has regained control over his own mind again.

Mentally cursing himself and gripping the branches harder Loki glares at the time door again but what comes out next shakes him to the core.

She is just as beautiful as the last time he saw her. Her hair is longer now but it still suited her Loki would love to reach out and thread his fingers through her blonde locks. Her smiling face turns towards him but Loki is the first to break eye contract. He sadly looks away.

This can't be happening I must be hallucinating.

Still he found himself saying her name anyway.

"Syl..." He coughs and clears his throat. It has been a while since he spoke. "Sylvie!" He croaked.

The beaming smile is back facing him again.

"Hey Loki."

She bends down and picks up a box.

"Is this real?" He questioned out loud.

Sylvie responds with a nod.

"Very much so."

Loki rakes her up and down. She is out of her Asgardian clothes and is instead wearing jeans, sneakers and a jumper that said Merry Christmas ya Filthy Animal.

Why would I imagine Sylvie wearing that?

The jumper could be his mind reminding him of his sinful thoughts when it regarded Sylvie or maybe...maybe this is real.

Loki's eyes slowly widen with realization.

"Sylvie." This time he said it more clearly but his voice shook with emotion. She gives him an reassuring smile.

"I'm here Loki."

"But...What are you...What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" She opens the box. "I'm here to decorate the bloody tree."

"Tree?"

"You turned this Godforsaken place into a freaking tree and as it's Christmas I thought we should decorate it."

"Christmas? Tree?"

"Christmas tree you got it."

She gets out the Christmas lights and lets it float into the air. The God of Stories looked with awe as the lights stretched and went around his new home. It disoriented him at first seeing so many different colors after seeing green for so long. His awe soon worn off and is replaced with worry.

"Sylvie what are you doing this could destroy the timelines this could..."

"I know what I'm doing."

Baubles came flying out of the next box. It floats in the air then tinsel followed that went round and round all the way to the top.

"Sylvie." He hissed her name. "What is the meaning of all this?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Getting ready for Christmas." She stated with an 'Isn't it obvious look?"

"But why? That is a Midgard tradition?"

"That's beneath you?" She said with a raised brow.

Loki said nothing.

Sylvie walks over to him and bends down so she is eye level with him. Loki's breath hitched up as she got closer. His hands trembled.

Don't lose focus don't lose focus. He told himself.

"Loki." She said her voice serious. "You told me we are Gods right? Well..." She sighs. "I never felt like a God...I...I never got the chance to be a God and to be honest I can't ever see myself being a God not like you."

She shakes her head.

"So you want be like them?" He asked.

"I wanted to be free." She nodded. "A chance to start fresh, a new life. After He-Who Remains when I first arrived at McDonald's when I first saw all those people, families, their children, their happiness." She smiles. "I realized then that I wanted that and from that day I swore I will try everything that includes celebrating human traditions. I am still sticking to that promise I will celebrate Christmas but I'm not celebrating it alone and nor are you."

He looks at her puzzled.

"I am forever grateful for what you did for me, for all of us. I want to say thank you." She gets out a present. "I know its not much but..." She smiles sheepishly. "It is Christmas and um well..." She puts the present down on his lap. "I hope you like it."

Loki chuckled slightly as her cheeks blushed pink. She frowns at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

You are cute when you are embarrassed. He thought.

"Well there's one thing." He added. He shrugs his shoulders. "My hands are tied."

"Oh...Of course." She laughed slightly. "I didn't think about that."

"You can open it for me?"

She smiles.

"I will."

She removes the ribbon then she lifts the lid. A gasp escapes Loki's lips as Sylvie lifts a blanket out. It looked exactly like the one he created in the void.

"You made this?" He asked.

"I been practicing." She grinned. Then she looks at the blanket. "Still looks like a tablecloth to me."

He huffed a laugh at that.

"Here." Sylvie said.

Sylvie wraps the blanket around his shoulders. Loki's smile widens. He brushes his cheek against the fabric. A mixture of both happiness and pained filled him. While he loved the present it also reminded him of what happened afterwards. Not wanting to upset her Loki clears his throat and thanks her for the present.

"You are welcome." She goes back to the box and lifts several ornaments out. She then gets out a smaller version of a tree. "More the merrier." She chuckled as she puts the miniature tree down.

"What's that?" He asked as he nods at the ornaments in her hands.

She holds up the two ornaments.

"S for Sylvie, L for Loki."

Loki studies the two letters in her hands.

"You may have created this tree but it's our Christmas."

She hangs the two letters on the little tree next to each other. It probably meant nothing but Loki couldn't help but see it as something more.

He sighs. God he sounded pathetic.

"And finally..." Sylvie gets out an angel. "The tree topper."

She walks back over to him and sticks the angel on one of his horns.

"Why?" He frowned.

"You are obviously the tree topper to this tree." She giggled at the sight of him. "I was originally going to pick a star but I thought an angel makes more sense because I know you are watching over us."

"I do." He slowly nods. He raises the branch that is nearest to him. "I keep yours close to me." He smiles. "I have always watched over you Sylvie it brings me comfort knowing you are happy."

She bites her lip at that. Another blush creeps up her cheeks. Loki found himself blushing as well.

"I...I brought food." Sylvie quickly changed the subject. She gestures to the trays. "I didn't know what you wanted so I picked everything I also brought some movies, some games, I even brought some festive tunes." Sylvie waves her hand.

All I want for Christmas started to play in the background.

"Had to jump to several timelines to get the stuff." She said. "This song didn't come out until 1994."

"You been busy."

She places an Elf hat on her head.

"You have no idea." She grinned.

"Why the toys?"

She looks over her shoulder at the piles of toys.

"Yeah I gone overboard." She grits her teeth.

"I like it." He said.

She looks at his face. He is smiling a genuine smile.

"I'm glad." She picks up a plate of pigs in blankets. "Want one?"

He shrugs his shoulders again.

"I can feed you."

He pulled a face at that. She rolls her eyes.

"Seriously?"

"I'm a God."

"There's no need to be ashamed. I'm cool with it. Here."

She lowers herself and gently orders him to open his mouth. He does and she pops the pigs in blankets in his mouth.

"Well?" She asked after he swallowed.

"It's okay."

She gasped at that.

"Just okay?"

"Well it's alright."

She runs a hand down his face.

"What else is there?" He asked in a teasing tone. His eyes shone with mischief.

Sylvie went and picked up a box of truffles.

"If I remember rightly." Loki said before Sylvie offered him the food. "This blanket is big enough for two people."

She raises her eyebrow.

He shifts in his seat.

"I never said anything about my legs being tied."

There is that hint of mischief again but also Sylvie noticed something else underneath it all she saw a hint of shyness as well.

"If you want to of course." He added quickly.

"It would make the feeding job easier." Sylvie sighs and nods. "Alright then."

Sylvie slides on to his lap. She grabs some of the blanket and puts it over herself.

"That okay?" She asked.

"Yes." He replied trying everything he can to contain his excitement.

She gestures to his mouth. He opens it and allows her to toss the truffle in.

"Sweet." He noted.

"But good?"

"Not sure maybe I need some more to find out." He grinned.

She scowls at him but amusement showed in her eyes.

They eventually settled on a movie. Sylvie chose Home Alone telling him it is a classic.

"Humans love it."

Both the God and the Goddess laughed at the movie. They loved Kevin and his traps. He is mischievous, chaotic and fun just like them. Sylvie snuggled into his chest as they watched the movie. Loki looks down at her. Warmth filled up inside him. He always imagined moments like this but never in his life did he think they would come true.

After they played snakes and ladders. Sylvie moved his pieces for him. The game prompted Loki to tell her the story of the time when he turned into a snake to prank his brother. Sylvie snorted and begun telling him funny stories from work.

"He tripped and the milkshake went all over him. The guy shrieked like a bloody banshee."

Loki chuckled.

"Serves him right for being a dick." He replied.

They had a few rounds of chess and told each other jokes from the crackers. Then they settled on watching It's a Wonderful Life.

Sylvie is back against his chest again. Loki wished he could wrap his arms around her. A wave of his power goes through him again reminding him of the burden he now has to carry. His face goes slack as images flood his mind.

"Loki?"

Sylvie touches his cheek with concern. Few moments later Loki blinks and shakes his head.

"I'm fine." He said his voice strained.

"You look like you are in pain."

"I've had worse."

She didn't believe him.

"Sylvie don't let it ruin this...please."

Sylvie had so many questions but the way Loki looked at her silently pleading with his eyes made her go quiet. Sylvie then nods and decides to respect his wishes.

"Okay." She said.

She turns her head back towards the movie. She may have dropped it for now but this wasn't the end she will find a way to get him out of this.

She swore on that.

The awkward atmosphere soon vanished and the God and the Goddess found themselves engrossed in the movie. When the movie finished they both look up and see a mistletoe hanging above them.

"Now who put that there?" Loki raises an eyebrow. "Was it you?"

Sylvie shrugs and gives him a cheeky smile.

"Was it you?" She asked.

He shrugs back and smirks.

Seems no one is going to answer that question.

"Sylvie."

"Hmm."

"Can it be fixed?" He asked.

Sylvie looks up at his hopeful expression. She knew what he meant. He meant them, their relationship.

"Loki." She replied. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

He narrows his eyes as he processed her response. Eventually a dawn of realization settles over his features. The tension melts away from his shoulders and a gush of relief comes out of him.

"Not broken." He mumbled.

"Hope kept it alive." She answered.

Loki leans forward. His face is inches away from hers.

"Together?" He whispered.

She cups his chin with her hand.

"Together." She repeated.

She then pulls him for a kiss.

Sylvie wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him harder and more passionately. He responds just as fierce.

"Sylvie." He mumbled into the kiss.

Sylvie felt the tears roll down her cheeks as they both poured their hearts out into the kiss.

Suddenly Sylvie heard fireworks. She looks up and sees rays of colors exploding all around them. It is a magnificent sight.

"Definitely you." Sylvie teased.

"Would you prefer rain? That's popular in romance movies."

"Definitely not." She kissed him again.

Eventually they both pulled away and touched their foreheads together.

"I love you Sylvie."

The words came out so quick Loki didn't even think twice but now he said it he became worried fearing he has gone too far. Sylvie beams at him. Her heart warmed at those words.

"Same to you Loki same to you." She straddles his lap and runs her hands down his chest. "Is it weird to feel attracted to a tree?"

He burst out laughing at that. She licks her lips and admires every part of him.

Na not weird at all. She thought with a smirk.

"Merry Christmas Loki."

Loki smiles and it is the most beautiful smile Sylvie has ever seen.

"Merry Christmas Sylvie."

It wasn't long before they begun filling each other up with the festive spirit with Rockin Around the Christmas Tree playing in the background.

The rocking is definitely not pun intended...

...Or is it?

The End

#fanfiction #one shot #fanfic #loki #loki season two #loki show #loki series #loki season 2 spoilers #loki x sylvie #sylki fanfic #sylki #sylvie laufeydottir #sylvie #sylki Christmas #christmas #christmas fic #romance #fluff #humor #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #loki laufeyson #god of stories

[deadlynavigation]

request: Loki x reader. Reader and Loki have been dating for a while and he finally agrees to bring her to Asgard to meet the family. Thor welcomes having a new sister, and Frigga welcomes having a daughter but Odin is not impressed. The three band together to convince Odin that the reader is good for Loki. Things end happy. Lots of fluff and angst pls!!

The Welcoming

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, family, almost-anxiety attack

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, my writer's block dropped in. Bear with me lol.

As always, lmk if there are any warnings I missed. Requests open, navigation is at the bottom of this fic.

Part Two

I don't own Marvel. Pls don't come after me.

Do not plagiarize or translate any of my works or their included assets.

Loki’s always the first to wake up.

He loves the calm of the morning, the feeling of not having to do anything or worry or approach the day just yet. Just taking a moment to still. To admire the day. To admire you- his fiancee.

It's the same this October morning.

The god’s been up for a few minutes, still blinking the sleep from his eyes and slowly stretching out his legs. He does it all very slowly and quietly, trying not to rouse you from your sleep. No, it’s too early for that. You don’t need to be up for another half hour.

You shouldn’t have to get up at all, Loki thinks with a grumble. But you’ve been so insistent about meeting his family, his parents and brother, that he couldn’t hold his strict no-meeting rule for long. Besides, seeing your smile when he agreed was so worth dropping it.

But today’s the day- the day you meet the people who raised him. He’s probably more nervous than you will be.

Loki buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent to calm himself. He can’t stop himself from pressing a couple kisses to your collarbones too, and from there you cheeks. His lips glide to your forehead, where he lingers to take you in. From the flyaway strands of hair to your flannel-covered legs, you are perfect.

Loki loses track of time as he places his forehead against yours. His lips are still chasing any area of your skin they can reach, until finally, you start to squirm.

The god backs up (but still keeps a gentle hold on you) as sleep leaves your body.

“Good morning, my love,” Loki murmurs when your eyes open. They blink the blurriness away, the e/c colour brightening.

“Hi baby,” you respond with a rasp in your voice. You snuggle into your lover closer, arms coming up onto his chest while he pulls you in further and plants a kiss upon your head. A yawn escapes your mouth, the peace overwhelming your sensors.

“Did you sleep well, Y/n?” Loki whispers into the room.

“Very well. Did you?”

“With you next to me, I find it impossible not to,” He responds, sincere love a welcome undertone in his answer.

“Silver tongue,” you mumble, burying your blushing face into his torso further.

“You inspire it, love. Now, are you ready to face the day?”

“Nope.” You burrow deeper into your lover and the blankets.

Loki stares at you in bewilderment, confusion setting onto his face. Have you not been begging to meet his family for months? And now you… don’t want to?

“Y/n, my love, were you not the one who insisted upon this? For almost a year?”

You turn to face the ceiling, trying to wake yourself up. “I was. But now I regret it.”

Mortals baffle Loki.

“How can one go from absolute insistence to refusal in less than 12 hours?”

“Hush, Loki. I am well aware of what I have asked, and I’ll end up going to meet your family anyways, but let me live in denial for a couple minutes.” You bring your hands up from Loki and slowly crack your knuckles while your lover tries to contemplate your words. Eventually, though, he gives up, and he kisses you before rising from the bed.

Once the god has magicked himself the appropriate clothing and finished his morning routine, he glances at the bed, expecting you to still be comfy under the blankets.

“Which dress is good for meeting ancient gods that are also my future in-laws?” You question from Loki’s left. He spins around, startling at the sight of you standing right next to him.

“My love, don’t scare me like that. My heart rate is already atrocious.” Loki puts a hand to his heart and exhales deeply.

“Oh well. Now you feel a fraction of what I’m feeling. But seriously, which dress?”

*____*

It takes a fair bit of time for you to gather yourself after the trip to Asgard, trying not to faint from the dizziness and anxiety on the inside while looking somewhat presentable on the outside. Loki, being the wonderful god that he is, notices your lament, and turns to you after dropping his hands from his now smoothed-out clothing.

“Are you all right, lovely?” He coos, placing his hands on your waist and bending down to reach your face.

“Of course, yes.” You respond, cringing at the sound of your voice. It’s breathy and worry-riddled and a dead giveaway that no, you are not all right.

“Calm down, love. Soothing thoughts, yes? Deep breaths.” Loki places his forehead against yours and sets a slow pace of inhales and exhales.

It’s not long after that you start to come down. Your mind isn’t going a thousand miles anymore, and your breathing is even- all thanks to your fiance.

“Thank you, baby.” You tiptoe to kiss his cheek lightly.

“Of course, my love. Now, we should get going, unless my brother has decided-”

“HELLO, DEAR SIBLINGS!” You hear a shout that could be compared to a war cry coming from the rainbow bridge, and turn your head to the source. Loki, meanwhile, cringes into your hair before turning to where your gaze falls.

“Hello, Thor,” Loki calls somewhat grudgingly, but you can see the light in his eyes. He’s happy to see his brother, no matter what he tries to cover it with.

“Brother!” The other god yells, running up to Loki and trapping him in a bear hug. It lasts a solid minute, and after Thor drops Loki, he heaves in gulps of air while rubbing at his chest.

“And this must be the mortal,” Thor turns to you. Loki does as well, apologising with his eyes as his brother approaches you with open arms (quite literally). You smile before being lifted off the ground and pulled into the tightest hug you have ever received.

“Hello, my lady! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” You grin, returning the hug until he lets go.

“Finally, you say,” You turn your gaze to Loki.

“Brother, did Mother want us to meet her immediately?” Loki turns away from you, scared of the fire in your eyes, even if it is a façade.

“Yes, that’s what I’m here for. To guide you two to her and Father.” You don’t miss how Loki tenses at the word father, his posture straightening and hands flexing into fists.

“Then let us go,” Loki responds, letting his brother lead the way.

Your lover falls into step with you, grasping your hand as nerves start to set in. You squeeze his hand three times, not risking verbal comfort. Loki has told you many times that Thor being around means no verbal comfort is to be exhibited- probably a pride stunt, but you’ll respect it nonetheless.

So you walk the length of the bridge, Thor spurting out random facts about Asgard. By the time you arrive at the grand palace, you’re an expert in the realm’s history and culture.

The grand palace- a sight to behold. It looks to be made of pure magic, and the interior is no different. Chambers and halls stretch on for miles, decorated with only the best artwork and furniture.

Except for now, there’s a future in-law waiting to greet you.

“My son,” Frigga Freyrdottir exhales, a weight lifted off her shoulders at the sight of her eldest son, safe and happy and home. She rushes to hug him, the two staying in the embrace as they whisper heartfelt greetings to each other.

Once Frigga lets go, she turns to you. “Hello, darling. Welcome to the family,” she says, warmth evident in her tone. The goddess goes in for a short but sweet hug, wrapping her arms around you as though you were her own daughter. You don’t mind at all.

“Hello, Frigga. It’s an honour to meet you.” You reply, returning the hug before letting go.

“Oh, none of that. Mother will do just fine if you so choose.” She smiles at you before turning to Loki, who looks as though he’s relaxed from the tension at the bridge.

“I like her,” Frigga whisper-shouts to her son. Loki rolls his eyes, but not before trying to conceal a grin. He’s just glad his family is able to get along.

“So, darling, what are your hobbies? Favourite books? Painters?” Your future mother-in-law questions, wondering where in the palace would most interest you.

“Well, I love Dante Alighieri’s works- he’s always been a favourite author of mine.” You respond. It’s true- Loki finds Dante’s writing scattered about your house most days.

“You have good taste. Dante is a skilled author, and we have almost all of his books in the royal library,” Frigga beams. She knew she liked you, and this is only further enunciating her impression of you.

You’re about to start fangirling over the palace’s ownership of the books when an old man bursts into the hall, golden eye patch adorned upon his face. He storms through the chamber, stopping only when he reaches you, Loki, Thor and Frigga.

The entire time he’s been in the room, Loki has not relaxed. His shoulders are tense, his hands clench in and out of fists, and his jaw looks as though it is as hard as steel. You glance over at him as the man, who you assume is Odin, stalks closer, and you reach for his pinky. Without thinking, the god hooks his with yours.

It’s been years since Loki’s had to deal with Odin. Years of uninterrupted peace with you, which he never wanted to end. And now, it’s all gone with the echoing footsteps of his father.

“Hello, Father.” Loki says once the man stops in front of them.

“Loki. Why is there a mortal in my palace?” The man responds, tone clipped and impatient.

“This is my fiancee, Father. Y/n. We have-”

“Get her out of my realm. No son of mine will marry a mere mortal- you will wed another deity, not settle for this… scum.”

You’ve stood in silence for most of the exchange, but when the man crosses that line, you step forward, slipping your hand in Loki’s and squeezing lightly.

“Sir, just because you’ve lived for thousands of years and rule Asgard doesn’t mean you get to be an absolute bitch.”

The words echo throughout the chamber. Frigga moves her hand to her mouth, trying to keep the laughs at bay.

Loki stands in shock, his admiration for you tripling. He squeezes your hand back with his mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

Thor looks as though he’s a child with a fluffy dog. In awe and joyous but still distracted by his surroundings.

Odin, though, looks ready to murder someone- namely you. He’s stopped fully in front of you and has straightened his posture. Too bad you’re five inches taller than him and he doesn’t appear intimidating in the slightest.

“Get out.”

“Sir-”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Palace.”

*____*

You and Loki stroll through Asgard’s centre, hands swinging between the both of you as you glance over the merchants selling their products.

“I’m sorry, love. I was not aware he would be so cruel towards you.” Loki breaks the silence that’s been present since you were ushered out of the castle.

“I deserved some of it. I mean, you can’t just go up to a centuries-old deity and insult him.” You purse your lips in dejection. “And besides, he was just as bad to you. How are you feeling about it?”

Loki keeps moving his feet, breathing evenly and pacing himself. “I’m used to it, but that doesn’t make it easier to confront.”

You lean into your lover’s shoulder, humming in response. You can’t offer Loki verbal comfort- what does one say in this situation? So instead, you settle for touch.

“Thank you, love.” Loki murmurs after a minute. You look up at him in confusion- you have done nothing worthy of thanks.

“What for, baby?”

“Being with me. Not running away from my family. Wanting to meet them, to be exposed to yet another part of my life that even I hide away from.” Loki looks up towards the colourful sky to hide his glassy eyes.

You stop in the middle of the road for a minute, touched by Loki’s confession. He stops as well.

“So thank you,” The god whispers one last time, leaning in to plant a small kiss on your lips.

It shocks you out of your reverie, and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “Loki, we are in public.” You hiss.

“And I am the crown prince of this realm. I am able to kiss my love in public if I so choose.” And he kisses you again to prove a point, but this time, you relish in the feeling, not backing away for the sole reason of Loki not doing so either.

“Let’s head back to the palace- I have an idea,” Loki whispers through a growing grin after the two of you pull apart. He may just get Odin to accept you yet.

(Navigation)

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki god of mischief #x reader #marvel #requests #fluff #angst #two parts #two shot #loki x you #loki odinson #marvel x reader #loki x y/n #loki odinson x reader #fanfiction #thor x reader #frigga #frigga's b+ parenting

[hannibalhasthetardisat221b]

Oscar Isaac (behind the scenes) putting on his Moon Knight suit 🌙

#i will never stop editing these shots of him #he looks sooo good #i like this suit #oscar looks good in any suit #my edit #my edits #oscar isaac #moon knight #i am obsessed with moon knight suit #moon knight suit #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marvel #konshu #mcu #we need season two #badass #my favourite show #behind the scenes

[little-cereal-draws]

The Blue Beta Fish Bronco (MKtober day one)

“Noooo,” Steven whined, watching through the reflection on the fish tank as Jake dumped a blue beta fish into it. “You can’t put him in there, Jake, he’ll kill Gus!”

“And Gus Two,” Marc added helpfully.

“Right. Yeah. And Gus Two,” Steven said, dragging his hands down his face.

It had been less than a month since they had had gotten back from Cairo and they were still learning how to get along with their new head mate who had revealed himself shortly after. At first Steven was thrilled to have another friend, Marc less so, but it turns out trying to live three lives is even more complicated than two. Steven didn’t know why he expected it to go smoothly; things were rough with Marc at first so why would this be any different?

Jake was very prominent in their lives now. He left his clothes all over the floor, left the volume on the speakers too loud, and needed to be included in everything Marc and Steven did. It annoyed them but they both felt bad for leaving him behind in the Duat and missing all the obvious signs of his existence, so they let it happen. They owed him this, at least. But now he had gone a put a beta fish in with Steven’s (and technically Marc’s) fish.

“That little blue devil will kill them, Jake. Please put him somewhere else,” Steven begged.

“No, it’s ok, it’s ok.” Jake held out his hands placatingly. “I did research on it, amigo. I would never just dump a predatory fish in with these little weak ones. He might bully them a little bit, but he would never hurt them. The internet said they can share the same space and even eat the same food, so it's all good, hombre, no need to freak out."

"I- I am not freaking out, I just want to make sure Gus is safe."

"And Gus Two," Marc chimed in.

"Right. Yeah. And Gus Two. GodIhatethatname," Steven mumbled.

Marc's brows furrowed. "Are you sure you don't want to rename him, Steven?"

Steven let out a long breath. "No, no, he's your fish so you get to decide his name, not me. Even if your name is totally copying my name. And you're dumping new fish in my tank. Everyone gets a fish they name themselves. Fantastic."

"You'll see," Jake said smiling at Steven, "they'll be best friends before you know it."

The three of them looked at the fish. The two goldfish bumbled up to the beta, examining their new brightly colored roommate. The beta stared at them for a second before nipping them on their faces, sending them zooming for cover. Or Gus Two at least. Gus was having some trouble.

"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, JAKE! HE'S ONLY GOT ONE FIN! GET HIM OUT OF THERE!" Steven bellowed.

"Ok, ok, I'm going, I'm going!" Jake snatched up the net and started trying to scoop the beta fish out of the tank, still reeling from Steven's sudden outburst. He didn't realize Steven even could get that loud.

After much yelling and chaos, the blue beta finally got transferred to a cereal bowl full of water. He glared angrily up at Jake, not appreciating getting pulled from his new big tank, swung around in the air a bunch as Jake frantically screamed and looked for a place to put him, and then put in a stupid cereal bowl. Jake smiled apologetically but dropped it when its glare persisted.

"Don't be putting new fish in my tank alright, mate??? That tank is mine, not yours!!! You don't get to touch it!" Steven crossed his arms on the window of the microwave. If looks could kill...

Jake looked at Steven with wide eyes for a second before hanging his head, mumbling, "Lo siento. I... I didn't mean to make you upset."

A heavy silence hung in the room. Marc looked back and forth between the two of them, not knowing what was going to happen. He had anticipated some butting heads between him and Jake, being as stubborn and hot headed as they both were, but never expected Steven to get in on it. Jake looked genuinely upset that he had made Steven angry. Marc had to do something.

"Um, ok. Well, we can get a fishbowl and put the new fish... uh..." he looked around for some flat surface that wasn't covered in books or maps. "Um... over there! On that little end table! We might have to move some stuff... but it's doable! ...I think."

"No, no, it's ok. I'll take it back," Jake said, slowly moving to gather up all the new stuff he got from the pet store. Mealworm treats, lots of plastic plants, and a hide that was shaped like a Ferrari, among other things. He looked heartbroken.

Steven's scowl fell. "Jake? Mate? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I was just worried about Gus- and Gus Two," he added when he saw Marc about to pipe up, "and I just didn't want anything bad to happen to them, yeah? Keep your fish. He's very pretty. Does he have a name yet?"

Jake paused for a moment, debating on if he should tell him, before whispering, "Bronco."

"Bronco," Steven echoed. "That's a good name. At least someone is creative." He cast a glance at Marc.

"What?? Gus Two is a perfectly fine name!" He threw his hands in the air.

"We'll get a new tank, Jake, a smaller one, and put Bronco in that. We can even find some space -somewhere- next to the big tank so he can be with his friends. That seems like a good solution. Everyone's happy, yeah?"

Jake paused, arms still full of his new fish equipment, before dumping it back on the table. "Yeah. That sounds good."

Steven let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Alright then! Let's find a place for him!"

"Literally, I think the only space is on that table," Marc offered.

"Not helpful, Marc. He's going to be by his friends," Steven chided.

"If we take this bookshelf out-" Jake started.

"Ok, that's a hard no"

#was going to do a drawing for today but did this instead #went a different way w this one too #instead of having to learn how to not hide anymore jake fully embraces it #steven's having a bit of trouble having to share his space with yet ANOTHER person #marc thought abt the name Gus Two for all of 0.2 seconds #bc he's creative like that #the fish are symbolism for the boys! #they're all going to be friends! #eventually #my fics #marvel #mcu #moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight one shot #moon knight 2022 #steven grant #marc spector #moonknightober2022 #mktober2022 #Jake lockley

[thedeadthree]

CHIARA DE LAURENTIS née borgia, the archaeologist, antiquarian and sleeper widow; marvel cinematic universe // but the sun is eclipsed by the moon (x.x.x)

pinterest // spotify

#oc: chiara de laurentis #s: marvel #SHE FINALLT GETS THE SPOTLIGHT AND THE INTRODUCTION SHE DESERVES 🖤😌 #*finally #next is her succession verse hehe! and her uncharted canon im working on and will be giving her an edit once I’ve worked things out for her! #marvel oc #leg.edit #leg.ocs #*myedits #*ocedit #x: lonely is a man without love #x: my baby shot me down #TY ASH DEAREST FOR ENCOURAGING ME ur once again the sweetest ever and im grateful for u ✨🤧 #and orion! thank u again for ur talent and making this template! Ive been adoring making the loves with this! 🖤 #jake was even like….. MARC JUST TELL HER everyone being the cheerleaders for these two hshxhhc i love it for them ✨😌 #BC SOMEONE NEEDS TO! it took them what? they knew each other for 4 years before hand i think? then there was that 5 years chiara was dusted #ITS BEEN ALMOST A DECADE THESE TWO ARE THE SLOWEST SNAILS WHEN IT COMES TO THE OL FEELINGS TALK I STG #might be opening chiara up to having had been up to things during eternals ✨😌 maybe! something to do while she searched for marc! #and the opportunity to meet and speak with the eternals? how could she not pass that up? #khonshu head of the chiara and marc 4ever fan club ✨😌 #if she was never dusted she would be 32! <3