While We Untangle

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

Green Eyes of Gondor

Boromir x f!Reader

Summary: The newly formed fellowship spend an evening around the campfire getting accustomed to each other. Some dancing ensues, and the Captain of Gondor isn’t fond of how close you are with a particular ranger.

Word count: 1.6k~

Warnings: none! Fluffy fellowship vibes, jealousy

A/N: I’m back into my Tolkien obsession and I’ve been having a lot of feelings about Boromir recently, so this happened! I don’t know if there’s a big market for Boromir fics but you’re getting it anyway 🤣

Boromir scowled as he watched you and Aragorn dancing from across the fire.

It had started innocently enough. The fellowship had just had dinner and were settling around the fire for the night. You were still new companions, so time like this was spent getting to know one another. You had expressed that on this journey you were greatly missing music. You spoke of how you loved the soft music that seemed to flow all around Rivendell during your brief stint there.

You also comment that you’re a fan of tavern music, and Aragorn attests to the fact that despite your hard ranger exterior, you’re known for being up and skipping around a tavern when a song starts. You’ve both been travelling together for years, and you’ve shared the occasional drunk dance around a tavern after particularly gruelling journeys.

At this revelation, Merry and Pippin immediately stand up and ask for your hands. You’re more than happy to join them, and you make do dancing around the campfire while Merry and Pippin sing a song about their favourite tavern - The Green Dragon. You invite Sam and Frodo to join in but they politely decline a dance, choosing instead to sing along.

The height difference between you and the hobbits causes some trouble, so Pippin climbs onto Merry’s shoulders and they try to dance with you that way, which results in all three of you falling over in a fit of laughter.

Everyone is jovial and laughs along with the three of you as you get up and compose yourselves. Gimli announces he would teach you some traditional Dwarven dancing. It was accompanied by some chanting and a song in a language you couldn’t make any sense of, but you had fun nonetheless. And it of course brought some banter between Gimli and Legolas.

“You call that dancing?” Legolas smirks.

“Well I’d like to see what you Elven folk call dancing, laddie!” Gimli proposes and Legolas stands up and walks over to you.

He holds his hand out to you and pulls you next to him. Aragorn hums an elvish tune quietly as you and Legolas move around the space softly, you copying whatever he does. There’s a certain elegance to Elvish dancing that you’re not quite sure you’re getting, but Legolas smiles and lifts you around nimbly like you weigh nothing. You feel dizzy by the time he places you back on the floor. You receive a round of applause from everyone, and you both bow. Boromir, in particular, thought you looked ethereal as you danced.

There’s an expectant look on both Legolas and Gimli’s faces and you meekly admit that you prefer the Dwarven dancing. Gimli looked awfully proud of himself after that. You take your place next to Aragorn once more and take a drink from your waterskin.

“What kind of dancing did the two of you do in taverns?” Frodo enquires.

“Those longshanks must’ve been good for dancing, surely?” Sam quips at Aragorn and you reply before he has the chance to deny it.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, “Strider here may be a triumph on the battlefield, but he also knows his way around a dancefloor.”

“As does Y/N. And we danced whatever the occasion called for!” Aragorn remarks. “Most dances were not unlike what you just did to your own tavern song. Though we did sometimes pretend to tight-fisted barkeeps that we were newlyweds and celebrating, and the cheers from the tavern would get us free drinks. Do you remember?” He smirks at you and you laugh at the memory.

“How could I forget? Those were the most fun!”

“Let us see!” Merry shouts and there are cheers of agreement from all but Boromir, though you don’t notice.

Aragorn stands up and bows before you, holding his hand out, “My lady.”

“My husband.” You accept his hand and he pulls you out of your seat, you mockingly bow before him in return.

You both sing along to something that’s half Elvish and half traditional tavern song as you dance. There are moments that resemble your dancing with Merry and Pippin where you’re bounding around merrily. But there are also parts not unlike your dance with Legolas, swaying and pressed up against each other.

You finish your song and dance to applause from everyone. You plant a kiss on Aragorn’s cheek before you both sit back down again, chuckling.

Boromir hides his glare well, but he is in a sour mood after the performance. He has harboured feelings for you from the moment he laid eyes on you in Rivendell. He resents the bond that you and Aragorn clearly share, and he wishes he could be in Aragorn’s place. He mistakes the kiss as a genuine one, and not just the two of you playing up to the act. He misses the small chat you and Aragorn have once you’re sat down and the nudge that the ranger gives you in Boromir’s direction.

He’s brought out of his mind by your soft voice uttering his name and the breathtaking smile you’re sporting as you approach him, “Care for a dance? I’m sure I’ve never danced anything worthy of the halls of Gondor. Perhaps you could show me?”

“I’m afraid we do not have much time for dancing in Minas Tirith.” Boromir replies sternly.

“Well we’re not in Minas Tirith now, so what is the harm?” You extend an arm to Boromir but he does not take it.

“I’m truly not much of a dancer, Y/N. That is more my brother’s strength.” He looks down at his lap and misses the flash of disappointment in your eyes.

“So be it. I suppose I shall have to ask your brother for a dance when I next visit the White City.” You round the fire and drop back down in your spot next to Aragorn once more. Once the attention is off of you, and everyone seems to be focusing on getting themselves ready to sleep, you have a bit of a pout.

“He will come around, I’m sure.” Aragorn whispers to you, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks none are watching.”

You considered Boromir’s change in mood. He’d been laughing and smiling while you danced with the hobbits. He also found you and Gimli entertaining. He looked quite in awe of the Elvish dancing. Then he sported a very stern look on his face once the attention turned to you and Aragorn. Was he jealous? Surely not. What was there to be jealous of?

You assign the watches for the night and everyone but Gandalf goes to sleep. After a few hours, you’re awoken by Gandalf for your watch. You wish him a restful sleep and take up his spot, where you can observe the whole fellowship and the wider plains around you. Boromir is assigned to take over from you but about an hour before you’re supposed to wake him, he stirs on his own.

“What time is it?” He asks blearily, rubbing his eyes and adjusting to the dark of the night.

“You still have an hour before your watch. Make the most of it.” You smile graciously at him and he gets up and moves slowly over to join you on the log you’re perched on.

“I doubt I will get back to sleep now I’m awake. I can take over now.”

“Tis noble of you, Captain, but I wish to fulfil my duty completely before I pass it on to you.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender but is otherwise quiet. You’re shocked by the question he asks you after a few minutes silence, “If the King has indeed returned and Aragorn does take the throne of Gondor, will you be his Queen?”

You chuckle, “I think you misunderstand mine and Aragorn’s relationship. We have spent many years travelling together, but he is like a brother to me.” You smile fondly and notice Boromir relax ever so slightly, and you wonder if he was jealous because of the dancing.

You decide to clarify, “Our dances were nothing but swindles for drinks from stingy barkeeps. Aragorn’s heart belongs to Arwen, the elf-maiden who gave him the pendant he wears around his neck.”

“I see. And what of yours?” He asks tentatively.

“My heart belongs to someone else also, though I do not know if he reciprocates.”

“He would be a fool not to.”

You consider your next words carefully, but based on this short exchange, you’re willing to risk yourself, “He denied me a dance this evening, what else am I supposed to assume but disinterest?”

You look hopefully at him and are met with wide eyes, “I am the object of your affection?”

“Yes, Boromir. I was bitterly disappointed you turned down a dance earlier, but it was Aragorn who convinced me that I should not give up so easily.” You smile at the dumbfounded look on the usual stern face of the Captain of Gondor.

He reaches for your hands and leans in close to you, “I’m deeply sorry for my behaviour this evening, my lady. Would a kiss help you to forgive me?”

You beam, “Perhaps.”

He leans forward and captures your lips softly, his kiss growing in ferocity when you melt against him.

You pull away breathless, blushing profusely. You shuffle ever closer to Boromir until you’re practically in his lap and kiss him again.

He matches your passion with gentleness, and tentatively pulls back, “As much as I would like to take this further, keen are the ears of the fellowship. For now, get some sleep, my love.”

“Let it be said, those green eyes suit you, Captain. Enjoy your watch.” You smirk as you slink away back to your bedroll.

He smiles as he watches you settle and fall into a quick sleep. His evening turned out far better than he could’ve imagined.

Fic Recs (4.14.22)

Hey babesss!! Turns out I’m alivee and I’m slowly but surely working on chapter 4 of Teaching to Love Again (previously currently untitled single dad! bucky series) as well as some other one shots but if anyone has any requests, id love to see them!! I wanted to share my favorite series/ one shots while I work on my own, please show some love to these amazing writers! These are in order of how recently I read them, not in favorite order.

Marvel Fic Recs One Two Harry Potter Fic Recs One Two

Little Lion Man by @wkemeup

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: “Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know”

Strangers in the Night by @redgillan

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: “You’re on a date, but things aren’t going well. You find refuge in the restroom where you meet a man who’s also having a bad night. Together, you make an escape plan.”

Domestic Bucky Blurb by @modern-vellichor

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Request: “Can I request Bucky and reader having to go undercover as a married couple? maybe like in the countryside I’m deep in my feels abt the idea of Bucky in a linen shirt working on a garden Tysm!! I love your writing💗” -Anon

Foxglove by @whistlingwillows

Pairing: Immortal!Bucky x Mortal!Reader Summary: “as soon as his palms brush along your cheeks, it’s almost as if his soul snaps out of its frenzied rage, looks at you, and embraces you with a warmth that says, oh, I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Tenure Track by @disturbedbydesign (18+ Only)

Pairing: Professor!Bucky x Reader Summary: “You and Professor Barnes had been at each other’s throats from the moment you met, and when a tenure position opens up in your department, the claws come out.”

Orange Zest by @redgillann

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: “Wanda and Reader cast a love spell.”

The Itsy Bitsy Spider by @embrassemoi

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “Funnily enough, Peter’s girlfriend has a crippling fear of spiders.”

Secrets and Skateparks by @earthgirl616

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker X Reader Summary: “you have a sneaking suspicion about your best friend and will apparently go to any lengths to prove yourself right.”

The Experiment by @soap-bubble-nebula

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Request: “Can I request an Avengers x reader, Bucky x reader fic where the reader was a Hydra experiment at a hydra base and whenever she couldn’t use her powers properly, they made Bucky (as the Winter Soldier) inflict punishments on the reader. (Then after bucky joins the Avengers) whenever the reader is fighting the avengers she’s fearless but everytime she sees Bucky she gets scared and runs away from the fight. At some point Bucky realizes why she’s so scared of him and somehow convinces her that he and the avengers want to help her. Oh and you can choose whether you want it to be Bucky x reader or a platonic Bucky x teen!reader where he becomes her father figure! thanks and sorry it’s so long 😅” -Anon

American Tattoo by @seventven (18+ Only)

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky X Reader Summary: “steve and bucky run a tattoo shop together in brooklyn. y/n, a friend of steve’s, decides to get inked. only bucky is present at the shop and he’s about to close it for the night.”

A Touch of Comfort by @fanficimagery

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: “You’ve always been the touchy-feely sorts with people you’re comfortable around. So when you’re told your touching could be making Bucky uncomfortable, you stop. But here’s the thing.. Bucky didn’t want you to stop.”

Behind the Curtain by @cryptidcasanova (Dark Fic)

Pairing: TASM!Dark!Peter Parker x Reader Summary: “Peter was slow to admit it, but after Gwen’s death he stopped pulling his punches. He sought out vengeance at every turn and no robber, mobster, or off-brand ne’erdowell was left in peace. He embraced, no, incited the violence. The friendly neighborhood spider man was a vigilante. This is Peter Parker’s villain origin story.”

More Than a Feeling

din x reader; din dreams of you

word count: 2.6k

a/n: big thank you to @flora-screeches for some much-needed encouragement and to @saradika for reminding me that this song exists!

also tagging: @zinzinina (anyone else, let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

(on a personal note, i am really proud of myself for getting this done during a writing funk so i hope you enjoy!)

Keep reading

Bucky Barnes Ficrecs

Check out my own fics here

Slow Hands (Bucky version) by @heli0s-writes Male masturbation

In the Embers by @wkemeup Bucky finds his burdens weigh a little less when he’s with you

Electric by @buckys-darling Flirtationship has a different meaning with Bucky, and his patience doesn’t last long when it comes to you.

The Push and the Pull by @delaber

There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts

Little Lion Man by @wkemeup Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know

Here's Lookin' at you Kid by @boxofbonesfic Kitchens are loud and hot, but you’ve never minded that. Never minded the burnt fingers, and cut hands. What you do mind is Chef Barnes, the cocky talent that put Black Adder Brewery on the map. You’re even less used to hating someone quite this much, but you’re sure, somehow, you’ll manage—if you don’t stab him first.

Savage Love by @tumblin-theworldaway sleeping around, angst, implied smut

Answered Ask by @angrythingstarlight There is a scene [in 10 things I Hate about you] where the girl gets drunk and tries to kiss the guy. But he doesn't let her, tells her we should do this another time.

Understudy by @wkemeup Bucky knew after he’d ended things, you’d eventually move on. But when he’s confronted with the reality of you with another man, he’s certain it will tear him apart

The Things we Carry with us by @pellucid-constellations You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else?

Play Pretend, Part 1 and Part 2 by @wkemeup When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help

Sunrise Masterlist by @wkemeup After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is discharged from active duty and sent back to civilian life. Left with a storm of unchecked guilt, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU)

The Mess I Made by @wkemeup you may not be on the best terms with Bucky Barnes, but it doesn’t stop you from coming to his defense

Wait 'til I give you a Sign by @ambrosiase Inspiration: “you do make me hard, but she makes me weak” — be my mistake by the 1975

Baby Fever by @jurassicbarnes In which Bucky can’t figure out why he feels so restless when everything is perfect in his life… until he does.

Just Wanna Feel Your Lips by @ambrosiase Inspiration: “and i promised myself, i wouldn’t let you complete me” — is there somewhere by halsey

How She Loves by @cupidsbarnes Sometimes Bucky will catch glimpses of who he used to be in the mirror. They’re like silent movies that play as he stares at his reflection. A boy with bright eyes and even brighter smiles that can only see the good in the world. He’s struck with how warm he used to be when these memories play. Then he blinks and they’re gone, all that’s left is a cold man staring back at him whose eyes appear empty and smiles have almost disappeared.

Fireworks by @wkemeup Bucky Barnes doesn’t do crowds. He certainly doesn’t do fireworks. But he’d follow you just about anywhere.

Lavender by @wkemeup Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know.

Metanoia by @gogolucky13 In the last stages of his recovery, Bucky goes on a spiritual retreat where he meets you, and finds more of himself along the way.

Pride and Privacy Masterlist by @adrinktostopyourthirst Bucky works on himself as he gets used to a roommate. Turns out, she has a much better room than him and he crossed the line.

The Other Side of the Door by @wkemeup Bucky would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Even if it took him to the bottom of the ocean.

Anonymous Ask by @writerlyhabits Not to be horny on main, but do you think Bucky would be good at eating 🐈🐱???

Anonymous Ask by @becca-e-barnes Thinking about being Buckys ex but both of you love each other . You have kept a friendly relationship with one another and you’re talking at a party , sitting in front of each other , and you’re looking so deep into each other’s eyes and you realize how stupid you’ve been for letting each other go

Mean it by @gogolucky13 You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he’s your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

Graveyard Masterlist by @buckyownsmylife The one where you’re Steve’s girl but he likes to watch you and Bucky fuck like he’s not there.

A Little Help by @captainsimagines Bucky’s been having difficulties in a certain… department. He’s at a loss, completely ready to give up until he starts theorizing. If you have the ability to heal people, maybe you can help him out. Maybe you’ll be able to fix him.

Sanctified by @sergeantxrogers Bucky Barnes’ holy grail and safe haven are your body and soul, and after getting a taste of them, he finally knows what it means to be a sinner.

Anonymous Ask by @howdoyousleep3 Bucky learning to touch

And the High Won't Fade Here by @charnelhouse She saves Bucky. She saves Rick. There’s always a cost though.

Wicked Games Masterlist by @summerofsnowflakes You need to give him up, but it’s just too good to stop

Honey and Chamomile by @wkemeup Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart

Satisfied by @adrinktostopyourthirst Drunk sex with Bucky

What I Hate About You by @sidepartskinnyjeans When Bucky comes back from Wakanda Steve has a girlfriend and Bucky hates her. But hate is a very strong word.

Snow Masterlist by @delaber

Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in

Ari’s masterlist pt. 2

KO-FI | COMMISSIONS | TAGLIST | MASTERLIST PT. 1

** indicates smut. If YOU ARE BELOW 18 DO NOT INTERACT WITH ANY OF MY WORKS PLEASE!

All headers done by the incredible @doin-stuff​. works are updated regularly and most are EXPLICIT. Since my masterlist was growing bigger, I decided to split it. This one contains Marvel characters, Peaky Blinders & Tom Hardy characters mostly.

Keep reading