cptnwilsonxo

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When your fave's fucking you like an animal and chanting "you're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me cum"

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man who peppers reassuring kisses to your forehead, cheek, neck, chest and tummy to remind you you’re breathtaking before gently pulling your legs apart when you’re being timid about your body

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Sam Wilson x pregnant fem reader…

hey anon! while im so happy you came to me for your request, im afraid i wont be able to fulfill it. i only write genderneutral or male readers and really wouldn't know how to approach this one. there are other writers out there who'd be much better equipped to write the story you're looking for.

[cptnwilsonxo]

"you should be at the club" I should be working on my fanfic

[cptnwilsonxo]

YK WHAT

Based in the last Danny fic, do one where the reader wakes him up instead (or tries to) 🙏

First Light Awakening

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 652✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

Morning’s First Offering

The early morning light filters through the curtains, painting soft gold across Danny’s bare chest. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, lips parted slightly as he breathes in the slow rhythm of sleep. His hair’s a mess, curls wild against the pillow, and his body’s still warm from where the two of you tangled together the night before.

You bite your lip, watching him,watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight twitch in his fingers like he’s dreaming. There’s something about this quiet, unguarded version of him that makes your chest ache. You love him like this. You love him, period.

And this morning… you’re feeling bold.

You slip slowly beneath the covers, heart thumping, careful not to wake him just yet. Your fingers trail lightly down his stomach, tracing that delicious V that leads you right where you want to go. He shifts slightly, a soft grunt escaping his throat, but he doesn’t wake.

Not yet.

You pull the sheets lower and smile when you see he’s already halfway there,his cock thick and half-hard against his thigh. Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s coming.

You lean down and press a soft, teasing kiss to the base of him. He twitches. Encouraged, you take him in your hand, stroking slowly, gently. You kiss along his length, tongue flicking out just enough to taste him.

“Mmh…” he groans in his sleep, hips shifting slightly. Still not awake.

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down further, taking him inch by inch. The weight of him on your tongue makes your pulse race. You swirl your tongue around the tip, sucking softly as your hand works the base.

This time, he moans. Low. Guttural. His fingers twitch on the pillow, and his hips roll upward,just a little.

His voice is husky, still thick with sleep. “Baby… what’re you...fuck…”

You pull back just enough to murmur, “Good morning,” before sliding him back into your mouth, slow and deep.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, eyes fluttering open. “You tryna kill me?”

You hum in response, sending vibrations down his length. His hand flies to your hair, fingers tangling in it, not guiding you—just grounding himself as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’re really doing this?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “First thing in the morning?”

You glance up at him, mouth still wrapped around him, and nod with a wicked sparkle in your eyes.

He lets out a laugh, breathy, disbelieving. “Fuck… you’re gonna ruin me.”

You don’t stop. Your tongue teases that sensitive spot beneath the head, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach. He’s fully hard now, thick and heavy, twitching against your tongue.

His breath stutters. “Shit , shit, baby, you feel so good.”

He starts to lose himself in it, hips rising off the bed, meeting the rhythm of your mouth. The sheets twist under his fists. His voice gets louder, needier.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he groans. “God...just like that, yeah, don’t stop…”

You take him deeper, letting your throat relax, swallowing around him. His entire body tenses.

“Fucking hell” he gasps. “I’m gonna come, baby...fuck, I’m gonna...”

You don’t stop. You want it. You want all of him.

With a strangled moan, he comes hot and hard down your throat, hands clutching at your hair like he might float away otherwise. You swallow every drop, then slowly, gently pull off him, lips slick and swollen.

He stares at you, chest heaving. “You’re insane,” he says breathlessly. “You’re perfect, but you’re insane.”

You smirk, crawling up the bed to straddle him, chest against his. “Good morning to you too.”

He grabs your face and kisses you, slow and filthy, tasting himself on your tongue.

“You’re never waking up to coffee again,” he murmurs against your lips. “Just this.”

You grin. “That was the plan.”

[cptnwilsonxo]

he's so cute. i just want to bite him. and bite him. bite him again. bite him. bite him. bite him. let me sink my teeth on him.

[cptnwilsonxo]

a long hug from a man with big biceps would cure me

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"are you normal about-" no I'm an insane pervert

[cptnwilsonxo]

TWISTED METAL 1.01 — WLUDRV

[cptnwilsonxo]

[cptnwilsonxo]

If you're still taking situation prompts, I would LOVE to see your take on "meeting past/future self"!

Wait, did this turn out sad? When I specifically asked it not to?

Bucky was too tired to even try assigning blame here. Who knew who to blame for multiversal portals opening up and timelines crossing each other and braiding together or fraying apart in ways they weren't supposed to be. Honestly, he didn't care to figure it out. He wasn't going to be able to solve the problem. He was just around to make sure no evil little parasites got through. Multiverses, alternate timelines, branch worlds, everything still bled. A very long, strange life had been consistent at least in that regard.

"Hey, I came as soon as I heard," Sam said, indeed sounding out of breath as he came up to Bucky's side. They were at the Avengers Campus that Sam had opened several years ago. It was for training, or meeting and debriefing, or just crashing for a while. Lots of the heroes had used it. It had been a very good idea.

Not to say that Sam wasn't in the thick of the emergency. He was. He was on the campus, putting out fires where he could, of course. He'd just come to Bucky's side at that moment. They were in the large common room, where seminars were held, or what was converted into a giant theater, complete with blankets and pillows on every flat surface.

Right now, it was sheltering many other versions of the same heroes who camped out on the floor with candies and snacks, and some new ones too. Wizards and gods and scientists and trainees tried to figure out how to send people back to their own timelines, but no one seemed to be very successful.

"What're the odds that between us both, only one came through?" Sam continued. Because that's why he had to stop whatever containment he'd been doing to be beside Bucky.

Across the room from them, someone with Bucky's face was napping in the corner. Alpine was curled in his lap, napping too. Because she was a traitor.

Seeing Steve after the Battle for Earth and all that had been a shock. Bucky hadn't considered what long time consciousness would do with the serum. He certainly hadn't expected to see Steve age like a normal human. Actually, it made next to no sense that he had. But the thought had been nettling in the back of his mind since. Some mornings he woke up and stared at himself in the mirror, searching for grey hairs or deeper wrinkles or spots that hadn't been there before.

His daddy hadn't gotten to grow old. He wasn't sure how he'd age. He'd seen pictures of Sarah, but their odd twin-like similarities seemed to diverge the longer they weren't with each other so that, by the time she was getting married, she looked like her own self and Bucky couldn't find his features in her face.

Then again, the cameras back then did kind of suck.

The man who'd appeared in a beignet shop in New Orleans was curmudgeonly and hard-lined. His jaw was still square and his eyes were still bright, but time had etched into his face and his mouth perpetually dropped downwards. The fall out of a boyish pout Bucky had never broken.

He hadn't aged the way Steve had. According to the man, he'd be almost two hundred in another few months. Or a few years. Yet, he only appeared to be in the early stages of aging. Sixty-five at the most, Bucky would wager. He was aging slowly. As Bucky had figured the serum would do. Slowing those processes, keeping him healthy longer.

Bucky hadn't believed he was one of the timeline anomalies. He swore he'd be one of the multiverse ones. A harsh conversation back and forth had quelled some of his doubt.

["Where are you from?" he'd asked the old man.

"Brooklyn. Where the hell are you from? 'Cause if it ain't Brooklyn, you sure as shit ain't a Barnes."

"I'm from Brooklyn, old man. I'm probably older than you are. I was born in 1917."

"Yeah, me too, kid. You're not special. This your first time with this bullshit? You are young. What is this? The 20s again? Christ, you ain't seen nothing yet."

"I've seen enough," Bucky had assured with steel in his voice. "You'd know that if you were me."

The man had hissed a dismissive sound and waved his hand. "HYDRA, the Winter Soldier. At least we weren't conscious for that. You'll be awake for the rest of it."

And then, annoyed and also trying to ignore the swell of dread at the thought of something worse finding him, Bucky had demanded the man pull down the sleeve of his shirt so they could compare the scars around their shoulders line by line. After that, there really couldn't be much arguing. If they weren't the same, they were damn close.]

"They found him back home," Bucky said. "Right outside Judi's. I had to buy him a to-go box just to get him back here."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"He's an asshole," Bucky insisted.

"Yeah," Sam agreed again. "He's you, I get it."

Bucky rolled his eyes and started to make his way back over to the other Barnes. Unconscious, he wasn't so bad. Looking for the details, Bucky could see his own long fingers in the old man's, not nearly as knobby as he was used to seeing on old men. He was still, all these years later, wearing the sleek black watch Sam had gotten him a handful of years ago for Christmas. The one they'd argued about because it was too expensive. Bucky had locked it away in its fine box and hunted for the receipt to return it when it was obvious Sam wasn't going to. Then Sam had set the receipt on fire in the sink. Bucky barely took the thing off to shower. It was the one thing the boys knew not to play with.

He put his fingers to the band of it now, rubbing them across the fasten gently. The one the old man was wearing was worn away in the same spot.

He was sitting in a recliner. He'd raised a fuss when a version of Rambeau with literal starlight pouring out of her had jumped up to offer it to him. But then he'd taken it and conked out like the double centenarian he was. The other timeline infractions had shifted away from him, the way everyone moved away from old people snoozing. Sam pulled a foot stool over and sat on it before gently putting his hand on the man's forearm and shaking it. It wasn't how he woke Bucky up.

And the other Barnes woke up disoriented too. His eyes flashed around the room, fingers reaching for a weapon, but falling upon the cat instead. He looked down at it and his eyes widened. His fingers sank into her fur, then he hugged her close. He'd tried to bend over, get his face in her fur, but she was too small and too low in his lap for it to work very well.

"Alpine, you're here already," he whispered. Bucky wasn't sure even Sam heard him. Alpine stretched to butt her head against his cheek and started to make biscuits on his thigh.

Sam leaned back enough to look at Bucky. "Well, that should be more proof for you."

Two hundred years old was far too long for Bucky to delude himself into thinking the old man still had his Alpine. That was ninety years ahead. The thought made a knot form in his throat. He had to look away to swallow it down.

"Sir," Sam said, putting his hand on the man's forearm again. He waited until the man lifted his face and settled his gaze on him. "I'm--"

"Sam," the other Barnes almost sobbed. His hand went to the side of Sam's face, cupping it in the same way like he was meant to hold Sam, putting his thumb to the scar under Sam's eye the way Bucky always did. "Oh, look at you, sweetheart. I remember all of this."

Sam beamed a little, the kind of smile that was polite, but also very pleased. He dropped his eyes briefly before bringing them back up. "I'm glad. It's been touch and go with the memory in the past, huh?"

The old man smiled and Bucky saw himself plain as daylight. That was exactly how he always looked in candid photos when he was looking at Sam. It was all the same. The smile, his eyes, the desperate adoration. "I never wanted to forget you."

Sam brought one hand up to hold the back of the other Barnes's and the other up to hold his wrist gently. "Well, it sounds like you didn't."

"You were always so beautiful, but I can't believe how much I loved you like this."

Bucky blushed. It was no new news to Sam. If it wasn't Bucky telling him, it was the media or their teammates or their friends in Delacroix. Still, it felt rawer to hear it said by a mouth that wasn't his. Not really. He hadn't earned any of that yet. He didn't have the memories the other man did. Yet, that was him. Him telling on himself. Fervently, as if Bucky stopped doing that at some point and now he needed to make up for lost time.

"Sometimes I can't believe it either," Sam admitted with a small laugh. "I think you're exaggerating all the time."

The old man shook his head solemnly. "Never about loving you, Samuel Wilson."

"Tell me what you've been doing recently. How are the boys? Is Cass in high school yet?"

"Not quite," Sam said with an easy smile. "Almost. He's still in the eighth grade, but the year's almost done."

The other Barnes was still staring at Sam like he was seeing the sun for the first time. Bucky was familiar with the sentiment, but he'd gotten better at controlling himself the more he was around Sam. He could only handle so much ribbing from their friends.

Alpine stretched in his lap and then snuggled closer again.

Oh.

Bucky blinked back stinging tears as he fully realized what all he could lose in ninety years. A knot snarled in his throat as the air vacated his lungs with one plunge of terror.

Everything. He could lose everything in ninety years.

He took a shaky step back and stepped into one of the Langs. The girl apologized and asked where her dad was, but Bucky couldn't answer. He dodged out of her way without as much as a mumbled apology.

He didn't get very far--just to a pseudo-refreshments table--before his knees went out from under him. Sam caught up to him a step later and put a hand between Bucky's shoulder blades. It did not keep Bucky from wanting to give in to the building sobs in his throat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked. He put his other hand over Bucky's right hand, covering the silver band that the old man still wore.

"Tell him anything he wants to hear," Bucky managed to get out. Even in his own ears, he could hear how shaky his voice was. His breath kept catching in his throat, as it passed each rib, tried to squeeze by his thundering, breaking heart. "Tell him everything. Just go sit with him. Please."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Sam agreed. He sounded confused. Bucky knew what his face looked like. The pull of his eyebrows, the pout of his lower lip. Just a little. Enough that he argued he didn't do that, but Bucky saw it every time. "But are you okay?"

Bucky nodded. He didn't trust himself to say anything else. He just waved his hand back towards the old man. "I'm fine. Please," he tried again.

Sam wasn't convinced, he could tell. But with a few more strokes against his back, he turned and went back to the other man. Bucky put both hands on the table, trying to breathe normally. But every breath just made his chest hurt even more. There was no getting away from the fact that he'd eventually have to live without Sam. He would outlive everyone he loved. He would still go get breakfast at the place down the street--even if it wasn't still called Judi's--and he'd eat alone. Sam wouldn't steal the good almond slivers, wouldn't add the creamer he wanted to Bucky's coffee so he could drink it too. There'd be no newspaper crossword races to see who paid. No one else to pretend like using the booth was justified.

How was he supposed to excise the panic and dread clawing around his ribs and shredding his heart?

Sam laughed from across the room. The old man was halfway through a story-telling gesture, Sam and the cat watching raptly, and he looked brighter, lighter.

At least, Bucky thought, he could give himself that one treasure. He could remind himself how beautiful Sam was, what his laugh sounded like, how in love they were.

He would remember all of it. He'd remember everything he got. For all his life.

[cptnwilsonxo]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Since getting married, Joaquín has discovered he loves hearing you call him your husband. So much so, in fact, that he'll do almost anything to get you to say the word. Warnings: Mentions of food, gets a little spicy at the end (not the food). Word Count: 862 A/N: Another one where I've had the idea sitting in my notes for weeks. It turned out a little different to what I expected but I still love how this ended up so I hope you all love it too.

“Say it again,” Joaquin says, practically skidding into the kitchen where you’re cooking.

It’s a rare night where you’re making dinner instead of Joaquin. You found a new recipe online that you really want to try and Joaquin always loves when you cook – while he loves being the cook of the family, he also loves the food you make him.

There’s something he loves more than that though.

You spin around from where you’re standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “What am I saying again?” You ask, a little confused. 

Joaquin walks further into the kitchen, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. “You just called out to me and said husband, come and try this. Call me husband again.” 

You huff out a small laugh. Ever since you’d officially tied the knot just over a month ago, Joaquin had discovered that he had a thing for hearing you refer to him as husband. It was like when you referred to him as your boyfriend or your fiancé, but better. And then there were the few times when you called him marido instead of husband, which almost made him weak at the knees on more than one occasion. 

“Husband, will you try this and tell me if I need to add more salt?” You oblige, holding up the spoon a little and smiling to yourself as he leans forward over your shoulder and licks some off the spoon.

“Mmm,” Joaquin hums, right in your ear. “It’s delicious, angel.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “It’s perfect, it doesn’t need anything else. But personally, I could do with hearing you call me your husband again.” 

Rolling your eyes jokingly, you drop the spoon back in the pot and spin around in Joaquin’s arms. He loosens his grip on you a little so you can spin around easier. “Remember before we were married and I’d refer to you as Joaquin or baby? What happened to that? What is it about husband that makes you react like this?”

Joaquin shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think it’s the word itself, it’s just hearing it come out of your mouth when you’re referring to me. Like the other day, when we were out for dinner and you introduced me as your husband to your new co-worker that we ran into. I’ve never been a husband before.”

“Oh, I’d sure hope not,” you laugh. “I did think this was your first marriage.”

He grins, leaning in and pecking your lips lightly. “First and last, actually.”

“Well, I’m honoured, husband,” you smile. The smile on Joaquin’s face grows even more as the word comes out of your mouth. “Now, will you let me finish making dinner? I don’t think I can keep cooking it unless you let me go.”

Joaquin groans, irritated at the thought that he has to let you go. He loves holding you, having his hands on you, and if he could all of the time, he’s sure he’d find a way. “If you call me husband again, I promise I’ll leave you alone until dinner is ready.”

“Husband,” you start, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. “Joaquin Torres, my husband, the love of my life, the man I married… making him my husband…” You milk it a little bit, knowing that Joaquin will enjoy every second of it.

It surprises you a little as you watch him literally shiver at hearing you say the word so many times in one go. Joaquin finds it incredibly hot, especially the way you say it with your mouth so close to his. If he leans forward just a little, he could capture your lips with his and kiss you senseless until he could convince you to say the word again.

“Angel,” he breathes, face still close to yours. “It’s a good thing you’re busy making dinner right now because if you weren’t, I would be picking you up right this second, putting you on the counter and making sure you know everything that comes along with the fact that I’m your husband now.” 

It’s like a switch flips inside of you at his words – this time you’re the one having a reaction to the words instead of him. The fact that you’re mid way through cooking dinner is a thought that slips right to the back of your mind as Joaquins thumbs dig into your hips, his grip having gotten a little tighter after you called him husband again.

You turn your head and reach behind you to turn off the stove before looking back at Joaquin again. “Dinner can wait,” you mutter. “My husband is more important.”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to step to the side and lift you up onto the counter, away from the stove and your half cooked dinner. He steps in-between your legs, hands gripping at your thighs, and leans up to press his lips to yours again. The kiss is messy and passionate and everything he’s been wanting ever since he heard you first call out to him. 

You think you should definitely call him husband more often.

[cptnwilsonxo]

i think ur oral fixation surprises both you and joaquin when you take his dog tags into ur mouth and suck on them. they're just dangling in your face how could you ever resist

oh my god?? my jaw is on the floor. this is insane. i love it. (18+)

it wasn’t like you could stop yourself.

you were already a little out of it—joaquín had been treating you too good all night. from dinner, where he played footsie with you under the table until your heel slid just a little too high, leaving him red-faced, to the way he kissed you against the door before you could even get your keys out. and now, after everything, after he’s had you gasping and writhing beneath him, you’re both wrecked and breathless, tangled together in the sheets, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hips roll against yours.

it’s a sweet pace, a little sloppy, his rhythm faltering as his body trembles. he’s close. you can tell by the way his huffs turn into short, needy whines.

joaquín loves missionary, loves looking at you, touching you. but right now, his eyes are squeezed shut, brows furrowed tight as his fingers tangle in your hair, cupping your jaw like he can’t bear to let go.

every thrust rocks you against the mattress, the old frame creaking beneath you both. the headboard knocks against the wall in time with your moans, the wet, desperate sounds between you filling the room. and over it all, there’s the soft, steady clinking of his dog tags.

your gaze drops from his face to the chain hanging around his neck. the tags sway with every movement, catching the faint light from the window, gleaming silver against the tan of his chest. it’s distracting, the way they dangle just above your lips, taunting you. you don’t think—just act—lifting your head as he drives particularly deep, parting your lips so the tags graze your skin, clinking against your teeth before you take them fully into your mouth.

it takes joaquín exactly two seconds to notice.

the slight tug at his neck drags him forward, and his eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first until he sees—

oh.

a shudder wrecks through him, his hips stuttering to a halt as a deep, broken groan spills past his lips. he stares down at you, panting, his dog tags resting on your tongue, your lips wrapped around the cool metal. you stare back, never breaking eye contact as you flatten your tongue against them, tracing over the engraved letters of his name and military rank. captain torres.

the taste is sharp, bitter and metallic, and you moan around it, letting the sound vibrate against the chain. his hand tightens in your hair, fingers flexing.

"qué… qué haces?" joaquín rasps, voice wrecked, thick with something he doesn’t fully understand yet. his brows knit together, but the heat in his gaze betrays him.

you hum around the tags, sucking lightly before letting them drag against your lips as you pull back just enough to murmur, "couldn’t help it. they were just… there."

joaquín lets out a choked noise, somewhere between a curse and a groan, his grip on you tightening. he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

"dios mío…"

his breath is hot against your skin, his chest heaving, but you don’t let up. you close your lips around the tags again, sucking, a little filthier this time, pulling him down with you. his chain tugs against the back of his neck, making him swallow hard. his hips jerk forward on instinct, and you sigh through your nose at the way his cock fills you again, deeper than before.

joaquín doesn’t even try to hold back his groan this time. his fingers tighten around your hand beside your head, gripping like it’s the only thing grounding him. then your nails scrape against his scalp, urging him on.

that does it.

he snaps his hips forward, rutting into you with a newfound urgency, his rhythm completely wrecked. the bed creaks louder, his moans slip freer, and you’re right there with him.

he’s never going to be able to wear these without thinking about this moment again.

[cptnwilsonxo]

Joaquín Torres and those fuckin grey sweats +18 kinda

Joaquín deffo the type of guy to have a rlly pronounced dickprint when he wears grey sweatpants. And it. Drives. You. Crazy. He’ll just be casually bouncing around the house after his post-workout shower in grey sweats and a fitting white top groaning about how he’s “so fuckin sore” and the sight of it paired with his quiet little grunts has you practically salivating.

“Hellooo? ‘toy hablando solo o que ma?”

He waves his hand a little in front of your face trying to snap your attention back to his words rather than the bulge in his sweats and your face instantly flames.

“Sorry what?”

You fumble out, but Joaquin already has you clocked. With a small tilt of his head and a little grin that promises everything your hungry eyes are searching for, he shuffles over to sit next to you.

The sofa gives a little under his weight and he can practically hear your bitching little whine about upgrading the furniture in the apartment. Maybe after he fucks your brains out he’ll consider it, inspirations to give you the world always strike him in his post-orgasm haze.

“I asked you if you wanted to order in tonight?”

He makes a show of stretching his body out, letting that slutty little white shirt ride up to tempt you further. The sliver of tanned lower stomach just begging to be licked or bitten, ravaged even.

“Uh yeah sure I could be down for that, what were you thinking?”

You try your best to sound as normal as possible, but it’s obvious to the both of you that the night won’t be ending with take out in bed.

“S’okay baby” he leans forward and grabs your wrist placing your hand directly over his crotch “I know what you want” it’s vulgar. So vulgar coming from the Boy Scout himself, but goddamn if it doesn’t make you horny when he acts this way.

“C’mere mama” he doesn’t give you a second to react before he’s pulling you on top of him grinding you down right over where your eyes had been trailing

“yeah I know what you want, eyeing my dick up like it’s a fucking meal. I bet you’re all wet and ready huh?” He groans in your ear and it’s enough to warrant a shuddering moan out of you.

“Fuck baby all this cause of some old sweatpants?”

[cptnwilsonxo]

Day:26 Body Worship

Full on my patreon

[cptnwilsonxo]

what a beautiful man but☝️he could be beautifuller... guards! cover that man in blood