#marvel drabble

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hi my love!

May I please request a fic where reader gets cuteness aggression for Bob? I’m talking grabbing his face, smooches and squishes his cheeks, because she just adores him so much!!!

This was such a cute request I hope you enjoyed :) It was written on my phone so it may not be messy.

You couldn't stop staring.

It wasn't even nine a.m. yet and you're already glaring. You covered part of your face with your coffee mug as if no one would notice you watching Bob trudging to the coffee maker.

How dare he look that cute this early in the morning? It's so clear that he just rolled out of bed by how messy his hair was. You groaned mentally while squinting at him with a glare that made Yelena shiver in her seat next to you.

"Are you plotting death?" She asked as she tried to follow your glaze, looking over and finally she took notice of what was making you glare "Oh. Bob." Yelena shrugged before tilting her head, "What did Bob do to you? The man just woke up."

"Exactly! He just woke up and look at him Lena! How can he look so--ugh!" You practically leap from your chair as you finally made the decision. I need to get my hands on that damn face.

Bob jumped ever so slightly when you appeared next to him by the coffee maker. "Oh hey" he muttered, sleep still coating his voice, "how'd you sle-whatya doing?" His brows furrowed as you squished his cheeks, forcing him to do a fishy face. "How fucking dare you Reynolds? You just--ugh! You just roll out of bed looking this cute!? That should be a damn crime." You kiss his cheek and trail kisses up to his nose before biting the very tip of his nose gently. "I just want to eat you. You're so pretty like the prettiest boy I've even seeeeeen it's not fair. God not even prettiest boy! Prettiest damn person, you can'tbe real youre an alien or some shit." You whine as you squeeze his cheeks a bit harder before letting his face go.

"I swear I could just--" you start biting the air, "I hate you... no, wait that was too mean." You rolled your eyes then sigh, "I love you handsome man." You stood on your toes and left a kiss on his cheek one last time before turning around to Yelena, "I'll meet you in the gym Lena." Then you just walked off as if nothing ever happened.

Bob was left leaning against the counter, completely confused and enthralled by what just happened.

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

@qardasngan

@freakyflora

@nishinoyastoes

@jesterghuleh

@zzz000eee

@ginarely-blog

@nubecita040

@murnsondock

@sxbrinajade

@articel1967

@krystalyn7171

@erule

@saucysasha2035

@awesompawsum

@staley83

@x-devilsbabygirl-x

@all-by-myself98

@nomajdetective

[bobbiereynolds]

Rupture (John Walker x Weather Manipulation!Reader)

Character/s: John, Valentina

Word Count: 1,432

Requested: Hello! If you are still taking requests for Thunderbolts, could you write a fic for John Walker? With these prompts as well: 26) Soft, 43) Thunder and Lightning, and 56) “It’s okay.” No rush on it take your time, thank you! ♥️ - @aureliacalista

A/N: Thank you for your patience my love!!!! I absolutely loved your request. The more I write for him, the more I like John :) Linda sweet, kinda angsty!!! Definitely a personal fave!!! I really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

SHIPS ARE OPEN / THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

It’s okay, he whispers into the darkness. A crack of lightning slices the night in half like a white, blinding scar across the skin of the sky. The flash is bright, angry, unsettled, but just as quick as it appeared, it’s gone. Playing tricks on him. Taunting him. Mocking him. Following the bolt, thunder shakes the thin walls in a low, harsh groan. The tantrum your storm throws is infantile, reminiscent of those first few months. Sleepless, exhausted the both of you. It seemed like every night there was something going on. A snow storm in the middle of July. A heatwave in December. Rain poured in sheets when they started solid foods and a drought when they stopped sleeping through the night. Not just that, though. The times you fought and the wind, your wind, smashing its fits against the windows. Anger between you raising the temperature until, finally, one of you had to leave. It was cheap of him to blame parenthood, to blame an infant when your problems as a couple started long before. Beside him, your baby lies wide awake, their eyes big, their hand wrapped around his finger. It’s okay, he repeats to them, though he’s not sure who he’s really comforting: himself or the baby? 

Lonely, his bed has become. You used to share it. Sleep beside him, towards him, the pieces of you fitting into the pieces of him. You ran warm no matter the season, kicking off blankets until he woke up shivering. It used to be cute. Pulling them back over himself, careful not to disturb you. Following the lines of your legs in the moonlight. Somewhere between then and now it became less cute. Taking turns getting up every two hours, preparing bottles and changing diapers. He’d crawl back and tug at the comforter, but it was halfway off the bed. And so, he’d huff and puff and mumble to himself until you turned over, holding the pillow over your head to drown out the sound. The clouds would gather, dark and moody, but you held it together. No rain would spill, at least not for that reason. It seemed too petty. Now he stares at an empty side, motionless. The blankets stayed the same, neither tossed nor discarded. The pillows are not thrown and the fighting that christened this bed, this apartment, was done so in a dead tongue. It’s better this way, he thinks to himself again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. It is better, safer, for them, for your child. Neither of you could stand to raise them in a home of hostility. Still, as he watches them now, their eyelids heavy and falling, lulled to sleep by your emotions, he can’t help but regret agreeing to this separation. 

He knew it wasn’t on you. You were trying to keep it all together. Tripping and stumbling over toys and clunky baby furniture, but also his dirty clothes, his shoes, his mess. You begged him to talk to someone, a professional, but he refused. There’s nothing wrong, he’d argue, but he forgot you knew him better than you know yourself. His stubble was scratchy against your face. He’d stopped shaving. His hair was longer and disheveled. John, your John, was a kept man. His clothes were folded, his shoes lined, his attitude logical yet a little flighty. His John, this stranger before you, sat in silence while your baby cooed and reached out for his attention. Lost in scrolling on his phone, caught up on all the stories of his disgracement. His admiration, yes, but his life, his career, his sacrifices mean nothing anymore. He is worse than nothing. He is a danger, he is erratic, he is a fallen angel. A punishment worse than death. How could he be a good partner and a loving father when everything he built for you, for his family, was burning in front of him? Valentina offered him a new name, a new title, and something to get him out of bed in the morning. He found her after you left. Packed your things and stayed with a friend in the city. You left him nothing but a note, a schedule rather, for when you would have the baby and when it was his turn. 

At first he fought. He was wrath and grief, a monster that scared you, scared your child. You refused to see him. You would not be blamed for this, all of this. Valentina, seeing an opportunity, offered him the job and a powerful lawyer. He thought about it, his vision red, until you called him afterwards. On the phone it always felt so different. You could admit things you couldn’t say face to face. You were lonely, too, devastated by the fallout of your marriage. There was a time you loved one another. You were his everything. Softly, you speak, the baby asleep in their crib. Admitting you don’t want to hurt him, that it was never your intention, but you couldn’t keep getting hurt by him. You knew it wasn’t easy. You know he was reeling from the loss of Lemar, of his title of Captain America, of his entire reputation. You know he was depressed and angry, that he had every right to feel this way. You had to put your foot down, though. He needed help. He needed to talk to someone, for his sake and your family's. You couldn’t be with him when you were so afraid of his outbursts, of his blame. You couldn’t raise your child in that kind of environment, with so much guilt and hate.  You would not be punished for something that was not your fault. You told him, no matter how messy your relationship gets, you don’t want it to bleed into your parenting. He told you about Valentina, about becoming a U.S. Agent, and you said whatever kind of schedule you need to work out, you will. You don’t want to deprive him of fatherhood. You congratulated him, the details of the job kept secret, and that’s when he decided not to use her lawyer.

You and John could figure this out together. 

He thinks back to it now, that conversation, trying to remember the weather, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. You were too far away from him to be affected. It’s a trial run. You had it down to a science. Not just the pick up/drop off, remembering the little things, but also the awkwardness, the small talk, the lack of trust. Always in a public space. The two of you share a coffee, usually, while the baby sleeps in their stroller. You saw him on the news, beside Bucky and faces you recognize faintly. Names you only vaguely recognize. You can tell, just by his tone, he isn’t sure what to think and you don’t push the subject. It’s not about you anymore, as a couple, but rather individuals. What he does now is only your concern to a degree. Still, you tell him to be careful just before you part ways. Now this arrangement needs to be tweaked. Certain nights just weren’t good anymore. You come to an agreement, but leave it open for change. He thanks you, knowing you do not have to be this accommodating, but you shrug it off. Just be careful, you remind him again. 

He can’t hear anything above the thunder. It rumbles in a way that is less startling than it was, like snoring, it rises and falls. The storm itself is moving, backing off, and that is enough to tell him you’d settled into a deep, comforting sleep. You're worried. About him. About the baby. About what the future held when you’d always pictured growing old with him. He’ll text you in the morning, he decides, and send you pictures of them, together, at the park. Ease your anxiety a little. Remind you just one more day sits between your reunion. It’s late though, and he doesn’t want to wake you, fearing that his reaching out is for some sort of emergency. For now, he has your storm. For now, he has the thought of you and all the promises he’s made since you filed for divorce. To be careful, to talk to someone, to get his life together. Promises he made to himself. To be kinder to you. To show you he still loves you even if you can’t be together. To prove that he’s picking up the pieces, that it’s not too late. It never is. 

[spaceycat]

bob reynolds who gets sexually pent up a lot and doesn't want to bother you with a single thing so commonly has to take it into his own hands, literally. until you catch him jerking off in the shower after you heard his sweet little moans and whimpers coming from the bathroom when you woke up. the sight was nothing less of holy, his hair sticking to his face under the stream of the water - mouth slightly open voicing the sounds you've grown used to, water slipping down his body framing his abs and v line and the soapy hand thats wrapped around his cock as his hips buck into his own palm.

"bob?" his eyes snapped open, looking over to you - the position conflicting. a red coating his cheeks up to the tips of his ears, "i-- baby, i'm sorry.." then you noticed his hand didn't let up, you slipped out of your clothes, joining him in the shower.

"you could've told me about this.. could've let you get this out of your system." "i didn't want to bother you--" "don't think like that.." with that you sunk to your knees, the tiles poking at your knees - bob's cock twitched as his adam's apple bobbed at the sight. "you- you don't need to do tha..." he cut himself off with a whimper as you placed a kiss to his red, leaking tip. "i want to." you grabbed his hand, directing it into your hair. his fingers hesitantly wrapping around the strands.

bob's legs didn't work after that, but his little issue was resolved - even if everyone in the tower heard his predicament.

[amethystarachnid]

Omg thanks so much for opening the requests again!!💛 (and sorry for dumping my long ass requests girl😭) How have you been?

please give us an innocent & shy y/n and flirty-drunk-jealous tony drabble pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee TQ!

SHY READER & FLIRTY TONY STARK - a Drabble

(you'll find the others drunk/jealous in this post but scroll down, I wanted to try something new and divided it in parts)

Tony Stark notices you the moment you step into the lab—mostly because you trip over your own feet. Smooth.

“New intern or did Fury finally send a spy who isn’t obvious?” He grins, leaning against his desk. You turn red. Mission: Speak. Failed.

You mutter something about coffee runs. He tilts his head. “Uh-uh. Try again, Casper. Louder, for the people in the back.”

“I—I’m here to—to assist,” you squeak. Tony gasps, clutching his arc reactor. “A shy scientist? Illegal. I’m calling SHIELD.”

He nicknames you “Bambi” after you bolt out of the room the first time he winks. (”Like the deer. All wide-eyed and skittish. Adorable.”)

He “accidentally” sends DUM-E to bring you tools—every five minutes. You swear the bot winks at you. (Traitor.)

“Friday, play Careless Whisper,” Tony announces when you drop a wrench. You groan. “I hate it here.” He grins. “No, you don’t.” (…Damn it.)

One day, you snap. “If you’re this annoying, how does anyone like you?” Tony beams. “There’s the fire! Knew it was in there.”

You sigh. He winks. This might be a problem. (…Or the start of something very fun.)

SHY READER & DRUNK TONY STARK

Tony stumbles into the penthouse, tie loose, cheeks flushed. You blink from the couch. Oh no.

“There’s my favorite person,” he slurs, pointing dramatically. “You. Yes, you. The cute one. With the face.”

You sigh. “How much did you drink?” He gasps, offended. “Rude. I’m perfectly sober.” (He is not.)

He flops onto the couch, head in your lap. “You’re so soft. Like a… a cloud. A shy, blushing cloud.” You cover your face. Why me.

“Tony, you’re heavy—” “And you’re beautiful,” he interrupts, poking your nose. “Boop.”

He tries to whisper but it’s loud. “Hey. Hey. Wanna know a secret? I like you. Like, like like.” You groan. “We’re dating.”

“Exactly,” he says, as if this is groundbreaking. “Best decision ever. High five.” (He misses your hand entirely.)

You try to get up. He whines, clinging to your arm. “Nooo, don’t leave. What if I wither without you?” (Drama queen.)

“You need water,” you mutter. He grins. “I need you.” Pause. “…But water’s cool too, I guess.”

SHY READER & JEALOUS TONY STARK

You’re laughing at something Steve said—just Steve, harmless, platonic Steve—but Tony’s grip on his drink tightens. Uh-oh.

“Wow, Rogers. You really needed her to explain the WiFi password?” Tony’s grin is sharp. “Or were you just fishing for conversation?”

Steve blinks. You kick Tony under the table. He fake-gasps. “Violence? From you? I’m wounded.” (He’s smirking.)

When Bucky dares to hug you, Tony loses it. “Barnes. Hands to yourself or I’m donating that arm to science.”

“Why are you texting Steve?” Tony demands. “He asked for cookie recipes.” “…Captain America bakes now?”

You’re late. Tony paces. “Maybe she’s with Bruce—he’s all ‘calm’ and ‘listens’—ugh.” (Bruce, from the couch: “I’m right here.”)

A paparazzi photo surfaces of you smiling at Thor. Tony prints it out, circles it in red. “Explain.” “He told a joke.” “I tell jokes!”

You catch him Googling “how to be more charming than Norse gods”. (Spoiler: He already is.)

Finally, you kiss his pout away. “Relax. You’re the only Stark I want.” He smirks. “Better be.” (Mission: Secure the Girl—complete.)

[multific]

Soft Hands, Heavy Heart

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to pull away, convinced he’s too broken to deserve love.

The rain had stopped, but Bucky hadn’t.

You found him on the rooftop, just after midnight.

His coat was too thin. His fists were clenched. His silence was louder than any thunder.

“You missed dinner,” you said gently.

He didn’t look at you.

You approached him slowly, the cold making you shiver.

You knew better than to touch him without warning, but gods, you wanted to. He looked like a man holding the world together by the edge of his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“You didn’t.” You paused. “But you’re scaring me, Bucky.”

That made him flinch.

Not at the fear but rather at the thought that he caused it.

“I shouldn’t be near you,” he said after a long moment, voice raw. “I thought I could. I thought maybe I was something new now. But I’m not. I still have… all of this inside me.”

He gestured to himself like he were something dirty. Something broken.

You stepped beside him, arms crossed tightly.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you asked. “Do you think I don’t see it? The way you wake up sweating, the way your jaw clenches when someone walks too fast behind you. The way you keep apologising for being in the room?”

He turned toward you, pain carved into every line of his face.

“You deserve someone whole,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t look in the mirror and see a murderer. Someone who doesn’t count every good day like it’s borrowed time.”

You didn’t speak right away. Then you stepped in front of him and reached for his hand, his metal one.

He froze.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

“You think I love you despite your scars?” you whispered. “No, Bucky. I love you because you still stayed kind. Because even with blood on your hands, you use them to hold me like I’m made of light.”

His throat worked like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“You think you’re hard to love,” you added, voice shaking. “But you make it the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

He looked at you then, and god, you saw all of it. The fear. The need. The way he wanted to believe you but didn’t know how.

And still, he leaned in.

His forehead touched yours. Cold skin to warm.

“I don’t know how to be this,” he whispered. “To be soft. To be loved.”

“You don’t have to know how.” Your lips brushed his. “Just don’t run from it.”

He kissed you then, hesitant at first, like it might burn him. Then deeper, like it was saving him. And maybe it was.

Because when he pulled back, something had shifted in his eyes.

Less pain. More wonder.

And when he pulled you into his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, you felt it:

The rhythm of a heavy heart trying to beat softer.

Just for you.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[gay-dorito-dust]

Bob felt something hit his shoulder, a weight resting there as though it was meant to be there, so he looked over in curiousity and noticed that it was you and a smile spread across his face.

This wasn't the first time you had fell asleep on his shoulder, yet bob cherished each and every time that you did, keeping them close to his chest as precious moments he can look back on when he felt like he wasn't worth the chaos The Void caused.

It was these soft, slower moments where Bob got to be within his own mind as he admired just how content you looked upon his shoulder, so at peace and at a calm that you can only be when sleeping on his shoulder.

You just looked like you were home as you slumbered on him, face becoming one of distrubance when he moved, which only made him freeze in his spot as he hoped that he didn't wake you up from whatever dream you were experiencing; only for you to regain your peace and nuzzle futher against his shoulder.

while sweet Bob can only wonder how you can be this vulnerable with him, have this much faith and trust in him to fully believe the reality that he wouldn't do anything to disturb or ruin that faith you had in him, to be comfortable enough with him to be able to know he'll keep you safe as you rest. All questions that he hopped to ask you one day in hopes of understanding your mind and wanting to see what you see when you look at him.

Yet he wouldn't allow anyone else to ruin your sleep, always making sure no one was talking louder then they should near you, and even if they were then Bob would cover your ears with his hand as he hoped that he nullified their voice enough to keep you in the land of dreams. Or if you were trying to be in a more comfortable postion then Bob will wordlessly move you in a way where you wouldn't wake with a ache in your neck.

Bob might not know why you put so much faith, so much trust in him to not wake you up or do something that will make you rethink in sleeping on his shoulder, but he will sure as shit give you even more reasons to keep doing things that perplex him; keep reminding you why you chose to sleep on him in the first place and smile in content as you felt him kiss your forehead and brush stray eyelashes from your cheeks that he thought would prove an annoyance for you.

Bob was the sweetest and you'd glady tell him that...if only he wasn't such a comfy person whom you'd always seem to fall asleep upon within seconds, you blame him for pulling that out of you but it also meant that you got to be within him for a while at your own pace outside of your chaotic lives.

[justkending]

Pink or Violet? (Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

(All gifs are from Pinterest)

(Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Well, wow-ee wow, wow... Y'all blew up the last little drabble connected to this one, so I had to grant myself some writing time today to come up with a follow-up drabble. This one is a lot more lighthearted and a good 5-8 months in the future (your choice, really). Thank you, guys, for all the love on the last one, and I hope this one is a nice extension of it ;)

________________

“Have you ever considered going brunette? Whoa!” I sense the knife before I see it and manage to expertly dodge it with a laugh. “Hey, my teammate said I’m not allowed to get stabbed anymore, big guy,” I shun, turning in my spot, kicking the man in the nuts, and as he folds over in pain, I hold his head perfectly to knee him in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch, causing him to land with a thump to my side. “Rude to interrupt conversations, too, dude.” 

Currently, we were in the middle of a stakeout… Or what started as a stakeout and now is a full-on brawl. 

Nat and I were rudely interrupted in our conversation about disguises we wanted to try, when an explosion in the facility we were monitoring took over the west wing. 

“I’ve done a wig,” Nat answers as she jumps, doing one of her classic moves where she’s sat on the shoulders of her assaulter, choking him out with her thighs before flinging her body to where she’s standing again casually and the man is incapacitated passed out on the floor. “Not that I didn’t find it flattering, but it’s harder to dye back with such a dark color.” She shrugs as she moves on to her next victim. 

I bend grabbing the knife from the man I just took down and flip it a few times in my hand. “Makes sense.” I nod with a convinced look. “On your right,” I hum, and she ducks while I throw the knife perfectly to where it lodges itself in the thigh of her attacker. 

A blood-curdling scream sounds at his pain, and I pout at him in fake sympathy as Nat shoots her widow bite as he falls, making him shake in shock before passing out. 

“What about you?” she asks with a breath, brushing her hair out of her face. “Ever considered a neon green?” 

“What? No. Am I trying to get caught in this undercover scenario?” I reload my gun before holstering it, and we start jogging to our next spot. 

“I just think it’d be fun to venture away from the neutral tones for once. Maybe there would be a mission where you did need to be found and-” Nat’s cut off by coms in our ears. 

“Ladies, enough salon talk,” Tony’s voice comes through. “We have a situation in the northeast corridor with much more pressing matters happening!” 

“We’re coming!” Nat groaned. “God. Micromanager is in full force today.” 

“Besides, Y/N’s skin complexion wouldn’t work with a neon green. Maybe a pink, though…” Tony continues before his comms cut out, and he’s back to shooting things from the sky.

“Oh, pink would be really good with your skin tone,” Nat seconds as we turn a corner. 

“No one is dying their hair pink! I could use some backup!” Bucky’s shouts come from the comms next.

“Where’s Steve?” Nat asks, pausing at a fork in the halls before signaling me to follow. 

“Caught up at the moment,” Steve’s grunts came through my earpiece. 

“Almost there, Barnes!” I note as we come to the hall where he’s supposedly located. “And I’ll have you know, if I want to dye my hair pink, I’ll damn well dye my hair pink!” 

“Guns, Y/N,” Bucky groans. “I have guns going off around me and at me. I’m not worried about a fake scenario right now. I’m worried about a very real one that’s-” He’s cut off and grunts a few times. “Please just-” 

The two men he was up against fall slack to the ground, and he’s left panting with relief as he turns back to me, standing at the end of the hall with my gun lowering down to my side. 

“Please, what? I like it when you use your manners,” I smirk as I walk up proudly to him. 

“You need to be humbled a touch,” he notes, shaking his head as he checks his weapons and reloads them while I walk to stand by him. 

I roll my eyes before assessing our surroundings as he gears up. “You’re just jealous because the girls have more fun with undercover makeovers. You want a pink wig too?” I tease, poking his shoulder. 

He playfully shoves my own and makes me teeter some as I laugh. 

“I got the information!” Steve’s shout come back through. “We can wrap this up.” 

“Thank God,” I groan, adjusting my holster on my hip. “I have dinner plans.” 

“Sorry to interrupt your nightly, never-changing program,” Tony snarks. 

“It’s ok. You can compensate by paying for my meal,” I retort back, pushing the button in my ear to keep it in place. “Speaking of compensation…” 

“Y/N, I swear if you say you stole my credit card information again,” Tony groans. 

“What, me? No… I would nev-” 

“Shut it. I don’t even have the energy to fight you.” 

I turn to Bucky and wink, and he’s biting back a laugh with a wide smile. 

“You’re a mess, you know that?” he says lowly, the comms not picking up on us. 

“You like it,” I shrug and start moving down the corridor, where Nat’s waving us on to follow. 

“That I do,” he hums, following behind me and playfully kicking my ass with the tip of his boot. “Now, these dinner plans…” 

“Interested?” 

“More than you know…” 

____________________

Back at the compound, freshly out of the shower, I hear a knock on my door. “Just got out of the shower, but the doors unlocked!” I shout. 

“Dinner’s arrived!” Bucky shouts, shutting the door behind him carefully. 

“Thank God. I’m starving,” I grumble, throwing my sweatshirt over my head after getting dressed. “I’ll send Tony a thank you card later for covering tonight's meal,” I hum, drying my hair with a towel as I come into the room. 

The greased takeout bag smells fresh of hole-in-the-wall dinner food, making my mouth water. I grin as Bucky places it on the coffee table in front of my couch and starts arranging the containers for us to splurge. 

“No, you won’t,” Bucky responds to my thank you card comment. 

“No, I won’t,” I agree, jumping over the back of the couch and bouncing into the seat next to him. “Hmm, you smell nice.” I’ve come to learn, and so has Bucky, that his body wash might as well be my kryptonite. 

“I can say the same for-,” he bumps me with his elbow before his eyes narrow on my exposed shoulder, and without a second thought, he grabs my arms and moves my body to face him. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” I ask, looking down at the spot he’s glaring at as best as I can. 

“You got a cut,” he points out, hovering his fingers around the area and moving my sweatshirt out of the way. 

Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have cut the neckline to half my sweatshirt after that stupid TikTok trend I saw the kids doing… Or at least worn one that wasn’t butchered tonight.

“Buck, it’s literally a scratch. And I’m genuinely not downplaying it at all,” I note, grabbing his wrist and trying to move his hands away, but they have an iron grip on me. 

Or should I say, vibranium grip on me?! Haha! Get it?.. No? Ok, moving on…

But seriously. The cut was just that. A cut. It wasn’t anything like the night we talked things out months and months ago. That one had become slightly scarred, whereas this one will be scabed over in the morning and likely be gone in 2-3 days. I might as well have gotten into it with a cat who was pissed when he figured out he’d been put on a diet. 

“A cut’s a cut,” Bucky argues, looking up at me. “Did you clean it?” 

“Yes, I cleaned it in the shower with the rest of my body. I disinfected it, and it has that balm on it. And before you ask,” I say just as he opens his mouth. “Yes, it’s that special salve you had Banner make for me. I’m set.” 

Bucky had become a little more intense when it came to my injuries since about three missions ago, I had moved at the perfect time to redirect a knife headed right at him, but it sliced my wrist in the redirection, and much to my misfortune, it was laced with something. 

To add to the list of medications he’s had Banner concoct specifically for my clumsy self (which were in the double digits at this point), I now have a poison control cream that counteracts most toxins and keeps me from saying hello to Heaven sooner than I hope. 

“You don’t feel weird or anything?” His eyes are scanning mine and my face for any lies or other injuries I haven’t told him about, and I’ve come to learn if it makes him feel better to double-check up to 20x before being satisfied, I’ll allow it. 

“I’m right as rain,” I nod, smiling at him softly, squeezing my grip on his wrist in reassurance. “The only thing I’m feeling is hungry and tired. So, what movie are we watching that I’ll inevitably fall asleep on you during?” 

He hesitates for a moment and then nods, dropping his hands and going back to the food. 

“I was thinking Tombstone,” he answers, grabbing one of the to-go containers with fries and a burger and handing it to me. 

“Another Western? What’s got you on the cowboy kick?” I ask, taking it and popping it open, instantly attacked by the smell of freshly seasoned fries. 

“You keep nicknaming me cowboy, so I figured I should have a little background knowledge of the profession,” he winks at me over his shoulders as he gets his own food together. 

“Oh, yeah? You like the nickname?” I ask, nudging him with my knee. 

“When it comes from you? Yeah. Sam? No. Without hesitation, I will start adding laxatives to his protein shakes if he keeps it up.” 

I laugh at their friendship, and we start up the movie, diving into our much-deserved greasy meal. 

_____________

The next day, Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda are lounging on the living room couch, all doing their own thing. Wanda and Sam are watching Sex in the City. Steve was reading a book called The Secret War of Laos, and Bucky was on his computer, fully engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Nat clears her throat, and I stand next to her in a baseball cap with my hair completely hidden underneath. Everyone looks up, and instantly, Bucky’s eyes fall on me. He smiles for a split second before it drops, and he furrows his eyebrows at my appearance. 

“We have an announcement,” Nat smiles mischievously. 

“Oh God…” Bucky rubs his temples and looks down in his lap in seconds. 

“You don’t even know what we’re going to say,” I argue, not able to hold back my laugh. 

“I can use context clues,” he grumbles before looking up, his eyes squinted as if he had a bad headache forming, and it was already making his eyesight worse. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nat waves him off as Sam and Wanda chuckle, and Steve looks oblivious to what is happening. “Anyway. Y/N and I made a bet and, well… Y/N lost.” 

“Surprisingly, not mad about it,” I shrug, arms crossed over my chest.

“Of course, you’re not…” Bucky mumbles, shutting his computer and putting it to the side.

“What did I miss exactly? Because everyone seems to know what’s happening…” Steve asks, confused, taking in everyone’s reactions. 

“Come on. Let’s see it.” The brunette interlaces his hands and rests them in his lap as he watches me. 

I smile at Nat, who’s also grinning wide, and move to take the ballcap off.

“Awesome,” Sam is the first to say something, and Wanda claps and gushes. 

“Oh wow, that’s so cute!” She smiles widely. 

“Whoa. That’s…” Steve turns his head to the side.

“Pink,” Bucky finishes for him. His eyebrows raise in what looks like surprise as he takes in my new hair. 

“Do you like it?” Nat asks the group, and there’s a mix of reactions as they talk over each other. 

I laugh with them for a little before walking over to Bucky’s side of the couch. Plopping down next to him, the crew talks about their own personal transformations they’d like to do and quickly forget about us in the corner. 

“Thoughts?” I ask, smirking up at Bucky as I sit almost wholly tucked into his side. His arm comes around my shoulders, resting there as he looks at me from the side. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he chuckles once, taking it in up close now. 

“Eh, I thought a change-up would be fun. Change. Is. Good,” I shrug, poking his chest with each word. 

He moves to touch my hair, and as soon as his fingers touch it, his face contorts into an investigative look. 

“What?” I ask, biting my lip as he’s already catching on to my ploy. 

“This isn’t,” he rubs a strand of hair between his fingers, studying the texture. The crease in between his eyebrows drops instantly, and he deadpans to me. “It’s a wi-” 

“Shhh!” I hush him, almost jumping in his lap as I cover my hand over his lips. He freezes, eyes wide, and his hand instinctively goes to my waist to balance me. “Let me live this fantasy a little longer,” I smile, holding back a giggle. 

“This is a fantasy of yours?” He asked behind my hands, words muffled and raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe fantasy isn’t the right word-” 

“Because it’s starting to turn into one for me,” he cuts in, and I can feel his smirk in the palm of my hand. 

I slowly drop it, astonished at his confession. “I’m sorry. Did I hear that right?” I ask, peering at our friends who are now arguing with Sam about growing a mohawk, which he is all for, apparently. 

Instead of answering, he licks his lips as he brings his hands to the wig and plays with strands of it.

“Maybe not the pink, but… How’d you feel about a violet?” he asked, eyes slowly rising to mine. 

“Oh. My. God…” I say lowly, sinking back in my seat, pressed to his side. “Did we just discover a new kink of yours?” 

“I fear we may have…” His voice was low and made a shiver go down my back. 

“I hold no fear at all,” I smirked back at him, looking him up and down. “All I feel about that statement is excitement…” 

“Where exactly did you get this? Because it looks pretty realistic…” His fingers still play with the wig, which, thanks to Nat, is a higher-end one. How he caught on to it being a wig is impressive. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrug. “What matters is I happen to know they carry all the colors…” I smirk. 

“Interesting.” 

“Interesting, indeed.” 

He starts to stand up, and I’m confused by the action until he turns and offers me a hand. Once I’m standing, he leans closer and down to whisper in my ear, my hand still in his.

“We can keep this one for now. I have a few ideas still.” 

I look up at him, pleasant surprise on my face. “You know how I said change is good?” He nods with a smirk, his hand squeezing mine in response. “This,” I motion between us. “This is a change I’m glad happened.” 

“Same here,” he winked, pulling my arm so I was flush against him, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, escorting me out of the room.

“Where are they going?” Nat asks, confused at our sudden leave. 

Everyone turns to see the tail end of us leaving, and Wanda laughs after a second and quickly covers her mouth. “God, pray for her,” she says under her breath, and Nat gives her a look. She tries to play it off by coughing and shaking her head. “Sorry, something in my throat.”

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

[myfictionaldreams]

congrats on 15k!!!!!🩵🩵🩵🩵

what about… bucky barnes, metal arm fisting…soft dom vibe… do you see my vision? 🤭

⁀➷ Full of You

✧ Pairing | Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

✧ A/N | listen... this is my favourite kinda stuff to write, kinda depraved, kinda loving... thank you so much for the request, I need more like this lmao

✧ Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, soft!dom Bucky, size kink, fisting, praise kink, slight pain kink

✧ Words: 756

15k celebration masterlist | my main masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Your lower half was already drenched in your bodily fluids, vibrating from the stretch of his fingers alone. Thick, cold vibraium digits, gleaning in the low light. The way the plates shift when he moves.

But you’re already breathless for more. 

“Please, Bucky,” you gasp whilst rocking your hips instinctively. “I want all of it. Want your whole hand.”

He hums low, head tilting slightly, the pad of his flesh thumb brushing over your swollen clit.

“Baby,” he commands cooly, “you need to breathe for me first. You’re already squeezing around three. That’s solid vibranium. I can’t soften it like skin, Doll.”

“I don’t care,” you pant, reaching for his arm like you're going to drag him closer. “I want it. I want you. I promise I can take it all, please!”

His lips twitch into something affectionate and firm, eyes locked on yours. “You’ll take what I give you. And you’ll be good for me whilst I help your greedy little cunt stretch, yeah?”

You nod frantically, letting go of his arm, “Yes, Bucky–Please.”

The coolness of the metal is jarring at first, sending goosebumps rippling up your thighs as his fingers curl deeper. This is not like flesh; there's no give or cushion. Every ridge, every plate, every sharp seam of the mechanical limb is solid and unforgiving.

“Relax,” he instructs gently but with that edge of authority that makes you instantly obey. “You’re so close, honey. Let me in.”

He slides his pinky in slowly, giving you four fingers and a moment to adjust. Then, his thumb folds in, completing the stretch and your breathing stops, catching in your throat. The pressure is unbearable and addictive all at once; your walls strain around the unrelenting width of his hand.

It’s cold inside you and yet somehow soothing, but it burns too, a stretch that feels like it should break you, yet it just makes you wetter.

“There you go,” Bucky praises, eyes wide with awe. “That’s my girl, you’re taking it, fuck, you’re taking my hand so good, Doll.”

You begin to grind down, unable to help yourself, feeling so fully and needing that constant pressure against that special spot inside your cunt. “Oh my god, Bucky, it’s so much–”

“You wanted this,” he reminds you, his tone low but firm. “Begged for it and said you could handle it, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically, staring at him with wide eyes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. The unrelenting cold pressure of his metal hand, now buried to the wrist inside your trembling cunt.

And then you start to ride it, hips gyrating in slow rotations. His jaw clenches as he watches you lose your rhythm, gasping as your body adjusts and then thrives under the invasion.

“That’s it, baby. Ride my hand, show me how desperate you are to be stretched open by something that won’t bend for you,” he growls softly before nipping at your inner thigh. “God, look at you. So fucking beautiful and so fucking drenched.” 

You can't speak anymore, can only moan, arch and thrash as your orgasm builds, tight and violent, your clit swollen and untouched, your body teetering on the edge of a total meltdown.

“I’m gonna- Bucky, I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop.”

But Bucky doesn’t listen, knowing that if his hand stayed inside of you as you came, it would probably hurt you with how tightly your pussy contractions as you orgasm.

So he does the responsible thing and pulls his fist out. The slick sound of metal sliding free is obscene, and the moment he’s gone, your body breaks. 

You scream, not in pain but release as you squirt hard, a gust of warmth pouring over your thighs and down onto his wrist as your gaping pussy spasms. You can't stop shaking; your legs have seized, and your hands claw at the sheets. 

“Fuck!”

Bucky groans as he watches you cum undone, his eyes blown wide in pure adoration. He’s already catching you, laying you back into the pillows, whispering praise into your hair as you tremble in his arms.

“You did so fucking good, Doll. I’m so proud of you, taking something no one else ever could. You’re all mine.”

You whimper at the praise, too wrecked to form words just yet, but your body melts into his.

And Bucky? He just kisses your temple, whispering promises against your skin. “You’ll take it even deeper next time, baby. We’ll train this pretty cunt of yours until it belongs around my fist.”

[pinkiebieberpie]

okay, hear me out — professor!bucky, he is teaching history and damn he is that one kind of prefessor who just knows he's hot and his students have a crush on him, but he doesn't really care about them because all he thinks about is you... and you are not a student, oh no... you met when he was helping you with your studies but you were never a student, it was more of a coworkers dynamic... so the both of you are crazy about history — the first few dates were basically just about history and talking about it for hours and hours with nice wine, just endless conversations; then things became a bit more serious and here we are — bucky is obsessed with you! there is an age gap, just 7 years, that's not much and oh my god, his students are so jealous when you are visiting him on campus because that only means they will never have him, sorry girls, this fine man is taken— of course you sometimes get more intimate in his office, but he prefers to take his time with you after a long day at work... "sweetheart, i missed you so much" as he takes off his tie——

masterlists

[ghoulishhx]

I cant stop thinking about frank and professor!reader😖not in the sense that he's in your class, but like you're a professor, coming home from work in a nice little pencil skirt, button up and tights, and frank is all sweet and nice, very fluffy ideas of going over class curriculum or lectures, him sitting with you in his lap while you grade papers, maybe him picking you up after class. and you know, maybe he teasingly plays into the teacher thing, calling you miss and getting a little too excited when you come home all sophisticated and teachery from work. like ugh my dream I'm afraid

gahhh thissss. oh my god yes. I feel like one of frank would go feral for this. seeing you in a white button up shirt, black pencil skirt with shear black tights and heels, it would take every bit of self restraint to not make you call in sick for work everyday.

but horny frank aside, he would absolutely love hearing you talk about your day, he would listen intently about your planned lectures tomorrow and help you organise papers.

on weekends he'd sit from the sofa, black coffee in hand as he watches you work at the dining table, going over the class' mock exams and marking them ready for Monday.

"shit frankie do you know where I left my red marking pen? I can't find it anywhere.." he can't help but chuckle as he walks over to you, reaches behind your ear and pulls it from behind it as if he were a magician.

"right here doll. you gotta take a break, c'mon sweetheart we're goin' for a walk. been grading all damn day." he takes your hand in his, raising your knuckles to his lips as he grabs your jacket from the chair you're sat on.

he LOVES how smart you are, being a university lecturer and all. Frank surprised you when you first moved in together, taking your diplomas and such from their tubes and framing them for you above the fireplace -

"oh frankie, you didn't have to do all this. thank you so much" you say, pulling him into a hug.

"wasn't gonna let 'em collect dust in a box forever babydoll, proud of my girl. my smart fuckin' girl." he softly speaks into your hair, placing a kiss on your forehead as he looks at your certificates, in the perfect spot for everyone to see (as they should)

he'd make an effort to pick you up from work every day he's not working, waiting for you at the front in his truck. your students start recognising his truck out the window, and tease you at the end of class with ooo's and raised eyebrows. you shake your head and tell them to get back to work as your eyes drift out the window yourself and catch Frank's as he smiles at you. 3pm can't come quick enough.

you'd be planning lessons, replying to emails on your laptop in your living room and frank would sit next to you, pulling you into his lap as you continue working, peering over your shoulder. you always share staff room gossip with him, and he always offers his inputs and remembers their names. he notices you're emailing one particular teacher you've been talking about with him -

"oh shit how's Mr Stevenson doin'? y'mentioned he was goin' through a shitty divorce"

"he's doing better, turns out him and Miss Hunter have been.. you know.." you turn to him and raise your eyebrows and his jaw drops.

"you're fuckin' joking, thought she was with Miss whats-her-name.. Miller?"

"oh no I forgot to tell you, they split a couple months ago.."

and the conversation continues. you can't help but smile to yourself during, the fact he remembers almost everything you ramble on to him about makes your heart warm, his genuine interest is so welcoming.

briefly back to horny frank (I'm sorry I'm only human), some (most) times you'd come home and the only thing he wants to do is rip your clothes from your body, like i mentioned prior the teacher look on you makes him insane. he'd meet you at the door, take your bag from you and instantly scoop you into his arms, attacking your face and neck with kisses -

"frank! what are you-"

"sorry doll, just need ya.. that okay with you, miss?"

you'd playfully swat his chest at the nickname with a free hand before placing your arms around his neck, and let him carry you to your bedroom where he shows you for hours on end just how bad he needed you from the moment he saw you this morning.

he just loves his working girl so damn much. need him ugh

thank you for this request, this was something I never knew I needed!! i hope you enjoyed ♡

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Stormy Nights

Summary: You couldn’t sleep and while Wanda said it was okay to bother her you still felt bad

Warnings: Just fluff and cuteness no bad warnings mommy Wanda cuteness

Words: 1000

A/n: this is another draft that’s been here forever so I think it’s best to be shown, it’s just a small mommy Wanda Drabble

You felt silly, it was definitely silly, you a 25 year old holding your seal teddy standing outside Wanda's door contemplating whether to knock on the door or not.

She did say you could earlier this evening when it was thundering and lighting that if you were scared you could go to her room but it was still weird and you were nervous that if you barged in she'd just kick you out.

While you were wracking your brain about everything the bedroom door opened to a sleepy Wanda in her pyjamas looking at you "dorogoy? Are you okay?"

You couldn't speak just held your teddy closer to your chest and she seemingly understood and gave you a wide grin "honey are you scared of the weather?"

You just nodded refusing to look her in the eye "did you want to come into my room for safety?"

You gave another nod and Wanda held her hand out which you took gingerly and she dragged you into her room, the soft light slightly illuminating the room with a cozy feel "thank you" you whispered and Wanda kissed you on the top of your head "your welcome moya lyubov'"

She sat herself on the bed patting the other side for you to lay down on "it's very comfy baby"

You smiled coming to the bed and getting under the covers letting out a happy moan at the softness and instant comfort you felt

"That good?" She chuckled and you blushed pulling the cover over your head "don't hide from me pretty girl" she pulled the cover from you "do you want to cuddle until the storm stops?"

You didn't need to say anything instead you shuffled closer to the woman and let her envelop you into a hug with her head atop of yours and your face in her neck breathing in her lavender scent "thank you" you whispered and Wanda kissed your head

"Go to sleep princess, I'll be right here when you wake up"

Your eyes closed and your body relaxed in Wanda’s hold “you’re so precious” we’re the last words you heard before drifting off into a deep sleep

*******************************************************

Your eyes fluttered open adjusting to the sudden bright light of the sun through the window, sun? Where you asleep that long?

“Good morning sunshine” Wanda appeared from her bathroom seeing you look around “I hope my shower didn’t wake you”

“No it’s okay, thanks for letting me sleep here” you rushed out slightly embarrassed about you seeing her in her robe which she noticed "no need to be embarrassed princess, I told you I wanted you to come and tell me if you were scared and you did, I'm so proud of you!"

She motioned for you to stand up bringing you into a hug resting her head on your shoulder, you relaxed in her hold until she placed a kiss under your ear making you go stiff

"You're so cute princess, I need to be honest do you know why I told your dad you could stay while they went away?"

You shook your head no and she smiled "because I like having you around, I love the way you light up any room you go into, I want to keep you by my side when I'm feeling sad because I know you'll make me feel so much better, will you stay with me?"

You couldn't speak, Wanda likes you? Like a friend? or more? It sounded like more, you guessed she was always happy to see you and be close to you-

"Honey you're shaking, are you okay?" Your thoughts were stopped and you pulled away suddenly "I-i don't know what to say..."

She understood, it was definitely a lot to take in, but she needed to say it, she decided to let you go but you pulled her back into a hug "don't let me go...please" she smiled completely letting herself relax into the hug

"We can go slow Y/n but I want to be with you, okay detka?"

You nodded and kissed her cheek "okay Wanda”

Wanda smiled “how about you call me mommy Y/n, since you’re my precious little girl now” the thought of calling Wanda mommy made your whole body warm and you liked it so you did

“Okay mommy”

Wanda kissed your lips lightly, just a small peck to show you how much you mean to her “pretty girl” she whispered and you blushed “I keep feeling like a tomato with all the times you’re making me blush” you giggled

“I plan on making you blush all the time from now on, you deserve happiness”

“I’m already so happy”

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Accidental Strip Show

Summary: Bob walks in on you changing and is extra dramatic about it.

Bob Reynolds prided himself on being a respectful boyfriend. He knocked. Always. Well…usually. Which is why, when he barged into your room with a goofy grin the last thing he expected to see was you, half-dressed, mid-change, bra on full display and arms tangled in a clean tee.

Time stopped. His soul left his body. His jaw nearly hit the carpet. Bob froze in the doorway, mid-step, holding two mugs of tea. “Oh, sweet holy mother of—" He quickly slapped a hand over his eyes, nearly spilling one of the mugs.

“BOB!” you yelped, clutching the shirt against your chest. “What the hell?!” He gasped before removing his hand from his eye, “I brought tea! I thought you were reading! You said reading time! No one strips during reading time!” he shouted, voice pitching higher by the second. “Who does that?!”” he exclaimed, voice several octaves higher than normal. “Oh—oh my God,” he gasped, freezing like a raccoon caught raiding a fridge. “I just saw the divine. I…my retinas. They’re scorched. They’ve been blessed. They’re completely damaged. I--I’m—Do I look respectful right now?! Because I feel like a heathen now!”

You tugged the shirt over yourself hastily, hands fumbling with the buttons as you hissed, “Well maybe knock next time?!”

“I did knock! Emotionally! My soul knocked! My soul was like, ‘Hey, is this a good time?’ And clearly, it was!” He finally turned fully around, facing the wall with exaggerated flair, holding both mugs out like a tea-delivering statue. “Here…Here’s the tea baby.” He mutters still very frazzled.

“You’re such a menace–” You huffed, cheeks burning as you yanked the shirt down over your head and smoothed it out. “You’re the one making it weird!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said dramatically, still facing the wall. “I guess accidentally witnessing my incredibly beautiful girlfriend in her very cute, very distracting underwear that I bought her is totally normal and not something I’ll be thinking about for the next twenty years.” Now that you were dressed, you folded your arms, eyeing the way his ears glowed red. “You can turn around now, Romeo.”

He did so—slowly, cautiously—peeking at you like you might still be naked. You raised a brow. “See anything life-changing?” He blinked, paused, then deadpanned: “Honestly? I’ve seen heaven. You just happened to be in charge of it. God I knew you were an angel.” You rolled your eyes, walking past him and swatting him lightly with a pillow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I try,” he said, catching your wrist and tugging you into his arms. “For the record, I still think knocking spiritually should count.”

“For the record,” you murmured, grinning up at him, “next time I’m locking the door.”

He leaned in, mischievous smirk gracing his features, eyes warm and even more mischievous than before. “Next time, just invite me.” You shoved him. He kissed the top of your head anyway. “Are we still reading that new book…or can we do more of a physical activity?” He suggests with his voice deeper than before, pride feeling him when a blush dust your cheeks. 

Thank you so much for reading! As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

@qardasngan

@murnsondock

[bobbiereynolds]

Chaser [(Bob Reynolds Oneshot) Shirley Temple Prequel]

Character/s: Bob, Valentina, Thunderbolts team

Word Count: 1,458

Warning/s: excessive drinking/hangover, sa innuendo, etc.

A/N: I have writing fever my loves :) I was thinking about a prequel to ST and tbh ya gurl is writing from her own issues so please don't read if you're sensitive to any of the warnings!! Feeling so angsty with sweet, sweet understanding Bob. Feedback is always appreciated!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Shirley Temple (Bob Reynolds Oneshot)

SHIPS ARE OPEN / THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Unlikable. Bitter. Hostile. She used code words. Words that are dressed in their sunday best, with polished shoes and plaited hair. Words the PR team came up with in a meeting like this, only the seat you sat in was empty. Words that are meant to be innuendos for other things you’ve been called. They tumbled out of her mouth without the slightest hint of emotion, of regret. She speaks as if she is delivering a eulogy. She is, in a way, because if you don’t change your ways, your attitude, your job is done. Dead and buried. Turned to ash, though you wonder if the comparison is too soon as she speaks once more, this time sliding graphs and charts across the table. You don’t look, or read, or absorb, you’re too consumed with your own distractions, your own cravings. Your stomach churns from the weekend bender, but you must remain stoic. Who booked a meeting at 7am on a Monday? The bright light hurts your eyes and you’re sure she can smell booze on you from last night. You’re practically sweating an entire liquor store.

 Interviews you don’t remember doing, quotes that sound like you, but taste funny sprawled out in front of you. Evidence of your lacking. Evidence of your “issues”. That’s what she calls it, as if you are a bump in the road, a hiccup that must be contained. Something to fix to fit her perfect image. You nod along once more. She doesn’t want you to speak. She doesn’t want you to beg for forgiveness. She wants you to smarten up (the kind of thing a mother might say) before you’ll be shown the error of your ways. You’re on strike two. Where those other strikes came from you can’t place, but it’d be too dangerous to ask. You need this job. You need this team. It’s all you’ve got left. Her team stands behind her and watches you with numb expressions. Has the life been beaten out of them or is it just too much botox? You want to scare them, make them jump, see if their faces are made of concrete, but you have a feeling Valentina has little patience at the moment and it would cost you a third strike.

When there's nothing left to say and she looks at you expectantly, you thank her. You do not promise to change. You do not promise to adapt. You do not promise to be better. You thank her for her time and excuse yourself to throw up in the privacy of your own bathroom. Vomit dribbles down your chin. You can’t get rid of the feeling, the nausea, no matter how much you spit. It comes out brightly colored, like a badly drawn rainbow, and thin. Watery. You never eat when you drink. Why ruin the buzz? A glutton for punishment. It’s not usually this bad. You drink, yes, but never as much as you did. It was nonstop Friday night into Sunday morning. No missions, no meetings. Each of you went your separate ways. You slipped away before anyone could ask, taking your place at the local bar. When they cut you off, you went home and drank through most of your stash. You knew why. You knew why you were drooling over the thought of something sour in an endless pitcher. Why didn't you throw a fit or beg like you usually do for one more glass? Why did you come home and drink the night away, surpassing that good, floaty kind of feeling you’re always chasing.

It always goes back to that, doesn’t it? 

You brush your teeth and feign a smile. He was waiting anxiously for you in the kitchen. He’s wringing his hands, trying not to look worried. You sit beside him, hushing his worries. It went fine, you say, your words still slurred. What did she say? His eyes are wide, and scared, and instantly it hurts seeing him like this, so worked up. A morning meeting with Valentina typically meant trouble. The earlier it was, the worse the outcome. You shrug. The usual. Bob, it’s fine. I promise. He nods as if it’s helped, but you both know that’s not true. Together you sit, make small talk. You get the sense he doesn’t want you to be alone. Or, maybe, it’s him who doesn’t want to be. But you’re exhausted. The sleep you got was restless, full of nightmares, of the man you cannot escape no matter how drunk you got. You could barely make it to bed, throwing yourself into the blankets, hoping to numb his touch. Bob reaches out towards you. You do this sometimes: get lost. Get stuck. Trapped in memories you’d do anything to forget. You flinch, standing and leaving before you have to explain. He calls after you, but you’re escaping like a rabbit from a wolf. Desperate, you slam the door and search through the bottles and cans for something, anything, just to take the edge off. 

You can’t go on like this forever. You don’t want to. But nothing else helps. Nothing stops the feelings of hands on your body. Nothing stops the idea of him doing it all over again every time you close your eyes. Regret settles into the cavity of your chest like a whirlpool. You should apologize. To Valentina. To Bob. To everyone. Your teammates covered for you when you were hungover, saving you from stupid situations you could have gotten yourself out of had you not melted your brain with whiskey shots just hours before. For looking after you when they had better things to do, walking you home from the bar because the bartender found their names in your phone. For being responsible for you when all you did was make things difficult. And yet, even as you have these thoughts, even as you feel sick with remorse, with guilt, you pour yourself another drink, overcome by the want to numb it all out and pretend it’s all fine. 

It’s always the same dream. The man. His knee between your legs. His hands around your wrists. You fight, this time, but it makes no difference. It must play out each time. The show must go on. When you wake up your room is dark and someone sits beside you, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. You know this shadow, this silhouette, and you begin to relax again. He doesn’t say anything, just turns on the lamp. From where you lay you see now he’s cleaned the place up. Bottles, cans, and cups no longer littered across your floor. The red stain of something fruity is faded on your carpet. He must have scrubbed that, too. Your clothes are piled on a chair, shoes beneath. Weapons and gear laid out across the dresser. Every last bullet is accounted for. It looks like someone lives here. Not just that, but they care, too. It isn’t you though, only Bob. You thank him, your voice coming out soft and sleepy. He tells you he doesn’t mind. He does, though, you think, correcting him. They all do and why shouldn’t they? This was your mess. Your memory you’re trying to run from. You apologize to him, over and over, and begin to cry.

  Something has to change, Bob. You say, your head on his lap. He hushes you, hating that you’re upset. I don’t want to go on like this. But there are so many meanings to this sentence. So many things you’re talking about. So many times you’ve said this with no one to listen. His hand wipes your cheek gently and he wears his genuine smile, the kind that makes your skin warm. Okay, then we can change things. We’ll make it better. You nod wordlessly. We’ll do it together, okay? Okay. Okay, okay, okay. He makes a plan, the kind that involves letting go, letting others do for you. The kind that gives you pins and needles in your stomach. He makes a plan with baby steps, the only steps you’re capable of, and recites it back to you no matter how many times you ask. You need this to work. You need to stop. It’s not going to get any better, it’ll just get worse. You’ll lose everything you just got back. Not just a new title, or a place to live, but teammates. Friends. People who care and people cared for. A family of sorts. You can do this. Stop the drinking, the binges, the mindless need to self-medicate. Together, he says again now that you’ve gone quiet, knowing you’re lost in your thoughts and need something to hold on to, to cling to. We’ll do this together.

[spaceycat]

back in business !!

 ⋆★⋆ bucky's favourite positions ⋆★⋆

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: hey brendon by ayesha erotica (1:10)

He loves it when he finds you in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for yourself or making coffee - coming up behind you and feeling over your sides and hips. Sitting you on the counter and just eating you out, sliding your legs over his shoulders and forcing your thighs apart when you try to close them - tongue working in slow ministrations. The coffee has gone cold and forgotten.

He just loves it whenever your legs are pulled over his thighs, shoulders or pushed against his chest as he fucks his cock into you - muttering praises as he holds you up with his metal arm.

He needs you in his lap when he's working, stuffed full of his cock as he refuses to move and laughs at you as you try to seek more friction. Wrapping his metal arm around your waist to keep you put and cease your movement.

Bucky's obsessed with you on your knees just looking up at him like an angel, fingers toying with his pants zipper. Pushing his boxers and jeans placing kitten licks to his tip - half the time he's trying to convince you to let him take a picture of you like this.

Super soldier stamina means so many different positions, although he loves seeing your pretty face in missionary and can just feel you up to his hearts content. He loves placing you on your hands and knees, pushing your head into the pillows and pulling your hips into the air for him to fuck as much as he pleases.

Bucky occasionally pulls you by your hair or neck back into his lap when he's fucking your face into the sheets, loving to see your fucked out face and moans that are no longer muffled by the pillows and sheets.

[amethystarachnid]

A drabble of grumpy stark and clingy & funny af y/n please?

much love! 💞

GRUMPY TONY STARK WITH A FLIRTY READER - A Drabble

You steal his wrench mid-tinker. He glares. You wink. “Trade you for my number.” He snatches it back. “I already have it.” “Then why aren’t you using it?”

“Stop humming.” Tony grumbles over his coffee. You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Make me.” He shoves a donut in your mouth. “Temporary fix.”

You blow him a kiss during a meeting. He deadpans. “This is serious.” “So are my lips. Wanna see?”

“You’re distracting me.” “From what? Your brooding?” You plop onto his lap.

“JARVIS, lock her out.” “Afraid I can’t do that, sir. She bribed me with cat videos.” You smirk. “AI’s got taste.” Tony groans. “Traitor.”

He catches you doodling hearts on his blueprints. “Vandal.” You bat your lashes. “Artist.” “Same thing.” “Then arrest me.” He mutters. “Tempting.”

And once you tow get together...

Tony claims he doesn’t cuddle. Yet every morning, you wake up with his arm slung over your waist like a possessive octopus. "This is a security measure," he grumbles. "You steal blankets."

Movie night. You pick a rom-com. He groans. "I’d rather rebuild an engine blindfolded." Ten minutes in, he’s critiquing the science. You kiss him mid-rant. "Still talking?" He shuts up.

You wear his MIT hoodie. He tries to act annoyed. "That’s vintage." You spin. "Looks better on me." He tugs you closer. "Debatable." Then steals it back—only to hand it to you the next day.

"Stop leaving Post-its on my suits." You grin. "Or what?" He pulls one off the Iron Man armor—"Kissed by the best <3"—and smirks. "I’m charging you for vandalism. Payment due in kisses."

"Tony. Tony. Tony." "What." "Love you." He sighs. "I was this close to a breakthrough." You poke his cheek. "Breakthrough this: say it back." "...Love you. Now go away." (You don’t.)

He buys you ridiculous gifts—a mini arc reactor nightlight, a coffee mug that says "Stark’s Favorite Distraction." You tease him. "Sentimental much?" He scoffs. "Tax write-offs." (The blush says otherwise.)

You dance in the kitchen. He pretends to hate it. Then his hands slide to your hips. "Fine. One song." FRIDAY "accidentally" loops it. He doesn’t complain.

Press asks about his "mysterious girlfriend." He deadpans. "She’s a menace." You wave at cameras behind him. "Hi, I’m the menace!" He drags you away—but not before you see his smirk.

[multific]

The Heart Beneath the Armour

Attuma x Reader

Summary: He is Talokan’s strongest warrior, but in your arms, he is simply a man in love.

The ocean buzzed with life around you, a beautiful song of currents and waves. 

The bioluminescent glow of Talokan pulsed in the distance, illuminating the deep dark with hues of blue and green. 

You swam through the water with ease, your body moving in sync with the gentle push and pull of the tide. 

But you were not alone.

You never were.

Attuma followed behind, a silent force of nature, his presence as steady as the ocean itself. You had grown used to his quiet watch, his eyes always on you. 

He was not a man of words, but he did not need them, not when his actions spoke volumes.

Still, you longed for more. More than protection.

As you reached a coral ledge overlooking the vast, endless abyss of the deep, you turned to him. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live on the surface?”

His answer was immediate and quick, it left no doubt. “No.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Of course you don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, the smallest hint of amusement in his gaze. “And you?”

“I used to,” you admitted, letting your fingers touch the glowing tendrils of a nearby sea flower. “But not anymore.”

Attuma’s powerful frame remained still, his trident gripped loosely in one hand. “Why?”

A man of few words indeed.

You hesitated. “Because there is nothing for me up there. Not anymore.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Attuma had known you long enough to understand what you left unsaid, that Talokan had become your home. 

That he had become your home.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “You have not said this before.”

You turned fully to him, your heart pounding in the silence that followed. “Maybe I was waiting for you to ask.”

A shadow passed over his face, something conflicted, something restrained. 

Attuma was strong and fierce, a warrior who did not fear battle, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was careful and guarded.

And yet, his actions had always told you the truth.

The way he placed himself between you and any threat, even when you were not in danger. 

The way his hand would hover near yours in the dark, so close you could feel the warmth of him but never quite touching. 

The way he always knew when you were tired, when you were restless, when you were sad, and he would stay near, saying nothing, but making sure you never faced it alone.

But you wanted to hear him say it.

“Attuma,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I need to know. Do I mean something to you?”

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the trident. “You are important to Talokan.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “That’s not what I asked.”

His eyes darkened his entire body tense. It was as if he were preparing for battle as if the very idea of expressing his feelings was more terrifying than any war.

“Say it,” you whispered, moving closer. “If you feel nothing for me, tell me, and I will never ask again.”

Silence. 

The weight of the ocean pressed around you, thick with anticipation.

“I have no words for what I feel.” His voice was rough, edged with frustration as if the confession itself was being pulled from him. “Not in a way you would understand.”

Your breath hitched, your heart aching at the struggle in his eyes. “Then show me.”

Attuma did not hesitate.

He closed the distance between you in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his solid chest. The warmth of his skin burned through the cool of the water, his hold determined, possessive. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath shallow, unsteady.

“I have been yours since the moment you stepped into the sea,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are in my thoughts when I wake. You are the last thing I think of before I sleep. When you are near, I am at peace. When you are far, I feel the absence like a wound.”

Your eyes stung with emotion, your fingers clutching at him. “Attuma…”

“I have never needed words,” he admitted, his hand rising to cup your face, his touch gentle. “But if you need to hear them, then know this, I would burn the surface world to ash before I let it take you from me.”

A shiver ran through you, not from fear, but from the raw, unfiltered devotion in his voice.

“You do not need to,” you whispered, pressing your hands against his chest. “Because I am not leaving. Not now, not ever.”

Without another word, his hand move to the back of your neck, tilting your head up, his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss was deep, all-consuming, a declaration in itself. 

There was nothing hesitant about it. 

Attuma kissed you the way he fought, with purpose, with strength, with everything. 

His hands tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid you would slip through his fingers like the tide.

But you had no intention of ever letting go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours once more. “You are mine,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver through you. “As I am yours.”

You smiled, resting your hands on his shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”

He huffed, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do not ask me to repeat it.”

You laughed softly, threading your fingers through his. “Then don’t make me doubt it.”

Attuma tightened his grip, his gaze dark with promise. “I will never give you a reason to.”

And with that, you allowed the silent tide between you to finally break and pull you into something deeper than the ocean itself.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/