furiouscauldron

[furiouscauldron]

Bucky second guessing himself?

I feel shocked.

Bucky set up the no kissing rule when they agreed that being fuck buddies would be beneficial for them.

John hates that rule. He likes kissing. A lot.

John was no rule breaker and he was willing to deny himself the pleasure to respect Bucky’s boundaries but, Bucky didn't really give him specifics and he took advantage of that.

He found a loophole and indulged himself.

When they have sex John kisses Bucky everywhere but on the lips.

His calf when he's prepping him.

His neck, right where his pulse point is, as his hands wander on his body.

The inside of his tights when they are supposed to be quick before someone comes looking for them.

The palm of his hand when Bucky reaches for him to pull him closer.

On his shoulder where his vibranium arm begins.

If he finds Bucky in the right mood, he would start with his lips on his neck, behind his ear, and make his way down. Hot tongue on his skin, leaving traces of saliva. Enjoying the gasps Bucky lets out when John takes the liberty of doing more than kissing and sucks on the skin to bite, leaving a mark. Reminders he was there and that they fate too quickly for his taste.

Bucky never complains. He doesn't protest John’s close to crossing the line —he just lays there, eyes closed, hand grabbing John’s hair when the blond bites too hard and it feels too good.

John takes that as a good sign that Bucky enjoys as much as he does.

He always kisses Bucky, never on the lips.

And as John is working on a hickey on his inner thigh — too close where he wants him to be, too hot and wet— Bucky is reconsidering a few life choices.

When Bucky gives in to the kissing, it is not even when they are in bed. They are the only ones in the watchtower, sitting next to each other watching a movie. John is too focused on the movie to notice Bucky isn't. Bucky knows what he wants now but he doesn't know how to make it happen. It's stupid because he's over 100 years old and in the mood for some old-fashioned make out session, he used to be good at this back in his days. But he was the one that came out with the no kissing rule and after months of receiving the torture of John’s mouth on his body, he started to wonder what if he just gives in.

He knows what that mouth feels like on his skin and since that day John ate him out until he left him shaking, abdomen covered in ropes of his own cum, he can't stop thinking how good it must feel to let John devour his mouth the same way he does it with his body.

He doesn't overthink it anymore, he grabs John’s hand to make him look at him but John, still too focused on the tv, takes Bucky’s hand to his lip and kisses his knuckles.

Bucky groans in frustration.

That makes John look at him.

“Wha—”

Before there's more question Bucky pulls him in. Their lips meet. John yelps, surprised. Horrified, he pushes Bucky away.

“What are you doing?! You said—”

Bucky frowns, upset John isn't losing his mind at the first contact of their mouth meeting for the first time. He can't be the only one carving it so bad.

“Forget what I said,” Bucky cuts in. He licks his lips, John's eyes on him. Mesmerized. That, he likes that.

“Do you want to make out or not?”

“Fuck”

That's all Bucky needs. This John gives him a proper moan, Bucky is pleased.

John kisses him hard, desperate. Hungry. He sucks on his lips and tongue and every sensation is right how Bucky imagined. John’s hand is holding his jaw, pulling closer as if he's afraid Bucky is changing his mind. Bucky shifts his body to make room for himself on John's lap, just in case offering his tongue for John to suck isn't proof enough he's right where he wants to be.

Their agitated breaths are drowned out by the sound of the movie playing in the background, already forgotten. Bucky can't even remember what they were watching. He couldn't remember even if he tried. Too distracted already. John made his way inside his shirt, hands caressing his back; conflicted between just feeling him or drawing him in the closest they can be.

Bucky can feel John is hard already. He's getting there too. He just needs to move his hips a little more, seeking a little more friction. That makes John hiss, being already hard the moves must feel so good for him. John breaks the kiss, his mouth hangs open, gasping for hair as a whine escapes. Bucky bites his lower lip in response, sucking it a little, he works his hips on him. John’s hands leave his back to hold his hips, helping his grinding.

Bucky grins into his mouth satisfied at the sound of John’s labored breathing. It's perfect, he just needs—

To see him. Properly see what kissing does to him after months of denying.

He grabs John’s face, holds him.

He chuckles, endeared, at the state of John: Eyes a little lost, lips glossed with their combined saliva, too pink, too swollen from where he just bit them.

Why did he set up that stupid rule? He could've had him this way from the beginning.

He's beautiful.

Bucky is a little angry at himself.

John, unaware of Bucky’s internal distress, smiles at him. John kisses him on the cheek then a trail of small kisses until he's on Bucky’s neck. Bucky is too lost in the familiar sensation and being upset at himself that for a moment he doesn't register John working on a hickey on his neck.

“Hey, no, no,” He yanks John’s hair a little. John protests with a groan. “I've had enough of that. Come here”

John doesn't need to be told twice.

Bucky opens his mouth for him.

John lets out a happy sound when they tongues meet again.

Bucky think will never deny John anything again.

[furiouscauldron]

Oh my god yes yes this is perfect

I feel like after months of calling John "Walker", nothing would feel more intimate to both John and Bob than the latter calling John by his first name. Bob is the type to refer to his boyfriend as "man" and "dude", all while John calls him "baby", "sweetheart" and "sunshine" each and every sentence.

So Bob breathlessly whispering "John" against his lips, while his fingers dig into the nape of his neck, makes John's head spin. He's so weak for him that he can't help begging Bob to call his name again and again.

[furiouscauldron]

Think about how weird that would have been the first time John or Bucky decided Bob needed hand to hand training. He's a civilian, he needs to know how to protect himself, right? They've got smooth well trained moves, and Bob is there going for the eyes, the groin and pulling hair and they are not prepared one bit for him to be as quick and as vicious in a fight.

Yelena absolutely cackles the first time both super soldiers come out of the training room looking like they've been run through the wringer. Hair a mess, shirts torn and skin red from scratches and both of them limping.

Bob drops into her lap for a cuddle, trying hard not to look too proud of himself.

He learned how to protect himself on the streets ages ago, and it's funny that he wrecked two of his favorite super soldiers.

"I'll make it up to you guys later," he promises as Bucky and John both give him the finger and head for the pool.

Bob knows how to fight it's just to professionally trained fighting. This is fighting from the streets. Pocket sand. Cheap shots. Everything is a weapon.

YES, all those years on the street, he had to figure out how to survive, and that meant fighting dirty. He’s not some perfectly trained martial artist or soldier like the rest of the team, he’s the guy who’ll throw gravel in your eyes, use a broken bottle, bite if he has to. He knows where to hit to make it count, how to catch someone off guard. it’s survival baby

[furiouscauldron]

Yes to all of this. Steve is 100% more dangerous when it concerns Bucky.

This absolutely is stucky and the funny thing is a lot of people would maybe look at their dynamic and think that Bucky is gonna be the more dangerous one because he has the murder stare.

But honestly I've always been a fan of Steve who everyone think Is this golden retriever, actually being the more dangerous one, as far as how protective he is of bucky, to like scary dark levels that no one would ever think of because no one is taking his man away again

link to that post

EXACTLY

I FUCKING FUCK WITH THE ANIMAL COMING OUT OF STEVE WHENEVER BUCKY'S IN DANGER.

Jesus Christ.

It is the sluttiest thing I've ever seen 😤 I love it

[furiouscauldron]

laundry day | mdni 18+

“Hey, babe, I got your— Jesus.”

Bob reached his arms out toward John, opened and closed his fingers in a grabbing motion. He was just trying to demand his chocolate milkshake in a cute, wordless way, but John stared at him like he’d done something. Not necessarily something wrong, just… something.

“What?” John shook himself off when Bob spoke again. He walked over to the couch and handed Bob his cup, his mouth hanging slightly open. Bob took a sip, raised a brow when John stood still, his eyes on Bob. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re naked,” said John, entirely inelegantly, and Bob choked on his drink.

Funnily enough, he wasn’t fully convinced that John would think he looked sexy. His hair was tangled and tied back and hadn’t been washed in two days. He was wearing nothing but John’s worn-out blue bathrobe, half his torso on display. Bob crossed his legs, made sure the fabric covered the area John’s eyes were most drawn to.

He smirked as he coughed and lowered his cup. “No, I’m not. I’m wearing your bathrobe.”

“And literally nothing else.”

“You keep telling me to do laundry. I’m doing laundry.”

“By washing everything you own?” Bob shrugged. Technically there were a couple pieces left in his closet but when he realized he was out of underwear, he decided to just say ‘fuck it’ for a couple hours. “I don’t mind if you wear my clothes, you know.”

“I know, that’s why I’m wearing your bathrobe.” He liked that it smelled like John. Also, his was in with the laundry. John’s gaze kept flickering between Bob’s face and chest, his tongue barely peeking between his lips. “Man, if you weren’t standing there complaining about it, I’d think you actually like this look, you know?”

And then John was on his knees at the side of the couch, his hands deep in Bob’s hair as he pulled their mouths together. Bob awkwardly set his milkshake on the table behind his head, letting his tongue run on autopilot as he pushed the cup away from the edge. He moved his hands to John’s neck, pulled him down deeper, deeper, and then pressed his teeth into his tongue and laughed.

“Come on,” Bob teased, his hand on John’s jaw as their eyes met, “I’m lying here naked and the best you can do is kiss me?”

John kissed his mouth again, then his jaw, his ear, his neck. Bob bit back a moan when John sucked on the sensitive flesh, refusing to give him the satisfaction too soon. John’s lips stayed in place long enough to leave a mark before he licked Bob’s neck, pressed one more kiss to it, and said, “You love it when I kiss you.”

“I’ve had better.”

“From who?”

“Just this blond guy.” Bob slid his hands into John’s hair, stared straight into his narrowed gaze. He smirked when John’s expression softened, when he realized he was being teased.

His eyes widened when John climbed on the couch on top of him, leaned down so closely Bob could taste his breath. “He sounds like a dick.”

“Oh, he’s an asshole.” He grabbed the collar of John’s shirt and pulled himself up beside John’s ear before he whispered, “But he’s really good at fucking me.”

“Next time you see him, you tell him you’re mine.”

Bob kissed the edge of John’s cheek. “I’m yours.”

They turned their heads and reconnected their lips in a swift, fluid motion. Bob smiled against him, his fingers clawing the back of John’s head. It was not how he expected the afternoon to go, not in the least, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

John slipped his right hand between Bob’s legs without warning. He dragged the back of his hand down the inside of Bob’s thigh, brushed his fingers over the tip of his cock. Bob’s mouth fell open as a light shudder washed over his body.

“You know you’re leaking under here?” Just a little. Just enough that he didn’t think John would notice that he was that fucking sensitive. His face flushed and John stroked his cheek with his left hand, his right cradling Bob’s shaft. “You don’t have to blush. It’s cute. You leak for the other guy?”

“Usually have pants on for the other guy,” answered Bob.

“I like you better this way.”

“Someone could walk in, you know.”

“Then they’ll know you’re mine too.”

“I feel like you won’t be so cocky once they’ve seen your bare ass.”

“Well, that’s your fault for lying out here naked, isn’t it?” Bob inhaled sharply when John gave his balls a gentle, teasing squeeze before he tilted his  hand and circled Bob’s rim; his middle finger slick with precum. He started to push inside and stopped when Bob choked on his breath. “You okay?”

He looked down at Bob’s face, his eyes filled with genuine care and concern. But Bob didn’t want him to be gentle, so he designed his words to taunt. “Didn’t feel you do anything.”

“No?”

John added his ring finger, slowly scissored them together and apart, and Bob bit down on the base of his left thumbnail to stop himself from saying fuck. He closed his eyes when John kissed his forehead, added his index finger, and whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

Neediness taking over, Bob reached his hands to John’s waist and unbuckled his pants. He pushed John’s shirt up slightly, started to tug down on the material, and stopped when John set his left hand on top of his.

“Don’t have lube,” said John softly.

“Neither do your fingers.”

Undeterred, Bob pulled John’s cock free from his jeans; grasped the hard, heavy weight in his hand and directed it toward his entrance. John pulled back, stopped just short of giving Bob what he wanted. Bob groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me.” That wasn’t entirely true. Sentry did technically make him indestructible, but it didn’t make him any less sensitive. He couldn’t tear but he could feel everything even more than he always could. “Hurry up before my milkshake gets warm.”

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

John moved himself inside unbearably slowly, filling Bob mere centimeters at a time. Bob tried to shift himself down and make it faster, but John refused to be forced, refused to risk giving him too much. Once again, Bob bit down on his left thumbnail as John’s thick cock filled his insides, his right hand dug into the back of John’s shoulder.

“More,” Bob mumbled.

“No, you’re at your limit.” He didn’t know how John could tell, how he knew when to stop just before Bob pushed himself too far. John straightened his back as he began to rock his hips, moving forward and back at a gradually increasing pace. “Feel good?”

“Mmhm.”

Bob closed his eyes, the fear of being caught almost entirely forgotten. All that remained was him, John, every place their skin connected inside and outside. Bob severed one link when he dropped his hand, reached for his dripping cock, only for John to reconnect it when he grabbed Bob’s fingers in his.

“I want to make you come,” muttered John. He set Bob’s hand down on his belly and dragged his fingers over Bob’s cock. It was not the lasting stimulation he needed. He grabbed the cushion beneath him, his legs flexing involuntarily when John found his prostate and increased the pressure. “Gonna give you something no one else can.”

“You know the blond guy was you, right?” asked Bob breathlessly. “I was fucking with you.”

“You fuck with me, you get fucked. You keep those hands off your cock.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was an impulsive response that sent John wild. He moaned beneath his breath and quickened his tempo, moved in just a little deeper even though he’d denied it initially. He dug his fingers into Bob’s hips, holding him in place and ensuring his hands wouldn’t drift to himself.

They didn’t speak again, John’s words devolving into grunts and heavy breaths as Bob forgot how to talk, how to think, as he chewed on his thumb. It would have been a traumatizing sight if anyone did walk in on them. John mostly dressed but increasingly sweaty, nearly balls deep inside of Bob; Bob wearing only an open bathrobe, his belly button a puddle of his own precum.

John tilted Bob upwards just slightly and Bob’s breath caught in his throat. His face flushed as he squeaked twice before he found the oxygen to say, “John.”

“Shh.” He pressed his fingers deeper into Bob’s waist. “Hold on for me, okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and ripped at the fabric of his bathrobe folded beneath him. Bob wanted to hold on, wanted to do what he was told, but the angle was just too perfect. The pressure was just too much.

“Fuck.”

Bob whimpered as he spent himself across his stomach, as his warm release spilled from the tip of his cock to the bottom of his chest. He didn’t even flinch when John pulled out, leaving a hot sticky trail in his wake.

“Hey.” John set his hands on either side of Bob’s face. He brushed his thumbs over tears Bob hadn’t realized he’d shed, then kissed both of his temples and the center of his forehead. “You all right?”

It took him several deep breaths before he could say quietly, “No.”

“Was it too much? Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what…?”

“You got cum on my bathrobe,” Bob mumbled. John snorted and gave his hip a squeeze before he kissed his forehead again. “It’s not funny. I have literally nothing else to wear.”

John set his hands on Bob’s cum-covered belly, wrapped his robe around his sticky skin, and tied the knot over it. He snaked his hands underneath Bob and lifted him up bridal style, leaving Bob flailing from the unexpected gesture.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the shower,” said John, adjusting Bob’s robe to hide what he’d so clearly declared as his, “and then my closet because you got what you wanted so now you can get dressed.”

Bob made a face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you steal my clothes fucking constantly. You know damn well half that laundry is mine. I’m not stupid, Bobby. I know you stripped to the robe knowing I was coming back with your milkshake.”

“Oh, my god, my milkshake. Turn around.”

“Are you serious?”

“Turn around.”

And just because John rolled his eyes when he did as he was told, after Bob lifted his milkshake in his left hand, he grabbed John’s neck with his right and yanked him into one more kiss.

[furiouscauldron]

Robert: “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real?”

Yelena: “Real…that’s what you and I do”

[furiouscauldron]

in light of recent news

[furiouscauldron]

Yes, yes and yes.

Bob giving up control of his life to the physical embodiment of his depression and then beating himself up over it and the void just becoming more powerful as a result is such a perfect metaphor. like yeah, that's exactly how it is, you can't beat depression with self-loathing, you need support and purpose and the people you love and loves you. they pulled it off beautifully

[furiouscauldron]

They get a week in the Watchtower before the team starts getting trotted out at galas, press conferences and missions and Bob stays behind. He's happy to stay behind, but it does get kind of boring until John gives him a second hand Switch and some games.

Mario Kart is fun, but Animal Crossing is far and away Bob's favorite.

Every morning as John makes breakfast Bob updates him on his island, the residents and the progress he's making. Does he get it? Not really, but Bob lights up every time he talks about his island and that's more than enough for him to listen and be engaged.

Then Bob starts talking about a friend who visits his island and it triggers every protective watchdog instinct that he has. John swallows down a growl and asks politely about Bobby's new friend.

"His name is Jamie, he's from Brooklyn. He tells me about his three sisters."

John's eye twitches. "Yeah? Sounds nice."

"Yeah, Jamie says his little sister Becca is a terror."

"Sounds like a handful. Breakfast is ready, Bobby. Dig in."

And as Bob dives into a stack of waffles, John stares at Bucky from across the room. Like he doesn't know the man's history inside and out, right down to the name of his little sister.

Bucky offers a helpless shrug. Bob needed a friend and, well. He likes Animal Crossing too.

[furiouscauldron]

But think about the day he's finally had enough. He's been dismissed and discounted his entire life and sooner or later he won't be able to excuse Alexi looking at him like he's a toy and not a grown ass man who's doing his damndest to be better, to stay sober and to be Bob, not the science experiment Valentina wanted. Sooner or later, even the strongest dam breaks.

The day Bob's favorite mug shatters from across the room at another of his tirades makes everyone go silent, which only feeds Bob's frustration. Can't he just be *normal*? Or at least pretend to be?

"I can't do this," he snaps angrily at Alexi. "I'm not your weapon and I'm not your fucking ride to glory," he rounds on John, finger aimed at his chest, "and I'm not made of fucking glass!"

Three lights blow out, but no one panics. His eyes are a steady blue.

Bob flees to his room, because the anger still terrifies him and he had let it slip and he shouldn't have and what if it all goes wrong? What if they want him to leave because he's still dangerous?

Bob starts to spiral, until there's a knock at his door and a soft, loved voice. Walker apologizing, asking quietly to be let in.

And Bob's never been good at refusing him, not when John makes him feel so safe.

Bob had learned early what unchecked anger could do. His father’s voice still echoed in his head, cutting through the walls of their house. That sharp edge of rage had carved itself into him, left a feeling in his body he could never quite shake. Even now, years later, it lingered in his chest, a reminder of how easily fury could turn a room into a battlefield.

That fear calcified into a fact: he would never, under any circumstance, let himself resemble the man who raised him. So he swallowed his irritation before it could surface, smoothed every jagged feeling down to nothing. Even when someone wronged him, he was quick to excuse it, convincing himself they must’ve had their reasons.

That silence carried into the team. When Alexei made his endless jokes about Bob being useless without his powers, Bob just smiled and nodded, never once saying how deep the sting went. When John hovered, babying him as if he were fragile instead of indestructible, Bob said nothing then either.

Because to speak up would mean voicing anger, and anger felt too much like opening a door he might never be able to close again.

Better to stay quiet.

Better to keep the peace, even at his own expense.

[furiouscauldron]

[furiouscauldron]

cw: brief references to drugs & past sexual abuse

Bob squinted when he opened his eyes and a bright, blue and white light tried to blind him. He knew immediately that it was John’s phone, but he had to blink several times to make out what was on the screen.

It was bold of him to doomscroll his hate tag with Bob literally right behind his back. Did he think that Bob wouldn’t wake up? That Bob wouldn’t see what he was doing and immediately intervene?

“Gimme.” Bob reached for John’s phone, but John moved it out of the way, held it far enough over the side of the bed that Bob couldn’t grab it. He headbutted the back of John’s shoulder. “Gimme your phone.”

“No.” John reached his left arm behind him and pushed Bob’s head away with his palm. Bob made a face and flattened himself against the pillows where John’s arm couldn’t bend. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll go to sleep when you go to sleep.”

“Been trying to sleep for two hours, Bob. It’s not happening.”

Bob almost pointed out that the blue light from John’s phone was not helping but stopped himself.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. Bob shifted forward and pressed himself against John’s bare back, not quite spooning him but holding him close. He grasped John’s pec in his left hand as he kissed the back of his shoulder once, twice, and then licked all the way from the crook of his neck to the inside of his ear.

John shuddered before he nudged Bob off him and rolled on his back. “The hell are you doing?”

“Distracting you.”

He moved his left hand to John’s jaw and kissed his earlobe, his cheek, then trailed down from his collarbone to his chest. Bob kicked his left leg between John’s, shifted his own body halfway on top of John’s as he moved his mouth to John’s left nipple.

“Are you really doing this right now?” Rather than speak, Bob bit down as an answer. John inhaled sharply and set his left hand on the back of Bob’s head. He twisted his fingers in Bob’s hair, grasped him tightly but gently. “You can do whatever you want but I’m not giving you my phone.”

Bob grumbled against his chest, bit him again and then licked the sensitive skin. “Gonna make you drop it.”

For a long, drawn-out minute, Bob stayed exactly where he was—licking, biting, and sucking on John’s left nipple. John’s breath hitched a few times, but his phone never left his right hand, and his gaze never fully settled on Bob.

He lifted his left hand to John’s opposite nipple and teased it as he kept his tongue moving. Bob knew he was good with his mouth, and it irritated him that John wouldn’t pay attention to him. That he just kept staring at his damn phone.

Except it turned out John was not just staring at his phone; he was outsmarting Bob in a way he didn’t anticipate. John kept his left hand in Bob’s hair, his fingers gently stroking and twisting his curls as he hummed quietly.

A secret that only John really knew was that oral stimulation was comforting for Bob; that he was at his most relaxed when he had something in his mouth. It was also comforting to him to lay on John’s chest, to feel John’s hand in his hair and his breath on the top of his head.

So, it was kind of the perfect trap Bob had put himself into—lying on John’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, relaxed breaths as Bob suckled on his skin. And given Bob was already only half-awake, as embarrassing and irritating as it was, it was not hard for John to coax him back to sleep.

Bob jolted awake sometime later, startled by a bad dream he couldn’t remember. John’s left arm gripped his back tightly, rubbed reassuring circles into his spine as he held him against his side.

“Shh,” whispered John, his face still lit up by his phone. “You’re all right. Go back to sleep.”

“No,” Bob grumbled. He closed his eyes and turned his face into John’s chest as he blindly grabbed for his phone. “Put your fucking phone away.”

John grabbed the edge of the blanket and tugged it up over Bob’s head. He patted Bob through the blanket and said, “There you go.”

“I don’t care about the light; I care that you’re doomscrolling.”

“I’m not doomscrolling, I’m just reading some articles.”

“What about?” That John didn’t answer was an answer in itself. He was reading something slandering himself or one of his teammates or even the team as a whole. Bob flipped the blanket off his head. “Put it down. They don’t know you.”

A tense silence filled the air as John took a low, deep breath. He sniffed before he said, “I know that you love me, and I’m not trying to say you’re wrong for that, but I’m an objectively shitty person. Okay? I am.”

Maybe John wasn’t trying to say Bob was wrong for loving him, but it felt like he was. It felt like John told him that the one person he’d chosen was the wrong one. Like after all the work he’d done, he still attached himself to things that were bad for him.

“I’m an objectively shitty person,” Bob started impulsively. John’s fingers tightened around him, and Bob cut him off before he could speak. “I spent most of my life addicted to drugs and I paid for them by stealing shit and selling myself to men who didn’t see me as human.”

“Bobby—”

“No, listen. I let them beat me and spit on me and make me do shit I didn’t want to do, and you know why I did it? Because I convinced myself they were right. I convinced myself I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t even deserve human decency.”

“You’re not a piece of shit.” John’s jaw clicked as he gritted his teeth. “Give me names and I’ll fucking kill them.”

Bob turned his head, set his left hand on John’s cheek, and said shakily, “That’s how I feel when you talk about this shit you read online.”

So angry that his heart pounded like John’s did beneath Bob’s ear. So hurt that he felt sick to his stomach like John’s belly bubbled under his arm. None of those people knew John or his intentions or how he was trying to be better. They had no right to talk shit about him as if it were fact.

Finally, John put his phone down on the bedside table. He draped his right arm over Bob, laced his fingers together behind his back as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I will never let anyone hurt you again,” John promised, his grip just a little too tight.

“I want to say the same to you,” whispered Bob, “but you keep fucking hurting yourself.”

“Bob—”

“Stop reading that shit. Just stop reading it. Or at least let me stop you. You’ve taken drugs from me what, like, four times now? And I know I get pissy, but I don’t shut you down. I at least listen to why it bothers you. You don’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry,” John whispered. He kissed Bob’s head again, left his lips close to his skin, his breath tickling Bob’s hair. “I’ll try to stop, okay?”

That was all Bob wanted—for John to try. Bob knew how hard it was to quit something so bad for you, understood how John’s doomscrolling was basically an addiction in itself. He wasn’t giving him an ultimatum to stop immediately, he just needed him to listen and to try.

“Okay.”

“I love you,” said John as pulled Bob in closer.

“Love you too,” Bob mumbled before he turned his face back into John’s chest. He parted his lips just slightly, just enough to draw John’s nipple back into his mouth.

John chuckled softly. “You trying to tease me again or you going back to sleep?” Bob let his heavy eyelids fall shut. He reached his left hand up and raised his first two fingers. Sleep. “I’m gonna be raw in the morning.”

“Mmhm.”

Bob dropped his hand on the bedside table, grabbed John’s phone, and chucked it across the room. He could practically feel John roll his eyes and he didn’t care.

“Was that entirely necessary?” To his credit, John’s tone was lighthearted.

“Mmhm.”

“You ever letting go again?”

He bit down before he shook his head.

[furiouscauldron]

Bob doing dishes

Nobody ever specifically asked Bob to help with the dishes. It’s just something he likes to do. After dinner was done and the kitchen quieted down into something peaceful, he liked stacking up the dishes, running the water and adding soap. Dunk, wash, rinse, set on the rack. Repeat. His therapist said it was a sort of moving meditation, thankfully it’s a meditation that Bob can do without his mind running in a hundred different directions.

They have a machine, but there’s something special about doing it by hand. Sentry can’t go out there and save people (not now, probably not ever and he’s OK with that), but Bob can stay in the tower and take care of the team that had adopted him. YouTube videos taught him how to do laundry the right way, how to fold clothes and frequencies to wash bigger things like bed linens or blankets. John taught him what food to order and when.

Laundry, grocery orders, dishes, Bob takes it all on quietly. He almost feels like a functioning human being and it’s nice.

He can’t save the world, but he can make the place the team comes back to a little more like home.

Sometimes John finds him in the kitchen, resting his hands lightly on Bob’s waist and kissing his hair as he works. He hates dishes, but when he’s asked, he’ll pick up a towel and start drying. It’s a quiet, shared moment between them and it’s one that John lives for. And when Bob is having a bad day John will slip into his room, a plate of food for Bob to pick at, his fingers pruned up and smelling of dish soap and wrap him up close. When Bob can’t do the dishes, John does them for him.

[furiouscauldron]

John Walker – professional yapper

Aside from tactics and football there is one thing John will not stop talking about once he gets on a roll. He loves to talk about food. Everyone in the team has been subjected to his Opinions on food, ingredients and methods of cooking. Most of them do their best to make a quick exit because when Walker gets started it’s awfully hard to get him to stop.

Bucky still hasn’t forgotten the nearly 30-minute diatribe on why winter wheat flour is better for baking than all purpose, but Double O flour is the only way to make a pizza or focaccia. When he was growing up, there was just ‘flour’. Now they have different kinds? This is why he doesn’t bake.

And if you ask Alexi he still has no idea what a maillard reaction is when cooking or why ducks are even involved when Walker isn’t cooking duck.

Ava phased through a kitchen wall before John started on the difference between a proper sear when cooking steaks.

Yelena threw a knife at him before he could even start on proper knife care and chopping.

The only person who listens is Bob. When they go out for hot dogs at the cart down at the corner, Bob is fully prepared to listen to a long description of why timing is important (“you have to get there about an hour after they set up. Bobby. That way the temperature is just right, and the dogs aren’t too under or over done.”) and why in his opinion beef hot dogs are better plain, but you need a pork dog if you’re going to go all Chicago on it.

Bob listens to all of it, even if he gets lost sometimes, but it’s important to John so he pays attention. Eventually he starts to learn which bodegas make the best breakfast sandwiches, how to pick out the right produce and he even takes a chance at cooking lunch while the team was out. John’s talked to him about grilled cheese sandwiches before, it can’t be that hard, right?

When John takes a bite of his first sandwich, it’s *perfect*. The right bread, the right cheese, the right everything and he looks up at Bob with wide eyes and a proud smile. “Good job, Bobby.”

I need more content of Walker being the biggest yapper alive. That man will start talking unprompted about the most useless, stupid shit, like no one asked, but suddenly we all know his whole stance on gas station hot dogs ‼️‼️‼️

[furiouscauldron]

The look on Sentry's face kills me. The annoyance, the exasperation.

"There, done."

"Damnit Yelena not you too..'

Sentry vs Yelena

[furiouscauldron]

John Walker seems like the type to be against a pet like a cat, but is fully the type to let the cat ride on his shoulders. Or if it's a dog he absolutely loves going on early morning runs.

HEAR ME OUTTTT 🚨🚨🚨🚨

John would absolutely be anti-pets, kind of guy who insists animals belong outside, bc that’s how he was raised. Growing up on a farm with strict parents drilled into him that every creature had a function, like herding, guarding, food, but never companionship. To him, pets inside the house were messy and especially not something you let crawl into your bed, and that belief stuck with him well into adulthood, and he never even thought to question it.

And then there’s Bob. By the time they’re already in a relationship, Bob comes back to the tower one day with this tiny, dirt-soaked blonde puppy in his arms, looking like he’s about to cry because who could possibly abandon something so small in the rain? John’s first instinct is to roll his eyes, but of course he helps. At first, he doesn’t get the appeal. It’s just another mouth to feed, another thing taking up space.

but then it starts to grow on him. The little dog climbs onto his lap when he’s scrolling through his phone. The first hundred times, John pushes it off, complaining about how he's not a damn matress. Eventually tho he stops fighting it, his hand finds the pup’s head almost on its own and would absentmindedly pet it gently, or he’ll be at the gym, running on the treadmill, and notice the dog watching him with all excited, and one day, he takes a chance and heads outside, and runs with him.

and slowly, John realizes he’s getting attached. He misses the dog when Bob takes him out to pee or it's just spending time with the team. He waits for him to curl up on his lap.

And for the first time, he starts questioning why he never let himself have that before, that small, uncomplicated loyal af pure love.

And months later, when Bob walks into their room one evening, he stops in the doorway. There’s John, fast asleep on his side, with Bandit (John chose the name, of course) sprawled right against his chest, both of them breathing in the same rhythm. John’s arm is draped protectively around the tiny body like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and bob just stands there grinning, trying not to laugh because he knew this would happen eventually. John Walker, the man who swore animals don’t belong inside, now refusing to let one out of his bed.

he just snaps a picture and goes out to show it the team.

AND IMAGINE, YEARS LATER, the 3 of them live together in a little house, and the little pup isn’t so little or so pup anymore. His muzzle has gone soft and sugar-powdered, the gold fading into white. He doesn’t jump up on the couch the same way, and his running days are slower and shorter. and john notices , he notices when Bandit pauses halfway through a game of fetch, or when he takes longer to climb the stairs. And it hits him hard, that this best friend he never meant to let into his life is getting old.

He doesn’t say much about it, but Bob catches the way his hand lingers on Bandits fur a little longer, how he stays on the floor with him because its getting harder for Bandit to jump to the bed, scratching behind the ears just to feel that tail wag one more time. And one night, John breaks.

He’s sitting on the edge of their bed, Bandit curled by his feet when he says softly “I don’t get it. One day he was chasing me around the yard, and now… now he can barely keep up. He's getting so old, what am I supposed to do?” like there's an answer to those kind of soul crushing questions

Bob sits down next to him and then smiles that crooked, infuriating smile John loves. “Guess it’s the same thing you’re supposed to do with me. Pretend not to notice the white hairs, love me anyway, and keep putting up with my snoring.”

It’s a joke, but it cuts through John’s ache. He huffs out a laugh and leans against Bob’s shoulder. Bob doesn’t push further, just rests a hand over John’s and rubs his thumb over his knuckles, reminding him they still have time , with both the dog and with each other.

And John realizes that for someone who once swore animals didn’t belong inside, his entire home now feels unimaginable without this little old dog snoring at the foot of the bed, and without Bob beside him to ease the fear of losing things he loves.

[furiouscauldron]

I love all of the art of them just sleeping like that. Cuddled. Safe.

[ID: Drawing of John Walker and Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts* cuddling. Lying on a bed, John's on his back with Bob curled into his side. Their hands are intertwined, and John's other hand is on Bob's neck. END ID.]

mildly obsessed with them unfortunately