peterparker-spid3erman

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Comfy Cozy - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings xo

Thanks for all the love! <3

Avengers Tower was unusually still—the kind of quiet that only came late at night, when the city’s hum faded into a distant murmur and most of the team had long since turned in.

She sat curled up in the corner of the couch in the common room, a thick knit blanket draped over her legs and a worn paperback resting in her hands. The book had been her escape for the evening—something calm and grounding, far removed from the chaos their world often brought.

Bob Reynolds wandered the room like a restless shadow. He didn’t know what had drawn him out of bed—well, that wasn’t true. He did know. The Void was stirring again. Whispering. Pressing against the corners of his mind like a storm trying to seep through cracks in a windowpane.

He stopped when he saw her.

She looked peaceful, completely absorbed in the pages of her book, brow faintly furrowed in thought. The soft light from a nearby lamp lit her face in gold. Bob felt the tension in his chest ease just a little.

He crossed the room slowly. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that broke the silence without shattering it.

She glanced up, surprised to find him there but not at all displeased. “I could ask you the same.”

Bob offered a small smile and nodded toward the spot beside her. “Mind if I sit?”

She shifted, making room. “Not at all.”

He sank onto the couch, his body still taut with unease, but less so now. Being near her always had a calming effect—like a tether to reality, to the light he kept fighting to hold onto.

“What are you reading?” he asked, leaning just a bit to catch the cover.

She tilted the book slightly so he could see. “One of my favorites—The Hobbit. I figured my brain needed a break from… everything.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve never read it.”

She turned back to the first page and read aloud, “In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

“Are you going to read the whole book to me? Because I could listen to you all night,” he said, adjusting himself and propping his legs on the ottoman.

“If you ask nicely,” she replied with a smile.

For a moment, silence settled again—this time, companionable. She stared down at the book, unmoving. Then, quietly, he turned toward her. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

She gave him a side glance. “Just thinking about what comes next.”

He frowned slightly, not out of worry, but recognition. “Big thoughts for a cozy night.”

She shrugged, slipping her thumb between the pages to mark her place. “I think the quiet makes room for them. When everything stops moving, it’s hard not to wonder what’s waiting around the corner.”

Bob nodded slowly. He knew that feeling all too well. “Yeah. Sometimes the quiet’s worse than the noise.”

A beat passed.

“You know, you think better when you’re comfortable,” he said after a moment, voice low. “My shoulder’s available, if you want it.”

“Bob,” she said softly, smiling. “You can just say you want to cuddle with me. I’ll say yes.”

“Fine.” His cheeks grew warm, but he said softly, “I want to cuddle with you.”

She laughed, the sound soft and warm, then gently reached for his arm, guiding it around her as she nestled closer. Her head found its place against his shoulder, and with a content sigh, she shifted again—stretching her legs out and draping them across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t move, just let it happen, as if he’d been waiting for her to do exactly that. His hand came to rest lightly on her knee, and for the first time that night, everything felt still in the best possible way.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

Her eyes drifted shut. “Yeah. It is.”

Bob wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, cocooned in quiet warmth and the soft flicker of lamplight, but for once he wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of the blanket as her breathing evened out, calm and steady beside him.

“You’re really good at this,” she murmured after a while.

“At what?” he asked, voice low.

“This. Being here. Letting everything feel... safe.”

Bob let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Safe isn’t usually the word people associate with me.”

“Well,” she said, turning her head just slightly to look up at him, “maybe they just don’t know you like I do.”

Her words made something flutter behind his ribs—an unfamiliar softness, a warmth he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. He glanced down at her, eyes catching hers, and everything else—the weight of the Void, the world outside, the chaos always waiting in the wings—just faded.

“You make it easy,” he said quietly.

She smiled, shifting her legs slightly on his lap, toes brushing against the side of his thigh. “I don’t think that’s true,” she teased. “I’m very high maintenance. Just ask Sam.”

Bob smirked. “You’re a menace. But you're my favorite kind.”

A playful glint lit her eyes. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Reynolds.”

He tilted his head, the smile on his face turning lopsided. “Maybe it is.”

“Guess I should warn you,” she said, voice softening, “I tend to flirt back.”

She was so close now, and Bob didn’t need heightened senses to notice the shift in the air—the quiet magnetism of a shared affection finally acknowledged. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek before tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze

“Then I’m definitely not stopping,” he said.

And then—slowly, giving her time to pull away—he leaned in. Her breath caught just slightly, but she didn’t move, didn’t look away. Their lips met in a kiss that was gentle, unhurried, warm. A kiss that felt like the start of something real.

When they pulled apart, barely an inch between them, she smiled—soft and a little shy.

“I was hoping you would do that,” she said.

Bob looked at her for a moment, like he was memorizing everything—her eyes, her voice, the way she looked at him.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he said quietly.

She reached up, her fingers brushing his. “Me too.”

And in the silence that followed, there was no doubt—whatever this was, it mattered.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Late Night Arrival - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Technically the next part to Over My Head, but can be read on it's own!

Warnings: 18+ / Oral / Sex

You guys have been loving all my Bob content, thank you so much for all the positive feedback!

The rooftop of the Compound was quiet, save for the low hum of cooling Quinjet engines and the whisper of wind that tugged at the edges of the landing pad. Overhead, the sky unfurled in a wide, endless stretch. Below them, the Compound slept. Construction vehicles sat idle, shadows pooled at their feet, and the faint glow from interior windows flickered. 

Y/N stepped off the Quinjet first, her boots striking the metal with a dull, resolute thud. Bob followed close behind, his own steps slower, heavier, like he was giving her space—or maybe bracing himself. He didn’t speak. Just trailed her to the rooftop access door, his presence solid, steady, a quiet shadow at her back.

Neither of them said a word.

Not until she stopped at the doorway, one hand resting on the handle. She turned, expression unreadable, but the slight arch of her brow and the way her arms crossed over her chest made the statement all on its own.

“You know,” she said dryly, “you’re not what I expected when Sam warned me about you.”

Bob folded his arms across his broad chest, brow lifting with amusement. “Let me guess—less finesse, more charm?”

She snorted. “Less brain cells, more muscles.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Ouch.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It hummed between them like a live wire—taut, electric, with something sharp coiled underneath. 

“You want to know something?” he asked, voice low.

She shifted, leaning back against the concrete wall with a smirk. “I bet you’re going to tell me even if I say no.”

He stepped closer. Just a little. Just enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. “I could take you right here, right now,” he said, pointing to the very wall she leaned on. “Right against that.”

Her smirk widened—dangerous, slow, all teeth. “That supposed to be a threat? Because it sounds like a great time to me.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice dropped another octave, a dark rasp that shivered along her spine.

“Fucking on the roof,” she murmured, gaze raking over him like a weapon. “Sounds like fun.”

His jaw tensed, sharp and tight. “You’ve got a real mouth on you.”

She tilted her head, unapologetic. “You gonna do something about it?”

A beat of tension cracked the air between them—and then he moved.

One hand fisted the back of her thigh, the other splayed across her ass, pulling her into him like he couldn’t stand the space anymore. His mouth crashed into hers—brutal, searing, all grit and hunger and pent-up frustration. Fingers clawed at fabric, catching on the edges of armor plates. Her hands yanked at his collar, dragging him down, meeting his ferocity with her own.

There was no romance. Just heat and chaos, desperation masquerading as dominance. Their teeth clashed, tongues tangled, both of them battle-worn and raw, their kiss tasting of adrenaline and something darker. 

She kissed him like it was war—deliberate, merciless, until he shoved her harder against the wall, pressing his body flush to hers. She gasped into his mouth, her breath caught on the edge of a moan.

When they finally pulled apart, their chests heaved in unison, foreheads resting together, lips swollen and red.

His mouth dragged along her jaw, down the line of her throat, and then he looked up, voice rough.

“Had to shut you up somehow.”

She grinned, sharp and triumphant, then caught his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently. Her hand slipped between them, trailing down the front of his suit until it rested right where he was already hard for her.

Her voice was nothing but silk and steel. “Looks like I win.”

His breath hitched against her neck as her hand stayed right where it was, palm firm over the bulge in his suit. For a second, he just looked at her—eyes dark and a little bit wild.

“Are we gonna do this now?” he asked, voice thick and strained. “Because I’m growing impatient.”

She arched a brow, the slow curl of her smile doing unspeakable things to him. Her fingers pressed just a little harder, teasing. “Tempting. Really.”

Then she leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “But there are, like, six cameras pointed right at us right now. If exhibitionism’s your thing, be my guest.”

Bob paused—visibly wrestling between the fire raging in him and the idea of the Avengers watching him screw their most powerful asset on the rooftop. He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tight.

“Why don’t you show me your room, then?” he said, his hand still on her hip, fingers twitching with restraint.

She hummed, amused. “Why don’t we just get back on the plane…”

She leaned back so he could see the spark in her eyes, the wicked twist to her mouth.

“…and go somewhere no eyes or ears can follow. Just you, me, and whatever happens next.”

He stared at her for a beat, then he smirked. “Lead the way.”

She turned on her heel, cool and collected like she hadn’t just kissed the breath out of him, and walked back toward the Quinjet with a saunter that was very, very intentional.

He followed, silently vowing that once they were in the air, there’d be no more holding back.

~

The trees surrounded them in silence—tall, dark, ancient things standing like sentinels as the moonlight filtered through the branches. It was quiet here. Still. No cameras. No eyes. No ears. Just the soft rustle of leaves, the distant hum of nature, and the sharp, electric tension pulsing between them.

Bob pressed her back against the rough bark of a tree, hands planted on either side of her head, caging her in. His eyes searched hers—heated, hungry, but waiting. Waiting for that last sliver of permission.

She didn’t give it with words.

She hooked a hand around the back of his neck, pulled him in, and kissed him like she meant to ruin him.

That was all it took.

His mouth crushed hers again, his body pinning her to the tree, hips already grinding into hers like he’d been starving for this—for her. She gasped into his mouth, fingers brushing down his chest to his stomach, then he knelt down in front of her. 

She looked down, breath ragged, as he lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, mouth hot and open against her inner thigh. He didn’t rush—no, he took his damn time. Licked up slowly, deliberately, watching her the whole time until she cursed and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“Don’t tease me,” she snapped.

He smirked. “Not teasing. Memorizing.”

And then he buried his mouth between her legs, groaning like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

She bit her bottom lip, hard, head falling back against the tree as his tongue dragged through her folds, slow and deep, until her knees buckled. One arm braced against the bark, the other still tangled in his hair, she moaned his name, low and raw.

He worked her like he already knew every part of her—alternating pressure, speed, tongue and lips and just enough of his fingers to have her gasping, thighs trembling. Her orgasm hit fast and hard, the tension snapping like a cord pulled too tight, and she cried out, hips bucking against his face.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes heavy with lust.

“I want you inside of me,” she purred, voice wrecked.

He thrust into her in one hard, perfect motion, and they both groaned at the contact—skin on skin, raw and unfiltered. The tree scraped against her back, rough and grounding, while he drove into her like he couldn’t get deep enough.

He fucked her like he meant it—fast, desperate, hard enough to rattle the air from her lungs. Each thrust sent her higher, pushed her further, her cries echoing in the darkness, and still, he didn’t let up. His mouth found her shoulder, her throat, her lips—biting, kissing, gasping her name like a prayer.

“God, you feel—fuck,” he choked out, forehead dropping to hers.

She grabbed his jaw, forced his gaze back to hers. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he didn’t.

They came apart together, her nails digging into his back, his teeth biting down on her shoulder as he spilled inside her, both of them trembling, breathless, still pressed against the tree.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the sound of their breathing, the wind, the forest holding its breath.

Then she smirked, lips brushing his ear. “Told you getting back on the plane was a good idea.”

He laughed, voice wrecked. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Bucky Barnes Fluff

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: After Y/N almost got seriously hurt during a mission, Bucky opens up to Y/N (fluff)

----

With another brutal kick, the Flag Smasher’s boot collided with Y/N’s chest, knocking the wind from her lungs and launching her off the top of the moving truck. The world spun wildly around her, but before the ground could meet her with unforgiving force, a pair of strong arms—one warm and human, the other cool and vibranium—caught her mid-air.

They tumbled through the tall grass, rolling together in a blur of limbs and adrenaline until they finally came to a stop, the momentum spent. Bucky landed above her, his body tense and protective, the weight of him pinning her gently against the earth. His vibranium hand was curled around her waist, fingers splayed possessively, like he still hadn’t registered she was safe.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low, rough from the fight—or maybe from the panic of almost losing her.

Y/N blinked up at him, heart still racing. “Yeah, I’m fine… you’re just really heavy,” she muttered, pressing her hands against his broad, solid chest, half to push him off, half to ground herself in the fact that they were both still breathing.

Bucky groaned and rolled onto his back beside her, flopping onto the grass with a grunt. “You didn’t say that last night when I was on top of you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she turned her head to glare at him, lips twitching. “I hate you.”

A lazy, boyish chuckle escaped him, and before she could retaliate, Sam landed next to them in a swirl of wings and confusion, clearly oblivious to whatever this was between the two of them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning her quickly for injuries.

Y/N pushed herself up, brushing grass from her clothes. “Never better,” she said with a grin, while Bucky smirked silently behind her.

As Sam checked her over, Bucky stood, brushing off his jacket, his usual scowl softening just slightly as he looked at Y/N. She caught it, of course—she always did—but played it cool, casually tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she gave Sam a thumbs up.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, though her ribs ached and her pride was a little bruised.

“Right,” Sam said slowly, glancing between her and Bucky. “We got our asses handed to us. We need to regroup and figure out a way to take them down…preferably without Walker and his sidekick.”

Y/N shot Bucky a pointed look.

“You need to practice working on your landing.” Bucky deadpanned. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.” 

Y/N scoffed, lightly elbowing him in the side. “You’re lucky you caught me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t let you fall,” he murmured, voice low enough only she could hear.

The tension that passed between them then was electric—familiar, dangerous, and far too obvious.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

“Nothing!” Y/N chirped too quickly, stepping away from Bucky. “Absolutely nothing.”

Bucky just gave a half-smile, smug and silent.

But as they turned back toward the mission, Y/N felt it—the way Bucky’s fingers brushed hers for just a second. A silent promise. A secret shared.

----

The safe house was quiet, tucked deep in the woods, far from the chaos of the mission. It was small but secure—just three bedrooms, creaky wooden floors, and a fire that crackled softly in the hearth downstairs. Sam had passed out hours ago on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, a half-eaten protein bar still clutched in his hand.

Y/N had tried to sleep. She’d changed into the soft cotton joggers and hoodie she always traveled with, curled under the too-thin blanket, and closed her eyes. But her ribs ached, her mind was too loud, and her body couldn’t quite forget the feeling of falling—or her boyfriend's arms that caught her.

Eventually, she gave up.

She padded barefoot down the dim hallway, quietly so that she didn’t wake Sam up. She did not feel like answering any of his questions as she paused outside Bucky’s door. She listened for any sound of movement before she turned the handle quietly and slipped inside. 

Bucky was stretched out on the bed, the soft cotton of his light blue t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places, his long legs tangled lazily in the sheets. The glow of his phone lit up his face, casting gentle shadows across his jaw. As soon as the door creaked open, he looked up—his dark hair a tousled mess, like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His blue eyes found hers instantly, softening with that familiar warmth that never failed to make her breath hitch.

Y/N froze in the doorway, her heart skipping a beat, cheeks blooming with heat like it was the first time all over again. A whole year together, and still, one look from him had her stomach doing somersaults.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice rough from disuse but comforting all the same.

Y/N shook her head, closing the door behind her. “Too much adrenaline. And my side hurts,” she admitted, rubbing her ribs with a wince.

Bucky sat up a little, concern flickering across his features. “Come here.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. The bed dipped as she climbed in beside him, pulling the blanket over her legs before leaning into his side. He shifted easily, letting her settle against his chest, his vibranium arm curling gently around her back.

With a contented sigh, she nestled her head against his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—something clean and comforting—immediately soothing her. Without a word, her fingers sought his, intertwining with an ease that spoke of a thousand quiet moments just like this.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, muffled slightly against the fabric of his shirt.

A low, affectionate chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she felt it beneath her cheek, the sound wrapping around her like a hug. “Good,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of hers. “Means you’ll stay right here.”

She smiled at that, pressing a little closer.

They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the wind outside rustle the trees, the faint pop of the fire from the other room. 

Then Bucky spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was scared today.”

Y/N blinked, lifting her head slightly to look at him. “You?”

He met her gaze, his eyes unusually open. Vulnerable. “Yeah. When I saw you go over the edge of that truck... I thought I was going to lose it. I’ve never had to worry about someone like that. Not in the middle of a mission.”

Her expression softened as she gently squeezed his hand. “You caught me.”

“I always will,” he said quietly, like a vow.

Y/N swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Thanks for worrying.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you, Y/N,” he murmured. “You’re... not just part of the mission anymore.”

Her heart thudded hard at that—but it was a good kind of thud. The kind that told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“I guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” she teased, nuzzling back into his chest.

“Damn right you are.”

And in the safety of that quiet room, wrapped in strong arms and steady heartbeats, Y/N finally drifted off to sleep.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Over My Head - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings!

You guys have been loving all my Bob content, thank you so much for all the positive feedback :D

Bob soared through the thin mountain air, cloak billowing behind him as the compound came into view below—a mess of concrete bunkers nestled between jagged peaks. The night was quiet, stars glittering overhead, but the tension humming through his body said otherwise.

According to intel, the group holed up here was trafficking magical artifacts and powered weapons. Not a great combo.

“Get in, neutralize, and try not to get hurt,” Bucky groaned in his ear.

Bob touched down near the bunker door, boots crunching on gravel. He paused, head tilting. Inside, chaos was already unfolding—yelling, crashes, and distant bursts of power.

“Uh, Buck?” he murmured. “There’s a lot of noise coming from inside there.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I see a heat signature,” Bucky said finally. “But it doesn’t exactly look…human?”

A second later, the bunker door exploded off its hinges.

Bob’s arm shot up on instinct, golden energy wrapping around the metal slab as he hurled it aside. He squinted through the haze—and his heart stuttered.

She was already here.

Y/N.

The same woman who’d knocked him flat on his ass a week ago when they’d first met. She hadn’t broken a sweat—had just winked and walked away, leaving him speechless and bruised. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Now, she was here—fire in her eyes, power humming around her like a live wire—and she was wrecking the place.

Bob dropped down behind her, just as she melted a soldier’s rifle into a puddle of goo with a lazy flick of her fingers.

“You always crash parties like this?” he called out, stepping over a groaning man.

She didn’t turn, but he noticed her heart rate spike. “Only when I don’t get an invite.”

He grinned. “You’re making quite the mess.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching his with a spark that made something inside him jolt. “I like things messy. More fun that way.”

“I bet you do.”

Her brows arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The first time we met, you destroyed half a city block tossing me around.”

“I was proving a point.”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “That I had zero chance of winning.”

Before she could reply, a new group of mercenaries came charging into the room.

She didn’t miss a beat, hurling a wave of telekinetic force that knocked the front line flat. Bob launched forward beside her, slamming his fist into a soldier’s chest and sending him flying.

They moved like they’d trained together for years. Her powers twined with his, pulsing in sync, each movement fluid and sharp. She sent enemies hurtling into walls while he cleared the path with raw, burning force.

“You fight like a wrecking ball,” she called out, ducking under a punch. “No finesse. Just power and prayers.”

Bob laughed, spinning to knock a man out cold. “You fight like a pissed-off ballerina with anger issues.”

She threw him a look over her shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

She tossed a grenade back at the sender with a casual flick—boom—and gave him a sly smile. “Are you flirting with me or insulting me?”

“What do you think?”

She smirked. “I think you are, but you’re in way over your head, big guy.”

Before he could answer, something in his gut twisted. His powers sparked as he sensed the threat behind her.

“Y/N—.”

She turned too late.

Bob lunged, grabbing her waist and yanking her into him. Her back hit his chest just as a soldier lunged out of the shadows with a knife, blade flashing. The swing missed her throat by inches as Bob raised his other hand and unleashed a burst of golden light, blasting the attacker into the wall.

The air was thick with adrenaline.

Y/N spun around in his arms and blinked up at him, breath catching. Her body was pressed against his, her hand instinctively gripping the front of his suit. His hand still rested on her waist, fingers curling just a little tighter before he forced himself to let go.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“I had him,” she breathed, not moving away.

“Sure you did.” His grin softened, warm and teasing. “Just figured I’d save your life for balance. You know—after you humiliated me in front of my team.”

Her hand lingered on his chest for a second longer before pulling away. “I was told I had to knock the ‘new strongest Avenger’ down a notch.”

“Careful,” he murmured, stepping closer again, “flattery might get you dinner.”

She arched a brow, lips quirking. “Did you just ask me out?”

“I most definitely did.”

Another wave of mercs appeared, and she sighed, cracking her neck with exaggerated annoyance.

“We finish this first,” she said, power radiating off her. “Then maybe you can buy me that drink—if you don’t trip over another unconscious body.”

He gave a dramatic salute. “Tactical stumble. Very advanced technique.”

They surged forward together—her a blaze of focused chaos, him a golden storm of force. When the last merc fell and the smoke cleared, the compound was silent, not quite in pieces, but pretty damn close.

Y/N stood beside him, wind tugging strands of hair from her face, eyes still glowing faintly.

Bob glanced at her, heart hammering.

“So…” he started, brushing a cut on his cheek absentmindedly, “about that drink?”

She didn’t answer at first—just walked past him slowly, fingertips trailing over his arm in a featherlight touch that made him stiffen in surprise.

Then, over her shoulder, she said with a soft, dangerous smile:

“Why don’t you just take me home, and we see what happens?”

He stared after her, completely gone.

“…I am so in over my head,” he muttered—and followed her without hesitation.

There was a sharp crackle in his earpiece, then Bucky’s voice came through, deadpan and disgusted: “I just heard every word of that, and I want to throw up.”

Bob froze mid-step. Y/N turned around with a curious smirk. “Everything okay?”

Without a word, Bob pulled the earpiece out and dropped it on the ground, then stomped on it with a satisfying crunch.

He looked up at her, grin lazy and sure. “Everything’s perfect.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Y/N and Bucky are always arguing but underneath the arguing there is something more.

---

The safehouse was quiet, save for the scratch of Y/N’s boot across the floor as she paced in tight, agitated circles. Sam sat on the worn couch, nursing a coffee, watching her with an amused expression.

“You’re gonna wear a trench in the tile,” he said.

Y/N didn’t look up. “Then maybe someone will finally fix the plumbing while they’re at it.”

Before Sam could respond, the door opened with a low creak.

Heavy boots. A leather jacket. A glint of metal. Blue eyes. 

Y/N stopped pacing but her heart began to beat faster. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“Good to see you too,” Bucky Barnes said flatly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 

Y/N’s eyes swept over him before she could stop herself.

His hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, the scruffy length replaced by something neater, sharper—but it didn’t make him look any less like trouble. If anything, it made the angles of his face more striking, the steel in his eyes harder to ignore.

He wore a pair of dark blue jeans that fit him a little too well, paired with a simple gray t-shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to be distracting. Over it, the familiar dark leather jacket—worn at the edges, like it had seen more than its share of nights just like this one.

Still him. Still Bucky. A little more tired. A little more unreadable. Still ridiculously, unfairly good-looking.

Sam groaned, standing on the opposite side of the room, already knowing what was about to take place. “Here we go…”

Y/N crossed her arms, eyes narrowing like she’d just been handed a punishment rather than a mission. “I thought you were off brooding in Brooklyn or whatever it is you do when you’re not starting bar fights.”

“I got a call,” Bucky replied, jaw already tight like it physically pained him to be in the same room. “Didn’t realize you’d be here, or else I would’ve said no.”

Y/N blinked slowly, unamused. “Aw, and here I thought you missed glowering at me across the room.”

Sam raised both hands, already regretting life. “Okay. Ground rules—no stabbing, no sniping, no snide comments, no killing each other.”

Y/N and Bucky immediately replied, deadpan and in perfect sync: “Then they have to leave.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I miss Steve.”

Bucky smirked. “He wouldn’t have let her talk to me like that.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N shot back. “Steve was team me the second I showed him how to do a proper disarm.”

“You cheated” Bucky gritted. “You used pepper spray.”

“It was tactical.”

“It was petty.”

“It worked.”

Sam muttered under his breath, “I swear I’m too old for this.”

Y/N turned to him, innocent. “What? We’re just catching up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added dryly. “You know, bonding.”

“If by bonding you mean barely tolerating each other’s existence,” Sam mumbled. “Sure. Great. Love that for us.”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, c’mon, Barnes. Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”

He shot her a look. “Like a rash.”

“Like an itch you can’t quite reach?” she teased, stepping just a little closer.

“Like a headache that talks back.”

Y/N clutched her chest dramatically. “You do care.”

“I’m praying for an excuse to leave.”

Sam muttered something about regretting all his life choices and walked into the kitchen, leaving Y/N and Bucky staring at each other, the tension in the room thick.

---

Later that day, the three of them were staking out a suspected Flag Smasher hideout—Bucky in the alley, Y/N on the rooftop, Sam above them both in the drone.

“Your comms are off again,” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Bucky’s voice crackled back. “Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet.”

She huffed. “God forbid someone try to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You keep saying that. I keep not believing it.”

He sighed heavily. “Look, I’ve been doing this long before you started playing sidekick to Sam—”

“Excuse me?” she snapped.

“You heard me.”

There was a tense silence over the line before Y/N muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“And you never shut up.”

“You never smile.”

“You never stop talking long enough to make me want to,” Bucky snapped. 

Sam’s voice crackled in: “I swear to God, if you two don’t start flirting with less hostility, I’m going to crash this drone.”

---

There were moments—small, unspoken ones—that carried more weight than any argument ever could. Something neither Y/N nor Bucky dare speak of out loud. 

Like when Y/N stumbled during a chase, her footing lost for just a split second—and Bucky was already there. His hand on the small of her back like it belonged there, steady and sure. She stiffened, spine straightening as she glanced at him with a flicker of defiance. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing it off like it didn’t matter but in reality her heart was pounding. Not from almost falling but from the placement of his hand- afraid to admit she liked it. 

He didn’t move, not right away. His hand lingered—just long enough to say everything he didn’t. “I know,” he murmured, low and steady.

Or the night she’d fallen asleep at the table, exhaustion pulling her under while intel files lay all around her. Bucky had watched her for a moment, then eased the tablet from her fingers with more care than most people gave breakable things. He draped his jacket over her shoulders—soft, worn, and carrying the faint scent of him—without a word.

Then there was the time she caught him staring. She’d felt it first, like warmth on the back of her neck, and when she turned, there he was—blue eyes locked on her like she was something worth memorizing. He looked away too quickly, but it was too late.

She’d seen it and had already begun to feel the same way.

---

The tension between them finally snapped, unraveling in the aftermath of a mission gone sideways.

The safehouse was dim, still humming with adrenaline and silence too loud to ignore. The echo of gunfire clung to Y/N’s skin like smoke, and Bucky’s jacket was still spattered with dirt and blood that wasn’t his.

“You almost got yourself killed!” she exploded, her voice sharp as she began pacing, hands clenched at her sides. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I had it under control,” Bucky growled back, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

“No, you didn’t! You jumped in front of that guy like—like your life doesn’t matter!”

He stood slowly, deliberately, tension rippling through his shoulders. “And what? You care now?”

Y/N stopped mid-step. Her breath hitched.

“I see how you look at me,” he said, quieter now. “Like I’m a grenade that hasn’t gone off yet.”

She laughed, bitter and breathless. “You think that’s it? You think I argue with you because I’m scared of you?” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer to him. “You don’t scare me, Bucky. You never have.”

He froze, surprised—caught off guard by the softness buried beneath her anger.

“I argue with you,” she continued, more gently now, “because you make me insane. Because you throw yourself into danger like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you act like you’re not allowed to matter to anyone.”

His jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“So what?” he asked finally, voice low, unsteady. “You’re saying you care about me now?”

“Yes!” she shouted, exasperated. “You stubborn, reckless idiot.”

Bucky just stared at her, stunned into silence.

She broke eye contact, running a hand through her hair with a shaky breath. “God, I didn’t want to feel anything for you. I told myself you were a headache, a pain in the ass, someone I had to put up with. But somewhere between the death glares and the brooding... I started to see you.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I realized I care. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Bucky stepped forward, slow and cautious. 

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” he murmured. “Just… don’t take it back.”

Y/N met his eyes again. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. Just silence, and the distance between them—closing inch by inch.

Then, softly, Bucky said, “I care about you too.”

Y/N turned to him.

“I just... don’t always know how to show it,” he added.

She stepped closer. “Try.”

And he did.

---

The kiss wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t all heat and urgency or cinematic sparks.

It was something quieter—gentler. A moment that didn’t demand attention but deserved it, soft and grounding in all the ways neither of them expected.

His metal hand hovered just above her hip, uncertain, trembling with the weight of hesitation and history. Like he was afraid to touch something too good, too real.

But his other hand—his human one—was surer. It cradled her cheek with aching tenderness, calloused thumb brushing her skin.

She leaned into the touch before she could think better of it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N smirked faintly. “That wasn’t terrible.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you kiss me again.”

He did.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Hard to Measure - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings! Sentry meets his match, some tension.

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

Bob slammed into the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the pavement.

Not because he landed.

Because someone put him there.

The world tilted for a second, sound ringing in his ears like a struck bell. Smoke curled into the air. His ribs throbbed with a deep, unfamiliar ache. He blinked through the haze, dazed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then came the laugh — light and amused.

“Seriously?” a voice rang out. “That’s Sentry? I was expecting more.”

Bob groaned before looking up to see her.

She descended slowly, feet touching the ground softly. She was surrounded by a shimmer of telekinetic energy that warped the air like heat off asphalt. Dressed in radiant white, her cape-skirt billowed, gold shoulder armor resembling wings. Power crackled at her fingertips like it had always belonged there.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, rising slowly.

She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His brow creased. “Bucky didn’t mention you.”

“Funny, that,” she said with a lopsided smile. “He tends to underestimate me.”

She vanished — then reappeared behind him like a ripple in the atmosphere. Bob spun too late, caught midair by an invisible force that yanked him upward like a marionette.

“Okay,” he grunted, straining against the hold. “When I get out of this, you’re in for a lot of pain.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Is that a promise?”

A golden flare lit across his body — radiant and sharp. With a thundercrack of energy, he shattered the telekinetic grip, blasting free. Trees tore from the ground, the shockwave rippling outward. He hovered midair, golden eyes locked on her now, focused and alert.

“You’re strong,” he said.

She gave a casual shrug, unimpressed. “You’re slow.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

This time, he moved first — a blur of light and speed. His fist connected midair, a clean strike that sent her tumbling through the sky. She righted herself quickly, laughing under her breath as she rubbed her ribs.

“There it is,” she said. “Was wondering when you’d finally ask me to dance.”

“That was a punch.”

“Same thing.”

She vanished again — reappearing above him. Her boot slammed into his stomach, driving him into the pavement hard enough to split the asphalt. She pressed her heel to his chest, pinning him in place.

“How’s the view from down there, golden boy?”

He groaned, half-laughing. “You’re fast and flirty. Dangerous combination.”

She lifted her boot and stepped back, light crackling around her. “I’ve been told to back down. Lucky you.”

He stood, brushing dust from his suit, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve probably had more practice than me. I’m still getting used to this body.”

“Me too,” she said, flashing a grin and a wink.

Then she was gone — vanishing in a rush of displaced air, her voice trailing behind like an echo:

“Try to keep up.”

Bob stood there a moment, golden light still flickering faintly around him. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head, but only one made it to his lips — a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner.

Bucky definitely left her out on purpose.

~

The road cracked as Bob landed beside Bucky and Yelena, the impact sending a ripple through the dust and debris. Golden light still shimmered faintly around him, but his jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the spot where Sam Wilson stood — waiting for her to appear.

“You good?” Yelena asked, casually scanning him for blood. “You look like you got hit by a meteor.”

“She hits hard,” Bob muttered, rolling his shoulders with a wince.

“I told you to be careful,” Bucky said, flexing his metal arm. “Didn’t think she’d reveal herself this soon.”

“You could’ve at least warned me.”

Yelena smirked. “Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

“Look, Buck,” Sam called over, his tone half-apologetic. “We can talk more about this Avengers thing later. I didn’t mean for your new guy to get his ass handed to him. Hope he’s alright.”

Bucky shrugged, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. “Define ‘alright.’”

Before anyone could answer, a shimmer sliced through the air — heat warping reality — and she appeared beside Sam with a grace that made gravity look like a formality.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky muttered. “Nice to see you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” she said smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Bob. She didn’t blink.

The atmosphere shifted — subtle, quiet — but undeniable. Everyone felt it.

Bob stepped forward. His posture was easy, but the power still hummed beneath his skin.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“No one’s ever caught me off guard like that.”

“No one’s ever kept up with me,” she replied, the edge in her voice wrapped in velvet and steel.

Walker strode over, arms crossed, jaw clenched like always. “You’re supposed to be stronger than all the Avengers,” he said, nodding at Bob. “Avengers-level-plus, right? What the hell happened?”

Bob didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her. “She’s not exactly easy to measure.”

Y/N glanced down at her boots to hide the smirk, but he caught it — and his chest burned a little warmer.

Yelena raised a brow. “Also, she’s not technically an Avenger.”

Bob shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I never said I was,” Yelena replied sweetly.

Bob huffed a dry laugh, then stepped a little closer to Y/N, his voice dipping just for her.

“So what are we, then? Even?”

“Not even close.”

He tilted his head. “You planning to settle the score?”

“Do you think you can handle a rematch?”

His grin was slow, a little wicked. “Sweetheart, I’m hoping for one.”

“You ready to get knocked on your ass again?”

He leaned in, voice like a spark just before the fire. “Depends. Are we still talking about fighting?”

She held his gaze. “You tell me.”

His eyes moved over her — not crude, not shy — just present. Interested. Deeply, recklessly interested.

“You’re lethal when you flirt,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she said. “Yet.”

The silence crackled — taut and electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks.

Sam glanced between them, then leaned in to whisper something to Joaquin.

Bob tilted his head, gold flickering behind his eyes. “Then I should warn you — I won’t be holding anything back.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Good,” she murmured, brushing past him. “I like it rough.”

He watched her go, a rare mix of awe and amusement tugging at his features.

Bucky, who had definitely been listening, muttered to Sam out of the corner of his mouth, “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

You Waited - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Oral / Sex

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

----------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen clock ticked too loudly in the stillness.

Y/N sat on the counter, her legs pulled up just enough to balance a lukewarm mug of coffee between her palms. She didn’t even like coffee—just needed something to keep her awake, something bitter to chase the gnawing anxiety clawing at her chest.

They’d lost comms six hours ago. No distress call, no beacon. Just… nothing. Silence. Static.

Her eyes flicked to the door for the tenth—no, hundredth—time.

“Come on, Bob,” she whispered into the rim of the mug. “Come on. Just walk through the door like you always do.”

They weren’t together—not technically. Not in words. But in the space between words, where glances lingered a beat too long and touches burned with restraint, there was something. Almost. Nearly. Maybe.

A soft rustle behind her—so soft it could’ve been the hum of the refrigerator—made her heart stop.

Before she could turn, a familiar warmth enveloped her. The scent of worn leather and scorched air filled her lungs, unmistakable. 

“You waited up,” he said, voice low.

She turned sharply, coffee sloshing dangerously. “Bob?”

He looked tired, bruised but standing. Alive.

The mug hit the counter as she leapt off it, rounding it quickly to where he stood next to the kitchen table. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips finding his like she’d already made the decision somewhere in the darkest part of the night. It was desperate. Grateful. Messy.

He caught her, his hands strong against her lower back. And then, slowly, he moved, lifting her into his arms in one swoop.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she breathed, voice trembling.

His eyes met hers—dark, intense, unreadable. “I know.”

And then he lowered her onto the table, spreading her thighs apart as he sank to his knees in front of her.

His breath was warm against her inner thigh. He looked up at her from where he knelt, and something in his expression cracked her wide open — need, and something dangerously close to devotion.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered, voice thick with everything she hadn’t been able to say.

“You didn’t,” he murmured. His hands slid up her legs, slow and firm. “I’m right here, on my knees. I want to taste you.”

And then he pulled her shorts down with one smooth motion, baring her to the cool air and his hungry eyes. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crease of her thigh, then another, trailing inward until his mouth finally met her heat.

She fell back against the table as a gasp tore from her lips. He was thorough, unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world to memorize every part of her — the way she tasted, the way she trembled, the way her fingers gripped the edge of the table and her breath broke apart every time his tongue circled her clit just right.

She couldn't think. Could barely breathe as her fingers brushed through his hair and tugged gently.

“Bob…” she moaned, hips bucking against his mouth. His grip tightened on her thighs, keeping her still, grounding her while he pulled her higher and higher, building her up with maddening precision.

Her legs began to shake as his tongue moved up and down, the coil in her belly winding tighter and tighter until it finally snapped — pleasure crashing over her in hot, staggering waves as he kept his mouth on her, working her through every last ripple.

He watched as her chest rose and fell, the sound of her heart racing in his ears. His lips were glistening. His eyes were dark with want. He leaned into her, his body flush against hers in his tight gold and navy suit. “You taste so good.”

Y/N was still breathless when he kissed her again, slower this time, his hands braced on either side of her hips, anchoring them both.

“You waited for me,” he murmured against her lips again, like he couldn’t believe it.

She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “I couldn’t sleep… I just—needed to know you were okay.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. That look in his eyes—tender, torn, wanting—made her heart ache.

“When you look at me like that, my entire body aches for you,” she whispered.

“Good.”

He leaned in again, kissing her deeper this time, tongue coaxing hers in a slow, wet dance that left no room for doubt. She tasted herself on him, and the sheer intimacy of it sent another jolt of heat through her.

Bob’s hands slid under her shirt and swiftly pulled it off over her head. His gaze swept over her, hot and dark, then he kissed a path down her throat, to her collarbone, between her breasts, trying to consume her whole.

She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him close until she could feel the hard line of him through his suit. He was warm, solid, straining against the fabric—and she wanted more.

“How long’s it gonna take to get this thing off?” she asked, voice low and teasing, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. “As much as I love the suit—and God, does it make you look good—I can’t exactly feel you through it.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ve got it.”

He reached behind his neck, unclipping his cape and letting it fall to the floor with a soft whoosh. Then his hands went to his shoulders, fingers that had just been on her now fanning out as he tugged at something invisible. A low hum of movement, and the hidden zipper gave, loosening the suit around him. It peeled away from his frame with almost mechanical grace, bearing sculpted shoulders and a body that made her stomach fill with butterflies.

She exhaled sharply, eyes moving down the hard lines of his chest. “God. If you don’t hurry, I swear I’ll do it all by myself while staring at you.”

He let out a dark chuckle, stepping forward again, his hands sliding back to her thighs. “Tempting.”

Then his fingers dipped between her legs again, parting her, teasing her open as he ground against her deliberately—slow, controlled, maddening.

“Please, Bob…”

He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once—twice—his eyes locked on hers, searching. Waiting.

She met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

He pushed in, slow but relentless, filling her inch by inch until she gasped his name again. He groaned low in his throat, resting his forehead against hers as they both adjusted to the sudden, perfect closeness.

For a long moment, they didn’t move. Just breathed.

Then he started to move—slow, deep thrusts that bordered on excruciating pleasure. Her hands scrambled across his back, nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him impossibly closer.

“You feel…” he breathed, kissing the side of her neck, “so damn good.”

She tightened around him in response, and his rhythm stuttered—just slightly, but enough to tell her exactly how undone she made him.

The kitchen was filled with the wet sound of skin against skin, broken only by gasps, breathless moans, and the quiet, desperate way they said each other’s names like confessions.

When she came again, it was with his name on her lips, her body arching into his, legs wrapped tight around him like she couldn’t bear to let go. He followed seconds later, a low growl rumbling from his chest, her name falling from his mouth like a vow.

They didn’t speak at first—just stayed like that, tangled together on the kitchen table, his forehead resting against her shoulder, her fingers weaving slowly through his hair. Both trembling. Both wrecked.

“You waited,” he said once again, smiling.

“I did,” she replied, running her thumb over his jawline.

That was enough.

They stayed like that for a moment—bare skin, quiet kitchen, dawn creeping in through the window.

After a few minutes, he eased off her and offered a hand. She took it, sliding off the table and reaching for her pajama shorts. Once they were on, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, still catching her breath.

She turned to find him half-dressed, his suit hanging low on his hips.

“You know there are cameras in here,” she said.

His mouth opened—then closed. He glanced at the table, then back at her. “They’re definitely throwing that thing out.”

She snorted, reaching for her coffee and taking a long sip. “They should.”

Bob pulled the rest of his suit on with a quiet grunt, wincing slightly. “Still worth it.”

A pause settled between them. The fridge hummed. Her mug clinked softly on the counter.

He stepped closer, stopping just in front of her, like he wanted to say something more—but didn’t.

So she did. “You hungry?”

He smiled. “Starving.”

She pushed off the counter and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Good. Let’s ruin the stove next.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Y/N admits to Bucky that she has feelings for him

---

Bucky Barnes sat on the worn porch steps of a little house nestled near the bayou, sipping a cup of coffee that was made by Y/N. She had made it a little hot and a little too strong but he didn’t complain. He never did when Y/N made it.

Y/N was Sam’s friend—someone who used to help at the dock with her sleeves rolled up and her mouth full of sharp-witted jokes. She'd seen Bucky at his worst during those early days, still haunted and quiet, carrying the weight of names in a little notebook. But she never looked at him with pity. A few times he had caught her staring at him, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red, when his eyes locked with hers. 

It had been a long time since he had started to get feelings for someone. In fact, he thought that it would never happen again, but he found himself falling fast for Y/N the more he got to know her. 

Now, weeks after the fighting had stopped, he was still here. Not because he had nowhere else to go. Because this place was… comfortable. Everyone was warm, welcoming, and friendly. He liked that most people here didn’t seem afraid of him. 

“You’re brooding again,” Y/N said from behind the screen door. She stepped out barefoot, balancing two plates of food.

Bucky looked up and gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not brooding. I’m contemplating.”

“Contemplating your brooding,” she teased, handing him a plate. “Eat. You didn’t eat anything during dinner.” 

He shifted, accepting the food. “Didn’t feel hungry.”

“You never feel hungry. You just wait until I shove something in front of you.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her hair was messed up from spending the day in the sun,  a hint of sunburn beginning to appear on her shoulder. 

“You take care of me too much,” he said softly.

Y/N sat beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “Maybe I like taking care of you.”

He swallowed, the words catching him off guard. “You shouldn’t. I’ve got… a past. A heavy one.”

She placed her hand in his and squeezed it. “We all do. But you’ve got a future too.”

Bucky glanced down at their hands and laced his fingers through hers, his throat tight. No one ever said that to him without a hint of fear or hesitation. But Y/N? She said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, he believed it.

----

The next day Bucky stood at the edge of the dock, hands in his pockets, watching the water ripple beneath the soft wind. There had been a small dinner together at the Wilsons house and although Bucky enjoyed everyone’s company, he had needed a few minutes alone. He liked the silence, in fact he preferred it. 

Behind him, the sound of Y/N’s laughter echoed from the open windows of her house. He let out a small smile, happy to hear the sound. It was a comfortable sound.  

A few minutes later he heard the sound of soft footprints approaching behind him. “You’re doing it again,” Y/N called, walking down the dock barefoot with two beers in hand. “Contemplating.”

He smirked. “I thought I was brooding.”

“Depends on your posture,” she teased, handing him a bottle. “Tonight you’re contemplative. Less shadows in your eyes.”

He twisted the cap off and took a sip. “Think I’m getting soft.”

“You deserve soft,” she said, leaning against the post beside him. “After everything, you deserve more than just survival.”

Bucky glanced at her. She didn’t flinch when he looked. She never did. That was the thing about Y/N—she didn’t try to fix him, she just saw him. Not as the Winter Soldier, or the White Wolf, or even just Steve’s friend. She saw him.

“Is that what this is?” he asked. “Something 'more'?”

Y/N looked up at him, the last of the light catching in her eyes. “Could be. If you want it to be.”

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want it. But because wanting felt dangerous. Because the last time he let someone in, they either died or were left behind. But here she was—still standing next to him. Still waiting, quietly.

“I want it,” he said, the words coming out rough but honest. “I want more. With you.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just set her beer down, stepped closer, and laid her hand gently on his chest—over the place that still ached sometimes, even when it shouldn’t.

“Then take it,” she whispered.

And so he did.

He leaned in, slowly, giving her every second to pull away. But she didn’t. Her hand slid up, fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw as he kissed her—soft, sure, real. The world didn’t stop, but it got quieter. More focused. Just them. Just now.

When they pulled apart, her smile tugged at the corners of her lips like she’d known this was coming for a long time.

“Told you,” she murmured. “You’re not broken.”

---

The next morning, the rain was pouring down. It was the kind of storm that made you stay in bed longer, wrapped in silence and someone else’s warmth.

Bucky woke first.

Y/N was curled into his side, one arm slung across his chest like she belonged there. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. There was something sacred about the stillness—the way her fingers twitched slightly in sleep, the way her cheek rested against the scarred line of his shoulder like she trusted it not to hurt her.

He stared at the ceiling, heart tight in his chest, as if something fragile inside him might break open if he let it. Not because he was scared of her—but because he was scared of how much this meant.

She stirred eventually, eyelids fluttering open. “You’re thinking again.”

“I think a lot.”

“You also stare like the world might fall apart if you blink.”

He gave a soft laugh. “That obvious?”

“Mmhmm.” She propped herself up on an elbow and studied him, her voice quieter now. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bucky hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I used to wake up like this… in Wakanda. Peaceful. But it was always temporary. Always waiting for something to go wrong.”

“And now?” she asked.

“Now it feels real. And that scares the hell out of me.” He turned to face her fully. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to come knocking. For me to hurt someone without meaning to. For you to leave.”

Her hand found his. “I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t know what being with me really means, Y/N. I have nightmares. I disappear into myself some days. There’s parts of me I’m still trying to forgive.”

She nodded. “And I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I’m here, Bucky. Not just when you’re smiling on the porch, but when it’s 3 a.m. and you’re shaking in the dark. I want all of it, not just the pieces that are easy.”

He closed his eyes, her words wrapping around old wounds like gentle hands. She wasn’t afraid of his shadows. She walked right into them, lit a fire, and sat beside him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “A real relationship. I’ve never had one that wasn’t… wartime or chaos.”

“Then we learn together,” she whispered. “We take the hard days. We hold steady. And we make a home, right here. Even if the world doesn’t stop spinning.”

Bucky nodded slowly, and this time, he didn’t try to hide the emotion in his eyes.

“I’m falling for you, Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “And that terrifies me.”

She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Then be terrified. But fall anyway.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Hands to Yourself - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings, just lots of sexual tension

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

-----------------------------------------------------------

The New Avengers Tower was meant to be a monument—an icon of strength and stability. Sleek, modern lines. Reinforced titanium walls. Floors that didn’t groan beneath the weight of gods or legends.

None of that stopped the way she always felt him.

Robert Reynolds—or Bob, as most of them knew him—never announced his presence. He didn’t stomp like Thor or mouth off like Stark. No—he moved like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking. Quiet. Dense. Charged. Every step deliberate, every breath like it had claws.

When he walked into the training room that morning, damp from a run, sweat clinging to the defined lines of his chest, golden hair wind-tousled like he’d just stepped out of some myth—something primal in her kicked to life. The air changed. Tightened.

She didn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. But she felt his gaze settle on her like gravity.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over a blade.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She dropped deeper into her lunge, ignoring the warm twist in her stomach. “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t imagine,” he murmured, voice dipping into something darker—something that curled around her like smoke. “I know.”

She rose slowly, unhurried, brushing hair from her face. She felt him watching every movement, tracking her like prey. “You psychic now, too? That’s new.”

Bob didn’t answer. Just stepped closer. Not touching, not inappropriate. But close enough that the heat from his body rolled off him like a promise.

“I hear your pulse when I walk in,” he said, voice softer now—intimate. “It spikes.”

She fought the urge to react. But her body betrayed her—heart kicking like it wanted out of her ribs. Her eyes flicked to him. Brief. His gaze was dark and amused.

“Sounds like a you problem,” she said coolly. But her voice had a rasp. Damn it.

His mouth curled into that maddening half-smile—slow and sharp, like he knew too much. “Doesn’t feel like a problem to me.”

She raised a brow, letting her lips tug into something flirtatious—mocking, almost. “You want to spar? Or just stare at me all day?”

“Why not both?” he drawled. “I heard you’ve been bored, looking for someone to knock around.” He paused and tilted his head. “I’m volunteering.”

For a second, she considered walking away. Cutting the tension before it strangled her. But instead, she stepped forward with a grin, dropping into a fighting stance that let him see every inch of her ready and waiting.

“No powers,” she said. 

Bob nodded, and moved into a fighting stance. 

She struck first—fast, sharp, a calculated series of blows that pushed him back a few steps. He moved like water. Smooth, reactive, dangerous. But she was quicker than he expected, and she knew it. Her fist caught his ribs with a satisfying thud, and when she spun low to sweep his legs, he barely avoided the hit.

His grin flickered, more real this time. “Didn’t peg you for a brawler.”

She didn’t answer—just pressed forward, unleashing another flurry of strikes that had him shifting defensively. Still, she got a few good hits in. His breath hitched after one particularly vicious jab to the side, and for a second, he looked…impressed.

Then he caught her wrist.

It wasn’t rough—barely more than a touch. But the second his fingers closed around her skin, her body betrayed her. Heat flushed through her, sharp and sudden, racing down her arm like lightning. Her breath faltered. His hand was hot—warmer than it should’ve been—and it sent a pulse straight to her core.

His eyes caught the flicker of surprise in hers. “Huh,” he murmured, thumb dragging across her pulse. “Interesting.”

She jerked free, spinning out of reach before he could say more, masking the flush in her cheeks with a glare. “Hands to yourself, golden boy.”

“You’re good,” he said, breathing harder. Admiration flickered behind the tension in his eyes. “But not good enough.”

In a blink, he caught her wrist, spun her, and swept her legs out from under her. She hit the mat with a gasp, breath stolen—only to find him already on top of her, pinning her effortlessly.

He wasn’t pressing her down. Just... hovering. But the weight of him, the heat—everything—wrapped around her senses like fire.

His lips hovered just above her throat, the warm brush of breath sending a shiver down her spine.

She could shove him off. Should.

But her body didn’t listen.

His mouth skimmed the curve of her neck—barely touching. Teasing. Her breath caught, a soft, involuntary sound slipping free.

For one electric heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.

She was almost certain she wanted him to.

Instead, his lips brushed her ear, his voice a low rasp. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

Tension coiled like a spring between them. Her pulse thundered.

She smiled, lips parted, breath catching. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

For a moment, it was just breath and heat and the thrum of something wild. Then—

She moved.

A twist of hips, a shift in leverage, and suddenly he was on his back with her straddling his waist, hands on his chest. Her thighs caged him in, her grin smug.

His breath left him in a surprised huff, but the look in his eyes was all heat and approval.

She leaned in slowly—close enough to feel the rush of his breath against her collarbone.

“You were saying?” she murmured, her lips brushing over his—so light, so slow it burned.

His fingers flexed on her hips, and it took everything in her not to melt into him.

“Still hearing my pulse… or is that yours I hear now?”

Bob let out a sharp, rough laugh. His hands slid over her thighs—firm, possessive. Holding. Her restraint wearing thin.

“You play dirty,” he muttered.

She met his eyes, mouth a breath from his. “Only when it’s worth it.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re trouble.”

She grinned. 

Then—

Bob surged up, flipping them again. Fast. Fluid. Dominant.

She was beneath him again, his forearms bracketing her head, his entire body pressed flush against hers—hard muscle, warm skin, and intent heat. She could feel him between her thighs, thick and wanting. All she could think about was what it would feel like to be with him, it made her vision go blurry.

This time, he wasn’t smiling.

His eyes had gone dark. Fixed. Hungry. Not just watching her—consuming her.

“You know what happens to trouble?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, lips brushing along her jaw with maddening slowness. “It gets handled.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her breath caught when his mouth trailed down her neck, slow and claiming. Lips parted, tongue flicking lightly over her skin before his teeth grazed her collarbone—enough to make her hips buck involuntarily beneath him.

Then his hand slid down her side, fingers splaying wide as they curved over the swell of her ass—possessive, firm, like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and wasn’t planning to let go now.

Y/N arched into him with a sharp gasp, the friction between them making her head spin. Her hands found his hair, threading through the brown strands, tugging just enough to earn a low, appreciative sound from deep in his chest.

Her mouth brushed his—a bare kiss that wasn’t really a kiss at all. Just heat. Promise. A maddening tease that made him freeze above her.

“You’re not the only one who likes to win,” she whispered, her voice a breathy challenge against his lips.

His growl rumbled through her, primal and wicked, vibrating against her chest. Then his mouth dipped again, trailing lower, hot and open-mouthed along the top of her breasts, just above the line of her shirt. Every pass of his lips left her burning, her skin hypersensitive under his touch.

“Oh my God.”

They both froze.

Bob’s jaw tightened as he slowly turned his head. Y/N groaned, head thunking back against the mat.

Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed dad. Next to him, Yelena chewed a toothpick, clearly enjoying herself.

“Well,” Bucky said dryly. “That answers so many questions.”

Bob didn’t move. Just stared at them. “You guys ever knock?”

“Door was open,” Yelena said sweetly. “Also—this is technically a public space. You two wanna dry hump in the middle of a government-owned mat, that’s your call.”

Y/N slapped a hand over her face. “I hate you both.”

Yelena grinned. “Love you more.”

Bucky walked past them like it was just another work day. “Try a closet next time. Or, I don’t know—lock the damn door.”

Bob finally rolled off her with a groan, lying flat beside her. “So close.”

Y/N turned her head, still breathless. “So very, very close.”

A beat passed between them, the charged air refusing to settle.

“Maybe we can continue this another day,” she said lightly, teasing but hopeful.

Bob’s gaze raked over her, heat simmering low behind it. “I was thinking… back in my room. Fifteen minutes.”

Her grin deepened, slow and wicked, the kind that made promises without saying a word. She leaned in just enough for her lips to graze his ear again, her breath warm and teasing.

“Make it ten,” she whispered, then pushed to her feet—leaving him on the mat, watching her walk away like she’d just won the match in more ways than one.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Distract Me - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay / Sex

Y'all definitely wanted this, so here you go! More to come because I can't seem to stop.

Thank you for all the love! xo

--------------------------------------------------

Y/N entered Bob’s room without knocking, the soft creak of the door the only sound to announce her. She didn’t need to ask—she knew he’d be here, stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it held answers only he could see. And there he was, headphones in, still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She lingered in the doorway, heart heavy. He’d used his powers today—again. And again, it had been for her.

She hated it. Hated what it did to him. Every time he tapped into it, the Void stirred, threatening to take him from her. It left him drained, quieter, the light behind his eyes a little dimmer each time. She was always the first to say no when the others asked. The one who stood between him and danger if it meant keeping him from turning.

But he did it anyway. Not for glory.

For them.

For her.

She closed the door softly and crossed the room. He didn’t look at her, but his fingers twitched—he knew. She slipped off her boots and socks, letting them fall quietly to the floor, then climbed into bed beside him. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was thick with unspoken things—gratitude, frustration, fear.

She reached out, and her fingers brushed his—warm, steady, familiar.

He turned to look at her, his eyes glowing with that unnatural, golden-white light. It was still there—burning, dangerous—but dimming, as if her presence was pulling it back, grounding him.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently.

Bob took a slow breath, but the lines in his face didn’t soften. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him. Her heart ached at how far away he seemed, even lying right beside her. But she didn’t look away.

“I’m here if you need me. If there is anything I can do…”

He hesitated before answering, voice low. “Distract me. Somehow.”

She nodded, a quiet decision settling in her bones. They hadn’t been intimate—not yet. What they had was slow and tender, full of stolen glances and careful touches, like neither of them wanted to risk breaking something fragile. But tonight, that caution felt distant. He needed her, and she needed him to come back.

She climbed over him, straddling his hips with deliberate care. The hem of her skirt brushed his thighs as she leaned in, taking his hands in hers.

Bob didn’t resist, just watched her closely. 

Wordlessly, she guided them to her bare skin, placing them on her thighs—warm, soft, grounding. Her fingers didn’t let go, urging his touch higher, coaxing him gently back to her, to now.

“Is this okay?” She asked softly. 

He didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and sure, like any words might break the moment.

She kept her eyes on his as she moved his hands higher, slipping them beneath the edge of her skirt. Her breath caught as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric between them. She could feel him beneath her, already hard, already aware. Still, she guided him, rolling her hips just slightly, showing him exactly where she needed him most.

His touch was tentative at first, as if he was still afraid he might hurt her—or worse, lose control. But she didn’t let go, guiding him with gentle pressure, rocking her hips in time with the slow, steady movement of his fingers over the thin fabric.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, her head tilting back just slightly. It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was him, still here, still hers. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, see the golden glow in his eyes flicker, weakening, retreating.

They stayed like that for a moment, the room wrapped in silence but thick with tension—his hand moving in slow, careful circles, her thighs tightening around him. He watched her with awe and something deeper, something broken and tender all at once. It made her breath hitch, made her chest ache in the best and worst way.

But then something shifted in him—some tether snapped. Maybe it was the way she moaned his name so quietly, or the way her body arched into his touch like she trusted him completely.

He exhaled sharply, then moved.

In one smooth motion, he flipped them, pressing her down against the mattress, his body settling over hers. She gasped, breath stolen by the sudden change—but her hands gripped his shoulders, grounding herself in him.

He hovered just above her, eyes wide and human again—clear blue, no trace of gold. Just Bob.

He stared at her like she was a lifeline. “You brought me back,” he murmured, voice rough. “You always do.”

He hovered over her, breath ragged, eyes searching hers as if still trying to believe this was real—that she wanted this, wanted him. She reached up and cradled his face, thumbs brushing across the sharp edge of his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, soft and sure. “Stay with me.”

Something in him broke then—not in fear, but surrender. He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth, the way she tasted, the way she breathed into him like he was something worth saving.

His hands moved to her waist, sliding beneath her shirt, warm and calloused as they explored bare skin. She arched into him, welcoming the heat of his touch, the way he handled her like she was something precious. When he finally lifted her shirt over her head, it was with careful hands, taking a moment to admire her like she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She helped him out of his shirt too, fingertips trailing along his chest, feeling every muscle twitch under her touch. He was warm and solid beneath her palms, familiar in a way that made her heart ache. 

He took his time, fingers brushing along the insides of her thighs, making her breath catch. When she was bare beneath him, he just stared for a long moment, eyes dark with awe and restraint.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

She reached for him, undoing his belt with shaking fingers, and he let her. Let her take her time. Let her feel him, like she’d been waiting to do this forever. When they were finally skin to skin, nothing between them, he paused—forehead resting against hers, breathing hard.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, pulling him closer. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He entered her slowly, gently, every movement unspoken but full of meaning—trust, want, something deeper they didn’t have to say out loud. He kept his eyes on her, watching the way her breath caught, the way her fingers gripped his arm like she was holding onto something real.

Their bodies moved together easily, instinctively, like they’d been made to fit this way. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the quiet rhythm of two people who had been waiting for this without realizing it.

Y/N’s nails scraped lightly down his back as he kissed along her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. 

“Bob.” She whispered his name again, softer now, as if the sound alone steadied her.

Time didn’t feel like it mattered anymore. The world outside faded into the background, quiet and unimportant. It was just them—skin, breath, a shared warmth that pulled them closer with every slow roll of their hips.

It was just them. 

And when they both came undone, his face buried in her neck, murmuring her name like a prayer—his eyes were still blue.

They lay tangled together, their breaths slowly returning to rhythm, skin damp and flushed from everything they’d just shared. Bob had one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close like he wasn’t ready to let go, not even for a second. Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along his chest, while her lips brushed softly over his. 

Then, a knock came. 

Both of them froze as a quiet voice came from the other side of the door.

“Bobby… you doing okay?” It was Walker.

Y/N blinked, then looked at Bob, whose eyes had flown open. He let out a barely audible groan, burying his face in her shoulder while she bit back a laugh.

Then, without raising her voice, she called back toward the door— “he’s perfect.”

------------------------------------------------------

@debs171110 - because you asked nicely :)

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Distract Me - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay / Sex

Y'all definitely wanted this, so here you go! More to come because I can't seem to stop.

Thank you for all the love! xo

--------------------------------------------------

Y/N entered Bob’s room without knocking, the soft creak of the door the only sound to announce her. She didn’t need to ask—she knew he’d be here, stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it held answers only he could see. And there he was, headphones in, still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She lingered in the doorway, heart heavy. He’d used his powers today—again. And again, it had been for her.

She hated it. Hated what it did to him. Every time he tapped into it, the Void stirred, threatening to take him from her. It left him drained, quieter, the light behind his eyes a little dimmer each time. She was always the first to say no when the others asked. The one who stood between him and danger if it meant keeping him from turning.

But he did it anyway. Not for glory.

For them.

For her.

She closed the door softly and crossed the room. He didn’t look at her, but his fingers twitched—he knew. She slipped off her boots and socks, letting them fall quietly to the floor, then climbed into bed beside him. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was thick with unspoken things—gratitude, frustration, fear.

She reached out, and her fingers brushed his—warm, steady, familiar.

He turned to look at her, his eyes glowing with that unnatural, golden-white light. It was still there—burning, dangerous—but dimming, as if her presence was pulling it back, grounding him.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently.

Bob took a slow breath, but the lines in his face didn’t soften. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him. Her heart ached at how far away he seemed, even lying right beside her. But she didn’t look away.

“I’m here if you need me. If there is anything I can do…”

He hesitated before answering, voice low. “Distract me. Somehow.”

She nodded, a quiet decision settling in her bones. They hadn’t been intimate—not yet. What they had was slow and tender, full of stolen glances and careful touches, like neither of them wanted to risk breaking something fragile. But tonight, that caution felt distant. He needed her, and she needed him to come back.

She climbed over him, straddling his hips with deliberate care. The hem of her skirt brushed his thighs as she leaned in, taking his hands in hers.

Bob didn’t resist, just watched her closely. 

Wordlessly, she guided them to her bare skin, placing them on her thighs—warm, soft, grounding. Her fingers didn’t let go, urging his touch higher, coaxing him gently back to her, to now.

“Is this okay?” She asked softly. 

He didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and sure, like any words might break the moment.

She kept her eyes on his as she moved his hands higher, slipping them beneath the edge of her skirt. Her breath caught as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric between them. She could feel him beneath her, already hard, already aware. Still, she guided him, rolling her hips just slightly, showing him exactly where she needed him most.

His touch was tentative at first, as if he was still afraid he might hurt her—or worse, lose control. But she didn’t let go, guiding him with gentle pressure, rocking her hips in time with the slow, steady movement of his fingers over the thin fabric.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, her head tilting back just slightly. It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was him, still here, still hers. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, see the golden glow in his eyes flicker, weakening, retreating.

They stayed like that for a moment, the room wrapped in silence but thick with tension—his hand moving in slow, careful circles, her thighs tightening around him. He watched her with awe and something deeper, something broken and tender all at once. It made her breath hitch, made her chest ache in the best and worst way.

But then something shifted in him—some tether snapped. Maybe it was the way she moaned his name so quietly, or the way her body arched into his touch like she trusted him completely.

He exhaled sharply, then moved.

In one smooth motion, he flipped them, pressing her down against the mattress, his body settling over hers. She gasped, breath stolen by the sudden change—but her hands gripped his shoulders, grounding herself in him.

He hovered just above her, eyes wide and human again—clear blue, no trace of gold. Just Bob.

He stared at her like she was a lifeline. “You brought me back,” he murmured, voice rough. “You always do.”

He hovered over her, breath ragged, eyes searching hers as if still trying to believe this was real—that she wanted this, wanted him. She reached up and cradled his face, thumbs brushing across the sharp edge of his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, soft and sure. “Stay with me.”

Something in him broke then—not in fear, but surrender. He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth, the way she tasted, the way she breathed into him like he was something worth saving.

His hands moved to her waist, sliding beneath her shirt, warm and calloused as they explored bare skin. She arched into him, welcoming the heat of his touch, the way he handled her like she was something precious. When he finally lifted her shirt over her head, it was with careful hands, taking a moment to admire her like she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She helped him out of his shirt too, fingertips trailing along his chest, feeling every muscle twitch under her touch. He was warm and solid beneath her palms, familiar in a way that made her heart ache. 

He took his time, fingers brushing along the insides of her thighs, making her breath catch. When she was bare beneath him, he just stared for a long moment, eyes dark with awe and restraint.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

She reached for him, undoing his belt with shaking fingers, and he let her. Let her take her time. Let her feel him, like she’d been waiting to do this forever. When they were finally skin to skin, nothing between them, he paused—forehead resting against hers, breathing hard.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, pulling him closer. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He entered her slowly, gently, every movement unspoken but full of meaning—trust, want, something deeper they didn’t have to say out loud. He kept his eyes on her, watching the way her breath caught, the way her fingers gripped his arm like she was holding onto something real.

Their bodies moved together easily, instinctively, like they’d been made to fit this way. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the quiet rhythm of two people who had been waiting for this without realizing it.

Y/N’s nails scraped lightly down his back as he kissed along her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. 

“Bob.” She whispered his name again, softer now, as if the sound alone steadied her.

Time didn’t feel like it mattered anymore. The world outside faded into the background, quiet and unimportant. It was just them—skin, breath, a shared warmth that pulled them closer with every slow roll of their hips.

It was just them. 

And when they both came undone, his face buried in her neck, murmuring her name like a prayer—his eyes were still blue.

They lay tangled together, their breaths slowly returning to rhythm, skin damp and flushed from everything they’d just shared. Bob had one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close like he wasn’t ready to let go, not even for a second. Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along his chest, while her lips brushed softly over his. 

Then, a knock came. 

Both of them froze as a quiet voice came from the other side of the door.

“Bobby… you doing okay?” It was Walker.

Y/N blinked, then looked at Bob, whose eyes had flown open. He let out a barely audible groan, burying his face in her shoulder while she bit back a laugh.

Then, without raising her voice, she called back toward the door— “he’s perfect.”

------------------------------------------------------

@debs171110 - because you asked nicely :)

[peterparker-spid3erman]

The Next Door Neighbor

Bucky x fem!reader

Prompt: A mysterious neighbor moves next door and the more you get to know him the more you begin to fall for him

---

The apartment next door had finally been occupied. For months, it had sat dark and silent, a blank space behind a closed door. You’d almost gotten used to the quiet, but still, you hoped that whoever moved in would be… calm. Quiet. Preferably not the kind of person who threw loud parties until 3 a.m. like the last tenants had.

It had been nearly a week since the new neighbor arrived, and despite your curiosity, you hadn’t crossed paths with him yet. Sometimes you’d hear the soft thud of a door closing or the muffled sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway, but it wasn’t often. Whoever he was, he was low-key—and that was fine by you.

This afternoon, a notification buzzed on your phone: your package had finally arrived. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your keys from the bowl by the door, and headed out toward the mailboxes, hoping to beat the usual afternoon rush.

Just as you stepped into the hallway, the door next to yours swung open. A tall figure emerged, and your eyes met for the first time.

He had striking blue eyes—bright against the contrast of his dark hair—and an expression that hovered somewhere between tired and guarded.

“Hi! I’m Y/N,” you said with a friendly smile. “I live next door.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, his tone neutral but not unkind. And then, without another word, he turned and started walking down the hall.

You blinked after him. What the hell?

Without thinking, you headed in the same direction. After all, you still had a package to grab—but your pace quickened, trailing just a few steps behind him.

He glanced back, arching a brow. “Are you following me?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

“No,” you replied, holding back a laugh. “I’m just trying to get my package.”

He gave a small, amused shake of his head as he stopped in front of the elevator, pressing the down button. You came to a halt beside him, trying not to make things any more awkward.

“I don’t bite,” he said with a grin, flashing a hint of charm that hadn’t been there before.

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward in response. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

“Lobby?” he asked, stepping aside so you could enter first.

“Yeah.”

He pressed the button and moved to stand next to you, his shoulder just a few inches from yours.

“I’m Bucky,” he said after a moment.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Silence followed, filled only by the soft whir of the elevator and the distant hum of the building. The air felt thick with something unspoken. Not quite tension, but awareness.

“So… been in the city long?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

“Just got in last week,” he replied, eyes fixed on the doors. “Still figuring things out.”

You nodded. “Well, if you ever need tips or directions, I’ve been here a while. Happy to help.”

He looked at you then, just briefly. “Thanks,” he said, and though it was soft, it sounded sincere. “Might take you up on that.”

The elevator slowed, then opened to the lobby. You both stepped out and walked side by side toward the row of mailboxes. Your package—small, rectangular, with your name scrawled in thick black ink—was waiting right where it should be.

To your surprise, Bucky stopped at a box just two down from yours. He fiddled with his key, then cast a glance your way.

“You always that friendly to new neighbors?” he asked, a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

You grinned. “Only the ones who don’t throw wild parties.”

He chuckled—a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip unexpectedly. “Guess I pass, then.”

----

Over the next few weeks, you and Bucky ran into each other more often. Casual hellos turned into longer glances. You began to notice the little things: the way he always wore the same worn leather jacket, how he disappeared for hours and came back looking a little winded, the quiet way he moved through the building as if trying not to draw attention.

Before long, you found yourself timing your trips into the hallway to line up with his. Maybe it was coincidence at first… but eventually, you had to admit it: you’d developed a bit of a crush on your mysterious, handsome neighbor.

There was something about him—something that lingered just outside your memory. As if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite place it.

-----

You tried not to overthink it. People looked familiar all the time—maybe you’d passed him on the street before, or seen him in a coffee shop. Maybe he just had one of those faces.

Still, it nagged at you.

One evening, you found yourself standing at your stove, half-distracted as pasta boiled over. You grabbed your phone and opened your messages, staring at the blank space where you'd thought—maybe—about texting someone about Bucky. But what would you even say? "Hey, do you know the guy who moved in next door? I think I might have seen his face in a dream." Yeah, that wouldn’t sound unhinged at all.

A soft knock on your door snapped you out of your spiral.

You turned down the burner and crossed the small apartment to answer it. Standing there, holding a paper bag and looking a little sheepish, was Bucky.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you, uh… like Chinese?”

You blinked. “Are you asking me out, or trying to unload leftovers?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Bit of both. I may have ordered way too much.”

You stepped aside, gesturing him in. “Lucky for you, I was just about to burn dinner.”

He walked in, careful not to track in dirt from the hallway, and set the bag on your counter. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just got a mix of stuff.”

“You’re already doing better than the last guy who tried to feed me,” you said with a smirk. “He brought instant noodles and thought it was romantic.”

Bucky laughed under his breath. “Ouch.”

The two of you settled on the couch, balancing takeout containers on your knees as an old sitcom played quietly in the background. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. He told you a bit about moving to the city, how the pace was different from where he used to live, though he didn’t say where that was. You got the sense he was still adjusting, still figuring out how to be here.

You didn’t push. Instead, you told him about your job, the weird neighbors down the hall, the best place to get coffee nearby. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did talk, he was thoughtful. Wry. Honest in a way that made you feel like you didn’t have to try so hard.

At one point, you caught him watching you—not in a creepy way, but with quiet curiosity, like he was trying to memorize the way you moved or spoke. You looked back at him, and for a moment, the air between you stretched taut.

“What?” you asked, pretending to sound casual.

“Nothing,” he said, but his voice was lower. “You just… remind me of someone.”

There it was again. That something.

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Anyone good?”

His smile faded just a little. “Yeah. Someone good.”

The moment passed, but it left something behind. A question neither of you asked out loud.

By the time he stood to leave, the sky outside had gone dark, and the half-eaten containers sat forgotten on your coffee table.

“Thanks for the food,” you said, walking him to the door.

“Thanks for not slamming it in my face,” he replied, grinning again.

You hesitated. “Hey… Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever feel like you’ve met someone before, even if you’re sure you haven’t?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable in them.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.”

Then he nodded once and disappeared into the hallway, leaving you standing in your doorway with your heart doing an annoying little flutter behind your ribs.

----

After Bucky left that night, you didn’t bother cleaning up the leftover takeout. You just stood there for a long moment, staring at the door, heart still thudding in your chest like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

There was something about him. Not just his face or that quiet charm he didn’t even seem to realize he had—it was deeper. Like your paths were meant to cross. Like maybe they already had.

The next few days passed with more of the usual: work, errands, passing hellos in the hallway. But everything felt a little more charged now. You were more aware of the way Bucky’s eyes lingered on you when you talked. The way his arm brushed yours when you passed in the narrow corridor. The way he smiled at you—hesitant but real, like he was still trying to decide if he was allowed to enjoy it.

One night, close to midnight, you found yourself standing on your tiny balcony with a blanket around your shoulders, staring out at the city lights. It was one of those warm spring evenings where the air felt like a soft whisper on your skin. You didn’t hear the door next to yours open, but you heard him—the sound of Bucky stepping out onto his balcony, just a few feet away, separated only by a wrought iron divider and the hush of midnight.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, voice low, like he didn’t want to wake the world.

You looked over. He was in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, blue hoodie, hair messy, eyes soft in the dark.

“Nope,” you said. “City’s too loud tonight.”

Bucky leaned on the railing, glancing over at you. “Funny. I thought you said you were used to it.”

“I am. Doesn’t mean I always like it.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Want some company?”

You hesitated, just long enough to feel your heart skip, then nodded. “Yeah. Come on over.”

Moments later, he stepped through the door and onto your balcony, pulling the blanket from your shoulders and wrapping it around both of you without asking. His arm brushed yours as he stood beside you, the warmth of him bleeding into your skin.

“Is this okay?” he asked, glancing down at you.

You looked up, met his eyes. “Yeah. It’s more than okay.”

The city sprawled out below you, but you barely noticed it anymore.

“You’re not like most people I’ve met,” he said suddenly.

You laughed softly. “Is that a good thing?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Most people… talk too much, want too much. You don’t push. You just… let things be.”

“I don’t want to scare you off.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “Maybe I wouldn’t run.”

The air between you changed, turned heavy and sweet. He stepped a little closer, one hand lifting to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your skin, lingered there for just a second too long.

Your breath hitched.

“I should probably ask if this is okay too,” he murmured.

You smiled, heartbeat thundering. “It is.”

And then his lips were on yours—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to remember the way you tasted. You leaned into him, hands resting lightly against his chest as the blanket slipped slightly, forgotten, pooling around your elbows. The kiss deepened gradually, not rushed, not frantic. Just… real.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathless and blinking like you weren’t quite sure what just happened—but neither of you wanted it to stop.

“Okay,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Definitely more than okay.”

Bucky smiled then—really smiled—and you felt something unfurl in your chest. Something new, but familiar. Like you’d been waiting for this moment and didn’t even know it.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Closing the Distance - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay

I hope you guys love it! xo

---------------------------------------------------------

The floor creaked for the third time in five minutes.

Y/N cracked an eye open, sleep still heavy in her limbs, and peeked over the couch at the large figure sprawled on the floor. A mess of brown hair caught the faint streetlight, casting soft shadows across the wood and the sharp line of Bob’s jaw.

“You doing okay down there, Boy Scout?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

A groan came from the floor. “I’m six-foot. This blanket’s a napkin. And I’m lying on Bucky’s freshly refinished hardwood. So yeah, living the dream.”

Y/N smirked. “So you’re fine then.”

His laugh was low, genuine—enough to make her lips twitch despite herself.

“You know,” she added, “you could’ve had the couch. I would’ve given it to you.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” he said, stretching with a grunt. “Didn’t know chivalry came with lower back trauma.”

She chuckled softly, warmth spreading through her as she lay in the quiet of the apartment. It was too late to be awake, too early to get up—but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with him there. Not with everything unspoken hanging between them.

Silence lingered, charged with something neither dared name. Then she cracked it with a sleepy grin. “You always suffer this loudly in silence?”

Another soft huff. “Only when there’s an audience I’m trying to impress.”

She glanced down again. He looked ridiculous—arm flung over his face, blanket tangled around his legs—but somehow, he felt like home. And maybe that was the problem.

“So,” she said lightly, “who’s the lucky audience?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his arm and met her eyes through the dim room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Take a wild guess.”

Her stomach did a slow flip. That fluttering, electric kind that always meant trouble.

“Careful,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Say something sweet like that again, and I might actually let you up here.”

A beat.

“You sure that’s a threat and not an invitation?” His knee shifted closer, just enough to make her breath catch. “Because the way you’ve been tossing and turning—I think you want me closer.”

Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. She rolled onto her back, the couch creaking beneath her. The silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed, heavy with everything they hadn’t said.

“Bob…” she whispered, voice fraying with everything she felt.

But he was already moving. Slow, deliberate. He pushed the blanket aside and knelt beside the couch. Her heart raced as he braced one hand on the armrest, climbing over her until he hovered, just close enough to feel the heat of him—but not touching.

“You shouldn’t,” she breathed, even as her body arched toward him.

“I know.”

He stayed there—suspended—waiting. Then, his voice came, rough with honesty. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. And you’re not exactly helping.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Not when his knee slipped between her legs. Not when his nose brushed hers, their breaths mingling.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he murmured, voice a vow. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Her fingers curled into the couch, pulse thudding in her ears.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, barely a challenge.

He smiled, soft and aching. “Then I’ll stay right here. Close enough to hear you breathe.”

It unraveled her. She reached for him, fingers trembling as they curled into his shirt—not pulling, just needing him closer. And when she looked up, voice barely a whisper, she let it out.

“Then kiss me.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a breath, his mouth brushing hers in a kiss that felt like reverence—soft, savoring, as though he’d been holding back for too long.

Her sigh cracked something open between them. The kiss deepened—slow, then urgent—his hand sliding beneath fabric, skin to skin. He groaned, pressing against her, his knee anchoring between her thighs.

“God,” he breathed against her jaw. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

She tilted her head back, giving him space. He kissed along her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting her. When he reached the curve of her chest, he paused, breath catching. His nose brushed the soft skin as his hands trembled, cupping her breast.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the lines of her body—ribs, waist, hip—until it settled there, warm and steady. Then, lower still, fingers grazing the edge of her underwear. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, waiting.

The space between them pulsed with tension. Her body ached for him, heat coiling low. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, trembling. “Please… touch me.”

His breath hitched at the plea. Slowly, his fingers dipped lower, the air between them electric. Their breaths synced—fast, shallow, building.

She leaned into him, heart pounding. “I want this… I want you,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t hold back.”

Her hand traced down his chest, guiding him closer. Still, he held on to restraint, every muscle tight with control.

She slid her hand to his waistband, pulling him in. Their lips met again—soft, urgent, desperate.

He hovered, fire in his veins, brushing his lips over hers in silent question. She answered with another kiss, deeper now, her hands slipping beneath his waistband to feel him.

Bob exhaled shakily, his control unraveling under the feel of her hand on him. He buried his face in her neck for a breath, grounding himself, before lifting his head again—eyes dark, focused entirely on her.

His fingers slid between her legs with purpose now, parting her gently. Her breath caught in her throat, hips rising instinctively to meet him. He watched her face, every flicker of pleasure reflected in his own expression as his touch grew bolder, more sure.

Y/N gasped, her hand tightening in his hair, hips rolling into his palm. He found her rhythm and matched it, teasing, coaxing—until she was panting, her body strung tight with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he whispered. She did, eyes wide and glassy. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away, even as her body began to tremble under his touch.

Bob groaned, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching forward into her hand. His grip on her faltered, only for a second, before he returned the pressure with renewed intensity. They moved in sync—hands exploring, learning, taking.

Their moans tangled between kisses, each touch more urgent than the last.

Y/N’s body arched as tension coiled tighter and tighter, her breaths breaking against his mouth. Bob’s name left her in a desperate gasp as his fingers pushed her higher, each stroke pulling her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her body trembling, eyes locked with his.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, kissing her again—slow, deep, like he wanted to swallow her whole.

Her hand on him grew more purposeful, matching the rhythm he gave her. His jaw clenched, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as she stroked him, the pleasure nearly breaking his composure. Still, he held on—for her. 

“I can’t hold on much longer…” Y/N whispered.

His lips crashed against hers as her body shattered beneath his hand, a soft cry breaking in her throat. She convulsed against him, hips grinding as the waves of pleasure rolled through her, long and all-consuming.

Bob followed a heartbeat later, his release torn from him with a groan that vibrated against her skin. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, every muscle drawn tight before he finally melted into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just clung to each other, sweat-slicked and breathless, hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm.

He kissed her again, softer this time, brushing hair from her face with reverent fingers.

She let out a shaky laugh, voice barely above a whisper. “If that was you holding back... I’m in trouble.”

He smiled, lips brushing hers again as he murmured, “I guess you’re in trouble, because the night’s only just getting started.”

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Also Bucky's "yeah no, I have a great past everything was fine lol" when Yelena asked what they all saw has to be the funniest Marvel quote to date

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Also Bucky's "yeah no, I have a great past everything was fine lol" when Yelena asked what they all saw has to be the funniest Marvel quote to date

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Back to You (Bucky Barnes)

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: An unexpected visitor returns to Louisiana to visit Sam and runs into Y/N, sparking feelings from the past.

-----

It was another scorching day in southern Louisiana, the kind that made the air shimmer and your clothes cling to your skin. You pulled your car up near the weathered dock, the tires crunching against gravel. The sun blazed overhead, unrelenting, its golden rays turning the bayou into a glistening sheet of light.

You stepped out, sunglasses slipping down your nose as a wave of heat wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. The distant hum of cicadas buzzed in your ears, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the docked boats.

Sarah stood on her family’s boat, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, grease smudged on her cheek like a badge of effort. Beside her was her older brother, Sam—tall, broad-shouldered, and smiling that easy, familiar grin you hadn’t seen in too long. He placed a wrench down beside him and hopped off the boat, walking over to greet you.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice warm and welcoming.

You barely had time to reply before he swept you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat, sunblock, and motor oil clinging to him.

“How’ve you been? It’s been too long!”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m good! What about you?”

“Can’t complain,” he said, pulling back.

“How’s the boat coming along?”

Sam let out a sigh, the kind that said it all. “She’s a mess. But we’re stubborn, so we’re not giving up yet.”

You smiled in sympathy and turned to glance at the boat—just in time to see someone else step up from below deck.

Your heart skipped.

Even before your eyes fully registered him, you knew. There was no mistaking that frame, that presence. Bucky Barnes.

He looked... different. His hair was cropped short now, the angry edge in his expression dulled. Last time you saw him, he seemed like he carried the world on his shoulders. Now, he looked lighter somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, civilian life had started to melt away some of his weight.

He stepped off the boat in one smooth motion and walked toward you and Sam. Up close, the change in him was even more striking—his posture more relaxed, his green eyes less guarded.

“Y/N, right?” he asked, his voice a low rumble as he gave you a quick once-over—not in a rude way, but like he was checking if the memory of you still matched the real thing.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”

“You too,” he said, with the kind of sincerity that made your stomach flutter just a little.

Before you could say more, Sarah called out for help, and you gave the two men a friendly wave as you turned to go.

But just as you started walking away, Sam’s voice drifted to your ears: “Don’t even think about it.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

-----

“That’s the last of it,” Sarah said, wiping sweat from her brow as the two of you set the final box down beside the boathouse. “Come by for dinner, yeah? Sam’s grilling steaks.”

Your stomach perked up at the mention of food, and your heart perked up at the idea of seeing a certain someone again.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you said with a nod.

----

The scent of sizzling steak greeted you, as you and Sarah stepped into the backyard. The air was thick with smoke and the sounds of summer—crackling flames, soft laughter, and the clink of beer bottles.

Sam stood by the grill, tongs in hand, while Bucky leaned against the railing nearby, arms crossed and watching him with clear amusement.

“You’ve gotta flip it now or it’s gonna burn,” Bucky told Sam, who scoffed.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Bucky replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m smelling charcoal, not steak.”

“Hey boys,” Sarah called out. “Sam, maybe you should listen to Bucky for once.”

“Thank you!” Bucky grinned at her, then shot you a playful look.

Sarah pointed toward the house. “You two—grab the plates and silverware?”

You nodded, and without needing to say a word, you followed Bucky inside. The house was cool compared to the outside heat, and you leaned against the counter, watching as he moved around the kitchen like he belonged there.

He handed you a small stack of plates, then passed over the utensils.

“Hey,” he said, pausing. “For what it’s worth... it’s really nice to see you again.”

You looked up, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost shy. “That talk we had last time—I think about it more than I should. I don’t open up to many people, but with you... I don’t know. It felt easy.”

Your chest warmed. “I felt that too. I’m glad we talked. How long are you in town?”

He shrugged, giving a small smile. “Not sure yet. Long enough, I hope.”

“Bucky? Y/N?” Sam’s voice echoed in from outside. “Are you two coming or what?”

“Coming!” Bucky called, brushing past you with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. You followed him out, your fingers brushing the door frame as you passed through.

-----

Dinner was everything Sarah promised. The steaks were perfect—juicy, charred just right—and Bucky had to grudgingly admit that Sam knew what he was doing.

But what made the evening linger in your mind was the way Bucky kept glancing at you from across the table. Like he was remembering the last time you talked... and maybe hoping there’d be a next time.

And if the way Sarah kept smirking into her drink was any clue, you weren’t the only one who noticed.

---

After dinner, the sun began its slow descent, painting the Louisiana sky in swirls of pink and orange. The heat finally started to fade, replaced by a cooler breeze that rustled through the trees and danced over the water.

You sat in a worn wooden chair near the firepit while Sarah gathered sticks to start a small fire. Sam headed inside to grab drinks, and Bucky… well, he lingered.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, nodding to the chair beside you.

You shook your head. “Go for it.”

The chair creaked slightly under his weight as he settled in. For a few moments, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the air thick with unspoken words and the faint scent of grilled food still drifting from the porch.

“I forgot how quiet it gets here at night,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Peaceful,” you agreed, turning slightly toward him. “You don’t get this in the city.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, glancing sideways at you. “Makes it easier to breathe.”

You gave him a small smile, sensing the double meaning.

The fire crackled to life as Sarah lit it, tossing on a couple of marshmallows for good measure before excusing herself to go help Sam. It didn’t go unnoticed that she left you and Bucky alone.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames.

“So… do you remember what we talked about? That last time?” he asked, his voice low.

Your heart gave a little jolt. “Of course I do.”

He glanced at you again, slower this time, his gaze lingering. “I was in a rough place then. Angry at everything. You didn’t try to fix me… you just listened. That meant more than I can explain.”

You felt the sincerity in his words—raw and unpolished, the way Bucky always seemed to be when he let someone past his defenses.

“I don’t think you needed fixing,” you said softly. “I think you just needed someone to see you.”

He smiled, just barely, and shook his head like he was trying to figure you out all over again. “You always say the right thing.”

There was a pause—thick and charged. He reached out suddenly, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel the heat from his fingers.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Were you… ever into me? Back then?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. But the way he was looking at you—open, uncertain, hopeful—made it impossible to dodge.

“I think I still am,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

The corner of his mouth quirked, not quite a smile but something close. He leaned in, just slightly, like he was testing the air between you.

“I’ve been trying not to think about you like that,” he said. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

“You do,” you said without hesitation. “More than you think.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek with the lightest of touches.

“If I kissed you right now,” he murmured, “would that ruin everything?”

You held his gaze, pulse thrumming in your throat. “No,” you said. “I think it might fix something.”

And then—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to make sure you had every chance to pull away—he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was gentle, almost reverent. Like he was memorizing it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he whispered.

“You weren’t ready then,” you replied, eyes still closed. “But maybe now… we both are.”

From inside, you could hear Sarah and Sam laughing, unaware—or maybe very aware—of what just happened outside.

And as the stars began to dot the sky, you stayed there with Bucky, his fingers intertwined with yours, the kind of silence between you that said more than words ever could.

[peterparker-spid3erman]

Space to Breathe - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings, lots of fluff!

*Could be a continuation of Dance with Me, but can also stand on it's own*

Thank you for all the love on my first one! It's SO much fun to be writing again! xo

-------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N was no stranger to chaos. 

Being the Phoenix meant living in constant unpredictability, and getting close to people like Bucky Barnes and Yelena Belova only sharpened her instinct to brace for the worst. 

She’d faced monsters, corrupt governments—but nothing prepared her for him. He wasn’t a threat she could fight or a mission to complete. He was something else entirely. And that made him dangerous.

Y/N didn’t look back as she walked into the kitchen, but she felt the newcomer Bob’s eyes on her. That invisible thread tugged at her spine—persistent, undeniable. She’d felt it the moment they met, and it terrified her.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, her gaze drifted to him. Bucky was already talking, something about Valentina and a plan to take her down for good, but Y/N wasn’t listening.

Beside her, Yelena nudged gently. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied. It was automatic. A lie dressed in calm.

The meeting moved fast—intel, threats, movements. The kind of stuff that used to make Y/N’s skin buzz with adrenaline. But now, it felt muted. Distant. Her focus kept drifting, always back to him.

Bob didn’t say much, but he listened. Closely. His hands were folded in his lap, but they weren’t still—his fingers moved constantly, a nervous habit or something deeper, like he was trying to ground himself.

Once the debrief ended and the others trickled into different rooms, Y/N lingered behind, pretending to refill her coffee. She could feel him behind her before she heard him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

She turned. “What are you sorry for?” 

He shrugged, gaze lowering. “I don’t belong here. I’m making you uncomfortable, I can see it in your face.” 

“That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

He brushed his fingers through his hair. “I…I just don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You could never be a burden, Bob.” She whispered, smiling up at him. 

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a curious expression etched on his face. He hesitated for a moment, but finally asked, “Why can I feel you?” 

“I have no idea, but I can feel you too.”

He took a small step closer.

Y/N reached out slowly, her fingers just brushing against his. He started to pull away, then froze. For a moment, neither of them breathed—caught in the quiet weight of something unspoken. But when a door creaked open down the hall, they both flinched, the moment shattering like glass. 

“Alexi, if you touch my toothbrush I’m going to kill you!” Bucky yelled from the hallway. 

Y/N reached behind Bob and grabbed a set of keys that were sitting on the counter. “Come on, I know somewhere we can go.” 

He followed her out the apartment, up the stairs and out the side door that led to the rooftop. The city stretched wide and glowed below, lights flickering like the stars.

Y/N sat first, pulling her knees to her chest. Bob settled beside her, a safe distance apart-but not too far. 

“You don’t like being touched,” Y/N said quietly.

He tensed. “Not usually.” 

“But you let me.” 

“I didn’t want to move,” he admitted, “didn’t want it to stop. It feels…right.” 

That thread tugged again, deep and low in her chest. 

Y/N looked over at him, “Me either.”

The wind was soft up here, cool against their skin, and the sounds of the city below felt miles away. Up here, it was just them—two people weighed down by too much power, too much memory, and a connection neither of them could explain.

Bob leaned back on his hands, his gaze drifting over the skyline. “It’s quiet here.”

Y/N eyes drifted. “That’s why I like it. No questions, no pressure. So much space to breathe.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood. “I don’t remember the last time I felt calm.”

She didn’t speak—just shifted closer, her knee brushing his.

His breath hitched. 

“You don’t have to be anything up here,” She said, voice low. “No powers, no stress. Just…yourself.” 

Bob looked over at her then. Really looked. His eyes were soft now, less guarded, like he was letting her see behind the walls. Her pulse fluttered at the way he studied her—like she was something he didn’t know he needed until she appeared.

“I have to tell you something,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m scared that if I do… you’ll leave.”

Y/N’s brows knit together, and she tilted her head, her voice steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He hesitated, eyes dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “I would really like to kiss you.”

For a second, all she could do was stare, her heart thudding against her ribs. Words tangled in her throat, but one slipped free—quiet, certain. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed. “Yes… what?”

A small smile curved her lips as she moved just a little closer. “Kiss me.”

Bob leaned in slowly, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he rushed it. His fingers brushed her neck before cupping her cheek gently, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. She didn’t move, just let him take his time, let him choose her. 

His lips brushed against hers, and an immediate pulse of power thrummed through her body. They had barely touched, yet something inside her ignited—hot and electric.

Y/N gasped, the air catching in her throat, but Bob didn’t move. His lips hovered just above hers, breath mingling with hers in the fragile space between.

“Do you feel that too?” he murmured.

She nodded, unable to speak, her hand finding his chest, fingers curling tightly into his shirt like she needed something—anything—to hold on to. Her body was aching for him, hungry for more.

“Please,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I need more.”

When his lips finally met hers again, it was soft—reverent almost—but beneath it, desperation burned. He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her, like she was the only thing anchoring him in the world. He lit something inside her, a fire that roared to life, and she never wanted it to burn out.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, like he was anchoring himself there. 

“This feels like...” he exhaled, voice shaking, “home. I don’t feel like I’m breaking anymore.”

Y/N smiled, breathless. “That’s because you’re not.”

Her fingers brushed slowly along his jaw, lingering before her thumb swept across his bottom lip with a teasing softness. Her voice was a whisper, thick with longing. “I don’t think I could ever let you go now.”

Something shattered behind his eyes—walls crumbling, fears dissolving.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say that. And now that you have… I won’t let go. Not unless you ask me to.”

And for once, the chaos quieted.

Not gone. Just... stilled.

They were just two people finding something they didn’t know they were missing.