#MCU IMAGINE

[gay-dorito-dust]

You: *sees void make people into shadows* he’s hot when he’s in control.

Yelena: what the fuck is wrong with you? He’s literally going to kill us!

You: what can I say, I like the bad boys.

Yelena: yeah, but not a fucking powerful being who can morph us into shadows!

You: Bob is cute too!

Yelena: …

You: and when I mean cute I mean-

Yelena: I’m not listening *walks away*

You: *mutter* I was about to say cute in the way where I’d kiss him senseless, ruffle his hair, hold him close to my chest as I call him a good boy, but sure walk away.

[wtfjd95]

Yes I used to write fanfics, it's how I got started online and they turned out to be pretty popular.

IDGAF if I was cringe.

(please let me know if something doesn't work if you want to read as I've tried fixing this all via mobile)

Just block anything fanfic based by filtering out the #masterlist tag

Edit: I still have to sort through things via in fic links and main desktop page but I'll do that at some point in future. Also yes my old blog username is credited for copyright reasons on most posts cause that's the username I wrote under)

On a permanent hiatus. No more writing

Masterlist

General Information (Updated to include newer stuff)

Everything posted here may become series or just random imagines that I may post.

I DON’T DO SMUT! I have tried writing in my spare time but it never turns out the way I want it to.

Please make me aware if any of the links do not work.

Keep reading

[takenbypeter]

Delivery For The New Avengers

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Words: 1597

A/N: here is the second part to: Delivery For Bob. I am obsessed with this story and I’m having real fun writing for all the Thunderbolts. It’s fun including all their diff personalities.

“Delivery for John Walker,” you said entering the usual vicinity. The recently busy room was quiet this time around with only the blond and Bob occupying the space. 

“On your left.” You turned, now locating the recognizable voice. You handed over the bag receiving a, “wait right there,” from him as he opened the bag and began checking the contents. While you stood, you peeked around as usual and waved at the familiar face who was poking his head out from behind a chair a bit away. 

Bob. 

Seeing you wave he waved back his concerned expression shifting into a more content one. 

“Perfect everything’s here thanks.” You nod, taking a step back but his voice pulls you forward again.  

“Oh and this is really random but I had a question,” you gave him an uncertain expression, finding yourself getting used to the questions that were thrown at you recently. 

The last two weeks have definitely been…an experience. At first you only delivered to the brunette, Bob, but now it was like each member of the new avengers suddenly grew aware of the delivery app and was making sure to use it. You didn’t blame them, it honestly just meant more money for you and they gave pretty good tips. But the strangest thing was that each time you dropped off a new delivery someone always had a question to you that was unrelated to your job. 

Once it was, “where is your favorite place to eat?” Another time it was, “do you have siblings?” And another, “what is your favorite thing to do?”

The questions were getting more and more bizarre and personal and honestly with each one you started to think they were either pranking you or planning to murder you. 

While the others have increased their ordering, Bob on the other hand decreased his. Mainly because he felt bad for how many times you’ve already stopped by. Plus even he had to admit the questions that his teammates were asking you were getting out of hand. 

Honestly though, it did slightly irritate him that they had more conversations with you in a week and a half than he has in a month. But that was his own doing really. 

“So my question is do you prefer brunettes or blondes?”

Bob immediately moved his body making sure John could see him shaking his head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “it doesn’t really matter to me.”

John narrowed his eyes, “okay but if you had to pick which one would you pick? Brunettes,” he lifted one hand up before lifting the other and sending the other down like a scale, “or blonds?” 

“Both I guess. I don’t really have a preference.” John stood there, hands still up while your phone dinged. “Sorry, I have another order to do and this is sort of a weird question so I’m gonna go. Bye Bob,” you waved, making sure to say your farewells while he again waved back. You always made sure to acknowledge that Bob was there. 

“Oof guess we’ll never know the answer to that one Robert. Sorry about that.”

“Okay can you just,” Bob pressed his lips together, his hands coming up grabbing the air pretending to crush it, before he turned around and returning back to his spot. 

“What! I actually was hungry that time,” John shouted before Bob’s hand came up over the seat making sure Walker could see his middle finger.

Despite Bob thinking that was so far one of the most obvious and obnoxious questions yet, Yelena would soon up the ante with a question of her own that evening.

The team was together, well most of them aside from Bucky. When the elevator dinged again. 

Yelena didn’t even wait for you to say your spiel as you entered, immediately just walking up to you, “oh thank you! I have been craving this all day,” she mumbled as you gave her the bag. 

“Wait here,” she turned to no doubt get the tip but she then turned around again, “actually I had a question for you?”

‘Here we go again,’ Bob thought as he instantly covered his face out of embarrassment from where he stood. 

“Are you single?” Bob’s expression moved at the horror of Yelena’s words. Astonished and embarrassed by the intruding question. 

“Oh I have a question too! What is your thought about dating big time superhero? It’s very cool, no? ” Alexei added. 

“Follow up question,” said John as he raised his hand. “Do you find my friend Bob Reynolds here attractive?”

“Okay,” Bob finally got up and stood in front of you so you could put your attention on him. “You don’t have to answer those ridiculous and private questions,” he says, making sure to look over his shoulders at the others as he purposefully highlights those two words. Turning to you again, he guides both you and himself into the elevator and presses the button to descend to the lower level. 

“Let’s head down, I’ll just give you the tip,” was heard as the doors shut. 

“I bet,” John muttered, earning the rest of the group to turn to him with a series of revolted looks on their faces.  

“Ew,” Yelena said. 

“What?”

“Disgusting, really,” Ava chimed. 

“It was a joke,” he defended. 

“Ten minutes time out now,” Alexei commanded. 

“I’m not a child you can’t—“

“Ten minutes, no one talk to the U.S. Agent!” He shouted as everyone turned their back to the blond who let out an annoyed groan. 

Meanwhile in the elevator it was quiet, the only sound being the machine traveling downwards. 

You two faced forward and Bob finally leaned towards you a bit to apologize on the others behalf, “I’m sorry about them and all the questions. You don’t have to answer any of them, ever!” He stressed while you just chuckled. 

“It’s okay.” 

Bob closed his mouth as the silence returned. He occasionally peeked in your direction realizing that this was the longest time he had spent with you. While also recognizing it had been a while since it was just you and him in a room together. 

His voice eventually eased the tension again, “can I ask one thing? I swear it’s not too crazy.”

You nodded knowing he was one of the few who seemed to actually respect you. 

“Why do you keep coming back? You know they’re going to keep asking you dumb stuff.”

You nod agreeing, “that’s true. But I don’t know,” this time you glanced to your side finally meeting eyes with the man and he swears his breath hitched at the mere contact. 

“They’re funny. Seems like you have a really good crew here. And how many people can say they’ve gotten to interact with the New Avengers,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his, causing his body to hunch into itself, practically liquifying at your mere touch while a smile finally grew on his lips. 

“Plus they’re not so bad, and I know you’re not so bad.”

He was happy that you felt safe at least. Bob’s joy took a quick pause though when you spoke again. 

“Can I ask you a question though?” He turned to you showing you he was all ears.

“Do they ask all the delivery guys questions or just me?”

“In all honesty no. They’re just trying to help me.”

That piqued your interest. “Help you?”

“I mean yes, but at the same time they’re also making fun of me?”

You raised an eyebrow and he picked up on your want for an explanation. “Okay this is not how I wanted to tell you,” he said under his breath as his eyes hit the floor. They squeezed shut as his head tilted, almost like he had to force the next words to come out of his mouth, “they sort of picked up on the fact that I maybe…sort of…like you?” He peeked one eye open trying to gauge your reaction and when you didn’t say anything he opened both eyes, “I mean if that’s okay with you, of course. I was perfectly willing to ride this crush out, and I mean it’s not like a gigantic huge crushing crush it’s more of a, she’s cute. Hope I get another chance to see her again. I would love to hold the door open for her, and give her flowers, and watch the sunset together, sort of thing.” His eyebrows came down at his realization of how his words sounded. 

Your eyes were wide now and he really should’ve stopped talking. He took a step back giving you some space due to his crazy talk. “Wait, this is coming out all wrong. I just like you. A lot. That is all I wanted to say." He gave one final wave with his hands showing he was done and he faced the doors again. You thought he was finished but he spoke again, “don’t worry though I am going to squash this thing. It’ll be over in no time.”

The elevator dinged once again as he concluded, not giving you any time to respond. Noticing you were at the designated floor he let out an, “oh,” before reaching into his pocket. “Let me give you your tip.”

You reached out a hand stopping his movements, “save it…” he did as told while you stepped outside the elevator doors, “…for when you want to maybe hold a door open for me.”

His feet were planted in the elevator and his cheeks slowly lifted while he was speechless. You smiled back and then…the doors slid shut. 

[fandomnerd9602]

Wanda blushes and giggles…

Y/N: oh you’re in love

Wanda: (blushes) no I’m not

Y/N; who is it? Is it Vision? If so you may be a sapiosexual

Wanda: (laughs) what?

Y/N: you’re attracted to intelligence. That plus his British accent? Phew. Swoon worthy

Wanda: if anything I’m attracted to an idiot who won’t take a hint.

Y/N: then just say it aloud

Wanda: Y/N I love you

Y/N: exactly! Just like…oh (blushes)

[runawrites-blog]

I Could Just Eat You Out (Deadpool x Reader)

Summary: A little verbal slip-up leads to Wade going down on you. It's the only way to shut him up. (Female Reader) Word Count: 1,092 Warnings: SMUT (Minors Do Not Interact). Explicit Sexual Content. Oral (Female Receiving). Sort Of Sub! Wade Wilson. No Y/N. No Deadpool and Wolverine Spoilers. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58067737 A/N: My friend I watched Deadpool and Wolverine in the cinema a few days ago and it re-awakened my crush on Deadpool. This is my first time writing a reader insert for Deadpool, please be nice. This contains NO SPOILERS.

---

“I could just eat you out.”

“Out?”

“I mean, eat you up. Sorry, verbal autocorrect.”

“No takebacks!”

That was what had led to this, had led to you leaning back on your sofa, legs spread with Wade kneeling between them, holding onto both your thighs as he kissed the insides of them, teasing you as he got closer and closer to where you wanted his mouth. When he once more stopped just short of your clit you groaned and gripped onto his shoulders.

“Stop teasing me, Wade.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He grinned up at you before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your thigh, making you whimper quietly. “Now where’s that smart mouth you always like to run? Come on, speak up.”

“I run my mouth? Have you-- Have you listened to yourself lately?”

With that, you used the heel of your foot pressing into his upper back to bring him closer, releasing a sigh of relief when his mouth finally connected with your dripping folds. You watched him blink in surprise but then quickly, he shrugged his shoulders and ran his tongue up between your lips, making you gasp in pleasure.

“Finally!”

His small chuckle sent vibrations right through your core and you moaned out, legs clenching around his head as your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders. “This is great. I’ve always loved tacos.”

“If-- If you call my pussy a-- a taco one more fucking time, I’ll kick you out.”

Wade pulled back at that, cocking his head to the side and giving you an affectionate grin. “And punish yourself? Please, don’t make me laugh. I get you so wet that the first few rows in the cinema will need a flash warning.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“You could make me.”

With that, you used both the heel of your foot against his back and your hands to pull him back until his lower face was buried inside of you. And thankfully, he did shut up for more than five seconds in favour of properly eating you out, tongue lapping at your folds, fingers digging into your thighs and nose brushing against your clit. It didn’t take long for you to dissolve into a moaning mess under his ministrations, your nails leaving small crescent shapes in the flesh of his shoulders as your thighs clenched and quivered around him.

Every clench of your tighs around his head got a moan out of him that send vibrations right into your clit and you gasped out almost in unison with the noises he was making. When he moved on from lapping at you to gently wrapping his lips around your clit you let out a high-pitched whine, making his eyes widen. You didn’t know whether or not he knew this noise to be one of pleasure or if he thought he’d hurt you but you didn't care either way. Before he could pull back even an inch you stopped him.

“Don’t-- Don’t stop, please.”

That was all the encouragement he needed as he began his gentle suckling of your clit, his lips periodically parting to make way for his tongue so he could circle it around the small bud of nerves. Pleasure shot through your body and you all but choked Wade with your thighs which unsurprisingly made him even more eager in his ministrations. His lips moved along yours, tongue circling your clit and the obscene slurping noises he was making were pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Wade, so-- so close!”

You had expected him to say something because when had he ever not kept his mouth shut but he kept quiet, pressing his face further into your core with such vigor that it made your head spin at the sight alone. He was so eager, lapping at your folds, tongue switching between exploring your pussy and licking at your clit while his hands clutched at your thighs.

“Fuck, please don’t stop. You’re so good at this. So good, Wade.”

One of his hands left your tigh, disappearing down his body and you heard the noise of a zipper being undone but he didn’t say a word, mouth much too occupied. The other hand now also left your tigh and you gasped loudly in surprise when he plunged two of them into your pussy, scissoring them.

“Deeper, please. Almost there.” You gasped out as Wade put another finger inside of you, angling them in just the right way. “Fuck, you’re so good, Wade. So good.”

Another keening moan tore from Wade’s throat at your praise and that, combines with a particularly precise thrust of his fingers and his wet tongue pressing tightly against your clit made you stumble over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you in waves, legs quivering, pussy clenching around Wade’s tongue and chest heaving. Vaguely, you registered him moaning against you, his eyes falling shut as he worked you through your orgasm.

When you eventually came down from your height and felt him still lapping at your pussy, you brought your foot off his back to use it to shove him off you, too sensitive to let him continue. With a kiss to your clit he relented, drawing back and resting his cheek against your tight as he grinned up at you, chin and lips glistening with your juices and eyes hooded with pleasure.

You sat with him for a few moments, hands behind your body and leaning back onto them, eyes locked with Wade’s as he stared up at you in utter adoration. The hand he’d previously had inside of you came down to wrap around your calf, fingers gently digging into your flesh. When he nuzzled against your thigh you moved one of your hands to his face, cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb over it. He released a soft sigh and turned his head to kiss your palm.

“Nothing to say, Merc with a Mouth?” You asked softly, getting a small chuckle out of him before you nodded your head toward where his other hand was still resting down his body and out of your sight. “Want me to return the favour?”

He shook his head, bringing up the hand so you could see that it was coated in his semen before he wiped it at his pants. “No need.”

“I keep forgetting how quickly eating pussy shuts you up.” You chuckled affectionately, still stroking his cheek gently. “I should ask you to do it more often.”

“All you gotta do is ask.”

[helaintoloki]

hii !!! would u be able to do a bucky x reader where they are at a party and something happens like the reader gets assaulted by someone and she has a panic attack and bucky finds her and helps her through it and comforts her? then some protective!bucky where he sorts out whoever hurt her or something. i hope that is okay !!!!! thanks 🩷

author’s note: hi dear! apologies for how long it took me to get to this. i did make some minor tweaks to the prompt but hopefully you like it!

warnings: attempted assault (reader escapes before anything can happen), violence, language, feelings of guilt/shame, hurt/comfort, minor thunderbolts* spoilers, Bucky is sickeningly sweet to his dear reader

summary: Bucky seeks justice after you experience a frightening encounter at the bar

“What? You’re leaving already?!” Yelena protests as you fish your card out of your purse to close your tab. “The night is still young!”

“I know, but I have an early press conference in the morning I can’t miss,” you tell her with an apologetic smile despite the prominent pout on her lips. “Besides, you know I can’t keep up with either of you anyway.”

“She’s got a point,” Ava notes with a raised brow before taking a swig of her beer.

You’re not an Avenger or any kind of hero, only a local journalist, but the two women had taken to you almost immediately after Bucky reluctantly introduced you to the team. Your witty sarcasm and ability to withstand their antics had earned you their respect almost instantly, and it wasn’t long before they began inviting you to their weekly nights out on the town. Being a New Avenger wasn’t easy, especially when most of the world refused to take you seriously, so they liked the slice of normalcy your presence brought them and the fact that you had a way of making them feel somewhat important. Yelena often warned Bucky she’d steal you away if he wasn’t careful, and he soon came to realize she wasn’t joking.

“We’ll walk you out,” Ava says as she starts to rise from her seat only for you to wave her off.

“That’s alright, you guys stay put. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yelena urges with a raised brow while looking over the people in the room for any signs of danger. “It is really no problem.”

“Really, it’s fine,” you insist with a faint smile, “I sent Bucky a text a while ago so he should be here any second. You guys enjoy yourselves.”

Despite their protests, you’re able to convince the two to let you walk out of the bar by yourself. It’s something you’ve done numerous times in the past, and with Bucky most likely already waiting for you outside you feel safe enough to venture out into the cool evening air alone.

The music from inside soon becomes muffled as you allow the doors to shut behind you while you survey your surroundings. There’s no sign of Bucky anywhere, prompting you to pull out your phone with a sigh as you check for any new messages. You absently begin to head back into the bar as you pull up his contact only for your path to be blocked by a presence that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, you leaving already?” The man asks with a charming grin. His face is clean shaven with friendly features, and though he seems like someone who hasn’t touched a single drop of alcohol tonight, you’re not interested in starting a rapport with a stranger.

“Yep,” you respond as dryly as possible to showcase your clear disinterest. “Just waiting for my boyfriend.”

“That’s too bad,” the man notes while stepping towards you, the closeness prompting you to shuffle back in discomfort. “I was hoping I could get to know you more. I saw you in there with your friends and thought you were really pretty.”

You feel an uncomfortable sense of unease settle in your gut, your intuition screaming at you to go back inside and accept Yelena and Ava’s offer to wait outside with you. Your skin crawls the longer the man looks at you, and all you want is to get away before he can continue to invade your space with false pleasantries. This doesn’t feel right.

“I think I forgot my jacket inside,” you fib while hastily trying to maneuver your way around him for the door, but he’s quick to grab onto your arm and keep you in place.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” the man reprimands you coldly while harshly tugging you back towards him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Let go of me!” You demand, fruitlessly trying to pry yourself from his ironclad grip. You can feel the tension in your muscles as he squeezes harder, sure to leave a bruise in his wake as he pulls you up against him. You yelp in protest and desperately struggle in his hold to no avail. You hopelessly look around for anyone that can help, but the streets are empty and the music from inside the bar is much too loud for anyone to hear you scream.

You’re alone.

“I tried to be nice, but you clearly need to be taught some manners,” the man sneers before roughly gripping your face in his hand. You feel his other hand slowly start to wander down your back and immediately begin to panic as you realize what’s coming next. Your mind is scrambling for some sort of way out, despairingly trying to remember at least one defense move Bucky or Yelena had taught you for situations like these.

The feel of his fingers digging into your hip sends a surge of adrenaline through your body, and without a second thought you rear your head back before slamming it with full force into his face. The man cries out in frustration at your attack, clearly not expecting you to fight back. He releases his hold on you to cradle his now bloody nose, and you use this moment of freedom to sprint as far away as you can from the man. His frame was still blocking the entrance to the bar, so you had no choice but to run down the sidewalk in hopes that he wouldn’t follow you.

Your legs feel like they’re on fire, your lungs burning as you gulp in the biting night air, but you never once stop to look back. In fact, your running is only halted when you slam straight into a solid figure on the sidewalk. A pair of familiar arms grabs hold of you to keep you from falling backward, but you still try to fight against their grip in your continuing state of panic.

“Stop! Let me go!” You cry out desperately while pounding your fists against their chest. “Don’t touch me!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” The voice urges you while carefully taking hold of your wrists to cease your assault. “Y/n, stop, it’s me!”

The familiarity of the voice registers in your mind and you instantly begin to falter. Willing your body to cease its state of panic, you look up through teary eyes to meet the worried gaze of your boyfriend. The fight within you dies, and you immediately collapse into his arms as you begin to sob. Your chest is tight with anguish and your skin aflame from the stranger’s touch, and despite knowing that you’re safe now you can’t bring yourself to calm down.

“I’m here,” Bucky assures you as he holds you against him and soothingly rubs circles into your back. “I’m right here, pretty girl. You’re safe. Just take a deep breath for me, y/n.”

You try your best to do as he says, taking in trembling gasps of air despite the steady flow of tears and snot that stream down your face. You try to focus on the feel of his fingers against your back and the sound of his heartbeat gently thrumming through his chest, and despite the time it takes to pull yourself together Bucky never wavers in his support for you.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He asks gently after your sobbing ceases and all that is left is the subtle trembling of your body in his hold.

“I-I walked outside to look for you, but then this man came out of nowhere and he- he tried to-“ you attempt to get out only to break down into sobs once more. Bucky’s eyes grow cold as he puts the pieces of your story together, a growing rage bubbling within his chest at the thought of someone trying to hurt you. He wanted nothing more than to march back to that bar and find the man who touched you, make him wish he’d never so much as looked in your direction, but Bucky knew that right now the most important thing was you. You needed him, and that took precedence over his revenge fantasies.

“It’s alright,” he hushes you gently, carefully brushing away your tears before comfortingly pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “You don’t need to say anything else. Let’s just get you home, okay?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you simply nod and allow him to wrap a protective arm around you as he escorts you to his awaiting car. Though your tears continue to fall and your entire body is crawling with disgust and shame, you’re able to finally relax in the presence of your boyfriend. You know that Bucky would never let anything happen to you, and you can slowly begin to let your guard down as you force yourself to rest.

Other than the sound of your quiet sniffles and Bucky’s steady breathing the ride home is silent. His right hand lovingly encompasses your own while his left tightly grips the steering wheel in a quiet display of fury. He tries not to let his mind wander, but he can’t stop himself from thinking of what could have happened to you if he had shown up later. Bucky adored you, and he couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you because he’d failed to protect you. He knew it wasn’t his fault, just like it wasn’t your fault that some creep had tried to take advantage of you, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for the trauma you’d just endured.

He brings you to the tower instead of your own apartment back in the city due to the fact that it’s the safest place you can be, and it would ease his mind to know he could keep an eye on you while you processed what had happened to you. You don’t have it in you to protest, especially not when all you want is to be comforted by the man you love, so you allow him to guide you through the building and up the elevator towards his room.

The late hour means the tower is silent, and you’re grateful for the fact that everyone has long since gone to bed. You don’t think you could handle running into someone and having to explain your distraught state, and you’re too embarrassed to be able to relay what had happened to you to anyone other than Bucky.

“Can I use your shower?” You ask meekly once you cross the threshold into his room. Shutting the door gently behind him, Bucky responds with a warm nod and lovingly cups your face in his hands.

“Of course. Anything you want,” he reassures you while gently running his thumb along the expanse of your cheek. “There’s fresh towels already stocked in there. Do you want some of my clothes or do you want me to swipe something from Yelena’s room to wear?”

“Yours,” you reply softly, voice so quiet Bucky almost misses your response. His heart pangs with guilt at seeing you so downtrodden and defeated, but he hopes a warm shower and a night of rest will help improve your mood and alleviate your stress.

You step into the bathroom and start the shower while Bucky searches through his drawers for something you can wear. You’re quick to remove all clothing and toss it in the hamper so you no longer have to bare the constricting fabric, and once the water is warm you fully submerge yourself under the shower head so you can begin washing away the grime.

You scrub your skin with more force than necessary, desperate to rid yourself of the sense of disgust and shame that lingers on your body despite having long since removed yourself from the clutches of your attacker. No amount of soap or body wash frees you from the torment of your assault, and no matter how hard you try you aren’t able to rid yourself of the growing bruise on your arm that marks your skin with evidence of your trauma. You wish you hadn’t gone out tonight, you wish you hadn’t denied Yelena and Ava’s offers to walk you out, you wish you could have done something differently to stop any of this from ever happening to you.

“It isn’t your fault,” Bucky assures you gently after you speak such thoughts aloud. You’d spent half an hour in the shower attempting to cleanse yourself before finally giving up and deciding to get dressed. You’d slipped into a tee shirt and sweatpants that were much too big for you, but Bucky’s lingering scent on the clothes served as a comfort and alleviated some of your tension. Now you sit quietly in bed while he lovingly brushes out your wet hair for you.

“But if I hadn’t gone outside by myself or if I had been nicer-“ you begin to say only for Bucky to cease his movements so he can gently take your face in his hands and stop you from finishing your sentence.

“That’s not true,” he insists sternly, his words contrasting the softness of his tone. His brows are set in a firm line as he meets your gaze and comfortingly rests a thumb on your trembling bottom lip “What happened isn’t on you, it’s on him. That bastard had no right to put his hands on you or force you into something you didn’t want. Do you understand, sweetheart? You did nothing wrong.”

You let out a shaky breath as a silent trail of tears begin to fall down your cheeks, only able to offer him a small nod in return. You know he’s right, and you know that you’re innocent in this situation despite how hard your brain screams otherwise. You’ve felt nothing but shame and guilt since coming home, but Bucky always knows how to chase away the storm clouds from your mind. You’re safe here in the comfort of his room, and you know that you can let your guard down and accept his words of affirmation.

“I promise you I’m going to do whatever you need me to for you to feel safe,” Bucky avows in earnest before leaning down to press his lips against your own in a kiss. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to look over your shoulder now and I don’t want you to worry about someone trying to hurt you. I won’t let that happen. I’ve got you, okay?”

You say nothing but are quick to throw your arms around his neck and tightly hold him against you. His arms immediately find their way around your frame as he holds you close and carefully maneuvers you both back into bed. His metal arm keeps you tucked securely into his side while his flesh fingers gingerly rake against your scalp the way he knows you like. The feel of his heartbeat against your cheek as you rest your face on his chest lulls you into a state of calm, and you can almost feel the tension melting away from your body as you put your entire trust into your partner.

You know no harm can come to you with Bucky around, and this thought allows you to drift into a relaxing slumber as you fall asleep in his arms.

~~~

The tower is quiet when you wake the next morning.

Though you’d managed to sleep without disruption until morning, memories of the previous night were quick to flood your conscious and fill you with quiet gloom. You don’t think you could have handled attending that press conference this morning, which is why you’re grateful Bucky had called in for you and taken care of everything. All you needed to focus on today was taking care of yourself and recharging from the exhaustion your body felt.

After Bucky lovingly coaxes you out of bed and helps you through your morning routine you make your way to the kitchen for breakfast. While the rest of the team is nowhere to be found, you stumble upon Bob contently buttering a piece of burnt toast while he waits for the coffee machine to finish making his espresso. The man looks surprised to see you at first, but his features soon morph into a sheepish smile as he offers you a friendly wave.

“Morning,” he greets you both as you sit yourself at the counter. “I didn’t know you guys were here. Everyone else went out for the day. Toast?”

You offer him a faint smile and a careful shake of your head as he holds the charred piece of bread out for you to take. You don’t feel very hungry right now, and you’re okay with just settling for the protein shake Bucky slides your way across the counter. He won’t force you to eat, but you know he’ll feel better if you at least have some form of nutrients in your system. You take slow and languid sips from the cup while you watch your partner prepare his morning oatmeal.

“I have to run out for a bit,” he says suddenly from his place at the stove, catching the attention of both you and Bob. “Valentina has me working as her errand boy this morning and I can’t get out of it. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

“Of course,” you reply with an understanding nod and a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Duty calls.”

“I won’t be away for long,” Bucky promises, making his way over to you so that he can press a kiss to your temple. “Once I’m done you’ll have me to yourself for the rest of the day.”

You hum in quiet appreciation and relish in the feeling of his lips against your skin. His gentle reassurances ease the worry that had begun to bubble at the thought of him leaving, but you know Bucky has never gone back on his word to you, so this time shouldn’t be any different.

“Can I trust you to look after my girl while I’m gone, Bob?” He asks the blond with a raised brow, tone half serious as he claps a firm hand on the jumpy man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bob avows in earnest before looking to you with uncertainty. “I’ll try my best, at least.”

“We’ll be okay, James,” you assure the man with a quiet laugh. “I’m sure Bob and I can figure out something to do in your absence.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Knowing that you’ll be looked after while he’s away lifts a weight off of Bucky’s shoulders as he bids you goodbye and departs from the tower. It makes his next task much easier to complete now that he’s free of distractions.

There was no errand from Valentina, but Bucky couldn’t tell you that he was off to enact the revenge plan he’d been mulling over the entire night while you slept.

He liked to consider himself a changed man. He’d been through grueling efforts to rid himself of the Winter Soldier in Wakanda, and he’d put in the hours at therapy to help him work through his lingering turmoil as his past continued to clash with his present. He was a better man now, a man determined to make the world a better place so you could be safe.

In spite of this, Bucky also knew that monsters still lingered in dark corners, and not everyone was deserving of his kindness. The trigger words had been erased, but his skill set had remained, and Bucky couldn’t be bothered to feel an ounce of guilt for using them when it was for your benefit. He knew you wouldn’t approve, would beg him to let it go because it wasn’t worth his time, but he couldn’t sit idly by and let this asshole get away with hurting you, and he couldn’t ley him have the chance to hurt someone again.

Finding the guy had been easy. All Bucky had to do was return to the bar you had gone to with Yelena and Ava, use his charm to get the bartender to hand him the security footage, and find the clip that revealed the man who had dared try to put his hands on you. Bucky committed the face to memory before setting off on his search, determined to use his tracking skills for good.

It didn’t take long to find out everything Bucky needed to know about your assailant. Just as he had done countless times as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had been able to hunt him down with ease and uncover the details necessary for his mission. The man’s name was Arthur, he was forty-two years old, and his phone carrier was Verizon, which was especially useful to know since it allowed him to hack into the asshole’s phone and pin his location.

His findings led him to the alley way of another dingy bar where Arthur lurked for his next victim. Too busy searching for unsuspecting women, the man failed to notice the Winter Soldier quietly creeping up behind him until it was too late. His metal hand grabbed the back of the perpetrator’s neck while the flesh one quickly wrapped around his jaw to muffle his panicked screams as Bucky dragged him into the alley way behind the bar. He was grateful for the fact that the space was empty and secluded, granting him cover despite it being broad daylight out.

Bucky immediately slams your attacker against the wall, keeping him pinned by the throat and dangling him high enough to keep his feet from touching the ground. He flails pathetically, spluttering and frantic while desperately clawing at the metal fingers pressing roughly against his windpipe. James simply flashes him a pleasant smile.

“You don’t know me,” Bucky states plainly with an innocent shrug before immediately hardening his gaze, “but I know you, Arthur.”

“H-How do you know my name?” The man whimpers fearfully only for Bucky to yank him forward and slam him back against the wall once more.

“I know everything about you,” he explains with a chilling smile that fills the man’s stomach with dread. “I know that you prey on unsuspecting women. I know that you throw temper tantrums when you don’t get your way. I know that you’re a lowlife piece of shit who thinks he’s entitled to any woman that crosses his path. Most importantly, I know you tried to take advantage of my girl.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man sobs pathetically, clearly afraid for his life and willing to say whatever he must to get Bucky to set him free. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t lie to me, Arthur,” Bucky warns with a humorless chuckle and soft shake of his head. “That’s only going to make things worse for you. Last night, you put your hands on a woman leaving a bar and tried to assault her before she got away. Do you remember that?”

A sniveling mess, the man gives Bucky a frantic nod.

“Good, I’m glad you’re being honest,” he sighs before finally releasing his hold. The man drops to the floor in a heap, desperately gasping for air and watching in trepidation as Bucky kneels down in front of him. “I like to consider myself a changed man, Arthur, but after I found out about what you did to my sweet girl… well, I felt like I had no choice but to kill you.”

“N-No, please! Please, I-I have a family! A wife and kids! I-“

“Shut the hell up, would you?” He interrupts in annoyance. “I want nothing more than to rid the earth of someone like you, but I won’t. I know my y/n wouldn’t want that. In fact, she doesn’t even know we’re having this chat right now, so out of respect for her, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! I promise I won’t ever bother her again!” Arthur sobs in relief only for Bucky’s heavy boot to immediately slam down on his hand. The sound of crunching bones and agonizing shrieks fill the alleyway as he forces his sole down harder.

“Consider this a warning,” Bucky avows lowly through gritted teeth. “If I find out you even so much as put a fucking finger on another woman again you’ll be dealing with worse than a broken hand. You make sure to tell that wife of yours exactly what it was you did to deserve this, and keep the fuck away from my girl.”

Bucky leaves the man there without so much as a second glance, uncaring to his pathetic cries or pleas for help. He’s confident the streets will be free of one less predator, and he can feel content in knowing he’d gotten you the justice you deserved. He should have killed him, he wanted to kill him, but he wasn’t that man anymore. He was changed, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize your new life together by completely reverting back to his old ways. The Winter Soldier would retreat back to the inner depths of Bucky’s mind, and he would return to you as the James you knew and loved.

When Bucky finally makes it back to the tower, he finds you nestled on the couch with a blanket absently watching your favorite reality show on the flatscreen. A mess of snacks takes up the coffee table, and a few feet away from you lies a sleeping Bob who had long since passed out during your binge session. He greets you with a kiss before tiredly seating himself beside you, wrapping his flesh arm around you and pulling you closer into his side.

“You doing okay?” He prompts you gently, fingers soothingly trailing up and down your arm.

“I think so,” you reply quietly before shifting to meet his gaze. “Were you able to finish those errands for Valentina?”

“I handled it,” he assures you with a careful nod. You hum softly and curl closer into his side, enjoying the warmth and comfort you’ve missed in his absence. The room is quiet other than the sound of the television, and a few beats pass before you decide to rupture the stillness you find yourselves in.

“James?”

The dulcet nature in which his name falls from your lips has the man peering down at your tender gaze. He subtly raises a brow in question and prompts you to continue with a slow nod of his head. Your eyes are knowing yet full of gratitude, lips curling into the faintest of smiles that anyone other than him would miss.

“Thank you,” you utter carefully, catching the man by surprise. The look on your face reveals your understanding of his absence and the fact that you know there never were any errands to attend to. You know what he has done, and you aren’t angry or disappointed. You’re grateful for his valiant efforts to bring you justice, and it makes it all the more worth it.

“I told you,” he reminds you tenderly, hand coming to rest upon your cheek, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

And he means it with every fiber of his being.

[starksweasley]

not so secret

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky were planning to keep the engagement quiet (for like, five minutes), but none of the thunderbolts believe in knocking.

wc: 1.9k+

Bucky woke before the city did. Which was saying something, considering the Avengers Tower usually never slept. But for once, it was quiet. In fact, it was almost suspiciously quiet, and he found himself blinking into soft sunlight instead of being jolted awake by fire alarms, Bob’s screaming, or Walker bench-pressing in the hallway.

You were still pressed against him, warm and soft and exactly where he wanted you. Your hand was splayed over his chest, resting right over where his heart beat steady and unbothered beneath his skin. And nestled on that hand, catching the morning light like it was born to, was the diamond ring.

His diamond ring.

Bucky just stared for a moment, letting his brain play catch-up.

You’d said yes.

The same you who tucked herself into his side each night without fail. The same you who stole his hoodies and slept with your ice-cold feet wedged between his calves like you owned the space. The same you who laughed at his grumpiest grumbles and brushed his hair and told him he was good, even when he didn’t believe it. Especially when he didn’t believe it.

And now you were wearing his ring like it had always belonged there.

He had the gall to smile. A real one. A crooked little thing that crinkled at the corner of his eyes and pulled warmth from somewhere deep in his chest. He reached up to push a wayward strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes,” he murmured, voice low and still scratchy with sleep. “Kinda.”

You made a faint noise in response, something halfway between a groan and a chuckle, and blinked up at him.

“That’s not how names work, baby,” you rasped, stretching like a cat against him.

He whined dramatically and buried his face in your neck like the coward he absolutely was. “Shut up, fiancée.”

Your laugh puffed warm against his hair, and Bucky felt you smile even before he heard it. The kind of smile that settled into your whole body, that made you shift closer like you could crawl into his chest and stay there forever. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” you mumbled. “Even after last night’s disaster.”

He peeked up, face scrunched up. “It wasn’t a disaster.”

“You dropped the ring.”

“I dropped my phone. And then the ring. But that was because you gasped. You made that sound like something exploded.”

“I thought the table was on fire.”

“It wasn’t. Just… lightly smoking.”

“And then you read your speech off your Notes app.”

“It was formatted.”

You giggled, sickeningly in love and thoroughly unimpressed. “You had bullet points.”

Bucky grunted and flopped back onto the pillow, hand dragging down his face. “Romance is dead.”

“You set the kitchen on fire with scented candles. You brought romance back and then killed it again. Very poetic.”

Still, your hand found his under the blankets, fingers curling into his palm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, for the record, it was.

The quiet stretched between you again, not awkward, not empty—just full. Like your bodies had gone still but your hearts were still talking.

And then—BANG!

The door slammed open with such force, Bucky genuinely thought it had come off the hinges.

“Okay so who short-circuited the kitchen this time?!” Bob’s voice rang out, frantic, toaster in hand, wild-eyed. “Walker’s eyebrows are HALF GONE—OH MY GOD.”

It took Bucky exactly one second to react.

“HEY!” he barked, grabbing the comforter like his life depended on it and yanking it up to cover you so fast it might’ve broken the sound barrier. You squealed under the sheets as the motion sent the actual toaster flying out of Bob’s hands and clattering to the floor like an offended robot.

“Buck—” you gasped, breathless with laughter. “You are so dramatic—”

“I will kill him,” Bucky muttered, already halfway up in bed, hair a mess and eyes full murder. His arm reached around your front, desperately grasping the edges of the blanket to make sure it didn’t slip down your chest. 

Bob, still planted at the foot of the bed like a poorly programmed Roomba, blinked. Then blinked again. And then he saw it.

Your hand, peeking from beneath the duvet. The ring. His eyes locked on it like a sniper scope.

“Wait. Is that—are you—IS THAT A RING?!”

There was a beat. One, long, painful second where the information processed behind his eyes.

And then— “BUCKY’S ENGAGED!! HE DID IT! HE LOCKED IT DOWN!” Bob shrieked, honest-to-God shrieked, and then turned and sprinted out the door, toaster smoke still trailing behind him like a tail. 

You groaned and dropped your head into Bucky’s shoulder, laughing so hard you wheezed. Bucky just stared at the door, eyes wide.

“He’s telling everyone, isn’t he.”

“Yup,” you gasped.

“I liked it better when it was our secret.”

“Mmhm. But admit it, you kinda like the chaos.”

A long pause.

“I hate how well you know me.”

And there it was two minutes later: absolute chaos.

Bucky had barely finished muttering a threat to murder Bob “in his goddamn sleep” when the sound of rapid footsteps, multiple footsteps, thundered down the hallway like a pack of wild horses. You barely had time to register the incoming stampede before the bedroom door slammed open again, and this time it didn’t stop at just one uninvited idiot. No, this time the entire squad came charging in like it was a scheduled morning briefing and not your private just-got-engaged-still-in-bed moment.

Yelena entered first, unapologetic and smug as ever. Her face was slick with a green clay mask, blonde hair piled in a messy bun, and fuzzy pink bunny slippers smacking against the hardwood with aggression. She looked like a Pinterest board threw up on her and she was proud of it.

Ava didn’t bother with the door. You shrieked as she just phased in directly onto the end of the bed, landing cross-legged with the grace of someone who did not fear death or your privacy. “Morning,” she said flatly, already regretting being awake.

Walker swaggered in shirtless, the faint scent of burnt hair trailing behind him. His right eyebrow was missing, and his protein shake was dripping down the side of the cup like it, too, was having a rough morning. “What’s all this fuss?” he asked, clearly having no idea and still deeply eager to insert himself into it.

Alexei was last—if you didn’t count Bob, who had re-entered like a returning sitcom character. The Red Guardian stomped in still fully suited up like he’d been waiting for an excuse to wear the damn thing again. He was chewing a bagel with zero urgency and looked utterly delighted.

You didn’t even have time to react before Yelena pointed accusingly.

“I KNEW IT,” she crowed, face mask cracking with the sheer force of her grin. “I knew you two were disgustingly in love. Pay up, Ava.”

Ava, without breaking eye contact or moving a muscle, reached into her hoodie pocket and tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill at Yelena’s feet like she was making an offering to the chaos gods. “This is stupid,” she deadpanned. “I wanted drama. Not a rom-com with a six-zero war criminal lead.”

Bucky made a strangled sound, equal parts offended and deeply betrayed. 

Walker squinted at you both, then at the bed, then at your left hand, and finally let out a low whistle. “So how long were you gonna hide it, huh?” he asked, tipping his protein shake toward the ring like it was a toast. “You think we wouldn’t notice the rock the size of a mini frisbee?”

You groaned softly (for the umpteenth time) from beneath the blanket and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “I need your sweatshirt.”

With a muttered curse and some careful one-armed maneuvering, he reached blindly toward the edge of the bed where his hoodie had landed the night before. It took him a full fifteen seconds to find it while still holding the blanket up with a white-knuckled grip like a man defending a fort. You snatched the hoodie the second it was within reach and, under the comforter, managed to shove it over your head in a tangled, slightly humiliating flurry of limbs and curses.

You sat up, dragged your fingers through your hair, and tried to salvage at least one ounce of dignity as you held up your left hand.

“Yeah,” you finally said, voice hoarse but good-natured. “He asked last night.”

A beat.

“After nearly setting the kitchen on fire with candles.”

Yelena turned to Bucky with a smirk like a knife. “You cooked? No wonder she said yes. She probably thought she was gonna die.”

“False,” Bucky muttered, burying his burning face into your shoulder like he could disappear into his your hoodie. “Everything was under control.”

“You burned pasta, Buck,” you said, gently patting his thigh.

He groaned louder.

That was when Walker, always the menace, decided to start playing “Single Ladies” off his phone at full volume. 

Yelena immediately joined in, throwing her clay-covered hands into the air and doing a half-committed version of the dance. Bob screamed and jumped in beside her like it was Broadway. Alexei started filming with his tablet and narrating like it was a National Geographic special: “And here, we see the modern American bachelor ritual in full display…”

Ava, still seated at the foot of the bed, stared into the middle distance and muttered, “This is hell.” But she was smiling a little despite herself.

You glanced at Bucky, who was still clinging to you like he might actually combust if he let go, and whispered through your laughter, “Wish we kept it a secret?”

His only response was a long, suffering moan muffled into your neck.

But even with the entire team screaming Beyoncé lyrics ten feet away, you could feel it in the way he held you.

The answer was no. He wouldn’t trade this chaos for the world. Not if it meant getting to love you out loud. But Bucky had his limits, especially when said chaos was standing three feet from your half-naked form and singing (moreso squawking) at full volume.

“Out,” Bucky commanded flatly.

No one moved.

“I’m serious. Out. Now. Before I start naming weaknesses.”

That got them scrambling. Walker tripped over Yelena’s bunny slipper. Ava phased directly through Bob, who screamed. Alexei took his sweet time: bagel first, dignity second. But within thirty seconds, the room was empty. 

Silence.

Bucky exhaled, long and slow, then let the blanket fall from his death grip.

You flopped back onto the bed with a thud, eyes wide and disbelieving, one arm tossed dramatically over your face. “That did not just happen.”

Bucky collapsed right on top of you and stuck his nose into the curve of your left collarbone. “It did. And I want to move.”

“To where?”

“Somewhere quiet. Unmapped. No cell signal.”

You laughed and ran your hands through his dark hair. His hand came up to find yours, fingers lacing gently together. “So… guess everyone knows now.”

“Good.”

Then he leaned up and kissed you. Slow, certain, and smiling against your mouth.

When he pulled back, he smirked. “Think it’s too early to elope?”

You raised a brow. “You trying to skip the party?”

His grin widened. “Just trying to skip Bob’s speech.

[yourauthorjen]

domestic head cannons w joaquin?

YESSS and when you walk into the kitchen, groggy, in the morning, there’s already two cups of coffee or tea sitting on the counter in some sort of flourish.

and of course there’s joaquin, standing in front of the stove, shirtless and hair an absolute mess, making whatever new dish he conjured up in his head the night before. his muscles are taught, catching the soft glow of the first light that shine through the window as he spins around a wide smile on his face when he sees you.

and as you’re still tiredly trying to process what the hell is going on, he sweeps you into his arms rambling about some crazy idea he had while he was flipping eggs.

weirdly, he’s also really good at folding laundry. it gets to the point where he’ll rearrange your entire closet because he was bored— colour coded and everything.

he does that for your books too.

you once walked in on him ankles deep in your pile of books, alphabetically ordering them onto the bookshelf. he had looked up guiltily, trying to defend himself, but you just kissed his nose and sat down next to him, helping him organize.

other times when your not at home, joaquin likes to drag you to the most random places around town— just because they “look cool online”.

sometimes he’ll take you to the middle of nowhere to have a goddman picnic. other times its a flea markert two towns over where he’ll spend forever trying to stubbornly convince you to buy some hideous porcelain figure because he thinks they’re special.

once he spent twenty minutes listing out reasons why the two of you should’ve bought an ugly frog statue, because joaquin thought it had a personality. you ended up hauling his ass out of the stand before turning back around almost immediately to let him purchase it, because he looked so sad.

when the afterlight rolls around, and the sun fades into the horizon, you always find yourself curled up in joaquin’s arms, legs tangled, blanket half on the floor with the steady sound of his breathing vibrating against your skin.

there are times where he’ll mumble something that sounds suspiciously like your name as he’s dozing off, before his hand finds yours.

it’s always sweet, being with joaquin, and you love it because he’s always there. and no matter the amount of times you’ve tried to convince him to take a break, he always just rolls his eyes and shakes his head saying, “there’s no such thing as doing too much for you.”

[callsign-swan]

almost 18+, my limited understanding of bipolar and sentry being the extreme highs side of that, where void is the entreme lows

There was something about Bob.

In the year since they had been crowned the New Avengers, she had learnt everything about the man. How to tell when he was doing good, how to tell when he was doing bad. How to distract him from his own darkness, how to tell he wanted something. How to tell what the thing he wanted was.

She was an expert on all things Bob.

She was the one who got him into a regular routine. Up early,into the gym for hand to hand training. Shower (together, if they could), something to eat and then the rest of the day was his to do whatever he wanted with.

And what he wanted to do was hers.

Whimpering beneath her as she bounced on his cock, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold himself back. Or his head between her legs, strong arms wrapped around her as his tongue moved through her folds, as her hands gripped his hair. That was Bob's favourite, her legs shaking around his head.

Something was different about today. Maybe Walker was pushing him, unable to stop himself from being an asshole. But Bob stood taller, chin raised. He didn't back down when somebody challenged him.

"You okay?" She asked, stepping towards him with her brows furrowed.

Hands grabbing at her waist, Bob looked down at her. His head was only bowed to be able to look at her. "I'm great," he said and squeezed her hips. "Better than ever."

Better than ever. She didn't know this side of Bob.

When he kissed her, it was all consuming. Bob brought his hands up to cup her face. He pushed her hair out of the way, his tongue entering his mouth.

She squealed in surprise. But she leaned into it, tried to get closer to him.

"Bob," she managed to whimper when he pulled away. "What's gotten into you?"

There was something about his smile. She had seen it once before, but it wasn’t exactly on him. He wasn't Bob anymore.

Now, what you have to understand about it is that Bob, Void and Sentry are all the same person. Void was just the extreme lows, Sentry was the extreme highs and Bob was somewhere in the middle.

This was between Bob and Sentry, something she hadn't experienced before.

When somebody cleared their throat, she pulled away from him. Her cheeks were hot as she turned to see Ava.

"If we could refrain from snogging in the hallway, I'd appreciate it."

Before she could reply with anything, Bob grabbed her and pulled her against him. It was so unBoblike, the way he used his strength to hold her close, the way he didn't stammer over an apology. He just stared at Ava with eyes that seemed to glow.

"Sorry," she mumbled and tried to pull Bob along.

For a moment, she was terrified that he was going to keep himself glued to that very spot. But he let himself be pulled along.

For the first time in a year, he could feel power simmering beneath the surface of his skin, power that was desperate to get released.

Holding it all back was driving him crazy.

In the confines of her room, Bob trapped her against the bed. But a whimper left his lips as he stared down at her.

"What's wrong, Gorgeous?" She asked, pushing her fingers through his hair.

Bob searched her face. His hands moved over every curve of her body. "Nothings wrong," he said, his head dropping forward. "Just need you."

She wrapped her legs around him.

Bob was on her immediately. He kissed her, just as intense as it had been in the corridor, just as all consuming.

He pulled away and his eyes seemed to be glowing. His hands gripped her hips, pulled her towards the end of the bed with such ease. "Bob?" She tried, her brows furrowed.

She untangled her legs from around him, but Bob caught her with impossible speed, holding her in place.

Extreme highs.

Bob pressed himself against her, but she shuffled back. Enough to sit up and wrap her arms around him. "Bobert," she whispered and pulled his head against her chest.

All of Bob seemed to slump against her. No more grabbing at her hips and thighs, no more all consuming kisses. He just slumped against her.

Bob wrapped his arms around her. His large hands were splayed across her back, holding her close. He sniffled, sucking in a deep breath.

"Hey," she whispered, pushing his fingers through his hair. "You're okay, I got you," she mumbled, nails scratching at his scalp. "I got you."

Bob or Sentry, she had him. She even had Void, when Bob was unable to hold him back. She was there for it all, there for when he dropped, for when his eyes stopped glowing and he stopped hovering a few feet off the ground.

Bob she would take care of. Bob she would hold close as he came back to himself, as the power thrumming through his veins dulled. There was always a chance that he would go too far, come out the other side as a thing of nightmares, but she was there for that, too.

[wynnerwynner]

I’m acc so tired of it so I’m just gonna say it: PTSD is not an infantilizing disorder and it does not mean a person/character’s personality and existence should be narrowed down to acting like a baby 24/7

This isn’t to say that PTSD doesn’t cause regression. It can in some cases but even then the sufferer can still do things for themselves and aren’t stuttering in every single sentence like a needy omegaverse fic

If you are going to write a character with PTSD or trauma please do your research. Ask the community. Thanks guys 😃

[spider-stark]

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

No one: …

Literally no one: …

You: I’ve been put in time out for saying that I wanna get chocked out by Sentry or Void while being called the sweetest things until I cry by Bob.

Yelena: it’s unnecessary

You: god forbid a bitch has hobbies.

John: if hobbies include saying lewd shit like that then yeah sure. *gets a shoe thrown at him*

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

JAMES?

pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count : 1.2k

Warnings : Just general fluff

Summary : When you call Bucky “James”—a name no one else dares to use—he reveals to a stunned Steve and Sam.

Authors Note : Hey y’all i’m back!!! Enjoy this fic 🙈

You stood quietly in the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him. His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his temples, and his jaw was set in that stubborn way it always was when he refused to admit he was hurting. You let out a soft sigh. You hated seeing him like this—so hard on himself, so weighed down by things he didn’t deserve to carry.

He didn’t notice you at first, too lost in his own storm. But you stepped forward, not hesitating for a second.

“James.”

Your voice cut through the room like a blade, soft yet sharp enough to reach him. The sound made him freeze mid-punch, his metal fist stopping inches from the bag. His head turned slowly, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours. And in an instant, the tension in his shoulders melted. His gaze softened in a way that made your heart ache, because you knew—you knew—no one else ever got to see him like this.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but laced with something warmer. Something vulnerable.

Steve, halfway through a set of sit-ups in the corner, dropped to the floor in disbelief. “Wait—what?”

Sam, leaning lazily against the wall with a water bottle in hand, nearly spit out his drink. “Hold the hell up,” he said, straightening. “Did she just call you James?”

Steve sat up fully now, wiping his forehead with his shirt and glaring at Bucky like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “She did. And—” his voice faltered as he pointed a finger at Bucky, “—you’re okay with it?”

Bucky glanced at Steve, then at Sam, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. But when he looked back at you, something in his expression shifted. He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Yeah. So?”

Sam’s jaw practically hit the floor. “So? You nearly ripped my arm off when I tried calling you that one time!”

Steve nodded furiously. “He’s not exaggerating. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t ever call me that again unless you want to find out how fast I can break your jaw.’”

“Exactly!” Sam threw his hands up. “And now she just waltzes in here, says James like it’s nothing, and you’re—what? Cool with it?”

Bucky’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “She’s not you.”

“Oh, no, we get that,” Sam said sarcastically. “But why the hell is she the exception?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His hand flexed at his side—flesh and metal both—but his focus stayed on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face as if grounding himself. Finally, he said, quietly but with conviction, “Because she’s mine.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve and Sam exchanged a look—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little amusement—but neither of them dared to speak.

You, however, raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as you fought back a smile. “Yours, huh?”

Bucky’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, but he didn’t back down. His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yeah. Mine.”

“God,” Sam muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so disgustingly soft, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Agreed,” Steve said, though there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he stood up. “You two can have your… moment. We’ll leave.”

As the door closed behind them, you turned back to Bucky, who was already watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. His expression had softened completely now, the rough edges smoothed out into something raw, something real.

“James,” you said again, stepping closer, and you saw the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his lips parted slightly like he needed to hear it just one more time.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of damp hair away from his face. “Come take a break.”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I just… I didn’t want to bother you. I needed to work it out.”

“James,” you said, firmer this time, and his breath hitched like the sound of his name from your lips alone was enough to shake him. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and his hand—metal and warm and steady—reached up to wrap around yours. He held it there, against his cheek, like he was afraid you might pull away. “It’s not just the name,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “When you say it… it’s different. It feels… good.”

Your heart swelled, and you gave him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s because I love you, James. All of you. Even the parts you don’t think are worth loving.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again, they were glassy, like he was fighting to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop it,” you said gently, stepping closer until your foreheads touched. “You deserve everything. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just held you there, close, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. And maybe, in some ways, you were.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“James,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped him, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re all I’ve got,” he whispered, his voice muffled but full of emotion. “And you’re all I need.”

You held him there, running your fingers through his hair, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself just be. Vulnerable. Loved. Yours.

Thanks for reading 😁

[takenbypeter]

Hello Little One

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Words: 291

Request: @horrormovielover2000: How about Bob holding his newborn 👶 daughter after his wife gives birth to her?

A/N: This one was so fluffy and cute to write! Just pure happiness in this drabble.

Bob couldn’t believe the time was finally here. After those months of waiting, months of preparing for the newborn, hours of helping you get through the birth, all of that was leading up to this point. 

Bob watched, a permanent look of proudness and amazement on his face as he looked at you and your baby. He was just…filled with a pure amount of love at the sight. 

You, while mostly paying attention to the newborn could easily see his face from beside you. You copied his expression looking up at him who was enthralled by the little one. 

“You want to hold her?” You asked, voice soft. 

“Can I?” The question was so timid no doubt due to the raw moment. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, “you’re the father, of course you can hold her,” his smile only grew at your words. Kneeling down, he leant over and picked her up off of your chest and held her just as you did. 

Bob’s eyes were glued to her fragile body. “Hi,” he whispered, naturally bobbing his own body up and down to comfort the child, “I’m Bob.”

You beamed at the sight in front of you, him, your new daughter. “You’re going to be a great father,” you said, causing him to turn his attention to you. His features softened, his lips still curved while his eyes were now glassy. You knew how much that meant to him. How much he worried about it. But you knew him and you both didn’t have anything to worry about. 

“And you are going to be a great mother,” he commented as you shared a look together before both turning to the small girl again, letting her captivate your focus. 

[fandomnerd9602]

Wolf!Natasha and Y/N cuddle after a passionate round…

Y/N: you are insatiable

Natasha giggles seductively, her wolf tail swishes happily…

Natasha: (purrs) I know my hunter. But can you blame me?

Y/N: I’m just glad your animal side isn’t a lion…lionesses love to mate 20-40 times a day during their heat cycles

Natasha: (purrs) is that a challenge?

Y/N: I-umm…

The wolf hybrid tackles her mate back to the bed…

For @supercorpdanbeau

[spidey-webz]

Hi :D I just watched Thunderbolts and I’m totally obsessed w Bob/Sentry/Void omg 🥰

I’m requesting a Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader smut, preferably riding him (reference to the movie hehe) - could be riding his fingers/thighs/c*ck 👀

ngl, i've been having the exact same idea since i left the cinema ahhhh. this is just soft sex ngl

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x f!reader Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fingering, dirty talk, soft dom bob if you squint, riding, unprotected p in v, petnames (honey), brief mentions of bob's anxiety, no beta Words: 1.4k Summary: Bob loves to finger you, but he loves seeing you ride him even more.

masterlist

Bob and you had been together for a little while. He was glad that he had found you. You made him feel less alone, less... alienated. He could feel normal around you and your presence alone oftentimes took his mind off things. It distracted him from the memories rushing in and out of his mind, sometimes lingering, sometimes not.

And there was no better distraction than getting to touch you. You had taken it slow at first, but after the first few times you ended up in bed together, he grew more and more confident.

Bob loved to please you. There was nothing sweeter to him than seeing you come underneath him. Or to have you writhe on his fingers.

Like he was doing just now.

His fingers were fully buried inside you, making your hips squirm against his hand. Your hands were fisting the sheets in a desperate attempt to grab hold of something while Bob was curling his fingers up. Just a little. Just enough for you to gasp. "Does it feel good?" He asked, a mischievous smirk on his lips. Of course it did. There was rarely a time where you didn't enjoy anything the man gave you.

His hair was a dishevelled mess as he bent over you. Bob always looked at you with wide, curious eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he had gotten. How much he adored to see every small change in your face, the slightest hint at your approval or disproval, but most importantly… the way your lips parted when you came or how you tilted your head back slightly whenever he hit that sweet spot inside you.

Despite his initial nerves when it came to making you come, he had grown so good at it. Bob knew exactly where his fingertips had to brush over your sensitive walls. After watching you so carefully the first few times, he had been able to make out exactly when his fingers needed to speed up or slow down until you'd be trembling under his touch.

“I asked you something, honey."

His fingers sped up inside you.

Bucking your hips up against his touch, you nodded.

"Yes." Your voice was barely audible, but the smirk on Bob's face told you enough. He was pleased with himself.

Bob struggled with his own self-worth and identity constantly, but pleasing you often made him feel better. Being able to make you feel good was enough to lift his mood and he thrived on knowing that you wanted him to make you come.

He could tell your climax was close when your walls started to squeeze around his fingers, moans spilling from your mouth by the second.

Then he pulled his hand away and you were left gaping around nothing. You were about to protest, tempted to reach out and pull your boyfriend back to you, but he was faster.

You often forgot how easy it was for Bob to just pick you up and place you wherever he wanted you to be. His hands grabbed your hips, lifting you up and onto his lap. His lips found yours as his big hands travelled down your back, squeezing your ass while you could feel him get harder and harder in his boxers.

He groaned into the kiss, a desperate sound, before he pulled away to look at you.

He didn't have to say anything for you to know what he was going to suggest. His cock was pulsing underneath you, desperate to get the attention it deserved as you had probably already left a stain on Bob's boxers.

Your hands took a hold of his shoulders as you lifted yourself enough for Bob to wiggle out of his underwear. He placed a few more kisses along your throat as you hovered above him while adjusting his cock, so you could sit down on it.

The tip of his cock brushed against your folds and you felt your pussy squeeze around nothing. His fingers had left you craving for so much more and you couldn't wait to have him fill you to the brim.

Bob grabbed your hips again, this time slowly guiding you down onto his cock. He took his time with it, allowing you to take him inch by inch as his lips remained on your soft skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his cock started to stretch your walls so deliciously.

And when you had finally taken him completely, he couldn't help but grab the back of your neck and take a look at you. There wasn't a sight more beautiful in the world. This is what gave him peace of mind.

Seeing you in his lap, tits right in front of him while he could feel your tight walls squeezing him. While he could see you squirm impatiently.

"Take what you need, honey."

His voice was raspy, marked by his desire.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You leaned forward a little, starting to move your hips back and forth first. He always filled you out so nicely and when you angled your hips just right, you could feel him pressing against that sensitive spot deep within you.

Bob's head tilted back, a few strands of his hair falling into his face as he just let you take what you needed.

When you planted your hands on his chest and sped up your pace, he couldn't keep his own moans at bay. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as he started to meet your movements with his own. You bounced up and down on him, nails leaving his skin red and he wished he could feel the sting of them.

"Looking so good," he mumbled, eyes fixated on your tits bouncing up and down. His hands left your hips to squeeze your breasts and it only made the knot in your stomach tighten. Your legs were trembling, but you wanted more. So much more.

You moved your hips back and forth, then up and down again. He was so deep and every time you sank back down on him, it brought you closer to your high. You didn't hold back your moans either, whimpers falling from your lips as he hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Going to come on top of me?" Bob sounded a little out of breath as he was simply mesmerised by the sight in front of him.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples as he thrusted up into you faster, desperate to reach his own high. Your pussy was starting to contract around him, enough of a sign to tell him you were so very close.

"Mhm?"

You fell into a desperate frenzy with your movements, almost too distracted to answer him, but when you could feel your orgasm approaching, like a wave ready to rip you apart, you nodded again.

"Yes," you whispered, nails digging further into his chest.

You were so very close, so-

His right hand moved to your back, urging you forward a little, so you could lean over him. His lips found your breasts, biting into your soft skin before he took a hold of your hips again.

Bob started to hold you in place as he thrusted up faster and harder into you. His speed was unrelenting, each thrust driving you further towards a sweet release and your whimpers only grew louder.

When Bob hit that sweet spot again, you fell apart with a soft cry. Your thighs started to shake on either side of his body, hands gripping the headboard as your orgasm rolled over you and all the while Bob was moaning right against your breasts. He was close too and the contractions of your walls around him just pushed him further and further to the edge.

Until it hit him too.

"Shit," he groaned loudly, hips bucking up hard one last time, before he forced you all the way down on his cock again.

You could feel him fill you up with warm ropes of cum, his shaft pulsing inside you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

His arms snaked around your torso, pulling you closer to him, so you could bury your face in his neck while he still stayed inside you until he would go soft again.

Moving his lips to your ear, his words were barely a whisper.

"I love you."