This is my main, Multifandom blog, for specifically my Yakuza (Game Series) fics, please see Gorochanfanclub (I know there is no current working Masterlist there but I will have one up in the foreseeable future)
And visit my AO3, also gorochanfanclub but NOTE: I often cross post here and there so there may not be anything to see lol!
MCU
Matt Murdock:
You Can't Leave Me Too: (Matt x Reader) Matt and his ex did not part on good terms... and after months of not speaking to each other, she wakes up in a hospital room, with Matt praying at her bedside. Can two broken people fix what they have? Should they?
...
Loki Laufeyson:
Married Life: (Loki x Reader) Loki adores his wife... much to the detriment of everyone around him (AU where Loki survived Infinity War/ Endgame and took over New Asgard instead of Valkyrie)
Vengence (AO3): (Loki x Reader) Loki learns his beloved, a SHIELD agent being considered for the Avengers initiative, has been murdered, and his brother alongside her a few days later. With nothing left in his heart and nothing left to lose, he decides to exact his revenge on all of Midgard. (2 Chapter Mini-Series)
Two Halves Made Whole: (Loki x Reader)Loki's and his wife are separated, their divorce pending. He wants to rectify that. Will he be able to? Or has his wife finally had enough of his antics to forgive him this time?
Loki Being a "My Wife" Guy HC
Loki and His Toxic Wife HC
...
Bucky Barnes:
Waiting for My Chance: (Bucky x OFC) Bucky gets roped into a guys night with the rest of the men on the Thunderbolts. When his best friend Wilhelmina comes to tell them all goodbye before she heads out on a date, Bucky is filled with conflicting feelings... why didn't she tell him she was seeing someone? And why does it suddenly rub him the wrong way? It never did before.
All At Once: (Bucky x Reader) She's been friends with Bucky for years. What they have is comfortable, they belong together, that's how things are. Sometimes, falling in love isn't special, it's just... easy as breathing.
Thuderbolt!Bucky x OGAvenger!Reader Fic Prompt
Beefy!Thunderbolt!Bucky Being Insecure HC
...
Steve Rogers:
Missed Opportunities (WIP Excerpt): (Steve x OFC) Excerpt from a wip Steve Rogers x OFC fic I've been wanting to write for a really long time. Story would be about Steve and his old SHIELD partner throughout their relationship, starting from the moment he was unfrozen, during their time of working together, all the way until the end of Endgame. No matter how much each one cares about the other… the time to actually be together is never right.
Steve In Love With His SHIELD Partner Ficlet
...
Johnny Storm:
Johnny x Alien!Reader Who Can't Stand the Cold HC
...
Bob Reynolds:
Bob x Thunderbolt with Psychic Powers HC
Death Note
L Lawliet:
Normal (P1): (L x Chubby!Reader) It lights a fire inside L that Light Yagami is allowed to be a "normal" young man. He has a loving family, a bright future, and... a girlfriend that isn't thousands of miles away.
Normal (P2): (L x Chubby!Reader) L longs for a sense of normalcy in his current depression. The burdens of the case begin to weigh him down. His heart longs for something or someone far away... If only she were with him now...
Alan Wake 2
Alan Wake:
Claire de Lune (AO3): (Alan x OFC) Alan was desperately searching for the right hotel room. The man on the phone had told him to come here and meet him. But what he finds instead... is a woman alone at a piano. Who is she? How did she get here? Why does he remember her? It leaves Alan with more questions than answers. How deep in the spiral is he?
Castlevania (Netflix)
Adrian "Alucard" Fahrenheit Tepes:
Cherish You (An exceprt)(AO3): (Alucard x OFC) In 1476, the infinite corridor dropped a young lady on the doorstep of Alucard's castle. As time passed, a friendship like no other formed between the two. But as all good things must, this came to an end and she was sent back through the corridor to where she came from... our modern day in the year our Lord 2023. After half a millennia, the pair are reunited. After five centuries, the castle has gone under many renovations, and Adrian wishes to show each one to his long lost friend... but are they truly *just* friends?
Fianlly (Series) (AO3) [ON INFINITE HIATUS]: (Alucard x OFC) In 1477... she left him. She had to, she wasn't ever supposed to be there. He didn't want her to go, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop her... so he waited. He waited 500 years... only to realize she didn't love him back.
To note: I'm not an x reader writer like I used to be and I ain't starting again but I do love writing headcanons for my babies.
Blade:
•"I got better shit to do than this."
•He's still not moving though, is he?
•Is very warm.
•Rests his chin on your head
•Makes you feel extremely safe.
•Probably rubs his thumb back and forth over your wrist or where your pulse point is on your neck.
•Grumbles
•"Could be out there, killin' suckheads... You really that comfy like this?"
•You're already half-asleep.
•He finds this adorable.
•You could not torture that admission out of him.
Wade Wilson:
•"Yeah? You wanna get all snuggly with the ugly duckling, babycakes?"
•He smells like bacon (I had a huge scar on my knee once, it smelled like bacon no matter how much I washed, and he's covered in scars, so...). And a lot of cologne, like he's really trying to cover up the bacon part. Also there's some bleachy, lemony something or other in the mix.
•Will pull you RIGHT on top of him.
•His arms are tight around you and you can't move or otherwise he'll complain
•"You're making friction happen. It's making me feel some very un-wholesome things during this very wholesome cuddle, snookums."
•There will be groping. You're going to have to accept that.
•"That? Oh, my hand just rested there. Naturally."
•Will NOT shut up.
•Might start trying to quietly serenade you.
•"Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose..."
Peter Parker:
•You snuggle up to his side and he has to hide his delight.
•"Oh, hey. Just... Make yourself comfortable."
•He'll pull you into his side and maybe kiss your forehead more than once
•His hands roam. Not because he's trying to escalate anything! He just... Does Not Know Where To Put Them.
•One's playing with your hair. The other's on your thigh. Then the one in your hair is on your hip and the other is screwing with your fingers.
•Eventually, you hold one and rest your palm over the other when it wraps around your waist. Just to keep him still.
•He talks a lot, but not in a Wade way.
•Funny stories from patrols, stupid nerd facts, goofy little anecdotes about the best places to get food in Queens.
•Eventually, he'll get quieter. Softer. He'll tell you secrets, little things no one else knows.
•"Sometimes I wonder if I was supposed to get bitten. If it was—god, this sounds lame—fate, or something. If I was supposed to become Spider-Man, or if I was just... In the right place at the right time. Makes me wonder if it would've led to you either way."
•He yawns like a cat; silent and adorable. When he gets quieter, he gets sleepy.
•This is your favorite version of him.
Kurt Wagner:
•If you're laying down, he's there, right on top of you, eyes glowing like a cat.
•"Care if I join you, schatzi?"
•Not that it really matters.
•You're stuck now. Better hope you don't have to pee or something. He'll pout.
•You called him your 'sexy weighted blanket' once. He found this absolutely hilarious.
•"I suppose I am very fuzzy. Just like a blanket, ja? Your favorite blanket."
•He'll nip at your neck, just because he likes doing it.
•If you play with his hair or scratch his back, he purrs.
•He almost always falls asleep.
•It's not his fault his partner is so comfy!
Steve Rogers:
•Oh my god.
•This is the safest you will ever feel.
•He likes holding you after particularly taxing days.
•Rubs your back or upper arm
•Acts like you're the one who needs the relaxation.
•Talks all sweet and quiet
•"You're so good for me. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm gonna keep doing it."
•He's warm-ish; just a little cold, like when you flip over a pillow mid-sleep.
•The serum made him the perfect soldier but it also made him the perfect cuddle buddy
•He smells like liberty and the best cologne you will ever smell. What is that? Pine? Bergamot?
•Even if you ask, you won't get a good answer.
•"Oh, my cologne? I don't know. I... I just bought what smelt the best."
•God, he's just ever-so-slightly ridiculous.
•You love him.
Johnny Storm:
•It is... Warm.
•Seriously. You may start sweating while spooning.
•He heats up more when he's happy, and, well... He's really happy when he's with you.
•If you try to get some distance from your warm-ass boyfriend, he will not be having it.
•"Hey, hey, hey, no. Where're you going, firefly?"
•You mumble about the heat, and he pouts, nuzzling into your neck like if a furnace were a puppy were a human.
•"You can't handle a little heat? Baby, it's what you sign up for when you date the Human Torch!"
•He'll roll you over onto your back just so he can lean over you and present his best puppy eyes.
•"Come on. Stay."
•It's unfair. He knows you're weak for him.
•So, you stay, and he lays down right on top of you, and you're still sweating.
•After a bit, he feels a little bad.
•"...I'll turn on the ceiling fan."
Matt Murdock:
•"Come here, please."
•It's soft, quiet, coming from the either the bedroom or the couch, depending on how lazy he's feeling.
•He waits until your footsteps pause in the doorway, and then he deploys his methods of manipulation.
•His arms go out, he offers his most adorable smile, and you're sold. He doesn't even need to ask out right.
•You lay down beside him, he pulls you close enough to drape over his chest.
•"Just... Stay. Like this. For a little while."
•Everything is quiet. You usually fall asleep, but not Matt.
•He counts heartbeats and breaths, he rubs your back, sometimes he'll give you a shoulder massage, if you stay awake long enough for it.
•He cherishes the fact that you feel safe enough with him to be like this.
•Sometimes he'll ask you to bring whatever book you've been reading. He loves listening to your voice.
•You play with his hair between page turns, all the other noises in the world go silent for once.
Peter Quill:
•There are three things Peter loves doing with you when it's quiet and nobody else is around.
•Dancing, you can probably guess the second, and... Cuddling.
•He loves it the most, honestly.
•He specifically likes pulling you into his side, ear buds shared, listening to music and eating whatever unhealthy space snacks are in the bulkhead.
•He'll attempt to feed you things you've already wrinkled your nose at.
•No, I swear, I know it looks gross, and it smells gross, but once you get past the first couple chews, it's great, baby!"
•He'll tell you stories about his adventures, movie plots that he's passing off as his adventures—you've seen every single one, but you don't call him out on it—and little memories he has with certain songs.
•His arm is around your shoulders or waist, and his fingers never quite stop tapping out beats on you.
•He's always fidgeting.
•He'll start singing to you, if there's a long pause in conversation
•...He's not good at singing.
•"If you like piña coladas, or getting caught in the rain..."
contains: deadpool/wade wilson x gn!reader, rough makeout, suggestive content. images from pinterest
thinking about wade wilson insisting that you kiss him while he's still in his dirty, bloodied suit because he's had a "long, hard day" and wants to blow off steam. he teasingly calls you gross for wanting him like this, but he kisses you first through the mask because he's just so impatient.
he likes when you run your hands up and down his taut muscles, groaning in pain and satisfaction when your squeeze the sore spots. he's shamelessly a masochist—he likes it when you’re rough. and he's certainly not complaining when you take off his mask and push your tongue in his mouth.
"someone's- excited-" wade mumbles through kisses.
you push his jaw to the side, exposing his neck. "shut up."
"hey, that's my line- oh."
wade's knees buckle a little when your teeth lightly dig into his throat. "feisty. but you know what that means." wade hooks his arms under your thighs and fastens your legs around his waist. "just gotta tame you extra hard."
Dex is the kinda man who will grovel for your forgiveness when he does something bad in your dream and you wake up mad.
oh 100%. when you wake up before him from a dream where he cheated on you, for instance, and you just can't stand the way he's sleeping so peacefully on top of you. face buried in your chest drooling, arms wrapped around your waist and soft snores falling from his stupidly pretty lips. you just wiggle out of his grasp and head to the kitchen, pissed off that dream him would even try something like that.
and he inevitably wakes up freaking out because you're not in the bed anymore, and you don't usually slip away with out telling him first unless you're mad :( he literally has to pace around the room and calm himself down before heading to the kitchen to talk to you.
he timidly approaches you where you're standing at the coffee machine, fidgeting with his fingers awkwardly. "b-baby? what's wrong?" he tries, only to be met with silence. he's literally holding back tears, so angry with himself that he upset you (he has absolutely no idea what he did).
you sigh deeply, letting a minute pass before speaking. "im mad at you." you grumble out the words. his heart drops at that, and you turn around to see it written on his face. it almost makes you feel bad, the kicked puppy look always makes you feel a bit bad.
"m'sorry" he immediately starts apologizing, not even caring to ask what he did because whatever it was you must have a good reason. he's panting, almost hyperventilating because he can't stand the thought you of being upset with him. "m'so sorry– baby," you cut him off with a finger in the air, making him pause and his eyes go wide. "aren't you gonna ask what you did?" you ask, voice drenched in annoyance.
his mouth opens and closes, words failing him. you roll your eyes, groaning. "you cheated on me." you state, making his eyebrows furrow in confusion. "in my dream, duh" you state it like it's the most obvious fact in the universe.
he sees this no differently than as if he actually cheated on you, with the way he shakes his head and takes your hands in his.
"i'd never– you know i'd never do that to you..." his voice shakes, "m'really sorry, baby" he's asking for your forgiveness, for something he had no part in.
+ you make him spend the rest of the day making it up to you, even though you stopped being mad at him when he apologized the first time.
Summary: Bob just can’t get enough of you. It’ll ruin him. He doesn’t care.
Word count: 1.6k
Tags and warnings: Smut, possessiveness and clinginess, brief mention of addiction, established relationship, Bob thinking he’s a god (talk your shit, king), Bob’s POV, the Void, Bob/Sentry/Void are all the same person (just different aspects of Bob), Bob is smitten and besotted and in love, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(I kept getting this urge to explore some of the darker aspects of Bob’s personality and powers and…here we are. This is more like two smaller fics that are similar enough to pair together in one post. I don’t think it’s overly graphic or dark, but please heed the warnings, just in case! Thank you as always to the wonderful @getaapologist for sitting through my nonsense!)
Bob Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
A sentry's duty is to keep watch for danger. And slowly, over time, Bob grows more confident in his role as the Golden Guardian of Good.
Keep watch. Control access. Guard.
Control.
And he does. He learns to control his powers, learns to keep The Void locked away. He lives up to his title. He’s good. He doesn’t hurt, he doesn’t destroy. He helps, he protects. He’s finally what he wanted to be all long.
Something better. Something more.
And the more he helps — the more he protects, rescues, saves — the more he wants to do it. It becomes an unbearable itch that he can’t quite reach, can never truly satisfy.
It becomes an addiction. The power he holds. Valentina was right — he is a God. And shouldn’t a God use his powers for good? Shouldn’t he keep the helpless humans safe from danger? From themselves?
And then there’s you. Oh, he’d burn the world to the ground to protect you. And slowly, these thoughts come to him, over and over. Unrelenting. Persistent. At first, he tries to ignore them. They feel irrational, delusional even. But then, gradually, they start to wear him down.
They start to make sense.
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He couldn’t bear to lose you. He doesn’t want to remember the man he was before he met you. And he won’t ever have to, if he can just keep you safe.
After all, you’re as human as the rest of them. Shouldn’t he protect you too? Protect you from harm, from those who would hurt you, from those who would use you to hurt him?
Shouldn’t he keep you safe from yourself? Doesn’t a God know what’s best?
At first, it’s subtle. Barely noticeable. Blink and you’d miss it. Bob’s always been a little clingy with you. You've always thought it was sweet. It’s nice to be needed. You know what he's been through, and it feels like a privilege for him to trust you so much.
But then, as time goes by, it starts to change. Grow. Wherever you go, he always seems to be there first.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by the others.
Walker passes by the two of you sitting together at the kitchen table one afternoon. There's no mistaking his blatant grimace.
“Can’t remember the last time I saw one of you without the other,” he snarks. “It’s getting creepy.”
A sudden crack erupts through the room as the table collapses in pieces beneath Bob’s palms. Before you can process what’s happened, he’s on his feet, pulling you away from the mess. He checks you over with care, turning your hands over in his and muttering to himself about splinters.
You and Walker exchange a glance while he’s distracted. All too soon, Bob’s pulling your attention back to him, a worried expression on his face as he caresses your cheek. The ground feels as though it’s been pulled out from under you. You’ve never seen his eyes so golden before.
The Watchtower is a sanctuary, but now, it’s starting to feel like a gilded sage. When was the last time you left? The last time Bob didn’t have an excuse, a distraction? Something to keep you by his side, under his watchful eye.
And when you finally confront him about it, you expect denial. An argument. Lies.
But that’s not what happens at all.
He paces the room, back and forth, head bowed as he speaks, hands wringing over and over.
“You don’t understand how dangerous it is out there,” he says, voice low and laced with something you can’t quite place.
Something that makes heat pool in your stomach and twists it in knots all at once.
You watch him as he moves, as his blinks quicken, as his jaw tics over and over.
“What if something were to happen? And I- I wasn’t there. If I wasn’t fast enough. If I couldn’t-”
His voice cracks, and he stops suddenly, blinking back tears.
“I have to keep you safe,” he whispers despairingly.
He crosses the room to where you sit, dropping to his knees at your feet. Forehead pressed to your thighs as his hands search clumsily for yours. His grip is just teetering on the wrong side of too tight.
“I know it’s wrong of me to try and keep you all to myself, but I- I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you,” he murmurs in a choked voice.
When he raises his head, his eyes are as bright as the sun. And while you wipe away his tears — try and reassure him, sate him — you don’t notice how the shadows creep up over you both until it’s too late.
The more Bob helps, the more he wants to help. Until it's a never-ending cycle. The better a person he is — the more helpful, more useful — the better he feels about himself. This is his purpose in life. Every time he felt helpless, powerless… None of that matters anymore.
He can cast it all off. A snake shedding its skin.
He finally feels fulfilled. And that feeling gives him a rush that he can't get enough of. Gradually, that meek, shy man starts to disappear, and in his place stands the man with the power of a thousand suns. He's not as easy to read anymore — there's a confidence about him that might seem arrogant coming from someone so mild-mannered, and a wild energy that leaves the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.
Where he used to skirt around things, explain himself in mumbled words, he's now calm and collected in how he speaks. He knows what he wants. And what he wants is to keep you safe from harm.
You'll see things his way. He knows you will.
And eventually, you do. It all starts to make sense. The world is such a dangerous place — how did it take you so long to realise?
He really does know what's best for you. How could you possibly know better than a God?
Rarely are you ever out of his sight. And when you are, he's always quick to find you again. To gather you into his arms, press kisses to your face and tell you that it's alright.
Somewhere along the way, he stopped caring about the world so much. You're his world now. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you happy. Holding you close. Whatever your heart desires — he'd go through Hell and back for you.
You're all he thinks about. All he cares about. A high he never wants to come down from. You're perfect.
And when he finally has you alone, beneath him, clinging to him like your very life depends on it — fuck. You're his weakness. He can't let you go. He won't. Not until he pulls you apart, piece by piece, sees exactly how you work, so he can meticulously put you back together again.
Not until he hears you say his name.
He keeps you right on that edge for hours, could keep you there forever — what does time matter to a God? It's the most blissful torture. He wants to commit every inch of you to memory. Every sound, every sigh and gasp and trembling "oh, God".
And when you're close — head thrown back, nails leaving welts across his shoulders as you clutch desperately at him — it only makes him more determined. He needs you to fall apart for him, feels like he'll lose his mind if you don't.
A sharp gasp is pushed from you as it hits you all at once, your back arching, pushing you closer to him.
"Fuck- Bob-"
Exhaled like a prayer. Whispered between clenched teeth.
He doesn't stop. He can't stop. Not until you give him what he wants. You swat at him with a weak hand, tell him to slow down, to let you catch your breath.
His teeth nip the skin beneath your ear, worrying it until he's certain he's left a bruise blooming in his wake.
"Nuh-uh, you know what I want from you," he grits out, lost in the feeling of you. "You promised."
Having this power over you — this control — there's nothing else in the world that can compare to it.
You blink up at him, swallowing hard as you try to think. He doesn't want you to think, he loves you like this — without a care in the world.
"What are you-"
Realisation seems to dawn. Your eyes widen.
"Bob, I did- I did say it. I swear I did."
He looks at you, drinks you in — your parted lips, the cute little line between your brows. He's so in love with you, it makes him delirious.
He laughs then, a low breath of a sound that sends a shiver through you.
"Maybe you did," he concedes. Not once does he stop. "Sounded too much like God to me."
The blissed out, dreamy smile that spreads across your face could do more damage to him than any monster he's ever gone up against. He presses a line of kisses along the edge of your jaw, until you're squirming.
"You think you can try again for me, baby?" he asks softly. A plea and a command all at once. "One more? Please?"
You're both in for a long night. But he's going to make sure every second of it is worth your while. Couldn't forgive himself if he didn't. He might be more powerful than a God, but you— you rule him, mind, body and soul.
(You can join the taglist here! You can also request to be removed through the same form!)
Hank McCoy (Beast) X Reader-
- Lazy Mornings 💕
- Confessions
- Relationship Head Cannons
- Feeling Jealous?
- Hank X Introvert Head Cannons
- Can't Get Enough of You
Morph X Reader-
- Relationship Head Cannons
Kurt (Nightcrawler) X Reader
- Star Gazing ✨
Scott Summers (Cyclops) X Reader
-Relationship Head Cannons
Spider Verse:
Miguel X Reader (wattpad)
Spot X Reader (Wattpad)
Miles X Reader (Wattpad)
Hobie X Reader
Gwen X Reader
My Hero Academia:
All Might/Smite X Reader-
- So this is Love?
- Fixing You Up
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
More Tumblr Posts Coming Soon!
Most of these have already been uploaded on my Wattpad and Ao3, but I know not everyone has access so I just went a head and linked my them all here! Let me know if there’s any fandoms you’d like me to write for!!
I need to send -💙 drunken kiss / tipsy- for our Tony!!!
Champagne Confessions
Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader
Heart Game
Warning/Rating: PG-13, romantic fluff, one-shot focused on romantic tension and emotional vulnerability. Contains tipsy characters, champagne-fueled confessions, flirting, witty banter, and a passionate kiss.
Word Count: 645 K
The last guest had stumbled out twenty minutes ago, leaving you and Tony alone in his penthouse with nothing but empty champagne flutes, the glittering Manhattan skyline, and about three drinks too many coursing through your veins.
"You know what your problem is?" Tony said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, and he'd lost his jacket somewhere around midnight.
"I wasn't aware I had a problem," you replied, kicking off your heels and curling your legs beneath you on his obscenely expensive couch. The room tilted pleasantly when you moved too fast.
"You're too smart." He pointed at you with his glass, nearly sloshing whiskey onto his white shirt. "It's intimidating."
"Says the man who built a nuclear reactor in a cave."
"With a box of scraps," he added automatically, then grinned - that boyish, lopsided grin that made your stomach flip. "See? You even know my origin story. You pay attention."
"Maybe I just have a good memory."
"Maybe you like me."
The words hung in the air between you, suddenly charged with something that had been building all night - all month, if you were honest with yourself. Every meeting where his eyes lingered a second too long. Every briefing where he stood just slightly too close. Every joke that felt like it meant something more.
"You're drunk," you said, but your voice came out softer than intended.
"Tipsy," he corrected, pushing off from the window and crossing to the couch. He moved with that particular careful precision of someone who knew exactly how intoxicated they were and was compensating for it. "There's a difference. Drunk is when I'd do something stupid. Tipsy is when I'd do something honest."
Your heart hammered as he sat beside you - closer than necessary on the sprawling sectional. You could smell his cologne mixed with expensive whiskey and something uniquely him.
"And what honest thing are you planning to do?"
Tony set his glass down on the coffee table with a decisive click. When he turned to face you, his eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide in the dim lighting. "Tell you that I've been thinking about kissing you since you corrected my calculations in front of the entire board meeting three months ago."
"I was right," you whispered.
"You were magnificent." His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "You're always magnificent. It's extremely inconvenient."
"For who?"
"For me. Makes it very hard to concentrate on saving the world when you're around being all... competent and beautiful and…"
You kissed him before he could finish, closing the distance between you in one champagne-brave moment. His lips tasted like whiskey and something sweet, and for a second he went perfectly still, surprised. Then he made a sound low in his throat and kissed you back like he'd been waiting for permission.
His fingers threaded through your hair as he deepened the kiss, and you gripped the front of his shirt to steady yourself - though whether you were dizzy from the alcohol or from him, you couldn't say. Probably both. Definitely both.
When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Tony rested his forehead against yours.
"So," he said, voice rough and wondering, "that just happened."
"Tipsy honesty?" you managed.
"Best kind." He smiled against your lips, already leaning in again. "Want to be honest some more?"
You answered by pulling him closer, and somewhere in the back of your champagne-fuzzy mind, you thought that maybe being too smart wasn't a problem after all - not if it had led you here, to this moment, to him.
"For the record," Tony murmured between kisses, "you're still intimidating."
"Good," you whispered back. "Don't get comfortable."
His laugh vibrated against your mouth, warm and real and perfect. "Wouldn't dream of it."
reader who is a huge cuddle bug but is constantly shy to ask bucky if he wants to cuddle with her. and bucky who, every single time, just melts when she stumbles through asking him for cuddles.
You’ve been thinking about it for the past ten minutes.
Well, thinking about it, circling it, building it up into something much bigger than it actually is. Because it’s just cuddling. Just asking your boyfriend if he wants to hold you for a little while. That’s normal. People do that all the time.
But your brain doesn’t really care about “normal.”
Your fingers twist in the hem of your sleeve as you sit on the couch, angled just slightly toward him. Bucky’s sprawled beside you, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked over the back of the couch like he owns the space without even trying. There’s a quiet movie playing on the TV, something neither of you are really paying attention to. His attention keeps drifting back to you anyway—little glances, soft and curious.
You notice every single one of them.
You always do.
Your knee bumps his accidentally and your heart jumps like you’ve done something wrong. He doesn’t pull away, though. If anything, his leg shifts just a little closer, pressing more firmly against yours.
God.
You swallow.
“Buck?” you try, and immediately want to hide.
His head turns toward you instantly. “Yeah, doll?” His voice is soft, warm in that way that always makes your chest feel too tight.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because suddenly the words feel embarrassing. Too needy. Too much. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he’s comfortable like this and you mess it up? What if—
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Sorry.”
You turn your attention back to the TV like you didn’t just implode right next to him.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, quieter, closer—“Hey.”
His hand finds your wrist. Not grabbing, not forcing. Just there. Thumb brushing gently over your pulse like he’s checking in.
“You sure?” he asks.
You nod too fast. “Mhm.”
Another pause.
His thumb keeps moving.
“Because,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words with care, “you’ve been fidgeting for the last ten minutes. And you keep lookin’ at me like you’ve got somethin’ to say.”
Your face burns.
“I—no, I haven’t.”
Bucky huffs out a quiet, amused breath; eyes twinkling in fondness.
“Doll.”
And that’s it. That one word, all warm and coaxing, and you crumble.
“I just—” you start, and your voice immediately gets smaller. “I was just wondering if, um—if you maybe wanted to—like, if you’re not busy or anything—”
His brows pull together, not in frustration, just confusion. “Not busy,” he repeats gently.
“Right, yeah, I know, I just mean—if you didn’t want to, that’s totally fine, I just—”
“Hey.” His hand slides up from your wrist to your arm, grounding. “Slow down. What’re you askin’ me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
You might actually pass away.
You take a breath, staring determinedly at a spot on the couch instead of at him.
“Can we… cuddle?” you mumble, so quiet it barely counts as sound. “Just for a little bit. If that’s okay.”
Silence.
Oh God.
You knew it. You knew you shouldn’t have asked. You start to pull back, already preparing to laugh it off, to say you didn’t mean it, to pretend—
“Oh.”
It’s soft. Almost breathless.
You risk a glance up.
Bucky looks like you just handed him something precious.
His expression has completely melted. There’s no other word for it. The sharp lines of his face have gone soft, eyes wide and warm and a little bit awed, like he can’t believe you just asked him that.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. Then, a little stronger, like he needs to make sure you hear him properly, “Yeah, of course we can.”
Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. “Really?”
“Really?” he echoes, almost incredulous. “Doll, you never gotta ask like it’s a big favor.”
“I just didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, voice small again.
That does something to him.
You see it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly.
“You could never bother me,” he says, quiet but firm.
Before you can overthink it again, he’s already moving.
His arm drops from the back of the couch, sliding around your shoulders, guiding you gently into him. Like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind, even though you never would.
You go easily, curling into his side.
And the second you settle against him, it’s like something in him gives.
He exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding that breath all day. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you’re practically draped over him. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.
“There we go,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.
You can hear his heartbeat. Feel it under your cheek—steady, strong.
Safe.
Your hand curls against his shirt, bunching the fabric lightly as you relax into him. The earlier nerves start to fade, replaced by something warm and soft that spreads through your chest.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment, voice low.
“Mhm,” you hum. “Sorry I made it weird.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you.
“You didn’t make it weird,” he says. “You made my day.”
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “I did?”
“Yeah.” His thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your arm. “You askin’ for this? Means you want me close.” A small pause. “I like that.”
Your face heats again, but it’s softer this time. Less panic, more… something shy and happy.
“I always want you close,” you admit.
That completely ruins him.
You feel it in the way his hold on you tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there. Like he’s not letting go anytime soon.
“Then c’mere whenever you want,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t make yourself nervous over it, alright?”
You nod against his chest.
“Okay.”
His fingers drift through your hair, slow and careful, and the movie continues playing in the background, forgotten.
You stay tucked against him, warm and quiet, listening to his heartbeat.
I have a request, could you make one with Tony Stark please? Smut but comfort too yk selfharm and all stuff, but once again love your all works<3
thank you!! xx
SCARRING
tony stark x fem reader, 409 words (only a small blurb) smut mentions - not really porn, self harm
There are only a small, small handful of people that Tony pays attention to, actual, genuine focus to. You, naturally, were one of those very few.
He knows how you've been, how you still get. He doesn't only know it, he sees it also.
Even with a room so dark, he can just about make out those markings — pale scarred lines reflecting what little light made it's way into the room. It's all he can focus on, mind unable to fully enjoy such an intimate act with his eyes locked so intently on what he can just about see.
Tony stills your hips, grip firming you in place on his cock. He keeps one hand settled on your hip and brings the other to his chest, to where your hands are where nestled into. He wraps it around your wrist, grip light as he runs it up the length of your arm; almost like he was tracing the texture that runs up it. To see them was one thing, to feel them like this was another.
"These new?" he questions, gaze flickering between you and his hand around your arm.
You try to pull your arm away, though his grip remains in place. He's disappointed in you, you think — he has that look in his eyes.
He drops his hand from your hips and to the top of your thigh, palm planted flat atop old markings that reside there. He smoothes over it and shakes his head at you, motion gentle.
"Not mad…" he assures, "just… worried."
He was mad, you know how he gets when you break a promise.
His head tilts against the pillow, eyes trying to find yours, and it's then you finally meet his gaze.
"Not mad," he repeats, words made soft for you.
He releases his hold from your lower arm and upper thigh, grip settling on the small of your back as he pulls you in — tugging you forward to lay on his chest. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck like you were keen to hide, and it's then that he runs either hand up and down your bare back; palms soothing over your skin like he was eager to comfort.
With his cock plugged inside like it is, you can stay there until you're ready to go, until you've had enough.
He just doesn't want you to feel alone, even if it meant forcing you into a hug.
i like the fanfic 🤤 iiiiiffff you ever need ANY ideas how about like a bruce banner one he doesn’t even have to be the mc literally if you just mention him once thast good enough for me ill nut😊thank you kind fellow
hi bb ofc!
BRUCE BANNER HEADCANNONS!
★ He's very gentle with you, and always worrying about accidentally hurting you. For example, in bed he is very gentle, and always talks you through it.
★ Despite constantly being busy with work and trying out new science theories, he will always try to pay attention to you. If you are talking to him while he's writing down a theory, he will try to listen as much as he can while also focusing on his work.
★ He doesn't like talking about Tony too much, even if it always looked like he admired Tony, he always got reminded of what had happened to him. Anytime you bring up Tony, he swiftly changes the subject.
★ He's a decent cook, but definitely not the best. Occasionally he will cook a meal for the both of you, but that's very rare. Considering his constant busyness, and the fact that he's not the best, he will not cook very often.
★ PDA is NOT his cup of tea. He loves you very dearly, but the most he will do in public is hold your hand or kiss your cheek.
★ He is in desperate need of new clothes all the time, mostly because of his alter ego. Most of your extra money is spent on new clothing for him.
★He's adorable, thats it.
a/n: this might actually be trash, and he might be terribly mischaracterized, but if you like it pls show love so i won't worry as much 🙏
Day 5 - “I would choose you in every lifetime, every universe.” 🍒
Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: You were raised that if you love something you set it free, even if that’s the absolute last thing you want.
PSA: @wildflowersandvibranium the angst bug got me
Warnings: hurt but mostly comfort, implied to be post sex but no explicit mention, Steve being sweet, reader being insecure, happy ending :)
Word Count: 800
Isla & Pink's Galentine's Event
"You can go if you want." You offer.
Steve stops breathing under you, the soft rise and fall of his chest going completely still.
"What?" He asks, and poor Steve genuinely doesn't seem to have a clue.
With a sigh you continue, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes as you do.
"You can go back I mean." You tell him, ignoring how bitter the words taste despite how much you do truly mean them. "I understand."
You're not stupid.
When Steve volunteered to return the stones, you saw it.
He's had that look in his eyes, ever since him and Tony came back. That wistfulness that only comes with regret and an irrepressible "What if?"
You know it's her. The woman who's legacy you've been chasing since you met him. The one you could never compete with.
It didn't used to bother you, it still doesn't truthfully. After all, who can compete with a dead woman?
Who can compete with the chance to go back in time and get it right?
"It's okay." You choke out, closing your eyes to stave off the sting of tears. "I just want you to be happy."
Steve is stiff as a board beneath you. The hand that had been tracing your spine stops, hovering somewhere over the back of your neck as he processes your offer.
"You want me to go back in time?" He asks.
His voice sounds thin, worried almost.
"Of course." You try to force some cheerfulness. "I just want you to be happy."
You can hear the sheets rustle as Steve shifts. "And you think I'd be happier there?"
The tears well anyway, bubbling under your eyelids and threatening to spill no matter how you tight you squeeze them shut.
"Wouldn't you?"
Steve is quiet for a long time, long enough for your chest to start to shake as you do your best to stay strong. Heart pounding with nerves as you brace yourself for what comes next.
What comes next is his hands.
Slowly, they move you, guiding you flat onto you back so Steve can roll over top of you. A large hand cradles your face, the touch so familiar and comforting it sets you over the edge.
A hiccup escapes, then another, just as the first tear pushes past your waterline.
"Where would you be?" He asks.
He doesn't acknowledge your tears, but brushes them away, his thumb catching the sad droplets and catching them as they threaten to roll down your cheek.
"Here." You croak, chest heaving with an stifled sob.
"Here?" He repeats.
You nod, eyes still squeezed shut.
Another one escapes, crashing into the pad of Steve's finger as it rules from the corner of your eye.
"Look at me." Steve tells you, voice steady.
You shake your head, petulant and hurting. A girl can only be so mature when telling her boyfriend it's okay if he breaks up with her.
"Please." Steve breaks, barely above a whisper.
You give in, fighting through stuck lashes as you finally peek at Steve's face.
He's staring at you like he's afraid you'll break, pretty blue eyes confused and shining with worry.
"Why would I go there when you're here?" He asks.
God, is he really going to make you spell it out?
You choke down another sob, releasing an uneven exhale as you try to give him a calm answer.
"To be with her." You tell him, "With Peggy."
Steve's reaction is nothing short of shock, his jaw dropping and closing, just to fall open again.
"Oh honey." He coos.
"Steve stop-" you try to fight him, hand weekly pushing at the one holding your face. "I know you still love her."
Steve shushes you, but not to be mean or cruel.
"I don't want that life anymore." He tells you.
The tears keep coming anyway, streaming down your cheeks like rivers as he leans in and starts to kiss them away.
"I haven't in a long time."
You hiccup again, hand holding onto Steve's wrist like you're afraid he might disappear.
"You haven't?" You ask, sounding so small.
"No." Steve breathes, pressing his forehead to you. "I like the life I'm building here, now, with you."
"But-"
"No buts." Steve interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I would choose you in every life time, every universe."
Despite the pounding of your heart, the ache in your chest and the salt of your tears, you believe him.
"Then why'd you ask to go back?" You blink up at him, searching for any sign of that regret you swore you saw.
Steve laughs, a breathy huff against your lips as he presses a chaste kiss to them.
"There's a ring." He explains. "It was my moms and I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on it if I get the timing right."
You heart stutters.
"A ring?"
Steve nods, his own eyes watery eyes as he kisses you again. "Your ring."
"Oh."
"My silly girl." He says, nudging his nose against yours. "You're my future, the only one I want."
synopsis: You didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with Loki. Who would? Yet while everybody knew he was the god of mischief, to you, he's your jealous god.
The first sign something is off is the smell of petrichor in the living room. You round the corner and find him lounging on your couch, boots on the cushions, one arm draped over the back like a cat who’s caught the red dot and now wonders what to do with it.
“Evening,” he purrs, “Did you have fun at Stark’s little soirée?”
You shrug out of your jacket, the lining still warm from the Tower’s overheated ballroom, and drape it over the brocade armchair by the hearth. A faint metallic tang of repulsor exhaust still clings to the fabric, a souvenir of Tony’s annual “low-impact” fireworks display.
“Fun enough,” you say, massaging the crick in your neck. “Tony’s birthday parties feature far fewer homicidal drones these days, small mercies, but it would’ve been considerably more enjoyable if my favorite god hadn’t left before dessert.”
Loki’s smile thins. “You didn't seem to mind my absence. Your dance card appeared quite congested.”
The archaic phrasing is deliberate, and you know exactly whom Loki was talking about. Peter Parker. Whose cheeks were redder than Tony's suit as he tugged you to the dance floor and was a second away from fainting on the spot.
“Peter was only giddy to dance with me," you toed off your shoes. “Because he’s nineteen—”
“Twenty,” Loki interjects, tone glacial. “I checked the records.”
“—fine, twenty. He idolizes everyone with an Avengers passcode. Our waltz lasted 90 seconds and ended with him apologizing for stepping on my feet.”
“Yet long enough for you to laugh,” Loki murmurs, green eyes darkening. Outside the window lightning flickers, though the forecast promised clear skies. You cross to him, letting your hand skim his shoulder until frost becomes warmth.
“One laugh, one spin, no hearts stolen. You, darling, occupy all available real estate here.” You tap your sternum.
Loki’s lips curl in a silken crescent, but the flicker behind his lashes is anything but serene. Emerald irises catch the lamplight, bright as storm-lit seawater, an omen you’ve learned to read the way sailors read cloud fronts.
“Loki, what did you do?”
He splays a hand across his chest in wounded theater. “Must you presume mischief every time I inhale?”
“Yes.”
A beat passes before his shoulders slump in an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I may have redirected young Parker’s web-shooters.”
“Redirected how?”
“Up.”
“Loki!”
He waves a dismissive hand, as though you’ve merely noted the weather. “Midgardian gravity is pathetic. The boy dangled for what?Fifty two seconds before Rogers hauled him in. Perfectly safe.”
“And the glitter bomb that detonated on Clint an hour ago?” A flick of irritation crawls up Loki’s brow ridge. Caught, again.
“I was having a perfectly calm chat with him about Lucky adjusting to farm life when this puff of emerald smoke swallowed him whole. Next thing I know, he’s radioactive glitter pink from head to toe.”
A half smile adorns Loki’s mouth, wicked as a fox in the henhouse. “Yes. I refined the pigment with bifrost dust. Gives it that delightful day-glow sheen.”
“Which is now stuck permanently unto SHIELD-issue Kevlar.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I left you alone for thirty minutes—”
“You left me alone with them.”
The soft snarl on “them” tells the truth. Loki never felt comfortable in the Avengers’ tower, tolerated largely because of you. Their wary stares scratch old wounds he pretends have healed. Tonight, seeing you laugh, actually laugh, with the people who once hunted him? Salt in the wound.
You exhale and join him on the couch, prying his booted feet off the cushions. “Talk.”
“Must we?” His gaze flicks to the ceiling, expression somewhere between tragic poet and sullen teenager. “You looked radiant. They ogled you like magpies. I grew irritated.”
“Jealous.”
He scoffs, but the word loosens him. “Yes. Jealous. There. I despise how it feels. Like being chained again, only the shackles are inside my ribs.”
Your annoyance softens. You catch Loki’s chin, turning his face until he meets your gaze. “If you need reassurance, ask. Don’t rig equipment or hex people. Use your words.”
His lips quirk. “I have many words. Most of them sharp.”
“Then learn soft ones.” You brush your thumb across his lower lip. “Tell me the truth instead of setting glitter‐traps and letting innocent people hang from the ceiling.”
A silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of Manhattan traffic. Finally, Loki exhales the breath he has been hoarding for pride.
“Very well. The truth is I watched you toss your head back laughing at Clint's joke and it felt like frostbite. I wanted that sound to be kept for me alone. I imagined Parker’s mask cracking under illusion spiders. I pictured Stark’s suit misfiring champagne across his face. I thought of a dozen vicious things, all because you smiled at them.”
His jealousy is a thunderstorm. Beautiful from afar yet dangerous when you’re underneath. However, storms can also be guided.
“You’re allowed to want but I’m also allowed to have friends. The line is harm, Loki. Pranks that bruise bodies or egos cross it.”
He leans in, voice low. “I will try. But understand, my nature is not serenity. It is wind and wildfire. I can shape it for you, but extinguish it? Never.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, just where the crown would sit if he still wore one. “I don’t want it extinguished. Just channeled.”
His shoulders relax, mischief dimming to ember. “Then give me a target suitable for such channeling.”
“I have one. The dishwasher’s broken again.” You gesture toward the kitchen. “If you must hex something, hex the water jets. Make them behave.”
It earns you a surprised laugh, warm and genuine. “Very well, my love. I will wage war upon domestic inconveniences.” Loki rises, cloak swirling into existence with theatrical flare. “But first—”
He snaps his fingers. A soft pop sounds behind you. You turn to see a potted hydrangea now placed in the middle of the coffee table. Petals the deepest green. The exact shade of his eyes.
“Soft words,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath fans your ear. “And softer deeds.”
“Keep practicing, Mischief Prince. I’m a patient teacher.”
He smirks. “And I, an attentive student, provided the lessons are interactive.” You roll your eyes but tug him toward the kitchen nonetheless.
sfw. dark fantasy | possessive themes | unhealthy dynamics
credits: @/yoursoob @/angeliicide
loki laufeyson ┃ there is something deeply unsettling about being chosen by a god — because gods don’t admire what they love. they claim it.
There is something deeply unsettling about being noticed by a god.
Not admired. Not desired.
Chosen.
It begins with small things. You catch him watching you from the edge of grand halls, emerald robes pooling around him as nobles and servants alike pass without earning so much as a glance. His attention never seems to wander for long before finding its way back to you. At first, you convince yourself you're imagining it. After all, why would someone like Loki care about someone so utterly ordinary?
Then he starts appearing wherever you are.
Not often enough to seem deliberate, but enough that coincidence begins to lose its meaning. A quiet library where you thought you'd be alone. Palace gardens at dusk. Empty corridors long after everyone else has retired. He never announces himself. He's simply... there, as though he'd known exactly where you'd be long before you arrived.
When he speaks to you, it's with a patience you've never seen him offer anyone else. The sharp wit remains, as does the ever-present smirk, but beneath it is something quieter. Attentive. He remembers every insignificant detail you mention in passing—the books you enjoy, the flowers that make you stop during walks, the stories that make you laugh. Weeks later he'll reference them so casually that it leaves you wondering how closely he'd been listening in the first place.
The palace begins to feel smaller after that.
People hesitate before approaching you now. Conversations end the moment he enters the room, not because he's interrupted them, but because his presence alone changes the air. Courtiers who once greeted you warmly suddenly remember pressing engagements elsewhere. Invitations disappear. Friendly conversations become brief, awkward things, each ending with nervous glances over your shoulder.
You tell yourself it's because they're intimidated by him.
You don't realize they're intimidated for you.
Loki never acknowledges the change. If anything, he seems pleased by how much quieter your days have become. He fills every silence effortlessly, weaving stories of realms beyond your imagination, asking thoughtful questions about things no one else ever cared enough to ask. Somewhere along the way, you stop noticing how few people speak to you anymore.
One evening, you finally ask why everyone has become so... distant.
He looks at you for a long moment before smiling.
"They're wise enough to recognize when something is beyond their reach."
The answer unsettles you more than it should.
Later, during a royal gathering, someone new approaches you. They're kind, polite, blissfully unaware of the invisible line that's been drawn around you. They make you laugh once—just once—and before you can answer their next question, a familiar voice cuts gently through the conversation.
"There you are."
Loki doesn't raise his voice.
He doesn't threaten.
He simply steps beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his presence swallowing the space between you and everyone else. The stranger falls silent almost immediately, eyes darting between the two of you before quietly excusing themselves.
Loki watches them leave without a word.
Like he expected nothing else.
Only then does he turn back to you.
His fingers lift beneath your chin with impossible gentleness, encouraging you to meet his gaze. There's no force behind the gesture. No urgency.
Only certainty.
"You are wasted on mortals," he murmurs, his thumb lingering just beneath your jaw. "They cannot begin to appreciate what stands before them."
The words should feel flattering.
Instead, something cold settles in your chest.
Because he doesn't sound jealous.
He doesn't sound lovesick.
He sounds... convinced.
As though this isn't a confession, but an undeniable truth.
You take a small step back.
He lets you.
But his smile doesn't falter.
It almost widens.
Like he expected you to need time.
Like your reluctance was always part of the story he had already written.
And for the first time, you understand why his attention has always felt so heavy.
Gods don't admire things the way mortals do.
They collect them.
They protect them.
They build temples around them until the rest of the world forgets they were ever free to begin with.
And when Loki looks at you, there isn't a trace of doubt in his eyes.
★ Plot: You ask Matt what he misses, and the answer is something you never could have imagined.
★ Run Time: 500
★ Warnings: mild angst, discussions of Matt's accident and blindness, fluff, a lil suggestive
★ Commentary: Restarted Daredevil again lol, if you've got any Matt thoughts, send 'em in!
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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Your head rested against Matt's chest, rising and falling with each breath he took, warm and steady.
Your fingertips roamed in mindless patterns over his skin, tracing around scars and fading bruises, a few fresher ones here and there.
You turned, chin still propped up on him, looking into his eyes as they almost looked back at you.
"What are you pretending you're not thinking about?" He asked, out of the blue.
"What?"
"Your heartbeat, it just sped up, you're thinking about something that isn't happy and you don't want to ruin the moment"
"I hate you sometimes"
"You love me"
"I'd have to" You sighed, pushing yourself up.
You threw one leg over, knees bracketing his hips as you leaned down, laying kisses over his jaw, down his neck.
He let out a low, quiet chuckle, hands finding your hips, motioning to push you back.
"You're buttering me up"
"Is it working?"
"Kind of, but I really wanna know what you wanted to ask me"
You took a breath, hoping you weren't over-stepping. He hadn't spoken about it much before, but you could always feel something lingering. Like he wanted to talk but didn't know how.
"What do you miss?"
"Hm?"
"Seeing. What-what do you miss seeing?"
He took a moment, thumbs brushing up and down your hips, thinking it over.
"Your face"
"Baby, you've never seen my face"
"I miss never seeing it"
"That doesn't make sense"
His hands slid up your back, pulling you down a little closer.
"I miss," He pressed a kiss to your cheek "The moment you see something amazing for the first time. The first fireworks, first Christmas lights all over town square, the first time you see the face you know you're gonna wake up to for the rest of your life. That's what I miss"
You couldn't respond for a minute, not until a tear landed on his chest and his hand came up to cup your cheek.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"Stop being such a guilty Catholic" You laughed, your slightly rough throat warping the sound.
"Can't help it" He smiled, soft, real "It's how I was raised"
Your hands cradled his jaw, giving him a sweet, lingering kiss.
"If it helps" You whispered, in his favourite tone of yours "You're much prettier than me, so you aren't missing out on much"
"I really doubt that" His hand drifted up, fingers brushing over your cheek bone, down your jaw, stopping on your lips "You're my Angel, you at least have the lips of one"
"Ah! Matt Murdock, did you just make a Hinder reference when you're trying to be sweet to me?"
"No" He flipped you over in an instant "I made a reference to one of your favourite songs while successfully being sweet to you. Right?"
You looped your arms around his neck, pulling him down again.
"Right"
Taglist for all of my MCU writing - 45 + more in reblogs!
Marvel Characters & The Romantic Gestures That They Do
Multi Fandom: Romantic Gestures That They Do
In a relationship, Bruce Banner/Hulk is characterized by extreme care, caution, and a deep-seated fear of causing harm. His romantic gestures are often quiet and intellectual, focusing on creating a safe, calm environment for both of you.
The "Safety Shield": Bruce expresses love through utility. He would likely build you custom tech or modify your existing devices to include emergency beacons or improved security features because your safety is his primary concern.
Calm-Inducing Environments: Bruce will meticulously curate a space for you that is free of stress—low lighting, soft music, and perhaps a specific scent he’s noticed you like. He does this as much for his own stability as for your comfort.
Health Vigilance: If you are a fellow member of the Avengers or a researcher who forgets to eat or sleep, Bruce will be the one silently placing a cup of tea or a healthy snack at your elbow, gently reminding you to take care of yourself.
Grounded Touch: Bruce favors "grounding" physical contact—lacing his fingers with yours, a hand resting on the small of your back, or rubbing his thumb against your hand to keep himself centered in the moment.
Nose-in-Hair Cuddles: Bruce finds deep peace in your scent. He often falls asleep with his nose pressed into your hair, as it's the ultimate sign of trust and relaxation for him.
Caution as a Gesture: Bruce may initially resist intense physical intimacy or deep kisses because he is terrified of his heart rate spiking. Taking it incredibly slow is his way of showing he values your life more than his own desire.
Handwritten Notes: Since Bruce sometimes struggles to express intense emotions verbally without getting worked up, he leaves small, heartfelt notes tucked into your books or around the house.
Personalized Gifts: Bruce remembers every small detail you mention and uses his brilliant mind to create or find thoughtful, often handmade gifts that reflect your specific interests.
Nerding Out Together: A primary romantic gesture for Bruce is inviting you into his world. He loves explaining complex theories or insights to you simply because your interest and presence make him feel like a "normal" man rather than a monster.
