shortnfreaky

professional fangirl

[shortnfreaky]

⪩⪨ shortnfreaky masterlist ⪩⪨

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got a request? send it here bby!

𓆩♡𓆪 michael jackson

[lovelybarnes]

voicemails- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mentions of bucky’s trauma and insecurities, but honestly just fluff

about: inspired by that thing where a dad had a voicemail of his daughter saying she loves him and he accidentally deleted it

“hey, buck,” the background noise is familiar, distinct voices he can barely recognize as wanda and natasha causing a disaster in your kitchen faint behind your voice. “‘just wanted to remind you i love you.” a clatter and loud laughter sounds from the speaker, the sound of your name being called shortly after. bucky can catch get back to ladies night and leave your boyfriend alone from natasha before you laugh lightly, “jus’ wanted to say that, but you didn’t answer so i’ll tell you again later, but i love you. i’ll see you soon, honey.”

the click of the voicemail ending breaks bucky out of the image of you huddled behind your kitchen wall, phone pressed to your ear as you sneak away from your ladies’ night with natasha and wanda just to tell bucky you love him.

bucky allows himself to play it again, focusing on the sweet hush of your voice as you try to shield your words from the prying ears of the avengers in the room next to you, trying to keep your words to bucky private. just for him.

bucky’s halfway through the voicemail when your voice is cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone, catching him off guard and making him nearly drop the device. his fingers only begrudgingly press the answer button when he sees it’s sam calling, frustrated tone asking sam what before the man can get a word in.

“jeez, just wanted to let you know we were coming home in a little. no need to growl.”

“you couldn’t text me that?” bucky asks.

“seeing your history with texting? no.”

rolling his eyes, bucky hangs up the phone, going to continue playing the message when he suddenly realizes the saved voicemails folder is empty. the only thing on there was your message, and as he clicks at the three little dots on the upper corner of the screen, he has never felt more technologically helpless than in that moment.

grunting, he throws his phone on the bed, running a hand over his face.

he’s aware he could easily call you instead of listening to a year-or-so-old voicemail you sent him in the earlier throes of your relationship, but the entire situation of the voicemail had just taken him off guard, and it had become something he’d comfort himself with when he didn’t feel brave enough to bother you. or when the demons that intruded in his mind began to win the fight he thought he had the upper hand in, convincing him that the enamored verses that you rain over him are false. broken promises.

but the sound of your voice in the recording, the situation you stepped out of just because of the pure love you had for him made him believe they were wrong. because you can’t fake the sincerity of the love laced in your voice. it was just so...you. so much of everything you’d said he deserved.

he figured out how to save voicemails just for it.

and now it was gone.

the reminder sent the frustrated feeling of tears rushing to his eyes, and he reached for his phone again in an effort to see if he could do anything about it. when he realized it was probably completely gone, he wiped at wet eyes, feeling embarrassed and a little panicked.

eventually, he locked his phone in a cabinet and tried to distract himself, anxiously awaiting your return.

-

you and sam returned nearly an hour later, and while sam went to go take a shower—thanks to him making a short and easy mission dirty— you went to look for your boyfriend, excited to see him again even though you only left a couple of hours ago.

you found him on his bed, friday’s voice eerily gentle over the speakers in his room, explaining something as he angrily taps at his phone, looking on the verge of cracking it in half.

“...bucky?”

he looks up at the sound of your voice, stressed features finally relaxing as he stands to head towards you. “you’re home,” he says quietly, bringing you into his arms and only tightening his grip on you when you hug him back.

“i am... are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” bucky replies, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, “missed you is all.”

you frown a little, cocking your head at him after you pull away. “bucky, you looked like you wanted to drill a hole into your phone’s screen, is it not working or something?”

bucky bites his lip, contemplating telling you something that had been something just his for so long. “just... i messed up and i don’t know how to fix it.”

“what?”

bucky stays silent, reluctant to tell you in an effort to preserve a shred of dignity.

“bucky, you know i can only help you fix things if you tell me what they are, right?”

at your gentle words, bucky gives in, “do you remember the time you were hanging out with nat and wanda nearly a year into our relationship? it was the first time in a long time we didn’t have an evening together, and you left me a voicemail to tell me you love me.”

you nod slowly, his words bringing a flicker of recognition to your eyes, “yeah... you still remember that?”

bucky laughs, “doll, i play it each time you leave.”

your face warms at the information, realizing bucky had probably figured out how to download it just so he could listen to it repeatedly, “oh.”

“well, i would, but i accidentally deleted it when sam called me earlier,” bucky rolls his eyes at the reminder, “so i was just—just wondering if you could send me another voicemail like that, because it’s the only reason i don’t go completely insane when you leave.”

there’s an unintentional brief pause where you absorb his words, letting them explode in your stomach like fireworks, warming you up completely, “bucky—”

he shakes his head, cutting you off, “it was a bad idea to tell you,” he mumbles, waving ashamedly at your attempts to reassure him “i knew it, i’m sorry—”

he cuts himself off when he notices you pulling your phone from a pocket, ignoring his statement after you realize he’s not in the headspace to listen to you. he hears your familiar ringtone from his bed, your phone beeping with each second that it passes by unanswered.

“y/n?”

you ignore him, but keep your eyes on him as your phone tells you to leave a message.

“hey honey,” you begin, attention on the man in front of you, blue eyes swimming in a shade of gentle shock, “i hope you know this already, buck, but i thought i’d remind you anyway,” you pause as bucky stands from his bed, moving in front of you. you follow his eyes, searching his face with a soft smile that only amplifies the next words you speak.

“i love you,” you affirm, the word in all its definitions clear in the way you’re looking at him, the way you tell him, utterly sincere. a muted crease forms between your eyebrows with the intensity of it, “so much. a little embarrassingly much,” you smile, a light laugh slipping from your lips as you realize how true your words are—the way your love for the man in front of you is so large and genuine that it dribbles down your cheeks, creases the edges of your eyes, molds your lips into subconscious smiles at the sight of him, leaves voicemails for him to tell him you love him in an effort to give him as much of it as possible, even though it’s completely his already.

“‘just wanted to say that,” you shrug, eyes flickering down to the floor for only a second because the weight of his stare is heavy, the color addicting. the action is nonchalant but with the way you and bucky are looking at each other, it’s anything but. you offer him another smile when you notice the glimmer in the ocean of his irises, a tender finger catching a tear before it slides down his cheek. “i love you the most, my beautiful boy,” you finish, a thumb drawing dulcet infinity signs into his jaw as you hang up.

you sniffle, carelessly throwing your phone on his bed, “was that good—”

you don’t get to finish when he pulls you into his chest, making your hand drift from his cheek down to the nape of his neck, realization dripping down bucky’s face and landing on your shoulder. you knew it, but the realization that it’s more than a voicemail to listen to when he misses your voice solidifies as he whispers a thank you into your shirt.

it’s proof that he deserves it—the honeyed murmurs of your touch, the gentle pads of your fingers as they trace over raised tissue he can’t stand to look at, you and your overflowing love for him. it’s a reassurance that it’s there, that it’ll always be there even when you aren’t.

and as you hold him in the middle of his room, steady, soaking up his tears and kissing away any doubts that lurk in the crevices of his broken mind, finally giving it the space to heal, he realizes the voicemail may not be as needed as he thought it was.

[lazysoulwriter]

burn me down

content: explicit smut, power dynamics, crying during sex, devotion, mdni

johnny storm had always been fire. loud laughs, reckless confidence, that smug little grin he wore like armor. but tonight? tonight the flames were gone — burned down to embers under your hands.

he wasn’t the human torch. wasn’t flirting, wasn’t joking, wasn’t pretending he had the upper hand.

he was just yours.

spread out beneath you, breath stuttering, cock so hard it twitched every time you even shifted your weight. all that confidence stripped down to need, eyes glassy, lips parted like he was already begging before the words caught up.

“fuck— baby,” he groaned, hips jerking when you wrapped your hand around him, slow and cruel. “don’t do that… I’m already losing it. I can’t—”

you leaned down, mouth hovering by his ear. close enough that he could feel your breath.

“you’ll take whatever I give you,” you said softly. “won’t you, johnny?”

his answer was immediate. frantic. helpless.

“yeah. yeah, I will. anything. fuck, anything. just— please— don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

you climbed over him, sinking down inch by inch, savoring the way his whole body reacted — sharp inhale, head falling back, a broken sound ripped from his chest like you’d split him open.

“oh my god—” he choked. “you’re gonna kill me.”

his hands hovered uselessly at your sides, muscles tight, like he didn’t trust himself to touch without permission.

“hands,” you ordered.

he obeyed instantly, throwing his arms above his head, wrists crossed, chest rising fast. all fire and bravado reduced to submission, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

you rode him slow and relentless, setting a pace that made him unravel instead of burn out. every roll of your hips dragged another sound out of him — soft, wrecked, nothing like the cocky asshole the world knew.

“look at you,” you murmured, fingers tightening around his wrists. “mr. fantastic four. shaking already.”

he laughed once — breathless, ruined — then it broke into a whine.

“don’t tease me like that, fuck— I’m serious, I’m gonna—”

“gonna cry?” you finished for him.

his jaw clenched. his eyes squeezed shut.

“…maybe.”

and then the tears spilled anyway. quiet at first, like he was embarrassed by them. but the way his body clung to yours gave him away — desperate thrusts, soft sobs, your name slipping out of his mouth like it belonged there.

“I love you,” he gasped. “shit, I love you so much. I can’t— I can’t handle this—”

you didn’t slow down. didn’t go easy.

you wanted to watch him fall apart.

his orgasm hit him hard and sudden, ripping a broken cry from his throat. his hips stuttered helplessly beneath you, cock pulsing as he came undone completely — tears streaking down his temples, mouth open in a sound that was half pleasure, half surrender.

your name fell from his lips like a confession. over and over. like a prayer.

you stayed with him through it, easing your pace, leaning down to kiss his jaw, tasting salt and heat.

“good boy,” you whispered. “so pretty when you fall apart for me.”

johnny collapsed back into the sheets when you finally let go of his wrists, arms trembling as he pulled you down against his chest. his hands curled into your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he loosened his grip.

“I’m yours,” he breathed, voice raw and wrecked. “I don’t care about anything else. I’m yours. always.”

you smiled against his skin, letting him cling — because nobody unraveled quite like johnny storm.

all fire. all heat.

and completely ruined by love.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[greygaygremlin]

The fact that THIS exists in this world is reason enough to live,you depressed little pervert.

[xreader1989]

I firmly believe johnny storm would be a menace when it comes to touching. To the point he'd come up with any excuse at all just to have a least a pinky on his partner.

But I can totally picture him begging to give his partner a massage. Not any massage. One of those like hot oil massages. He'd like hold his hands up and use his powers to warm em up and he'd be like "built in warmer, baby." He'd a smug asshole too.

Thoughts and opinions?

I 1000% agree. I think of him as so proudly in love with you. He doesn’t hide himself from anyone. He is unapologetically himself, so when he’s in love, he wants to show you off.

This comes in many forms and having a hand on you at all times is definitely one of them. His hand is ON YOU. On your thigh, in your hand, playing with your hair, fiddling with your rings. He’s leaning on you, making sure your shoulders are pressed together, arm over your shoulders. He just can’t help it.

And in my mind he always gets carried away (in a sexual way) because he is genuinely so obsessed with you. So yeah, I would agree that he is totally begging you to let him rub you down. And when you’re finally alone and you cave, it leads to sex 9/10 times.

His warmth is the excuse he loves to use. “Let me warm you up” immediate hand on your ass.

[sheriff-bodecker]

one of the reasons why i love writing for bucky is because of how versatile he can be specifically during sex/smut fics.

I see a lot of discourse about how he’d be in bed — how he wouldn’t be a dom or sub because of his trauma, how he’d be vanilla, asexual, hypersexual, all that jazz, and the thing is i believe everyone is correct in a way. Trauma does funny things with your head, especially in sexual situations, and i think in bucky’s case, it can be very either or. he can be a dom, a sub, vanilla, asexual…

i think with any headcanon or idea people have about him works, and with his past, it does.

he’s captured by hydra and used, degraded, beaten,, he could find small pleasure in that; being dommed, degraded, pinched and locked up — or — he could find pleasure in doing that to someone else, he now wants a taste and finds pleasure in the new power he has over someone in a vulnerable position, and he likes being in charge of that now — or — its not his cup of tea and he just wants something regular and soft.

and its all fine, and it all works. i love it

personally, i love sub bucky as it feels nice to have him hand someone the trust and power to hold him in such a vulnerable way. it shows how far hes come and how much he loves his partner, and how he knows they wont deliberately hurt him unlike his past.

[redd-blushing-roses]

It's Just A Dream

word count: 1.2k

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: It's just a nightmare. It's the comfort you cling to, right alongside Bucky after your bad dream. But Bucky can't help but feel a sense of doom looming over the two of you. Like there was something coming you wouldn't be able to wake up from.

notes: this is me coping with the doomsday trailer dropping yesterday and remembering this may be the last few times we see Bucky.

enjoy reading :)

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"Don't let go of my hand-"

“Bucky-”

“Stay with me. Don’t let go-”

Your eyes shoot open, heart racing as you awake with a start. Your body tingles, mind still trying to wrap itself around the fact you had been dreaming. 

It's just a dream... just a dream. 

A nightmare. 

You were no stranger to bad dreams. It was a given in your line of work. But they seemed to be visiting you more frequently. 

Like it wasn't just the stress and fatigue of your job infiltrating your subconscious; missions and warnings of danger and interdimensional threats.

More like somewhere, out in the vast universe, another version of you was losing everything she loved. A premonition of things to come.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to ignore the sweat sticking to your skin, the feeling of the sheets clinging to your legs. The senses were overstimulating after such a horrible dream and you roll over, reaching over for the only thing that brought you comfort-

You pause, hand hitting the bare strip of mattress exposed by overturned sheets. Long turned cold. Absent of the man you were searching for. 

You blink in the dark of your shared bedroom, searching for any sign of him. 

As your eyes adjust, you can just make out the ajar door, cracked open just enough to let the glow of the tv from the living room spill through. You frown, tossing off the covers and creeping across the cold wooden floor slowly. Steps stilted as you shake off the tingling reminders of the dream. You shiver, the house cold in spite of the summer.

You find Bucky sitting in front of the couch on the floor. The line of his back is rigid, unnaturally straight and tight. His knees are tucked against his chest, cerulean eyes staring blankly at the news reel playing on the tv. 

You let out a quiet sigh, carefully reaching for his shoulder to avoid startling him. Not that you had to. Bucky had probably heard you the moment you woke up. But you did it out of habit; the small things to try and pretend the two of you lived normal lives. 

To pretend domesticity wasn't tucked between bloody missions overseas and conferences arguing over every decision he made. 

To pretend a moment, the two of you were husband and wife, and not members of the avengers trying to keep the world from collapsing. 

Bucky's chin turns toward you, blue eyes still glazed over, glued to the tv. It's only when you crouch beside him, cupping his stubbled jaw gently that he looks at you. 

"Hey," you murmur quietly. He blinks, right hand reaching out automatically to help you sit beside him. 

"What are you doing up?" He whispers, voice cracked from sleep. Like he'd been screaming- 

“Don’t let go!” 

You lean into his side and Bucky sighs tiredly as he wraps his arms around you. 

"I could ask you the same." He hums, squeezing your arm. 

"But I asked you first." You smile. Just a small one, still haunted by the dream. But you still don’t answer. At least, not wholly.

"Just missed you."

"You didn't even know I left." 

You look up at him. "I always know when you're not here." 

Bucky smiles at that. He tucks you closer to him, chin resting on the top of your head. 

"What was the dream about?" 

Of course he knew. 

It was the same reason he was here. Sitting in the living room like he was watching the world from inside a fish bowl. Catatonic. Remembering. 

Nightmares didn't go away just because you refused to sleep. 

You're quiet for a moment, grateful he couldn't see the pale look that crossed your face. The memory of the dream, blood and ash and destruction. Bucky allows you to hide against him, hand running through your hair comfortingly. 

"It's the same as it has been." 

"You okay?" You think for a moment. 

"No." He pulls away slightly, just to see your face. You don't meet his eye. Not even when he moves to look at your face, hand cupping your jaw. 

"Hey. Look at me, love."

"Bucky..."

"What is it?" You finally meet his eye. 

"I have a bad feeling. Like something awful is going to happen." 

The dreaded sense of doom that had been following you around with the dream. Bucky had felt it too. With the tensions rising in the tower, the ugly campaigns smeared against the team and blurring lines of what was right and wrong.

But it was more than that.

It was something bigger. Something that crept into the back of his mind like a shadow, foreboding and inevitable. 

The thing that had begun with the ship entering the atmosphere. The unknown. Heralding bad tidings.

Fate, maybe. 

Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you close.

“We’re going to be okay,” he chooses to say. 

“But what if we’re not? What if something's happening? Something we can’t stop.”

He just sighs into your hair. 

“Then we take it one step at a time. Do the next right thing until we can’t anymore.” You nod against him, fingers clinging against his bare torso. Your next words come out muffled, vibrating against his scar strewn skin.

“I miss when our problems weren’t so complicated.” Bucky huffs. Not quite a laugh but something close. He looks down at you.

“They’ve always been complicated. Just, not ours.”

“Maybe. But I don’t remember them being like this. Interdimensional people and world colliding threats.” Bucky thinks for a moment.

“I think they’ve always been there. We just didn’t have the burden of knowing.” You hum, looking up at Bucky. He looks tired. Worn down in an unusual way. 

He looked less like a soldier and team leader and more like a worried man trying to keep himself together. You reach up and brush a fallen strand of hair out of his face, the pads of your fingers soft as you caress his scruffy cheek.

Bucky sighs, eyes closing as he leans into your touch.

“We don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“I know,” he swallows thickly. You let out a quiet breath.

“Talk to him, Buck.”

“He won’t listen-”

“Bucky,” you give the man a look. Something soft and encouraging. “Sam will listen. Maybe not at first. But he will when he knows what’s on the line.” Bucky is quiet. Defeated, you think. 

“I don’t know...” 

You sigh, scooting impossibly closer and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“It’s late,” you whisper against him. “We should go back to bed.” Bucky shakes his head. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t have to sleep. Just hold me.” 

He looks at you, swallowing thickly. Bucky finally nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” You nod encouragingly.

“Yeah. Let’s go to bed.” 

Bucky slips beneath the covers, his broad body pressed close against yours.

It’s hard to tell where you begin and he ends. You settle against him, your eyes already drooping closed in the dark. Even with the sense of dread weighing heavy on you. With Bucky, your worries are pushed to the side. Hidden by the comfort of his heartbeat against you. 

“I love you Buck.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back, hands tightening ever so gently against you. Like he could protect you from the nightmares.

Bucky wishes he could. He wishes he could protect you from everything that was to come. 

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the bucky, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[buckyscaptain]

public enemy number one | girl dad bucky x fem reader

authors notes: this came entirely from a tiktok that i saw and thought yeah that's kinda bucky coded! i'm always so unoriginal when it comes to naming his kids, so oops. i swear this is so silly, i was just waffling for half of it.

warnings: sam's a menance, bucky threatens to kill him (lovingly), a whole load of fluff! and i think that's it?

word count: 1.2k

summary:

being a dad is all fun and games until she learns how to slap bucky— or so he thinks until you change his point of view on it all.

masterlist!

if you had to pick which was harder, between saving the world (twice) and being a mom for the first time, you'd have to pick being a mom. at least saving the world came with a little more sleep and some vague resemblance of a schedule. being a first time mom felt like you were free falling without a parachute.

and bucky?

bucky had been so good through all of it that sometimes he made you want to cry without even trying—the weeks of sleepless nights had been for nothing, he'd taken to it like a duck to water. and in all of that, he let you sleep in as often as he could, holding the fort down. today had been one of those days where you'd woken up to the light filtering through the crack in the curtains instead of tiny little cries from the nursery.

you yawned softly as you padded into the kitchen, completely unfazed by the fact sam was already in your house. if it wasn't him, it was steve, if it wasn't steve then it was nat—and if it was none of them? something was probably wrong somewhere. but this felt different, like everything was charged in some way that you didn't get yet.

"now why does it feel like i'm walking into something?"

"you're not."

"you so are." sam snorted from behind his coffee mug, which earned him a death glare from bucky. "you have no idea what you're walking into. "you're raising one hell of a baby, you know that? at this rate, we're gonna have to get her a little avengers onesie and some wings."

"you're not getting my girl wings, birdbrain." bucky grumbled, holding becca at arms length like she was ticking time bomb instead of his little girl. you raised an eyebrow as you watched him, held tilting slightly as you tried to figure it out as her arms waved wildly. "she slaps him." sam said with way too much enthusiasm for this time of the morning, or ever, really. "every time he speaks, she slaps him on the cheek. first time is a coincidence, right? but we're sat here, talkin' about the mission report, and boom! she keeps at it."

bucky looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. he loved her with everything he had, and she was more interested in smacking him—and she didn't even have that much dexterity yet. it didn't even mark, but it made a dent in his ego, a big one. "she doesn't slap me. i don't even think—hey!" she managed to wiggle herself forward enough to reach him, her palm slapping against his cheek. the worst part—at least for him—was the fact she looked over the moon with herself each time, giggling and babbling like it was the best thing she'd ever discovered. you just blinked at him as you held back a laugh, trying your hardest to keep a straight face. because it wasn't funny.

except it was, it really really was.

"oh." you breathed softly, lips twitching as you failed to keep it under control any longer. "that's—yeah. okay, that's a thing. uh huh. a new development" you nodded as you sat down on the couch next to him as you reached over, scooping becca out of his arms. "hey, pretty girlie. yeah, hi." you cooed as she settled in your arms, head resting against your shoulder. "i dunno, she seems fine to me." bucky rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath that you couldn't make out. "yeah, because she's not trying to assault you. i did everything right, all of it. changed her, fed her on time. and she's still acting like i'm public enemy number one." he was pouting now—bottom lip fully sticking out like a petulant schoolkid instead of a fully grown super soldier turned dad.

"first of all, she isn't assaulting you. she's less than ten pounds, her brain isn't even developed enough to know what the word means." you murmured as you dipped your head enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. "i think you're looking at it all wrong. thanks." you smiled as sam set you a cup of coffee down on the table in front of you.

"i think she's just excited to listen to you, and she's just redirecting it all wrong. because unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—she inherited the gene from me that means she'd listen to you read the back of the cereal box from me. didn't you, baby? yeah, you did." you cooed, bouncing her slightly as she started to babble again. "she's only got little arms, your cheek is the closest thing she can reach. here, try again." you passed her back over before you picked your mug up and took that first sweet, sweet, sip of caffeinated goodness. "she's just gonna do it again." he huffed as she watched her eyes light up as he lifted her up in the air, arms getting ready to flail around in his direction.

"you're a traitor, baby girl. i thought we had something going, y'know?a bond, but this is how you repay me, huh?" you curled your legs underneath yourself as you tried to get comfy, holding your breath for a second as you watched her wave her arm around. bucky lifted her up, blowing a raspberry as she giggled away. instead of hitting his cheek, this time she opted for his forehead—similar to the way the two of you petted alpine, who was probably hiding in your office somewhere from all the noise—as the pieces started to fall into place.

"oh, so now she's pettin' you." sam grinned, folding his arms across his chest as he watched on. this was probably the most fun he'd had in a very long time, there was something hilarious about a six foot wall of muscle being petted like a house cat. "at least it's an improvement."

bucky glared at him before he lowered her into his lap and covered her ears so he could continue. "i'm gonna kill you one day. real slow, and i'm gonna enjoy it." he uncovered her ears once the threat was out of the way—because he was determined that she'd never know violence, even in the form of an empty threat. "she's showing you that she loves you. think about it—she watches us do this with alps all the time. i think she's been watching." you couldn't prove it officially, but you were starting to think that she was smarter than most babies her age, she seemed to grasp things well beyond her. "she's trying to love you."

that cracked something wide open in his chest, letting that warm fuzzy feeling back in. the same one he got every time she yawned, or moved, or just blinked. despite the gruff exterior, she was slowly melting him from the inside out. "she loves me." he murmured like it was some kind of groundbreaking fact and not something he'd known subconsciously since the first time he'd held her in his arms. sam was absolutely recording the whole thing to pull back up later down the line when bucky tried to protest the fact that he wasn't soft, but right now, all bucky could focus on was the babbling baby in his lap who'd just petted him. "yeah, you love me."

there was a hundred times in his life where he thought he'd never get this—stability, a family, love, and now it consumed every minute of his life, and it wasn't something he'd swap for anything in the world.

[paging-dr-werewolf]

On the Couch After Midnight (Bob Reynolds / F!Reader)

gif by lilacevans

Summary: Filled request in response to:

reader fantasizing abt Bob and he accidentally catches her in the act...

Bob finds you asleep on the couch late at night, when he tries to tuck you in, he finds out you're lost in a very sweet dream...

Rating: 18+ MDNI

WC: 2k (complete)

CW: Fluff to smut, comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader is afab, reader is thunderbolt/new avenger, sweet bob, flirting, masturbation (f), mutual masturbation, finger sucking.

Bob was constantly impressed with your ability to fall asleep just about anywhere.

Even with a white noise machine, weighted eye mask, herbal tea, guided meditation track, and a strict ‘in bed by ten’ policy, it took him hours to turn off his mind if it ever shut down at all. It was one of those nights that was a total wash. He had tried everything, but his brain was determined to remind him of the time he was nine and he picked up the phone around dinner time; the lady on the other end sounded just like his aunt, and Bob talked to her like she was Aunt Mimi for ten minutes until his dad noticed. It wasn’t his aunt, it was a telemarketer who was her vocal dead ringer, and the lady was even nice about it, but Bob’s dad wasn’t. But then, he was never nice about anything.

Dragging his ass out of bed stopped the spiral, at least for a moment.

That was why he was in the common room at midnight, why he found you slumped over on the couch, head pillowed on one hand, your knees against the tall leather cushions, faced away from the television, which was still on. Bob muted the informercial (they were trying to make Snuggies happen again and there were dumber ideas, he supposed) and fetched a fleece blanket from the basket at the end of the sofa.

His brain quieted down as he looked at you. Awake, you were a condensed bundle of energy, but asleep like this you were peaceful, soft, your chest rising and falling evenly, your lashes plush and pretty on your cheeks.

Bob shook out the blanket and leaned down to cover you; the instant one velvety corner brushed your bare arm, you shifted, lips moving around a wordless complaint. He had been so busy looking at your face he missed the arm flopped between you and the couch back, your hand in your sleep shorts, disappearing toward…

“Shit,” Bob whispered, blinking hard. He had frozen in place with the blanket in both hands, holding it out like he was a matador with a cape and you his sleepy bull. Maybe it was best if he just covered you up, that would solve every problem all at once. Yeah. He would do that—

You moved again, this time with your hand trapped between your thighs and your legs squishing together as you wiggled. Wiggled and moaned.

Moaned his name.

Bob folded the blanket in on itself, jerking backward like just proximity to your body might set him on fire.

You threw your head back, neck stretched, eyes clenched shut. “Mm,” you whimpered, bucking against your hand. “Right there.”

Where, where, where? He had to know where. You were dreaming about him. Dreaming. About him. He was pretty sure half of the New Avengers support staff and maybe a teammate or two had a crush on you, and you were thinking about him, the guy who mostly ate cereal and went to therapy for a living, the guy who sometimes did the dishes, the guy who probably would’ve been voted Most Likely to Trip at Graduation if he had ever managed to finish high school.

Maybe you meant another Bob. You had lived a lot of life, maybe you knew all kinds of Bobs…

“Please, oh my God. You’re so…you’re so…” Your hips raised up off the couch as you swiveled onto your back, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead as your hand moved more swiftly up and down in your shorts.

Bob clutched the blanket over his waist, painfully aware that if you woke up, you would see exactly how much he loved those dirty little noises you were making. Dirty little noises that were private, perhaps about him but not for him. He had just made the extremely mature decision to put the blanket back and tiptoe away when your eyes snapped open on a gasp.

You froze. Bob froze. Time froze. The building was suddenly so quiet, Bob could hear his blood roaring through his veins.

“H-Hi,” you whispered, hand still in your pants, eyes wide.

“Hey.” He showed you the blanket, as if that explained his presence, his inability to respect your private moment, his existence on Earth. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

You swallowed, pressed your lips together, then glanced down toward your waist. “I’m afraid this is exactly what it looks like.”

“Okay,” Bob said, developing an instantaneous fever.

“Okay,” you said.

Bob pushed one trembling hand through his hair, never letting the blanket drift too far, never letting you see the absolute tent in his pajama pants. “You were saying things.”

Your eyes somehow got bigger. “What things?”

“Things like…” He would rather die right there with a raging boner than recreate your moaning and whimpering. “Things like my name.”

“Okay,” you said, out of breath.

“Okay.”

You stared at each other like the first one to blink had to pants Walker at the next team dinner.

He couldn’t take the silence anymore, or the want.

“I liked it.”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, raised your brows.

Bob stared at that lip, hungry. “Did you finish?”

You shook your head slowly from side to side, chest pumping, breasts straining through the tight, thin fabric of your tee. “N-No.”

Bob shivered, nerves singing, skin electric like he had licked a socket. “Do you want to?”

You reached for his hand, and that was all he needed. He dropped down onto the couch, wedging himself between your legs, covering both of you with the blanket. A million ideas occurred to him at the same time—you could sixty-nine, or just do sex, or sixty-nine and then do sex, or he could go down on you, or you could just make out for a while and rub against each other, or…or…

Bob went with the first thing he saw, which was your hand as you pulled it out of your panties. He grabbed that hand by the wrist, lifting it to his face, worshipping it, kissing your damp palm, then pushing your wet fingers into his mouth. You groaned, squirming against him. He rolled into the space between you and the back of the couch, resting on his side, your fingers still hot on his tongue as his left hand slid down your stomach, underneath the waistbands of your shorts and panties. Your thighs twitched apart and Bob took the invitation, sliding his fingers through the soaked mess you had made of yourself.

“Oh,” you whimpered, needy and soft, bucking, head falling back. “That feels good.”

You didn’t have to do anything else, he would’ve been more than content to stay like that, sucking on your fingers while you purred under his touch, but then you had to go and reach back for him, dragging his hard dick out of his flannel pants, your left hand pumping slowly up and down, learning his dimensions.

He tried to swear around your fingers, but it came out garbled. That was fine. He didn’t need to say anything anyway, just needed you to keep doing that, that thing where your thumb swirled around the head of his dick on the upward stroke. His eyes rolled back as you lubricated the next stroke with his precum, spreading it up and down, slippery, velvety… Fuck, that was nice. That was… Bob pushed his hips against your hand, groaning, biting down on the louder, more ragged noises that would get you both in trouble, an outcome that was beginning to feel very, very likely as his thumb grazed your clit and you cried out in pleasurable surprise.

You shared a guilty look, then laughed, and Bob shook his head, a bit dazed.

“Too loud,” he whispered, then tongued your wet thumb, drawing it back between his lips, scraping his teeth across it. Your eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to feel that, too. He fished his right arm out from under you, holding himself up on his elbow and pushing his thumb between your sweet, swollen lips. Moaning softly, you sucked on him, timing the rolling of your tongue to the leisurely pace of your hand moving up and down his cock.

Bob had never fingered someone while making prolonged, desperate, adoring eye contact, but he decided then and there it was his new favorite thing. You looked so pretty and content with his thumb in your mouth, and your teeth worrying the pad made his head spin. He circled your clit faster, pushing you, ready now to do what he had offered—finish you off. His middle finger darted lower, seeking through your dripping folds, finding a snug home in your body, gliding with a snap, curling after the second knuckle.

But you were not to be outdone. You stroked him just as steadily, mimicking the thrust of his finger inside you, giving him a little taste of what it would be like to fuck in earnest. His vision got weird at the edges, silver and white, the tug of your hand yanking on something he felt in his spine, urging him toward a prickle of heat that built in his throat.

“Mmhm,” you moaned around his thumb, reading his mind.

Bob nodded, not knowing what else to do, because it felt so good, because it was everything he wanted—you finding your pleasure, you getting breathless and sweaty underneath him, you riding his hand like you were back in that delicious dream. But it was real, real and getting realer as he felt that tug on his spine spread like molten honey to his groin.

You unraveled first, thank God. He didn’t think he could last another second. The suction of your mouth around his finger stopped, your upper body bending as you shivered, clamping down on him, grinding yourself frantically against his thumb. It was suddenly so much wetter inside you, and he was the reason why and you wanted him there and you were huffing out the whiniest noises around his thumb—

The white halo around his vision bled inward. For a second everything was too hot, too fast, too intense. He let your finger fall out of his mouth, jerking his hips forward as he finished all over your stomach. He had tried to aim for the blanket, but you wouldn’t let him, watching with half-lidded eyes as his hips stuttered, ass and abs clenched before he slid bonelessly back down to his knees.

When he could feel his hands again, Bob pulled his shirt over his head, wiping up the mess on your bare skin with his ears turning fuchsia.

“I didn’t, um, it’s kind of a mess,” he mumbled, balling up his shirt and dropping it on the floor next to the sofa. You reached down and tugged on those same burning ears until he crawled up to lie next to you.

Sleepy, cozy all over, Bob nestled his head into your left shoulder, leg flopped over yours. He hummed deep in his chest as your fingers found their way to his head, scratching lightly over the back of his scalp.

“You meant me, right?”

Your eyes opened slowly, chin dipping as you looked down at him. “What?”

“The Bob…when you were saying Bob before. You meant me…” He shifted around, pointing at his own chest. “Me Bob.”

“No, I meant the other Bob Reynolds.”

He swished his lips to the side, shy.

“You know, the one who took three buses and a train to get gelato for my birthday?” You smirked, pressing a little kiss to his forehead.

“I didn’t mind,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“The one who lets me win at Mario Kart…”

“Only when it gets embarrassing.”

Snorting, you snuggled closer, your free hand smoothing over his bare chest, staying over the place where his heart thundered to meet your touch. “You never let John win.”

Bob shrugged. “‘Cos the noises he makes are hilarious.”

“Well anyway,” you said with a sigh. “That’s the Bob I meant, if that’s not you then this is going to be pretty awkward.”

He pressed his nose more firmly into your neck, simultaneously hiding and trying to climb inside your skin. “I guess that’s me Bob.”

“My Bob,” you corrected, settling down against him like you might both fall asleep that way.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, nodding off. “That one.”

-> Masterlist

[eyelessfaces]

Bob who hates affection in public but once he’s alone with you he’s an absolute mess. Kisses, hugs, cheesy compliments, anything of the sort.

absolutely

especially early onto your relationship. he's not used to having a healthy, real relationship, so the most he can do in public without feeling uncomfortable is holding your hand, maybe a quick kiss over your temple when he's sure nobody's watching

he's clingy as hell so when you get alone he's all over you. this man doesn't know personal space if it's only the both of you in a room. takes any chance he gets to cling to you and get as close as possible

I feel like he'd get less anxious and would learn not to gaf once your realtionship gets real serious and he would progressively do it all while the rest of the team is around (and that would make them gag)

[giltedbones]

Fingerprints

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Female Reader Warnings: Mentions of childhood abuse, bruising from intimacy, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending Word Count: ~1.2k Summary: Bob wakes up next to her for the first time. It's perfect. Then he sees the bruise. Authors Note: This is eh but im back from being sad, I couldnt get this out of my head, I hope I did it justice.

He woke up slow.

Not the way he usually did… startled, disoriented, blinking into the light… This was different. This was warm sheets, and soft ligh… a particular kind of quiet that meant someone else was breathing nearby. Shes here… she stayed…

She was on her stomach. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched out toward his side of the bed like she'd been reaching for him in her sleep. The blanket had slipped to her waist sometime in the night… and the early light caught the line of her back, the curve of her shoulder, the place where her hair had fallen across the pillow in a way that made here look… well.. . like a fucking angel honestly …

Bob stayed very still.

Not because he was afraid. Because he was trying to memorize all of her. The way the light hit her. The way she breathed. The fact that she was here…in his bed, and she chose to be, and she hadn't left in the middle of the night….and she was still here.

He was aware, distantly, that this was the kind of thing normal people probably didn't have to remind themselves of. That waking up next to someone shouldn't feel like some sort of possible crime.

Any yet…..

His fingers found her spine without deciding to. Just… tracing. Lazy and aimless, down the knobs of her vertebrae to the small of her back.

Her skin was warm.

She made a small sound, not awake..not quite….and shifted closer to his hand.

Just this. Just stay like this for a second…

His thumb brushed her hip.

He felt it before he saw it. A tenderness under his touch, a faint swell where the skin was different. He shifted. Looked down.

Purple. Blue at the edges. Four distinct points of pressure, curving around the bone.

Fingerprints.

His fingerprints.

Bob's hand jerked away from her skin like he'd touched a burner.

He was out of the bed before she was awake.

Not gracefully. He moved like the sheets were on fire, pulling his hand against his chest, and the sudden absence of warmth was what woke her.

She blinked up at him. Sleep-soft, confused. "Bob?"

He was standing at the side of the bed. Shirtless. His hand still held against his chest, fingers curled in, and all the color had gone out of his face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She pushed up on her elbow. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm… god, I'm so sorry. I didn't…" He gestured at her. At her hip. At the bruise she hadn't looked at yet. "I did that. That's… those are my… that's from me."

She looked down. Twisted enough to see the purple marks curving around her hipbone. Looked back at him.

"Bob…"

"No, I know. I know. I should've been more careful. I should've… I knew I was too strong for this. I knew it…. and now you're…" He waved his hand again, a panicked little circle in her direction. "You're bruised. I bruised you. That's… that's not…"

"Bob, it's fine."

"It's not fine. That's… no. That's the opposite of fine. That's, like……" His voice climbed. "I could've really hurt you. Like, really hurt you. I'm… I don't even know my own… I can bench press a building, and I just… I just grabbed you like it was…"

He tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.

"Cool. Great. Super-soldier serum, and I can't even…" He ran both hands through his hair. Held them there. "What if it was worse? What if next time I don't just… what if I actually…"

He couldn't finish that one.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Not near her. As far from her as the mattress allowed. His hands were in his lap, palms up, and he was staring at them like they belonged to someone he didn't trust. Chest tight and aching.

She sat up. The blanket pooled at her waist. She didn't reach for him yet.

"Bob. Look at me."

He looked at the window instead.

She waited.

He was still looking at his hands. His thumb kept dragging across the opposite palm, back and forth, slow and repetitive.

"My dad used to…" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Yep. So when I was a kid, there were always… my mom had bruises. I had bruises. And it was just… that was just what hands were for, you know? That's what they did. They left marks on people. With the…" He trailed off. His thumb kept moving across his palm.

"I told myself I wasn't gonna be… I wasn't like that. I'm not like that." He looked up at her. His jaw was working, his eyes wet. "But you've got…. so I'm just…"

He stopped. Looked back at his hands.

She didn't answer right away.

Not because she didn't know….Because the answer mattered too much to rush.

"Bob." Quiet. "Come here."

He shook his head. Small, barely a movement. "I don't think I should… I don't wanna…"

"Come here."

His eyes went to her, then the door, then her again.

He moved towards her.

Slow. Careful. The shame of the situation thick in his throat. He sat close enough that their knees almost touched, and he kept his hands in his own lap.

She reached for his hand. He flinched.

She took it anyway.

He let her….which was something at least. His fingers stayed limp, curled slightly inward. She held his wrist and turned his hand over. Opened it. Pressed his palm flat against hers.

"These hands were shaking the first time you touched me," she said. "Because you were so scared of getting it wrong. Do you remember that?"

He was quiet. His jaw tighten…. He looked away.

"I left marks on you," he said. Almost a whisper.

"Yeah." She brought his hand to her hip. Pressed it there, right over the bruise. Held it. "I'm not scared of you, Bob."

His hand was rigid against her skin for a long moment.

Then his fingers softened. Spread. Settled against her hip before trailing agsint her skin.

There you go.

She leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Unhurried.

He kissed her back. Barely. Checking whether it was safe.

She kissed him again. Slower. Her hand came up to the side of his face, and she felt the tension in his jaw, the way he was holding himself so carefully, so she stayed anyway.

His forehead dropped against hers.

"I'm sorry," he said. One more time. Quieter than all the others.

"I know." She brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. "You don't have to be."

[everydaydreamer]

Bob Reynolds who cries while fucking you because he just loves you so much and finds you so beautiful that he can't hold back his emotions which only makes him drive his hips faster and deeper into you

[theboardwalkbody]

Good Morning/Afternoon

Fandom: Thunderbolts (MCU) Rating: M, not explicit but still 18+ Warnings: No Warnings Apply Relationships: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader Tags: No use of Y/N, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Ending with Implied Sex, a little bit of Bob being a smartass (❤️). Word Count: 867 Chapters: 1/1 Series: Scenes From The Avengers Watchtower (a drabble collection) Cross-Posted to AO3

Apparently the Bob-crumb we got from the trailer today gave me enough motivation to write this random, pointless drabble.

Summary:

By the time you wake up it's already after noon. Bob's side of the bed is empty, and the lack of his presence makes an ache grow within you as you push yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, mentally preparing yourself to start your day. As if sensing you were awake, the bedroom door opens slowly, and Bob enters the room. His hair is still an unbrushed mess, and evidently he lacked the energy - or care - to dress himself more than just slipping on some socks and tossing his robe on over his t-shirt and boxers. He comes to a stop in front of you and looks down, his eyes meeting yours. "Hi Bob," you say, smiling softly as you look up at him. "Hey," he says back, his voice low... hungry, and it makes you bite your lip as a new kind of ache starts to grow.

GOOD MORNING/AFTERNOON

By the time you wake up it's already after noon. Bob's side of the bed is empty, and the lack of his presence makes an ache grow within you as you push yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, mentally preparing yourself to start your day. As if sensing you were awake, the bedroom door opens slowly, and Bob enters the room. His hair is still an unbrushed mess, and evidently he lacked the energy - or care - to dress himself more than just slipping on some socks and tossing his robe on over his t-shirt and boxers. He comes to a stop in front of you and looks down, his eyes meeting yours.

"Hi Bob," you say, smiling softly as you look up at him. "Hey," he says back, his voice low... hungry, and it makes you bite your lip as a new kind of ache starts to grow between your legs. "What's up?" your question comes out breathy. "Nothing," his voice rumbles deep in his chest.

As he responds to your question he slowly places his hands between your legs and pushes against the inner sides of your knees, parting your legs. You let out a whine as he steps between them and gently pushes you back down onto the mattress. Keeping himself between your legs, Bob climbs up onto the bed and cages your upper body with his. The weight of him on top of you is welcome and warm, curing your original ache of loneliness while fueling the newer one born of pure lust. His eyes briefly flash gold and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he hovers just inches over you.

"Bob," you whisper, unable to think of anything coherent to say. "Hmm?" "... hi," is all you manage; you really are at a loss for words.

A sly smile crosses his face for a second before he dips his head down to kiss your lips. You moan into the kiss, and it is as if your body was on autopilot as you lift your hips up to grind into his. You feel the smile return to his face as he pulls his lips from yours. Another quick flash of gold in his eyes tells you just how good he is feeling, and with your core now pressed against him, you feel his cock twitch - more evidence of his pleasure.

"You sound so pretty," his voice is dripping with want.

You couldn't respond; it was as if you had forgotten every word in the dictionary and in every language you had ever even tried to learn. He chuckles when he realizes your silence is the result of him making your brain short-circuit. Bob moves in for another kiss, now grinding his hips into yours and adding even more pressure. It earns him a whimper from you. This time, when he stops for air, he doesn't pull back far. Instead, his lips ghost over yours for a fraction of a second before he goes back in for a third kiss. Afterwards, when he brakes away once again, he takes a moment to gaze down at you, letting himself drink in your appearance as you are pinned beneath him.

"Good morning," you manage to eke out. He giggles. "Good morning? That's what you've got?" "Shut up," you smile up at him. "How am I supposed to think when I just woke up and you're in between my legs?" A lopsided smile forms on his face. "Okay, fair," he replies, but his teasing isn't finished. "But it's not morning anymore. It's like one-thirty. So it's good afternoon." You roll your eyes. "Oh, well fuck me. I'm sorry I didn't check the time." Bob's lopsided smile turns into a full grin at your words, "that's what I came in here to do, actually." "Check the time?" you play dumb. "Yeah, that's the part I meant," he says as he rocks his hips into you again. You can feel he's fully hard now, the loose fabric of boxers not doing a thing to restrain him. "Well, my phone is over there for you to check," you continue playing with him.

Suddenly, Bob is sliding off of you and for a split second you worry that maybe you’ve done something wrong. Your fear is crushed when he drops to his knees beside the bed, and the next thing you know is you’re letting out a squeak of surprise as he takes hold of your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mattress. Without even a second to let you process, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants and underwear and slides them down and off of your legs, leaving nothing to stop him from getting his mouth on your wet and aching core.

"Bob," you breathe, the anticipation making you even wetter. "Yeah?" he asks as he places soft kisses on the insides of your thighs. Once again, words fail you and all you can do is look down at his head between your legs. As he looks up at you gold fills his lust-heavy eyes and he smiles, "don't worry, baby. I've got you."

And he does.

[xreader1989]

Johnny Storm never lets you lift a finger… Masterlist

You didn’t even notice it at first.

On the very first date, he brought you flowers. You tried to reach for them after you put your coat on, but he grabbed them before you could without saying a word.

And on the way home he had the flowers tucked under his arm and the doggy bag with your left overs in his hand, the other one holding yours firmly.

Then he tagged along on your shopping trip a few weeks later, you didn’t hold a single thing, not even your purse.

You thought it was just the honeymoon phase, but months of shopping trips and dates, you never carried a thing.

When you went on coffee dates, he wouldn’t even let you hold that. He carried it to your next destination. Or leaned it towards you if you wanted a sip.

It didn’t even dawn on you until you had been dating for a year. You reached to grab your purse after dinner and Johnny grabbed it first.

“As long as you have me you won’t lift a finger baby,” he said smoothly, extending his other hand for you to hold as you left the restaurant.

Everything he said made you blush, another thing that never changed.

Then, it came time to move out of your studio and he insisted on handling it with Ben.

Hell, he basically unpacked for you too. Then he made sure all your furniture was put together and all your pictures were hung while you went to work the next day.

When you went on your regularly scheduled museum date you had your coat over your arms as you walked around. The MET was always your favorite date spot with him.

You’re not even sure if he liked it, but he loved you, so he didn’t mind one bit.

He pulled your coat from your arms and put it over his so that he was holding them both.

“Johnny, I can hold it,” you said in a hushed tone.

He shook his head, “I got it. Keep looking baby.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

Your friends noticed it too.

“God you really spoil her,” your friend said as Johnny kept his hand around your waist at the bar. He slid his card in front of you so that you could order everyone drinks. Your purse was in his shoulder and your jackets was in his other arm.

Before you could respond, he did, “as if she doesn’t deserve it?”

She didn’t mean anything by it, just an observation, but he was rather insulted at the insinuation that you deserved anything less than princess treatment.

You were more than capable of doing these things on your own. You had a job, you had your own money, but god it felt good to be cared for.

“You do everything for me without even being asked,” you said as he unpacked the groceries after carrying them up three flights of stairs.

He stopped what he was doing, “is that… a problem?”

You shook your head, “no. Guess I’ve never met a guy I didn’t have to nag.”

He huffed a laugh and shrugged, reaching into the grocery bag to continue what he was doing, “I just like making your life a little easier, making you happier. I honestly don’t even think about it. I just do it.”

He wasn’t even looking at you, he was organizing the cabinets, you could’ve exploded. How did you stumble upon the best man in the world?

[magikcheese3]

One bed?

Johnny storm x Reader

A/n: another overused trope, sorryyy not sorryy. Anyway I kinda wrote him more like the comics? than the movie so WAY more flirty. Fun fact, my first ever fanfic was a Johnny Storm one sooo it's like coming back home hehe.

Masterlist Johnny storm masterlist

Warnings: Fluff but the flirting can be slightly suggestive

Synopsis: you and Johnny are on a mission which leads for you two to end up in a motel with only one bed...

You swallowed down hard, blinking once - then twice - as sweat started to roll down the palm of your hands. Heat rising up from your chest all the way to your throat.

There was only one bed.

It shouldn't have been the first thing you noticed when the wooden motel room door swung open, dust flying around in the air, but it was.

Carpeted floors stretched around the mattress, with a small lampside table next to the window that had a clear view of the glowing swimming pool.

You let out a groan, duffle bag landing on the floor with a soft thud.

"Are you serious?" you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

That's when you felt abnormally warm hands wrap around your waist, shoulders flinching at the feel of his breath hitting your ear.

"Oooh, I guess it's going to be you and me beside each other tonight sweetheart," Johnny hummed with a smirk, before entering the room. Looking around from the center with an amused look on his face as his palms rested on his waist. Whispering almost to himself:

"Definitely all night."

You rolled your eyes, stepping in without another thought as you desperately tried to ignore your roommate. Carefully unpacking your bag on top of the bed. "That means you'll be sleeping on the floor."

Johnny gasped dramatically and crossed the room in a few easy strides.

"What do you mean that I'm sleeping on the floor? Do you know who you're with right now?" he asked, head dipping to catch your gaze with his own. Brilliant blue eyes catching the orange glow from the nightstand, making them even more distracting.

Your breath hitching as he got close.

"Unfortunately," you managed.

Johnny opened his mouth with another smug reply ready, but closed it when your eyes finally met his - glaring at him.

The teasing grin on his face faltered for half a second - enough for you to notice the way his gaze fell briefly to your lips before looking up.

The small motel room suddenly feeling far more suffocating than before. In that instance you could have sworn the air was hotter around him.

"You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing," he whispered after a long pause - softer this time.

"There's no room for the both of us Johnny, you sleep like you're swimming around."

"Hmm?" Johnny leaned in after those words escaped your lips, golden hair tousled - brows quirked with a mischievous grin.

"So you've been watching me sleep and know my sleeping patterns?" he teased, tilting his head slightly to the side. "You could have just asked instead of having to watch, sweetheart. I would have been more than happy to let you join."

"What?" you exclaimed, face flushed before pushing his face away. "In your dreams!"

Johnny chuckled, a firm hand wrapping gently around the hand that was currently pressed against his face. Voice low and slightly muffled against your skin.

"How can I when you're already in them?"

A pause, taken off guard.

"You know what?" you yelled, fist clenching at your side. "You can sleep in this one, I'm booking my own suite!"

"Oh yeah?"

"I-" you looked away, lips pressed in a thin line, brows furrowed. You wanted to run away, hide from Johnny's gaze that was still fixed on you.

How infuriating.

"...Don't cross your side of the bed Johnny." you gritted out, pulse ringing in your ears as you moved past him again, catching the faint scent of his cologne and something burnt.

On the other hand, Johnny was still grinning from ear to ear. Combing his fingers through his hair.

"Good night to you too <3"

Divider credits: @honeyluvsw /  honeyluvsw.tumblr.com

[captainshischier]

fuck men i’m going to spend the rest of my life reading x reader fics

[noitnotchappellroan]

Babysitting with Johnny

Summary: You finally convinced Sue and Reed to go on a date night. That meant you and your boyfriend, Johnny Storm, were responsible for their cranky son.

WC: 1087

A/N: Just rewatched Fantastic 4: First Steps for the 3rd time and could not stop thinking about Johnny Storm as an uncle. I wrote this wayyyy too late at night for someone that needs to be up early. This is also my first fic ever, so please let me know if you enjoy it!

Warnings/tags: No warnings, just domestic fluff. No physical descriptions of reader except for having hair long enough to put in a ponytail. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. No use of y/n. Proofread.

It wasn’t very often that Sue and Reed trusted you two to watch Franklin. Yes, they loved you, and yes, they knew you were capable of it. But the new-parent anxiety, partnered with the whole “potentially magic baby” thing, had left them without a date night in far too long. It took you weeks to convince Sue to go out and to let you and Johnny watch the baby overnight. Once you got her on your side, Sue just had to say the word, and Reed agreed. That’s how you and your boyfriend ended up covered in baby spit and surrounded by your attempts to distract the baby from crying. Blocks and toys everywhere, even H.E.R.B.I.E. was having a hard time keeping clean, you could see the marks on him where Franklin had used a marker to try to draw a masterpiece.

Johnny had been holding the boy for at least 45 minutes at this point. His normally pristine, pressed shirt was covered in pureed carrot and wrinkles. “I don’t know how Suze does this every day.” He said, exasperated. His eyes had dimmed from their regular sky blue to a lighter grey. Even through the tiredness, you could see the adoration he had for the boy. “Let me take him, J. You’ve had him the whole night.” Holding your arms out for his nephew, he surrendered with an audible sigh. He had refused every single time you offered, claiming it was his nephew and he should be the one to take care of him. “Fine. But only for a minute, then the magic baby comes back to Uncle Johnny.” He says with his signature smile, albeit slightly exhausted. You laugh, supporting the weight of the baby on your hip and bouncing him back and forth for a few minutes before speaking. 

“What’s goin’ on, buddy? We fed you, you already pooped, and you apparently don’t want to go to sleep. Do you miss mama?” At that last part, Franklin settled down, just for a second. Enough for you to catch. “Oh baby– you want mama, huh? Well, too bad, little man. Your mom is getting some well-deserved time off.” Franklin just frowned at you, seemingly not satisfied with your answer, but at least just sniffling now. “What do you say we go for a little car ride, see the stars?” You look up to see your boyfriend beaming at you, a little light returning to his eyes. He had been admiring you the whole time you were holding Franklin, watching the way your sparkling eyes carefully took in the baby’s mood and how you managed to calm him. “How are you so good at that, babe?” He asked, genuine affection leaching through his words. You cross the warm kitchen towards the elevator before responding. “Magic baby,” gesturing to the little boy in your arms, “magic baby whisperer,” gesturing to yourself. Johnny laughed, jingling the Fantasticar keys while shrugging his jacket on. “Let’s go.” He helped you with your sweater, briefly taking Franklin from your arms so you could slip your arm through and handing him back as the baby started to cry again. “Jeez, okay, man, you can go back to her!” You giggle, taking the already quieting baby back into your arms.

The city lights stream underneath you as Johnny drives quietly above the rooftops. You’re sitting in the back with Franklin, his chubby hands wrapped around your finger. You are smiling softly at the boy, cooing back at him whenever he makes a sound. Johnny’s eyes keep flitting back to your face in the rearview mirror. Your hair had fallen out of the ponytail you put in hours ago, the short front pieces perfectly framing your face. The moon was shining on your skin and reflecting in your eyes, making them look even prettier than they usually do.  “How did I get so lucky?” Johnny asks himself. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you were, but did not want to jeopardize Mission: Get the Baby to Sleep. 

“Johnny!” You whisper minutes later. “He’s asleep!” Grinning up at him, you see the look of relief wash across Johnny’s face as he turns the car back towards the Baxter Building. He and you sit in comfortable silence, only interrupted by the occasional snore from the now sleeping child. Johnny parks the car and gets out, opening your door for you. As you slip by him, he grabs your arm and pulls you back for a quick kiss. “You’re so great with him,” he whispers in your ear. You pull back, smile, and kiss his cheek before crossing to the other side to get Franklin out of his car seat. 

Johnny had already told H.E.R.B.I.E. to get the nursery cleaned up and ready for the baby. You walk up the stairs, Johnny right next to you, holding your waist. Adjusting your grip, you gently set Franklin down, wincing slightly as the baby shifts. Thankfully, he stays asleep. You turn on the baby monitor and take it with you, shutting the door with so much precision so as not to wake him. 

As the door shuts, you sigh against it. Johnny wraps his warm arms around your waist, his cheek resting against your head. “You looked so gorgeous tonight. I mean, you always do, but especially tonight.” You turn in his arms, looking down at your stained shirt. You were sure your hair was messy, you could just feel the frizz coming off of it. “Really?” You ask, not insecure, just a little bit in disbelief. “Yes, sweetheart. You were so good with him. He’s so lucky to have you as his aunt.” He kisses you softly, pulling you away from the nursery door down the hall to his room. He wasn't faring much better than you, also sporting a stained shirt, and his blonde hair was tousled from all the times Franklin grabbed at it. ‘Thank you, Johnny. You look… You look good too.” He laughs at your pause, knowing you think he’s actually the most handsome man in the world (which he is, in your opinion. He’s literally THE Johnny Storm). He leans back down, pulling you next to him on his bed. That’s how you two fall asleep, his arms wrapped around you and your head resting in the crook of his neck. There was still a ghost of a smile on both your faces, as there always was when you two were together.

Another A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one shot as much as I enjoyed writing it.

dividers from firefly graphics, photos from pinterest.