MASTERLIST

we're fine. we're so fine.

them going wheel to wheel and causing damage 😭

uhh so incase you guys couldnt tell im inlove with smoker!josh, so enjoy this little small fic !!

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⋆˚࿔ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ...  ╰┈➤ 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ₊˚✧

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: nicotine stains by second thoughts (3:45)

✰ pairing: smoker!josh washington x fem!reader

✰ cw: smoking kissing, smoke shotgunning, kinda horny but doesnt lead to smut (unless you guys want me to write that.....)

✰ word count: 0.3+

✰ summary: josh smokes regularly then realises that his girlfriend hasn't even remotely touched one, he teaches her how to do it.

✰ a/n: i tried so hard to method act with my joint but i lost my lighter SOOOOOO!!!

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༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ josh !!

You were in your boyfriend's room, sitting on his bed on your phone. Texting Emily, Jess and Ashley to tide yourself over from the boredom you found yourself in as you waited for Josh to come back to his room after helping his parents with something. He eventually came back into his room, you looked up at him - he had a cigarette in his lips, a hand covering it as he lit it with his lighter that he carried everywhere. You always found it enamouring when he smoked, except you yourself never touched one which was kind of ironic. Josh looked over at you, noticing how you looked at the cigarette in his mouth. He took a drag, taking the cigarette in-between his fingers - blowing out a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. Walking over to you,

"What, baby?" "Nothing-- it's nothing.." "You never smoked one of these before?" "No.." "Prude." He let out a snort, "Am not-- I just.. don't find the point of it." "Do you want to try it?" "Oh-- no, Josh I-- I shouldn't." "One hit shouldn't hurt, angel.." "I.. I don't know how-" He'd grab ahold of your chin, tilting it up to look at him. "I'll help you baby, yeah?" "..Okay-- fine." "Just open that pretty mouth for me, okay?"

You sighed, questioning if he actually wanted to help you or if he had other intentions - you opened your mouth as he placed the cigarette in your mouth. "Breathe in." You breathed in slowly, coughing almost immediately - pushing his hand away. He laughed at that. "Damn-- you really weren't kidding.." "Shut up--" After you recovered from coughing, he grabbed the side of his face. "I wanna try something--" "What?" "Just lemme show you.." He placed the cigarette to his lips, taking a small drag before moving closer to you - inches from your open lips. Blowing the smoke into your mouth, you watched him with wide eyes. As the smoke disappeared above the two of you, you leaned foward - placing a kiss to his lips. He reciprocated almost immediately, grabbing your hips pulling you into his lap. Kissing you with more passion - more depth. Maybe you'll try smoking again if it ended up like this.

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its kind of a drabble pooks im SO SORRRYY hope you enjoyed nonetheless...

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you and clark were sitting on the couch, the evening creeping in with its soft, quiet light. it had been a long day, but still, he was here, as he always seemed to be when the world slowed down. the two of you were talking, nothing too important. just the usual random banter that filled the space between moments. your cat had found her way into clark’s lap, curling up there like it was the most natural place in the world, and clark, the ever gentle soul, let her stay. it wasn’t until you noticed how still he was that you realized maybe the conversation had started to fade around him.

he blinked slowly, like he was fighting something, a yawn, maybe, or the weight of exhaustion that always seemed to find him when he wasn’t being superman. you caught the little tremble of his shoulders as he tried to keep his attention, but it was a losing battle. his voice dropped, becoming quieter, slower. you raised an eyebrow. “clark, you good?”

he mumbled something that didn’t quite form into words, a quiet hum of agreement or maybe just an attempt to stay awake. but his eyes were slipping closed now, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his grip on your cat loosened just enough to make the little furball shift, curling tighter against his chest.

you didn’t say anything else, just watched as his head slowly tilted to the side, his glasses slightly askew, and his breathing evening out in the softest rhythm. it wasn’t long before the words in his mouth stopped altogether, his body sinking deeper into the couch, his hand gently cradling your cat like she was a newborn. it was ridiculous and sweet all at once, and you couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips.

you stood up quietly, careful not to make any noise that might disturb him. the blanket on the back of the couch was soft, a faded blue color that had seen better days. you grabbed it, draping it over him gently, smoothing it down around his shoulders, making sure he was comfortable. your cat barely stirred in his arms, happy enough to let clark hold her like this.

it was funny, you thought, how different he was when he wasn’t in a cape or suit, when he wasn’t saving people or rushing off to the next disaster. here, in your living room, he was just clark. tired, quiet, messy haired clark who didn’t have to be perfect all the time.

you pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him with one last touch, just to make sure he stayed warm through the night. the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket was steady, peaceful. the only sounds in the room were the occasional soft snore from clark and the gentle purring of your cat.

you sat back down on the couch, curling up next to them both, your gaze drifting from clark’s peaceful face to the way the blanket gently shifted with each breath he took.

NEVERMIND!! DO NOT SHOOT ME!!

I CANNOT stop thinking about getting pounded against the wall by pyramid head, the only thing keeping you still against it so you don't fall is his big strong hand choking your neck soo tight that you could barely even breathe while your leg is wrapped around his hips and he's pistoling his fat veiny cock so deep inside of you with every hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix and exploring your tight walls with every rut of his hips against you, oh and it's big, it's long and so fucking thick it stretches your cunt so wide and open around him. He fucking ruins you and obliterates your poor little hole for anyone else that's gonna have you next so the only thing that your pussy would be useful and good for is his cock and his cock only, that's how much he stretches you and craves your hole, into a perfect match for his girth.

You're moaning and screaming but what's the point? It's not like anyone can hear you, you should’ve never let your curiosity get the best of you because who knows? Maybe no one is ever gonna see you again because he's gonna keep you there with him and fuck you and use your (his) tight hole whenever he fucking wants and feels like it to please himself, your his little plaything now, his little cum dump to fuck and fill with his load over and over again.

okay powerplay time to pretend we're gonna shoot for 1 minute and 58 seconds

can’t believe i had to root for the knights and they played like that. disgusting.

assorted superman doodle practice

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the apartment is quiet except for the soft sound of the stove and the distant rhythm of traffic outside. your daughter is at the table, her little legs swinging from the chair, tongue poking out in concentration as she draws. crayon in one hand, juice box in the other. there's a mess of purple scribbles that sort of look like a shield. or maybe a cat. you’re chopping vegetables one handed, phone balanced on your shoulder, listening to a voicemail from your sister you’ve already heard twice today. the mundane feels good. normal. still. the front door doesn’t creak anymore—bucky fixed the hinge last week—but you still hear him before you see him. boots scuffing the hallway floor. the rustle of that jacket he won’t get rid of. you glance up and he’s there, like he always is lately. a little tired around the eyes, jaw set, still half lost in whatever mission they just pulled him from.

he drops his duffel at the door and steps out of his boots before he even says hi. you know what that means. it was a rough one.

“hey,” you say, not turning around yet.

“hey.” his voice is low, rasped at the edges. he moves into the kitchen slowly, like he’s not sure how to belong in the quiet after everything loud.

“daddy!” lily shouts, twisting in her seat. she scrambles down and runs to him.

his face softens the second she touches him. “hey,” he says, crouching low to catch her. “what’d i miss?”

“i drew you!" she announces proudly, pulling him by the hand toward the table.

he gives you a quick glance, something grateful in it, like he’s thanking you just for being here, for holding it all together.

you dry your hands and join them. lily is explaining the drawing: him in a suit, you with a bow and arrow (which you definitely don’t use anymore), and some kind of flying car in the sky. bucky listens like it’s the most important briefing he’s ever received.

“that me?” he asks, pointing at the stick figure with messy scribbles for hair and something that might be a star on his chest.

“yeah,” she grins. “you’re an avenger now.”

bucky huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “guess i am, huh.”

he doesn’t sound proud. not exactly. more like he’s still trying to believe it. still doesn’t know what it means to be one of the good guys. still doesn’t feel like he belongs in the lineup. but you see it. in the way he kneels on the kitchen floor to listen to his daughter’s stories. in the way he checks every window and door before bed. in how he wakes up in the middle of the night just to look at the two of you and make sure it’s real. he’s not the winter soldier anymore. he’s something new. something softer. something harder to define.

after dinner, he helps clean up without being asked. washes dishes with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that vibranium arm gleaming under the kitchen light. you lean against the counter, watching him in the quiet.

“you okay?” you ask.

he nods slowly. “just… tired.”

you reach for him without thinking, resting a hand on his back. “i can’t tell if you mean physically or existentially.”

he gives a small, tired smile. “both.”

there’s a pause. then, quieter: “they’re calling us something new now,” he says. “not 'thunderbolts' anymore. it’s more official. more public.”

“new avengers?”

“something like that.”

you nod. you expected this. since val’s people started cleaning house and putting the new lineup together. since they sent him back into the field with an actual team and something that looked like purpose.

“you good with that?” you ask.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. i keep waiting for someone to realize i’m not supposed to be there.”

“bucky,” you say, serious now. “you’ve earned this.”

“have i?”

“you show up. every day. for us. for them. for yourself. what more do you want?”

he leans in then, forehead to yours, just breathing you in.

later, after lily’s asleep and the apartment is dark except for the low lamp by the bed, he crawls in beside you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“i don’t know how to be the guy she thinks i am,” he murmurs.

you press a kiss to his collarbone. “you don’t have to be. just... be here for her.”

he exhales against your neck. “that, i can do.”

you two couldn't sleep. the blankets in the bed are pulled up to your waists, your legs tangled without thinking. the lamp casts a warm gold over the room. he’s lying on his side, head propped on his hand, his hair’s still damp from the shower, curling just a little at the ends, and his skin smells like your body wash.

“you're pretty.” he praises lowly, voice rough and tired.

you smile, eyes closed. “mm. pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

he leans in, nose brushing your jaw, lips finding the edge of your neck. slow, unhurried. “yeah, well. still true.”

you hum, tilting your chin up for him without even thinking. he kisses the spot just beneath your ear, where your pulse flutters, and you feel him smile against your skin. his hand slides over your hip under the blanket, fingertips tracing the shape of you like he’s grounding himself there. he tugs gently at the edge of his old henley you’d stolen months ago. his hand doesn’t stop moving. just slow passes over the curve of your waist, your thigh, your back. it’s not rushed. not needy.

he mouths at your jaw, your neck, just a press of lips. not quite kisses. you think maybe he’s too tired for anything more. you’re so caught up in the press of his body, the feel of him in your space, that you almost don’t notice when his hand presses into the small of your back and tugs. he pushes you gently until you’re on your back, flat against the bed. he shifts, moving to hover over you like always. he leans in for a proper kiss then, slow and warm. something like coming home. you meet him with a hand in his hair, keeping him there, and feel his answering smile against your lips. it’s not long before it edges deeper, rougher. he bites at your lip, tugging softly, and you arch up against him with a sharp inhale. "lily's right there—" you breathe out.

he doesn’t pull away. just hums against your mouth. he noses at your neck again, the rough edge of his stubble dragging over your skin. "she’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet. we’ll be fine.”

you kiss him, warm breath mingling in the hush between heartbeats. he smiles into the kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb sweeping over your cheek. steadying you as your mouth moves in a quiet rhythm, tasting the moment. it’s soft but deliberate, each kiss deepening just enough to make you both lean in more, wanting, needing, sighing into eachother. the world narrows to skin, and lips. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. it’s so gentle, so careful.

just as he’s pulled back a fraction, the bedroom door creaks open. he’s off you in a second, dropping to his elbows at your side. you’re both breathing heavy, heart going wild. lily stands in the doorway, looking tiny in her little white nightgown. “can’t sleep?” bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. you notice in the low light that the tips of his ears are flushed pink. your shirt collar is askew, his henley twisted around your waist. she shakes her head and pads over. she’s rubbing one eye with a tiny fist and dragging her blanket on the floor behind her. bucky props himself up, shifting to make room for her on the bed. 

“alright. come here,” he murmurs, lifting her up. she slots herself in between you easily, shoving her face in your shoulder like she always does. she’s warm from sleep, the side of her little body pushing flush against yours. bucky’s hand is splayed across her back, his thumb rubbing idle circles. 

“how are you doing?” you ask, smoothing her messy hair down. usually, once she’s down for the night, she’s out for the count. 

she looks up at you, blinking sleepily, then at him. his cheek is resting on top of her head. “i had a nightmare,” she mumbles into your shirt. 

his face softens instantly. you can feel his hand on her back pause for a second. “what about?” he asks. 

“you an’ momma were gone,” she mumbles, voice going soft. “for a long time.” her little fist grips your shirt tighter. 

“not going anywhere, kid,” he says, voice low. he presses a kiss to her head, eyes still on you. “promise.”