#bruce has a dad bod and is made for cuddles

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Nineteen

 Bruce took a deep breath and prayed for patience. To whom he was praying, he didn’t know but it was worth a shot, “Sweetheart,” he said, “We have to do this.”

You shake your head starting to cry and trembling so hard you have to set your mug of tea down. He knows you’re about 3 wrong words from bolting out of the room. He doesn’t feel good about what he’s about to say. It feels manipulative and rude. He also knows it could back fire. 

Needles might be the one fear you just can’t shake. Not for anyone for any reason... And given the number of times he’s seen you avoid medical or outright refuse treatment to avoid them, it wouldn’t surprise him.

“Please, Y/N,” he says gently, “If not for you, will you let me do it for the baby?” You go very very still and Bruce waits, feeling like he just clipped a wire on a bomb and now he has to see if it was the right one. When you don’t bolt after a few moments, he sits in the chair behind your desk and holds his arms out, inviting you to cuddle into his chest. “You won’t let go?” you murmur after a long minute. “Not for anything... Just don’t hex me,” he smiles a little but he’s not kidding. He’s seen what happens when you’re that terrified. Clint had had to hold you down once for antivenom and you’d hexed him so hard he’d had bad luck for weeks. You wince and he slides himself over to hold your hands, “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your belly, “I know. I know it’s terrifying. But the two of you could be in serious trouble if it drops like that when you’re alone.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and let him pull you into his arms and settle you on his lap. Your knees are shaking so hard that you’re afraid you’ll collapse. 

He rocks you gently and kisses your head, “You’ll try?” he asks softly. You nod and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He slides the chair back to be able to get the test kit off the table and you hide your face in his neck. “That’s good, sweet girl,” he soothes, “Don’t look. Just listen to me, okay?”

You whimper and his stomach twists unpleasantly. He knows this is tantamount to torture for you. In fact, you have been tortured with things like this. He talks. Because that’s all he can do to ground you in right now. “You’re doing so good baby,” he murmurs, putting the pieces together. “I’m gonna feed you so much ice cream after this.” You don’t respond but the hand he doesn’t need has fingernails sunk into his shoulder. You were clinging to him for dear life and trembling. He took your hand and ran an alcohol swap over your finger carefully, “The baby’s going to be so pretty,” he said, “Gonna look just like you.” He keeps talking, “I’m gonna tell you a secret, sweetheart,” he says, steeling himself to prick your finger, praying that he could actually hold you in place if you panicked, “I hope we have a girl. A beautiful little girl. And then three more little girls after this one.” As he talked, he pricked your finger and he could feel you draw blood on his shoulder with your nails. You’re crying again and he hugs you close as he writes down the level. It’s low. Not scary, but definitely lower than it should be. “Shhh,” he soothes, rubbing your back, “You did so well. Really good. I don’t feel at all hexed. Or even a little cursed.” You make a soft miserable sound and he tilts your chin up, “I’m proud of you,” he says softly, “I’m very proud. You were amazing. And I’m very glad we checked it. It’s a little lower than I’d want it to be... Let’s go get you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

You look lost. So very lost and scared. “Can you walk?” he asks softly, “I don’t think I can carry you back up to our rooms.” You nod and unfold yourself slowly, getting back to your feet. You look out of it and Bruce is willing to bet there’s a little dissociation happening to protect you from all the things you’d remember otherwise. “Let's get you upstairs,” he encourages, putting an arm around you. “I’ll tuck you in on the couch and get you some food. Then we’ll watch a movie, hm?” he says. He knows you probably aren’t really hearing him right now, as you claw your way back out of the pit. He feels sick to his stomach knowing that medical wants this done at least twice a day for the next week. They don’t understand. No one does, not even him. 

Bruce tucks you in on the couch, wrapping you up in a hand-knitted blanket Lea had made for you and putting a very battered, much loved stuffed cow in your arms to hold on to for a minute. Anything to surround you with some comfortable things so he could feel better about leaving you alone for a few minutes. He knew, logically that you’d be fine. That you just needed some time to come back to yourself. He would happily feed you all the comfort food and watch Disney movies with you for the rest of the night. Anything to chafe the life back into you and soothe all the raw, sore, wounds he just had to prod at. 

“Baby?” he says, slipping back through the door with a couple pints of ice cream and some other snacks. “I’m here,” you answer, “Sort of.” He lets the breath out he was holding and smiled a little, “I’ll take sort of,” he said, handing you a pint of your favorite ice cream and a spoon. He lets you lean into his side and drapes an arm around you as he queues up some comfortable things to watch. Nothing intense. Nothing Scary. Nothing sad. For a while, he keeps an eye on you. You’re making steady progress on your ice cream, which doesn’t surprise him. The little one is very fond of icecream. He knows laying on the couch and eating snacks with you isn’t really healthy but until they get your blood sugar drops sorted out, medical doesn’t want you doing anything as strenuous as you’re really capable of. So for now, he’s going to enjoy being lazy with you and feeding all your cravings. Even if they give you heartburn. 

By the time you finish your icecream, he’s long since finished his. “You okay, sweet girl?” he asks. You stretch lazily and rearrange them so you can have your head against his heart and be comfortably pinned between Bruce’s warmth and the back of the couch. Bruce lets you arrange things and smiles a little. “I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m just tired.” He strokes your hair, “Then sleep, baby,” he soothes, “you got your tummy full. So just snuggle in. Focus on how warm and comfy you are.” You nod and he smiles. “Good girl,” he murmurs as you close your eyes, “I’ll keep the monsters away, baby.” For a long time, you’re quiet and he thinks you might be drifting off. Until he hears you whisper, “I’m sorry I’m such a mess, Bruce.” The hand in your hair stills and you open your eyes slowly, looking up at him. “Y/n,” he murmurs, “You were tortured. It’s not just a phobia. It’s trauma. Very real trauma. You may never be okay with this, and that’s okay... at least now we know you can do it if I hold you. Or if Nat and Clint stay with you if I can’t do it... and it’s only a week. Then hopefully we don’t have to do it again.”

He kisses you tenderly, “You’re not a mess. You’re brave, sweet, kind, endlessly smart and funny... You’re having my child. You’re the love of my life. And you need my help to take care of this. And baby,” he says, kissing you again, “I wouldn’t want you any other way. I love you. And I love you a little more every single day.” You start tearing up and he tickles your side, chuckling when you smack his arm away. 

Do you really want all girls?” you ask him, when you can stop kissing him long enough to talk. “I really do,” he says, petting your belly, “I’d love to have a tiny army of little badass witches, just like their mommy.” His fingers find the hem of your shirt so he can touch your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, nuzzling into you. “Can’t wait to see how pretty this little one is gonna be. Can’t wait to see if I’m getting my little girl.” he nudges your shirt out of the way and presses soft kisses into the swell of your stomach. It’s not terribly obvious yet but part of him can’t wait for it to be. He feels you card your fingers through his hair and smiles. “I know you want our kids to look like me but, I think, handsome, that I’ll be very unhappy if they don’t get your eyes,” you tell him. He lays his head gently on your belly, “You’re crazy,” he says but smiles wider, pressing another soft kiss into your skin, “Don’t listen to her,” he teases, “You’d much rather look like mommy. I promise. She’s gorgeous... I won’t tell you what she looks like. I don’t want to ruin the surprise but... she’s really hot. So hot that sometimes I forget how to breathe when she smiles at me.” You sigh, “Bruce...” you say softly. The scientist just grins, unrepentant. He’s made peace with having a dad bod. But that doesn’t mean that sometimes, the comments comparing your ages don’t make him feel a bit like he won some cosmic lottery. You relax into his touch with a sigh. It feels nice. Really nice. You weren’t looking forward to being weighed at your next check-up. You knew it was normal but it was still a little jarring. It was something of a comfort that Bruce didn’t seem to mind or even notice anything beyond how much he enjoyed your breasts being swollen and your belly rounding out. “Can we take a bath?” you ask stretching.

Bruce hums and kisses his way back up your body to kiss your jaw and the spot on your neck that made you sigh, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. You wait here. I’ll go get it started.” 

  Tags:  @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt​

[buckbanner]

Okay, this is again for Bruce

I think he has a dad body and I think it would be absolutely wonderful when cuddling with him after a bad day, just rubbing his tummy while you nestle your head into his neck. And to add a little bit of spice, his hand is definitely resting on your bum holding you close to him

a friend once told me it was weird to like dad bod’s and it honestly offended me because why??

Bruce definitely has one, but you love it. It’s another one of his insecurities because while all the other guys are out fighting and ripped, he’s only really considered ‘strong’ when he’s hulk so he’s always afraid it makes you think less of him.

That’s further from the truth, though. You love everything about him including his body. Sometimes when he’s feeling extra bad about it, you kiss each and every part of him so he knows just how much you adore him.

One of the reasons you enjoy his dad bod is because of how cuddly he is, much like a teddy bear. Your favorite activity is cuddling up next to him on a rainy day and watching your favorite tv shows.

Snacks, snacks, and lots of snacks. When the two of you got together he would often limit himself and it honestly really made you sad because you can’t watch your favorite show without snacks. Once you two opened up to each other though, you guys found comfort in not caring about what’s on the outside.

Sometimes after a long hard day, Bruce likes to fall asleep to you rubbing his belly. It’s so calming and reduces his anxiety, he falls into a trance almost immediately and once he does, you lay your cheek against his stomach, grabbing his hand and falling asleep almost as instantly to the sound of his breathing.

[the-amazing-spider-bi]

🎄🌟the mandatory Christmas fic 🌟🎄 background stony, iron dad I 4k 🎄 ao3

Steve sighs. "Tony, last time we celebrated Christmas together, it was 2015, Natasha was still bleeding from her last mission and we ordered a literal mountain of Chinese takeout to eat in front of the TV. And you said Christmas was a capitalistic, un-rock’n’roll, garbage holiday you had no intention to partake in and Natasha said sure, Mr. Trump and you said how dare you insult me like this, I’m kicking you out right now. Then you threw spring rolls at her.”

Tony shrugs. "Well, things change, Captain, roll in with the punches."

Read on ao3 in its entirety, the next part, or part 1/4 under the cut!

“Attention, Avengers! And Loki. I have a statement to make,” Tony bellows, entirely clad in his Iron Man costume except for his face.

Steve looks up at him lazily from where he is sitting on an armrest trying to make himself as small as possible for Sam to sit, which is ridiculous when he is made of about six feet of abs and triceps and deltoids and other weird muscles.

In the other armchair, Bruce and Thor as ostensibly Not Cuddling, because they are, of course, Not Dating, Valkyrie, sitting by their side with a suspicious-smelling Thermos, stares in adoration at Natasha, who is splayed on the couch sharpening a knife in a vaguely threatening way for no real reason.

At her side, feet kicked up on her thighs, Clint is reading a trashy gossip magazine and obviously doesn’t have his hearing aids on. In splashy red letters, the journalist, who probably went to Harvard for this, speculates about DAD BOD OR HOT MESS: IRON MAN’S LOSE BOOZE DAY TAKING THEIR TOLLS? on top of a blurry picture of Tony getting out of the suit. When Rhodey came into the room and saw it, he cracked up laughing and pulled out his phone to take a picture to send Pepper, Carol, his mother and the entirety of his contacts.

On the other side of Clint, Pietro is talking in hushed tones to Wanda, a conversation filled with foreign words and dramatic hand gestures. Vision is doing this weird thing where he closes his eyes and floats and might be taking a nap or just reviewing a very interesting book on Goodreads.com. Loki is stuck by their side looking bored and playing with a StarkPhone with disinterest because, as Thor said, he needed to socialize with people his age.

(“Wait, isn’t he like a hundred years old?” Steve had asked.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” Thor had said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“He’s a thousand and fifty-three years old. What do you think he is, a toddler? Pffft.”

Steve had started to frown and open his mouth in incomprehension,  but behind Thor’s shoulder, Bruce had very silently yet very energetically shook his head and mouthed no. The subject had not been addressed again. From what Steve understood, he was sort of the Asgardian equivalent of a high schooler who ran around town using the jewelry he stole from his mother to buy a fake ID to get into the local gay bar. Except their version involved a lot more stabbing.)

None of them takes notice of Tony’s announcement, except T’Challa, standing up rigidly on the giant TV screen.

“Yes, this is in fact what we expected when you summoned an official Avengers meeting,” T’Challa says.

“At four in the fucking morning,” Bucky Barnes mutters, face flickering on the screen by his side.

“What, is it four in the morning in Wakanda? Oh no, silly me, I must have forgotten,” Tony says. Barnes narrows his eyes at him. “Anyway, if I could have everyone’s attention? Romanoff, please tell Clint I literally made these hearing aids and he is being an ungrateful brat.”

Natasha sighs, puts down the knife, and pushes Clint off the couch.

He flails for a second. “Not cool, Tasha!” he yelps. She shrugs him off. He pouts and says, “Pietro, avenge me!”

Pietro looks at him directly in the eyes as he high fives Natasha.

“Anyway,” Tony says. “Guys, if you don’t mind, there is this little thing called an emergency going on.”

“There’s always an emergency going on,” Clint mutters, having just gotten his hearing aids back.

“Yes, alright, the world sucks, we live on a garbage planet ready to explode any moment and our president is an orange toupeed buffoon, we know that, Clint but this is more important. In fact, I would even go as far as saying this is the most important emergency any of us has ever faced.”

Thor stops staring at Bruce with moony eyes and asks, “Is it Thanos? Did the contingency plan we put in place to welcome him fail us?”

“What? No!” Tony says.

“Do we have another hidden sibling Father forgot to tell us about?” Loki inquires, sounding bored.

“Loki’s evil again?” Clint contributes, earning himself nasty glances from both Odinsson brothers.

“Hydra?” Bucky asks.

“Red Skrull somehow got out of this weird purple planet thing?” Steve asks.

“A white American did something stupid that will get tons of people killed?” T’Challa sighs.

“I second that one, actually,” Wanda says.

“It is indeed,” Vision says, “statistically much likelier that a white American male is once again the cause of our troubles.”

“You’re all wrong and also morons,” Tony says. “Well, actually, I guess it is all about a white American. God, we really are the worst, aren’t we? I didn’t ask for your confirmation,” he adds when Rhodey, Natasha, the Maximoffs, T’Challa, Sam and Steve start nodding. “No, this is much more important than all of that garbage.”

He pauses again to let a dramatic silence stand. Of course, considering he is standing on a box in the middle of their living room, the effect is significantly ruined.

“What,” Valkyrie cuts.

“I have just been informed,” Tony says, “that Christmas is in four days, and we need to organize a party from scratch. Pepper, who is the light of my life and by far the stronger Avenger out of any of us, just so you know, is on holidays, so I can’t call her. Well, actually, I tried to call her, but she just laughed for five minutes and then hung up on me. Being on a cruise has made her very rude if you ask me.”

All of the Avengers stare at him for the longest of time before they all collectively get up and start leaving. Tony’s protests are ignored. Strange is disconnected from the conference call as he tells Stark to never call him ever again. T’Challa, who is a scholar and a gentleman, waits until Bucky is done cursing the Stark generation in Russian, Romanian, German, and about twenty other languages to follow suit.

“I dunno about these other guys but I’m in,” Peter Quill says.

“I literally do not know who you are,” Tony says. “How did you even get that number?”

“See you in four days!”

“No no no I didn’t mean- he hung up on me too, didn’t he. That’s just great.”