duck punch

That asshole Widowmaker

Tracer: *sees Widowmaker holding mistletoe*

Tracer: Ooooooh *zips closer*

Tracer: *goes in for the kiss*

Reaper: TRACER, DUCK!!

Tracer: Where?!

Widowmaker: *punches Tracer in the face*

Reaper: Mercy! We got another one!

Mercy, in the distance: Mcree, again?!

Reaper: Nope! Oxton this time!

Mercy: Concussion?!

Reaper: Nope, just broken nose! Hey kid, how many fingers am I holding up? *Holds up 4 fingers*

Tracer: 12?

Reaper: Scratch that!

@thecaptainamerica16 requested something with Peter Parker, so I’m gonna give it a shot…

Originally posted by peterparkerimagine

“Watch out!”

You stumble backwards as a red blur soars into you, slamming into the wall next to you.  You drop your bouquet of flowers and grab the wall for balance, a little dizzy from the impact.

“What the-”


You do as told, not even thinking and gasp as a fist rams into the wall, exactly where your head was a few seconds ago.  You turn to find yourself face to face with what you can only describe as a super-villain, fist poised to punch.

You duck out of the way just in the time and the man slams into the wall.  He starts to get up but a burst of silvery thread shoots out past you.  You whip around and find yourself face to face with Spider-Man.  Your eyes widen as he shifts back and forth from foot to foot.

“Sorry about your flowers,” he says and you’re surprised by how young his voice sounds.  “Were those…from your boyfriend?  Girlfriend?  Someone?”  You can’t help but grin as you shake your head.

“No,” you reply.  “They were for my mom.”

“Oh,” he says.  “Are you in a hurry?”

“Not really, but-”

“Stay here.”

He shoots a web upward and just like that, he’s gone.  Five minutes later, he swings back onto the sidewalk, two bouquets of flowers in hand. 

“Thanks,” you say, reaching for one of the bouquets.  “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he says.  “The other’s one for you, by the way.”  

“Oh,” you say, blushing.  “Um…thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.  You reach for the second bouquet and stand there, unsure of what to say.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around?” you say, immediately mentally slapping yourself for such a dumb comment.  “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Pe–Spider-Man!” he says and you laugh.

“Right,” you nod.  “Well, happy Valentine’s Day, Spider-Man.”



Gally promised you no more fighting, so when you saw him sparring with another Glader you ran over to stop it. You approached the other Glader from behind, attempting to pull him away. As you tried, he ducked and Gally punched you right in the face, knocking you out.
You woke up in the Medjack hut, unsure of what happened and how long you’ve been out. You sat up and saw a dark figure in the corner of the room. He apparently noticed your waking up and came out of the shadows, head hung. It was Gally. He kept a distance from your bed.
“You can come closer you know, I don’t bite,” you teased. He took when step forward, “closer than that,” you rolled your eyes.
He shuffled a little bit more.
“What are you scared of?” You asked.
“I-I don’t want to hurt you…again.”
You rolled your eyes again, “Gally it was an accident.”
“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, y/n.”
“Accidents happen all the time Gally, you can’t control everything.”
“I’m sorry,” his head was still hanging.
“Gally, look at me,” he slowly lifted his head locking eyes with you, “it’s ok, I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, now come here and kiss me.”

soulmate au afeopjiresar

Billy ducks the first punch, feints right and comes up on the left to circle behind the man and break a glass over his head. It’s late and everyone is drunk, him included, which works to his benefit—alcohol makes them sloppy and obvious, but it lights a fire in him, makes him all the more wary for it. Makes him angrier, too.

Dangerous, to drink the way he does, sticking out the way he does. But he’d spent years now, on his own, and he knows better than to drop his guard under any circumstance, drunk or not. And there is so little in his life to look forward too—a man like him can’t begrudge himself too much, for fear of letting life grind him down under its heel. If he drinks a little more than he should sometimes, what of it? He still wakes up every morning. Still hasn’t met a man who could take him down for longer than that.

He slams the last man’s head against the bar, once and then twice for good measure, until the man goes limp in his hands and he lets the body drop to the floor. And that was six of them down for the count, all unconscious if not worse, bar emptied out save for one man staring at him queerly from across the room.

Billy shifts slightly, squares off his shoulders, waiting on the man to lift his rifle; but he doesn’t. Instead, the man deliberately takes his finger off the trigger and gives his full name, which is enough of a rarity these days that Billy pauses.

When he first came to America, he thought maybe that Americans did things differently somehow. But he found out soon enough that the difference lay with him, and not with Americans. All the world over, it seems, people introduce themselves with their full names, quick as anything, in hopes of finding the one person with it printed on their skin. White folk look at him, and it’s not a matter of that hope dying, as much as it is an incomprehension that it could even be found there in the first place. No one gives their name to him because he doesn’t matter.

So the man gives him his full name, a proper introduction of the sort that Billy never gets anymore, and Billy lets the words sink in.

Goodnight Robicheaux.

He knows that name.


Requested by anonymous

You and Pietro were on a mission together and it had gone south. The two of you were now stuck fighting what seemed to be a never ending string of Hydra agents.

“Watch it (Y/N),” Pietro shouted, abandoning the men he was fighting to help you.

“I’m fine,” you said, easily kicking one man in the knee and ducking under another’s punch.

His eyes widened at the ease with which you fought the Hydra agents. Pietro had never seen you in action before because you were both so new to the Avengers and was impressed by it.

You glared Pietro when he didn’t move away again and he raised his eye brows.

“Move it handsome, we need to get out of here,” you quipped.

He turned his head away to hide a blush. Pietro was surprised to find your snarky attitude and impressive fighting skills attractive, but he thought you didn’t need to know that.

When the last of the agents had disappeared or been dispatched by you or Pietro you started to make your way back to the retrieval point with evidence you had been sent for in hand.

“Here I’ll carry you,” Pietro said, holding his arms out.

You raised a single eyebrow and he sighed.

“I won’t bite.”

“What if I want you to?” you asked with a cheeky grin.

Pietro’s eyes widened and a blush bloomed on his face while you laughed.

“I’m only kidding,” you said, stepping closer so he could carry you bridal style.

He seemed to compose himself for a moment, before picking you up and speeding off.

“(Y/N) you’re a very adept fighter,” Pietro mentioned while setting you down.

“I was a SHIELD agent after all,” you replied, checking your satchel for the files.

“I know, but I guess it didn’t really occur to me until I saw you fighting.”

“What didn’t occur to you?”

Pietro blushed once more and you laughed when you realized what Pietro meant. The blushing did give everything away.

You stood up taller and kissed him lightly on the lips. You pulled away and giggled.

“You’re like a tomato,” you teased, only to make him turn even more red.