lemon-boy-stan - Tumblr blog

lemon-boy-stan · 21 days ago

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Hot Thoughts

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob wants to surprise you by refilling your snack drawer with your favourite protein bars, but he ends up finding something that makes him rethink everything.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, A Bit of Angst (like self-doubt, cause the discovery sets off The Void and Sentry, Reader and Bob are in an established relationship.

Smut Warnings: A Sex Toy is mentioned and described, Fingering, Oral Sex (female receiving), Dirty Talk, and Sloppy Kissing/Making Out (drool, spit, stuff like that), Nipple/Breast Play, Mentions of Past Sexual Encounters.

Author’s Note: Loved making this little blurb to go along with my other post today, I enjoyed writing the dialogue between the three amigos, so…Sue me lol. Anyways! Hope you enjoy! :)

Word Count: 3,915

Bob just wanted to surprise you.

He wanted to show he was paying attention that morning when you had leaned on the kitchen counter in his old sweatshirt, with your hair a sleepy mess and your voice muffled by your mug as you said “I’m running low on my secret stash,” while casting him a look beneath your lashes that wasn’t exactly subtle.

Bob knew what that meant. He knew your ‘secret stash’ was hidden in the top drawer of your nightstand under some random receipts and a pair of fuzzy socks…It was your protein bars. The specific kind that was always sold out at every grocery store, the ones you hoarded like they were currency, the ones you treated like sacred offerings when you were busy or stressed or too tired to get up to make yourself something. He had even seen you barter with Bucky once for a fresh box–you gave him your last box of mango-flavoured electrolyte packs and a shoulder massage.

So Bob went out on a mission. He had gone to four grocery stores before he finally found them–tucked away in a corner shelf in the health food aisle like little golden bricks of triumph. He bought five boxes. Nearly wiped the shelf clean–but he didn’t because he felt bad for piling his arms sky high with a bunch of them. He was practically vibrating with glee when he returned to the compound, shaking in the elevator with the bag that was filled to the brim with the boxes.

When he arrived on the 83rd floor, the elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding. He stepped out, with the box-filled bag crinkling in his arms, and was immediately met with the familiar quiet hum of the compound’s upper hall. From your bedroom door that was slightly ajar, he could hear the soft hiss of the shower running from the ensuite bathroom. You were taking a shower, and his timing was impeccable.

Bob’s chest fluttered at the thought of you stepping out, warm and dewy and a little out of breath from the heat, catching sight of your drawer perfectly restocked. You’d be glowing, beaming even. Maybe you’d throw your arms around him in just your towel, and pepper kisses all over his face like you couldn’t help yourself. Maybe you’d even eat one right then and there, happy noises and all, with your feet pattering against the hardwood flooring. The image made him excited to get to the room.

He shuffled past the lounge without fanfare, tossing quick greetings to the team–“Hey, Yelena. Walker. Alexei. What’s up, Buck, hey Ava”–before disappearing into the room you both shared, closing the door quietly behind him. The bag hit the floor beside the bed with a triumphant thump.He was practically humming with excitement as he knelt beside your nightstand, and slid open the top drawer.

And like you said, it was almost empty. There was only one sad, lonely protein bar left in the box, the wrapper a little wrinkled from where it had probably been crushed by the other protein bars. He smiled to himself and pulled out the box–

And then paused.

Because peeking out from beneath the crumpled receipts and that one stray fuzzy sock was something distinctly not a protein bar. His brow furrowed at the sight, and he shifted the sock aside to reveal exactly what he was looking at.

The toy was sleek. Silicone. It was purple in colour, almost the same shade as the love bites you had left on him when you had been writhing beneath him last night after he came back from patrol and needed to distress. There was a faint shimmer that the toy had, like it was brand new or recently cleaned–it was barely noticeable unless you looked closely, and Bob was certainly doing that. The toy curved slightly at the tip, like it knew exactly where it was going and where it needed to be, with subtle ridges along its shaft and a smooth rounded base that was easy to hold. It was elegant, honestly. Discreet. And expensive looking.

Bob froze. Kneeling beside your nightstand with the protein bars now long forgotten on the floor, staring at the toy like it had just whispered his name in a taunting threat. His hand hovered for a moment, then slowly–cautiously–like he was about to disarm a landmine, he reached out and picked it up.

The weight of it threw him off a bit. It was heavier than he expected, almost like it was state of the art technology all encompassed in a sex toy. He turned it in his hand, and he noticed two small gold buttons at the bottom. He stared at them for a moment, and hovered his thumb above the ‘on’, before pressing down on it.

Wzzzzzzzzzzzzz–

It vibrated to life in his palm, thrumming with an intensity that almost startled him. He couldn’t imagine how this truly felt pleasurable, but then again he was feeling this in the palm of his hand, not on…Any sensitive areas.

His mouth dropped open slightly as he watched it twitch and pulse in his grip, the purple silicone trembling against his skin like it had just taken a breath. The curved tip shivered, and the ridges rolled in sequence with the movements. The thing was practically dancing in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, tapping the button above the ‘on’, watching it change its rhythm. Slower pulses, then followed by faster ones. Then a stuttering pattern that made his fingers jolt and his throat dry out. He cycled through a few more settings, growing increasingly more and more baffled. He could practically hear it whispering: You thought you were the only one?

The ridged shaft gave one final cocky shudder before he hit the power button again with a little more force than necessary, before putting it back in the drawer.

Silence.

Except, of course, for the voice in his head.

“How many settings does that thing have?!” Sentry’s voice boomed from the depths of Bob’s subconscious, indignant and unamused, “And why the hell does she even have this? Are we not good enough for her?!” He placed it down like it was radioactive, trying not to look directly at it. Trying not to imagine it. You. That sleek little curve pressing against–

Fuck sake

A slow pulse of heat crawled up the back of his neck as he chewed the inside of his lip, fingers drumming restlessly against the drawer’s edge.

“It seems like that might be the case,” The Void chimed in smoothly, and Bob felt his jaw clench instantly, “But fuck–she’s been real convincing with those orgasms though…All that gasping, and shaking, the way she scratches at our back like she’s gonna rip our muscles off…I was so sure she was–“

“Shut up,” Bob hissed under his breath.

“I can’t believe she was faking it,” The Void continued, faux mournful, as if this were the tragedy of the century, “She even squirted that one time…It was a whole puddle.”

“She wasn’t faking,” Bob whispered back, voice harsh and uncertain.

“You don’t know that.” The Void bit back.

”I do.” Bob replied, running a hand through his hair, frustrated by the conversation happening, “She’s literally soaked the sheets before. Like, multiple times. Now unless she’s peeing the bed, I’m pretty sure she couldn’t fake that.” The silence that followed wasn’t exactly reassuring through. Bob scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the drawer like it had betrayed him. A part of him knew it was irrational–he knew you had every right to own a sex toy, to use it, to keep it tucked away…When you just needed something different…

But Sentry’s voice echoed again, quieter now, “Why didn’t she tell us?” That was the part that gnawed at him. Because you told him everything. About your day, your body, what you liked and wanted and craved. About the exact ways you wanted him to touch you–how slow, how deep, and how hard. You’d begged him with tears in your eyes more than once.

And now he was stuck here, kneeling beside your nightstand, wondering if he had missed something big.

He stared at the toy for another long moment.

Was it better than him?

Did it know your body better than he did?

His heartbeat was loud in his ears as his brain continued to spiral.

And then–he heard the water shut off.

The quiet hiss of the shower faded. A pause. The telltale thump of your towel sliding off the hook. A soft hum from your throat as you dried off, completely unaware of the unraveling man outside your bathroom door.

Bob panicked.

Not enough to flee the room, but enough to scramble to pick up the boxes of protein bars and shove them into the drawer like it was part of the plan all along. He tucked the toy gently back under the receipts, then immediately winced, wondering if that was too obvious. He shifted it again. Tried to fluff the sock. Too much. Shoved the drawer closed.

Fuck.

The door opened behind him.

And there you were–barefoot, in a damp towel and flushed from the heat, little beads of water still dripping from your collarbones. You froze in place at the sight of him crouched beside the bed, cheeks red, drawer shut, and hands twitching uselessly in his lap.

“…Hey,” You said, blinking. “What are you doing?” Bob looked up slowly. His face was unreadable, but his ears were pink. His voice cracked slightly.

”I…Uh…I got your pr-protein bars.” Immediately your lips turned up into a smile, your eyes lighting up like a solar flare.

“No way. No way! Did you actually find them?!” He nodded, lips twitching like he didn’t quite trust himself to smile at your excitement.

”Five boxes,” He muttered, “Nearly wiped the en-entire shelf clean.” You crossed the room, beaming.

“God, you’re an absolute hero! Seriously. I love you so so much.” You leaned down and grabbed his face, still damp from your shower, your towel clinging loosely to your curves. Bob blinked up at you, stunned and a little dazed, as you peppered his face with warm, wet kisses. His cheeks, his forehead, his nose–each kiss landed with a soft little smack that made his ears glow redder and redder. And then, finally, your lips brushed his.

“You’re the best, Bob,” You whispered, grinning against his mouth. Then you plopped down onto the mattress with a happy little bounce, your towel riding dangerously high on your thighs. You turned toward the nightstand and slid the drawer open with a smooth tug.

The sight that greeted you made your face light up all over again.

A whole row of those familiar, impossibly elusive boxes was stacked neatly inside–your sacred stash. You let out a long, dramatic sigh and clutched your chest like it was art.

“My god,” You breathed. “This is beautiful…”

But when you turned back toward Bob, your smile faltered. He wasn’t glowing the way he usually did when you complimented him–when you kissed him, touched him, said his name in that soft voice like he was something precious. Instead, he was shrinking in on himself. Shoulders slightly hunched, fingers twitching nervously against his thigh. His gaze flicked toward the drawer and then away again, and something in your gut twisted.

You squinted at him. “Why do you look so sad?” Bob opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at the nightstand again, his brows drawing into the faintest frown.

“What did you find?” You asked gently, already piecing it together from his shame-filled body language and where his gaze lingered. He let out a soft sigh, cheeks pink and voice nearly inaudible.

“I found…Your to-toy.”

You blinked. Then you gave a resigned little exhale, rubbing a hand over your temple. “My sex toy?” He nodded.

You looked at him for a moment, confused. “Why do you seem sad about it?” You reached out and gently hooked two fingers beneath his jaw, tilting his face up toward yours. He resisted at first–just a little, just enough to show that whatever he was holding onto inside was clinging tight–but eventually he let you guide him, his blue eyes blinking slowly until they met yours.

That was when you saw it.

Those little white pinpoints glowing faintly in his pupils. The gold flecks flickering like sunlight through water. The emotion swimming there wasn’t just embarrassment–it was confusion, uncertainty, and something close to pain. You exhaled softly. Brushed your thumb along the soft, fleshy skin under his eye with a gentleness that made him lean in, like he was starving for contact.

“And are you and your other two musketeers,” You asked, voice low, teasing, “Having a conference about it?” Bob’s lashes fluttered.

Then he sighed and closed his eyes, head dipping slightly.

“It’s more like an…Argument,” He muttered, defeated. Your brows lifted, amused and touched all at once. You shifted closer on the mattress, the hem of your towel brushing higher up the tops of your thighs as you leaned forward and tilted your head.

“Anything I can settle?” Your voice was soft, your touch even softer as your thumb traced along his cheek, feeling the slight stubble that hadn’t been there this morning. Bob looked up at you slowly. His expression was unsure, but heartbreakingly open. A man unraveling by inches.

“They’re sa-saying…” He started, then swallowed. “They’re saying we don’t satisfy you well enough.” That made your heart crack. And, okay, you did let out a little laugh–but it wasn’t mean. It was breathy, warm, surprised.

“Oh, sweetheart,” You murmured. You reached down and unraveled the hand that had been holding your towel up, letting the thick fold of cotton droop slightly across your chest. Then you cupped his face between both palms, smoothing your thumbs over his flushed cheeks, grounding him.

“Bob,” You said firmly, “Hun.” He blinked up at you, utterly at your mercy.

“I need to use that when you’re on missions,” You explained, slow and clear, “Because you’ve literally conditioned me to have an orgasm before bed.” His brows twitched.

”I can’t sleep if I don’t have one now…I’m ruined, and that’s on you. That little thing is just…I don’t use it at any other times.” Your smile grew fond, “Especially not when I have you around.” You paused, letting the silence settle into something meaningful.

“Why would I ever reach for a piece of silicone,” You whispered, leaning in until your forehead brushed his, “When I have a literal god who trembles every time I come on his tongue?” Bob let out a sharp, low breath. You felt his hands twitch at his sides. Felt the way his jaw clenched–tight with something desperate and messy and grateful.

“That toy doesn’t talk to me,” You continued, voice soft but devastating, “Doesn’t react when I beg for more. Doesn’t lick me like it’s starving. Doesn’t beg me to ride its face.” Bob whimpered. And when you kissed him–hot and slow and full of intent–he surged forward like he was drowning in you. His mouth met yours with a messiness that had nothing to do with finesse. It was need. Tongue and teeth and breath. A collision of lips and spit and soft, open-mouthed kisses that left both of you gasping.

When he finally broke away, pupils blown, lips wet, voice barely holding steady, he rasped out:

”For my own st-state of mind…Can I go down on you?” He asked, gripping your thighs gently. That pulled a startled giggle out of you, breathless and sweet. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.

“If that’s what’ll ease your worries…” You purred, voice soft and teasing, “Sure.” Bob’s eyes darkened. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips—not cocky, but grateful. Hungry.

And then he was kissing you again–harder this time.

Sloppier.

There was nothing polished about it. His tongue slid into your mouth with a groan that vibrated all the way down your spine. He tilted his head and deepened it, spit slicking your lips, your chin, the corner of your mouth. He kissed like he was trying to make up for something–like he was trying to replace the memory of that toy with the taste of you, the sound of your moan, the way you whimpered into his kiss and clutched at his shoulders like you were going to melt.

His hands moved down, strong and firm and possessive, gripping your thighs and hauling you higher up the mattress with barely a grunt of effort. The towel slipped even further, hanging on by a whisper.

And then he looked at you.

Took a breath.

And with shaking fingers, he opened the towel fully.

It fell away like a curtain, revealing the curve of your breasts, the slope of your waist, the plush softness of your stomach and thighs–all of you, laid bare before him like a feast. Bob’s mouth dropped open slightly, eyes roving in reverent awe.

”Christ,” He breathed, voice guttural, “You’re so pe-perfect, absolutely unreal.” He bent forward slowly, brushing his nose along the swell of your left breast. Then he groaned, the sound low and sinful, and dragged his tongue over your nipple–slow and wet, then again, rougher. His hand cupped the other breast, fingers squeezing gently, then firmer, kneading the soft flesh until you arched with a gasp.

And then he devoured them.

His mouth was everywhere–licking, sucking, nibbling. His tongue flicked and dragged, then flattened over your nipple as he sucked it hard into his mouth, groaning like he could taste your arousal through your skin. His teeth scraped lightly, just enough to make you cry out, and he groaned in approval when your hips shifted and your thighs squeezed around him instinctively.

“G-God,” You stammered, head falling back against the pillows, “Bob–baby, that feels so–”

“So much better th-than that toy,” He muttered, almost to himself, between kisses. Then he kissed down your body–sloppy and hot and breathless. Your stomach, your navel, the soft flesh just above your pelvis. His tongue left wet trails, his lips parted and panting. And then he reached your thighs, pushing them open with two wide palms and staring like he’d just found the answer to every doubt he’d ever had.

“Jesus Ch-Christ,” He whispered, voice cracking like he was in pain,“You look so fucking good all the time.”

And then he dove in.

No hesitation.

Just mouth and heat and hunger.

His tongue flattened and dragged through your folds like he was trying to taste everything at once. Then he circled your clit, lips latching around it with a soft, wet pop that made your back arch clean off the bed.

“Oh my god–” You gasped, fingers immediately diving into his hair. He groaned against you and the vibration sent your thighs trembling. Bob’s arms looped under them, dragging you closer, locking you down, as he buried himself deeper. He ate like he couldn’t breathe without it–slurping and moaning, licking and sucking, his face slick with you, spit and arousal coating his mouth and chin.

He came up just enough to suck your clit into his mouth again–harder this time–and when you whimpered, he spit on it. A slow, filthy dribble that landed hot and messy before he dove back in, licking it up like a man possessed.

Your entire body jolted.

“Bob–”

“You taste like heaven,” He growled, words muffled against your core. “Better than anything. Better than everything.”

Then one of his hands shifted–fingers curling between your thighs–and he slid two of them inside you in one slow, thick push. You cried out, legs kicking slightly as the stretch hit you all at once.

“Fucking tight,” He muttered, pumping them deep, “Still so go–goddamn tight even after all the times I’ve been in here–”

You were shaking. Gasping. Your thighs quivered and your hips rocked into his mouth, chasing each drag of his tongue, each filthy kiss against your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck, Bob…Don’t stop…Don’t fucking stop–”

“I’m not,” He growled, “You’re mine.”His fingers fucked into you hard, curling just right, while his tongue flicked your clit in fast, slick motions. He moaned into your core. Kissed it. Spit on it again and smeared it in with his tongue like it was holy.

You were close. So close.

And Bob knew it.

He growled and sucked harder, faster, curling his fingers inside you with every pump. You could hear the obscene wet noises, feel the mess building between your thighs.

“Come for me,” He begged, voice rough, desperate, reverent. “Come on, sw-sweetheart.” You shattered.

With a cry that broke on his name, your body seized, your thighs locked around his head, and you came with a tremble that nearly left you boneless. Bob didn’t stop. He licked you through it, fingers still pumping slow and deep, licking and kissing and moaning like your orgasm had saved his fucking life.

When you finally slumped back, breathing hard, chest rising and falling in aftershock, Bob pulled back slowly.

He leaned up, crawling over you slowly like he didn’t want to leave your body–not even for a second. His hands braced on either side of your trembling frame, and when his face hovered just above yours, you caught a full view of the aftermath.

His lips were glossy. His chin glistened. His nose shimmered with the mix of spit and slick he hadn’t even tried to wipe away. His eyes were half-lidded, molten gold and raw with hunger, with awe.

And when he kissed you–tongue first–it was slow, deep, and wet. He didn’t even bother cleaning up. He wanted you to taste it. Wanted to give it to you. His tongue slid into your mouth, heavy and languid, and you moaned against it, arms wrapping lazily around his neck to pull him closer.

You sucked on his tongue, slow and obscene, lips sliding messily against his like you were both drunk on the flavor of each other. A soft, desperate moan escaped from deep in your throat, and you broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against his mouth:

“Does that prove to you how much satisfaction you give me?”

Bob let out a long, shuddering sigh, burying his face in your neck like he couldn’t stand the weight of your answer. His breath was hot against your skin. His voice was low and shaky.

“I may have to make you finish a few more times…”

A beat.

He kissed your neck, licked at your throat, and whispered:

“…For good measure of course.”

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lemon-boy-stan · 21 days ago

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18+ minors dni (cw: thigh fucking, breeding, unprotected piv)

his cock finds a home between the fat of your inner thighs, squeezed tight as he holds both your legs over his shoulder.

you think you’ve found a compromise when bob moans at the first glide of his tip over your mound. it does the intended job of distracting him—he exhales sharply, stomach tensing as he presses his open mouth to your calf, pre-cum mixing with what’s still trickling out of you.

the sounds escaping his pink, spit-soaked lips shoot straight to your core, sending a zip down your spine as the underside of his cock keeps nudging at your clit.

everything is so wet and slick that his head catches at your entrance. he gives a whimper, utterly wrecked as he begs sweetly to fuck you properly.

a cracked, pitchy sound when his head tips back, mussed hair tickling your ankles next to his ear. “need to feel you—always so- so wet, and warm, god—miss her already, baby.”

he gets a little pathetic when your head shakes, telling him that you’re still sore from earlier and he only gets your thighs.

“please—wanna keep you filled, honey. look, you’re— i’m already leaking out—” he slurs against your lips. his hips keep their twitchy rhythm, hitting your clit on every push forward.

but you’ve never been able to say no to bob.

glassy, pitiful blue eyes locked on you. you make up your mind before the words have completely left his mouth,

you’ll let him have you however he wants. the ache between your legs subside at the overwhelming desire to feel the shape of him even when he’s not in you anymore (which is never for long, if he has anything to say about it).

greedy fingers gather his spend trailing down to your ass and he pleads with you again, tearfully, like it’s the most heartbreaking thing he’s ever seen for his cum to be wasted like this—drying on your skin instead of deep in your womb.

“please, lemme cum inside, baby. i’ll be gentle, promise. i’ll- i’ll keep you plugged this time, okay? i gotta—fuck, need to keep it there.”

and who are you to argue, when bob makes you cum twice before he does? holding back until he’s trembling, mumbling frantically under his breath at how “y’gotta cum first before i give it t’you”.

he lifts your hips with reverent hands, positioning a pillow under your lower back. reasons that he read somewhere how “it’ll feel better for you like this”.

you nod, tell him it does, and pretend you don’t know how he’s making sure this time, it’ll take.

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lemon-boy-stan · 21 days ago

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peeled back

bob reynolds x reader

it just went through my mind that bob has most likely never had sex sober, and I knew I had to do something with that

summary: He’s never done it sober. He had warned you. He said it like he meant it to be a warning, at least. Had told you he didn’t know how to do this the normal way. Displayed his vulnerability, looking at you like this could possibly ruin something between you. You don’t see it that way. It makes it all the more special. Intimate.

tags: f!reader, smut, handjob, piv sex, soft sex, riding, switching, tiny bit of manhandling, angst, mentions of bob's former drug addiction, hurt/comfort, soft bob, desperate bob, lots of feels and yearning, bob's scrumptious serum-acquired abs

word count: 4.6k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

He’s never done it sober.

His hands are anchored to you like he’s afraid that if they aren’t, you’re going to escape, slip away. Like you’re just a figure of smoke that is going to curl around his fingers to eventually fade out and away and leave him to an empty room where he will have to face himself.

He had warned you. He said it like he meant it to be a warning, at least. Had told you he didn’t know how to do this the normal way. Displayed his vulnerability, looking at you like this could possibly ruin something between you.

You don’t see it that way. It makes it all the more special. Intimate.

His hand cups your face as his tongue slides back into your mouth, exploring it like he wants to swallow and savor every breath you have to give. A low hum tears from the back of his throat to vibrate into your own when you let your hand slip under his shirt, fingers briefly grazing against his stomach before he stops you, covering your hand with his own to lace your fingers together.

“Let me–”

He doesn’t complete and closes the gap between you again. You’re not entirely sure what he means, but you can’t seem to linger on the thought when you feel his hands settle at your hips; they’re a bit clumsy and tentative as he holds back from letting them roam along your sides in fear he will come across as too greedy, and his hesitation is a stark contrast to the way he had backed you up against that wall in the first place.

Bob is not quite sure how much is too much, how to handle things without the chemical confidence and buzz that used to make him chase that potent urge – it had only ever been a matter of satiating his needs any way he could, as quickly as he could.

It had always been a rush to satisfy his own drug addled lust.

It all feels different now, more anchored, more palpable. He draws every action out, savors each of those, gets you impatient, pulls the focus back to you when you try to take care of him and put him first. And you would say something if you weren’t trying to indulge him and let him take what he wants – it’s the first time he gets to take his time, and he’s too eager to discover what it’s like for you to just take that away from him.

You’re convinced some part of you would feel cruel for rushing it and not letting it play the way he wants it to, even if it involved putting him and his pleasure first.

His hesitation and restraint is obvious and gets you to pull back from the kiss to take a look at his face. His gaze follows when your hands frame it gently, fingers gently brushing back the strands of hair falling over his face. “Don’t overthink it” you whisper, thumb lingering against his cheek. His lips pinch slightly before he nods half confidently, hand cupping your jaw as he presses his mouth against yours once again.

It flips a switch, sort of. His hand presses against your lower back to pull you closer to his own body as he leads you with him towards his bed, steps blind and clumsy as he walks backwards – he hums into the kiss in startlement when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and force him to sit if he doesn’t want to fall all the way and bring you down with him. You can only breathe out a laugh and climb onto his lap after that.

He forces his hands to settle at your hips and stop faltering, eyelids softly fluttering as he looks up at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His teeth lightly sink into his bottom lip, gaze roaming along your face when your hands rest at the sides of his neck.

“I can’t believe you dodged Mario Party night with Joaquin for this” you smile as you let your fingers gently trace along his face – his own busy themselves by lightly fiddling with the hem of your shirt, playing with the soft fabric.

He grins playfully. “A last minute change of schedule isn’t so bad sometimes” he says with a shrug, hands slipping under the garment to find the soft heat of your body – his thumb lightly strokes your bare skin, rubbing small circles under your shirt. You hum contemplatively, hands holding his face.

“What’d you even tell him?” you ask, brushing away a stray strand of his hair.

He sucks in a contemplative breath before he shrugs again. “Just… something about wanting to go to bed early, y’know” he grins.

Your head shakes, a chuckle escaping your lips. “You liar.”

“I didn’t lie,” he counters, defending himself. “Going to bed early doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping” he teases, moving to nuzzle along your cheek, arms wrapping and tightening around your waist.

“Yeah okay,” your hands find the back of his head, fingers sinking in his hair that’s already messy from playing with it while you were making out. You can feel his breath where his mouth gently brushes at the ticklish skin under your jaw, can hear his low, quiet whimper when you grind against his sweatpants as he presses you closer to his own body, can feel the heat of him through the layers of clothes. “Bob” his face lifts to meet your gaze, a questioning hum quietly vibrating between you. “Take your shirt off and lie back.”

His eyebrows raise in startlement, mouth slightly parting before he snaps out of it and eventually nods fervently, fingers already grabbing at the hem of his shirt to lift it over his head and toss over the floor before his back meets the mattress with a quiet grunt.

“Holy shit Bob,” you gasp, astounded. His throat bulges as he swallows in nervousness when your gaze rakes along his bare torso. “Why’d you hide those from me?” you ask, barely able to contain the awed smile growing over your face as the tip of your fingers brush against his muscled stomach in fascination.

“Oh,” his face is slowly turning red, body growing hotter than he even thought possible under the look in your eyes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “I uh, I trained this afternoon so they’re–”

“God, this is so sexy.”

A small, choked sound catches in his throat, something between a flustered chuckle and a desperate groan when your fingers teasingly trail down the hard plane of his stomach, muscles softly tensing under your touch. His lips pinch as his gaze follows your hand, trying his best to remain quiet under the feeling of the graze of your fingertips, throat tight with anticipation when they progressively get lower and lower.

His breath catches again, breathing growing thicker when you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, one finger hooking there. You catch sight of the way his brows are knitted in focus when you look up at him before it goes further. “You okay?” you ask, eyebrows raised, hand stilling to give him room to tell you if it’s too much, too fast.

He nods almost immediately. “Yeah– yeah” he gives you a reassuring smile, momentarily brought back to his senses. He lets out a small chuckle, slightly shifting his position under you to get more comfortable – it’s not easy when it feels like he’s growing harder each second because you’re straddling him and because your hands are teasing so close to where he needs you.

Bob props himself up on his elbows when you pull your shirt over your head and toss it to join his on the floor, not saying anything, just looking, eyes unapologetically roaming along your figure, mouth parting slightly.

“What?” you ask, voice quiet, suddenly a little shy under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head with a sincere smile. “You just– you look so pretty.” he barely has time to catch a glimpse of the smile over your face before you grab his and lunge in to kiss him, his back pressing against the bed again.

His hand instinctively slides to the small of your back, warm and obvious like he’s burning from the inside out. It travels up your spine, slow and careful like he wants to remember the feeling, wants to remember the soft hitch of your breath when his thumb traces along your ribcage and the way your body leans into his touch like it’s only natural for you to – which it probably is, but he wouldn’t know of since he’s never taken the time to linger with anyone else before, to notice such slight reactions beyond the overwhelming fog of the drugs.

Your body shifts above him to the side when your hand snakes between your bodies, trailing back down his abs, mouth ever so slightly pulling away from his own when you feel you’ve reached the thick material of the band of his sweatpants. “Can I…?” you murmur quietly, breath warm against his kiss swollen lips, fingers grazing the waistband.

Bob nods, and it comes with a breathless affirmative spilling out right after, his voice hoarse and unsteady in anticipation. A barely audible sound escapes his mouth when your hand slips under the layers of his clothes, eyes down to follow, make sure this isn’t just a dream or hallucination – the sight alone of your hand buried down there could have been enough to drive him crazy, but the thought escapes his mind when your hand closes around his hard cock, a small exhale leaving his mouth when you start moving, start gently stroking him like you have all the time in the world and all that matters is right there.

“That feel good?” you ask, a proud grin tugging at your lips from how expressively wrecked he gets, that quickly, not from much.

“Yes– Yeah,” he nods, head sinking back against the mattress.

“It’s real tight in there” you joke, voice soft but gently teasing. He lets out something between a chuckle and a groan, his arm flinging over his face to hide the heat creeping up his cheeks and attempt to chase the embarrassment away. You laugh at his reaction, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t hide, this is sweet” you whisper, nose nudging against his arm, hand still wrapped around him, pumping slowly. “You’re all tense”

He’s so hard it’s almost painful, your palm gliding along his length, thumb sweeping over the sensitive tip, smearing the precum around just to watch him shudder and hiss through clenched teeth. “Shit– Don’t make fun of me, it’s all your fault”

“Well you look so good like this,” you breathe as you drag your lips along the edge of his jaw, your hand still working him beneath the fabric, not that easily from the lack of space there. “Already wrecked while I’ve barely even really started yet”

He moans, the noise quiet but broken, his arm uncovering his face to grab at the sheets, his hips lightly twitching up into your palm like he can’t help himself anymore. “Please sweetheart,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut.

“Yes baby,” you whisper as your free hand hooks in his clothes to grant him more comfort, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the sensitive spot just under his ear. “Let me take care of you”

It feels like less of a torture once you free him of the prison of his own clothes, and he progressively eases into it as you take your time with him, take the time to observe every little shift in his face, every ragged breath that escapes his mouth, every time his lips part as he’s about to say something but the pleasure steals his words.

His fingers dig into your flesh as he clings to your arm, eyes dark and completely gone from the way you’re touching him and the way you’re looking at him – like he’s so much more than the trembling mess beneath your palm, more than just a body desperate for release, like he’s truly wanted for once in his life.

He’s never had this like this before, never had it slow, intentional, a bit tentative, not just about finishing.

Bob’s hand shifts to slide up to the back of your neck and guide your face back to his, a low hum tearing from your throat when you sense his fingers working at the button of your pants; it's a bit hurried and clumsy as he struggles, and you're forced to pull away just long enough to rid yourself of the rest of your clothes faster.

He kisses you again like he’s starving for it once you’re back over him again, deeper, needier, body pressing up against yours like the brief moment you've been apart has been unbearable.

Your forehead remains pressed up against his, breath thick with anticipation, skin burning up with desire. “Are you clean or do we need to–”

“The serum cleared me of anything” he nods, fingers brushing along your face, nose gently nudging your own.

“Okay that’s great– okay.”

Your name leaves his lips in a shaky breath when you roll your hips against his, slick and aching, the head of his cock catching right where you’re warmest. His hand digs into your waist, holding you there as his forehead presses against your shoulder. “Fuck– please,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wavering with need. “Stop teasing, I need–”

“You're acting so impatient for someone who wants to take it easy,” you chuckle softly, reaching between the two of you again to guide him where you want him.

The moment he feels himself start to slide inside, he lets out a small grunt that joins your own exhale. “Jesus, you’re–” his hands tremble on your hips as you work to take all of him in, inch by inch, until your thighs are pressed flush to his. You pause there, letting the both of you adjust, brushing your fingers along the nape of his neck while your breathing evens out. “Are you okay?” he asks, warm hands settling at your thighs, lightly squeezing in reassurance. You nod, steadying yourself, palms resting against his abdomen to brace yourself, hips leisurely starting to move.

You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been in this position before, if it’s ever been serious enough to really mean something to him, if it feels as any good without the chemical alteration – if being that close to him in that context used to really meant being that close, if being that intimate really meant being that intimate, if it used to have any more depth than just the physical connection.

His head sinks back into the soft fabric of his bedding with a faint sigh of your name, broad hands firm at your sides, a hushed cussword quietly slipping from his mouth as you ride him slowly.

“I’ve dreamed of this before” he admits in a murmur.

Your movements still just slightly, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Yeah?”

“Not in a weird way. I mean– dreaming about it is probably weird either way” he adds quickly, brows pulling in embarrassment as his lips twist into a self-deprecating smile. “But I’ve thought about you like this for a while”

You feel your heart thrumming faster with the way his breath catches every time you rock against him, the way his fingers twitch against your skin when you clench around him, the way he holds your gaze like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Knowing that he’s been thinking about this before, has been wanting you like this for a while and trusts you enough to admit it could make you crumble faster than you even expected.

You kiss him again, deeper this time, like you're trying to indulge in the way he initially wanted this to be unhurried, body pressed up against his.

“That’s more sweet than weird but– you can’t say this and expect me to last a while” you chuckle once you pull away, breath hitching in your throat when his hips tilt upwards to meet the slow grind of your body.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing” he grins, lips dragging against your bare shoulder, the tip of his fingers running up along your spine.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you say, unable to help the soft gasp that follows, cheeks burning as your face buries into his neck when Bob clutches onto your waist to thrust up into you.

“I do. But it's nice knowing I can make you feel good” he grunts, muffled and short of breath, fingers digging deeper into your flesh, eyes squeezing shut when he realizes what he’s capable of when he’s not numbed by something synthetic, when it’s just him and not him and that painful itch to scratch driven by the drugs.

You keep moving together like that for a while, slow, gentle, but desperate. He lets his hands wander, less hesitant than before, sliding up your back and down again to grip your ass and guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your shoulder with each shift of your hips. There’s a desperation in his hold like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even for just a second you might disappear, like this entire moment could be a dream he might wake from too soon like it has been before.

And when he leans back, eyes filled with desire as he murmurs, “Can I– let me get on top, yeah? Let me do this,” the uncertainty is so obvious across his face, like he’s afraid you’ll say no, that your heart tightens in your chest before you nod, cupping his cheek.

His lips twitch into a faint, grateful smile before he rolls you onto your back like it requires no effort at all – you sometimes forget about the serum and its effects that in some cases turn out to be great perks – you never thought of how useful it could be in that kind of situation, but the thought of how much more it could get to your advantage sparks even more excitement within you.

When he settles between your legs, it’s with a tenderness that almost shatters your soul. He doesn’t push back in right away, he just hovers there, his chest pressed to yours and his hands sliding under your thighs as if to remind himself you’re still real. His lips brush the corner of your mouth as he kisses you, his breath shivering against your cheek like he’s afraid he might ruin this if he moves too fast.

And then he’s inside you again, filling you up with a slow thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. It's deeper this time, his eyes squeezing shut as a shudder rips through him, soft moans escaping your mouths at each gentle drag of his cock.

His pace starts slow, his thrusts calculated, a hand planted beside your head to hold himself up as his teeth bite into his bottom lip in focus. “You feel so good sweetheart” he murmurs, voice low with desire. His words somehow make you feel as good as his body does, unconsciously clenching around him when you feel them reverberate in the pit of your stomach.

It doesn’t take long before he picks up on the pace, hips rolling harder against yours like he can’t hold back anymore. Soft gasps and whimpers escape you, nails grazing over the muscles of his back as he fucks you, but it’s only when you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of his face that you realize that he’s crying.

Not dramatically weeping, not full on sobbing, and he probably thinks that it’s not enough to be noticeable and he can probably get away with it.

“Bob,” you whisper, hands coming to hold his face, fingers instantly brushing along his temple, panic and worry filling your voice as your gaze searches his. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop? We can stop–”

“No– no,” he breathes, voice breaking, head shaking. “I don’t wanna stop” he swallows hard, his body trembling above you, gaze dropping in shame. “It’s just– It feels real and that’s– don’t worry, just– let’s just keep going, please” he nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, head turning to the side like he wants to hide any way he can, face flushed and damp.

Your hand cups his cheek, gently turning him back to face you. His tears are warm against your fingertips as you swipe them away, your heart breaking for him when you see his gaze reflecting the overload of conflicted thoughts inside his head when his eyes finally meet yours. “Are you sure? We can take five if you want,” you offer, the tone of your voice poisoned with worry, watching intently when his head shakes and he swiftly wipes the few of the rest of his tears away.

“I’m okay,” he insists with a firm and resilient nod though his voice remains quiet and wavering. “I promise.”

You lean up just enough to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’re allowed to have nice things, you know,” you murmur against his mouth.

His breath shudders out again, hand gripping your waist just a little tighter. “Yeah,” he says, almost like he’s still trying to convince himself of it, lips curling into a small, genuine smile when your hand slides down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder to soothingly rub there.

You feel the shift in him after that. It takes some time before the rhythm and confidence build up again, but Bob catches up on his pace, and soon, the momentary disruption is long forgotten, his thrusts growing bolder, surer, still tender but with more intent now, like he’s actively trying to believe that he deserves it, all of it, and has to make the most of it.

Your lids fall shut at Bob’s quiet gasps of your name breathed into your ear when you tell him how good he’s doing, coupled with his hand snaking between your bodies to touch you, gently trying to coax it out of you, begging you like you’re not already going liquid beneath him. “Come on baby, please give it to me”

Your fingers curl against his back, legs wrapping tighter around his waist and pulling him in even deeper. "Bob," you gasp as you arch into him, chasing after his touch. You’re so close it hurts, every desperate drag of his cock inside you feeling just right, every graze of his fingers sending sparks up your spine and heat pooling low in your belly.

"Please," he whispers again, like he's begging for more than just your orgasm, like he's asking for everything he’s ever wanted from you; your trust, your faith, your forgiveness for everything he's ever done and felt shameful for before he got here, right here with you beneath him.

And you give it to him, you give all of it, you want him to have it all.

Your body tightens around him with a strangled gasp, hand clinging onto his bicep and nails digging into his skin as you let go beneath him, moaning his name as you tremble in his arms, melting into the mattress as it overtakes you.

He’s not far behind. The way your body pulses around him and the broken sounds you make in his ear get him right here. He lets out a groan, hips stuttering when you meet his eyes, the dim light of the room making them appear darker than they are – yet you could swear that for the matter of half a second, you can see a golden glint shine through his irises that disappears just as fast as it went, and then he’s spilling into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His whole body trembles with the force of it, the muscles in his neck tensing under your fingers when your hands slide up to bury into his hair.

“You’re all sweaty,” you tease breathlessly once he starts to come down, fingers threading into his damp hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

His lips curve against your skin, his chuckle low and warm, vibrating through your feverish body. “So are you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your jaw before looking at you again, gaze heavy with affection and something deeper that makes your stomach twist.

You lie like this for a while, tangled limbs buzzing with that funny feeling, your breathing evening as you hold each other, your thumb idly moving back and forth against his cheek.

Bob takes in a breath before he eventually breaks the comfortable silence. ”Sorry about earlier. When I… Y’know,” his voice drops, gets quieter. “Cried” your head shakes, brows pulling, and he speaks again before you can even begin to tell him he shouldn’t have to feel like he has to apologize for that. “It’s just that... I didn’t know it could feel this good,” he admits like it's some embarrassing confession, not even sure it’s something he would be saying out loud in any other context, not sure it would be something worth admitting. “Not just the sex, I mean. You. All of this.” he murmurs. “The… emotional connection”

He shifts, readjusting his position so that he’s lying beside you, still close, giving you space so he’s not smothering you with the overwhelming heat of his body, but most of all so he can face you.

“It’s always been so quick and insignificant before” your head tilts to the side as you listen intently, quietly brushing away the damp strands of hair falling over his face, silently encouraging him to go on. “And besides the physical reactions it used to be so… numb.” he frowns. You can practically see the gears turning inside his head as he looks for his words, how to express it properly. “Not-special”

You nod, lips pinching into a small smile that wordlessly tells him that you get what he’s trying to say.

“I feel at ease when I'm with you” he eventually admits quietly, tiredly blinking as he looks at you like you’ve been giving him anything he’s ever wanted and needed.

You don’t say anything, maybe from fear that it wouldn’t even begin to compare to the preciousness of his words, so you just kiss him.

“I would want it to last forever if we could handle it. Being like this with you” he says once he pulls away, and he looks like he might almost cry again despite the grin over his face.

You chuckle, your fingertips lightly tracing the edges of his face. “We can always try” you tease playfully.

He snorts a laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he breathes out like a weight has been lifted off his chest. The exhaustion is obvious over his face, like he’s been drained of all energy, blinking the sleepiness away as he tries to fight it, holding on just to not give up on you like this.

You let your hand run through his hair again. “You can rest. I’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow, I’m not going anywhere”

His eyes roam along your face before he nods, not looking to argue, and he smiles, eyes closing in contentment when you kiss his face.

He had never done it sober, but now he has.

—

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lemon-boy-stan · 1 month ago

Text

“bob is five apples tall”

He did meth.

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lemon-boy-stan · 1 month ago

Text

BED CHEM

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 10.4K

SUMMARY: Thanks to your ever-so-helpful teammates, the charity Gala is long forgotten. Now, all you and Bob can think about is getting back to the tower, to finish what you started, with every intention of making up for lost time… over and over again.

WARNINGS: INCLUDES SMUT (18+) Essentially porn with a plot, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), fingering, body worship, multiple orgasms, lots of sexual tension, cursing, slight praise kink, lots of pet names, possessive!Bob, oral (fem receiving), slight dirty talk, lots of fluff, slight angst if you squint, lovesick idiots making up for lost time!

A/N: The long awaited part two to miss possessive, but can still be read as a standalone! Second time writing smut, I’m still on the fence about it… I am open to suggestions and recommendations on how I can make this better! Also, I'm way too single to be writing this! Thanks for all the love on the first part!! Divider by @luxifrv <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob reynolds masterlist

The sexual tension between you and Bob hung heavy in the air, thick and humming with electricity, the kind that made the skin prickle and the breath catch. It was the kind of tension that made conversations falter and eyes linger too long. Anyone paying even half attention could see it; anyone oblivious might chalk it up to flirtation, but this was something far more dangerous, far more desperate. It was need, barely caged.

After being caught on the balcony, flushed, breathless, clothes just slightly disheveled, you and Bob had mustered just enough restraint to play it cool. At least on the surface. But it was a performance, and not a very convincing one. You sat side by side back at your table, posture composed, smiles polite, but beneath the surface, it was chaos. Bob’s hand had migrated beneath the white linen of the tablecloth, firmly anchored to the bare skin of your thigh through the slit in your dress.

His touch wasn’t subtle, not really, fingers splayed possessively, thumb occasionally pressing into the soft curve of muscle like he needed a reminder you were real. Every now and then, he gave your thigh a slow, deliberate squeeze, as though testing your resolve. The action earned him a sharp inhale from you each time, barely concealed by a sip of champagne or a forced laugh at some irrelevant conversation.

His eyes, usually such a calm, clear blue, had darkened, smoldering with gold under the warm lights of the gala. The glint of restraint flickered in them like a fuse burning toward the end. You saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his tongue flicked over his bottom lip, the way he blinked just a second too long when your skin shifted beneath his hand. Your own hand was lazily sprawled atop his, manicured nails lightly dragging over the thick veins that snaked across the back of his hand.

Your fingers dipped beneath the cuff of his suit jacket, brushing just above his wrist, feeling the thrum of his pulse, fast, heavy, barely contained. That midnight black suit hugged him in all the right places, tailored to perfection and doing absolutely nothing to cool the fire raging between you. “Oh my god.” Yelena scoffed under her breath, tipping back the rest of her champagne with the finesse of someone deeply unimpressed.

Ava snorted beside her, trying and failing to contain her laughter. “They’re gonna combust before dessert.” Walker grimaced, eyes darting between you and Bob. “Do they even remember we’re here?” You heard the whispers, barely. Something about eye-fucking and what have we done, but none of it mattered. Bob’s fingers had flexed just a little tighter against your thigh, and your focus had tunneled down to just him.

His hand on your thigh, his scent, and the faintest growl in his throat when your fingers ghosted over a particularly sensitive spot near his wrist. Then came the unmistakable sound of keys jingling, the break in your lust-drunk haze. Your eyes flicked up, still hazy, to find Bucky on the other end of the table, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically in pain. “For fuck’s sake,” He muttered, digging the car keys out of his pocket like they personally offended him.

His tone had the weary edge of an exasperated dad catching his kids making out at a dinner party. Bob didn’t even flinch. He just kept his hand on you like it belonged there. “It’s blatantly obvious neither of you want to be here,” Bucky grumbled, eyes narrowing. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but do not have sex in the SUV.” He tossed the keys across the table, a smooth arc of silver and sound, and Bob snatched them out of the air with an effortless one-handed catch, his eyes never leaving yours.

The way his fingers closed around them, all calm and sure and controlled, sent a thrill down your spine. That shouldn’t have been hot. But oh, it was. Walker groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please, for all our sanity, just get it out of your systems before we get back to the tower. I’m begging you.” You opened your mouth, a biting retort halfway to your tongue, but Bob moved first. Smoothly, he rose from his chair and reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The keys disappeared into his pocket with one practiced motion as his other hand settled on the open back of your dress, the heat of his palm searing against your bare skin. “C’mon, pretty girl. We have a lot of lost time to catch up on.” He coaxed low, voice brushing against the shell of your ear like velvet-wrapped in sin. Your heart slammed against your ribs as he guided you away from the table, past the stares, the laughter, the not-so-quiet commentary. His grip on your back was firm, possessive, leading you through the crowd with one goal in mind.

As soon as you made it to the car, Bob’s self-restraint snapped like a rubber band stretched to its limit. Before you could blink, he was on you, all heat and hunger, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was searing, raw, full of all the want he’d been choking down for hours. He pressed you against the side of the SUV, one hand cupping your jaw, the other planted firmly on your hip, dragging you flush against him. Your back hit the cool metal, but the chill didn’t register.

Not when he was devouring your mouth like he’d been starved for you. His lips were soft but demanding, moving with a kind of desperation that sent your pulse skyrocketing. You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips to deepen the kiss. It was messy and intoxicating, a perfect reflection of the tension that had been simmering between you all night. His tongue moved with purpose, sliding against yours in a rhythm that had your knees buckling and your fingers digging into the lapels of his suit.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest when your hands slid up and tangled into his hair, gripping the soft, thick strands. You tugged, just enough to tilt his head back, to pull him away for a breath of air and a half-second to think straight.“B-Bob,” You muttered between kisses, breathless, dazed, your lips swollen and tingling. You looked up at him through heavy lashes, trying to speak, trying to anchor yourself in the chaos of his touch. His lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing hot kisses to the corner of your mouth, to the pulse hammering in your throat.

“Sweetheart,” You finally breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The car.” The cold metal of the SUV groaned faintly beneath your back, the frame flexing under the sheer force of him. You could feel the weight of him, the power behind his restraint, the way the vehicle almost yielded to it, and God, it made your breath hitch. His forehead fell to yours, and for a moment, he just stood there, panting, trembling slightly, trying to collect himself.

“S-Sorry.” He muttered sheepishly, though the arm still wrapped around your waist betrayed zero intention of letting you go. You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make his eyes flutter shut. "We’re still in public, and you look about two seconds from taking me right here.” He groaned, pressing a kiss to your neck, one that lingered a little too long to be innocent. “Two seconds is generous.” You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Take me home, Bob."

He didn’t need to be told twice.

It was a miracle the SUV didn’t end up wrapped around a streetlight on the drive back to the Watchtower. Every red light was a special brand of hell, a cruel interruption in a ride already strung so tight with tension it felt like the air itself might snap. Bob’s hand never once left your thigh. It slid up, then down in a slow, maddening rhythm, each pass of his fingers dangerously close to the hem of your dress, skimming the soft skin there like he was memorizing it.

Your breath hitched with every movement, your jaw clenched tight to keep from moaning out loud. You bit down on your lower lip until it stung, desperate not to make a sound, knowing that if you did, it would all be over. You’d climb into his lap and Bucky’s warning would become a distant memory. You could feel the restraint radiating off Bob, and you could see it too. His knuckles were bone white against the steering wheel, veins raised and pulsing. His jaw flexed again and again, clenched so tight you worried he might crack a molar.

Every time a car in front of him slowed or braked unnecessarily, he swore under his breath, chest heaving, thigh jumping beside yours like the tension was crawling beneath his skin. The SUV dipped into the underground parking garage and the second the tires cleared the ramp, Bob was throwing it into park, slightly crooked, barely between the lines, and unbuckling with a speed that bordered on reckless. He was out of the driver’s seat before the engine had fully shut off, the slamming door echoing against concrete walls.

You blinked, dazed and burning, as your door flew open. Bob stood there, tall and flushed and wrecked, his tie askew, hair mussed from your fingers, eyes blown wide with hunger. He extended a hand toward you, palm open, fingers twitching like he needed to be touching you again. You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers slid into his and he pulled you from the seat like you weighed nothing. The moment your feet hit the ground, regret surged, your heels bit into the soles of your feet, muscles screaming from the long night.

You winced, hissing under your breath as your ankle wobbled slightly. Bob didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss anything when it came to you. Before you could protest, his strong arms wrapped around you, and with effortless grace, he scooped you up bridal style. “Bob! I can walk on my own!” You gasped, half-laughing, half-mortified, fists lightly pressing against his chest. “You’ve done enough of that tonight.” His tone was low, rough around the edges, frayed from everything he was holding back.

One arm cradled your back, the other slipped beneath your knees, holding you securely against his chest as he strode toward the elevator. His scent was everywhere, clean soap and something sharp and male that made your thighs clench involuntarily. Even inside the elevator, he didn’t let you go. You took advantage of the moment, snuggling deeper into him, arms thrown around his neck as your lips found the warm skin beneath his jaw. You nuzzled into the hollow there, open-mouthed kisses marking a trail from the hinge of his jaw to just below his ear.

You felt his pulse quicken beneath your tongue, the throb of it hammering against your lips. He cursed under his breath, his grip tightening around you. Your smirk deepened against his skin as you continued your assault, slow and deliberate, your teeth scraping just enough to make him groan, low and barely audible, the sound echoing in the small space between you. By the time the elevator chimed for the eighth floor, both of you were practically vibrating.

The doors slid open. Bob stepped into the hallway with purpose, but before he could take another step, he paused. Carefully, he lowered you to the floor like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling, lips still parted from where you’d been about to kiss him again. Then he dropped to one knee. Your heart stuttered, but it wasn’t what you thought. His hands found your calves, large and gentle, and he slid them upward slowly, just until he reached the buckle of your heel.

He undid it with quiet precision, then repeated the action on the other side. The shoes dropped to the floor with twin clatters, and the relief in your feet was immediate. But your breath caught for a different reason. He rose slowly, until he stood at full height, towering over you again, body solid and commanding, eyes molten. One hand found your arm, sliding up slowly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When he reached your cheek, he cradled it, thumb sweeping over your flushed skin as if grounding himself with the feel of you. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His other arm circled your waist, and before you could inhale, your feet left the floor again. You gasped, arms tightening around his shoulders, instinctively wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. “Bob!” You squeaked through laughter, your voice high with surprise, but laced with something else, want, thick and trembling in your throat. He didn’t stop. His hands found your thighs as he adjusted your weight, pressing you tighter against him. You could feel him, hard and hot and pulsing through his slacks, pressed right up against the very center of your aching core.

You swallowed a moan, head falling forward to rest against his. Your bodies molded together as he moved down the hall, pace steady, steps heavy with intent. The door to his bedroom loomed ahead, and the second it swung open, there’d be no holding back. The second Bob crossed the threshold into his bedroom, the last threads of restraint disintegrated. The door slammed shut behind him with a solid thud, and before you could even gasp, your back hit it, hard enough to rattle the frame.

A startled breath flew from your lungs, but it was immediately swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours. His hands were everywhere. Hot, greedy palms slipped beneath the slits of your gown, fingers splaying wide over your thighs, dragging upward, bunching the silky fabric at your hips. The grip he had on you was filthy, possessive, almost primal, like he needed to remind himself that you were here, in his arms, wrapped around him with no more interruptions.

You moaned into the kiss, arms clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging through the material of his suit jacket. Your fingers found his hair again, thick and soft, brown strands slick with sweat from the heat between you, and you yanked, desperate to pull him even closer. He groaned into your mouth, deep and wrecked, hips bucking forward as your legs locked tighter around his waist. The movement ground his hardness right against your aching core, and the jolt of pleasure that shot through you made your entire body tremble.

“This dress…” His voice cracked as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze raking down your body like it physically hurt him to not be touching every inch of you. “Fuck, Y/N. It’s been torturing me all night.” You rolled your hips against him, slow and deliberate, the friction igniting sparks behind your eyes. “You like it?” You ran a hand slowly down the front of the gown, over the curve of your breast, down your stomach, to where the slit exposed your thigh, as his eyes tracked every movement.

“I do,” He whispered immediately, reverently, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “But right now?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, hot and needy. “I want it on my bedroom floor.” Then he kissed you again, and this time, it was filthy. There was no hesitation, no careful build-up. His mouth crashed into yours, tongue sliding deep, claiming and demanding. He kissed like a man drowning, all teeth and tongue and panting breaths between moans.

You answered with equal fervor, lips parting willingly, tongues tangling as your hands clawed at his jacket, yanking it off his shoulders. He groaned when your nails scraped down his arms, leaving raised lines in their wake, and he practically ripped the dress up over your hips, hands groping your ass with both palms as he lifted you higher. Your back arched, pushing your chest into him, and his mouth broke from yours to trail down your jaw, then your throat, where he bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, a mark left behind as proof.

“You don’t even know,” He growled into your skin, voice dark and trembling. “How long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you like this. To taste you. To worship you.” He pressed you harder against the door, hips grinding up between your thighs, and your head tipped back with a moan that echoed off the walls. His mouth found the swell of your chest, exposed where the neckline of your gown dipped low, and he licked a path across your skin before biting down lightly, tugging the strap down with his teeth.

You gasped, hips bucking into him. “I’ve got you.” He breathed against your collarbone, licking the mark he just left. The dress slipped off your body like it had been waiting for this moment, pooling at your feet in a ripple of midnight silk, forgotten the instant it left your skin. Bob took a single step back, just enough to look at you, really look. The breath caught in his throat like it hurt to hold it. You stood there, back pressed to the door, bare but for a pair of barely-there baby blue lace panties, the delicate kind that clung to you like a whisper, nearly transparent.

The gown had been backless, which meant no bra, your breasts exposed to him in the soft amber light of the room, nipples peaked and sensitive from the friction of the dress and the weight of his stare. Bob’s gaze raked over you like he might die if he blinked. The blue in his eyes vanished, swallowed by molten gold as pure hunger overtook him. His chest rose with a slow, shaking breath, and then all at once, the dam broke. A low, feral growl tore from his throat, and he was on you again, pinning you back against the door with his full body, heat radiating from every inch of him.

One hand grabbed the back of your thigh, hiking your leg around his hip, while the other moved to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the soft skin, then circling your nipple with aching slowness. “Fuck—” He breathed, voice wrecked, eyes never leaving your chest. “No bra. You were walking around all night like this.” You smirked, breath hitching when he bent his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. He growled, switching sides, giving the same treatment to your other breast, his tongue lapping over the sensitive bud.

You whimpered, fingers threading through his hair again, holding him close as he devoured your skin. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your ribs, down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He dropped to his knees in front of you, big hands dragging slowly down your thighs, lips brushing over your stomach with featherlight kisses that made your belly twitch. His mouth hovered just above your waistband coming face to face with the baby blue lace.

His nostrils flared, the gold in his eyes burned. “Were you trying to kill me?” He rasped, voice thick with disbelief and pure, unfiltered lust. Your head hit the door with a soft thud, chest heaving, hands still buried in his hair. “Maybe a little.” He exhaled a shaky breath against the inside of your thigh. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged the lace down your legs slowly, reverently, like it was a sacred act.

He kissed the inside of your knee as he helped you step out of them, then trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses all the way back up, tongue flicking teasingly across the crease where your thigh met your core. He stood again, eyes roaming every inch of your bare body, worship in every line of his expression, even as lust darkened it beyond recognition. “I’ve waited months for this,” He muttered, voice trembling as he reached for you. “To touch you. To taste you. To make you come so many times you forget your own name.”

You didn’t resist when he picked you up again, just wrapped your legs tight around his waist and kissed him like you were starving, moaning into his mouth as his hands roamed over every inch of you. His lips broke from yours only to mouth down your neck, teeth dragging gently across your collarbone, over the swell of your breast again, like he couldn’t get enough. Then he was laying you down on the bed, lowering you onto the cool sheets like you were something precious.

He hovered over you for a moment, eyes drinking you in, chest shuddering with the effort it took not to lose control. But that control was long gone. All the tension of the last few months, the glances, the brushes of hands, the stolen moments and the aching silence, it all snapped loose in a flood of raw need. Bob settled between your thighs like he’d done it a thousand times in his dreams. His large hands slid under your thighs, hooking just beneath your knees to gently tug you closer to the edge of the bed until you were right where he wanted you, legs parted, exposed, breath stuttering in anticipation.

He paused for a moment, not out of hesitation, but reverence. You felt the weight of his stare like a touch, his golden eyes devouring the sight of you spread out before him. Lips slightly parted, brow furrowed like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re perfect,” He murmured, voice hoarse, wrecked. “So fucking beautiful.” Before you could even process a response, his mouth was on you. It started with a kiss, soft and slow, lips parting over your center, tongue flicking out to taste you like he’d been starved for it.

He groaned low in his throat the second he did, the sound vibrating straight through your core. It wasn't rushed. Bob kissed you like he had all night to be between your thighs, like the only thing on his mind was unraveling you with his mouth. One of his arms wrapped under your thigh, hand splayed across your stomach, keeping you grounded as he began to work. His tongue moved deliberately, broad strokes through your folds, gathering every bit of slick, savoring it.

Every now and then, he pulled back just to blow a soft breath over your soaked flesh, smirking when you whimpered and bucked your hips toward his face. “S-Shit!” You breathed, hips lifting instinctively. He growled again, the sound raw and full of pride, before diving back in with a new kind of focus. His mouth closed around your clit and sucked, hard, pulling a cry from your throat that echoed off the walls. He circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, relentless and devastating, alternating pressure and speed until your back arched completely off the bed.

One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers digging in deep, trying to ground yourself, but he didn’t falter. If anything, it only spurred him on. Bob shifted slightly, flattening his tongue and lapping at your entrance, slow and filthy, like he was drinking you in. Then he slid two fingers inside you without warning, thick, calloused, curling just right as his mouth latched back onto your clit with unwavering purpose. Your moan shattered into a broken sob. The stretch was perfect. The rhythm was deadly.

His fingers pumped in time with his tongue, and the wet sounds filling the room were obscene, echoing between your own breathless cries and the soft curses spilling from his mouth between licks. “That’s it,” His voice was nearly feral. “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it.” Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. The knot in your belly tightened so fast and so hard it nearly hurt. He flicked his tongue faster, precise and merciless, while his fingers curled with every thrust, pressing against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that made your entire body clench.

“I’ve got you,” He growled against your clit, the words muffled by how tightly he kept his mouth on you. “Let go, pretty girl. Give it all to me.” You shattered. The orgasm tore through you like lightning, stealing the breath from your lungs as your hips jerked off the bed, thighs trembling around his head. You cried out, legs threatening to close around his face, but Bob didn’t stop. If anything, he held you open, arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you spread, tongue still lapping at you gently as you rode out every last pulse of pleasure.

He groaned, pressing kisses to your twitching inner thigh, breath hot against your soaked skin. “Fuck, you taste heavenly.” Your chest heaved as you tried to blink your vision back into focus, muscles trembling, heart pounding somewhere near your throat. And when he finally rose up, mouth still glistening, hair wild from your fingers, eyes burning molten gold, he looked completely wrecked. “That,” He rasped, voice like sin, dragging his mouth along your thigh as he slowly climbed up your body. “Was just the beginning.”

You collapsed back against the pillows, body still trembling, lungs working overtime to drag in oxygen. Your bare chest rose and fell in uneven waves, skin dewy with sweat, tingling from every place his mouth had touched, every place he hadn’t yet. Your thighs were slick, still twitching from the force of your orgasm, but Bob was nowhere near finished with you. He knelt at the edge of the bed like he was praying, gaze dark and heavy, locked on your naked form sprawled out across his sheets. He hadn't stopped looking at you since he'd dropped to his knees.

There was awe in his eyes, like he couldn't quite believe you were real. Your mouth curved into a dazed, breathless smirk as your eyes dragged down to take in his clothes. The rumpled white button-up still clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, top few buttons undone from the drive over. The charcoal slacks hung low on his hips, belt gone, zipper down, the outline of his cock still straining against the fabric beneath. “You’re sill wearing too many clothes,” You murmured, voice rasping in your throat. “Not exactly fair.”

You gestured lazily to your thoroughly ruined, fully nude body. That grin, the slow, crooked one that always made your stomach flip, spread across his flushed face. “Guess I am.” He pushed off the bed and stood at the edge, hands moving to loosen his already-untied tie, slipping the silk from his collar and tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. Next came the shirt. One button at a time, deliberate, teasing, he undid it, eyes locked on yours the entire time. When he shrugged it off his shoulders, the fabric fell to the floor like a whisper.

You sat up slightly, unable to stop your eyes from drinking him in. God. You’d seen Bob shirtless before, a handful of stolen glances during training sessions with Bucky or Walker, but never like this. Never for you. His chest was broad, golden skin stretched tight over firm muscle, each line cut with effortless definition. His abdomen was all ridged planes, dusted with a trail of dark hair that led down past the waistband of his slacks. His forearms flexed as he moved, thick with muscle and veined, the kind of arms you wanted wrapped around you forever.

You licked your lips without thinking. “You’re staring.” He teased, voice low, pleased. “Can you blame me?” Your voice was hoarse, eyes slowly trailing up from the sharp V of his hips to the deep curve of his pecs, the freckle on his left shoulder you always wanted to kiss. “You look like sex and sin and everything I’ve ever wanted.” That grin faltered, only slightly, replaced with something deeper. Rougher. His eyes darkened again, chest rising with a sharp inhale. Then he dropped his slacks, leaving only his boxers between you and everything.

The bulge there was impossible to ignore, thick and heavy, pressed tightly against the fabric, a dark wet patch beginning to form where the tip strained. But he didn’t rush. He climbed back into bed like a man approaching holy ground. Kneeling beside you again, his hands found your ankles, thumbs sweeping slow circles along your skin as he gazed up at you, hair wild, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. “You know…” He murmured, voice roughened to gravel. “No one else will ever make you come like that.” You arched a brow, both intrigued and ruined. “Confident, are we?”

He climbed up your body with delicious slowness, kissing a path up your leg as he went, calf, knee, thigh, inner thigh, skipping your core just to hear you whine again. When he reached your stomach, he lingered, tongue flattening to lick a hot stripe up the center of your torso, before placing open-mouthed kisses between your ribs, across your hip bones, over the softness of your belly. “Not confidence,” He murmured, lips brushing over your sternum. “Just stating a fact.” He hovered over you now, forearms bracketing your head, his weight suspended but radiating heat.

One hand trailed up the length of your arm until his fingers laced with yours, grounding you. His other hand slipped down between your bodies, cupping your core again, this time with reverence. “Only I know what you sound like when you fall apart,” He rasped, fingers finding your slick folds. “Only I get to taste you, hear you beg, feel you clench around my tongue.” His fingers circled your clit slowly, featherlight, maddening. “Only I get to watch you lose your mind like that.”

Two fingers slipped inside again, this time smoother, easier, the afterglow of your orgasm leaving you soft and warm and wet for him. He pumped slowly, deliberately curling them deep inside you, watching your expression shift as he mapped every reaction. You gasped, hips twitching, nails clawing into his bicep as his mouth returned to your breasts, this time slower, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his fingers worked you with aching precision.

He pulled back just far enough to watch your face, to see every tiny twitch of your mouth, every arch of your back, completely drunk on your pleasure. “Yeah. That’s it. You’re mine like this, baby. No one else gets this.” You nodded, barely coherent, thighs already starting to tremble again. The pressure inside you curled hot and tight, your body helpless to resist him. He kissed up your chest, your neck, your jaw, finally claiming your mouth in a kiss that was slow and deep and intimate. His fingers didn’t stop.

They moved faster now, finding that perfect spot again as his palm ground against your clit, relentless, wicked. “Come for me again,” He whispered against your lips, voice thick with devotion. “I need it. Need to feel you fall apart around me one more time before I lose my fucking mind.” And you did. Harder than before, messier, deeper, thighs clamping around his hand as your vision blanked out completely. Your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, tearing through your already-used nerves, your entire body curling into his.

Bob didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t stop worshipping every twitch, every moan, every breathless sob of his name. Your body was still trembling when his fingers slipped free, slow and careful, as if he were afraid to overstimulate you, but the look in your eyes said otherwise. Lashes fluttering, lips kiss-bitten, breath still ragged in your throat as you blinked up at him. “Your turn.” You breathed, voice saccharine sweet, laced with every ounce of affection and hunger you felt for him.

Your hand moved between your bodies, fingers brushing his abs, dipping lower toward the waistband of his boxers. Bob caught your wrist before you could get there. Not rough. Gentle. But firm. Your brows lifted, confused, until you saw the way he looked at you. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, warm and grounding. “Next time,” He promised, voice low and full of something deeper than just desire. “You’ll have all of me. Every inch. But right now, I need to be inside you before I combust.”

The promise in those words, next time, made your stomach flutter. Your lips parted around a soft gasp, eyes flickering down to where his hand held yours. You bit your lip, smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as anticipation sparked in your chest. You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, letting your lips linger against his stubbled skin. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” His body shifted, slow and deliberate, hovering over you as he finally, finally, peeled down his boxers, freeing himself.

Your eyes dragged down between your bodies, and what you saw had your breath stalling in your throat. Thick. Long. Hard. Flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. You whimpered, spreading your legs wider as he settled between them, your hips tilting up to meet him. Bob grabbed his cock, ran it through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. His hand gripped your hip, the other fisting the sheets beside your head, knuckles white. “You ready for me, pretty girl?” His voice cracked around the edges, like even he couldn’t believe how long he’d waited for this.

"Please," You nodded, breathless, lips parting. “I need you, Bob.” His mouth crushed against yours as he pushed in, slow and thick and deep, stretching you open inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you, buried to the hilt. You both moaned into each other’s mouths, the sound ragged and desperate, bodies shuddering at the feeling of finally being connected like this. “Fuck,” He groaned, lips dragging down your neck. “So tight. So fucking wet.” Your nails raked down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, holding him deep. “You feel so good,” You whimpered.

“So full. Bob, please move.” His hips rolled, long and slow strokes that filled you to the brim, each one dragging against your walls with devastating precision. The pace was steady, deep, designed to feel. To make it last. To make you feel everything. The moans spilling from your lips were helpless, loud, and unfiltered. Each thrust had you gasping, praising, crying out his name like a prayer. He swallowed every sound with kisses, mouth trailing over your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Who’s this pussy belong to?” He rasped, hips pistoning into you so deep your vision blurred.

“Say it. Let me hear it.” You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. “You. Only you, Bob, fuck, it’s yours.” He growled, pace picking up slightly, the angle changing just enough to make your back arch. “That’s right, nobody can fuck you like this. Nobody can have you this way but me.” Your mouth dropped open in a broken moan as his hand slipped between your bodies again, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight circles as he continued to fuck you deep, steady, relentless.

“Takes me so fucking well. You’re perfect.” Your entire body tensed, pleasure building fast again, his praise pushing you closer with every filthy, worshipful word. “Look at you,” He breathed, mouth brushing yours. “So beautiful, taking every inch of me like you were made for it. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and all mine.” Your moans turned into sobs, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat, the emotion. “I love you,” You gasped, tears pricking at your eyes as your walls clenched around him. “God, Bob, I love you.”

He froze for half a second, cock twitching deep inside you, then he kissed you with everything he had. "Fuck, baby, I love you too,” He whispered into your mouth, voice shaking. Your legs tightened around him, holding him impossibly closer as his thrusts turned frantic, deeper, harder, your release barreling toward you like a wave. “That’s my girl,” He groaned, thumb pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it, one more time.”

You came with a cry of his name, full-body shaking, toes curling, nails clawing down his back as you shattered underneath him. Bob’s rhythm faltered, thrusts turning sloppy as your orgasm clenched around him, dragging him right to the edge. With a low growl, he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you, body trembling, mouth locked against your skin as he moaned your name over and over. When the tremors faded, he collapsed onto you, bracing his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush you.

His forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and tangled up in sheets and each other. Bob stayed inside you for a long moment after the last shudder rolled through him, his chest flush against yours, breath warm on your cheek. Neither of you moved, both unwilling to let go just yet. You could feel his heart pounding against your breastbone, still racing, as if he were stunned by what just happened. Your own body was limp beneath his, legs still wrapped lazily around his waist, limbs boneless from the overwhelming pleasure and emotion.

His thumb traced slow circles along your jaw, eyes never leaving your face. The softness there was disarming, no less intense than before, but quieter now. A reverent kind of peace. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, lips barely brushing his damp skin. “Don’t move yet.” A low hum rumbled in his throat as he buried his face in your neck, nuzzling the spot just below your ear. “Not going anywhere.” You stayed like that, joined, still, warm, until your breathing evened out.

When he shifted, it was slow and careful, hips rolling back just enough to slip from you, a low groan caught in his throat at the overstimulation. You whimpered softly at the loss, the emptiness making your thighs clench instinctively. Bob pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before slipping from the bed entirely. “Hold on, baby.” He murmured against your skin, voice low, thick with affection. Before you could ask what he meant, he bent down and scooped you up again, arms cradling you effortlessly.

You melted into him, cheek resting against his chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the heat of his skin against yours. He carried you to the bathroom like you weighed nothing, careful not to jostle your sore body. The warm light flickered on, golden and soft. Bob used one hand to turn on the tap in the large walk-in shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam began to rise. He set you gently on the edge of the tub, kneeling in front of you. His hands moved with quiet efficiency, not rushed, but thoughtful.

He grabbed a clean cloth, soaked it in the warm water, and brought it to your thighs, swiping gently. You winced, just a little, and he immediately looked up, thumb brushing your knee. “Too much?” You shook your head, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You’re being perfect.” He exhaled softly, then returned to the task, careful, thorough, reverent. He cleaned between your legs with the kind of focused tenderness that made your chest ache.

You leaned into his chest again, eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your forehead. After a few more quiet moments, he scooped you into his arms once more and carried you back to bed. The sheets were still warm, tangled from before, but neither of you cared. He climbed in behind you, pulling you into his arms with your back pressed to his chest, one leg tangled with yours, one arm wrapped around your waist, hand splayed possessively over your belly. His chest molded to your spine like he was made to fit you.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers, resting them just beneath your breast. His lips found your shoulder. Then your neck. Then the back of your ear. He didn’t speak. Just kissed you, soft, steady, endless. The silence stretched, but it was the good kind, weightless, heavy with meaning. Eventually, you shifted slightly to face him, curling into the heat of his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. He held you like if he let go, even for a second, you might vanish.

A smile tugged at your lips. You shifted in his arms, eyes glinting with mischief beneath heavy lids. “Your girl, huh?” His entire body tensed, the muscles in his chest going tight, the arm around your waist locking for a half-second in panic. His voice cracked just enough to make you grin wider. “I–uh—I didn’t mean to—” You pressed a single finger to his swollen, kiss-bruised lips, shushing him before he could spiral any further. His breath caught as you leaned in closer, nose brushing his, your voice soft but firm.

“Shh, relax, Bob,” You gave him a smile he could feel, warm and content as your hand slid slowly down his abdomen, tracing the hard lines there with a lazy, affectionate drag. “I was just teasing.” The tension in his chest eased instantly, and you felt the low rumble of a laugh in his throat as his lips curved against your temple. “I really like the sound of that.” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut again as your fingers splayed across the dips of his stomach. “I really like it too.” He murmured into your skin.

His voice thick and full of quiet joy as he pulled you even closer. His hand moved up your ribcage, slow and possessive, resting just beneath your breast. You nuzzled into his chest with a soft hum, heart swelling so much it ached. His thumb traced along the edge of your rib, over the faint thudding of your heart. You had a feeling Bob could lie there all night, holding you like this, like you were everything he’d ever waited for. And he’d be right. Because you were his girl now, and he was completely, helplessly yours.

The following morning, golden sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the muffled hum of the busy New York bustle outside and the gentle, rhythmic sound of Bob’s breathing behind you. You blinked awake slowly, not quite ready for the moment to end. The sheets were warm with shared body heat, and your body still hummed faintly with the memories of last night.

The way his hands worshipped you with reverence, his lips exploring you like he was memorizing every inch, his voice hoarse and low as he whispered your name like a prayer. Even now, hours later, your skin seemed to remember the way he held you afterwards, tucked safely against his chest, his thumb tracing lazy, absentminded circles on your shoulder as he kissed the top of your head and breathed in your scent like he never wanted to forget it.

You shifted slightly beneath the weight of the blankets, careful not to disturb him. Bob was still asleep, one strong arm draped around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach like even in dreams he couldn’t bear to let go. His bare chest was pressed to your back, warm and steady. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, soft, even, and comforting. You smiled to yourself, heart full to bursting. Slowly, you turned in his embrace, moving gently so as not to wake him.

Your legs tangled naturally beneath the covers, bare skin brushing against his in a way that felt both effortless and electric. You settled into him like you were made to fit there, like you’d been doing this for years. His face was utterly unguarded in sleep, peaceful in a way you rarely saw during waking hours. His lashes, impossibly long, cast faint shadows across his cheeks. The light caught in the strands of his messy brown curls, making them look kissed by gold.

One unruly lock had fallen across his forehead, and you reached up without thinking, brushing it away with the backs of your fingers. You let your touch linger, dragging lightly down the side of his face. His stubble scratched faintly against your fingertips, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. You traced the curve of his jaw, the dip of his chin, the faint freckling across the bridge of his nose, familiar now, like constellations you’d memorized with reverence.

The same freckles that were scattered like stars down his shoulders and across his back, and last night, you'd kissed every single one you could reach. You studied him in silence, committing every detail to memory. His soft, kiss-bitten lips were parted slightly, a small, adorable snore slipping out with every breath. The sound made you smile again, fond, amused, completely in love. You’d tease him for it later, and he’d pretend to be embarrassed, but his ears would flush pink and he’d secretly love that you noticed.

Then, after a few quiet moments, you watched his expression shift, his brows twitching ever so slightly before his eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded, and full of sleep. Those blue eyes blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, before they focused on you. Just like that, the world stopped. There was something in the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing that existed. Like he was still trying to figure out how someone like you had chosen him, and still couldn't believe you were here, tangled up in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

“Hi.” He whispered, voice still gravelly with sleep, thick with something deeper, emotion that made your chest ache in the sweetest way. You smiled softly, the kind of smile that only he ever saw, and tucked your head further into the crook of his neck as if it were second nature. You breathed him in, letting the familiar scent of him settle in your lungs. Sun-warmed skin, clean cotton, the faint trace of his cologne still clinging to his pulse points. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

Your arms looped lazily around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. One hand began to scratch gently at his scalp, nails grazing through his curls until he gave a barely-there sigh of contentment. The other hand drifted down, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, twirling the soft hairs there with lazy affection. His body reacted without thought, his breath hitching slightly, his arms tightening around your waist. “Staring is rude, you know?” He teased, the corners of his lips twitching up into a crooked smile.

You felt his hands snake under the blanket, calloused fingers gliding across your skin until they found purchase at your bare waist. He tugged you fully against him, your chest flush with his, legs still tangled together. The heat between your bodies was intoxicating, a mix of leftover passion and quiet love. “Good thing I wasn’t staring,” You murmured with a smirk, “I was admiring my handsome boyfriend.” Bob rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but the way the color rose faintly to his cheeks betrayed him.

He ducked his head slightly, burying his grin against your hair like he couldn’t quite handle being looked at that way. Then his expression shifted, eyes softening, brows drawing together with the weight of a different kind of feeling. His thumbs brushed slow circles into your hips, grounding, tender. “How are you feeling? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, his voice low and laced with concern, even as sleep still clung to the edges. Your heart clenched a little at how gentle he always was with you.

“I’ve never been better,” You assured him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Last night was…” You paused, cheeks flushing warm, lips stretching into a dazed smile. “It was amazing.” His eyes closed for just a second, like he was holding onto your words, letting them sink into him. “Yeah… it was.” He opened them again, locking eyes with you, his gaze earnest and full. “Still can’t believe you’re officially mine.” You shifted slightly, propping yourself up just enough to tilt your head toward him. Your noses brushed, breath mixing in that soft, sacred space between a kiss and a promise.

“Better believe it, Reynolds,” You whispered, lips barely grazing his. “You’re stuck with me.” He chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated through your chest where it pressed against his. He reached up, knuckles brushing your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your jaw with a feather-light touch. Then he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was chaste, but slow and lingering in meaning, full of every unspoken thing he didn’t have the words for yet.

He kissed you like he’d never stop finding new ways to say I love you. You hummed into the kiss, your hand fisting gently into the curls at the base of his neck. When you finally pulled back, his lips chased yours for half a second, a quiet, endearing pout tugging at his face. You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “As much as I would love to continue this, we better get up before we never make it out of this bed.” His brows furrowed dramatically. “Is that really a bad thing?” He scoffed, eyes narrowing playfully.

You shrieked out a soft laugh as he rolled you back onto your back, nuzzling into your neck with exaggerated determination. “Bob! I’m serious!” You giggled, squirming, but making no real effort to escape. “And I’m seriously not letting go yet,” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and muffled where his lips brushed against your collarbone. You could feel the faintest curve of a smile against your skin as he pressed a lazy kiss there, breath warm and soft. “Just five more minutes.” He added, words vibrating gently through you.

You sighed with theatrical exasperation, but the way your fingers slid instinctively back into his hair betrayed you, curling into the soft, messy strands at the crown of his head. He made a quiet, satisfied sound at your touch, nuzzling even closer like a content housecat refusing to be moved. “You know,” You murmured, voice hushed against the crown of his head. “We’re going to have to face our friends eventually.” You felt the shift in him immediately, the way his whole body tensed just slightly where it was molded to yours.

“Y-You really think they heard us?” He asked, voice pitched higher in panic, already wincing as he tucked his face deeper into the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears flushed a deep shade of pink, his arms tightening around your waist like you might shield him from the embarrassment. You couldn’t help the soft burst of laughter that escaped you. “Bob, sweetheart…” You began, dragging your fingers lightly through his hair in soothing strokes. “The walls are pretty thin, and we weren’t exactly… quiet.”

He let out a groan, an honest-to-god full-body groan of mortification, as he buried his face deeper against your skin like he might actually disappear into you. “Oh God.” He groaned, the words low and miserable as they vibrated against your throat. His face was still tucked against your neck, lips brushing your skin with every groaned syllable, his arms clinging to you like he could shield himself from the sheer mortification of what you’d just confirmed. You grinned wickedly, unable to resist twisting the proverbial knife, in the most loving way possible.

“Hey,” You whispered, your tone mock-soothing as your fingers scratched gently at his scalp. “At least now they won’t tease you about being vanilla in bed. Because what I experienced last night was far from it.” You snickered at the memory, voice lilting with amusement. It was only a few days ago you'd passed the training room and overheard John and Bucky giving Bob the most immature, wildly incorrect teasing, muttering things like “Bet he apologizes during sex.” and “Bob probably asks permission to take his shirt off.”

You had to bite your lip not to laugh out loud at the time, especially because you'd already had very real proof that Bob Reynolds in the bedroom was anything but soft and bashful. He was attentive, passionate, unrelenting when he wanted to be. He touched you like you were made of glass and sin all at once, reverent one moment, greedy the next. Nothing about last night had been vanilla. Bob gasped, finally pulling his face back just enough to look at you, ears red and eyes wide. “Jesus, you are not helping!” He half-scolded, the corners of his mouth twitching up despite himself.

You let out a full, delighted laugh now, tossing your head back against the pillow. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I had to. You should’ve seen the look on your face.” Bob groaned, dragging a hand over his face and flopping onto his back beside you with a thud, the sheet slipping slightly down his chest. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow and resting your chin in your palm, eyes lazily raking down his now pink-tinged chest. “You know,” You drawled in a mock-serious tone, trailing a finger down the center of his sternum, feeling goosebumps litter his skin.

“You could just embrace it. Walk out there with your head high and your chest out, let ‘em know exactly who made what noise and why.” He whined again, dragging the pillow over his face like it could erase the image. His voice came out muffled, “I can never look any of them in the eye ever again.” You giggled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth where it peeked out from under the pillow. “You’re adorable,” You murmured, lips brushing his cheek as you spoke. “And last night? You were perfect. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He peeked out from under the pillow at that, blue eyes softening instantly at the sincerity in your voice. “You mean that?” He asked, voice quieter now, more vulnerable. You nodded, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Of course I do. You were everything, Bob. I’ve never felt more wanted, more loved.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, gaze flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize you all over again. Then he reached for you again, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush against him once more. "I'm still not going out there for at least another ten minutes.”

You smiled, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as your hand ran soothing patterns on his forearm. It had definitely been more than ten minutes, closer to thirty, when you finally sat up, stretching and smacking Bob lightly across the chest as you caught him ogling your bare torso without even the decency to look ashamed. He offered an unapologetic grin, completely unbothered, eyes glued to the soft curve of your back as you slipped out of bed.

“You’re so not helping us get out of here.” You teased, grabbing one of his crumpled sweatshirts from a chair nearby. It hung loose on you, the hem nearly reaching your thighs, the sleeves falling past your hands. You dug through his drawers until you found a pair of soft, worn-in boxers and pulled them on, wiggling into them as you heard Bob groan dramatically from behind you. He flopped back against the pillows, one arm slung over his face, the other trailing limply over his bare stomach.

“Do you want me to pass out?” He mumbled, peeking through his fingers as he admired how good you looked in his clothes, better than he ever had. “Up and at 'em, loverboy.” You smirked, tossing a balled-up sock at his chest. With a grumble, he peeled himself out of bed, dragging his boxers from the floor and stepping into them. He then reached for a black short-sleeved tee, tugging it over his head. The fabric hugged his biceps in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment.

“God, that shirt should be illegal.” You thought-aloud, biting your lip, eyes trailing over the exposed vein on his forearm as he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “Please, don’t start.” He groaned again, voice barely above a grumble. You grinned, lacing your fingers through his and tugged him toward the door. Hand in hand, you descended the stairs, the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls wafting from the kitchen. The moment you stepped inside, all eyes turned to you, some expectant, others amused, one deeply unamused.

“Morning, everyone!” You beamed, entirely unfazed as you walked into the kitchen still holding Bob’s hand. Bob, on the other hand, shrank slightly beside you, his eyes trained firmly on the floor as if he could will himself invisible. The moment you reluctantly released his hand, he darted toward the counter, busying himself with the new matcha powder he’d proudly sourced from the farmer's market just to make your morning lattes perfect. He didn’t look up once, every movement precise and distracted.

Like if he focused hard enough on the milk frother, he could pretend he wasn’t the topic of everyone’s internal monologue. You felt your heart swell in your chest, watching him move with such quiet intent, still so him despite the current chaos. You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers trailing across the warm planes of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

You dragged your nails gently along his abs, and when you pressed a kiss between his shoulders, the blush that lit up the tips of his ears was impossible to miss. Behind you, a loud groan shattered the moment. “Oh hell, what have we done?” Walker’s voice was laced with the sort of exhausted disbelief. You turned just in time to see him dramatically dragging his palms down his face, visibly cringing like a man forced to confront the raw auditory evidence of your night together. “Oh, grow up.” Ava snorted, barely looking up from her half-eaten croissant as she kicked him under the table.

“At least they didn’t do it in the car.” Bucky muttered around the rim of his coffee mug, flipping a page of the newspaper without lifting his gaze. The deadpan delivery landed like a grenade. Bob choked mid-scoop, the bamboo spoon slipping and sending a puff of matcha powder into the air. He coughed violently, fanning the air with his hand while your shoulders shook with silent laughter behind him. “I, for one, am delighted,” Yelena purred, one leg swinging lazily, her smirk stretched slow and lethal.

“Look at them. Disgustingly in love and all domestic. It’s adorable, I want to gag.” Alexei, who had been seated in a kitchen chair in what appeared to be the same tracksuit from two days ago, clapped his hands once, startling everyone. “This, this is perfect picture of love. You can see it in the way she touches him, and the way he looks like he’s about to faint from her touching him.” Bob let out a long, muffled groan, slumping forward against the counter. His hand blindly reached back behind him, finding yours and squeezing it with quiet desperation.

“I hate everyone.” He grumbled, forehead resting against the cupboard like he was seconds away from abandoning his body. “And yet,” You whispered, rising on your toes to kiss the shell of his ear. “You’re still making me my matcha in the kitchen full of onlookers.” He sighed like a man accepting his fate, but turned toward you anyway, slow and deliberate. When his eyes found yours, the world seemed to soften around the edges. There it was again, that same quiet awe, the stunned affection that hadn’t left his face since sunrise.

Like every time he looked at you, he was still wrapping his head around the fact that you were really his. “Well, yeah,” He breathed, voice low and thick, like the words were too full to hold back anymore. “Because I love you.” It wasn’t dramatic or flashy, it was soft. Steady. Certain. Your heart skipped a beat, then soared so fast it hurt a little. You leaned in, kissing the side of his cheek with a smile, but before you could pull away, Bob turned his head and caught your mouth with his, stealing another kiss, slow, deep, and full of that unmistakable tenderness you’d fallen for.

Walker groaned so loud it bordered on theatrical. “That’s it. I’m moving out. And I’m ordering industrial-strength noise-canceling headphones and bleach for my eyes.” Laughter rippled through the kitchen, Ava snorting into her coffee, Bucky hid a grin behind his coffee cup, Yelena clapped victoriously, and Alexei muttering something in Russian that suspiciously sounded like “romance is not dead.” In that moment, none of it mattered. You and Bob stood wrapped in each other, untouched by the noise, by the teasing, by the chaos of your odd little family.

In that moment, it was just the two of you, and the kind of love that didn’t need to shout to be real. The kind that whispered forever. No matter how long it had taken to get here, the missed chances, the hesitations, the slow burn of uncertainty, neither of you would’ve changed a single second. Every detour, every almost, had led you to this. And you knew, with every soft press of his lips and every blush that bloomed on his skin, that you’d never get tired of this. Of him. Together, exactly as you were always meant to be.

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lemon-boy-stan · 1 month ago

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bob reynolds fucking your undies.. 18+

fem!reader. mdni !! 522 words. WARNINGS. pussy play, no penetration. general filth. #needthat

⎯ ☆ ⎯

it was as if bob had a fascination, perhaps appreciation towards your underwear. he would always seem to admire the new ones you’d wear that day, forever taking note of the shape, style and colour — all of the information retained neatly and organised within the categories of his brain.

sometimes his thoughts of your underwear were very surface level, as if he simply liked the material, no other thought about it. but others, his thoughts were far more orchestrated, vulgar even. as if he would think great depths about how flattering they were on you, how the colour complimented the tone of your skin, how the fabric could touch you for all hours of the day while he could not. his mood depended on which head he thinks with, and during times like this, it was often not the one attached to his shoulders.

he looks down at you laid on his bed, body bare with the only exception of your cunt — pussy covered by some floral cotton underwear, one of his favourites. rather than the usual act of him watching you remove them, he decided against it today and places a hand on your public bone, halting your fingers from slinking under the elastic.

bob reaches into his pyjama bottoms and pulls his cock out from underneath, letting it hang over the top for a moment while he pulls his bottoms and boxers down. they pool around his knees briefly before he attempts to kick them off — his clumsy effort of alternating balance earns him an entertained giggle from you. and so he returns with a bashful chuckle of his own once he finally rids himself of his clothing.

wrapping his fist around his base, he gives his dick a couple small pumps and guides himself closer to your cunt. he taps at your pussy through the underwear, head knocking against the rather large patch of wet fabric at the centre of you. he holds himself there for a moment, letting the weight of his cock grow noticeable against you — waiting for when you inevitably twitch and jolt against him like you normally would.

he slips his thumb into the elastic beside the crease of your thigh and tugs aside, pulling just enough of a gap for his cock fit through. bob directs himself between your cunt and underwear, slotting his dick to lay across your folds.

adjusting your own position, you rest on your elbows to get a better viewpoint between your thighs, keen eyes peering down to watch the head of his cock bump up into the wet mess you priorly made in your underwear. the imprint of his dick truly is a lewd sight.

bob alters the placement of his hands and rests them over your pussy, creating an almost triangle shape to act as a barrier — ultimately tightening the fabric. he begins to fuck himself through your folds and into the wet material, the crown of cock repeatedly grazing against you as it bulges up into your panties. the needy winds of his stuttering hips helping him alleviate some of the pressure he always seems to feel.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

this is very much "he did this then he did that" but idk, needed to get the idea out my head

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lemon-boy-stan · 1 month ago

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Bob Reynolds X F!Reader: Warm Waters

Warnings: smut, pool sex, established relationship, fluff, kissing, cursing, no use of y/n, semi public sex (sort of), porn with some plot.

Word count: 1.7K

“I didn’t know we had a pool.”

“Neither did I, until last week.”

“How did you find it, anyway?”

“I fell into it during flying practice.”

You turned to look at Bob, brows raised in alarm. He didn’t seem to notice—too preoccupied with arranging his book and towel on the pool chair.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

Bob turned to look at you in surprise. You sounded a bit angry, and that confused him. He hadn’t expected you to care so much—not about the pool, anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d care. I mean—it’s just like any old pool.”

You let your mouth hang open for a moment before speaking.

“No, Bob. Not about—Jesus Christ—not about the pool. About you falling during flying practice!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” You threw your hands up. “Were you just not gonna tell me?”

Bob shrugged.

“Didn’t really think about it. Didn’t seem important, I guess.”

You let out a sound of outrage.

“You fell from the sky, Bob. You could’ve gotten really hurt.”

“Not really. I’m—well, you know.” He gave you a shy smile. “Kind of invincible.”

You gave him a stern look.

“Even if that were true, I still want you to tell me this stuff.”

You were pouting. You knew you were, but you couldn’t help it. You worried about him—because you loved him. Bob knew as much, but he was still growing accustomed to this whole relationship thing.

Bob scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure what to do with himself now. He wasn’t used to people getting upset over him. Not like this. Not with that tight line of your mouth and the way your arms were crossed defensively over your chest.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything,” you muttered, your voice quieter now.

Bob gave you a sheepish grin. “Being invincible has its perks, I guess.”

You shook your head, stepping closer until the tips of your toes nearly touched his.

“I still hate that you didn’t tell me.”

Bob nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours. “I’m sorry.”

The apology was soft, sincere—and when his hand brushed yours, it lingered. A subtle touch, but enough to make your pulse skip.

“I accept your apology,” you whispered as you leaned your face closer to his.

Bob smiled as your lips met his, his hand moving to cup your cheek. The kiss was soft, almost shy—like he wanted to memorize the feel of your lips against his. When you finally pulled away, it was with a quiet breath and your forehead resting against his. You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“So… we’re going in, or what?”

“Ladies first.”

You gave him a knowing look.

“You’re just scared it’ll be cold.”

Caught. Bob flushed, but you just laughed, moving to tug off your shirt. Bob’s eyes trailed over your bikini-clad body. And then, in one rapid movement, you rushed to the pool and jumped. Water splashed onto Bob’s feet as your body sank beneath the surface.

When you popped back up, he was still standing there, looking at you with wide eyes.

“You coming in or what?” you asked, treading water near the edge of the pool.

He nodded, trying to act nonchalant as he pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes. You caught yourself watching him too—his shoulders, the stretch of his back, the soft muscle that came from the medical experiment. And from training with you.

He stepped into the water with a soft hiss. “It’s cold.”

You grinned. “You’re such a baby.”

Bob waded in deeper, shivering slightly as he approached you.

“Not a baby. Just aware of my nerve endings.”

You splashed him before he could say anything else, laughing as he blinked water out of his eyes with a betrayed expression.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he asked, his voice rising in mock offense.

Before you could respond, he lunged—sending a wave straight into your face and catching your waist at the same time. You shrieked and tried to push him off, but he was already laughing, water sloshing around you both as you grappled in the shallows.

It turned into a game—splashing, dodging, teasing. At one point, he tried to dunk you and you nearly took him down with you. When you finally called a truce, both of you were breathless, cheeks flushed, hair wet and stuck to your foreheads.

“Okay,” you gasped, brushing your fingers through your soaked hair. “That was rude.”

Bob leaned back against the pool edge, arms stretched out along the ledge, looking unbearably pleased with himself.

“I think I won.”

You swam closer, standing between his legs, your hands resting lightly on his knees beneath the water.

“Oh, you think so?”

“I know so.”

There was something different in the way he said it. Playful, yes—but his eyes lingered a little longer now, dropping to your mouth, your collarbone, then back up. The air between you felt heavier somehow, charged.

“Be honest,” you said after a beat, your voice softer now. “You brought me out here just to see me in a bikini.”

Bob laughed, embarrassed but not denying it.

“I mean... it’s not the only reason.”

“Mhm.” You pretended to consider it. “Guess I’ll allow it.”

The smile that broke across his face was boyish, bright, and achingly sweet. You felt it somewhere deep in your chest.

“I like this,” he said, voice low. “You. Here.”

“Yeah?” you asked, voice light. But something in your tone had changed. You saw the way his jaw flexed, how his breath hitched.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You reached for his waist beneath the water, your fingers gliding along his skin. His muscles jumped beneath your touch, and when you leaned in to press your mouth to his—slow, warm, wet—he didn’t pull away.

Bob’s breath hitched when you pressed in again, your body slick against his under the water. His hands were tentative at first, but they found their place—one at your lower back, the other skimming beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

You bit your lip, half from the sensation and half from watching him—his lashes wet, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath.

“I—” he started, but you cut him off with another kiss. Deeper this time. Tongue sliding against his, teasing, tasting.

“It’s okay, keep going,” you murmured against his lips. “I want you to.”

His grip tightened at your hips like a reflex. You wrapped your legs around him, anchoring yourself to him in the waist-deep water. The pressure was sudden, delicious—his swim trunks did little to hide how hard he was getting. He groaned when your core brushed against him. He guided you to the edge of the pool, your back against the warm tile, his body between your thighs.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” you asked, grinding slowly against him.

Bob nodded, almost dazed, his eyes fixed on your mouth like he couldn’t look away.

“Been thinking about it since I offered to show you the pool.”

“Yeah?” you asked, lips ghosting against his skin.

“Don’t do that,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your waist beneath the water.

“Do what?” you said innocently, tilting your head, playing coy.

“Act like you don’t know what you do to me,” he said, voice rougher now, like he was losing control one word at a time.

You smiled at that.

“Oh yeah?” You kissed along his jaw, whispering, “Then show me.”

Bob reached between you, tugging your bikini bottom aside just enough, his fingers slipping through your folds. The water helped, but you were already soaked in a way that had nothing to do with the pool. His fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had your knees weakening fast.

Your moan was soft, but needy. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he breathed. “I won’t stop.”

He kissed you again, and this time there was no hesitation. Just hunger. Tongue and teeth and heat. His fingers kept working you open, sliding inside, curling just right, and you bucked against him, eyes fluttering closed.

“Need you,” you said, desperate now, grinding against his fingers. “Please.”

You reached down and palmed him through his swim trunks, feeling the thickness of him, the way he twitched under your touch. Bob groaned into your mouth, hips jerking into your hand.

“You want me?” he asked, voice thick with heat. “Here? In the pool?”

You nodded, unable to speak. Too full of want.

Bob shifted just enough to get his swim trunks down, freeing himself beneath the water. You felt the head of him press against your entrance, thick and hot, and your legs tightened instinctively around him. The stretch was slow at first, delicious and deep, and Bob buried his face in your neck with a strangled sound as you took all of him in.

“Holy shit,” he panted. “You feel—fuck—you feel incredible.”

You rocked your hips, water sloshing around you both. The heat, the pressure, the feeling of him filling you—it was overwhelming. Perfect.

“You’re so deep,” you moaned. “Right there, Bob—please—”

He found a rhythm quickly, hips snapping forward, hands gripping your waist to anchor himself. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the water, mixing with your gasps and his low groans. It was messy, wet, desperate—but so fucking good.

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispered. “I wanna see you come.”

Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers circling your clit as he fucked into you. You were close already, the angle, the friction, everything too perfect. His thumb joined yours, rubbing tight circles that sent you spiraling.

“Fuck—Bob—I’m gonna—”

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And with a cry, you did. Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over you with blinding heat. Your walls clenched around him, and that’s all it took—Bob cursed, his rhythm faltering, and then he was coming too, spilling inside you with a groan that vibrated against your skin.

Bob’s chest rose and fell against yours, his breath still heavy in the humid pool air. The water rippled softly around you both, echoing the steady beating of your hearts. You curled your fingers through the damp strands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, savoring the way he melted into your touch.

“Maybe we don’t tell the others about the pool just yet.”

Bob laughed against your skin.

“Want to keep it all to yourself?”

You hummed, tugging his hair so you could kiss him.

“Wanna keep you all to myself.”

Bob smiled against your lips before whispering,

“I think I can be okay with that.”

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lemon-boy-stan · 2 months ago

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hii do u write for cheating? i was thinking something like reader having a bf that bob doesnt like and he gets possessive over u clouding ur head with things yk? & ofc it gotta be smut 😝

(cw: reader is manipulated, cheating, mentions of past non-con touches)

i think bob is very unintentionally manipulative, or maybe he does know and that the worst part. somewhere under all that shaky, soft-spoken shit he wears like armor is a man who knows exactly how to get what he wants from you. maybe it started out innocent. a stupid coincidence. you, reaching for the same half-wilted potted plant at some corner market in the late afternoon, your fingers brushing his, and he gave you that dumb little half-smile, eyes soft, like it mattered. like you mattered.

and maybe it could’ve been nothing. but maybe it would’ve been everything if it weren’t for him. your boyfriend.

you don’t get nice, easy things. not the way you were raised, not the kind of men you keep falling for. it doesn’t help that your boyfriend’s the kind of asshole that disappears for days at a time, coming home smelling like booze. it doesn’t help that he calls you things, cruel little jabs that hang around in your stomach long after the apology’s worn off. he’ll yell, slam doors, and then sit on the couch like nothing happened.

and bob, well… bob never liked him.

he never said it, not really. but it was in the way he’d frown when you mentioned his name, in the tight little twitch of his jaw when you showed him a text you thought was funny. in the way he’d gently, gently cloud your head, planting things you didn’t even realize were seeds until they started to bloom. “y’know you deserve better, right?” “if you were mine, i wouldn’t leave you waiting like that.” “can’t believe he’d say somethin’ like that to you.”

you thought it was sweet. harmless. and then you cried, cried at bob's soft words, cried about how true they were. and he was there to comfort you, asking him why things couldn't be that way, why your boyfriend couldn't be more like him.

perfect, now the emotional aspect is out the way.

because bob’s possessive in this ugly, simmering way that sneaks up on you. the kind that doesn't scream or throw punches. no — it festers. it’s in the way his hand lingers on your wrist a second too long when he passes you something. in the way his gaze settles, heavy and burning, when your phone lights up with your boyfriend’s name. in the soft, almost embarrassed way he mutters, “wish you’d just stay over.”

and you do.

you do because it feels easy. it feels safe. and maybe you hate yourself for it later, but god — the way he touches you? like you’re something breakable. like you’re already his.

you don’t even remember how you ended up in his bed. not really. one minute you were sitting on that ratty old couch of his, the one with a threadbare blanket always thrown over the back, some mindless movie flickering in the background. the next, it was late — too late to head home, and bob had given you that look. the one that made your stomach knot up and your heart stutter, equal parts pity and something much darker.

“you should just stay,” he’d mumbled, like it wasn’t the hundredth time he’d said it, voice low and thick with something you didn’t wanna name. like he was embarrassed to ask but physically incapable of letting you leave.

and so you did. you always did.

he made you feel wanted in this quiet, careful way your boyfriend never had. not with slammed doors and liquor-soaked apologies. bob called you pretty. sweetheart. looked at you like you hung the stars.

and maybe you were eak for it. maybe you liked it too much.

which is how you end up like this — curled up in his bed under soft sheets that still smelled like his skin, his long fingers splayed over your stomach, dragging idle circles over your shirt. a movie’s still playing but neither of you are paying attention. it’s too quiet, thick with the kind of tension that makes your breath catch. bob’s staring at the ceiling like he’s working something out in his head, and you know that look. you’ve seen it before — when he wants something but won’t ask. when it’s eating him alive.

and then his hand dips lower.

just barely, fingers brushing over the waistband of your sleep shorts, and your whole body tenses because you know better. you know better. you shouldn’t let him.

but it’s him. it’s bob.

so when those same fingers press against your cunt through the thin fabric, palm cupping you gently like he’s testing the weight of it in his hand, you don’t pull away. not at first. you make this tiny, broken little sound, a soft whimper that makes his breath hitch and his eyes snap to yours. he looks guilty — but not enough to stop.

your voice breaks when you manage a, “n-no, i… i don’t cheat.”

and he sits up, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and you can see the panic there for a second, the way his throat bobs when he swallows. “he’s cheated on you,” bob says, voice barely above a whisper, and it sounds desperate now, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “i know he has. don’t lie to me, you told me. you cried on my fuckin’ couch about it.”

your chin wobbles. your stomach hurts.

“two wrongs don’t make a right,” you breathe, the words feeling too thin in your mouth, brittle and weightless because you already know it doesn’t matter. not with the way bob’s looking at you — like you’re the last good thing in his rotten little world and he’ll be damned if he lets someone else ruin it.

“he doesn’t even make you feel good,” bob says, softer now, coaxing, like this is something inevitable and you just haven’t accepted it yet. his hand’s on your back now, rubbing slow circles, grounding you in a way that feels more dangerous than reassuring. “last week you told me he didn’t even make you cum. made you fake it and he didn’t fuckin’ notice.”

you wince. you hate that he remembers. you hate that you said it at all.

“just… just imagine it’s him, yeah?” he says quietly, eyes so soft you could drown in them. “it don’t mean nothin’. ‘s just touch, please. s’not like we haven’t been doin’ this already. in that case you've already cheated, what's one more time?” then he stops, he looks like hes about to fucking cry "'m so hard, please?"

and you want to tell him no, that this isn’t right, that you can’t — but he’s already got your hand in his, thumb stroking over your knuckles like a promise, his lips brushing your temple, and it feels too good. too safe.

so you don’t stop him.

not when he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and drags them down slow, like he’s afraid you’ll stop him but too greedy not to try. not when his palm slides back between your thighs and finds you already wet, slick and warm against his fingers, and he lets out this small, wrecked little sound like he’s in pain over it.

“wanted you for 's long, been so good for you,” he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and ragged, one thick finger sliding through your folds, gathering it up and spreading it around with these lazy, unhurried strokes. “you're gonna let me have it right?”

you choke out a little whimper and your hips jerk when the pad of his finger catches your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles that make your thighs tremble. it’s nothing like how your boyfriend touches you, how the fuck are you supposed to think about him. no rough, half-done, get-it-over-with fumbling. bob touches you like you’re breakable. like it matters. like he’s trying to memorize every sound you make.

and then he’s easing a finger inside you, thick and curling just right, his other hand gripping your thigh and pulling it over his lap to spread you open for him. you’re already clenching around him, the stretch making your head spin, and bob groans, rocking his hips against the bed like he can’t help it.

“keep going,” you breathe, voice wrecked and needy. in return bob gives a boyish little proud smirk and a nod, all too submissive for someone who's pounding their fingers in you.

you can’t even tease him about it, too busy grinding against his hand like some desperate thing, your cunt squeezing around his finger as he adds another, fucking them into you nice and slow. it’s filthy — the wet slick sound of it filling the room, your breathy little moans getting sharper every time he brushes that spot inside you.

“been thinkin’ about this every night,” he murmurs, thumb circling your clit in time with the steady thrust of his fingers. he bites his lip, like he nervous before speaking “once— when you were over i fingered you in your sleep, just to see. but you're not mad right—promise me you arent.”

you gasp and before you can even fucking answer with a strangled little cry, hips jerking your cumming on his fingers, thighs shaking around his wrist, bob groaning low as he fucks you through it, keeps his fingers working you until you’re whimpering and trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

he doesn’t stop. not right away.

leans in and kisses your temple, your cheek, your lips — soft, desperate things like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets you go.

“mine,” he whispers against your mouth, so soft you almost miss it. “always been mine.”

(I AM A WHOREEEE HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG)

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lemon-boy-stan · 2 months ago

Text

Held Tight, Taken Deep

Lewis Pullman x Ovulating!Fem!Reader

warnings: SMUT 😝

You barely step inside the grocery store before Lewis locks eyes on the water aisle, like a man on a mission. You know what’s coming, but you’re powerless to stop it.

He strides over, muscles flexing under that thin black T-shirt, sleeves tight around his biceps. You watch breathlessly as he bends down, hand closing around the massive 48-pack of water bottles at the bottom shelf.

The sight is more than you can handle.

His forearms tighten, veins standing out like cords beneath his skin. His jaw clenches with the effort — a soft, almost involuntary grunt escapes him.

You don’t mean to, but the pressure in your belly and the wet heat pooling between your legs overwhelm you.

You almost moan.

A quick, sharp sound — not quite a moan but close enough — slips past your lips, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of every eye in the aisle. Your cheeks flush hot, but your body betrays you.

Lewis stands upright, turning slowly to face you. His eyes catch yours, dark and full of wicked amusement.

“Jesus, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with promise. “Did I just make you want to come right here? In front of the bottled water?”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, eyes flicking away, cheeks burning. You press your thighs together, but your body still trembles from the need only he can awaken.

He steps closer, the scent of him filling your senses — a mix of leather, sweat, and something distinctly his that makes your pussy clench without control.

His voice drops to a husky whisper, lips brushing your ear:

“You’re ovulatin’, aren’t you? I can feel it. Smell it. I bet you’re dripping just from me picking up a pack of water.”

Your breath catches — you’re so wet you’re practically leaking. Your fingers grip the cart’s handle so hard your knuckles turn white.

“I wasn’t trying to—” you start, voice trembling.

“No? You just nearly moaned, sweetheart.” His smirk widens. “You’re soaking through those panties, shakin’ like you want me to fuck you right here.”

His hand suddenly slides down your back, resting low on your hip. The warmth of his palm burns through your sundress.

You shudder.

“You’re such a filthy girl when you’re ovulating,” he murmurs, voice thick with arousal. “Clenching around nothing but your own wetness, waiting for me.”

You bite your lip, trying not to beg, trying to keep yourself together. But your legs feel like jelly, knees weak.

Lewis presses his body against yours, hand slipping just under your dress to brush over the curve of your ass.

“Be good for me,” he commands softly, voice almost a growl. “I wanna watch you hold all that for me while we finish shopping. You can’t give in until we get home.”

Your breath hitches painfully. Your body is screaming for release.

“Please,” you whisper, barely audible, voice breaking. “Lewis… I can’t wait. Please, just—here, now. Please…”

His eyes flash with pure wickedness as he leans in, voice dripping with dark promise.

“You want me to fuck you right here? In front of the pickles and the pasta? You want me to ruin you where everyone can see?”

You nod, trembling, lips parting as you fight to keep quiet.

He grins devilishly, fingertips trailing slowly down your side.

“God, you’re so desperate,” he breathes. “But no. You’re gonna be such a good girl. Hold all that wetness tight for me. Keep those thighs clenched. I swear, I’ll make it worth every second when we get home.”

You swallow back a sob, pressing yourself against him.

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “I’m trying so hard.”

He kisses your temple, his hand squeezing your hip possessively.

“Good girl.”

Lewis pushes the cart forward, his fingers ghosting over your hip one last time before he turns toward the next aisle.

You follow behind, trembling, soaked, and completely undone — and all you can think is:

Please, let me survive this grocery store. Because the second we get home, he’s going to ruin me.

The cart rattles forward as Lewis casually reaches for hamburger buns, but you barely register the bread. Your mind’s a storm of heat and desperation, muscles clenched tight enough to hurt.

He strolls behind you, fingers deliberately brushing your lower back, slipping slowly down toward your hip with every step. The lingering touch sends jolts through your body, each one more electric than the last.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs in your ear, voice low and teasing. “I can feel how wet you are through that dress. You’re soaked, baby. Soaked for me.”

You bite your lip hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Lewis, please… not here.”

“But you want it here, don’t you?” He presses a hand to the small of your back, sliding it down until it rests possessively on your ass. “Can’t stop thinking about me filling you up while we pick out potato salad.”

Your breath hitches, and you stumble slightly. He steadies you with a crooked smile.

“Don’t fall apart now,” he warns. “We’re not done shopping. You gotta be my good girl first.”

You squeeze your thighs tighter, heart pounding like a drum in your ears. His hands are hot, heavy, and everywhere—impossible to ignore.

At the soda aisle, he presses closer, his chest flush against your back as he whispers:

“Imagine me bending you over the kitchen counter later, spreading you wide, filling you deep. You’re going to be so full, baby. So mine.”

A wave of heat rushes through you, and you let out a quiet whimper, quickly covering your mouth with your hand.

Lewis chuckles darkly.

“You can’t hide that from me. Not ever.”

He trails a finger down your arm, tracing slow circles on your skin.

At the chips aisle, his fingers sneak under the hem of your dress, teasing the barest touch on your upper thigh.

“Almost done,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. “Think you can survive the checkout line without begging me?”

You glance around nervously, cheeks burning, breath shallow.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“Better try,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Because the second we get home, I’m going to make you forget every single second of this torture.”

You nod, trembling, ready to collapse, but also desperate for whatever reward he’s promising.

———

You ride home in agony.

Lewis drives with one hand on the wheel and the other glued to your thigh. His fingers stroke over your skin slowly, teasing you just enough to keep your pulse pounding but not enough to satisfy.

“Bet your pussy’s still fluttering from earlier,” he murmurs, smirking like a menace. “Poor thing—walkin’ through produce all wet and needy, holdin’ in those little moans.”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together.

“I was good,” you breathe. “You said—”

“Oh, baby, I know.” He leans in, lips grazing your ear. “And I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for it.”

Your hips rock involuntarily as he growls:

“I’m gonna get you inside, toss you on the kitchen table, and push so deep into you the only thing you can say is my name. You hear me?”

“Yes—please,” you whisper, already halfway undone.

He parks the car. Your heart thunders in your chest.

The bags sit forgotten in the back as Lewis unbuckles your seatbelt, then slides his hand under your dress—finally dragging his fingers over the soaked fabric clinging to your cunt.

“Fuck,” he mutters, thumb pressing in just right. “You’re soaked for me.”

You gasp, hips bucking toward his hand.

“Lewis, please—”

“Get your ass in that kitchen,” he growls, “before I bend you over the fender.”

You fling the door open and half-stumble toward the house, barely able to walk straight, nerves buzzing with anticipation.

You’re three steps from the front door when—

two car doors slam.

Your stomach drops.

Lewis freezes behind you.

“No. No no no—” you whisper.

“Oh, come on—” Lewis mutters.

You both whip around.

And there they are.

His parents.

His mom, in a soft floral top, waving enthusiastically with a big Pyrex dish in her hands. His dad, unloading trays of raw meat from the back of their SUV like it’s the goddamn Fourth of July.

“Hey, sweetheart!” his mom beams. “We thought we’d come by early to help you two set up!”

“Yeah,” his dad chimes in. “Got the grill tools, marinated ribs, and your mom made her baked mac—figured you could use an extra set of hands!”

You are one more word away from collapsing to your knees and sobbing.

Lewis looks like he’s watching a dream die in real time.

“…awesome,” he says, voice deadpan. “Perfect timing.”

“What was that, honey?”

“Nothin’, Ma.”

He turns to you, jaw clenched, eyes murderous with frustration.

“Get the bags,” he mutters under his breath. “Before I throw ‘em and fuck you on the damn porch anyway.”

“I hate everything,” you whisper, dragging yourself toward the trunk.

“I was gonna put a baby in you next to the coffee pot,” he growls. “Now I gotta make small talk about deviled eggs.”

———

You’re standing in the kitchen, still trembling from the car ride over, with Lewis behind you, jaw tight, hands full of grocery bags.

You were three steps away from being fucked into the linoleum like a woman possessed. His fingers had just touched your soaking wet panties. Your breath was shaking. Your body was ready.

And now?

Now his mother is unpacking napkins and flag-themed plates. His dad’s at the grill already talking dry rub. And your own parents—smiling, well-meaning, and completely unaware that their daughter is seconds from bursting into tears—are pulling into the driveway.

“Is that—” you whisper, peeking out the kitchen window.

“Yep,” Lewis mutters. “Your dad. And your mom. And your cousin with the cowboy boots.”

You blink. Hard.

“Why the fuck is my auntie here, Lewis?”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says, low and dangerous, “but I swear to God, if one more person walks through that gate, I’m gonna bend you over the veggie tray and take what’s mine.”

You glare at him, thighs clenching. You’re still soaked. The ache between your legs has bloomed into full body desperation.

He leans in, whispering dark filth right against your temple.

“You were gonna let me fuck you in the kitchen like my cock was the only thing you needed. You were so ready to be filled, weren’t you?”

You nod, breath hitching, eyes fluttering closed for half a second.

“Yeah?” he says, grabbing a bag of hot dog buns and palming the back of your ass as he passes. “Still ready?”

You whimper.

But the screen door creaks and slams.

“Hey, sweetpea!” your mom calls. “This your house now? You better give me a tour!”

You almost black out.

⸻

Twenty Minutes Later.

The yard is full.

The grill is smoking.

Someone brought corn on the cob. A child is screaming about sunscreen.

You are ruined.

Lewis is everywhere—acting sweet, handing out drinks, playing host like he wasn’t whispering “I want to come so deep inside you you taste it” not twenty minutes ago.

But every time he passes behind you, he touches you. Lightly. Possessively. Sinfully.

One hand on your hip while you’re pouring lemonade.

A slow palm over your lower back while you’re talking to his grandma.

A filthy whisper while you try to pretend your thighs aren’t shaking:

“You’re leaking through your panties, aren’t you?”

“How much longer you think you can take this?”

“Bet your body’s just begging for me to breed it.”

You nearly drop the bowl of pasta salad when he brushes your ear and says:

“I’m gonna take you inside the second they leave. Not gently. Not sweet. Like you’re mine.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. You are seconds away from crying into the grilled corn.

⸻

Three hours later.

Sun’s going down. The guests are winding down. Your cousin is packing up tinfoil-covered plates like she didn’t just witness a full hormonal breakdown in your eyes.

Your mom kisses your cheek. Your dad says, “Tell Lewis the grill was perfect.”

The last guest waves.

The last foil-covered plate is packed.

The screen door slams shut.

You and Lewis stand in the middle of the kitchen like you’ve both been holding your breath for hours.

Silence.

No cousins. No parents. No toddlers yelling about popsicles.

Just him. Just you.

And everything he’s been promising since the second he picked up that damn 48-pack of water.

You turn to speak—but you don’t even get a word out.

Lewis is on you.

One hand in your hair. The other gripping your waist, dragging you to him like the whole world’s on fire and you’re the only thing that’ll put it out.

“Inside,” he growls. “Now.”

You’re already inside—but you know what he means. Not the polite, family-friendly, burger-flipping version of him. No. This is the Lewis who spent all day whispering filth in your ear while his mother asked if you needed more napkins.

His hands are on your hips, under your dress, dragging the soaked fabric up.

“You did so good,” he mutters, voice low, breath hot. “Kept quiet. Let me touch you in front of everyone. Let me talk like that and didn’t say a word.”

Your panties are still wet. You never dried. You never calmed down.

He notices right away.

“Still drippin’,” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours for one aching second. “You’ve been like this all day?”

You nod, breathless.

“Just for me?”

“Only you,” you whisper.

His lips crash into yours. It’s not sweet—it’s starving. His hands lift you onto the edge of the counter, spreading your knees, pulling you forward until your chest’s flush with his and your breath is shaking.

“You were beggin’ for it in the store,” he growls against your mouth. “Said you couldn’t wait. That you needed it right there. Think I forgot?”

You shake your head, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You think I didn’t notice how many times you clenched every time I said I was gonna fill you up?”

“How bad you wanted me to take you right there between the ranch and the corn chips?”

He kisses you again, deep and filthy, all teeth and tongue.

“You were so patient, baby. So good.”

He pulls back, eyes dark, thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

“Now I’m gonna be so fuckin’ good to you.”

And when he drops to his knees in front of you?

That’s when your whole body knows:

You’re not leaving this kitchen the same.

He drops to his knees like he’s worshiping something holy.

Like this is sacred.

And you? Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, thighs spread, soaked and shaking from hours of teasing—you are.

Lewis doesn’t speak for a second.

He just stares.

His hands trace up your calves, then your thighs—slow, reverent, full of quiet hunger. His touch is firm. Possessive.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve been leaking for me since the damn grocery store.”

He presses his mouth against the inside of your thigh. Then again, higher. Then again, even higher.

Each kiss is slow and deliberate—like he’s marking you.

“You’ve been clenching all day, haven’t you?” he says, dragging his tongue in a line up your inner thigh. “Just waiting to be touched. Waiting to be ruined.”

You can barely speak. Your hands are shaking. Your head falls back as you whimper his name.

“You earned this, baby,” he growls. “You didn’t beg in front of my mama. You didn’t let anyone see how messy you were. You waited. Just for me.”

He kisses the spot where your thigh meets your hip, humming as he presses his mouth closer, hotter, filthier.

“So I’m gonna take my time,” he says against your skin. “You’re not gonna come fast. You’re gonna sit there and let me play with you. Let me taste how desperate you got just from being near me.”

You whine, trembling already—and then his mouth moves.

He doesn’t go straight for it.

No—he circles. He teases. He taunts. He moans against you like he’s the one being ruined.

And all the while, his hands hold your thighs wide, firm and unrelenting.

“Keep ‘em open,” he murmurs when your legs start to shake. “Take it. Let me hear how good it feels.”

You do. And he does not stop.

He praises you for every twitch, every whimper, every second you keep your legs spread and take everything he gives.

“That’s my girl,” he growls. “Takin’ me so good. You’re so sensitive, huh? All that build-up… now look at you.”

When your hands clutch the counter and you’re gasping like you can’t handle it—

He slows down.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue in one long, devastating stroke. “You’re not coming yet. I haven’t had my fill.”

Your whole body is trembling. You’re dizzy with it. And he’s still worshipping, like this is his favorite meal and he’ll take you apart one bite at a time.

You start to cry.

Not from pain. From pleasure. From the unbearable edge he’s got you on.

“Aw, baby…” he says softly, kissing the softest part of your thigh. “You crying for me already?”

You nod, gasping.

“You’re so good when you suffer,” he says, voice thick with hunger. “Now let me ruin you the way you deserve.”

And then?

He goes back in—with purpose.

All tongue. All praise. All filthy, relentless, kinky worship.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train—twice.

One right after the other. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Your thighs try to close around his head and he won’t let you.

“Take it,” he growls, holding you wide. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

You cry his name, shaking, leaking, wrecked.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re whispering:

“Lewis… I can’t… I can’t anymore…”

Only then does he rise.

Only then does he cup your face, kiss your lips slow and deep—with your taste still on his mouth—and whisper:

“We’re not done yet.”

Your body is still trembling, every nerve buzzing from the first time Lewis filled you, but he’s not finished. Not even close.

He’s heavy on top of you again, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, voice rough and low:

“You think that was enough, baby? Think I’m done taking what’s mine?”

You shake your head, heart pounding, body aching for him again.

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly, pulling you flush against him as he slowly slides back inside.

This time, he doesn’t rush.

He takes it slow—slow—letting you feel every inch, making sure you soak him in like the mess you are.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with hunger. “Still dripping for me. Still mine.”

His hands roam lower, thumb dragging in lazy circles over the sensitive skin at your hipbone.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan, but it slips out anyway—a shaky, desperate sound that makes him growl deep in his throat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So ready. Can’t wait to breed you again.”

His hips move with a slow, relentless rhythm, each thrust deep and measured, like he’s marking you—claiming every inch with purpose.

Your hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in as your body tries to match his pace, hips rolling up to meet him again and again.

“You feel so good around me,” he pants, voice ragged. “So tight. So perfect for this.”

His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the soft skin as he bites down gently.

“You’re gonna take every last drop, baby. You’re mine to fill.”

You gasp, chest rising and falling, your thighs trembling as the pressure builds again—slow, steady, delicious.

“Not letting you come yet,” he murmurs, voice dark. “Not until I know you’re all mine.”

His hand slides down your body, fingers curling around your thigh, holding you open, exposed, so fucking vulnerable.

You cry out when his pace deepens, hips snapping forward like he’s driving home his claim.

“You’re so good for me,” he groans, voice breaking on the words. “Waiting all day. Holding all that need.”

Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation overwhelms you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how much you want it. How bad you need me to fill you.”

“Please,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please fuck me. Fill me. Breed me.”

His teeth nip at your earlobe as he groans, the sound low and filthy.

“That’s my good girl,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re mine. Every inch. Every moment.”

He slows just enough for you to catch your breath, but his hands don’t stop moving—caressing, holding, claiming.

You feel your body tighten around him, ready to shatter again.

“Not done,” he promises. “Not by a long shot.”

You’re breathless, still trembling from everything that came before, but Lewis isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

He’s heavy on top of you again, hands steady and sure, lips brushing your temple as he murmurs low and urgent.

“Round three, baby. I want you full again. I want you mine—deep inside, nowhere to run.”

His movements are slow, deliberate. Every inch of him pressing into you, owning you, marking you as his.

Your body responds, every nerve alive, every muscle tightening around him as if to pull him closer.

“You feel that?” he growls softly. “That’s me, baby. Filling you up. Staying. Not moving until you’re soaked with me.”

His hips roll slowly, each movement deliberate, savoring every second.

You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure build steadily—deep and slow, nothing rushed, everything owned.

His voice drops to a growl right against your ear.

“You’re so good for me. Taking me like this—wet, needy, perfect.”

His hands cup your face, thumb tracing your cheek as he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying inside you. Filling you up. Marking you.”

The world shrinks to just the two of you—your ragged breaths, his quiet groans, the slow rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

When he finally lets go, he stays inside, heavy and warm, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Mine,” he whispers. “All of you. Every part. Every moment.”

You nod against him, overwhelmed, wrecked, but utterly his.

The world feels quiet now, the storm passed but the warmth lingering everywhere.

Lewis carefully pulls back, still heavy inside you, and lets you both catch your breath. His hands gently brush your sweaty hair away from your face, thumb soft and steady against your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. “You did so good. So strong. So perfect.”

You rest your head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart as your body slowly unravels, safe in his arms.

He strokes your back slowly, soothing every tremble, every shiver.

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “Not going anywhere. You’re mine. Always.”

His lips find your temple, pressing soft kisses that make your eyelids flutter closed.

You sigh—a slow, happy sound—and lean into him, feeling all the tension melting away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion.

“No, baby,” Lewis says, voice warm and sure. “Thank you. For being mine.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if willing to shield you from everything but love.

“Rest now,” he says gently. “We’ll take it slow. All night if you want.”

And in that quiet, safe space, you finally let yourself drift—wrapped in his arms, praised and cherished, full and utterly loved.

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