#bob x reader

[demigoddessqueens]

Y/n: what does “ily” mean

Bob: who is saying this to you lol

Bob/Sentry/Void: no seriously who is saying this to you

[eyelessfaces]

[lives-in-midgard]

Bucky: Y/n isn’t answering the phone

Bob, already dialing on her phone: I’ll call

Bucky: Me and Yelena already tried three times each, what—

Y/n, picking up instantly: Hey Bob

[hyoer]

Project: Get Over Bob (3)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now, wait- is Bob over you?

warnings. some mention of heavy topics like trafficking but no in depth descriptions! lotttttsss of angst but some comfort too because I'm not completely evil ;0 reader and bob are constantly misunderstanding each other!! some descriptions of injuries and meanie bob.

word count. 6.7k

part 1.

part 2.

Notes at the end of this chapter

Project: Find Ivan

Mongolia was beautiful

Blue skies, quiet mornings, space to breathe and think .

Maybe a bit too much.

You’d needed the break. Needed to get out after Project: Get Over Bob had failed so spectacularly. None of your well-planned phases helped to squash the intense feelings you had for Bob.

You, Alexei and John were crammed into a one-bedroom flat in Ulaanbaatar that felt more like a storage closet with windows than a living space. You tried not to think about how much money Valentina had and how little she’d spent on housing funds for the mission.

She was a multi-millionaire for crying out loud.

Mel had a theory about your lack of sleeping space: punishment.

Bob had been distracted at the gala, distracted by you.

Valentina had noticed, of course she had.

You cursed her for her pettiness.

At least the meal budget was unlimited, well you were pretty sure the budget was there to satiate Alexei’s uncanny ability to eat everything within a five-foot radius of his body.

The IBJJF championship venue was close enough that you only needed a pair of old-fashion binoculars, a digicam and some hefty patience to scope out the coaches. Your first few days were spent watching matches, taking notes and eating your body weight in Khuushuur.

Nights in the capital smelled like sweat and sounded like fists meeting pads. You and Walker sparred on every spare patch of floor in the apartment until you were breathless and sore and collapsing onto the pull-out couch. Alexei would then find a way to keep you both up until the am, regaling you with stories of his time as the Red Guardian. His stories were loud, sometimes funny and full of impossible heroics.

But the stories and the night never lasted as long as you wanted.

Sleep rarely came. But when she did, Lady Morpheus made sure to torture you with the thoughts you tried to bury during the day. Dreams of Bob and Lily in a booth somewhere peaceful, laughing at something small, leaning into each other. His hands at her shoulders, touches so light they even made you shiver.

Your subconscious clearly had no respect for your boundaries.

You had three weeks to build up your cover, plenty of time to enjoy your fully funded holiday with a side of espionage. The first month’s mission brief: blend in, train and explore. Be the wide-eyed American athlete with the eccentric Russian coach.

Ok so, maybe Valentina wasn’t that petty.

Sukhbaatar Square became your favourite place, hours were spent there, watching street performances and listening to live music. Walker got dragged into an impromptu volleyball game once. Then again. And again. And soon the local teens were arguing over who got him for the next match like he was prime Shaq.

You grinned every time.

 Alexei was glued to his camera the whole trip. Constantly fiddling with settings he definitely didn’t understand, restless at the opportunity to document everything he did.

At one point, you’d all gone to the Equestrian statue of Genghis Khan and spent a minimum of forty minutes being directed by Alexei. Those awkward JC Penney TikTok videos had nothing on you and John’s poses.

The National Museum of Mongolia was Alexei’s version of heaven.

He ignored the all of the “no photography” signs, ranting on about Lena, Melina and printing. He had an explanation for everything there. John dragged his feet at first, bored out of his mind; until he stumbled across an exhibit on nomadic tools and then it was lecture time. He was smug, irritating, but oddly endearing. Your ears were turned vaguely in his direction, pretending to listen while you took in the artefacts yourself.

Once you all had had your fill of real life, it was time to get down to business.

The mission was simple on file: find Ivan Petrovitch.

In reality, it was anything but. Intel said he was buried somewhere behind the scenes- tucked into the judging committee. Invisible, but still present.

You walked into the competition hall like it belonged to you- shoulders squared, your steps measured, eyes locked forward. Your expression alone carved a path through the crowd, and Walker and Alexei followed closely behind.

Your first opponent Natalia had two recent losses via armbar. On paper, she should have been a warm-up for you. You made a mental note to go easy. Keep it clean and professional.

Approaching the mat with a warm smile, you had extended your hand to greet her.

She walked past you.

No nod, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. You muttered under your breath, “Rude.”

Her head snapped towards you eyeing you with distain.

She was a good ten feet away- how the hell had she heard that?

The bell rang.

You stepped onto the mat, confident in your movements. Natalia backed up immediately, basically inviting you to attack her lead leg. Her retreat looked like hesitation but something about the movement made you feel uneasy. You lunged, but she became a blur, intercepting your move with a sharp arm drag. In one brutal motion, she locked your right leg and flipped you to the floor, knocking the air from your lungs.

You blinked up, blinded by the harsh lights above you.

She pummelled you into the mat with precision and power that bordered on inhuman. Every attempt at escape, deep half guard, underhook, anything, was shut down effortlessly. Her arms caged you around you like steel, you could barely breathe, barely think, barely move.

So much for taking it easy on her.

When it was over, the ref pulled her off you. Humiliated, you slipped off to the bench and dropped your gaze to your feet in an attempt to catch your breath.

A sharp yelp suddenly caught your attention.

You looked up just in time to see Natalia’s coach grab her arm, his nails piercing at the material of her uniform. He handled her like a misbehaving child while she just stood hunched and apologetic.

Your stare lingered too long.

His eyes locked with yours in warning as he shoved her towards a side door. She stumbled and glanced back at you apologetically as she disappeared.

John crossed the mat with his signature smirk. He spoke out cockily. “Did you even bother practicing before you got here?”

You didn’t look at him right away. The ache in your shoulders still hadn’t faded. “There’s something wrong,” you murmured.

“You see something while she was beating your ass?”

You exhaled slowly. “More like felt it. That girl- Natalia- her collar drag could’ve ripped my arm clean off.”

“So what?” he scoffed.

You stared at him, brows raised. “She’s strong. Unnaturally strong.” He blinked. Confused.

“Strong like you, bonehead.”

As John finally managed to put two and two together, you stared off at the door the girl had been shepherded through. “Every movement of hers, on and off the mat, just doesn’t feel right,” standing up “I don’t think, I don’t think we’re here for Ivan, or well we shouldn’t be here for him” 

Your steps were heavy as you made your way toward Alexei, taking your time to observe the almost robotic agility some of the other girls also moved with.

“What was the name of the woman we had on file for the Widow serum?”

“Kurdrin.” he said, barely glancing up from the files in his hand.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Lexei, this competition isn’t a lure for Ivan.” You swallowed hard.

“It’s a sales floor.”

The moment you voiced your suspicion, something shifted between the three of you, an unspoken understanding that Valentina was going to be super pissed when you got back.

You weren’t here for Ivan anymore.

You all began to make your way through the hall weaving your way to the service entrance attached to the laundry room. John knelt down and pulled back a maintenance panel, lifting his tactical bag around with a grunt. From the side pocket, he produced a tablet about the size of a paperback.

 “Who gave you that?”

He smiled guilty. “A little flirting with Mel goes a long way.”

Remind yourself to keep him away from her when you got back.

He flicked open the case, revealing a small screen. A quiet hum pulsed from it as the scanner powered up, casting a faint bluish glow onto his face. You all took a breath as he sent out an alert for backup.

“There,” he muttered, adjusting the map. “One room, lower southeast wing. Ten heat signatures with minimal movement, it has to be where they’re holding the girls.”

Alexei squinted at the bright screen. “I do not trust this. Looks like arcade game.”

“You don’t need to trust it,” handing him the tablet. “you just need to hold it, the big red dots are people. Tell us where to avoid over comms. Easy peasy.”

“I do not like blobs,” Alexei muttered resignedly, his hands turning the tablet upset down in distrust.

Alexei’s tone would have been comical to you if you weren’t so terrified at the thought of such high-tech equipment in the hands of the man that had once added his entire contact list to the Thunderbolts group chat.

As if sensing your unease, he gave you a overly reassuring smile.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to be good.

“John, take the west corridor and sweep the other storage rooms. I’ll hit southeast and check the other wing.” He nodded. “We meet in the middle. If anything smells off, pull back.”

One last look at the Alexei and you both set off.

You slipped into the staff corridors, the noise of the match hall faded behind as you made your way through the narrow passageways. The air was still and heavy with the kind of silence that made you feel uneasy.

“Left turn my dochka,” Alexei’s voice buzzed in your ear. “The room in front- has lots of people. I think ten, but they are still.”

You crept forward, every step calculated as you pressed your ear to the surface of the door.

No whispers. No breathing. Just still.

“You sure the signatures coming from this room?”

 “Very sure, lots of blobs.”

The doorknob was cold in your hands and with some slight pressure you turned it slowly.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and you saw them.

Ten girls.

All of them sat slumped on the floor, zip ties tight around their wrists, heads hanging low.

Every step you took towards them had them flinching.

As you got closer you noticed their uniforms were clean, not a speck of dirt on any of them. Like they were props set out for display. And off to the side, resting with her back against the wall, was Natalia. Her eyes shot up to yours and her lips parted-

The door behind you slammed open.

You turned just in time to block the first hit from one of the men that was clad in tactical gear. But the hits came harder and faster the more you were pushed around the room. One grabbed your arm and slammed you against the crates stacked at the back of the room. You stood up dizzy and swung back, landing a blow to his gut.

“Walker, I need help” you gasped into your comms.

“I’m pinned,” came his response. “Five on me right now. Hold on.”

With the knowledge that Walker wasn’t coming anytime soon you became desperate.

You started grabbing at anyone or anything. Letting yourself loose and clawing at them as rabidly as possible.

 One grabbed you by the scruff of your cotton jacket, his fist came down fast, striking the side of your head like a hammer. The blow was so forceful that all you saw was a flash of white hot light and then silence.

-

You came to in John’s arms, the man hushing you as you began thrashing in his arms. “No… no, please John, let me up I can – I can-“

He let you tire yourself out.

Your legs were limp under you, the bulk of your weight leaning on the super soldier’s shoulders as you made your way out of the building. Alexei was already waiting at the staff exit, pacing in circles by the van. His eyes widened, taking in your appearance, clearly ready to scold you, but John nodded softly- uncharacteristically serious.

The silence that filled the vehicle was suffocating.

Your head rested on the side of the window, bumping against the cool pane every so often making you wince. You felt Alexei begin to slowly slide into the back seat with you, his large arms wrapping around you, approaching you like an injured animal. You found yourself launching into his chest, all of the air in your lungs being exhaled out as you sank into his warmth.

Slow melodic tones rumbled from under your fingertips, a lullaby, something unfamiliar, was currently escaping Alexei. He began patting your back the same way he did once to Lena and Tasha, the movements felt repentant.

You didn’t sleep, just closed your eyes.

That was enough.

Project: Give up?

Coming home should’ve felt like relief.

Plenty of soft blankets, shelves of comics, and finally some rain. But it didn’t. You’d failed.

Not John, not Alexei, you.

Valentina made sure you knew how badly you’d screwed up. She’d stormed into tower, her shrill voice echoing off the walls, demanding consequences. Bucky and Ava stopped her at the door threatening that they had enough dirt on her to get her back into cuffs if they wanted. You’d caught the tail end of her rant- something about a deal with Sokovia being off the table now.

Not that you cared.

Bob had come to your room every day since you’d been back.

He’d sat on the edge of your bed talking about something stupid Yelena had done while you’d been gone or how studying calculus had been rotting his brain. The time away from him had made you needy, for his attention, for him. So you let him stay and ignored the part of your brain reminding you of your old project.

Eventually, you decided to stop moping.

The team was sat around on the sofa watching The Skeleton Twins- your comfort movie. Your Letterboxd top four was common knowledge around the tower so you knew they’d queued it up in hopes of luring you out.

Cheeky.

You collapsed onto the sofa and Bucky pulled you into his side like habit, like your absence hadn’t happened at all. Your legs were splayed across his lap while his vibranium hand played with the fabric of your pyjamas, twisting them absentmindedly.

The movie was just background noise for Bob His eyes were trained on the comfortable way you and Bucky had settled into the corner of the sofa.

Bob didn’t know it wasn’t romantic, but it sure as hell felt like it was to him.

And he didn’t like it at all.

You didn’t notice Bob at first. Not until Bill Hader began serenading Kirsten Wiig and everyone laughed.

Almost everyone.

You didn’t hear his laugh.

You always could, no matter how crowded the room. It was soft and melodic, filtering into your ears like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold day. Your last image of him had been him cooped up in the med bay, shaking from the stress of being taken over by an eldritch god. The lack of laughter unnerved you.

You turned your head, hoping to capture a grin from him.

You saw the look of unease in his eyes.

Just a flicker- but there nonetheless, too heavy to be anything else but discomfort. He didn’t say anything to your raised brow and kept his face neutral. But something was wrong; his hands were tucked tightly under his arms like he was cold, his back was ramrod straight against the plush seating.  

Suddenly, Bucky let out a sharp snort as the film jumped into the credit sequence taking your attention away from Bob’s strange behaviour.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you scoffing about it’s a good film.”

“I wouldn’t say good, but it was definitely interesting doll,” Bucky teased, flicking a piece of popcorn at your head.

 “Don’t call me that, Barnes.”

He grinned with those weirdly pointy teeth of his “What, you gonna beat me up?”

At that you both cackled and began play fighting with the dozens of pillows John had bought when he went through his grand designs phase. The man in question was complaining about how much he’d spent on the goose feather pillows you’d desecrated. You began to crawl towards Lena, the woman shrugged you off and handed you back to Bucky leading to an all-out fight between the three of you.

Bob watched on.

Feeling as though there was no place for him in your intimate moment.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. Bob knew that, he should’ve been happy to see you fall back into your regular routine after being cooped up in your room for so long.

But he wasn’t.

No one noticed when he left, not even you.

Life carried on with the same mundane tone for Bob.

He was like a band stretched too far, too tight.

Who knew when he would snap.

You were held up in your room for most of the next day.

You’d ordered enough Chick-fil-A to create your own monster like Frankenstein with the chicken bones.

Your phone pinged again. And then again.

It was buried under the laundry heap you hadn’t bothered folding. With an annoyed sigh you scrambled your way to the pile and dug it out.

OPN DOOR.  Well, at least Bucky was straight to the point

You texted, Can you come back tomorrow for my corpse?

His reply was instant: No, I opn door now.

You barely had enough time to straighten out your workspace before the hot-head made his way through. “Why do you type like you’ve never seen the alphabet before?” you muttered.

“So I can annoy you,” his grin was almost endearing as he eyed the mounds of halo top underneath your desk. “how you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” you shuffled the empty containers towards the rubbish bin, failing miserably. “just taking a sabbatical”

He gave you an incensed look. “And this extended sabbatical requires copious amounts of fried chicken and whatever the hell that is.” inspecting the container on your lap.

“Kanafeh,” you said, lifting your chin. “it’s the world’s greatest dessert. Educate yourself.”

He leant down and took a slice before flopping onto your bed. “Im sure you’ll be willing to part with some so I can learn.”

He didn’t look at your face when he questioned you again, softer this time. “So… are you finally gonna tell me what happened.”

“Not you too.” you groaned, letting your head fall onto your desk, muffling your voice.

“Sweetheart,” patient as ever “even before you and Bob had your soiree in the death zone you were fumbling about and ignoring him. What’s this really all about?”

You lifted half of your face to the man “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Never“

You inhaled. “Okay, I had this like plan. Like, a well-thought-out, multi-phase plan.”

“To get over Bob?”

You shot him a look. “Mhmm and before you say anything. yes, it didn’t work.”

While you pouted and Bucky chastised you, a tall figure approached your door, half in shadow.

Bob stood, well floated, outside of your door his fist half-raised ready to knock, but he didn’t. He just watched.

Watched as you stared at Bucky with a playful expression, the same way you did a few days before. His chest ached , God he felt stupid. He’d come to show you his latest breakthrough. the ability to fly without passing out or ending the world.

He’d been proud.

For the first time in a long time Bob had something good to bring to you.

Inside, Bucky fiddled with your pillow, grinning at your very obvious love for the golden boy “I can see that.”

“And flooding my room didn’t help either,” you added under your breath furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“…Sorry, what?”

“You and your creepy super hearing Jesus,” Looking away from him in embarrassment. “I might’ve taken a hammer to the pipes. I needed an excuse to move to the room next to yours.”

Bucky stared at you, silent for a moment before bursting into loud, uncontrollable laughter, rolling around on the bed in circles.

“Why don’t you ever laugh that hard when I tell actual jokes?” you asked, mock offended.

“Because nothing’s funnier than imagining you thinking tactical plumbing was the best idea for this plan”

“I just…” you sighed. “I couldn’t be next to him anymore. Having him walk past every night, hearing his voice through the wall. It was actual torture.”

The words hit Bob in waves.

He stared at the door like it might offer an explanation, like maybe you’d jump put and tell him “I knew you were there Bob we were just teasing you, come inside so you can propose to me!”

 But no, you really had just admitted you’d damaged your room just to avoid being next to him. The room that you had spent weeks carefully decorating, dragging him to every plant shop within the city to curate your own dreamspace as you coined it.

You’d destroyed that room.

Did you hate him that much?

Bob lowered his hand from its place near your door. Curling his fingers into a fist by his side. His face stayed calm, almost expressionless. He turned without a sound, hovering down the hallway. Your laugh followed, mocking him as he made his way to his room.

One thought in his mind.

She wanted to get away from you.

None the wiser, you continued your conversation with Bucky.

“It’s like, well, imagine being stuck in a closet with David Corensweat for 3 hours, you’re telling me you wouldn’t want to give the guy a smooch?”

He scrunched his nose in thought. “I’m not denying he was good-looking in The Politician but he’s not my type.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot he flies without wings, right.” He guffawed at that, throwing a pillow at your face in mock anger, but you could see the tips of his ears slowly flushing red.

Project: Bob should get over you?

You needed a good book.

Ignoring the fact nobody wanted to start a book club when you’d asked five months ago you decided to just buy 7 copies of Americanah and tape them to everyone’s doors.

You were mid-search on Google when a name popped up. Lily’s shop.

Of course it was top of the list. Perfect reviews, handpicked recs and the best vanilla coffees in the city.

Of course.

Swallowing your pride wasn’t one of your most notable traits but what did you have to lose?

You walked in, the bell overhead chiming that same mellow note you remembered. The air smelled like paper, sandalwood, and something floral. Making a beeline for the new-in table you grabbed the first book you could see with a half-interest in the cover and a full intention to pretend that was the only reason you were there.

“Hey!” Her voice caught you off guard, as did the soft hug she pulled you into.

You tensed for a moment, then let yourself melt into her. “Hi. I haven’t- uh, haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been great,” she beamed. “I decided to expand the store. We’re building into the unit next door this week!”

You nodded, eyeing the chaos behind the counter; power tools, papers, bits of half-assembled shelving strewn about the place. Just as you primed yourself to let out a well-formulated joke about power tools, a man strolled out from the back towards you both. He was tall, handsome in a probably-models-for-la-roche-posay kind of way.

He leant down, kissed lily on the cheek, saying something about fixing a computer and heading out for extra parts.

He glanced at you, smiled politely, and left.

What the hell?

Standing still for a moment you sputtered out  “Sorry um… not to be nosey, but aren’t you and Bob still...?” squishing your hands together in confusion.

She chuckled softly. “Together?”

“Oh, no,” she said, smiling like the whole thing was obvious. “We figured we’d be better off as friends, he still comes by for coffee occasionally, but honestly? It was clear his head was somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?”

Lily gave you a pointed look. “More like someone else.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Come on,” she laughed. “The man practically vibrated every time you came into a room. The whole time you were away he was pining after you like a little baby,” leaning in  “one night at dinner, I caught him staring at photos he’d taken of you napping.”

“No, he did not!” You laughed, half in disbelief.

She laughed too, warm and unbothered. “Full-on wistful. like you were a picture in a locket of his husband lost at sea.”

“I’m... sorry,” you said softly, coming down from the high of finding out Bob, maybe just maybe, liked you too.

“For what? It’s not like either of you committed a war crime,” she said, waving it off. “Bob’s a good guy. Just wasn’t the one I was waiting for, I mean have you seen my boyfriend?”

You left with the books stuffed into your bag, your chest lighter than it had ever felt after your talk with her.

Time to woman up and kiss Bob (or ask him out).

As soon as the clock hit seven you were rushing back home to the dining area, you could finally unleash the months-worth of flirting you’d been saving up for Bob.

Well, that’s what you thought would be happening.

Bob was unusually quiet, his face down in his food, inspecting it as if he’d never seen broccoli before.

You tried to break the ice.

“Hey Bob, could you pass the sugar?” you spoke while tapping at his bicep.

He didn’t look up.

“I don’t get how you can eat lemon and sugar on pancakes. It’s disgusting,” Walker spoke from his seat on the other side of you.

“It’s a delicacy,” you defended, turning your head to face him.

“Even in Russia, we—” Yelena started from across the table, but you weren’t listening.

You turned back to Bob. “Could I have—”

“Get Walker to get it,” he cut in coldly, not even looking up from his plate. Pushing his salmon from side to side, not even bothering to pretend to eat.

Everyone paused.

John cleared his throat in an attempt to break the mood and pushed the sugar toward you. “Here you go?”

Bob stood up without a word and left the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked out. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way downstairs.

When did Bob start stomping around like that?

That was Bucky’s thing.

What’s up his ass?”

“He’s probably just stressed because of his exam jackass.” Ava scolded John, all while reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding like a bobble head. “Must be the stress.”

You weren’t convinced

That week’s sparring session had started as a team-building exercise. Everyone suited up, grumbling half-heartedly as you all prepared to pretend to beat each other up for a good five hours.

 But Valentina, ever the benevolent dictator, decided to turn your fun day into a science experiment. “For data.” she’d said, an unhinged glint in her eye.

Where was Congressman Gary’s impeachment team when you needed them?

 Bob descended from the upper floor just in time to watch John adjust the harness strapped across your chest, some sort of weird tracking rig measuring motion, strength, and vitals.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, tightening a strap. “There. All strapped in.”

Bob let out an audible sigh. His eyes lingered on John’s hands near your chest, then flicked away as he rolled his eyes. You didn’t say anything about his obvious distain but forced yourself to remember that he was still the same guy that apparently slept in your bed while you were abroad (information courtesy of Yelena Belova the amazing super spy).

So you smiled at him. Not the fake strained kind, but the subtle “I’m in love with you” type of smile. He gave one back- begrudging, but it was there.

You knew your charms were undeniable.

You bounced onto the mat, light on your feet, throwing silly jabs into the air like you were training for a Rocky reboot.

The performance didn’t rouse a single laugh from him.

“This one’s for comparison,” Mel called from the edge. “We need a baseline on Bob’s strength against a non-enhanced opponent.”

You squared up “Ready?”

Bob didn’t answer.

Instead, he shoved you back with a single, casual flick of his hand, a bored movement not aggressive. You stumbled back but found your footing quickly, darting in to land a punch, only for him to palm your face and push you aside like you were nothing.

“Hey,” you snapped, breathless. “Aren’t we supposed to be sparring?”

“We are,” he muttered under his breath. “Not my fault you’re not putting any effort in.”

You lunged again. He barely dodged.

You jabbed at his side. He caught your wrist, twisted it, and let go just as you lost your footing again.

“If you had any powers, maybe you’d be able to do something useful.” He spoke from above, the view reminding you of the way it’d felt when you’d first seen Bob in his sentry costume. The mocking kindness to his glare, as if his words were helping you figure out a truth that you should’ve already known.

He said it so softly, you almost convinced yourself you’d misheard. But when you looked into his eyes you saw the flicker of resentment. The way his jaw was locked tight and you knew then it hadn’t you’re your imagination.

Maybe Bob agreed with the Void after all.

Maybe everything he’d said that day was him.

Maybe he meant it all.

You blinked once, twice, and then laughed, dry and unsteady, as you raised your hand in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m tapped out.”

Mel looked ready to step over to you, concern heavy in her gaze, but Valentina waved her hand. “We have enough. That’s it.” You nodded, wiping the back of your glove across your cheek and giving Bob a hollow smile.

His eyes locked with yours and something in your expression made his stomach twist.

“Looks like everything’s coming up Bob!” John joked, walking past you trying to high-five Bob.

He walked past him keeping his eyes trained on his feet.

Yelena scoffed. “Idiot.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that, is there something I’m missing??” He whined out.

The meeting was really dragging on.

And the team had been treating you like a sick puppy all week, too nervous to ask if you’d spoken with Bob yet.

You tried to focus, flipping through the folder in your hands.

“Hey, where are the access codes I submitted? They’re moving the drop point further north, so we’ll need clearance for the next base over—”

“They’ll be in the southern base,” Yelena interrupted. Her head was turned towards you, waiting for you to say something that might change her mind. She was always like this when it came to anything Red Room-related, no space for deviation.

You pressed her. “I know, but just listen. If the convoys are rerouted north like the last drop—”

“Why don’t you let someone who knows what they’re doing handle it?” Bob’s voice cut through.

His eyes were fixed on you, almost gleeful at what he’d said.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t even blink. “You had one job. Keep the girls safe. And you let them get taken.”

“Bob,” Yelena warned, tone low, almost disbelieving.

“That wasn’t even the mission,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We had to improvise. We weren’t even meant to—”

“The Red Room doesn’t give second chances,” he snapped again “you know that. But hey, maybe if you’d been able to handle yourself, we wouldn’t be here figuring out how to clean up your mess.”

His voice was soft but the venom in it was unmistakable.

Bucky shifted beside you, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. Ava’s eyes were dark, her glare practically burning holes through Bob’s skull. Yelena, Alexei, and John exchanged looks like they weren’t sure whether to hold you back or hold him down.

Your body began to tremble, not just from the anger stewing inside you, but from the humiliation of knowing that what he said was the truth. You weren’t strong enough to hold off a couple of mercenaries and hadn’t pushed for Alexei to go in. Instead, you’d let the strongest team-mate you had stay on comms while you went in, ego high.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, unable to find the words to defend yourself. “You don’t know what happened.”

You left.

Alexei stood up slowly.

His voice was firm and fatherly. “I do not know why you choose cruelty today Robert. But you will say sorry to her.”

Finally snapping to his senses, Bob rushed up, intent on catching up to you. As he began darting for the door he was stopped by John gripping his arm. “That was really fucked up dude.”

“I know Walker.” He griped, sounding annoyed.

“No you don’t, we didn’t even know the red room was directly involved until she figured it out. We would have been in and out without any kind of knowledge of what was going on if she hadn’t used her brain.”

John sighed loosening his hold on him “Look, buddy I know you like her, we all do. The only person that doesn’t is her, just talk to her-”

“I know. I’m just… angry. At myself. And she-she doesn’t even need me. Not with Bucky around.” Bob swallowed.

“Bucky.” Yelena wiped her hand over her face clearly exasperated, not stopping there, she looked over to the others gesturing wildly in the air. “Christ, you two are morons”

“Bucky’s got a certain captain that he talks about all day, every day. Why would he want to be with her.” Ava chimed in from the front of the room.

Bob seemed confused “But she said she couldn’t stand me, I-I heard you both.” Pointing at the man who was currently red-faced.

John, clearly at his wits end, stated while holding onto Bob’s shoulders. “I don’t know what the hell that’s about but, maybe you could use your big mouth to ask her with your words?”

Before Bob could protest, Bucky walked up his arms folded, giving him a disapproving stare.

“You didn’t hear everything,” Bucky said flatly.

“What else was there to hear?”

Bucky sighed, like he was regretting getting involved. “She didn’t move because she hates you. She moved because she was trying to get over you.”

Bob stared. “What?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, glancing toward the hallway you’d disappeared down in deep thought. “She thought if she put some distance between you, she’d stop liking you so much.” his voice was softer, reluctant. “Didn’t work obviously.”

Bob’s face fell. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think- I’m such an idiot-.”

“Yup,” Walker said, not even hiding his irritation. “Now go fix it.”

Bob took off down the hallway, heart pounding, really hoping he wasn’t too late.

“Open the door,” Bob pleaded, voice muffled through the wood but still loud enough to hear how desperate he sounded.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The distance between you and the door wasn’t enough to hide the exhaustion in your tone. Months of constant back and forth between you and Bob played through your mind as you stuffed yourself deeper under your covers.

The mounds of fabric weren’t enough to keep out Bob’s incessant knocking and pleading.

“I’m sorry. Please. I don’t know what came over me. I- I know I’ve been all over the place, but just let me see your face. Let me explain.” You heard him exhale, long and slow. The weight of his frustration pressed through the door, like he was leaning his whole body weight into the apology.

You imagined his forehead resting on the wood, hands in his hair ruffling the curls that you loved so much.

Stop thinking about his curls!

You perched up on your bed, your sheets wrapped around everything apart from your mouth. Still refusing to open the door. “So you can realise you were being a dick,” you said flatly. “but not before you decided to act like one?”

Silence.

“I was jealous of Bucky, and John and just the thought of anyone that wasn’t me being with you the way I want to be with you.” he said, quiet enough that you had padded back over to the door just to hear him without straining.

“And what way is that?”

“The kind of way that has us being sixty years old, surrounded by at least ten grandchildren on Thanksgiving.”

You fumbled with the door handle, the chill of the hallway air biting at your skin as you yanked it open. The duvet clung to you like armour, preventing him from seeing you. You barely had time to adjust before you realised you were staring directly at Bob’s chest.

He smelt like clean cotton and distress. The thin black shirt he wore strained at the shoulders and you could feel warmth pouring off him,. The thump of his heartbeat was so close to your cheek.

Reality suddenly set in, coming out of your haze you took a step back, pulling the fabric back down your face.

“Still doesn’t explain,” A cough escaped you. “why you’ve been treating me like I’m leper.”

“I know it doesn’t.”  His voice broke, just slightly. “I was scared. And I took it out on you.”

“You made me feel like an idiot,” you say. “The worst part is … you’re not wrong, it was my fault.” Your breath hiccups as tears stream down your face.

“No, no, no” he says quickly. “You fought like hell to get them out of there; even Walker was swamped and the guy has about ten tonnes of hydra serum pumping through him.”

His fingers tentatively graze over your form, brushing your face like he’s unsure if he has the right to. His fingertips trace the shape of you, your cheekbone, the curve of your brow, almost like he’s memorising you. His thumb strokes slow circles at your temple, easing the tension in your furrowed brow.

Glancing up at him, your eyes big, glossy and red. “You want us to be grandparents at sixty years old?”

The corner of his mouth quirks as lips purse together. “Baby,” he murmurs, tender now, “I’d be fine with anything you want.”

Then his face shifts - gaze absolute, voice hushed and certain. “I love you.”

You buried your head into his chest, overwhelmed by the statement.

“Say it again,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I love you.”

You pressed yourself closer to him. “One more time?”

He kissed the top of your head murmuring it again and again.

Mustering up some confidence you snapped your head up, capturing his lips with yours. Feeling his well chapsticked lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine and he stood frozen as you continued your attack. While caught off guard Bob managed to come-to enough to slip his hands down to your waist as he kissed you back deeper, slower and desperate. Your arms reached out looping around his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer to you, attempting to drink in as much of him as you could.

Once you’d realised that you werent able to hold your breath you pulled back, you took some time to admire your handy-work. Bob looked out of his mind, his lips were parted, breathing heavily like he’d just fought off a hundred men.

“Was that ok?”

His voice cracked “Yeah- yeah that was nice.”

Yeah, Project: Get Over Bob was a bust.

“Soooo, was this the intended outcome of your little project?”

“Who told you about that?!!?”

Hiiii I know its been a while my lovelies, I had no motivation to finish after my word app blunder, and then all the studying for my exam didn’t help my morale.

I want to thank all of you for sticking by this fic and leaving such lovely comments and engaging with it! There's a lot more dialogue in this chapter so I had a bit of a tricky time writing it, I hope it doesn’t seem to clunky.

I have another exam this august so won’t be back to writing until after it but I have a very cheeky idea for a Bucky x Congresswoman!reader fic if any of you are interested :) and also a kinda? epilogue to PGOB!1

Also, yes I believe in sambucky supremacy im sorry to the stucky shippers out there.

Ps. Im not a kissing pro but I hope the description is good enough for ya’ll!! there will be a lot more of that in the epilogue :)

[em1i2a3]

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.”

[romanoffshouse]

Bob, acting tough: You guys don't want to mess with me.

Yelena: Yeah, Bob will straight up cry in public. Don't try them.

Bob: Exactly, I will straight up-

Bob:

Bob, tearing up: Yelena, why would you say that?!

[nyc-tophile]

┈┈ made for me ✮⋆˙

Pairing — Robert Reynolds x fem!reader

Summary — Bob’s always tried to be gentle with you—afraid he’d break you. But one night, he lets go of the leash. You feel it the moment he starts talking about how you take him so well, how warm and deep you are, and how perfect your body is for him.

Warnings — [NSFW 18+], breeding kink, creampie, size kink, praise kink, aftercare, cuddling, pillow talk, pregnancy talk.

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say but enjoy.

Bob was trembling.

Not from fear, or pain, or the terrifying godhood that hummed beneath his skin—but from want. From you.

You sat on his lap, straddling him in his room, hands on his chest as he tried not to touch you. His fists were clenched at his sides, body rigid. His eyes flickered, bright then dim, barely controlled.

“Bob”, you whispered, shifting your hips just slightly over the thick bulge beneath you. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he gritted out. “You don’t know what I’m holding back.”

“I trust you.”

His head tipped back against the wall behind him, throat bobbing with a swallow. “You shouldn’t.”

You leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“I want to feel all of you. Every part you’re afraid to give.”

A choked groan escaped his throat.

He grabbed your hips before you could blink, hands spanning your waist, claiming you. Pulling you down flush against him. You gasped at the pressure of his cock grinding against your core through your clothes.

“You don’t get it,” he growled. “I’ve dreamed of this. Every night. You, riding me, stuffed full, dripping with me. Begging for more.”

“Then make it real,” you breathed.

That broke him.

In a flash, you were pinned beneath him on the bed—your clothes torn, his already half off. He stared down at you like a man possessed.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his fingers down your thighs. “You’re shaking. So pretty. So soft. And you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

You whimpered as he pushed your legs apart, settling between them.

“You’re perfect. You fit in my arms, around my cock—like you were made for me.”

He leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, voice low and thick.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you full.”

You arched beneath him, nodding desperately. “I want it. I want you, Bob.”

His eyes flashed gold.

Then he was there, inside you, thrusting in with one long, slow push. You cried out at the stretch, the fullness, the sheer size of him. He groaned, forehead pressing against yours as he held still, letting you adjust.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathed. “Feelin’ like fucking heaven.”

Your walls fluttered around him, already fluttering with the overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back, slowly, before slamming back in, making the bed frame groan under your bodies.

“You take me so well,” he said through gritted teeth. “So deep. Fuck—like you were waiting for me to breed you.”

Your breath caught.

He grinned down at you, wicked and reverent all at once.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He thrust again, hard. “You want me to knock you up. Want me to fill you until you’re too stuffed to move?”

Your moans were shameless now—back arching, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he pounded into you, dragging pleasure from your body with every deep thrust.

He pressed a hand to your lower belly and growled.

“Right here. Feel that? That’s me. That’s how deep I am.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You think any other man could ever fuck you like this? Ruin you like this?”

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right. You’re mine.”

He angled his hips and hit something inside you that made you scream.

“I’m gonna breed this sweet little cunt,” he snarled, hand slipping down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. “Gonna pump you full until you can’t walk without leaking me down your thighs.”

You were close, and he felt it. His mouth was on yours suddenly, kissing you hard, devouring your cries as he rutted into you with godlike strength.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he ordered, voice ragged. “Then I’m gonna fill you. Every drop. Say it.”

“Want your cum,” you gasped. “Want you to fill me up, Bob—please—”

Then you shattered.

Your whole body clenched around him, convulsing with white-hot release. Bob moaned as he thrust once more, deep and final, coming with a groan that shook the room.

He didn’t stop moving for a long moment, hips grinding slow and deep, as if trying to push his seed farther, deeper, until it stuck.

You were breathless beneath him, panting and sweaty.

He hovered over you, brushing your hair back, eyes filled with something wild and tender all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I couldn’t hold it back.”

You cupped his cheek with trembling fingers.

“I didn’t want you to.”

He closed his eyes.

And when he looked down at your wrecked, fucked-out form, his cum already starting to leak down your thighs, a soft smile ghosted over his face.

-----

The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of energy still crackling faintly in the walls, residual tension from the storm that had just passed.

You were still beneath him, his body heavy but careful, weight supported by arms that held you like you were made of glass.

Bob wasn’t saying anything.

He was just staring at your face, your chest rising and falling against his, your legs still loosely wrapped around his waist.

You reached up and touched his cheek.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice raspy. “Still with me?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Still glowing faintly, like dying stars. “Yeah.”

But he didn’t move.

You curled your fingers into his hair and gently tugged him down until his forehead rested against yours.

“Bob”.

“I didn’t mean to lose control.”

“You didn’t”, you murmured. “Not in a bad way.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I wanted it to be slow. Good. I didn’t mean to say what I said.”

“You meant every word.”

Silence.

“I did,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “I think about it more than I should. You… swollen with me. Knowing you're mine. That I put something inside you that no one can ever take away.”

The honesty in his voice made your heart ache.

“I’m not scared of that,” you said softly.

He blinked, pulling back just enough to search your face. “You’re not?”

You shook your head. “You think I didn’t know what I was doing? Letting you say those things?”

His hands cradled your face now, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “You calm the worst in me. You make me feel real. Not just the power. Not just the glow. Me.”

You kissed him, slow and deep, no hunger this time. Just connection.

When he finally pulled out, you whimpered softly at the loss and the warmth that followed.

He looked down and groaned at the sight of his cum trickling out of you.

“Jesus.”

His hands slid gently over your thighs, spreading you a little wider, and he stared like he was memorising you. Like the mess he’d made in you wasn’t something shameful—but sacred.

“You took me so well,” he whispered. “Let me make you messy. You were made for it.”

“Yeah?” You breathed, dazed and soft. “Feel full.”

“You are,” he said, reverent. “You’re perfect like this. My pretty girl. My good girl.”

You blushed under the praise, and his eyes went even softer.

“Come here.”

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tight against his chest as if shielding you from the universe itself. You curled into him, completely boneless, head against his collarbone. He was so warm. So big and so safe.

He reached for the blanket with one hand and drew it over both of you, tucking you in. His other hand found your belly, palm resting flat and protective.

“Still feel me in there?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, flushing again. “Mmhmm. All of you.”

A long silence.

Then—

“If it ever happens”, he said slowly, like he was afraid to even speak it aloud, “if you ever do end up pregnant... I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. Both of you. No matter what.”

You smiled against his skin. “I know.”

“I want it to be you,” he said. “No one else.”

You looked up at him and kissed his jaw.

“You already put your mark on me, Bob.”

He sighed with relief—and he tucked your head back under his chin.

“Then rest,” he murmured. “You’re mine now. And I’m not letting go.”

join my тαgℓιѕт

[korebringerofded]

Who Bakes for the Baker?-Bob Reynolds X F!Reader

Summary- Bob fails at baking a cake for you on your birthday. He has to calls in reinforcements to save the day (and maybe win your heart) Warnings/Tags- Baker!Reader, reader always bakes a cake for each of the thunderbolts bdays. So much fluff. me rambling about cake for like 5000 words, pining, flying? Cheek kisses A/N- I don't even know if this is even good anymore. Brain worms won on this one Words- 5395

Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. You can find my entire masterlist here.

The kitchen of the newly renovated ‘new avengers’ tower was a flurry of white, a knocked over bag of flour blanketing the room like a snow covered field. It spilled out over the edge of the island, pouring over the floor like an avalanche. 

The sink was piled high with dishes, some still scattered on the counters and coated in a sticky batter. 

And in the eye of the storm, was Bob.

Bob, who could just stare at the deflated, somehow both mushy and dry cake, slightly deflated, oozing what looked like butter or oil from the side. It looked like it would completely collapse in on itself at even the slightest touch.

He had lost track of what number this attempt was. He had been at it all day and yet the results seemed to be getting worse as time went on. Now he could just sit and stare at an absolutely ruined kitchen space, every inch covered in batter-coated utensils, collapsed cakes, and many, many broken eggs.

He decided that this was his darkest, lowest moment. Not any of the many regrets he had stacked and collected over the years, not the Void nearly enveloping Manhattan in its dark  and intertwined shame labyrinth.

None of that seemed to compare to this moment; which had reduced the strongest man on earth to this broken, beaten, and utterly defeated mess. 

By a cake, or more specifically the lack thereof. 

Bob could just stare at his hands, sticky and coated in clumps of flour. Even with the apron tied around his waist,  his clothes weren’t untouched by the mess, now coated in a layer of that sugary grime which coated the rest of the kitchen.

He had watched countless videos, bought a cookbook, all in preparation. He had done literally everything he could think of to prepare. 

Bob decided he had either drastically overestimated his abilities or had pitifully under appreciated yours.

He was sinking to the floor with a sigh, scratching at his cheek where some sugar had dried and left the skin feeling tight and irritated.

Why did he think he could do this? He had never baked anything from scratch before, and those hours watching cooking shows with you had obviously done little to prepare him.

They just make it look so easy on tv. 

You always made it look so easy.

He had watched you do it many, many times, desserts for dinner, cakes for birthdays, celebrations, hell even when you found a new recipe you just had to try. 

Basically, you were always baking something for someone.

He always admired that about you, the care and joy you found in things like that. The way you were always so excited to share some new creation for the team to try. 

You seemed to genuinely enjoy doing things for others, seeing their faces when you presented them with whatever you had come up with.

You always put particular care into birthday cakes for the team, though. 

Bob had never asked you about it, he had theories sure, but he never let that question slip out. Regardless, he had noticed it, the way you would pour over your little sketchbook.

 A sage cover and years of use based on the dents and doodles along its cover, the many loose papers and magazine clippings shoved into its pages. 

It was almost worshipful how you planned things out, marking down preferences, tastes, styles. Bob often found himself entranced while watching you sketch out the little ideas you had, neat, detailed drawings of cakes and other recipes with notes lining the edges of the worn pages.

You talked about techniques in terms he could hardly follow and yet he devoured every word, every expression. He could handle being confused for the grace of listening to the pure excitement in your voice, the crackling lighting of a smile that spread over your face. 

Though he’s pretty sure his brain fried and turned to smoke when you started talking about meringue, he still loved it. 

For Yelena, you had baked a lemon cake, a fluffy tart cake with fresh blueberries baked into the batter. There was a tart, tangy lemon curd filling between the two layers and the outside was iced in vanilla buttercream. It was all very exact, personal. Down to the candied lemon curls and blueberries placed along each swirling pile of icing that surrounded the top border.

Bucky received a chocolate cake that was soaked in espresso with fudgy frosting and swirls of whipped cream along the top border, The cherries arranged neatly atop each of the delicate rosettes had been placed with such care- Bob remembered the way your eyes narrowed, lip tucked beneath your teeth as if you were cutting a wire to a ticking bomb. 

To everyone’s delight (except for maybe Bucky) you had even bought some of those horrible number candles to spell out a mismatched '108’. 

The grin on your face as you presented the cake, candle flickering and casting shadows over your face in the dimly lit room - it was obvious you enjoyed that little bit the most.

Despite Bucky’s grumbling, the slight smile didn’t go unnoticed. 

The laugh that escaped him, a genuine and rich sound surprised damn near everybody as he glanced between the cake, the team, the crooked streamers- probably courtesy of Alexei.

He didn't mind the imperfection, the messiness, the crooked way the team fit together. 

How many birthdays had passed for him that went unnoticed, uncelebrated?

It meant more than he’d ever admit.

Bob knew the minute you decided what to make for Ava, the team was splayed out on couches and bean bag chairs in front of the tv while watching the great british bake off as had become the teams friday ritual. Each in comfy clothes, snacks laid out on the table.

Bucky and Yelena normally fell asleep in the first five minutes, John complained profusely but watched every episode, the occasional mumble and “That looks like shit.” “Idiot.” 

Leaving you, Ava and Bob to actually watch and enjoy it.

It was a technical challenge, a battenburg cake, a square checkerboard patterned sweet and wrapped in a sheet of marzipan.

Ava had mentioned it off handedly as she ate a few chips from the bag on her lap, not even looking away from the screen. 

“My aunt made that for me once. It was bloody good.” She hummed, leaning back a little on the couch. 

It was a single comment, something small and casual that would’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else, and Bob seemed to be the only one that noticed the shift . You sat up a little, a ghost of movement as your eyes darted to Ava, catching the smile that spread on her lips at the fond memory. 

Bob knew that look, the way your own lips twitched at the corners that glimmered in your eyes as a plan set root in your mind and made everything else fade to static. 

You had spent weeks practicing that one, obsessing over every detail, sulking when it didn’t come together perfectly and adorably and completely overjoyed when you succeeded only days before Ava’s birthday.  

John’s birthday came around during the ‘real or cake?’ trend. It was a cake- one that you had somehow (Bob watched you make it and still has no idea how you managed it) to look like a freshly baked apple pie, down to the very details of a dusting of color along the top ‘crust’ you had formed. The inside was a cinnamon cake base with a cooked apple-cinnamon jam as a filling.

John had just blinked at it, arms crossed over his chest and looking entirely perturbed as the rest of the team was trying not to burst at the seams with laughter. 

‘So...a pie?” He mumbled, a raised brow.

“Is it?” You taunted, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally. 

Alexei had once mentioned some honey layered cake he once had as a boy, and when his birthday came around? You had presented it as if it was nothing, as if you hadn’t practiced getting it just right weeks leading up to the day. He had only mentioned it that one time, but you didn’t forget. 

Everyone still talked about how hard Alexei cried that day. 

Bob tried not to think about when his own birthday came around. You were sneaking around, shooing him off when you were in the kitchen. Normally you would ask his opinion, let him taste the test run but to his disappointment- you vehemently refused. 

Regardless of if he expected it, the gesture still caught him off guard. Bob couldn’t remember a time someone had actually done anything for his birthday and the idea he had friends to celebrate with? It was too much. 

He had to hold in a laugh as you walked behind him, hands covering his face so he couldn’t see. 

“Is this necessary?” He laughed, though didn’t make any move to remove your hands. 

“Shhhh let the birthday suspension set in.” You teased, breath curling over the back of his neck, your body so close he could feel your body heat. 

God- He was certain you’d give him a stroke one day. Your closeness always seemed to reduce him to do that, make his heart seize in his chest and hands twitch to reach out, to bridge that gap between friends and something more. 

“Alright- alright.” Bob let out a soft laugh, shaking his head fondly as you definitely didn’t lead him into the kitchen.

It was dark for a split second before the overhead lights flicked on with an audible click. 

Bob couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sight of the kitchen, each of their teammates in horribly bright Hawaiian shirts, tropical decorations splayed out over the room and blown-up coconut trees leaning against the doorway.

Despite the rush of his senses, the decorations, the ridiculous drinks, the shirts, the cake at the center of the counter remained entirely you. 

A vanilla cake with a peach jam filling, vanilla frosting and thinly sliced peaches along the top border, curling into an intricate flower-like shape.Neat, detailed, each swirl of buttercream showing the amount of time you had poured into it.

“Don’t laugh! You were supposed to cry over grand gesture! We bring Florida to New York!" Alexei huffed, genuinely offended as he waved his hand to the banner that hung over the table, hung rather haphazardly and reading ‘When in Florida.’

That part definitely screamed Alexie, in fact the entire thing seemed very Alexei.

“Is-is that something people say?” Bob managed.

“Of course!” Alexei chirped, beaming and obviously rather pleased with himself. 

You were too busy glaring at Bucky and Yelena to do anything else, hands on your hips and a slight wrinkle to your nose. 

“I thought we agreed- simple! Not- whatever this is!”

They both shrugged, completely remorseless. 

“Alexei is terrifying in the party store.” Bucky sighed, drinking a brightly colored cocktail and looking a hundred shades of traumatized.

“Val will not like that charge on the cards.” Yelena rubbed her forehead, taking a sip from her own drink, the tiny umbrella shifting on the surface. 

Your shoulders fell, turning to Bob who had a grin spread across his face that immediately made you relax, trying to ignore the way your heart raced a little faster at the sight of it, the way he looked only at you even amidst the chaos.

“I’m sorry- about all of this.” You rubbed the back of your neck with a sigh but Bob was shaking head, reaching out to squeeze your arm.

“No. No, really this is perfect. Horrible, sure...but it's perfect.” Bob snorted, eyes darting to the killers and assassins that made up their team, nearly laughing again at the brightly colored shirts they wore. 

“So- do we get shirts too?” Bob asked with a grin.

“I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK.” Alexei cheered, holding up two more shirts, each as horrible a color as the rest of them.

 The soft footsteps barely even registered for Bob who was currently debating leaving and never coming back just so he didn’t have to deal with this mess. 

“What...uh.” Yelena said slowly, taking slow steady steps into the room as her eyes widened, glancing around at the pastry war zone that spanned over the kitchen.

“Hm.” She took a deep breath, trying not to think of the huge tantrum a certain one-armed man would throw if he saw this mess. “What happened here?”

Bob’s shoulders went tense, still slumped against the counter as he turned to face a wide-eyed Yelena.

"I... uh..." He cleared his throat awkwardly, face flushing beneath the layer of flour dusting his cheeks. "I was trying to bake a cake. For...tonight.” Bob waved his hand vaguely. 

Yelena took a step into the chaos, her eyes wide as she rubbed her forehead, brows furrowed as her eyes scanned the sugary chaos before looking back to Bob who still sat on the floor. 

“Tonight? What’s ton-.” She paused, glancing at the counters again, the birthday candles and sprinkles and endless bags of party decorations.

 Her tongue clicked as realization dawned. 

It wasn’t a secret to anyone on the team how Bob felt about you, how he sought you out, was never far from where you were. 

It was cute, and annoying in that pitiful puppy way.

It wasn’t hard for anyone with eyes to notice the way he would fall all over himself for you, because of you. That combined with the fact Bob had been planning a surprise party for weeks, it wasn’t hard to guess what had occurred.

“Oh, Bob.” She sighed, shoulders falling as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe you can just get a cake from a bakery?” 

“I can’t do that.” Bob shook his head, brushing some flour off his sleeve with a frown. “She always puts her heart into these things. Time, effort, attention.” His voice was weak, defeated. “I wanted to- I don’t know. Match that?” His chin rested on his knee, arms wrapped around himself.

“I don’t think she would want you beating yourself up like this.” Yelena sat next to him on the ground. “I mean- It's the thought that counts, right?” She offered him a weak smile, trying to meet his eye. 

“It’s more than that.” Bob said, sharper than he intended. “She..deserves more than that.” He sighed. 

A beat of silence passed over them, Yelena nodding silently before she shifted a little closer to him, ruffling his flour-dusted curls. “I know.” 

“Look- let's just clean up this mess first. We can figure everything else out once we clean up from this Bob-natto” Yelena teased, standing up and stretching out her back. She offered a hand to Bob which he accepted, standing on leadened legs. 

Gratitude shone in Bob's eyes as he nodded jerkily at Yelena's offer. 

One thing at a time. 

Together, they set about cleaning the kitchen, Bob focusing on the countertops while Yelena dealt with the floor. A comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional clatter of dishes or the hiss of running water.

As the last of the mess disappeared, Bob leaned back against the now spotless counter, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. He ran a hand over his face, smearing some flour across his cheek with the motion.

“Thank you, sorry for the disaster.” Bob mumbled, attempting a weak smile. 

Rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, he faced Yelena fully, desperation etched into every line of his face. "Can you help me fix this? Please? I don't know what I'm doing wrong but maybe together we can salvage something decent."

Yelena paled, swallowing hard and shifting uncomfortably like Bob had just asked her to cut off her own hand. 

“Unfortunately- I am a shit cook.” Yelena sighed, brows furrowing as she thought on something for a moment. Yelena groaned as she rubbed her face in her hands like she was exhausted. 

“But I think I know who we can ask for help.

Bucky could just stare, eye twitching and his jaw tight as he glanced between Bob and Yelena (who were now both coated in flour and sugar) before his eyes settled on the deflated, lopsided cake that tilted precariously on the counter. 

Bob and Yelena shared a look, silently agreeing it was wise to clean before asking for his help.

“Do…I even want to know what all this is?” Bucky asked with a sigh, waving his flesh hand between them.

Bob ducked his head sheepishly under Bucky's questioning gaze, cheeks burning with embarrassment beneath the layer of grime. He shuffled his feet, suddenly finding the lines of the tile flooring extremely interesting. 

“I...was trying to bake a cake.” Bob explained. “I had some...problems.”

He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen, voice dropping to a mutter. "Safe to say, the cake won. Or would have, if there'd been anything resembling a coherent cake among the ruins."

Bucky looked completely unimpressed as he looked between the two again, Yelena and Bob both giving him puppy dog eyes as they stared up at him. 

Bucky sighed, rubbing his forehead like he was getting the world’s worst headache and he felt every one of his 108 years settling over him. 

“Okay? And what do you need me for?” Bucky mumbled, arms crossing over his chest. “Just go buy one.”

“No.” Bob shook his head quickly. 

“Bob is dead set on doing it by scratch. And you bake sometimes, so..” Yelena explained, waving her hand at Bucky.

“I don’t know guys-” Bucky sighed.

“It's just...she always tries so hard for everyone else.” Bob’s voice cracked slightly. "I just want to show her that I can do the same. That I care enough to try."

Bucky let out a low groan, knowing exactly who Bob meant and that kicked puppy look Bob always had made his shoulders drop a little as he leaned against the kitchen counter. 

He opened his mouth, but Yelena cut him off. 

“C'mon! We have to do this- for love!” Yelena beamed. “Besides, with the three of us how hard can it be?”

Bob tensed- his face going hot. Did he love her? And had he really been that obvious about it? “I don’t know if it’s love.” Bob scrambled to explain.

Bucky and Yelena both turned to him and at the same time-

“Yes, it is.”

It was a few hours later and it turned out asking Bucky for help was the right call. 

The three of them were currently admiring their (Bucky's) work, the winter soldier looking uncharacteristically  pleased with himself as he placed a few neatly sliced strawberries along the top border of buttercream. 

It was a sweet vanilla bean cake, a strawberry jam and silky buttercream between each layer. The top was carefully iced and berries lined up along the edge. 

Yelena and Bob watched him with rapt attention while chewing on some strawberry slices. 

“That wasn’t that bad.” Yelena beamed. 

Bucky shot her a glare over his shoulder. “Can you two stop eating all my supplies and start getting ready for the party?” He sighed, snatching the bowl of strawberries from them.

Bob nodded, going to take a step towards the door before Yelena stopped him with a hand. 

“Nope- I’ll do decorations, you need to wash away this mess.” Yelena waved a hand vaguely at Bob’s sweater and his face.  

Bob glanced down at himself, plucking at the stiff fabric of his shirt. Flour and sugar clung to every surface, creating a lumpy texture that crunched audibly when he moved.

"Right. Good call." Chuckling softly, he backed towards the doorway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. "I'll just... be a minute."

Ducking out, he made a beeline for his quarters, shedding clothes as he went. By the time he reached the bathroom, he was down to his boxer briefs, leaving a trail of sugary garments in his wake.

The hot spray of the shower washed away the evidence of the culinary catastrophe, steam billowing around him as he scrubbed his skin pink. Lathering up, he couldn't quite suppress the giddy smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe he could pull this off. 

As if it were a cosmic joke, just as Bob was headed to start the next part of his perfectly not flawed at all plan you were there, heading straight for the kitchen which was entirely too close to the room where the others were just now starting to set up. 

Panic seized Bob's chest, heart leaping into his throat and he froze mid-step.

In a flash, definitely too fast, he moved forward, blocking your path with outstretched hands. "Oh- uh" He forced a weak smile, praying his nerves weren't showing. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He asked, sounding anything but casual as he rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. 

Bob mentally kicked himself. Smooth. Real smooth.

You tilted your head quizzically, brows drawing together, though a smile tugged at the ends of your lips. “Making dinner, I always start at this time.”

“On your birthday?” He shook his head. “We planned on doing pizza. If- that's okay?” Bob swallowed hard.

Flailing internally, he grasped for a distraction, anything to get you off of this floor of the tower. "Besides, I was hoping to steal you away for a bit. There's something I want to show you." He held out a hand imploringly, fighting to keep his smile natural despite the nerves surging through his veins.

“Oh?” You smiled softly, radiant and devastating all at once as you took a small step closer to him, letting your hand move towards his, like gravity, like atoms pulling together. Inevitable, bursting, bordering on cleansing, the ends of your fingers curled into his own. 

Bob's heart stuttered in his chest, warmth blooming beneath his ribs as he basked in the light of your smile. He swallowed thickly, pulse jumping in his throat. 

Stepping closer, he brushed his thumb along the back of your hand, marveling at how soft you were, hoping his hands weren't too sweaty, praying that you didn’t notice the slight tremble that coursed through him. 

"I have a little...something planned. Nothing major," he nodded, words coming out hastily. His eyes were searching your face, gauging your reaction. 

"Just something to make today extra special. If-you're okay with that?"

You laughed softly, cheeks starting to bloom in color to match his own. It was cute how eager he was. As was normal, you couldn’t help letting your eyes flicker over him, the slight curl of his still-damp hair, the scent of soap that clung to his skin.  

“Of course.” You nodded. 

A grin split straight across Bob’s face, one that made your chest ache. You didn’t have long to admire it before his fingers intertwined fully with yours and he was tugging you along down the opposite end of the hall.

This was definitely the most nerve-wracking part of his plan. He was supposed to keep you distracted for a little while longer, just a few hours away from the tower so the others could finish decorating.

He could manage that, he had planned for it, practiced and yet leading you up the stairs to the roof made all his anxieties resurface. 

The wind whipped through your hair as a orange and crimson sky illuminated the rooftop in a soft glow, the air biting and crisp. You let out a soft sigh, turning to look up at him with a smile, a tilted head in silent question. 

Bob took a steadying breath, trying to will his hands to stop their traitorous trembling.

"Sorry, I'm just... really excited." Cheeks warming, he stepped closer, ducking his head shyly. 

“You...always help me practice with my...powers. You- make me want to be better, be more." He said softly. “And I-I’ve been practicing. A lot.” A nervous laugh as his hand traced over your arm, not touching, just a ghost of a touch. 

“I want to show you. Can I?” His voice was softer, eyes searching your expression for answer, for reassurance.

You gave a slight nod, eyes fluttering and hands reaching to circle his wrists, shifting down to intertwine their fingers. 

“You trust me?” 

“Always.” 

Before you could second guess, Bob had you scooped up in his arms, knees bending just slightly before he shot off into the golden sky, your squeak of shock fading in the roaring wind. 

The tower shrank beneath you as he rose higher, gathering speed rapidly. Wind whipped through his hair, his mind singing with the thrill of it—the rush of movement coupled with the excitement of having you this close.

"There. Much better view from here anyway." Voice low and playful, he lifted his gaze to hers, eyes sparkling as he watched her every reaction, even as you hid your face in his shoulder

You couldn’t help but remember the last time you offered to let Bob take you flying, he had wanted to practice carrying someone, he nearly crashed...twice,

“I’d rather not fall from a deadly height on my birthday.” You laughed nervously, fingers tightening on his sweater and eyes squeezed shut.  

Bob chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest where your face was pressed. Tightening his hold instinctively, he relished the scent of your shampoo, the curve of your body against his own

"Don't worry, I've been practicing. Promise I won't drop you." He mumbled into your hair before tilting his head back to survey the sky.

He crested the top of the tower, the sprawling city laid out below them in a glittering tapestry. With a burst of exhilaration, Bob shot forward, arcing gracefully over the rooftops. The wind whistled past them, cool and crisp against flushed skin.

Laughter bubbled up from someplace deep inside him—unrestrained and joyful—as he banked sharply, swooping low over the river.

“You practiced?” You asked with a tilted head so your eyes met with ocean blue ones, a flutter of lashes at the realization of how close you both were, you could feel the rapid thrum of his heart. 

“For me?” A little softer, your words consuming and drowning all at once.

Heat bloomed across Bob's collar under your gaze, warmth kindling in the core of his being. He ducked his head shyly, unable to meet your eyes for a moment longer before he lost himself.

Clearing his throat, he nodded jerkily, arms tightening fractionally. "Of course. For you," he confirmed quietly, voice roughened by unnamed emotions.

An idea sparked, chased by sudden reckless inspiration. Banking sharply, he dove towards the water's surface, pulling up at the last second.

A sheet of water exploded around them, glinting diamond-bright in a rainbow of light.

Bob righted their trajectory, circling back lazily. He tipped his head back, taking in the expanse of endless sky, the vast city unfurling around them like a carpet.

“Yknow, I much prefer you as a passenger than the others.” Bob mumbled. “John complained a lot and Bucky can hold a grudge.” He said with a sigh.

“Wait-wait, you flew with Bucky?” You grinned, the mental image of Bob carrying the Winter Soldier through the sky flashing in your mind. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

Bob huffed a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. "Oh, you definitely missed out. I think he said every curse he could imagine. It went on for a while."

Sobering slightly, Bob's grip tightened fractionally, pressing you closer. "I just wanted to be able to do this with you. Without worrying about crashing or losing control." His gaze drifted over the horizon, distant and thoughtful.

“That’s so sweet.” You said softly, voice so soft and sweet it nearly split Bob’s chest open. 

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a moment before you pulled away. It was so quick and chaste but still- the effect was lasting.

Bob's breath hitched, eyes widening at the fleeting press to his skin. His heart was thundering wildly, pulse racing and he had to shake his head to remind himself to concentrate. 

“Thank you. This is definitely the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.” 

Little did you know that Bob had an entire evening planned, a party, the cake. But fuck- he didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to stop this flight.

"You're welcome," he managed after a beat, voice strained with poorly suppressed emotion. Swallowing hard, he tore his gaze away, fixing it resolutely ahead as he fought to compose himself.

You deserved better than a blubbering mess, no matter how overwhelming that simple gesture had been. Squaring his shoulders, Bob drew in a steadying breath, letting the wind carry the lingering tension away. 

"Ready to head back?” Bob tilted his head as he tried to school his expression into something more casual. “I have a few more gifts.” He said vaguely. 

“Another surprise? Wow- a girl could get spoiled with all this attention.” You said softly, letting out a soft giggle as Bob landed on the roof of the tower, skin wind kissed and flushed, both heads of hair a wild mess. 

An endearing sheepishness washed over Bob's features, highlighted by the fading daylight. Rubbing the back of his neck with one free hand, he ducked his head.

"It's just a little something. Didn't want your day to end without making it clear how important you are to...us." A lopsided smile tugged at his mouth, soft and shy in the waning sun.

With care, he set you down gently, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary until he was certain you were steady "So... shall we?" One arm swept towards the roof access door with a goofy gentlemanly flourish, anticipation humming along Bob's nerve endings, electric and agonizing in equal measure.

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up on your lips. Bob was walking behind you, his hands over your eyes to block your view, his arms surrounding you and occasionally brushing as he led the way.

“Is this necessary?” You grinned. 

“Yes.” Bob answered immediately. “Something something birthday suspension.” 

It was pitch black for a moment before the lights flashed on, and Bob removed his hands. 

You were frozen, a hand to your lips as her eyes took in the decorations, the entire team grinning at her even as tears surfaced. 

“You guys…you did all this for me?” You asked softly, eyes blinking as you took it all in. 

It was bittersweet, made your heart ache and race all at once

Seeing you freeze, tears welling in those beautiful emerald eyes, made Bob's heart seize with uncertainty.

Oh god, what if it was too much? Too presumptuous? Of course his big impulsive ideas were ruining everything…

But then the tears overflowed, and you turned and launched yourself into his arms and it was Bob’s turn to tense, like all the oxygen was knocked from his lungs.

His mind blanked, brain ceasing all function beyond recognizing this was everything, the smile on your face, the tears. He returned the embrace, strong and gentle both as he rested his chin atop your head and simply breathed her in.

Bucky and Yelena both grinned at each other, tapping the ends of their beer bottles with a relieved sigh. 

“You- you baked me a cake?” You asked with a broken laugh as you rubbed away a few stray tears.

Goddamn…the pure joy on your face made the last two weeks of stress completely and totally worth it. 

“Yep! All of this was Bob.” Yelena answered, shooting Bob a look that immediately silenced him.

Bob blinked owlishly, color rising high on his cheeks as he registered Yelena's words.

He probably should’ve corrected her but…

Fuck- the way you looked at him like he hung the moon, eyes wide and lips pulled back in a smile did terrifying things to his mind.

Pride swelled in his chest, chasing away the anxious flutter. He'd done this. Made you happy. And that was enough.

It would always be enough. 

Bob opened his mouth, floundered, then closed it again, ducking his head. "I may have had some help." he mumbled, darting a glance at Bucky who shrugged unrepentantly. Traitor.

Straightening his spine, Bob reached out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, thumb grazing against your skin. "Happy birthday" he murmured, smiling softly and secretly- just for you.

Always for you. 

A/N- Thanks for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. You can find my entire masterlist here.

[lemoniceteee]

I LOOOVE WHEN PEOPLE WRITE BOB HUMPING IN HIS JEANS WHEN HE EATS READER OUT ITS SO REAL AND CUTE

soft praise smut with Bob would hit so hard he needs love

notes: I always get a little awkward when it comes to smut but I tried my best !! thank you for the request <3 Also I started writing this after meeting the Pope and that sums up who I am as a person

tags: sex *gif of elmo on fire* - established relationship - [kinda]dom!reader

It slipped out.

Not that you hadn't used pet names with Bob before, but you'd never called him a good boy. You didn't think much of it: uttered in between moans as he was eating you out, you barely took any notice of what you were saying. But Bob did. Oh, if he did.

"Right there, oh, yes, right there." You were mumbling, as he enthusiastically nodded between your legs. You pulled on his hair lightly as he accomplished your request, swiftly moving his tongue with such skill it felt like he was born to do it.

"Hmm, good boy." You had praised him, and that's when you heard it. Or rather, felt it. A low groan, straight to your core. You also noticed how his movements seemed to be more eager now, his hands squeezing your thighs harder as if he was holding onto them for life.

"You like that? Being called good boy?" You asked, breathless, lifting your head from the pillow to watch Bob's reaction. He suddenly interrupted his actions, much to your dismay, to look at you. He was blushing, his lips almost glistening with your wetness.

"K-kinda. Probably. Yes." He admitted looking down, as if the confession brought shame on him.

You moved your hand to caress his cheek. He leaned in the touch, looking up at you with wide eyes. "Nothing to be embarassed about. I called you that because you were being very good to me Bob, it's only nice to know it makes you more eager to please me." You reassured him, winking at him.

Bob licked his lips and looked down, softly caressing your upper thigh and sending shivers all along your back. "I should probably keep going then..." He said it with innocence in his voice, but you didn't miss his grin as he positioned himself between your legs once more, crossing your thighs around his neck as if locking himself down there.

"You taste so good..." He mumbled, vigorously reprising his actions as you gripped on the bed sheets, soft moans leaving your throat as he squeezed your thighs.

"Doing so well for me Bob, God, don't stop-" An empty request, begging for something you knew he was going to accomplish either way. Your words were interrupted by a whine coming from Bob, his hips not so subtly rutting against the bed probably to try and get some friction himself.

You smirked at his reaction, throwing your head back on the pillow as you pulled on his hair. You let out a loud groan when his tongue finally found your clit, "that spot right there," you murmured, barely able to speak up, "keep doing that, just like that, so fucking good." You were pretty sure you were mumbling nonsense by then, but Bob still seemed to enjoy your praises nonetheless.

His left hand left your thigh to give attention to his still clothed cock, palming himself through his pants. The lack of touch on your leg made you quietly whimper in disappointment, even with his tongue still between your folds. Raising your head you saw the mark he had accidentally left on your thigh, the shape of his hand currently looking like a piece of art in your eyes.

Before you could say anything he hit your clit again, making you moan and roll your eyes back. "H-hand." You muttered. Bob once again abruptly interrupted his movements to look at you.

"Uh?"

"Y-your hand. Back on my leg. Please."

Bob frowned for a second and then immediately started blushing, his eyes widening as he realized what you were talking about. He nodded quickly and immediately moved his hand back on you, squeezing your leg. "Sorry."

You couldn't help but smile at him, shaking your head. "You did nothing wrong baby. But can you keep going now please?" You asked him, unable to hide with your tone the desperation you were feeling from your neglected core.

Bob only blushed more, "Yes, yes. Sorry." And then he disappeared between your legs again, immediately going for your clit and making sure to grip tight on your thighs.

"Good boy, doing everything I ask you for." You praised him, biting down your lip. "No one ever touched me like this, I swear." You parted your lips and arched your back as your words only stimulated him to speed up his actions. His hips' quick movements against the bed seemed to go along with his tongue, as if eating you out was bringing him more pleasure than it was to you.

"Bob, I'm close," you warned him, "you too, baby?" You asked, noticing how his thrust against the bed had started to become more frantic. Bob nodded, his fingers tightening around your legs.

It didn't take much for Bob to cum after that, his moans hitting straight at your core as it sent you over the edge, finally reaching your orgasm as well.

Before lifting his head Bob made sure he had licked you clean of all of your juices - something which he always did, and never failed to bring a smile on your face - and only when you hummed in satisfaction and lightly tugged on his hair to get his attention did he finally stood up to move and lay down next to you.

"My good boy." You teased him, earning an embarrassed laugh out of him. He kissed your shoulder and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're never going to stop teasing me about that, are you?"

You chuckled. "Why? It was sweet!" Bob hummed and kissed your neck, moving up to your cheek and finally your lips.

"You're always so good to me. I love you." You mumbled as he kissed you. Bob sighed and leaned his forehead against yours.

"Keep going like this and we might go for round two." He muttered low. You tutted, giving him a peck.

"Hm, I love it when you threaten me with a good time, Reynolds."

[of-apollo]

All the Little Things ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x GN!Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary: Bob can’t fathom the idea of anybody loving him as much as you do, so you go out of your way to remind him that he is more than deserving of your adoration every day.

Warnings: Fluffy! Little bit of Bob thinking he doesn’t deserve love and such, but together we will annihilate that feeling. :)

Navigation | Prompt List | Requested

There are a hundred things you do for Bob that he doesn’t know how to name. But, he knows them, deep in the space between heartbeats, where he's quietest and safest.

Like, when you order a book he was eyeing up before he can even mention his interest in it. You always pretend it was on sale, that it was just something you happened to see, that you had a coupon code. And he always gives you the same look, just grateful, touched, a little disbelieving.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bob says gently, every time.

And every time, you smile and push the book into his hands like you’re passing him a secret.

“But, I wanted to.”

Bob keeps them all. Some are under your nightstand now, spines cracked and filled with little sticky notes where you wrote down your favorite quotes. He rereads those parts sometimes, not out of interest in the plot or the fiction, but because your handwriting is there, soft and looped and real. It anchors him.

Bob never expects things. Not love, nor comfort. Not anything that doesn’t come with the price tag of consequence. And yet, here you are, at a food truck at midnight, handing him half your burrito without asking.

“I thought this kind wasn’t your favourite,” he says, already halfway through the bite.

You shrug, brushing a little bit of rice off your jeans. “Yeah, but it’s yours.”

Bob looks at you like you’ve hung each individual star in the sky, like you might be some myth he stumbled into on accident. He’s terrified that one day you could disappear and take all of this softness with you. But, you never do. You always stay. Even when he flinches or goes quiet. Especially then.

Sometimes, you buy him socks. Just regular ones, usually the kind that come in packs of three from the boring aisle in Target. But, you know he loses them all the time, especially when he’s busy training to save the world or getting tangled up in his own head. So you tuck them into drawers, or hide them in the laundry basket, or leave them on his side of the bed like some domestic breadcrumb trail back to reality.

Bob never says anything, but you see the way his shoulders loosen. The way he sits on the edge of the bed for just a second longer, rolling the fabric between his fingers like it’s something sacred. Like he’s being reminded he’s here, that he’s human, and that someone loves him in the simplest, most beautiful way.

You love buying Bob books. He’ll be staring at a storefront, eyes a little unfocused, and you’ll already be pulling out your phone to order whatever has caught his attention. It’s not even a conscious decision anymore, just pure instinct. Full of love, showing up in the form of glossy covers and fresh pages.

Bob doesn’t read fast. Sometimes he rereads the same paragraph five times before it sinks in. But, you never rush him. You let him read out loud to you at night, when the world is quiet and there’s nothing chasing him but his own thoughts.

“Do you like it?” Bob asks softly, pausing halfway through a sentence.

You nod and lean against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “I like your voice more.”

He doesn’t reply right away, just holds your hand and turns the page.

There’s a little box under the bed. You don’t think he knows about it, but of course he does. He’s Bob Reynolds. He’s got super senses and super strength and a whole universe inside him. But, he never says anything about it.

The box is filled with tiny things. Receipts from the first dinner you ever shared. A tiny lion from a toy capsule machine. The wrapper from your favorite gum, folded into a heart. Notes you scribbled on the backs of grocery lists reading ‘Don’t forget eggs. And that I love you’.

To anyone else, it would look like trash. But, to Bob, it’s proof. Evidence of you and of this, of the fact that someone saw all of him and decided to stay.

You get him little gifts. Always ‘just because’. A small keychain shaped like a book. A mug that says World’s Best Grandad. A sweater with a constellation on the chest. They’re not expensive. You know Bob struggles with money sometimes. Not because he doesn’t have it, he’s saved enough people that the Thunderbolts and their weird government payroll covers an abundance of things, but because he doesn’t like spending it on himself.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Bob murmurs one night, curled beside you in bed.

You’re playing with his hair, fingers tracing soft patterns at his temple. He’s half-asleep, a little overwhelmed, the way he always gets when you’ve spent the whole day fussing over him. You had been making his favorite food, restocking his nightstand with his favorite gum, bringing home a blanket you thought he’d like.

“I want to do all this,” you say. “Because you deserve it.”

He opens his eyes, soft and golden in the lamplight. “Even when I’m not being the World’s Best Grandad?”

You huff a laugh, thinking fondly of that stupid mug, and then you lean in and kiss his forehead. “Especially then.”

Bob isn’t used to this kind of love. The kind that shows up in split meals and shared playlists. The kind that folds his laundry and buys his shampoo before he runs out. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return, not even gratitude.

Bob tries to give it back. He does little things too. He plugs your phone into charge at night when you’re too tired to bother. He learns how to pile your hoodie in order of worn to least worn. He saves you the last slice of pizza, even when he really wants it. Bob still can’t believe that every single day, he gets to have all of this, all of you, and all of your relentless adoration.

You’re walking through a bookstore one rainy Tuesday when Bob pauses in the graphic novels section. He tilts his head at a cover and doesn’t say anything, but you catch the little spark in his eyes. By the time you’re home, it’s already there. Wrapped and waiting with a sticky note that says, ‘I love you. Enjoy!’.

Bob holds it like it's made of glass. Like it might smash to pieces if he breathes too hard. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, but he’s smiling, a deep red gracing the apples of his cheeks. “Completely ridiculous.”

You grin cheekily. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he corrects, without hesitation. And God, your heart does something you’re not sure you have words for.

There’s a moment one morning, soft light, unbrushed teeth, mismatched socks, where you hand him a cup of coffee exactly how he likes it. No words. No ceremony. Just love, warm and steady and real.

Bob looks at you and says, “I used to think I was hard to love.”

You try not to audibly gasp. “You’re not.”

“I know that now,” Bob says. “Because of you.”

You don’t cry, but you find yourself very close. Instead, you reach up and touch Bob’s cheek, brushing your thumb over a freckle by his eye.

“You’re easy to love,” you say. “You just never had someone who knew how.”

Bob starts leaving you notes. On mirrors, in books, on the inside of your shoes. ‘You make the dark feel smaller’, ‘Thank you for finding me’, ‘You were the first place I ever felt safe’. They’re not poetry. Not really. But they’re him and they’re yours, and for that, you love them.

On lazy Sunday mornings, you stay in bed until the sun reaches full height. Bob wraps himself around you like he’s still worried the world might try to take you away. But, you always stay.

“Why do you do all of this?” Bob asks once, fingers curled around the edge of a new blanket, a duck plushy set lazily near his head.

You press your lips to his bare chest, right over his heartbeat. “Because I love you.”

Bob kisses your hair, quiet for a long moment. “I think you love me too much.”

You tilt your head up. “Maybe, only because you let me.”

Bob smiles. “I’d let you a thousand times.”

Bob Reynolds, the man with a million secrets and the sun infused in his bones, is learning what it means to be loved. Not for his strength, nor for his pain. But, rather, for all of the little things. The way he reads aloud. The way he always opens the car door for you. The way he holds your hand when he’s scared and doesn’t try to hide it.

You don’t need him to be perfect. You just need him to be Bob. Bob is starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[lilmarshie]

Void’s Vulnerability

Bob Reynolds x Reader x The Void Headcanons

Just some headcanons where Bob is being very needy.

‼️‼️🔞 NSFW Themes and Suggestive Content 🔞‼️‼️

MDNI

- Bob needs to hear how much you love him, even during the most intimate moments. He'll pause, look at you with those big, vulnerable eyes, and ask, "You do love me, right? Even with the Void?"

- He craves being as close to you as humanly possible. Think intertwined limbs, constant touching, and a need to be completely enveloped in your embrace.

- Bob whispers sweet nothings, insecurities, and declarations of love in your ear. He needs to verbalize his feelings and hear your reassurances in return.

- He's not afraid to cry or show his raw emotions. Intimacy unlocks a floodgate of feelings, and he needs you to hold him and tell him everything will be okay.

- Deep down, Bob is terrified you'll leave him because of the Void. This fear manifests as neediness, as he seeks constant validation that you're not going anywhere.

- He nuzzles into your neck, seeking comfort and security. Your presence is his safe haven, and he clings to it desperately.

- Bob loves hearing you praise him, especially his strength and heroism. He needs to know you see him as the Sentry, the hero, and not just the broken man.

- Despite his immense power, Bob craves gentle touch. Soft caresses, tender kisses, and loving embraces ground him and remind him of the simple joys in life.

- He opens up about his fears, anxieties, and the burden of being the Sentry. He needs you to understand his struggles and offer him a safe space to be vulnerable.

- Bob vows his eternal devotion to you, promising to protect you and love you for all time. His neediness stems from a deep-seated desire to prove his worthiness of your love.

[eyelessfaces]

[gayandbasic]

Silhouette Part 7: Manufactured Divinity

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 3K

Summary: Bob is finally confronted with the brutal truth of Valentina’s “treatment” of you. Her manipulations begin to unravel as he recalls every red flag—every twisted lie—and realizes he’s not meant for this. Bob makes his choice: he was never Valentina’s creation—he’s Seven’s salvation.

TW: mentions of abuse and trauma, human experimentation, and torture

Prologue ✼ Part 1 ✼ Part 2 ✼ Part 3 ✼ Part 4 ✼ Part 5 ✼ Part 6 ✼ Part 8

Silhouette Character Concept

This chapter diverges from the canonical storyline and there will be POV shifts going forward.

~ marks a shift in POV.

✼ ҉ ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

The elevator hums quietly as it descends, a sterile hum echoing in the silence between them.

Valentina stands at his side, perfectly composed, hands folded in front of her like a benevolent queen delivering her subject to salvation. Bob watches the red LED display count down the floors. Something gnaws at the edge of his thoughts, but he keeps still—golden and quiet and trying so hard to be the hero she sees in him.

“She’s alive, of course,” Valentina says softly, her voice that same gentle cadence she uses when talking someone off a ledge—or into one. “She’s stable. Or as stable as one like her can be.”

Bob’s jaw tenses slightly. “She didn’t look stable last time I saw her.”

Valentina sighs like a mother speaking of a troubled child. “That’s precisely why we’ve been… monitoring her.” She looks over at him, warm and poised. “Robert, you’ve seen what she’s capable of. That kind of power—it’s corrosive. Not just to others, but to her. It eats her alive from the inside.”

“She’s not dangerous,” he says firmly. “She’s in pain.”

“And we are treating that pain,” Valentina replies smoothly, pressing a button to slow the descent slightly, as if giving herself more time to paint the perfect narrative. “We’ve been using the Silhouette Project data we acquired after the Hydra collapse. That research—it wasn’t all evil, Bob. There were… breakthroughs buried in the horror. Things that helped us build you.”

He stiffens.

“The blood stabilizers. The nervous system syncing. Shadow-to-matter response. We wouldn’t have been able to make Sentry without the groundwork Hydra did using her.”

His eyes flick to her sharply, but she smiles, disarming, rehearsed.

“Of course, we’re refining it now. More humane. More focused. Our trials aren’t designed to control her—only to help her integrate those abilities in a safer way. For her sake. For your sake.”

Bob doesn’t say anything for the rest of the descent.

Because if she wanted him to cooperate and be the face of her project then he needed to know Valentina was the right person to trust. No more ordering him around when he is the one with power.

That gnawing thing in his chest — doubt, maybe — pulses stronger the closer they get.

The doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing a sterile corridor awash in white. Cameras blink in the corners. Scientists in pale coats pause to look up as they pass, eyes wide, wary. Some of them avert their gaze. Others… don’t.

Valentina leads the way without speaking.

They stop at a thick pane of reinforced glass, nearly two stories tall, overlooking a containment chamber bathed in harsh white light. No shadows. Nowhere to hide. The walls pulse faintly with ultraviolet hums. It’s almost too bright to look at directly.

And there—

There you are.

You’re strapped to a chair that’s bolted to the floor, arms and ankles bound in sleek, high-tech restraints. Electrodes pepper her skin, wires trailing into machines with spiking, unreadable data. Your head hangs low, hair slick with sweat. Every few seconds a mechanical hiss sounds, and a current ripples through you — your body jerks, spine bowing. No scream, not anymore. Just hoarse, shallow breathing. A medic jots notes on a clipboard nearby, utterly unfazed.

Bob’s expression goes rigid.

“This is helping?” His voice cracks on the last word, horror contorting into disbelief.

Valentina barely glances at him. “It’s calibration. We’re trying to stabilize her abilities so we can understand them. The surges are dangerous — even to herself.”

“She looks like she’s being tortured.” His fists clench at his sides. His voice is sharper now, a blade unsheathed.

Valentina sighs like he’s being dramatic. “Robert. You asked to see her. This is the cost of power unchecked. She’s volatile. You saw what she was capable of. We’re trying to help her control it — for her sake. For yours. For everyone’s.”

Bob doesn’t answer.

He’s frozen, staring at you in the chair.

Your head hung low and breath came in pained gasps. You look so different from the confident and powerful shadow wielder he met in the vault.

And yet—

A flicker.

Your eyes flutter open.

You lift your head, barely. gaze dragging toward the glass. Toward him. Where he expects to see no light in your eyes, he’s thrown by the sharp anger festering in your gaze.

The moment your eyes meet his they soften in what can only be described as relief. Relief that he was still ok—

Something snaps.

Bob jerks back like he’s been struck. His breathing picks up.

“You expect me to believe that?” His voice booms, loud enough to make nearby scientists flinch.

“She’s dangerous, Robert,” Valentina says calmly, already trying to get back in his head. “If we don’t control her—”

“She’s not an animal,” he snarls, turning on her. “She’s not some project that needs to be controlled.”

“She’s a threat.”

He turns back to the glass. You still haven't looked away from him.

“No. You are.”

His eyes are glowing gold now, full brightness, full fury. His voice rises with a manic edge — too loud, too sure of itself, every word louder than the last. “You said I was a god. You said I was invincible. So why the hell am I taking orders from you? Why should I let you continue to torture her?!”

Valentina’s smile falters.

“Robert,” she says, soft, warning, “you’re upset. I get it. But—”

“You lied.” He’s pacing now, manic energy spilling out in bursts. “You said they didn’t care about me. That she didn’t care. But I remember her, Val. I remember how she jumped in front of a hundred bullets for me. For ME someone she just met. Yet you’re treating her like some sort of monster!” His anger is visibly overwhelming.

“You want me to think she’d let anyone touch her like-like this? Strap her down?” He slams his palm against the glass.

Valentina’s voice cuts sharp through the sterile air. “You’re making a mistake, Robert.”

Bob doesn’t flinch. He stares at your pained expression, your brows furrowed in concern despite the wounds and pain you have.

Valentina tries again, her voice softening—oil-slick sweet. “I know what you’re feeling. But that thing in there is not the girl you knew.”

Bob turns slowly, golden eyes burning. “Don’t.”

“She’s unstable. Dangerous. You remember what happened in the vault—what she became. It’s not her fault, but that thing she turns into…it’s- it’s not human.”

Bob takes a step forward, gaze like a blade. “And who do you think made her that way?”

Valentina falters, just slightly, but masks it with a placating smile. “Robert. She chose to embrace that power that was gifted to her through experimentation. I tried to help her understand it, contain it, to keep her safe. I was doing what had to be done.”

“You strapped her down and drugged her,” Bob snaps, voice low and trembling. “That’s not help.”

Valentina exhales sharply, stepping back, one heel click after another like a ticking bomb. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. She’s a monster wearing a human face. You’re letting sympathy cloud your judgment—”

“She’s not the monster in this room.”

Valentina’s face tightens.

Bob’s voice cracks, aching and raw. “She stood by me. She just met me but she-she risked everything, she reached for me when I didn’t want to be reached. She never once treated me like I was something to be used.”

He swallows, his confidence no longer manic—just sure. “You dressed me like a god and treat me like some savior. She just looked at me like I was a person…just Bob.”

Valentina’s smile drops entirely. She sees it now: she’s lost him. Her words playing back how “Bob” was someone worth pitying l.

“She’s going to destroy everything,” she hisses, desperate now. “She’s going to drag you down with her.”

Bob shakes his head.

The shadows thicken behind him. The air goes still.

Valentina’s hand inches toward her pocket again. “Robert just think this through. Do you really want to throw away all we worked for just for some girl you barely know?”

He stares at her like she’s something small and forgettable. “You don’t get to give me orders anymore.”

Then, quietly, with absolute conviction:

“She’s mine to protect.”

The lights flicker.

Valentina opens her mouth to respond but he’s not listening. He’s on fire, golden light radiating in wild pulses.

“You told me I was more than a nobody. That I was more powerful than anyone and that I was needed. You don’t get to say that and then treat her like a thing!”

“Robert—”

“No, no, see, I get it now.” He grins — not joyful. Sharp. Like a predator finally seeing the trap from the outside. “You needed a weapon. You dressed it up like worship, but all you ever wanted was something to point and shoot. And the second I started asking questions—”

“Enough!” Valentina snaps, jaw tight. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

He steps closer, voice low and cold. “No, Valentina. I’m thinking perfectly. For the first time in weeks.”

“I’m getting her out,” he says quietly, all the mania suddenly distilled into razor-sharp certainty.

Valentina moves toward him, almost desperate now. “If you break containment, you’ll compromise the entire wing. There are civilians—”

“She’s not staying here.” His voice is a final verdict, carved in stone. “Let her out now.”

“Robert,” she tries, reaching for his arm. “Listen to me—”

“You don’t give orders to a god,” he says, stepping toward the door. “You pray I don’t tear this whole damn place apart.”

~

What the hell happened to Bob’s hair?

That’s your first thought, absurdly, stupidly, as your eyes land on him. Gold. All gold. Golden hair to match the golden suit Valentina shoved him into like a doll. The glinting, polished image of the hero she wants the world to see. A statue. A puppet.

You watch him through the haze of pain and light, your skin blistering in places where they burned your flesh. Every breath is shallow, raw. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been in this room. Time is meaningless when every second is suffering.

You think, for one terrible second, that she’s fully broken him. That Bob has been lost to whatever machine of lies and worship she’s fed him. But then your eyes meet.

And it’s him.

For a fraction of a second, something passes between you. Recognition. Grief. A silent apology. And then something sharper—anger. Not at you, no. For you.

It hits you like a freight train — a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding finally shuddering out of your chest. He knows. He sees her.

You can’t hear the words at first. But you see the shift in him—the way his jaw clenches, how his fists shake at his sides. You see her talking, calm and smug, always in control. And him unraveling her with just his stare.

Valentina points toward you.

And you know what she’s saying before you hear it.

Monster. Weapon. Unstable.

You’ve heard it all before.

Your hands curl into fists where they hang in your restraints, rage simmering beneath your skin. Not at Bob. At her. For poisoning everything she touches.

But then Bob moves.

His whole posture changes—no longer unsure, no longer searching for a place to belong. He looks at Valentina like he finally sees her for what she is. And something in you aches. Because despite everything he’s seen—despite the blood on your hands, the things you’ve become and the deepest shame you hold—he’s standing on the other side of the glass fighting for you.

He’s choosing you.

You want to scream. To call to him. But your throat is sand and your body won’t move.

So instead, you watch. Watch the boy who once begged not to be a burden rise up like a storm no one can control.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something that isn’t fear.

You feel hope.

The scientists have stopped what they’re doing, voices raised beyond the glass catching their attention. Needles dangle in midair. One still drips with a black substance you’re too familiar with. Their hesitation is your opening. You reach deep — deeper than ever before — into the dark hollow in your core. Into the place where pain lives. Where the beast sleeps.

The void answers.

Lights overhead flicker with Bob's anger. A buzz. A hum. Then darkness lurches like a living thing.

And you strike.

Shadows explode outward from your body, slick tendrils lashing into the glass and wrapping around the scientists before they can scream. They don’t die. Not yet. You’re precise. Skin peels. Bones grind. Nerves scream. You tear something deeper — the thing that lets them stand proud in white coats and call this torture science.

By the time the lights stutter back on, they’re husks. Moaning, trembling husks slumped on the ground like discarded puppets.

You’re already moving — melting through your restraints like oil through a sieve, reforming beside the door. Every step is agony, your limbs trembling with spent power, but you drag yourself upright just as Bob turns on Valentina.

You reach for the door.

He reaches for her throat.

Valentina recoils, her hand darting to her pocket. Her face is no longer smug. It’s scared. Angry. Small.

You stagger through the frame, vision doubled, breath hitching. Lean against the cold metal. “Bob? You ok? Let’s get ou-”

But Valentina’s voice cuts you off, venomously calm. “I’m very disappointed, Robert.”

Click.

You watch her press a small, black device — no bigger than a car key — and then it happens.

Bob’s eyes go black. Not in anger, not in power — in absence. His body stiffens, then drops like a marionette with its strings cut.

“No—Bob—” You drop with him, knees slamming against the tile. His body folds into yours, weight heavy and unresponsive, head lolling to your shoulder.

Your hands cup his face, trembling. “Bob? B-Bob? No, no, no… please…”

His eyes are open. Blank. Unseeing. Dead.

“What did you do?” your voice cracks out, barely above a whisper. It scrapes your throat on the way out.

Valentina straightens her jacket with a flick. “You think I’d make something as powerful as the Sentry without a kill switch?”

Kill switch.

The words don’t make sense. Can’t.

Your arms tighten around him. He’s too still. Too quiet. No breath, no heat.

“No… no you didn’t—” your voice folds inward on itself as you hold him, as if the strength of your embrace alone could will his soul back into his skin.

Valentina backs away, quickly, aware of what’s about to happen. Alarm flashing across her perfect face.

And then the shadows start to shift.

Reach.

A dark pulse moves through the floor like a heartbeat—no, like something waking up.

Her breath catches.

She’s seen this before.

That day in the desert, when you thought he was gone the first time. When your scream broke the sound barrier and the monster was unleashed. When you became something no one could cage. A rage beast made of sinew and shadow and grief.

But this time?

This time she pulled the trigger.

“Ok just calm down,” she whispers, eyes wide, already backing away.

But the shadows aren’t silent.

The monster inside you is weeping black ink from every pore. It spills into the room, a rising tide of ancient grief and wrath. And from him — from the shell in your arms — something pulses back.

The darkness is not just lashing—it’s reaching.

Your shadows stretch toward him like hands. And his soul — his soul reaches back.

Black Smoke billows and wraps around him tenderly, curling up and over swallowing the two of you whole.

There’s the quiet hum of something vast and broken inside the two of you.

A flicker of black sweeping over Gold.

A void unleashed.

Valentina turns on her heel and runs.

She doesn’t call for backup. Doesn’t bark orders.

She runs.

~

You blink and all of a sudden you’re in a room soaked in blood.

The first thing you feel is cold—not the kind that clings to your skin, but the kind that sinks into your bones.

The second thing is wrongness.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, stagnant, as if time forgot this place ever existed. And then you realize—

You’ve been here before.

It’s the room. That room.

The metal walls. The low hum of broken fluorescent lights. The heavy smell of iron. It’s not a dream. It’s a memory.

Your shame.

You know this moment. Seconds after the first time you murdered another human

You’ve relived it recently. You and Bob both saw it once through the prism of your mind.

But now, you’re here trapped alone in the after math of the horrors that happened in this dark spot in your heart.

The lights flicker. And there she is.

You, but small. Eight, maybe nine. Standing barefoot on the cold tile, trembling.

Her hands are covered in blood. Her shadow is twitching behind her like a living thing, teeth bared and wet. There’s a man—was a man—crumpled by the far wall, throat torn out.

Child-you is staring at him, frozen in the aftermath. Like she can’t decide whether to scream or run or fall apart entirely.

You feel it all over again. The fear. The confusion. The sick, horrible relief.

Because he’s not going to hurt you anymore.

You take a step forward—but the room doesn’t let you move. You’re not a participant here. You’re a witness.

Forced to watch the birth of the monster you would become.

The girl looks up.

And for a split second, she sees you.

Wide eyes meet your own. Not shocked. Not scared.

Just tired.

The lights buzz overhead. The walls begin to ripple—like glass, like oil—and the room peels apart. A seam opening to the next horror.

And you realize:

You’re not waking up this time. Bob isn’t here to hold your hand or shield you from your guilt.

Something is keeping you here, you’re being peeled open.

Memory by memory. Wound by wound.

And all you can think is maybe this is for the best….

You couldn’t save Bob.

You couldn’t save anyone.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Next Chapter

A/N: Hello darlings back again with another one. I hope this is as much fun for you all as it is me. I’m excited to keep going and finally bring in the rest of the team for good. As much as I love Bob I’m worried about getting repetitive and miss Yelena 😭

As always thank you for reading 🩶🖤🤍

Tag list: @otometo @katiemrty @hyperfixations-go-brrr @gmmsos @blackcats-and-witchcraft @disillusionary

[hyoer]

Project: Get Over Bob (2)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now its up to you to carry on Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. Mentions of suicide (vagueish), mentions of child abuse and  forms of non-physical self-harm, mentions of drugs :( Bob just struggling a lot with life but reader and the team are there to make it better even if it’s just a bit. Lots of angst and no comfort… Yet. Also, a bit of kissing. I may have made reader english unintentionally :) expansion of readers relationship with the team!! The Void and a little?bit of the Sentry make an appearance.

word count. 6.5k

Notes at the end of this chapter

part 1.

Phase: Bob?

Robert Reynolds grew up like a dog, held taught at the neck, beaten into submission for the hell of it. He'd spent 29 years running from the cage he grew up in.

From backwater towns to unkind cities, across borders and oceans, he was always searching for his next high.

And every time he found it and crashed, he crashed harder.

All of his misfortune had led him to Kuala Lumpur. What better place, he thought, for cheap meth and good food?

Not that he could afford either once he landed. His so-called "working holiday" quickly devolved into sleepless nights and cheap motel rooms.

The lab was a nightmare, and the splitting of his mind it hurt, it hurt so much. But none of that pain could compare to the guilt.

The sickening knowledge that he'd hurt people.

That he'd become the thing he feared.

His father had always told him: Violence is in your blood. One day, you'll understand it's not cruelty—it’s survival. Bob had spent his life trying to prove him wrong, only to fail.

Waking up in the vault was terrifying. But that fear was eclipsed by the feeling of something stronger, the opportunity of a real life.

A final chance.

He regarded it as the single most important moment of his life. Sure, getting the sentry serum was life-changing. But he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping what he had now.

And you were there the day it all started.

You weren’t a child assassin like Yelena, or a phasing shadow like Ava, or a walking weapon like Alexei, Bucky, or Walker. But you moved with purpose. Precision. That quiet intensity set you apart. You weren’t the strongest in the vault. But took twice as many hits as you dealt and got up three times as fast.

Now, in the tower, most of Bob’s nights were spent with you. He’d perch himself on your sofa, fingers picking at the frayed threads along the armrest, eyes blurred but never closed. You’d talk about everything. The strange weather patterns, Alexei’s obsession with marketing, the new taco shop opening downstairs—mundane things, your voice soft and steady, trying to anchor him.

The room always felt smaller when you were there. Your presence was a warmth that filled every corner, something he could almost reach out and hold if he wasn’t so afraid of breaking it somehow.

But even you couldn’t keep the thoughts out.

The silence between your words gave them space. The darkness of the room fed them. And the safety you offered made them bolder.

“I wish I’d died in Sarasota.” he said one night.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t expect.

“Hey—no, no. Please don’t say that, Robert.”  you moved closer  “Please just- just look at me.”

Your hand cupped his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, soft and trembling.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was a safe feeling touch, he’d always wanted that.

You always gave it to him.

“Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t feel like this, it wouldn’t be right for me to say that. But you’ve been working so hard to unpack your issues and work at them, please, please just give yourself the credit you deserve.”

He blinked up at you, fighting the urge to look away.

“Most people go their whole lives never even trying to unpack their pain,” you continued, voice low but unwavering. “But you—you’re facing it. That’s brave.”

And for a moment.

The void inside him seemed to shrink that bit smaller.

Being at the tower felt freer than the life of a nomad he’d adopted for the past 7 years. There were still plenty of rules, curfews, schedules and therapy sessions—but the structure gave him purpose. It kept his mind and body active.

Every morning, Yelena would bang on his door like a madman.

“Make sure you grab your coffee ~” she’d call through the door, already bounding halfway down the hall by the time he’d have opened his eyes.

There, he’d find you with your back turned, shuffling through the music on your phone, tapping your foot lightly to the beat. He’d reach over and grab two cups for you both before heading out for a run in Central Park with Yelena, well, he’d be attempting to run, but that was besides the point.

He’d run beside Lena, wheezing through half-finished stories about old jobs or nights he barely remembered. She’d hit back with tales from the Red Room. They were always darker, sometimes sad, but she was a master of comedy so he’d be barking out laughs between gasps for air the whole way.

Once she was finished torturing him he’d head back to the tower to meet Ava in the lab.

She was helping him work toward his GED—something he’d started years ago, then abandoned when life got too loud. Now, with all the time and resources in the world, he thought it would be a good time to start again.

Ava was the best teacher he could ask for.

She never rolled her eyes when he forgot how to do something, never laughed when he misread something aloud.

Her teaching was patient and kind.

She wasn’t much of a talker, which was a given with her solitary upbringing, but that was fine with him. They’d spend time in comfortable silence, with Bob occasionally breaking it to ask a question. Both of them used to the quiet, neither of them quite understood what normal looked like but their quiet friendship fulfilled them both.

After finishing up with his work, Bucky would usually steal him away for sparring.

“You keep dropping your guard.” he’d grunt, tossing Bob onto the mat for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“I don’t have a guard.” Bob would mutter, staring up at the ceiling begging someone, anyone for a break.

He hated physical exercise.

The sentry serum had made Bob invincible and while he didn’t feel any pain, his frustration was with his lack of ability.

His strength was absolute, his body impenetrable, but, he wanted to be able to move around with the same grace and stealth that the others did.

Bucky pushed him harder than anyone else.

But it never felt cruel.

It was focused and encouraging.

Like he was his older brother who believed in him enough to never go easy.

You’d sometimes be there too, just out of sight in the adjacent room. You’d be reviewing mission footage or deep in a debrief.

Bob liked it better when you weren’t watching. Not because he didn’t want you there, he just preferred to keep his exploits or lack thereof between the senator and himself instead.

Dinner was one of the best parts of his day.

Sitting at the dinner table didn’t involve endless lectures or threats of harm. Alexei and John would always be the first ones at the table, seated across from him like some sort of strange uncle-nephew trio. They weren’t constantly at each others throats but when they were it was way more entertaining for him.

John always had a dumb joke ready but Alexei managed to always have a weirder one. Half the time, they would argue about whether Kramer vs Kramer was a Christmas movie or if John had browned the butter well enough for the banana bread.

“Why do you even eat potatoes like this?” Alexei would say, stabbing one with his fork “It is so dry, no soul.”

“You’re literally Russian dude?!!” John would shoot back his voice raising an octave.

“Russia has great food, you know my father-”

Bob was definitely not listening to the rest of that. But he would smile and finish his meal with a warmth in his heart and that’s all that mattered.

You and Bob would take your daily walks after dinner.

The city was quieter at night.

Well, New York never really was, but it was quieter in the way Bob liked. Just a low rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional click of footsteps as you both aimlessly wandered.

Bob chuckled at your retelling of your siblings meeting Ava for the first time. His smile lingered even after you’d finished talking, it was a strange one. It felt like he was half-sincere and half-lost in thought. His steps slowed and he turned to you, “You’re one of my best friends, y’know, just thought I’d tell you.” said more like a question than a statement.

You smiled. “That’s why you’ve been looking constipated this entire walk?”

He huffed a laugh, but his face still has a serious look “I mean it. It’s not just because we have to live together or mission stuff. You’re always there for me even when I’ve been hard to be around.”

“Bob, you’ve never been hard to be around, ever.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed and eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

“I guess I-I just keep thinking” voice low “That I’m this ticking time bomb. Like the more time you guys spend with me, the quicker I’ll blow up a fuse and hurt you all.”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “You ever think that maybe we don’t need protecting from you? That having you around is so good that we’d be willing to keep the Void at bay forever? I would go through hundreds of rooms for you Robert, every damn day if I had to, I’m sure the others would too.”

You didn’t say anything else, and he stared at you for a moment before sputtering out that it was late and you both should head back. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed how red his ears were.

Bob thought that maybe you liked him the way he liked you.

But he decided to push silly thoughts like that away. You would have said that to everyone.

It wasn’t that Bob himself didn’t like you; he just felt as though pursuing you would be another Malaysia. He would somehow grip your light so tightly that it would burn only you, leaving him at the centre of yet another massacre. And Bob was far too kind, he cared for you far too much to doom you to a life of walking on eggshells.

He would get over you. And he knew just what to have to start his journey.

A sweet treat.

Bob didn’t plan on finding the bookstore.

He was walking to find a new dessert place, the serum left him with a serious sweet tooth.

Bob liked walking on Main Street. Sure, there was always a major risk of him literally destroying everyone in the city if the transdimensional being in him escaped but, the feeling off blending in and being normal was worth the risk.

He walked for another ten minutes before he saw it.

The bookstore that you were always raving about. You had begged the whole team to come with you, rambling on about the idea of a book club in preparation for the new Christopher Nolan film, but your pleading had been interrupted by Mel informing them all they had press to finish up.

He decided he’d go in and find you something, that should cheer you up.

Bob wandered into the store, trailing his fingers along the many books, stopping only when he'd collected too much dust for his nose to handle. It reminded him of a place he’d hidden out in once, years ago.

Different city.

Different Bob.

“You looking for anything specific?” came a voice.

He turned and saw her.

A short woman with long loose waves nestled into a bun, a pencil sticking out of her pocket and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She looked at him cheekily and something about the intensity of her gaze flustered him.

“I’m-I’m not really sure, I’m looking for a friend but I have no idea what she would want.” he replied honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled, “Those are the best kinds of searches.”

Their first conversation was short. She’d recommended some kind of fantasy novel.

He’d bought it and you were so happy that you spent the next two weeks singing Bob's praises to anyone and everyone.

That included Lily.

Bob came back the next week to pick something else out. And the week after that.

And each time, Lily was there with a new recommendation. With questions about what he liked, how he was doing, how you were doing.

Sometimes they talked for a minute.

Sometimes ten.

Bob never told her who he really was, nothing about the Thunderbolts stuff, though he was sure she knew.

Just said his name was Bob and that he was working on “getting his life together”.

She never pried. Never asked why his hands sometimes shook, or why his eyes would occasionally glow. She always spoke to him gently and laughed at his shitty attempts at jokes in a way that made him feel like maybe he was just a guy in a bookstore.

Someone normal.

One day, he decided to be brave, “You ever uh free for a coffee?” he'd asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“As in to drink it? Or are you asking me out?” she looked surprised.

Shit, she looked like she was freaked out, he almost backed off right then, but he decided to push through. He nodded “Yeah yeah uh the second one.”

She studied his face - not judgmental, just thoughtful - “Okay, yeah sure, but be warned I’m coming in hot off the back of an awful relationship. Like the guy was Loki levels of out of his mind, I may go crawling back.” she joked.

Bob smiled.

“Here. Take my number.”

Once outside with her number tucked safely into his breast pocket, he took a moment to take in a breath.

He thought about you for a second, your smile, your voice and he felt guilty, but you didn’t like him. It was ok for him to move on and he was sure you’d support him putting himself out there.

Right?

Phase 3

Phase 3 was not feeling as easy as you’d predicted it would be.

Not thinking of Bob was difficult. He engulfed your every thought, every second of the day seemed to stretch out further than you thought possible when you worked on any task that didn’t include Bob.

Even sleep didn’t offer a break.

In your dream, Bob appeared doe-eyed, curls falling over his face and his skin glowing. Your hands were roaming his body and his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. He was calm and collected, his movements slow as he cradled you tightly to his chest.

His head turned to you, his lips inching closer to your face and then all at once pressed against yours. His head angled to the right to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip, the action causing you to gasp and heat to bloom in your chest.

As your hands began to reach for his face, they fell through, jolting you awake. Your bed cushioning your movements didn’t stop your face from hitting the side of the bed frame.

You’d never made out with anyone before, so how the hell did the kiss feel so real.

“What the hell?”

Huffing you drag yourself to the bathroom, you find Bucky there brushing his teeth. You say nothing to greet him and the strangeness of your silence isn’t lost on him.

He offers a smile as he makes his way out of your shared space, he’ll bother you later once he brings back a red velvet from the store near his and Steve’s old place in Brooklyn.

Remind yourself to get an electric toothbrush, this one is struggling to withstand the force of your anger as you scrape each tooth with all of your strength.

You were doing so well to not fall back into thinking of Bob.

So why did this dream have to screw everything up?

By the time you’re done damaging your enamel it’s time for another hellish sparring session with John.

Good Lord, you were not in the mood.

You unwillingly tread down to the gym, smelling the clinical bleach mats before you round the corner.

The gym always smelled like sweat, chemical cleaner, and testosterone — basically John's cologne. You pushed the door open hard, making it slam against the frame making John jump from the noise and trip over the weight in front of him. Wait did that weight say 2000kg holy shit-

“What crawled up your ass?” he barked, startled but recovering quickly.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d get a bit of payback. You ready?” He smirked.

The mat is thick beneath your bare feet, cold and spongy. Walker stands a few feet away, stretching out his legs, the muscles in his arms rolling under his shirt. For someone so impossibly strong he sure was wirey looking.

Captain America, my ass. You reminded yourself he had limits — he had to.

You both began circling each other, and a quick step to each side had you both falling into a familiar rhythm.

“You know he came by asking for you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” you swing your fist, miming a punch, daring him to act.

Walker was always too trigger happy for his own good.

He would always bite.

“Y’know its pretty obvious to everyone include Bob that you’re distancing yourself from just him,” he said, launching at you with flurry of jabs. You dodged most, but he caught your shoulder and stomach hard.

Jesus that hurt, you deserved an extra matcha latte for lunch as a reward.

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one glued to his girlfriend’s side every hour of the day.” you step back with your arms up “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing “If you don’t like him, then why would it—”

“Oh my God, John,” you cut him off, voice tight  “Everyone knows. I know Bob knows I like him. I don’t understand what people want from me! I’ve been kind. I talk to her, I talk to him. I haven’t said anything mean or snarky, I’m not making a scene. If they’re in the room, I don’t disappear... I’m trying.”

Your breathing was heavy and you could feel the pressure rising behind your eyes. You weren't prone to emotional outbursts and John felt like he’d provoked you without reason.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

John looked like he was going to say something — probably a joke, probably one of his usual offhand lines to break the tension.

But he didn’t.

“I see him with her and it really hurts.”  your arms dropped and you began to take the next few of his punches half-heartedly. You weren’t fighting back anymore.

Just standing there, letting the blows land and getting back up like clockwork.

“I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry”

You turn away, walking over to the wall pressing your forehead gently against the cool panelling. It’s the only thing that you could think to do to ground you. John comes up behind you, placing his hand on the top of your back, patting it like he would do to his son when he was helping him drift off to sleep.

John spoke, his tone gentler than usual.

“How do you always eat my hits like that?” he asks “You sure you’re not a mutant or something?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, “If I was, I wouldn’t be a B-grade superhero like Variety said.”

He snorted behind you “And you believe the opinion of the magazine that made me ride my shield like a horse?”

You both laugh. John stands there with you until you calm down.

He tells you to clean up and head back upstairs, he says he doesn’t need you so stressed out so close to you guys’ next mission.

As you make your way up to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle you pass the library, freezing when you see two familiar figures sitting side by side on the floor.

Their arms are fitted so tightly next to one another, they look like their melting into each other. Lily reaches out and nudges a stray curl back behind Bob’s ear.

You feel sick.

Bob’s cheeks flush a little, and he gives her a sheepish grin and you make the mistake of scuffing your slippers across the floor in an attempt to walk away. They both look at you wide eyed, like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey guys” your voice gentle “Looks like a tornado flew through here, what you up to?” you’re hoping the fake texan twang is enough for them to not see the obvious awkwardness on your face.

Bob giggles and she explains their plan to find the ultimate saag paneer recipe, both finishing the others thoughts and animatedly nudging each other when they think the other ones wrong.

You decide that the scene is too intimate and too domestic and you need to run away.

Bidding them goodbye with a wide smile you all but run past the kitchen to go to your room and stew in your jealousy.

While Lily continues to argue the importance of the four forms of taste Bob swallows hard, his gaze distracted and brows slowly knotting together.

Something seriously doesn’t make sense with you.

You sit with your knees up on your bed, the soft glow from your bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. You make shapes with your hands and play with the shadows, your headphones are playing something by Lorde that makes you feel worse somehow.

That’s a first.

The door to the bathroom slowly cracks open, Ava’s brown curls visible as she inches her way in as quietly as possible.

“I’m awake y’know.” you grin at her, she was so cute when she was trying to be sneaky.

She guffaws “Yeah I k-knew.”

You stare at her accusingly with your brow raised.

“Ok so I thought you were asleep, so what? You can tell me off later once you tell me why you flooded your room on purpose.”

“I plead the fifth.” your expression completely deadpan.

“We’re both English! That doesn’t work.” she laughs out, not angrily but with the same tone a mother would with her child.

“Technically-“

She stops you “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the flying boy that you’ve been pining over?”

“That’s a low blow c’mon.” your pout is unintentional, you love Ava but you do not need to think about him even more after the day you’ve had, it would ruin the plan even more than it already had.

“Can we just drop the topic of Bob and just hang out? Since you’ve already snuck your way into my room”, she stills for a moment and without warning jumps onto your bed and grabs your waist. With her head in your lap you begin to thread your fingers through her scalp.

She mumbles something, half of her mouth buried in the plush fabric of your pyjamas. You’re sure it’s something about the way you keep the room way too cold for comfort.

This is nice you think.

Maybe you don’t need just Bob after all.

Phase 4

Never mind maybe you do.

Bob seems to struggle less and less with the concept of never seeing you around, he fills his time with Lily and her life. You think he seems to fit in fine with her spin classes and zoo dates. Not that there’s anything wrong with exercise and animals.

It isn’t your life, Bob isn’t your boyfriend and he would never want to be.

Ouch.

Maybe you really were on the cusp of really becoming invisible to him.

Just like you wanted?

Whatever, you didn’t have time to think about Project Get Over Bob anyway, Valentina had scheduled a gala to honour the ‘ex- Avengers’ as she called them. None of you were happy with the phrasing and you were sure Sam would talk you, Buck, and Joaqins ear off when you met up later tonight.

Your dress had been fitted a month or two before and Mel had scheduled a glam team for everyone so you go through the first half of the day abnormally relaxed.

You, Yelena, John and Alexei make your way downstairs first. You hear someone mumble about there not being enough space for everyone in the car but the air is so cold and bitter they’re lucky your ears haven’t frozen off by the time you’re off to the venue.

Once there, you struggle to get the train of your dress to stop sticking to the bottom of your heel, you curse loud enough for Alexei to notice and carry you out like a doll.

“Your dress ok my little firecracker?”

“Yeah thanks Lexei. You guys go ahead, I wanna go to the bathroom before heading in”

He nods and turns around, walking towards the others and wrapping his arms around them, binding them to himself as he rushes them in.

As you finally look up at the scene in front of you, your breath stutters.

The building in front of you was immense.

The lights perched about the balcony and grounds are blinding, and you grip the train of your dress in an attempt to calm your nerves. You focus on the sound of constant chatter and the feeling of the pebbled walkway under your heels.

Before your time with the team, you’d worked as a paralegal with the Govenor of New York. It was thankless but looked great on your Linkedin. You hadn’t figured out how to write Avenger in the current jobs section without seeming like an idiot yet. Galas were a common part of your job so you weren’t worried about having to network.

No what you were nervous about was keeping your cool around Bob. You’re sure that seeing him in a suit would kill you.

Now, back from the bathroom you feel a lot lighter and not just physically.

“You’re looking very foxy tonight lady.” without hesitation you reach out behind you to hit Joaqin.

“Why’d you say the same thing to me at every event dumbass.” the man gives you a bone crushing hug and another pair of arms snake around you while he squeezes.

“Buck been training you too hard or something? You look tired.” Sam and Joaqin really were tied at the hip recently, maybe Bob’s comment about them reminding him of Tina and Tina was right.

Wait, get yourself together, no more Bob!

You talk to the both of them for around twenty minutes before you're all ushered into the main room. You move effortlessly between the hoards of investors, senators and random people that you really don’t know, spitting out jokes and making conversation that the others on your team definitely don’t understand. You forget they didn't have to go full corporate for their previous day jobs.

God bless your internship at EY.

As you make your way over to the buffet, a voice calls out your name, you turn and see your friend Finley. He’d worked on a campaign with you a few years back.

You missed being less busy, even the stress of a political campaign was quieter than the constant press and training that had taken over your life. His sudden appearance was a welcome distraction.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to take you in “Avenger, huh? Still can’t believe you went from filing out my paperwork to fighting eldritch horrors.”

“Hey it’s not my fault you were so bad at your job.”

 You both laughed and decided to find a nook to reminise about your awful pay and long nights together.

Your conversation was cut short when your phone buzzed in your clutch. A quick glance at the screen showed Bob was calling you.

You swipe the notification without a second thought.

You tell youself to remember the plan.

But you feel it suddenly, like someone is burning the side of your head with a lighter. What the hell?

When you look to your left, you see him.

Bob stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

His suit is black, tailored so precisely it looks painted onto him. The jacket hugs the top of his shoulders so deliciously, when he moves the fabric pulls just enough to remind you that he actually does have muscles and it isn't just rainbows/kittens under there. His shirt was crisp white, the contrast against his tan skin made your throat dry.

But it’s his face that really leaves you breathless.

His heavy brow bone, sharp and prominent, is even more pronounced under the chandelier lights. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his brow, making his already intense features twice as alluring. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Wait he looks really pissed.

His usually kind blue eyes looked unsettling, flashing wisps of black and gold. Did Bob always look like he was wearing eyeshadow or was it just today?

His gaze flicks from your face to your phone, then back.

He’d seen you ignore the call.

For a second, you brace waiting for him to say something, to call you out right there and then. But instead, Bob just… turns away but not before you see something raw flicker across his face, you just cant figure out what.

You text him a few times, a flurry of messages explaining you were in the middle of something important and were going to call him back, you promise.

Bob just replies with a thumbs up and tells you not to worry about it.

That somehow makes you feel worse than if he'd told you off.

The rest of the evening is fine, you have fun stuffing your face with courgette tarts but are worried about what to do when you get home. You’re leaving for Ulaanbaatar tomorrow morning and really don’t want to leave on a bad note.

The team was beat by the time the night was over, you all piled into your cabs and single-filed your way up to your rooms.

You’re two steps into yours when Bob lightly pushes his way in before the door closes.

“Hey”

His voice soft.

You turn, and there he is, still in that damn suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Was he trying to make you pass out on purpose? His eyes are tired, not angry. It makes you feel guilty, you’d have prefered him to be angry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he states.

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy. The mission prep—”

“Don’t.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”

You want to look away, but his gaze is so strong it feels like the room is falling away and all you can see is him.

“You haven’t hung out with me in weeks.” he says “You stopped eating breakfast with me, you did a U-turn in the hallway when you saw me last week and I know that you hate pottery so whats going on?” a pause, he looks nervous “Did I do something?”

Your chest aches “No. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. How could you explain? That every time you saw him with Lily, laughing at some joke you weren’t part of, it felt like he was ripping your heart out with his bare hands. That you were supposed to be over him, but you weren’t, and it was eating you alive?

Before you can force out another lie, Bob’s breath hitches. He can see the cogs turning in your head, attempting to lie to him again.

Wait, was the air in the room becoming thicker or was it the stress of the situation settling into your body?

His hands clenches. His pupils dilate—too wide, too gold.

Gold? Shit.

“Bob—” You step forward, but he staggers back, not wanting to touch you, bracing himself against the wall. His knuckles turning white where they grip the plaster, cracks begin to form under his palm.

That was not good.

“I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is! You go f-from telling me you aren’t avoiding me and that we’re such great friends to complete silence. I just, I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me.” his voice tapers off as he lowers his hands from the wall, the anger and frustration leaving his body only to be replaced with the sinking feeling of dread that maybe you really didn’t care for him.

“Hey, sweetheart I think we should both just calm down I’ll-“

“NO, no I won’t, I refuse to be ignored. We’ve devoted ourselves to you, don’t you see that!!” his voice is hoarse and it sounds as if all three of them, Void, Sentry and, Bob are shouting at you.

His body begins shaking and before you can even think you and Bob are completely gripped by the inky black tendrils of the Void.

The Void swallows you whole.

You land on your knees in a familiar place.

“No, no, not here, not again” you whine.

Maria Hill stands to your left, frozen in time.

You missed her, you missed her more than anything.

But you refused to live through it again, you worked so hard to come to terms with that day and it was a low blow for him to show you the room that you’d already worked so hard to leave a year before.

The scene changes and she’s there, right in front of you, bleeding out on the concrete.

Again.

And again.

“You like pulling cheap shots every time you force me to come here?” you scoff, sure the place scares you, but you calm yourself when you remember that Bob is stronger than whatever torture the Void is willing to put you through.

He’ll be here, you know he will.

“It worked on you last time, what’s the harm with trying twice?” a static-like voice whispers out from behind you.

The dark figure steps out in front of you, gripping your arm so tightly you can feel your muscle and bone press grind together. Despite the pain, you can feel him.

Feel Bob.

His presence calms you enough to stop struggling with the vice like force on your body.

You reach out, holding his face. The action angers him. You can’t see him but feel his features curl into a snarl.

“You think that a pathetic fucking human being like you can touch me or calm him? You think he dreams of you or thinks of you even a fraction of the amount you do.” his grip tightens even futher.

“Even the team, they think you’re dead weight, they tolerate you. Nothing more”

Suddenly Bob appears and he’s not alone.

He’s got an arm around Lily, whispering something in her ear and kissing her so deeply it feels innapropriate to observe.

You try to look away but his hand, Bob’s hand, grips your jaw leaving you unable to turn your head.

The Void purrs, his tone amused "He pities you and wants your attention because he’s bored, once he has her do you think he’ll care? He’s too kind to tell you to fuck off"

The Void senses your sudden hurt and latches on.

Digging deeper, he flashes every humiliating memory of yours—failed training sessions, missions where you froze and fucked up, anything that would make you hurt. "You’re a placeholder," he hisses, "a charity case. And the worst part? You know it." 

The shame burns so deep you can’t breathe, can’t think, and as you begin to find your voice to tell him that you didn’t care and he’d had misjudged your reaction, the Void delivers a final blow.

His face flickers to resemble Bob "You really thought I could ever want you?" It’s so cruel and something within you is so caught off guard at the sight of Bob that you believe him.

The Void’s glee is palpable.

And then a voice cuts through the dark.

“Enough”

Bob.

Your Bob.

He stands at the edge of the nightmare, his eyes are blown open and wild, his hands clenched like he’s holding up the weight of the world

The midnight world suddenly splinters.

You wake up and the room is shaking, no wait, the room isnt shaking its you.

Bob’s crouched in front of you, his face concerned and he cradles your head in his arms “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your pain and fear is so strong you feel like you could collapse. You want to run away and scream, call out to everyone to take you away and lock you up somewhere that it couldn’t find you.

But you don’t dwell on those feelings, you know Bob, he must be devestated that he pulled you into the Void.

Your tone is soft as you push youself up “Hey, hey look at me. It wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know the big guy would come out so quickly.”

“But I let him hurt you-”

You stop him “Don’t, don’t say anything. Look we need to take you to the med bay now j-just don’t say anything please, just don’t.”

Bob stares at you—hurt, guilty, devastated—but he doesn’t protest.

You both hobble down to the med bay in silence and you cant help but wonder if he remembered what you both had been speaking about before or your hidden shame.

You really hope he hadn’t.

You’d called Yelena down on your way, telling her the other guy had come out to play for a bit and Bob was shaken up. She’d raced down as quickly as she could to relieve you of your babysitting duty.

Outside of the med bay, you speak to her in hushed tones while balancing the entire weight of your body on her, exhaustion setting in.

“You ok?” she strokes your hair as you tremble.

“Yeah I just, I need sleep.” she doesn’t press you for answers and you’re grateful. One small kiss to her head and you decide you’re ready to leave.

You glance back at Bob through the door, he’s already looking at you, pensive. You smile reassuringly and can visibly see his shoulders slump down in relief.

You leave but not after throwing another gummy smile and a thumbs up at the man.

The morning comes too soon, you’re still upset from the events of the night, but that doesn’t mean you can just shirk your responsibilities.

You’re packed and out the door before the sun fully rises, meeting John and Alexei downstairs. They don’t ask why your hands won’t stop shaking or why your eyes are so bloodshot.

As the engines hum to life, you glance back at the Tower one last time.

Project Get Over Bob was a complete bust.

Hey guys, hope that this chapter has you guy’s as excited as I am to continue on to the final part of this fic! Sorry for not adding a taglist to this fic but there were a lot of replies and I didn’t think I could get through them!

If you have any tips for fic writing pls follow me I’m always looking to improve.

I hope the writing style isn’t too different, I’m still trying to find my style and footing when it comes to this stuff!

The next chapter will be filled with plenty of comfort and maybe something a bit cheekier if you catch my drift!

[em1i2a3]

Spiral Cities

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

Summary: Sentry wants to show you how special you are after you admit an insecurity to him.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst (reader is self-conscious about their body, there are mentions of stretch marks but there’s nothing specifically described in relation to the readers body apart from that)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up friends), Mirror Sex, Sentry is a little feral in this y’all he really loves his partner and definitely has no trouble showing it in a variety of ways lol, Face Sitting/Oral Sex (fem receiving), *AHEM* “Riding Sentry into the sky”lol, Praise Kink, Breast/Nipple Play, Overstimulation.

Author’s Note: Oop oh boy, I dropped another Sentry smut fic because there are so many requests just for Sentry smut with no actual request lol so I’m making these ones off the top of my head y’all I’m trying my very best to make things unique to each one-shot lol, trying to please everyone here. I was a little drowsy on allergy medication when writing this so if it seems incoherent…Now you know why lol, Hope y’all enjoy <3

Word Count: 6,436

It started slow, just like everything that involved Sentry did. Soft and unhurried, like the rest of the world could wait, and often…It did.

Time never moved quite the same around him, not when he was present, and not when he wanted you.

He had been stuck in a debrief for hours–and unfortunately it wasn’t the type he liked. It was the kind of debrief that drained him in ways no battlefield ever could. Not because they were tense, but because they were infinitely dull. Diluted language, endless strategic euphemisms, self-important suits hedging every sentence with words like perhaps and potentially, as if the outcomes of reality were mere suggestions and not the direct result of his actions.

He had saved lives today. Contained something that shouldn’t have been out in the first place, prevented mass casualties, and held everything together with the tips of his fingers basically with the force of his will, and yet they wanted to talk about restraint protocols. About the exact number of inches he had hovered above the evacuation perimeter. About how much force he had used to knock a cosmic entity through six layers of reinforced shielding. It was always him being too much, or too fast, and it was a constant criticism of his help.

He didn’t lose his temper though, he rarely did nowadays, he learned how to control himself, how to calm himself down when his adrenaline spiked and how to mute his thoughts when they started turning dark, when they started blaming him and taking the criticisms to heart. Now he just clenched his jaw until it ached. Or he thought about how his skin itched with the residue of all that energy he had burned off, and the remaining energy that was begging to be held, to be burned off, to be grounded–in touch, in breath, and in the soft curve of someone’s shoulder,your shoulder specifically, beneath his mouth…

That was what he needed. The burn of connection. The steadying warmth of your body against his. Not out of lust–though that was always there, thick and humming under his skin like lava–but out of need. Primal, grounding need. You were the only thing in the world that made him feel real after missions like this. The only thing that reminded him he existed beyond his power and that he did everything he possibly could and that he did amazing.

Typically, you would've been there with him. Sitting to his left, arms crossed, boots planted wide, eyes narrowed in that said ‘please get to the point’, as you mentally filtered all the bureaucratic white nose before beaming your interpretation into him like a helpful little translation device because he would be digging around in your mind trying to find entertainment in something other than the criticisms.

But you hadn’t been on this mission and protocol barred non-deployed team members from attending the review, even if you were part of the post-op intelligence team. Even if you were the only person who could talk him down without a damn sedative.

By the time he left the debrief, every molecule of him wanted to be held, touched, felt, and seen. So he went to your room.

——————

You were stretched out across your bed when he got there, legs tangled loosely in your grey fleece blanket, the glow of your tablet casting soft light across your features as you absentmindedly scrolled through shaky camera footage of him cutting across the clouds. It was recent–maybe from a few hours ago–captured by some trembling civilian hand from the top of a rooftop parking garage. The frame shook every time the sonic boom hit, but even through the pixelation, he looked golden. Blinding. Like a streak of lightning with a heartbeat. You watched it on loop. Not out of worry. Not even fascination. But the way people might watch someone they love on stage–knowing how much it cost to shine that brightly, even if no one else did. You could see it in his posture. The clenched fists. The micro-stutters in his flight path. The way he moved just a little too fast–like he was coming down from something bigger than adrenaline.

You paused the video just as he disappeared into the clouds, and the door clicked open. You looked up immediately, seeing him in the doorway. His shoulders were taught beneath the cling of his long-sleeve training top, and his eyes were glowing a honeysuckle gold, like he was powering down from the events you had just been watching on the screen of your tablet moments ago. He shut the door with a nudge of his boot and peeled the shirt off in one slow motion, fabric clinging to the static across his skin. It made a quiet crackle as he threw it to the side, and your eyes dipped–automatically–trailing down the plane of his chest, the stretch of muscle across his stomach, and the heat still radiating from his skin. He looked flawless as usual, making his way towards you with all the intentions of a man starved.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress immediately, his thick thighs spreading as he crawled up you, eyes fixated on your body. You sat up just enough to make room, but it didn’t matter–he was already settling over you, caging you in with one knee between your thighs and an arm braced beside your head.

Without a word, his hand slipped between yours and the tablet, plucking it from your grip, locking it with a firm flick of his thumb before letting it float lazily across the room–gliding it like a feather until it landed on your desk. And then he collapsed into you with a long sigh.

You could feel the air knock out of your lungs as his full weight sank onto you, his skin boiling hot against your, while he took in a deep breath. He buried his face into the crook of your neck with a low, rumbling hum–like the sound a storm might make before it breaks, a distant thunder rolling just beneath his ribs. You felt it more than you heard it, vibrating into your chest as his arms locked around you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat, lips lingering for a moment so he could breathe you in. The soft mint from your body wash, the warmth of your skin, everything came crawling into his senses and invaded him quickly as he pulled back and continued to give these small wet kisses along your neck.

”Bad day?” You asked, your voice a gentle murmur. He nodded, the faint stubble on his jaw grazing against your skin.

”Is it that obvious?” He murmured, the words vibrating against your neck. You giggled gently and leaned your head back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers trailing lightly along the nape of his neck.

“Your face gives a lot away…I hope you didn’t look like that during your debrief.” That earned a breathy laugh from him, barely more than a puff of air against your cheek. He tilted his head, nosing gently along the line of your jaw before peppering small kisses up to the corner of your mouth.

“I definitely did. Since you weren’t there to distract me.” You hummed quietly, a wordless sound that vibrated softly into his lips–just as he kissed you. It was slow at first, but there was tension in it. A controlled hunger, like he had been thinking about this moment for hours–tasting it in his memory, craving it in silence. His lips parted yours with gentle insistence, and the kiss deepened as he tilted his head and cupped your face, his thumb brushing beneath your cheekbone. He kissed like a man trying to melt into you. Tongue gliding against yours with heat, breath hitching slightly each time you made a soft noise in the back of your throat. He tasted like mint and adrenaline, like the kind of man who carried entire cities on his shoulders and still wanted nothing more than to rest his weight on you.

Then he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Come here,” before his hand slid down your body–warm, wide palm dragging over your hip and under your thigh. With a twist of his core and a slow, fluid shift of weight, he rolled the both of you over until you were on top of him, straddling his waist, your legs splayed over his hips.

His hands immediately found the back of your thighs, squeezing them, grounding himself in your softness.

But you stiffened.

Your breath hitched, and your palms flattened against his chest–not to push him away, but not to pull him closer either. Your body went still above him, like a pause in a melody, the silence suddenly thick between you.

“Sentry…No.” You shook your head gently, your voice quiet but firm. There was no anger in it. No blame. Just a small, aching boundary traced in the sand between breaths. His golden eyes flicked up to yours immediately, still glowing faintly in the low light, soft concern knitting his brows together. He didn’t move beneath you, didn’t press or prod–just laid there beneath your body, warm and waiting.

A heavy silence hung between you before he spoke again, voice gentle.

“…Why don’t you ever want to be on top?” He asked, not accusing. Not annoyed. Just…Curious. Maybe even hurt, but hiding it behind his reverent restraint. “I loved seeing you up there. When you did it that one time–fuck, you looked beautiful. You felt incredible.” You inhaled sharply, and your hands slid up to brace on his chest, fingers curling just slightly against his skin–his warmth, his strength. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I just…” Your throat tightened. “It feels like I’m on full display. Like I can’t hide the things I don’t want you seeing.” Sentry blinked slowly, then sat up, his palms rising to cradle your face in both hands. His thumbs traced the corners of your mouth, the apples of your cheeks, like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t hold you steady in his gaze.

“What don’t you want me to see?” He asked gently, voice barely more than a breath.

You hesitated, something raw shifting behind your eyes. The words were quiet. “The stretch marks. The way everything moves when I’m up there. How I can’t breathe sometimes ‘cause I’m overthinking how I look, and I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. Especially when you look like you.” He stilled. Not in judgment. Not in disbelief. But in heartbreak.

Because you had never sounded so small.

Sentry sighed, and let his hands slide down to rest just above your hips, his thumbs drawing slow, grounding circles into the fabric of your shorts. His voice was low when it came.

”Y/N…I wish you could see what I see when I look at you…” He leaned up slightly and placed a kiss against your clothed chest, right where your heart was beating, “You think I’m the one who looks like a god…But you’re divine. You’re the only thing in this world I look at and feel safe. And it’s not because of what you hide. It’s because of what you are…” You tried to look away again, but he caught your chin gently between his fingers and tilted your face back toward his. There was no demand in his touch, only awe..

”I don’t care how ‘everything moves’ when you’re up there…I want to kiss every inch of your body. I want to worship it…And your stretch marks? They’re stardust…Lightning scars. Signs you’ve changed and grown and lived. If anything, I should get on my knees and thank every line for existing, because they’re yours and they’re a part of you.” You gulped hard.

His words sat heavy and glowing in the space between you, like they’d dropped molten into your chest and made it impossible to speak. No one had ever said something like that to you–not with that kind of raw, aching conviction. Not without it sounding like they were trying to convince themselves, too. But Sentry wasn’t trying to convince anyone, he was just stating facts, a worshipful truth.

You opened your mouth to say something–anything–but nothing came out. Just a faint, trembling breath. You could feel it hitch in your lungs as your fingers trembled slightly against his chest.

Sentry exhaled softly and slid his hands down to your thighs again–broad and warm–pulling you closer, until your body was practically glued to his. Your chest pressed against his bare skin, your heartbeats syncing like twin pulses caught in the same golden current. His arms locked around you protectively as he held you there, one hand splaying across the small of your back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice, when he spoke next, was warm and low, like lightning pressed into velvet.

“I love every part of you,” He murmured, “And I want you to love every part of yourself too.” You let out a slow, shaky exhale. Your cheek rested against the curve of his shoulder, skin to skin, heart to heart. His chest rose and fell between you, warm and strong, and the scent of him–ozone, mint, and the faint burn of atmospheric heat–wrapped around you like gravity.

You let your body melt into his just a little more, your lips ghosted over the slope of his shoulder, letting it linger there for just a moment longer than necessary, before whispering, “Okay…I’ll be on top.”

Sentry stilled.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. His expression flickered from awe to absolute tenderness, like he was going to pass out now that you actually wanted to do this again.

“I want us to be in front of the mirror,” He said gently, nodding toward the standing mirror angled near the bedside. “So you can see yourself.”

Your brows lifted. Not in doubt, but in quiet, vulnerable surprise. “Yeah?”

He nodded again, his hand rising to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking lightly beneath your eye. “It’ll show you what I see…”

There was something in his voice that melted you. No teasing. No performance. Just truth, low and warm and aching with how much he adored you. You bit your bottom lip, heart skittering in your chest like a moth in a jar. And then you gave a small nod.

“…Okay.”

With a fluid, weightless ease that only he could manage, Sentry shifted the both of you down the bed. He moved you like something precious, something meant to be carried. He turned and laid flat against the mattress, golden eyes flicking toward the mirror. You were straddling his hips now, fully in his lap, and the reflection hit you all at once.

There you were.

You were kissed by the lamplight. The gentle curve of your waist could be seen slightly from your shirt riding up with your thighs splayed open over his hips, and his large hands rested just below your ass like he couldn’t help but touch you–ground himself in the weight of you.

You looked at yourself.

And then you looked at him.

He was already watching you through the reflection, his expression molten, lit with a hunger so thick it curled around your spine like smoke. His lips parted slightly, breathing shallow.

“Take your top and shorts off,” He murmured, voice rough and low, like thunder rolling behind silk.

Your fingers trembled slightly, but you didn’t hesitate.

You peeled the shirt off first, the cotton sliding over your skin and dropping to the floor beside the bed. Your breasts were bared to the open air, nipples tightening under the weight of his gaze. You leaned back and slowly slid your fingers beneath the waistband of your sleepshorts, dragging them down your hips, and shifting them down your knees before shimmying them completely off you, before returning to your previous position.

You hovered over him again, your core brushing faintly against the bulge in his sweatpants, heat pulsing between your thighs. His eyes dropped low and he bit his lip hard, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself from exploding.

One of his hands came up slowly, deliberately, and cupped your breast. Large, warm, steady. His thumb rolled your nipple in a slow, practiced motion, just enough to make it tighten under his touch, to draw a soft little gasp from your lips. You arched your back into his hand, then you brought your own up to his wrist, holding it there gently, feeling your breath hitch again–this time from the burn that pulsed deep in your belly. The tenderness of his grip, the worship in his gaze, the way his golden eyes flicked between your reflection and your face–it all tangled inside your chest.

“Look at yourself,” He whispered.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

And oh–there it was.

His hand engulfing your breast like it was something holy, your nipple pinched perfectly between his fingers. The way your mouth had parted at the sensation, how your breath caught and chest trembled. You watched it all–watched yourself respond to his worship like you were meant to be adored. And for the first time, maybe…You didn’t wince.

You were gorgeous.

“See?” He murmured. “You’re fucking breathtaking.” He gave your breast another gentle squeeze, then released it, only to bring his other hand to your waist. His palm slid over the curve of your hip, grounding you in place.

“I want you to sit on my face,” He said, low and rough now, his restraint fraying with every heartbeat. “I want to drown in you while you watch yourself…”

Your breath hitched.

He licked his lips, his gaze molten.

“Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

There wasn’t a hint of ego in his voice. Just aching devotion. Like this wasn’t just desire–it was need. Worship. The kind that left gods on their knees.

You nodded, your voice a whisper. “Yes…” He grinned–slow and bright, a little breathless already from the weight of anticipation–like he couldn’t believe his luck, like you’d just handed him the sun wrapped in silk.

“Well come on up here then…” He instructed, burning gold. You swallowed and slowly began to shift up his body, bracing yourself on the mattress as you crawled forward. Each movement was careful, deliberate, thighs trembling slightly. And his eyes never left you. Not once. Not even to blink. Like he might miss something if he did. He watched every shift of your hips, every stretch of your legs as they slowly bracketed his head. And when your knees planted firm on either side of his jaw and your core hovered just above his mouth, you felt the air shift.

Sentry looked completely undone beneath you.

Golden eyes glazed, lips parted, arms sprawled out like he was about to be blessed.

You hovered just out of reach, breath shallow, your thighs trembling from effort and nerves. He brought his hands to your hips, strong and steady, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin, and then he began to guide you lower.

“Sentry…” You whispered, hesitating, your voice barely a breath. “I don’t want to crush your face.” His laugh was low and guttural, and he shook his head with a grin so wide it made your chest ache.

“You won’t crush my face,” He replied gently, “Trust me, I want you to. Please. Sit. Down.” You let out a shaky breath and looked at yourself in the mirror. At the way you hovered, naked and vulnerable but wanted. How his hands looked like they were sculpted just to hold you. How his mouth opened beneath you, lips glistening with need, and his chest heaved like he was about to die of thirst.

Your breath quivered as you began to lower yourself down, still watching your reflection in the mirror–the way your thighs framed his face, the way his glowing eyes tracked every inch of you like you were descending from heaven itself.

The moment your core brushed his lips, he growled.

His hands flew to your hips–not rough, but firm–holding you steady, anchoring you in place like you were something that might fly away if he didn’t hold tight. One hand slid to the small of your back to keep you from tipping backward, the other spread wide across your thigh, grounding. And then…He devoured you.

There was no hesitation or easing in.

His mouth latched onto your core like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You gasped–a soft, breathy sound that left you the moment his tongue parted your folds, licking up the wetness that had already begun to slick your thighs. His tongue worked in deep, hungry strokes, curling and flicking and dragging against your heat with such precision, you immediately buckled forward and braced yourself on his forearms. Your hands gripped tight to the solid muscle of him–his arms flexing beneath your touch as he groaned and pulled you harder onto his mouth.

“Fuck–Sentry–”

Your voice cracked into a breathless moan as his tongue rolled over your clit, slow at first, then faster, teasing it with short, practiced flicks that had your hips grinding into his mouth instinctively.

And still–he didn’t stop.

You looked at yourself in the mirror–and the sight nearly undid you.

Your thighs were spread wide over his face, your body trembling with every breath, your hips moving in slow, desperate circles as you rode his mouth like you were meant to. His light brown hair fanned beneath you, his jaw flexing with every lick, every groan that vibrated directly into your core.

Your mouth had fallen open, eyes wide, chest sheened with sweat, breasts rising and falling with every sharp breath. You looked ruined, but you couldn’t look away.

He buried his face deeper, tongue slipping inside you, licking into you like he was starving for your taste–like your pussy was the holiest thing he’d ever known and he wanted to drown in it. His nose brushed your clit as he moaned again, and your thighs shook, your nails digging into his forearms hard enough to leave marks.

And God–he loved it.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow and wet, then swirled his tongue around it like he wanted to worship it. Your breath hitched, hips stuttering, and he grunted when you ground yourself harder against his mouth.

“Oh my god–” You gasped, voice trembling, wrecked. “Fuck, please don’t stop–”

His only answer was another deep, feral groan–vibrating through your clit like lightning.

You could feel how wet you were. Hear the obscene, slick sounds of his mouth as he ate you with single-minded obsession. Your arousal was dripping down his chin, painting his cheeks, and still he kept going–licking, sucking, moaning into you like your body was a commandment.

You rolled your hips harder, chasing every delicious flick of his tongue, and he let you–let you take what you needed–his hands still holding you steady, flexing against your thighs as you moved above him.

“Look at yourself,” He rasped suddenly, voice muffled against your core, but low and sharp and devastating.

You did.

And you gasped.

Your own reflection met you, flushed and wild, hair sticking to your damp temples, thighs trembling around his head, mouth slack and open as you moved with reckless, breathless rhythm–grinding down onto his tongue while he held you in place and worshipped.

You looked like a woman unraveling–gorgeous and completely undone.

His tongue flicked your clit again, then sucked it deep between his lips, his moan loud and broken–and you screamed his name.

The orgasm hit you so fast, so hard, it stole your breath. Your hips locked and bucked, your body tightening above him as your thighs clamped around his head and your voice fractured into a string of desperate, feral moans. And still–he didn’t let go.

His tongue slowed as your orgasm ebbed, but he didn’t stop–not until the last tremor ran through your thighs and your fingers unclenched from his arms. You were twitching still, little aftershocks jerking through your muscles as your hips tried to pull back on their own. But he held you just a moment longer, mouthing at your slick folds, as though kissing a wound he didn’t want to let close.

Then, finally, when you whimpered and tried to squirm off his face, he gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” He murmured against your skin, the words vibrating soft and wet against your inner thigh. Carefully, he helped you rise from his mouth. His hands never left your skin as he eased you down his body, guiding you gently back to where you started–straddling his hips, your thighs once again bracketing his waist. Only now, everything was different. Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your skin damped with sweat and slick, with every nerve ending glowing with tension.

Sentry on the other hand looked like he was about to break. His chest was heaving, glowing eyes locked onto your face as you settled directly over the thick bulge in his sweatpants. You could feel him twitching beneath you–hot, hard, throbbing so you rolled your hips forward slowly, dragging the soaked heat of your core against the fabric, and he let out a strangled noise that sounded like it had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Fuck–” He hissed through gritted teeth, his fingers gripping your hips tighter. “Sweetheart–” You leaned down and kissed him before he could finish, swallowing the rest of his groan with your mouth. Your lips were slow, but your body was already shifting against his, hips grinding in a gentle, deliberate rhythm that smeared your slick across the length of him. He moaned into your mouth, lips parting beneath yours, and you tasted yourself on his tongue–tangy and hot, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d worshipped you moments ago.

And still–it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

You pulled back just enough to pant against his lips, your breath mingling with his, and his eyes fluttered open, molten with desperation.

“I want you to ride me now,” He whispered, voice rough with need.

You nodded, your voice hoarse but sure. “Okay.”

That single word made him shiver beneath you. His hands slid down to the waistband of his sweatpants and boxer-briefs, and together–quick, frantic–you pushed them down just enough to free him.

And fuck—he was hard.

So hard it almost hurt to look at. His cock sprang free, red and flushed at the tip, already leaking precum. Thick and veined and glistening with precum. You stared for a beat, then slowly reached down and wrapped your hand around the base of him. He twitched violently in your grasp, the head already slick as you smeared his arousal down the shaft with a slow pump.

“Jesus Christ–” He gasped, bucking into your hand, “You’re gonna kill me–”

You smirked, then lifted your hips and dragged the head of him through your folds, coating him with your wetness, watching as his head tilted back against the mattress, and a long, low moan tore from his throat. Your hand trembled as you lined him up with your entrance–his cock hot and heavy in your grip, glistening with your slick. He looked devastating beneath you, golden eyes locked to your face with a desperation that you had never seen on him before. You hovered for a breathless moment, your thighs shaking, the head of him teasing at your entrance. Your walls fluttered in anticipation, already aching to be filled, already soaking him, ready for more.

And then–you sank down.

Agonizingly slow.

Both of you gasped.

The stretch was obscene, burning and perfect. He was thick and you felt every ridge, every pulsing inch as your body opened around him. His cock dragged against your inner walls, and the sensation made your vision blur for a moment.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his chest for balance, your nails leaving faint crescents in his skin. “You’re so deep…Oh my god–”

Sentry’s eyes closed as a moan tore from his throat like it had been locked behind his ribs for hours. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady, but he didn’t force you–he just gripped you like he needed you there to survive.

”My god…You’re so tight…Always feel like heaven to me.” He whispered. You dropped another inch, and he cried out again, hips jerking up slightly before he caught himself.

“Sweetheart..,Please take it all…Want to feel all of you, I need it–”

Your knees trembled as you sank fully down, seating yourself to the hilt, his cock stretching you open so deep it punched the air from your lungs. Your walls throbbed around him, pulsing as it fluttered from the intensity of being filled so completely.

And he could feel all of it.

His hands splayed across your waist, his thumbs brushing the slope of your stomach like he was trying to memorize the curve of you around him. His chest heaved, a fine sheen of sweat blooming along his collarbones. His golden eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tight with restraint.

“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” He whispered. “You’re perfect. You were made to ride me…Fuck, look at yourself, baby.”

You turned your head to the mirror–and gasped.

The sight was dizzying.

You, perched on top of him, sunk down to the base, your thighs spread wide around his hips. Your body trembling with the afterglow of your first orgasm and the new lust that burned within you. Your breasts heaved with every breath, nipples stiff from the air and the heat of his gaze. And your expression–fuck, your expression. Mouth parted in a gasp, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, hips already beginning to grind forward.

You looked ruined.

You looked divine.

And you were only just beginning.

You braced your hands on his chest and rolled your hips once–slow and deep. His cock dragged against your walls, and your whole body shivered.

He moaned.

A raw, broken sound.

“Just like that,” He whimpered, “Ride me, baby. Ride me like I’m yours.”

And you did.

You lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him slip from your soaking core until only the head remained inside–and then you dropped again, taking him all the way in with a slick, wet sound that had you both gasping.

You did it again.

And again.

Your rhythm picked up, your hips rising and falling with a desperate grind that had your clit brushing his pelvis with every thrust. Your mouth fell open, and soft, breathless moans poured from your lips as you fucked yourself on him, as you used him, as you gave yourself over to it completely.

The mirror only made it worse.

Worse and better.

You couldn’t stop looking.

You watched the way your body moved–how your tits bounced with every slam of your hips, how your stomach rolled, soft and lovely, how your thighs shook. You watched the way your mouth opened, the way your brows pulled tight, the way you gasped when he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again.

And Sentry was fucking watching it too.

He stared at the mirror, jaw clenched, his eyes glowing bright gold like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing–what he was feeling.

“You’re…Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful…Watching you like this, it’s too much, I could die like this,” He panted. “You’re taking me so fucking well…” You let out a strangled moan, grinding your hips harder.

You could feel him everywhere.

Your thighs trembled, slick and glistening in the lamplight, as you bounced on his cock with building desperation–every drag and drop punching breathless moans from your chest. He felt too good. Too thick, too deep, too much. Each time you sank down onto him, it was like being split open and filled at once, your body giving way for his with a needy, perfect stretch that left you shaking.

Your skin was flushed, shining with sweat, your hair wild and sticking to your temple. And in the mirror, you looked like a dream–your body riding him, open and raw and radiant, flushed with ecstasy. Your breasts bounced in rhythm with your thrusts, your belly rolled slightly with each grind forward, your thighs flexed around his waist as you moved in time with your own mounting pleasure. There was no hiding. There was only you, him, and the way you came apart in his lap–beautiful and real and fucking divine.

Sentry was losing his mind beneath you.

Golden eyes burning, mouth slack, sweat beading at his hairline. His hands gripped your hips like lifelines, fingers flexing and spreading, dragging you down to meet every upward thrust. You were both panting now, the slap of your skin and the wet sound of your soaked core riding his cock filling the air between your breathless moans.

“Feel so good…” He moaned, his hips bucking up into you now, meeting your grind with his own rhythm, “Take me so well…I can’t hold back.”

“I don’t want you to,” You gasped, slamming down harder, your voice breaking on a moan as he bottomed out again, the pressure of him grinding right into your sweet spot. “I want to feel everything. All of it…Don’t stop…Please.”

He let out a strangled, broken sound–half moan, half growl–as his hands slid down to the curve of your ass, grabbing you firmly and guiding your rhythm with desperate precision. You met him thrust for thrust, your hips rolling down to meet every upward snap of his, and the angle was just right now–his cock brushing that aching, fluttering spot deep inside you that had your whole body shivering.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasped, head thrown back against the pillow, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me cum just watching you, fuck…Look at you, sweetheart, look at what you’re doing to me–”

You did.

Your gaze flicked back to the mirror–and the sight nearly undid you.

Your body was bouncing in his lap, each grind forward rippling through your hips and thighs. His cock was buried inside you, his hands greedy on your skin, and you looked like sin and salvation all at once–eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, riding him like you were born to do it. It was overwhelming, like watching a fantasy you never knew you had–only now you were living it, feeling it, trembling on the edge of something volcanic.

“I’m gonna…Fuck…I’m close–” you moaned, nails digging into his chest, your rhythm picking up with frantic need. “I’m so close, Sentry, please don’t stop—”

“Never,” He panted, fucking up into you hard now, his cock slamming into you with wet, messy precision. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

You cried out, loud and broken, hips slamming down faster now, clit dragging against his pelvis with every thrust. The heat was blinding–your orgasm barreling toward you like a golden wave, your whole body tense and twitching with the effort of holding it back.

He saw it–felt it–and slowed you down, just barely.

“Breathe, baby,” He whispered, guiding your hips in slower, deeper rolls. “Let me feel all of it. Let me feel you cum slow…Wanna feel your pussy milk me, nice and tight…”

That did it.

Your body seized, every muscle tightening as your climax tore through you like wildfire. You let out a scream of his name, hips jerking wildly as your core clenched around him in fluttering, wet pulses. You were shaking, gasping, sobbing his name as he kept fucking up into you–deep, slow, deliberate thrusts that kept your orgasm stretching on, spiraling through you like a current.

And then–with one last desperate grind forward–you pushed down as he thrust up.

“F-Fuck…” He gasped, his entire body going rigid beneath you. “I’m gonna cum–”

You collapsed forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest to his as you whispered, “Do it…Please…Cum inside me…I want to feel you.”

His moan shattered in your ear, low and primal, as he came.

Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your core, spilling deep inside you as his cock twitched and pulsed, his hips jerking helplessly beneath you. He buried his face in your neck, groaning into your skin as he held you tight, his hands trembling on your waist.

You both stayed like that–trembling, breathless, wrapped in each other as the aftershocks passed.

The air was thick with sweat, love, and the scent of sex.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips. His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking your jaw as his voice–low and wrecked–rumbled against your mouth.

“I told you,” He whispered, voice still trembling, “I told you that you looked amazing up there.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your body still twitching around him as you nuzzled your nose against his. “You’re always right.”

He smiled–bright, lazy, golden–and pulled you tighter into his chest, holding you flush against him, cock still buried inside you, your bodies slick and glowing with afterglow.

“Never doubt me again,” He murmured with a playful little growl.

You both laughed–soft and breathless–your foreheads pressed together as the mirror reflected your bodies still tangled in each other, golden and flushed and whole.

[romanoffshouse]

Bob: Why did the chicken cross the road?

John Walker: I don't know, why?

Bob: To get to the idiots house. Knock, knock?

John Walker: Who's there?

Bob: The chicken

John Walker: Listen you little shit.

Yelena: Whoa, Whoa, calm down.